#i’m crying now sorry. i’m so sorry for losing you Moose

[stolen-stardust]

object personification is all fun and games until something goes Wrong with an object (loses it, breaks it, etc) and it emotionally fucks you up for YEAAARS

[heathenarmyimagines]

Title: Find Us

Summary: (Y/N) has done her job, now Ivar must do his.

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten

Taglist: @ubbesgirl, @shewolf2000, @tis-itheapplepie, @atequila, @demoncrypt1066, @greennightspider, @badbitsh13, @fireismysaftey, @minarawr, @laketaj24, @hvitserksgirl, @blahblahcookiesdoma, @fabulous-peasent, @sforsammmmmi, @minmiin1d, @courtrae89, @letsloveimagines, @tomarisela, @titty-teetee, @beyond-the-ashes@elenawrit, @mblaqgi, @whenimaunicorn, @chuflisworld, @mystruggledlife, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @syreni-dea, @trashqueenbitch, @alykatv, @mbaku-babygirl, @perfectus-in-morte, @beyond-the-ashes, @neeadinghugs, @readsalot73, @triumphantreturnofpies, @anarchy-is-coming, @tephi101, @alicedopey, @ivarslittlebadgirl, @jtrstp, @nejijjeoroo, @charlylama, @ivartheblessed, @captstefanbrandt, @fabulouschrissi, @ivarsrideordie, @3x5gurl, @the-writer-appreciation-blog, @lolabee9, @captainfoxy22, @young-ugly-god, @im5ftbutmythroat66, @bribyyy, @irishhiggins, @cadetomlinson, @keclleon101, @slutforragnarssons, @ltkeke, @meeeeeeeeeps, @lille-kanin, @opalscarab, @ssraven7, @ivarandersen, @concretewaywardangel, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @sharon-is-tired, @cadetomlinson, @mystruggledlife, @chuflisworld, @justmarissa97, @lol-haha-joke, @weirdly-randomly-awesome, @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanim, @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers, @alexa040004, @buckythetinman , @burntmythroatskullingmytea,@jorunnravenslayer, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @buffy-the-vampire-blogger, @arses21434, @ltkeke, @captainfoxy22, @chinduda @letsshamelessqueen-m @my-soul-is-the-moon @we-are-transcendent

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six,Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten

The sleep came easily enough, even easier considering that you had gone all day with no rest and unbeknownst to you it was the most rest you would receive in months.

In the land of the living it had been three days and you hadn’t had a clue, for you it was just like any other dream. Time was irrelevant and nothing important to worry about as you walked around the abandoned market. With the information you now had you came to the conclusion that this was a Viking age settlement.

And just knowing that much made you eager to look around and see everything. How many people could say they had seen something like this? It would be an opportunity lost if she didn’t explore.

You were still in your hospital gown and had been barefoot before you found some shoes that were too big but they stayed on.

Viking mud is still mud after all.

There was so much to see, there were stands that had vegetables and fruits and less attractive ones that had dead animals hug up on display. Further into the market area you found jewelry and long stretches of fabric. Most were brown or white but others were absolutely gorgeous colors like red, blue and gold.

It was while you were touching a blue silk fabric that you heard something behind you.

Muddy footsteps.

It made a wet squishing noise; squish squish squish, getting closer but not at a rushed speed. 

Whoever was behind you felt no need to rush.

You turned around; fully expecting to see the man with no eyes to be standing there with a new riddle for you to solve, but that wasn’t who it was.

It was you.

The woman standing before you had your face, she was older maybe in her twenties or early thirties, her hair was longer than you could imagine growing yours and it was in a braid that rested plainly over her shoulder. She was wearing a brown dress and leather shoes.

Despite how much you had looked into mirrors you had never seen yourself like this.

‘Y-you.’ you managed to say when you found the will to speak.

‘You.’ the woman smiled.

‘Do you know who I am?’ she asked as she stepped closer to you.

Instinctively you stepped back.

‘Your name is Wilda, you are a Saxxon woman.’ you replied.

‘I am, or maybe I was. It is hard to understand even for me, I have been dead for so long and yet here I stand speaking with you.’ she mused.

She walked over to the fabric you were just holding and rubbed it curiously.

‘I had been wanting this fabric when I died, the woman who made this was the best seamstress in all of Kattegat.’

‘Kattegat? Is that the name of this place?’ 

‘Yes, this is where it all began. This is where it all happened, where your fate was sealed with the Boneless One. I must apologize, for I am also responsible for involving you in all this, but please know I didn’t wish for any of it.’ she said sadly.

It was weird seeing yourself like this, it was like watching yourself in a movie but you had no memory of acting in it. Either way this woman...this you, was talking and it was understandable.

‘Can you tell me what happened, why am I involved and what will happen after Ivar accepts his past life?’ you asked.

‘I do not know it all, but I will tell you what I know, come walk with me, I want you to see something.’ she said as she began to walk away from the fabric stand.

You walked beside her, still keeping a bit of distance.

‘I was a child of the church, in York. When I was a small child the city was raided by the Sons of Ragnar and their Heathen Army. I barely survived but after they took over Ivar took me in as a slave.’

‘Why?’

‘I was often the apprentice to the healers after men would come from battle. I would take care of his legs with salves and oils. He hated me, it was simply a fact but he valued my care through the years.’

‘Why did you marry him?’

‘Years had passed and I’d seen him do...horrific things, he’d won great victories and suffered massive losses then all at once he was just losing. Battle after battle his plans failed him, he was losing his fame, becoming a joke among warlords.’

As the two of you walked past the last stand of the market she led you through a trail in the woods.

‘At his wits end he called on the seer.’

‘Seer? The man with no eyes?’ you asked. 

She nodded.

‘He sees peoples’ fates and speaks with the Pagan Gods. He told Ivar that the Gods had abandoned him; that they had favored his father Ragnar despite the disrespectful way he viewed them, and they would not show Ivar the same mercy if he followed his father’s footsteps.’

‘Ragnar? I thought he was a myth.’

‘People spoke of him as if he were, but he was a real man with real feelings. Ivar loved him despite the strain his broken legs put on their relationship, and like his father he began to place too much pride in his own importance.’ 

‘Broken legs...he really couldn’t walk could he.’ you said in amazement.

‘Not on his own he made braces to keep himself upright, really they were amazing to see. Even I, who despised him, felt a small amount of admiration for his resilience.’

‘I grew up in his care, he never hurt me but he was cruel. When he came to me demanding my hand in marriage I didn’t understand. He told me it was life or death, he said he would have the church in York reduced to ashes if I refused.’

‘How romantic.’ you said sarcastically.

‘I thought so as well. From what was told to me Ivar had gotten everyone close to him cursed, exiled from all their nine worlds, left to wait for the reincarnations of both Ivar the Boneless and a Christian Girl to to reunite and his guilt alongside her love and forgiveness would be the light that lead them to Valhalla.’

‘My love?’ you asked in embarrassed shock.

‘Yes, you love him and I know it.’

‘How can you know something like that? Do you feel my emotions or something, because I’m not sure if it is more than a crush.’ you said in your defense.

Wilda laughed and was odd to hear it, you recognized it as your own laughter but you never heard from someone else.

‘My sweet girl, you are not the first reincarnation, and your Ivar isn’t the first either, if God wills it you will be the last.’

‘I’m not the first? How many have there been and what happened to them?’

‘They all end up here eventually.’ Wilda answered as at last the two of you had arrived at your destination.

You were in a large clearing. There was nothing else there to take your eyes away from what was in the center.

Two graves, both empty and two piles of dirt waiting to fill them in once there was a body inside.

Your heart was lead.

‘It is never painful, for any of them, you’ll just go to sleep.’

‘But I- I’m sleeping now...am I am I d-‘

‘No, you are alive outside I promise. All you have to do is wait, wait for Ivar to accept his faults and remorse.’

‘And if he doesn’t then what? You’re saying I can’t do anything for myself? What kind of misogynistic bullshit is this? I thought Viking women had rights of their own.’ you ranted angrily as you paced, looking away from the graves.

‘Unfortunately, I wasn’t Viking, even if I did follow their beliefs I was a thrall. I had no rights before my marriage and even with that title I was still Christian.’

‘So what? Just sit here with you and wait?’ 

‘Yes, do you have faith that your Ivar will save you?’

‘Of course!’ you shouted so suddenly that it surprised you.

All at once it hit you how much faith you had in Ivar, the one thing you had no doubt about was that he would do anything for you.

He cared for you, even if not romantically, he cared about you; and no matter what he had to do he would save you.

Or he would die trying.

‘Then wait.’ Wilda said sweetly.

Ivar’s POV

The last three days had brought about a lot of chaos.

(Y/N)’s family was devastated by the news, her siblings were scared and her mother was in complete shambles. Miss (Y/L/N) had called your father who flew out with his wife and other kids and had arrived on the second night. 

His own family had been affected as well, he had been too shaken up and crushed by guilt that he couldn’t drive so he just sat in his car feeling sorry for himself and crying harder than he had since he was a child. His brothers ended up tracking his phone and once he had calmed down he explained what had happened.

No one in the Ragnarson family could ever remember seeing Ivar this distraught before, even his parents sat aside their marital issues enough to sit in the waiting room with Ivar and (Y/N)’s family.

It was strange to see for Ivar.

His family loved each other in their own odd constipated way, but they rarely got together like this. Even Bjorn and Lagertha showed up once, apparently they all wanted to be there for him but he suspected they just couldn't get over the fact that he had a friend.

Every day there were at least four people in the waiting room for (Y/N) and one of the most constant residents was Ivar.

He hadn’t even gone to school, all he could do was sit and watch...and think about things. Think about what he had to do, because no matter what logic told him he just knew this was his fault. She was a human vegetable and was because of him.

That thought alone made his head hurt, he was constantly taking pain killers that did little to ease his headaches.

He was on his phone watching the same video he had seen a thousand times it felt like.

The footage from (Y/N)’s sleep study. 

Her mother had demanded the footage, in hopes to find some kind of clue about what led to (Y/N)’s sudden seizure. She expected to see an administration of medicine or maybe even a nurse sneaking in, anything to explain it.

Unfortunately there was nothing on the film that the doctors hadn’t already explained. For about an hour she was sleeping peacefully, a bit of uncomfortable tossing and then, like a firecracker had startled her, she shot up.

Her body convulsing as she thrashed around so violently that she fell out of the bed and if the visual wasn’t upsetting enough the scream she let out after she landed on the floor was absolutely blood churning.

She was screaming loud and shrill at the top of her lungs, all the while her body never stopped shaking, her limbs were endlessly flailing. The nurses and doctors had rushed in to restrain after only forty seconds or so but it felt so much longer to Ivar.

He watched how carefully Herald administered the sedative and the way (Y/N)’s body went immediately limp. Ivar closed the video once the doctors started hurriedly checking her vitals.

Ivar sighed and stood up to stretch, the joints of his shoulder blades cracking in protest as he did so.

‘Going home for the night Ivar?’ Miss (Y/L/N) asked as she yawned in her own chair.

‘No, just going to the restroom, might get a coffee.’ he assured.

‘Grab me one please.’

‘Of course.’ Ivar said happily.

He didn’t really need to use the toilet, just needed to move around. His legs were getting sore and he needed to take his pills and he preferred to do that in private.

‘I would have killed for a treatment like that in my life.’

The color drained from his face as he looked in the mirror and saw a most unwelcomed sight.

‘I get the feeling you don’t like me much...understandable I suppose.’ the old man said from behind him.

His heart suddenly swelled with anger as he turned and swung, ready to feel his fist connect with the bearded face of this bastard, but it didn’t.

All that happened was his fist went right through him, as if he were air, with nothing solid to connect to he stumbled to regain balance.

‘I’m sure had I been alive that would have been a solid attack, were you done or do you want to waste more time? Because your Christian doesn’t have much to waste.’ the old man said tiredly.

Ivar turned around and glared, but it softened a bit when he saw something he hadn’t noticed before in his anger.

The old man was standing.

There were unpainted metal braces on the viking’s legs that seemed to be the only thing keeping him up, along with the cane he was using.

‘Why are you here?  Are you going to kill her now, brain dead not enough for you? She has nothing to do with this, whatever bullshit this all is, leave her out of it!’ Ivar shouted, not caring if someone heard him yelling to himself.

‘My Christian had nothing to do with my problems either, and had she been as selfish as I was she would have refused to take part. Then I would be cursed with no hope of redemption, and both of our Christians would have had longer and probably happier lives without us.’ he said tiredly.

‘But she was soft, she felt it was her stupid Christian duty to help others over herself. Despite her resentment for me, and mine of her, she agreed to help my family and for that I want to repay my debt to her. In order to do that I need you to see me.’

‘I do see you.’ Ivar argued.

‘No. You see an old man in strange clothes but you don’t see yourself in me at all do you? It's frustrating because you are the last and most important piece to this complicated puzzle. The Christian, her job was to find us, you and me, now you have to see us. Really look at me and see yourself...she will die if you don’t and the loss of her will drive you mad.’ 

He felt like ripping out his hair in frustration, Ivar had never been this angry. In his youth anger was the backbone of his personality, he was angry because his legs hurt, he was angry he couldn’t talk to anyone other than his brother because he didn’t have any friends, he was always angry. But this was pure rage; red hot and scalding, he was angry because he was terrified.

‘What do you mean she will die?’ 

‘Her body is here where you can see it, but her essence is in the void between the nine worlds and a living person can only stay there a short while before their body lets them go completely. Please if not for me and my family or yourself do it for her.’

For her, all at once his anger left him.

‘J-just look at you?’ he repeated.

‘See me...and look into you.’

Ivar felt like fire ants were covering his entire body, his stomach felt ready to rid itself of the crappy hospital lunch he’d had earlier, his heart felt like it was frozen in ice; and all that paled in comparison to his headache.

He had only met the eyes of the old man for a few seconds and already he wanted nothing more than to look away.

For her.

Ivar dug his nails deeply into the palms of his hand as he held the man’s gaze.

‘There you go, see me...see all we have done.’

Then as if zoomed in like a scene from a movie he could see images in the blue pupils, and what he saw made him want to look away even more.

He saw...a boy with a dirty face it looked like he was trying to pull something, suddenly he felt like there was something leather in his hand and he pulled it back he felt the boy in the eye pull it back and suddenly he struck his hand out with all his might and watched as the boy in the eye was hit in the head by the blade of an axe.

‘No!’ he gasped in horror.

‘Don’t look away, no matter how terrible or how ashamed. Do not look away.’ the viking said, but his voice was different now. It wasn’t as hoarse as before it appeared to be...younger in a way.

The boy faded away and he saw something worse than the boy.

‘Sigurd?’

In the eye there was his brother, his hair long, his clothes strange and he was talking and Ivar wished more than anything that he couldn’t hear what his own brother was saying, but he did, clear as a bell in his mind was his older brother’s voice.

‘It must be hard for you now that your mummy’s dead. Knowing she was the only one who ever really loved you.’ Sigurd said in a strange dialect as he sipped something from a chalice.

Hurt and anger swelled and he felt something wet and thick touch his lip and distantly his mind realized his nose was bleeding heavily, again his arm jerked forward and watched an axe fly and plant itself in his brother's ribs.

‘Sigurd…’ he whimpered as his eyes began to overflow with tears.

If anyone came into this restroom they would see him standing still as a statue, staring into space as his nose bled like a red river and his eyes leaked like faucets.

‘Don’t look away, don’t run from what you have already done.’ 

‘Sigurd...Siggy I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-’ he choked on the lump in his throat, the blood from his nose leaked into his mouth as he spoke and the taste was horrid but it felt nostalgic in a horribly gruesome way.

Again the image in the eyes changed and this one was more than the image it practically sucked him in like a portal.

No longer was he in a hospital restroom; he was in a stone building and there was so much noise, loudest of all was a baby crying. He could recall this, the dream, the one he remembered in the truck that night with (Y/N) the one that made his nose bleed.

This time it was so much more, it felt like his brain was exploding in his skull, he felt an aching throb in his ears but it didn’t compare to the horror he was seeing and hearing.

He could smell burning flesh, feel the heat and as the melted gold poured into the crying man’s mouth; the screams would haunt him until his last breath.

In horror he felt his chest shake in laughter.

Just when Ivar thought he would pass out from the pain in his head he felt something he hadn’t felt in years. His legs were breaking under his weight, but that wasn’t possible, he had titanium bones, they could never break but still he felt it. Even worse so he heard that familiar cracking noise as he fell to the floor.

‘Hold strong, we both know you can take more than this, and there is so much more to see.’ now Ivar was certain the voice he heard wasn’t the voice of an old man.

That was his own voice, and he suddenly processed that he wasn’t being sucked into the eye, but the eye was moving closer to him.

No longer was the phantom standing on crude braces as an old and ragged man. Now he was crawling, using his strong arms to pull himself along, his legs dragging behind him like a useless tail.

More than anything Ivar wanted to look away and see what the face of this man looked like now but he couldn’t.

For her… for (Y/N).

He stilled himself and tried to brace himself for more pain he was sure would come.

He had been right, more pain came and no amount of preparation would have made him ready for it.

A thousand or a million images flashed in the eye going so fast it shouldn’t have been possible to follow each one, but he could. Not only did he see and comprehend each image he felt them.

He saw the light go out in a fat man’s eyes as someone was chopping into his back with an ax, he felt the muscles in his arms ache with the effort it took to stab through the muscle and bones of a man in the heat of battle.

That was when he realized that these images, these senses were all things he’d seen and experienced before.

These were his dreams.

 ‘Yes, you are remembering. That is good, almost done now; look at me.’

At last that horrible eye closed, and Ivar nearly collapsed in relief, but he kept just enough energy to look up at the face that carried the eye.

There was no longer a beard to hide anything from view he could see the face in front of him with complete clarity.

This truly was his face, it was like looking into a mirror but this mirror showed what he looked like before.

‘Finally...you see me.’ He smiled.

[reidingdays]

the miserable ones

an: for moose @homoose, aka one of the loveliest, most talented writers with the goldest of hearts

summary: spencer thinks reader’s out to get his book and shenanigans ensue, as fluffy as a disaster morning can be!

pairing: spencer x gn reader

warnings: broken glass, one curse word

word count: 1k

You know better – you really do – but you’re taking what fun you can out of straining the perfect blend of coffee, dancing around, and whipping a towel around like a rhythm gymnast at the most miserable hour. It’s only as the coffee pot smashhhhes across the countertop that you realise you may need to tone it down at 7:30 in the morning.

“Oh no,” you squeak, placing what remains of the coffee pot upright on the counter, using the towel to sweep the broken glass into the rubbish and praying that Spencer’s slumber remains undisturbed for at least a few more minutes. But while there’s no sign of him just yet, the damage is still extensive in another way. You have to splash through puddles of coffee to the sink to wipe down the kitchen – there’s coffee everywhere. All over the countertops, all over the stack of pancakes, all over the – oh no please not that, not after all the times you’ve –

“Good morning, honey,” Spencer rasps as he stumbles into the kitchen. Crap. He rubs at his sleepy eyes with the heel of his hands, lets out a soft grunt after bumping into the table. Your tummy flips at the sight of him: hopelessly endearing, eyes squinting against the light, soon to be even grumpier at the coffee-saturated loss of one of his most treasured books.

“Mmmfg coffee smells good,” he comments, and you’re seriously questioning his profiling skills because he’s yet to notice the crime scene. On autopilot, he opens the cupboard and fishes out his favourite mug. He stifles a yawn in your hair, wrapping those arms around you from behind and resting his head atop yours while your brain silently spirals.

“Can hear you overthinking,” he mumbles, “too early for that.”

“The coffee. It, um, well, I knocked the pot over. And now we have coffee flavoured pancakes?” You scrunch your nose as he picks his head up to survey the damage.

“Sounds delicious,” Spencer smiles easily, unperturbed, taking the towel from you and cleaning up the spillage. He kisses you softly as he passes, wiping down the fridge. “You okay?”

“What – yeah, I’m fine,” you say.

“Your blink rate just increased.”

There’s that familiar twinkle of humour in his eyes and your shoulders sink in relief. Why did you ever think he’d be upset? You sigh, almost forgetting, when he sees the book –

He stills. You wince. A tattered Les Misérables lies, soaked and pitiful, in a pool of coffee.

It’s excruciatingly silent for several minutes. You half expect a funeral march to begin when he takes it in his hands.

“Well you’ve finally won. I bet Fantine got a shock,” he muses, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.

He lets out a snicker, meeting your eyes across the space. You watch with bated breath as he tentatively lifts the sodden front cover with a finger. A trickle of coffee spills off the cover and splashes onto the floor. There’s a beat in which you both stare at the puddle, and then you both lose it.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” You gasp between laughter. He’s doubled over, forearms resting against the countertop and it’s all he can do to keep himself upright as he laughs.

“Look, here – I can fix it – I can –” you dash over and pat the book uselessly with the towel. Spencer’s crying laughing as he watches, so when you move to wipe his eyes with the damn thing, he throws his head back and cackles.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the thought…” Spencer chuckles, then snatches the hopelessly drenched towel from you. “But, love, what’s this going to fix now?”

He tosses it at you playfully. It smacks you in the face and hits the floor with a splat. Those Supervisory Special Agent instincts kick in at the look on your face; his lips tug to the side, he grabs Les Misérables lest you inflict any more damage and then hightails it out of the kitchen.

“Get back here, genius!”

“Leave Les Misérables alone! Haven’t they been through enough?!” He yells, darting around the couch, cradling the book to his chest.

“It was an accident! And Fantine’s drowning in coffee, she needs medical care!” You bat at him with the towel as you scamper through the living room, hallway, bedroom, bathroom, bathroom, bedroom, hallway, living room.

“Medical care from that thing? I know you’re just out to get her! It’s been years of this kind of behaviour!” Spencer shoots the dirtiest look you’ve ever seen at the towel and you lose it all over again, leaning against the living room wall to steady yourself. He’s not wrong. Throughout your relationship, you can’t count the amount of times you’ve damaged or been damaged by that damn book. He leaves it everywhere, after all, and you’ve stepped on it, tripped over it, even kicked it out of bed after Spencer slept with it. His grin lights up the room as he jogs over and places the book on the radiator beside you.

As your laughter peters out, you rest your head on his shoulder.

“You’re really not upset that I finally ruined your book?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed, the pair of you staring down at the book like it’s a baby in a crib.

He kisses your forehead to smooth the crease between your eyebrows and his large hand finds yours. He makes a face when you press the soggy towel into his palm instead and you let out a peal of laughter when he launches it back into the kitchen.

“Of course not. You invented coffee flavoured pancakes! And besides,” Spencer shrugs, cheeks rosy and smile bashful, “no matter what awful thing you do to one of the greatest books of all time…”

You duck your head, sheepish. “I thought you’d forgotten the time I accidentally ripped that page out.”

“It so was not an accident,” he goads and checks his hip with yours.

“It so was,” you mumble, but you can’t meet his eyes and he smirks triumphantly.

“No matter what awful thing, no matter how many stains or lost pages, I’ll always love this copy,” it’s his turn to be sheepish, “because you got it for me.”

You scrunch your nose, looking up at him. “You remember that?”

He looks at you, incredulous, brown eyes shining in sincerity. “I remember that 1253 days ago we met and I threw out my old copy.”

You nuzzle into his neck to hide your smile.

“Why? Was it the wrong edition?” You tease, kissing just under his ear.

Spencer smiles, heart leaping up to his throat – which he knows is impossible, but impossible things happen on the daily and also happen just now, as your teeth graze his ear and you allow him to hold you. His arms wrap around you tighter to tug you into his chest. “No. I just knew I’d never need another. And while this story’s about the miserable ones, ours never will be.”

[hobis-hope94]

~The Middle Winchester 9~

AN: next part is gonna be the last. Sorry this part took so long to write!

SLIGHT SUPERNATURAL SPOILER SO IF YOU ARE NEW PLEASE DO NOT READ ON.

Part 8 here:

the middle winchester 8

Paring: Bucky x Winchester!F!Reader

Characters: Y/N Winchester, Crowley, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester & Steve Rogers. The other avengers and Garth Fitzgerald IV are mentioned.

Warning: mentions of reader not taking care of herself, same with Bucky, mentions of frustration, hints of depression from reader, implied smut, crying, swearing and angst with a fluffy ending.

(gifs are not mine):

With the fear of Garth being dead, the fear you can’t go back to the compound or be with your brothers because you no longer trusted them.

You just drifted, from motel to motel. Getting any and all hunts, taking out your frustration and anger on whatever ghost demon vampire or werewolf -especially werewolf- you could get your hands on.

You were dirty. You were tired. You were hungry. You were angry. You were mourning. For a while you had everything, then in a split second.

You had nothing.

——

Your brothers and the avengers were going crazy.

“Y/N. Please just answer this phone call. We can work everything out, I promise nobody’s in danger,” Bucky whimpered, after leaving you his 1,000th phone call.

Bucky hung up then tossed his phone aside. He ran his hands over his face, the coldness of the metallic arm soothed him, but it made him miss you. You loved his metallic arm. You were the reason he hasn’t tried to hack it off. You treating it like a normal arm made all the difference to him.

“Hey,” Dean’s voice broke Bucky’s thoughts.

Bucky stood up and began backing away, again, unconsciously touching his wound.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry I nearly killed you. I was …. All my life people I love die. They die on a daily basis. I can’t risk losing Y/N or Sammy. I was so blinded by the need to keep my brother and sister safe that I …lost control. I’m truly sorry, Sargent Barnes. I didn’t realise how much you truly love my twin,” Dean said slowly.

Bucky looked at him.

“I forgive you,” Bucky said slowly, Dean stared at him. “I’m used to people being scared of me and calling me a freak. And firing at me ….so ….yeah.” He shrugged.

Dean felt guilty. For the first time, Dean saw the man that you saw. Dean saw James Buchanan Barnes. He was going to make things right between him and Bucky.

———

“All alone, huh?” A voice made you jump.

You turned to see Crowley, you rolled your eyes.

“Go to hell,” you said, kicking your feet.

“Been there done that,” Crowley shrugged.

You were sat at the edge of a dock, your legs dangling in the water. You took your shoes off to feel the water against your skin. Crowley sat next to you.

“You make a move, mr, and I’ll push you in the water,” you said, pointing your finger at him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Crowley said. “Why are you out here all alone?” He asked.

“Why do you care?” You asked.

“I don’t. Not really. Just weird seeing a solo Winchester,” Crowley shrugged.

“Get used to it,” you laughed softly. “I’m all alone now,” you sighed.

Crowley looked at you. Not with a sorrow look but a pity look.

“What do you want Crowley?” You asked, noticing he had gone quiet.

“Dean sent me to find you,” he admitted, looking away from you.

“No way in hell am I going back to them. Dean can’t be trusted, Bucky’s in danger-“ you said swinging your legs back to the service.

“All of them are worried about you, Mother Hen,” Crowley said as you put your shoes back on.

You tilted your head at his nickname.

“Well. Sam’s moose. Dean’s squirrel. I thought I’d give you one,” Crowley shrugged as you both stood up.

“…mother hen?” You said, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Well. Yes,” Crowley said. “I could try something else. ….rabbit? Goose? Chicken? Pi-“

“Stop….naming farmyard animals, please. We’re not in George Orwell’s animal farm,” you said, stopping him at the last one.

Crowley gave you a small smile.

“They truly are worried about you,” Crowley said gently. “They’re all losing their minds. I think your boyfriend might have lost his already,” he added.

“…Bucky’s worried about me?” You asked slowly.

“Very much so,” Crowley said softly.

“Fine. I’ll come back,” you sighed, your stomach growled at you. You didn’t realise you had gone a long time without a proper meal.

Crowley gave you another small smile.

“You drove here?” You asked as he stood next to a car.

“No. We’re going to ste-“ Crowley said.

“Ah! No. We’re not. I’ve got money. We can get the subway,” you said stopping Crowley from smashing the windows of a very nice old looking car.

——

Back at the compound, everyone was very much going crazy with worry for your safety and whereabouts.

“Great. Now we can’t get in touch with Garth,” Sam, your brother, huffed hanging up the phone.

“Buck. You need to calm down,” Steve said gently seeing Bucky loose all colour in his skin, barely eating or taking care of himself broke Steve.

“She’s been gone for five weeks, Steve. I can’t … think straight,” Bucky said, running his hands through his greasy hair, almost tugging at it in frustration.

“Please, Buck. Y/N would hate to see you-“ Steve said.

“Hello boys ….Ladies,” Crowley’s voice came.

“Did you find her?!” Dean asked, running over to him.

“Is she okay?” Sam asked, running over to him.

Suddenly a swarm of avengers ran over to Crowley all asking questions at once.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Crowley asked, stepping aside to revel you.

You stood, teary eyed, behind Crowley. Everyone stared at you. You almost looked worse than Bucky. Bucky stood at the back of the crowd.

“Y/N. You nearly gave us all heart attacks,” Dean sighed tearfully, clutching his heart.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered. “I thought I was the cause of everyone fighting…” you added tearfully, your eyes scanning for Bucky in a sea of worried faces.

“Thank god you’re alright,” Sam, your brother, said, going over to you and giving you one of his bone crushing hugs.

You softly hugged him back. One by one, each avenger hugged you, until there was two people remaining.

“Y/N. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am and I don’t expect you to forgive me. I really don’t. I just couldn’t face losing you and I didn’t think that keeping you away from someone I thought to be dangerous, was causing more danger to you,” Dean said gently as the others - apart from Bucky - had left.

“It’s okay Dee. I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier. Maybe-“ you sobbed.

“Don’t apologise. You’ve got nothing to apologise for. None of what happened is your fault, it’s all on me,” Dean said gently.

You wrapped your arms around him tightly, he did the same. He kissed the side of your head then pulled away. He smiled at Bucky then left you two alone.

“You scared the shit out of me, doll,” Bucky said, his voice weak.

“Oh baby. I’m so sorry. I thought I was keeping you safe,” you sobbed.

You slowly went over to him, he soon lent into your gentle touch as you placed your hand on his cheek, gently stroking his light stubble.

“How about you shower. Then we eat something, and get some rest, huh?” Bucky asked gently, kissing the inside of your palm as he brought you closer.

“Okay. But only if you’ll join me,” you said, looking at him.

He smiled softly. You both went into your bedroom, shutting the door gently behind you.

[jordanstrophe]

Going Once, Going Twice, part 4

I kid you not, I have re-written this 3 TIMES. I hope I didn’t overlook something *I’m excited to write the next one though*

CW: Whump, Pet Whump, Trauma, Manhandling, Panic Attacks, Anxiety, Restraints, Implied Abuse

Masterlist

Robert pulled up to his home, he glanced at the boy in the back of his truck. Poor thing was exhausted... He was fast asleep in the back, bundled up in his coat with his shackled wrists. He really should have taken those shackles off, but after getting his shoulder bitten, he didn’t want to scare him anymore, or risk losing a finger.

He opened the door as quietly as possible, and gently lifted him in his arms. He didn’t even stir as he was carried into his house. It was one story with a basement, even after his inheritance, he refused to move, as he always loved this place. He only fixed it up a bit and installed a nice kitchen for all his cooking dreams, it was also next to a childhood friend as well, so bonus points. 

He unfortunately didn’t have a spare room, so he was just going to tuck him up in his own bed, and crash in his favorite recliner and call it a night. He pushed open the door to his bedroom with his foot, accidently jostling the man in the process, who slowly blinked to awareness. His eyes shot open. 

Wait, where was he? Was he being carried? Who was carrying him?! 

He let out a yelp, trying desperately to kick his way out of the man’s grasp. “Woah there!” Robert called, as Peter managed to kick his feet out from his arm, but Robert kept a firm hold on his chest. His feet hit the ground and he tried to slink out of the man’s arms, but Robert’s strength kept him held against his chest.  

“Easy, it’s okay! I’m not going to hurt you, calm down!” Robert tried, as Peter cried and struggled. Finally, all the frustration and exhaustion hit him, as he let out one last desperate cry, before falling limp. 

Robert slid down onto his knees with him still in his arms, this was wrong... His first step into his home and this is how he’s being treated. He was manhandling someone who was traumatized. “I.. I’m sorry.” Robert huffed, holding the hyperventilating boy in his arms. “Sshh... It’s okay. I’m going to let you go now. I’m sorry...” He released his grasp, as Peter used whatever energy he had left to scamper away. 

The closest thing was the bed, as his instincts forced him to crawl underneath as far as he could push himself and tried to catch his breath. “Oh no no no... Sweetheart...” Robert sighed, flopping into his chest on the floor, trying to coax the boy out with an outstretched hand.

 “I know you’re scared and exhausted. Trust me, I am too. But I can’t let you sleep under there, please come out so we can get some proper rest, okay?” He knew It probably wouldn’t work, but it was worth a shot. Peter glanced back at him with fearful eyes, too upset to budge from his spot.

Peter hugged himself under the bed. He was being so so disobedient. He couldn’t believe he wasn’t yanked out and beaten half to death for his disrespect. The man paid an unholy amount for him, so why was he being so patient? He felt terrible, and cursed his behavior.

Robert wondered if he should just leave him there for the night and crash himself. But no. He had to take care of this boy now, and he wasn’t going to be lazy about it. He inched over as quietly as he could until he could reach him. He gently placed a hand on his shoulder. The most Peter could react was a very sad little murmur and a flinch. 

“Everything is okay.” He whispered, slowly pulling him closer, and closer. “Can you come out for me?’’ He soothed. Peter gave in, he was tired, and scared, and knew all the man had to do was grab him. 

“I’m s-sorry!” He yelled. He wasn’t going to cry, he was going to be respectful and give his master what was owed. “I’m s-so sorry! I know I’ve been t-terrible for you, I d-didn’t mean t-to... I even bit you, and that’s unforgivable!” He cursed himself.  “Oh sweetheart...” Robert muttered. “You’re not bad, you’re just scared, there’s a difference. You didn’t hurt me either, you just took a chunk out of that coat.” Robert chuckled, brushing the hair from his face. 

He took his hand, as Peter cringed, waiting for a punishment. Instead, the shackles popped off and fell away from his bruised wrists, as Robert tossed them into the trash.  “I.. But-.”  “-Sssh, no buts. It’s off to bed with you now.” He smiled. He took his hand and pulled him up into the bed.

He pushed the heavy blankets down with a knee, and laid him in the plush bed. He whimpered and looked up at him pitifully, clutching the coat to his chest tightly. “It’s alright, you can keep the coat.” Robert smiled. “I’m in the next room if you need anything. Goodnight.” He said, sitting up and turning the light off, before heading straight to his recliner, and passing out himself.  

The unwanted sun rose soon after, Robert crept over and quietly opened the door. Peter was still fast asleep, hugging the coat tightly with a peaceful expression. Thank goodness...

He pondered what to make for breakfast, it was his first morning, technically his first time meeting him too, without him being half asleep, or his teeth sunken into his shoulder... Peter had been through a lot, that much was clear. He was only going to be there for a week, not to his knowledge... But he was going to do his best to make him comfortable and happy.

He cracked some eggs and bacon onto a stove, and even decided last second to also make some pancakes.  After some time, he glanced back at the bedroom. The door was... open!?

“Peter?” Robert called, trying not to let the panic leak in his voice. He ran out of the kitchen towards the open door, but startled himself when he found Peter pressed against the wall, cowering. His face said he had just woken up, but he had some energy now, it seems his fear got turned into curiosity.

He dropped to his knees instantly, still holding the coat in his arms. “Good morning... Master.” He mumbled. It felt so wrong to call someone else master then his previous one. “Good morning.” He smiled, giving himself a moment for the adrenaline to wear off.

“Come on up off the floor. You got up at the perfect time! Breakfast is ready.” Robert lifted him to his feet and steadied him by his arm.

The kitchen was gorgeous, spotless, marble countertops, golden background, hundreds of pots, tools, equipment selectively in their place, and colorful plants lining the windowsill. There was a small table in the center, with a couple of high chairs around it. Robert was a very tall man, so the chairs were quite towering.

Peter looked up at him for confirmation, as Robert nodded with a smile. He tried to hop up onto the chair, but failed a couple of times. “Is it alright if I help you?” Robert asked, as Peter ceased his attempts with embarrassment. He nodded shamefully, as Robert took his arm and gave him a boost up. He set a plate full of delicious smelling food in front of him. He gasped, covering his mouth, glancing up and down between the food and Robert, who gave him a sweet smile. “It’s all yours.” He said.

Every bite was divine, with every bite he felt more and more guilty that he didn’t deserve it. The man paid an unholy amount for him, but was also being so patient with him.

Why?

“So! Peter, is there uhh, any hobbies you like? Something I can get for you?” Robert asked.  “Oh! I like... Being useful, I guess.. Master.” He replied. Robert stopped and glanced up at him. “It’s okay, you don’t have to call me that. It makes me feel like some tyranny.” He laughed. “Is calling me Robert, or Mr. McAllen okay?” He asked.  “O-f course. It’s whatever you prefer, Mr. McAllen.” Using his first name felt wrong on so many levels. 

“Maybe you would like to try painting, or music. I personally love woodcarving. I used to sell some awhile back.” He smiled. 

Yes, yes... He knew it was only a week. But he seemed like such a sweet young man who never got to have fun and express himself. Maybe he should run to the store and buy him a bunch of things, can’t say no until you’ve tried them all!

Oh no.

It was happening.

He was starting to bond with him

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @moose-teeth @ill-eat-you-if-you-cross-me @yet-another-heathen @sillypizzazineoperator @freefallingup13 @alien-octopus

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Thank you for reading!

my brain huuuurtttsss

[angelswatchingover]

Carry On

Yes, it’s another 15x20 fix it fic because we deserved a conversation between Dean and Cas and they all deserved to live! Enjoy this much better ending and soft epilogue.  Read it on AO3

Dean is saying his last goodbye to Sam after being injured on that vampire hunt, but the story doesn't end there. Castiel will always come when Dean is in need.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean is fading quickly. It’s getting harder to keep his head up, there’s a ringing in his ears, and his vision is blurring. This is really it. What a way to go. He didn’t think this would be his last hunt, but he knows that ever since Cas, he’s been distracted and that makes for dangerous conditions even on the easiest of hunts. He thought he was starting to learn to deal with it, too.

It’s been a month since they beat Chuck and he’s only just stopped making excuses to go past Cas’ room in the bunker, standing in the doorway and staring in as if the angel will be there, sitting in his chair reading a book like usual. The hunts have been fewer, which sucks since at least they are a distraction from constantly remembering Cas being brave enough to say, “I love you,” and seeing the look of happiness on his face as that black sludge pulled him away. And he had finally stopped pulling the coat with Cas’ bloody handprint out of his closet each day and just holding it, the last thing that he had left of the angel.

He was going to try to start living, to make Cas’ sacrifice worth it. He was even getting a regular construction job to do between the occasional weekend hunts. And then this. Why the fuck didn’t he duck and grab his machete instead of charging the 400 pound linebacker vamp? He’s definitely wishing he had brought that throwing star right about now.

It doesn’t matter now, though. He can feel that this is it and at least he has had the time to tell Sam how proud of him he is and how much he loves him. Damn, he’s going to miss his baby brother so much! He hopes his heaven memory is the one with Sam and Jack and Cas in the bunker, safe and laughing over pizza and ice cold craft beer. That was the night that he and Cas were the last two awake and before he headed off to bed, he had pulled him into a hug, one that lasted a little longer than usual, the alcohol making him warm and a little uninhibited. He had kissed the crook of Cas’ neck while his face was buried there but thankfully the angel didn’t notice and that moment has lived in his mind since.

If he gets to re-live that night in heaven, well, he thinks maybe it won’t be so bad. But first he needs to make sure Sam will be OK. Damn, he hopes he calls Eileen as soon as he gets out of here and never looks back.

“Hey,” he manages out even though its getting harder to breathe. This is important. “I'm not leaving you. I'm gonna be with you... right here... every day. Every day you're out there and you're li... and you're living and you're fighting, 'cause you... you always keep fighting. You hear me? I'll be there every step. I love you so much. My baby brother. Oh, man. Well, I did not think this would be the day. But it is. It is, and that's... Man... that's okay. I need you to... I need you to promise me. I need you to... to... to tell me... that it's okay. I need you to tell me that it's okay.”

Through big wet tears, Sam struggles out, “You can-“

“Not yet,” comes a gravely and frankly angry voice from behind Sam, a voice he would recognize in the dark: Cas!

Sam’s head turns in shock and he rushes out, “Cas, oh my God, help Dean!”

Then Dean sees Cas, he’s blurry because Dean’s sight is getting fuzzy but he’d recognize that trench coat and those blue eyes full of power and fury anywhere. He brushes past Sam and takes Dean gently by the shoulders.

“Dean, I’m sorry this is going to hurt, but I must get you down to heal you.”

The moment Cas shifts him even the slightest bit, pain rips through him so sharp that he sees stars. “No, no, no, no, no. I can’t, Cas…”

“Trust me, Dean. I’ve got you. Put all of your weight on me.” Cas leans in close so their bodies are touching and Dean doesn’t have to hold himself up. His head falls forward onto Cas’ shoulder and he screams as he is quickly lifted off the rebar and brought to the ground and laid gently on the dirt floor of the barn.

“How are you-“ Dean begins but is cut off by Cas.

“I’ll answer your questions after I heal you.”

Cas cups Dean’s left cheek and he can see the glow and feel the icy cold jolt of grace pulsing into him. But its not like usual where everything heals in an instant. No, Cas has his eyes closed in concentration and is obviously straining to heal him. Dean feels slightly better, it’s actually possible to take a breath now but he knows that he isn’t healed. Everything feels wrong.

“No,” Cas shakes his head, frustrated, “this can’t be. Its not enough!” Cas growls and tries again, this time his hand on Dean’s chest, just over where the rebar would have exited.

“What’s going on?” Sam asks, sounding panicked.

“Its my grace. I don’t… I don’t have enough to heal a wound with this much damage.”

“Since when? You’ve always been able to heal everything before!”

“For a long time now, Sam. My grace has been waning.”

“You can’t let him die! What about Jack?!”

“Jack is how I got here. He is hand’s off but was willing to send me.” Cas looks around, panicked.

Dean knows he doesn’t have much more time and he puts his hand over Cas’, the one still on his chest. “It’s OK, Cas. You did your best. I can go.”

“No! You aren’t dying today, Dean Winchester. You are supposed to live a long life. You have earned it. And I gave everything for you to live.” And there are tears in Cas’ eyes again. He meets Dean’s eyes and freezes and Dean knows that look. A determined Castiel, badass angel, is an unstoppable force.

“Sam, give me a knife.” And of course Sam does immediately, trusting Cas with their lives as usual.

“I need… Dean, please hold on. I’m going to give you what’s left of my grace.”

And before Dean can protest, Cas has drawn the knife across his neck and put his hand over the cut but Dean can see the bright glow of grace piercing through his fingers. It only takes a moment for Cas to collect the stream of grace in his hand and press it into Dean’s chest, directly over his heart. Cas squeezes his eyes shut in concentration as the grace penetrates through Dean’s skin and spreads through his body, nearly instantly healing the wound in his back and insides. It feels like being dunked in an ice bath followed immediately by being wrapped in a toasty warm blanket, the sense of pure comfort and safety is palpable.

He is healed. This isn’t going to be his last day on earth. Holy shit! He’s got more time and he’s about to thank Cas when the angel collapses across his chest as Dean let’s out a grunt and closes his eyes.

Sam rushes over and grabs Dean’s face, “Dean, hey, hey, hey, hey. Are you OK? Look at me!”

“I’m OK, Sammy,” he nearly laughs. “I’m good… I’m good. What hap-”

“Cas… I think he took out his grace to heal you.”

It’s then that it starts to make sense that it feels like there’s a hundred pound weight on his chest. It’s Cas and he isn’t moving. “Help me with him, Sam,” Dean asks and tries to nudge the angel awake but he isn’t budging. Sam checks his pulse and nods to Dean and a wave of relief passes through him as he and Sam work to move Cas to the side. He is still out cold through the whole ordeal.

Dean gets to his feet, a bit wobbly and isn’t even steady yet when he finds his arms full of a crying moose. “Jesus, Dean, I thought that was it. I thought I lost you!”

“Me t- too,” Dean gets out, his voice catching as he realizes how close they came to losing each other.  And Dean finds that he can’t stop the tears that are now spilling over. “Maybe I’m getting too old and slow for this job.”

He can feel Sam laugh before he steps back a bit from the hug with his hands still on Dean’s shoulders. “We just took on 5 vampires, and one of them was the size of Gunner Lawless. Trust me, it has nothing to do with age.”

And a laugh bubbles up in Dean too. He can’t believe it. He just escaped death yet again. Maybe it is time to slow down a bit now that he doesn’t have Chuck’s plot armor anymore. But that’s a thought for later. Right now, they’ve got a barn full of headless corpses and a passed-out angel to deal with.

“What… what did Cas do?” He asks Sam as he kneels down over the angel and tries to rouse him with one hand tapping his cheek and the other his chest. But he gets nothing but a soft moan.

“I don’t know, Dean. It looked like, like he cut out his grace and shoved it into your chest. Do you think he’s still an angel?”

“Jesus, I don’t know man. I’m going to get him to the car. What do you say we just torch this whole barn and call it a night?”

“I’ll get the gasoline.”

Cas isn’t helping him at all so he has to lean down and grab an arm and a leg and fireman carry him to the car and fuck if he isn’t a lot heavier than he looks. He deposits him in the back seat and Cas’ head falls back against the seat. Dean checks that Sam isn’t watching and turns back to Cas.

“What did you do, you stupid son-of-a-bitch?” He whispers and lets himself indulge in touching the other man, gently brushing his hair off his forehead. This is the first chance he has had to actually look at Cas since he told him he loved him a few weeks ago then got sucked away by black goo. Dean didn’t think he would ever get to see him again and he’s been burying all of those feelings deep since then. But now, Cas to just turns up out of the blue and gives up his grace. Now what? He can barely think through today’s adrenaline rush, the fear, saying goodbye to Sammy, getting Cas back, and now he can’t even talk to the guy. “You better be OK, you hear me?”

“OK, let’s get out of here. That ambulance I called is going to be here any moment,” Sam says as he walks towards the Impala with an empty gas can in his hand and Dean snaps his hand back to his side. He stands up and sees orange flames licking up the sides of the barn behind him. They’ll call it in to 911 once they are far enough away and are sure the bodies are pretty well burned so the ambulance isn’t the only first responder to come.

------

On the drive back to the hotel, Sam’s pretty sure Dean is going to crash the Impala since he has spent more time looking in the rear view mirror at Cas than he has on the road. He’s quiet for a long time, but the white knuckles on the steering wheel give away that something is wrong. Not that Sam is much better. It’s been at least half an hour and he can still feel a tremble in his hands. He nearly watched Dean die… again. But this time felt different. This time felt like it. With Chuck and Billie out of the picture and Jack being hands off, he didn’t think there was anyone left to call, any power left that would help a Winchester.

He should have known even death itself couldn’t keep Castiel away when Dean is in danger.

Cas is back. His friend. His brother. And of course, Dean’s -- who knows – sometimes it feels like more than best friend. Those two have been through so much for each other and died for each other and Sam has never forgotten that Cas told him that he and Dean have a profound bond, whatever that means. Regardless, Cas did something he hadn’t seen before. It looked like he took out his own grace. Man, he hopes he’s OK. Dean doesn’t look like he’ll handle another loss well.

“OK, what the hell is going on?” Dean stage whispers, taking Sam out of his thoughts. “How the hell did he get back? I mean he said that the Empty was so powerful he was going to be stuck there forever.”

“I don’t know.”

“I mean really, how long has he even been out of there? You’d think he could at least give us a call and let us know he’s OK.”

“Yeah, I guess. But probably no cell service in heaven or wherever.”

Dean takes time out from staring at Cas to give Sam a death stare. “Dude just let us think he was gone forever. That’s not cool.”

“I wonder if he’s back for good.”

“Yeah… I wonder,” Dean answers quietly and goes back to focusing on the road.

They drive in silence for another few minutes before Sam interrupts the quiet. “Dean, that back there, in the barn… I’m… pretty shaken, you know? You almost died and I… I want us to live.”

“Not like I don’t want to live too, Sam. But I always figured I’d go out bloody.”

“But that’s just it, Dean. We don’t have to. You’ve seen what’s going on. The hunts, there are less of them. I mean, with angels and demons out of the mix, well, that was half our problems. I’m thinking… maybe we don’t have to just hunt.”

Dean looks at Sam with an expression he can’t read but after a few moments, it softens and he answers, “I was kind of thinking the same thing, actually. I mean I always want to hunt. You know, saving people, it’s… it’s what we do it’s the one thing I know I’m good at. But we know so many other hunters now and… and maybe it doesn’t need to always be us, you know?”

“Exactly! I’ve been thinking. With Eileen moving in next week and Cas back, what if we switch our focus? Like the Men of Letters, we can teach people the lore and help make hunting better and safer.” He’s actually excited about this. He was so broken after what happened to the hunters from the apocalypse world, but maybe it’s time to try again now that it’s just this universe and there are no pissed off archangels after them.

Dean huffs a laugh and smirks, “Sam, I haven’t told you yet but I applied for a job, a real one, leading a construction crew. I figured since things were getting slow I might try to live like a real person for a while. I’m not quitting hunting but yeah lets… lets live!”

Back at the hotel, they are greeted by Miracle, who immediately jumps into Dean’s arms as Dean mumbles into his fur, “Got someone for you to meet, buddy.” And once they get a still comatose Cas onto a bed with the dog curled up by his feet standing guard, Dean and Sam step outside with a couple of beers in each hand.

After a few silent sips, Sam ventures, “So… are you OK?”

Dean gives him a look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean Cas is back and maybe human and you seem… I don’t know… off.”

Dean makes a face like he’s thinking really hard then gulps down the rest of his beer. Finally, after a drawn-out silence he begins, “Sam, there’s something I didn’t tell you about when Cas… when he died… before.”

“What is it?”

“When Billie was coming for me she was- she was doing something to my heart. She was killing me but Cas, he… he got me to the storeroom and he made a sigil to hold her off. But Sam, we were done for. It was only a matter of time before she got through. And Cas said some shit and that’s what made the Empty come for him.”

“What did he say, Dean?”

After a long pause where Sam thinks Dean isn’t going to answer, he finally continues, “He said he couldn’t have what he wanted but he could be happy with just saying it. Like what the fuck does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, Dean. What did he say that made him happy?”

Dean just shakes his head and rubs his eyes but not before Sam notices them filling with tears ready to spill over.

Finally, Dean turns away from him to face the parking lot, the darkness hiding the emotion on his face. “He’s so stupid, man. Like he didn’t know what he was saying. How could he? I don’t even know what he meant.”

Sam wants to ask but he knows its best to let Dean work through this and be patient as he waits for him to be ready to talk.

“He said… Cas, he said I taught him how to care and that… that he loved me.”

“Of course he loves you, Dean. You’re his best friend and we’re his family.”

Dean shakes his head certainly. “No, Sam. I… I don’t think he meant it like that.”

Oh. Oh.

“Well that… that makes sense, actually.”

Turning on hid Dean growls, “How does that make any sense?”

“Remember what Chuck said? That this Cas was the only version of himself that rebelled, that helped us, and stayed with us and basically changed the course of history? Dean, that… that takes a lot of love.”

“But he’s an angel. Like, I don’t even know if their definition of… you know… is the same as ours.”

Sam huffs a small laugh, “Cas has never been like other angels though, has he? I think he knew exactly what he was saying. The question is, what do you think about it?”

Dean drags a hand down over his face, “I don’t know, man. He’s my best friend, you know?”

“He’s one of my best friends too, but I don’t think that’s what we’re talking about, here.”

“What if.. what if I’m reading into this whole thing and he just meant that he loves us like, like family?”

Sam shrugs, “Maybe, but I’m not sure that’s really enough to change our universe and rebel against Chuck’s writings and summon the Empty. I guess you’re going to have to have a conversation with him and find out.”

“Yeah… yeah,” Dean answers, distracted. It feels like the end of the conversation so Sam turns towards the motel room to go in and check on their friend before Dean grabs his arm. “What if… what if I might feel… that… about him?”

Sam smiles at his dumb brother, “Then I’d say both of you are very lucky and found something special. We don’t get a lot of wins in this life, Dean. That’s why I never gave up on Eileen. When you find something good and real, hold onto it. And I’d say both of you have earned some happiness.”

Dean just nods his head, looking thoughtful before finally looking away and quietly answering, “Thanks, Sammy.”

It’s then that they hear a groan from inside the room and they both briefly make eye contact before rushing in. Dean, of course immediately sits on the edge of the bed trying his best not to touch Cas while Sam stands beside him seeing if their friend will rouse.

-----

When Castiel wakes up the first thing he notices is pain. He’s used to pain, but his grace always dulled the nerve endings so that all of this sensation was greatly muted. It takes him a moment to recall why his grace isn’t working and then he remembers that he used what was left of it to heal Dean. He’s human again and this time his grace isn’t just stored away in a vile in a library. No, the last of it was used up (except the small remnant that will always live with him, integrated into his vessel – no, not his vessel, his body). He concentrates for a moment to figure out where the pain is coming from and if there is any permanent damage that he needs to be concerned about.

All of his organs seem to be in working order but there is a dull ache through his entire body, like it had been thrown against a wall and all of his muscles are bruised. He realizes this is from extracting the grace out of every cell and concentrating it into one ball of cosmic energy that he drew out through his neck. He had to use every muscle in his body to focus and force the foreign grace into Dean. Dean! He lost consciousness before he saw if his friend was healed. He doesn’t even know if he is alive or dead. He immediately moves to open his eyes, to get up and find out and when he does he lets out a groan from the pain and the light shining into his eyes giving him a headache.

But within seconds he has his answer, and he feels a relief wash over him as Dean sits down next to him. Dean: alive, healthy, healed, and looking very concerned.

“Hey, hey, Cas. You with us?” He asks gently.

Castiel looks around the room quickly then back to Dean. “I… yes, I’m with you and you’re… it worked. You’re alive?” He finds his hand moving to touch Dean on its own, resting on his friend’s upper arm soliciting the slightest smile from Dean.

“Yeah, man I’m good as new. But what the hell happened back there? What did you do? Where did you even come from?”

Castiel shifts up to a sitting position, adjusts the pillows and lets himself sit back against them while something golden catches his eye, movement at the foot of the bed. He squints at the big ball of fur and asks, “Why is there a dog here?”

The dog in question walks up to Castiel and begins sniffing at him, tail wagging furiously and he cautiously reaches out and pets the animal behind it’s ears. When he looks back at Dean the man has a grin widening on his face, “Cas, meet Miracle. He’s ours and I think he likes you.”

The dog lets out a small whine and Sam answers, “And I also think he needs to go out. Guys, I’ll take him for a walk and be back shortly. Cas, I’m so glad you are back. I’ve missed you.”

He steps forward and wraps Castiel in a hug and he answers, “I’ve missed you too, Sam.” And Castiel can’t stop the smile on his face as he realizes how happy he is to see his good friend again. Sam then takes Miracle outside and leaves Dean and Castiel alone. He can’t bring himself to look into Dean’s eyes, so he sits in silence, staring at the stained brown and yellow patterned bedspread.

Dean clears his throat and begins, “Ok, man. Now I need some answers. What’s going on? How are you even here?”

“Jack. He pulled me and some of the other angels from the Empty and put the entity back to sleep. Many of my brethren chose to remain at rest but some were returned to heaven. Jack and I, we have been leading the rebuilding. We are changing it, Dean. Its no longer a place where each person re-lives their memories. It’s open and free, a place where souls can rest and seek greater fulfillment. I was building it with you in mind. I didn’t expect you to be arriving so soon, though.”

He says this last accusing, angry and finally makes eye contact with Dean.

“Hey, man, I wasn’t exactly planning to be taken out by vamp-mimes in Canton freaking Ohio today.”

“You need to be more careful.”

“Yeah, I guess maybe I do. But that still doesn’t answer the question. How did you get to me? Did you get your wings back?”

“No, our wings are… I think Jack wanted angels to stay in heaven and not interfere on earth so he didn’t restore our wings. Our work is now in heaven, restoring it, re-creating it, and protecting the souls there. But I could feel your distress so I asked him to send me to you. I knew I wouldn’t be able to return to heaven.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean fumes.

“It’s alright, Dean. I would prefer to be here… if you will have me.”

“If I’ll have… of course you can stay, you dumbass. But I’m still pissed you left like you did.” Dean breaks eye contact, eyes drifting down to where their thighs are nearly touching, his right hand coming up to scratch the side of his neck before he suddenly leans forward and wraps Castiel in a hug. “I’ve missed you, you know?” Dean breathes into his neck.

“And I, you, Dean,” Castiel answers, wrapping his arms tightly around his friend.

The hug lasts just a bit longer than Dean’s usually do but Castiel isn’t complaining. He hasn’t felt this happy since he spoke his truth to the man several earth weeks ago. It’s been much longer in heaven, but time doesn’t exist there in a linear sense so it feels like a very long time to him. Dean takes a deep breath and separates them but keeps his hands on Castiel’s shoulders and looks him deep in his eyes. Castiel is lost for a moment in the beautiful sea of green, sparkling with unfallen tears.

“Cas, your grace. What did you do with it that saved me?”

“You were going to die, and I… I wasn’t powerful enough to heal you. My grace has been waning for a long time and I couldn’t… I couldn’t watch you die. I knew the only way was to give you directly what grace I had left.”

Dean is shaking his head looking stunned and sad and his mouth opens like he wants to protest.

“Dean, it was my choice, one that I don’t regret.”

“But I’m not-“

“Don’t tell me you aren’t worth it. There will never be a moment when you aren’t worth saving.”

Dean huffs, head shaking again. “Thanks, Cas. I know I don’t say it enough but thanks… for everything.”

They sit in silence for a moment, neither ready to break eye contact or the gravity of the moment. Finally, Dean looks away. “So, what does this mean. Are you human now?”

“Essentially. What residual grace I have left isn’t enough to give me any powers. I’ll live a human life and I’ll age and die.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. That was such a stupid way to get hurt and you gave up your grace for me? I’m… I’m so sorry, Cas.” Dean puts his hand over Castiel’s, an obvious plea for forgiveness.

Castiel is shocked for a moment. Hand holding isn’t something he knows Dean is comfortable with and even though he told Dean that he is in love with him, he doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable. He will be satisfied being the hunter’s friend since he knows that Dean could never love him back the same way.

“Cas, man, I need to say something here. It’s about what… what you said before the Empty.”

“That doesn’t need to change anything between us. I just needed you to know how I felt.”

“You were wrong, you know.” Castiel squints and tilts his head, trying to figure out what Dean means, what he was wrong about. And Dean smiles at him, fond and affectionate. “To think you can’t have what you want. How do you even know if you don’t try?”

“Dean, I guess I was too ambiguous. When I said that I loved you, I meant that I am in love with you and what I want is to be with you, always. Were it my choice, you would be my partner, my friend, my lover, and my soul mate. But I know that you don’t feel the same and that’s okay. I’m satisfied with just being able to tell you that.”

“Well, what if I’m not satisfied with that? What if you fucking off like that without even giving me a chance to respond was pretty messed up? Cause here’s the thing, Cas.” Dean swallows and takes a large breath, obviously gearing up to say something difficult and important. “You know how you said that I’m, you know, good? Well, man, you need to believe that you are too. Cas, half the time I was only able to stand up and fight because you and Sam believed in me. You, fighting with us and for us… for me, is what changed everything. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had and I lo… I love you too, Cas. So that thing that you think you can’t have… what if we give it a shot?”

Castiel can feel his eyes becoming misted over and he can barely believe what he is hearing, that Dean could possibly be in love with him too. He had never considered the possibility that Dean could love him, let alone love the male body that has become his own. But here he is, sitting close to Dean, with his hand warm under Dean’s and the hunter’s eyes looking at him with earnestness, fear, and a pleading.

Castiel slowly nods and watches a fond smile build on Dean’s face. “Yeah?” He asks, “Do you wanna try… a kiss?”

“Yes, please,” Castiel breathes out soft and solemn. And Dean brings a hand up to his cheek and softly caresses down to his neck and gently tilts his head and pulls him in until their lips meet. It’s short, just a soft caress but the thrill of it is nearly too much to bear.

Dean pulls back and rests their foreheads together. “I never thought this would be something we could have but, Cas, we beat God. We’re free now and I just wanna have a life that’s mine.” Dean pulls back a bit but stays close, their faces only inches apart. “And I don’t usually do the whole relationship thing so I don’t even know if I’m going to be any good at it, but I’ll try, for you.”

“We’ll figure it out together. But first, can we do that again?” He asks, the slightest smirk on his face.

And Dean growls, “Hell yeah,” and dives in for another kiss, this one a lot less innocent than their first. Dean deepens the kiss, one hand wrapping around Cas’ back and the other threading through the hair on the back of Castiel’s head, giving him better control to pour his feelings into the kiss. Cas lets Dean take the lead, he can feel the hunter’s desperation and wants to give him everything he needs. Dean makes a low, satisfied sound and Castiel’s insides do a flip because he never imagined that sound would be because of him.

Just as their hands begin groping at eachother, Sam returns.

“Oh… oh, man, sorry guys,” he says awkwardly standing in the doorway.

Dean pulls back but keeps his hands on Cas’ jaw and smiles, secretive and just for him.

“So… uh, it looks like you guys figured things out.”

Dean laughs, a free bubbly sound and tells his brother, “Yeah, Sammy, it took a while, but I think we finally both know what we want.”

-------

Sam takes the whole thing in stride, barely even acting surprised and when Dean asks him why, Sam just rolls his eyes and says that he has watched his brother and his angel dance around this for years just waiting for them to figure it out. And when Dean protests that Cas is a dude, Sam gently reminds him of his crushes on Dr. Sexy and Gunner Lawless and his fling with Lee. Dean looks at him shocked, growling that Lee could have kept his mouth shut but Sam just tells him no one ever had to tell him because he had eyes. Dean shakes his head, tells him to shut up, and smirks at him over his beer bottle.

Life in the bunker with the four of them barely feels like an adjustment. It’s so easy for Cas to move into Dean’s room and fall into a routine. Dean gets that construction job and Sam, Cas, and Eileen go to work on solidifying the hunter network. Charlie and Stevie come by to help install a phone system so that they can dispatch and play FBI leaders when others need it. Dean jokes that they are becoming Hunter Corp and even gets some business advice from their counterparts who are still living it up in Brazil, which never won’t be weird.

They still pick up hunts themselves, sometimes just Sam and Dean, leaving Cas and Eileen to man the bunker. With Cas being fluent in ASL, they find themselves having secret conversations and making each other laugh, to the chagrin of their partners who just know it’s about them. Other times Dean will grab Cas and hit the road for a hunt, usually picked because it’s close to something he wants to see. They took care of a wendigo in Arizona so that they could stand on the edge of the Grand Canyon and the four of them killed a dragon living in a cave in California and spent the next week enjoying the ocean, toes in the sand, fingers entwined, and laughing at Miracle as he frolicks in the waves. Cas spens days kissing all of the new freckles that appear across Deans face and body from all that sun.

The Society of Letters, as they rename it at Charlie’s request, flourishes. Sam is a natural leader and they develop a rotation where different hunters will spend a week or two at a time in the bunker, manning the phones and dispatching cases. It also becomes a resting stop for hunters who, like Sam and Dean for so many years, don’t really have a home and just travel from case to case. The infirmary becomes well stocked and they hire Alex on full time to take care of injured hunters.

Dean loves it at first. He gets to see all of his friends. Claire and Kaia, Donna and Jodi, Caesar and Jesse, Garth and Bess. They all take shifts and his life is full of friends and family. Eventually, though, he is tired of not being able to roam around in his robe or not being able to pin Cas to map table and have his way with him. There are just always people coming and going in his home.

Two years in, he and Cas move out to a small craftsman on a lake about 10 miles from the bunker. It’s close enough that they can see Sam and Eileen whenever they want but far enough to be quiet and all theirs. It has a small pier for Dean to fish off of and a big yard for Miracle to chase squirrels. The garage is big enough for Dean to work on Baby and for Cas to park Dorothy’s bike, which has become his preferred method of transportation. Cas has beehives and a garden and Dean can’t stop watching him in his sun hat with his hands in the dirt and his heart still skips a beat sometimes just knowing that Cas is his. He gets a job teaching foreign languages at a local community college and damn if he isn’t the hottest professor Dean’s ever seen in his vests and sweaters.

One day he slips a ring on Cas’ finger after amazing adrenaline-filled post-hunt sex in a musty motel room outside of Des Moines. They get married in their back yard, fairy lights twinkling in the trees and the sun setting over the lake, bathing the scene in golden light. There is no priest or official, just Dean and Cas promising their lives to each other as they stare into each other’s misty eyes. The rest of the world seems to disappear. Afterwards, 20 or so guests hover around the picnic tables covered with pot luck dishes and dance to the tinny music coming from a table top speaker in the clearing surrounded by folding chairs. Dean sways slowly with Cas as he whispers, “I love you, Castiel Winchester,” in his ear.

Sam and Eileen move out a year later when she announces at Christmas dinner that they are having a baby. They too stay close, finding a home in an older suburban neighborhood with huge trees in the yard for the kids to climb and neighborhood children always blocking the road with their street hockey games. They sold some of the Men of Letters cars to buy the house and now the bunker’s garage is actually functional for the hunters coming and going. They both keep working in the bunker as leaders of the Society of Hunters, but they stop going on hunts and focus on raising the kids.

And so life goes on as it does, full of celebrations and tears, births and deaths, hunts and holidays, victories and losses. Dean and Cas still fight, bickering over things big and small. Cas will always be too stubborn and Dean too controlling. And when things get bad, Dean fumes as Cas takes off on Dorothy’s bike to get away from it all. But he learns that Cas will always return to him and they get better and making up, at talking, and at listening as the years roll by.

Dean dies on a Tuesday. It was the bacon that got him after all, a heart attack at the end of a long life. Sam smiles at the irony and they give him a hunter’s funeral. Sam is surrounded by his friends and his growing family that now includes four grandchildren. Led Zeppelin plays and everyone toasts Dean as the drinks and stories flow freely. There is laughter and joy as his life is celebrated and Sam thinks this is exactly what Dean would have wanted. Cas never leaves his seat by the fire until the last embers have burned away. Sam knows Cas won’t be far behind Dean, his health is ailing too and they never did do well without each other.

“Hey, Cas, how are you doing?” Sam asks, bringing a drink over to his brother-in-law.

“I’m OK, thank you,” he answers, adjusting the blanket that Claire had placed over his lap. “I know where Dean is and I promise you, he’s happy. He’ll be greeted by Bobby and Mary and Charlie and we even planned a reception for him at the Roadhouse. I think even Jack will be there.”

Cas closes his eyes and tips his face to the sky, breathing in and he looks peaceful.  Sam sits down next to him, groaning a bit at the arthritis that has set into his old joints.

“I’m so grateful for you, Cas. You made him happy for all these years and even prepared heaven for him.” Sam feels a tear trickle down his face. “I’m just going to miss him so much!”

“I miss him already, but we will all be together again soon. You and Dean are the best humans I have ever known. What we did together, we have earned eternal peace and fulfillment.” Cas finally turns to him, smiling. “We did it, Sam. We wrote our own story and it was good.”

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Monsters and mushrooms

Tags:  @salamancialilypad  @whumpfigure @albino-whumpee @comfy-whumpee  @ashintheairlikesnow   @haro-whumps   @moose-teeth @vickytokio​ @yet-another-heathen​ @orchidscript

A Nature fun fact: Bioluminescent mushrooms do exist actually and snails have the habit to foam when distressed in order to deter predators and protect their soft body from tiny satans like ants.

Chapter 4

CW: emotional overload, negative stimming, fear of abandonment, hints at past abusive parent

Sahar hasted up to the farm, stumbling on the crooked steps.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to cry but he’d forgotten how to stop and the world around him dissolved into a melted aquarelle painting of leaves and grass and roots as he stormed past the house. 

He wedged himself between the root and the old stump they chop firewood on, eyes fixed on the axe still rammed inside, his back hitting the root over and over and over again, while he purged all the unwanted feelings from his body through movement. 

There would be bruises tomorrow, Sahar thought when his violent rocking finally slowed into a gentle rhythm.

His lips trembled around one long shaky exhale and his tears finally subsided. Their tracks were only crusty streaks of salt water now, not overwhelming aches.

Sometimes, Sahar hated his body, hated it for being overwhelmed by the stupidest things, hated to have a brain full of misfiring neurons at war with themselves. A brain that made it unbelievably more difficult to exist, as what he was, in this world.

Maybe this was some kind of divine punishment.

But for what?

“Sahar?” Moira’s head peeked over the root and her worried face peered down at his cowering form. “There you are, sweetheart.”

He didn’t meet her eyes, only tugged his knees tight to his chest, ready to hide his face from whatever scolding was to come.

There had always been reprehension when he hadn’t been able to behave himself. Until all of his mother’s angry words hadn’t been enough and she’d abandoned him. At long last. 

Ugly icky fear gnawed away at his insides, a sharp toothed beast he desperately wanted to banish but couldn’t. He rocked up against the root once more. Let his shoulder blades collide with it until he  felt the scratch of rough bark through his grey linen shirt.  

Sometimes his thoughts paused, stayed on safe routes and away from the maelstroms of his ever racing mind when he rocked or tapped or hummed enough. But now was no such time. .

Sahar’s thoughts spun and spiraled. Crashed violently into one another on their collision curses.

Please don’t throw me out. Away. I can behave. I can be disciplined. I promise. I promise. I promise. Please!

The curtain closed and left the window dark.

“Sahar?”

Wait.

There were no curtains here.  And no city streets. No concrete roads or bleeding knees.

Only warm earth under his fingertips. 

A long grass blade brushed his calf and Sahar closed his eyes to focus on the barely there tickle against his skin. The expansion of his ribcage, how it filled with the lavender scented air, inherent to his home, on every inhale and his eyes fluttered open.

“Yeah. I’m here.”

Here. Here. Here. And I can stay.

Moira began to heave Asmodea over the root with a loud huff that had Sahar instantly uncurl and twist around to take the snail with a firm, gentle grip from her arms. The snail immediately clung onto him as best as her soft slimy body allowed, wiggling in exasperated little waves until Sahar finally sat back down and put her over his lap.

“There, there baby. There you you you, there you  go.”

He couldn’t help but smile as Asmodea draped herself flat over his legs, making no move to retreat into her shining shell. It’s brown and black stripes still shimmered from the shower Sahar had given her yesterday. 

“Sahar? Can you listen to me?”

Hunching protectively over Asmodea, he gave a hesitant nod.  “Yes.”

Moira didn’t like it when she had to repeat herself. It made her livid when he or Ansgar ended up absorbed in one-

Ansgar.

Something hot and heavy lodged itself in Sahar’s throat at the memory of his furious gaze. Ansgar had never looked at him like this, ever before, but Sahar realized why, now, after he had a moment to collect his racing thoughts, to calm his hammering heart.  He really had been bad. Immature, thoughtless, utterly ludicrous.

But even so he knew. God how he knew.

Even after everything-

“Ansgar and Eric persuaded the… headhunter, to try his luck up in Berlin.” Moira began, lips pursed in displeasure. “Your house arrest remains nevertheless. Don’t give me that look. You’ve been irresponsible and ill-mannered, young man. No matter how good a reason you may think you had, you have to control yourself.”

A protest burned on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed the sizzle of anger down, buried it deep inside himself where all his other unsafe emotions were banished.

“I know. I I- I’m sorry.”

Moira shook her head with a sigh, grey curls swishing softly from side to side. “Just be better from now on and stay put for the next few days.  No strolling through the farm woods either.”

His fingers began to tap an anxious rhythm onto Asmodea’s shell, while her body pulsed in soothing waves over his thighs. One of her eyes gently nudged his forearm.

“What, uhm what, but if if if one of the snails, if one  gets lost and-“

Moira’s strict tone nipped his tender try at backtalk at the bud, rendering him silent for good.

“Ansgar and I will take care of that then. I have to go now. The others already left to check the InD-Unit’s for a possible breakthrough. I don’t trust one word out of this guy’s mouth, and I expect you to stay close to the house. Did I make myself clear?”

The scar on his arm stretched uncomfortably as he curled tighter around Asmodea, desperate for his friend’s silent support. Their soft body wiggled gently in response.

“Yes, ma’am.”

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

“We gonna go pick glowy shrooms! Glowy shrooms! Glowy shrooms!”

Mara shrieked, running in circles around Charlotte, a woven basket clutched tightly in her small brown hands. Her yellow hairband fluttered and the ‘thud thud thud’ of her prosthetic leg got drowned out by the other children’s laughter, hot on her heels in a tumultuous chase for the basket.

A small pale boy broke out into a bright grin as he caught himself from stumbling over the hem of his pants, way too long for his small, stubby legs.

“Did Julian steal Hanne’s clothes again?” Kaja emerged from one of the orphanage’s many crooked entrances with a box of flashlights under one arm. A bag full of pocket knives dangled from the other as she dodged a low hanging wooden beam with practiced ease.

Charlotte took the box from her with an irritated sigh. “I’m glad he’s wearing clothes at all, this time.”

“Are you sure you can handle them on your own?”

Kajas cocky grin vanished under Charlotte icy glare. Blue eyes frosted over as she yanked the bag from Kajas hands and shouted: “Everyone who does not want to stay home lines up here now! You don’t lose your flashlight and when I see one pocket knife flicked open for anything other than picking mushrooms you celebrate the festival in your room. Am I clear?”

The children’s excited shrieks died in an instant as they hurried to get in line, waiting obediently for Charlotte to hand every one of them their items and making a show off storing them dutifully away in their pants pockets and backpacks.

The perfect picture of orderly compliance.

Everyone knew it would last for as long as it would take them to leave the orphanages grounds.

___

 The academy yard’s gravel crunched under Gideon’s boots as he snuck away from yet another disciplinary task. He had scrubbed all the bathrooms to shine in the past, had assisted in the kitchen more than once, and had sorted the trainings gear enough times to know it by heart.

Sometimes he even understood why it always ended up like this.

What he couldn’t understand, however, was having to clean up the entire two story training hall because that stupid farm boy provoked him. For once, he hadn’t even done anything. At least nothing that wouldn’t have been deserved.

Not that the little shit had been helpless.

“Where do you think you’re going?!”

Gideon nearly choked at his upperclassman’s call. His hands clutched the spear’s strap dangling from his shoulder tighter and  he turned to face the young man who had hurried over from their living quarters. His dark thick brows were harsh, frowning lines in a permanently stern face.

“Berkan.” The corners of Gideon’s mouth twitched. He was really in no mood to deal with this stuck-up right now. “Just out for some late night practice.”

It wasn’t even a lie. He did want to get some extra training in, only someplace where he had some damn peace for once. Who could have thought the countryside would be even more suffocating than a life under his father’s roof.

Turning around before Berkan opened his mouth in protest Gideon hurriedly added,“Just finished the cleaning ‘n shit. Go look for yourself if you want.” before he skidded down the large staircase leading down from the academy campus.

Even if Berkan decided to check up on his task Gideon would be already gone by the time the other boy realized he hadn’t done shit.

 ____

 Sahar rubbed slow circles over Asmodea’s head, right between her antennas. It was one of her favorite spots, right after the underside of her foot, when Sahar would gently wipe it clean with a fluffy towel whenever she’d managed to get something unpleasantly stuck to her body. Like the godforsaken acidic tree sap she had blindly glid through on their first forest excursion.

Asmodea carefully extended one eye, gently poking Sahar’s other hand while she began to softly nibble his leg. The raspy sandpaper-like sensation made him chuckle and his fingers began to tap over the warm earth. 

“Hey, hey hey. I’m fine. Don’t, don’t worry.”

Another enthusiastic nibble made him smile, bright and toothy for the first time on a day unpredictable like a summer monsoon.

Sahar was just about to coax Asmodea from his lap and get some strawberry, when a gut wrenching shriek pierced the evening air. 

Something rustled through the bushes.

He shouldered Asmodea and sprung to his feet in one fluid motion, eyes fixed on the timberline and heart stuck in his throat.

Don’t tell me?! Did something break through the border after all?

His pulse hammered in his ears as Sahar listened to the sound of snapping twigs, to the rapid ‘thud thud thud’  coming closer with every second ticking by. His thoughts raced. Would he be fast enough to hurl Asmodea over the root? To jump after? His eyes snapped to the axe. Could he run at all?

The bushes parted.

Sahar was about to throw his friend over the root, risking an injury to her precious shell, when he saw who had screamed. His body froze dead in its tracks and Asmodea fummed in paniked protest. 

Mara had burst out of the thick bushes, covered in scratches, her little face blotchy and tear crusted. The yellow hairband that had been seemingly fused to her head was nowhere to be found and the glittering drawings on her prosthetic leg were smeared over with dirt. Sahar was kneeling by her side in an instant.

“Hey hey hey hey what- what happened? Mara?”

Wiping at tears rolling in endless rivers down flushed chubby cheeks, Sahar scanned her shivering disheveled form for injuries that, to his immense relief, didn’t seem to exist.

“Hey hey hey, It’s fine. It’s fine now. I- I’m here. Every- everything’s fine, fine now.”

“Nonononono.” Her tiny hands fisted in his shirt as she pressed her forehead against his collarbone, shaking and rubbing her head into Sahars skin.

Her fluffy curls brushed his chin.

“Monster. A monster. Monster at the glowy clea- clealing!”

“Glowy- what what what do, what do you mean?”

His hands tapped a rapid-fire rhythm over her shaking shoulder blades as Sahar tried to make some sense of her choked-off babbling. 

Sobbing, Mara dug the remnants of a squashed luminescent mushroom out of her pocket. The glowing blue pulp dripped down her fingers and painted sparkling droplets of night sky onto the muddy earth.

“Oh. Oh! The the The clearing! I know, I know, know now. That that that’s close. Were, were were you, were you- were- fuck.” Balling his hands into fist tight enough to leave crescent indentations in the soft flesh of his palm, Sahar forced a long breath in through his nose and out of his uncooperative mouth.

Slow now, sweetheart. Don’t get too worked up again.

“Were you and the others pick- pick picking- for the fest?”

Burying herself back against Sahar’s chest with a frantic nod Mara howled: “The others- the monster, the monster trapped them!”

A breakthrough. Fuck, fuck. Fuck! There must have been one.

She trembled as he held her at arm’s length, meeting dark panic hazy eyes with a determination he thought had died that fateful autumn night eight years ago.

“Listen Mara. I, I I go to the clearing and and and you run to to to the, run to the tea house. Every- everyone’s gonna be, be there warming up for for for for tomorrow.”

He hastily wiped her cheeks before hoisting her over the root. Sahar flashed her a wry smile, trying to look braver than he felt.

“Everything’s gon- gon- gonna be fine.”

Sahar willed his hands not to shake as he tore the Axe from the cutting stump and vanished into the woods.

[verobatto]

Destiel Chronicles

Vol. XCIII

It was a love story from the very beginning.

And you are not here... (Part I)

(13x01)

Hello beautiful people! We reached season 13!!! This was a very analyzed season, so, many of the things I will say won't be new. There wasn't much Destiel in the second half of the season, so, I hope we can have less volumes than season 12.

But, let's focus now in the angst, and when I speak about angst, I mean Mourning! Dean.

Priorities?

At the beginning of the episode we have Dean, down his knees by Castiel's dead body, he can't believe he just lost him, so, he is not thinking here, he can't thing in another fact more than Cas.

Sam feels he has not time for crying for his best friend, because he has to focus in saving the world: Lucifer's son had just born.

I always like to point the difference here: Why Sam can focus on the Mission right away and Dean can't? Is because the amount of the emotions and the meaning of this lost.

Don't forget they lost Mary too, but this is different.

Because Sam lost his mother, but because she didn't died, he keeps hopes in bringing her back. Because Jack is there, and he was the one opening the rift. He lost Cas, he saw him die, his best friend, but even so, he keeps going, he runs towards that cabin to find the Nephilim. Because just like Cas, even with the loses, he has to keep fighting, to try to save the world, Cas would do the same.

But for Dean Cas represents his Everything, his faith, his hopes, the love of his life. So the world just stopped there. And he can't think in anything else but the deep pain of loosing the man he loves.

Then the scene in the car is heartbreaking.

SAM: Hold on a second. Can we just talk about what happened back there?

DEAN: Sure. Which part? Let’s see. Crowley’s dead, Kelly’s dead, Cas is—(he pauses) Mom’s gone, and apparently, the Devil’s kid hit puberty in thirty seconds flat. Oh, and almost killed us.

This is Dean not wanting to say Cas is dead, this is Dean not being able to say Cas is dead. His worst nightmare became true.

SAM: Yeah, because you tried to shoot him.

DEAN: I tried to shoot the monster, Sam. It’s kind of what we do.

SAM: We don’t know what he is yet, Dean. And I had it under control.

DEAN: I’m sorry. Are you defending the Son of Satan?

SAM: I’m not defending anything. I’m just saying, look, with everything that’s happened, I’m obviously spun out also, but we need a plan.

DEAN: Yeah, kill him! Okay? That’s the plan. Look, right now all that matters is finding him, and ending him, before he hurts anybody else. And once we do that we’ll figure everything else out.

Again pointing at the difference between the two brothers. Sam is thinking strategically, but Dean wants to kill him, because he blames Jack of Castiel's death. Jack is a monster that deceived, used and killed Cas. So there's no doubt for Dean JACK IS A MONSTER AND HE MUST BE ELIMINATED. For Sam, Jack represents the hopes to get his mother back.

SAM: What about Cas? Is he - is he really dead?

DEAN: You know he is.

And this is terrible, Because Dean is answering this to himself. 'You know he is.' Is the fact he has to assume. But he is avoiding to do it.

"Angels are real too."

So sad when the angels find Castiel on the table. The contemptible way one of them referred to Cas breaks my heart, because is so fresh now his dead in 15x18.

1ST ANGEL: Castiel. Always knew he’d meet a bad end.

2ND ANGEL: He deserved better.

1ST ANGEL: No, he really didn’t.

This is so accurate now, is like hearing Misha wanting his big sacrifice for love as Castiel, and all the fandom repeating HE DERÑSERVED BETTER, trying to show the point, and the C*W and broniles saying NO, HE REALLY DIDN'T. But well... Just a bitter thought... For this angel, particularly, is referring to Castiel's choices, his repeatedly chosing Dean Winchester over Heaven.

When they arrive to the Burger Shop, Dean decides to stay in the car and wait for Sam.

The drunken girl, which results to be an angel, comes out from the same shop, and the camera shows us Dean's bruises in his knuckles. So, we can infer something happened...

The dialogue between the angel and Dean is very interesting, because she create a whole scenario and character:

DRUNK WOMAN: Anyway, Becky was - and I say this in the most feminist, screw the patriarchy way - a giant superbitch. She’d take things, and break things, and piss people off, and just do whatever she wanted, no matter who it hurt.

She will say after revealing who she really is, that Dean was Becky. And the way she speaks about this character is with the same contempt as the angel talking about Castiel. Because Dean is guilty of Castiel's fall and disobedience. He is the human that broke Castiel, and that's why Cas ended up dying.

Once in the police station, Dean tells all the truth to the sheriff, and when he speaks about angels... His face turns even more sad.

Gif credit @wanreina

Look how he drops his eyes and turns his face to the window. This is pure grief, pain, sadness. Because it was almost as if he was mentioning Castiel again. And it hurts too much.

We were witnesses of Dean's prayer to Chuck, mentioning he wanted Castiel back, pleading not just for him, but Mary and even Crowley. Desperate prelaying. And when he turned around, with this little hopes in being heated, and maybe finding everyone there, CAS, and then realizing they weren't, he exploded in anger, breaking the pirate on the door, and hurting his knuckles.

Still trying to make Cas to come back to him...

Goodbye Cas

When Dean was fighting against the drunken woman, now an angel, the dialogue between them is showing us again how Dean was still expecting to find a way to make Castiel come back to him.

MIRIAM: Because Bieber in there? He can do almost anything.

DEAN (hopeful): Anything?

MIRIAM: (Chuckles) Oh, sweetie. Almost anything. Castiel, he's dead.

Gif set credit @godshipsit 👇

Dean's grief all over his face while the little hope that had found it's way is slowly fading again, listening to these words. These words that Miriam says with pleasure.

This scene is showing us how Dean was only thinking about CAS, in how to bring him back, with desperation, he was longing for him so hard, even the angel perceived that emotion.

The other super sad scene was Dean preparing Cas' body for the funeral...

(the follow gifs are from @wanreina)

When he comes back to the cabin, he faces again the reality. Dean is down that sheet, dead. He stops just for a second, and swallows. Encouraging himself to keep walking towards him. Before doing that, he flicks his eyes away from the corpse.

Then he goes to his side, and sighs, and then breaths... The pain is all over him.

This is Dean realizing again Cas is gone. Look at the deep sadness in his face, while he is staring at him, maybe he is talking with him, asking Cas to come back to him. Then, he is swallowing again, hard, he looks away, because Castiel won't come back, Castiel is definitely dead, as the angel said. No one will bring him back, nobody is gonna help him to bring Cash back. The despair is huge. Yes he has to aknowledge that in his heart.

Okay I read somewhere that maybe Dean was praying here to Cas to come back again, then he sees Cas is still dead. But I really believe, Dean didn't stop praying to him, or to Chuck, because that was the only things he could do. What else? So maybe he was praying the whole time, putting his hopes in those so many times Chuck relived him, or Cas camber back to him. Trying to reach Cas somehow. But with each desperate prayer he was convincing himself Cas wouldn't come back, and this time he was dead, really dead. For ever. That's the pain in his heart. He was trying to wake him up, he was pleading for one last miracle, and not to burn his body in the pyre. So this was his last attempt to bring him back.

The last and hard scene was the funeral

Gif credit @inacatastrophicmind

"You say goodbye" Sammy's voice sound in the background and we see Dean's sad face. The pain and the grief. So different from Sam and Jack. And so different from another times when he had to burn his father, or friends. Nothing is gonna be norm from now. Because he lost Cas, the love of his life.

Visual Narrative: Just a little mention of Pirate Pete's Burger Shop. The place was in blue and red, (Cas and Dean), with references about the ship (Destiel), and jokes about the butt, and, according the Urban Dictionary, the Pirate Pete is a sexual joke too. So, we can maybe infer, base in how angels were mocking Dean and CAS relationship and how it ended in this episode, that place was related to it.

To Conclude:

This was just the beginning of Mourning!Dean, we will see him depressed and with no faith, no hopes. Ig gonna be alarming for Sam, and we will have one huge revelation in the episode in wich Billie will talk with Dean about his grief.

Hope you like the first meta from season 13, see you in the next ones!

Tagging @magnificent-winged-beast @emblue-sparks @weird-dorky-little-d @michyribeiro @whyjm @legendary-destiel @a-bit-of-influence @thatwitchydestielfan @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @lykanyouko @evvvissticante @savannadarkbaby @dea-stiel @poorreputation @bre95611 @thewolfathedoor @charlottemanchmal @neii3n @deathswaywardson @followyourenergy @dean-is-bi-till-i-die @hekatelilith-blog @avidbkwrm @anarchiana @dickpuncher365 @vampyrosa @authorsararayne @mybonsai1976 @love-neve-dies @dustythewind @wayward-winchester67 @angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat @trashblackrainbow @deeutdutdutdoh @destiel-shipper-11 @larrem88 @charmedbycastiel @ran-savant @little-crazy-misha-minion @samoosetheshipper

@shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @mishtho @dancingtuesdaymorning @nerditoutwithbooks @mikennacac73 @justmeand-myinsight @idontwantpeopletoknowmyname @teddybeardoctor @pepevons @helevetica @isthisdestiel @dizzypinwheel @jawnlockwinchester @horsez2 @qanelyytha

@destielle @spnsmile @shippsblog @robot-feels @superlock-in-the-tardis @superduckbatrebel @2musiclover2 @madronasky @anon-non2 @cea1996 @lisafu02 @asphodelesauvage @destiels-canonahhhhhhhhhh

If you want to be added or removed from this list, just let me know.

Buenos Aires, December 20th 2020, 6:03 PM

[irrlicht-writes]

the path we choose to walk on pt.3

Part 3! still not the last part. But I’m getting close! Note to mention: there is death here. But it’s not permanent. Okay? It gets worse before it gets better. @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @cass-said-i-love-you @professorerudite @insertdeeplyrics anyone else want on the tag list?

PART ONE | PART TWO

Ao3

PART 3: a soul as gentle as a star

Dean is sobbing. He can’t stop. Cas has been sick for a whole week already and still, Jack has not shown up. Dean had to shoo Miracle out of the room because he’s afraid that she’s going to get sick too.

Dean doesn’t know what to do. There’s a fever running through Castiel and no matter what Dean does, it won’t go down. The few times that Cas is awake, he’s puking up his guts over the toilet – all black goo and Dean’s heart breaks. Cas is crying before he passes out again and Dean can’t help. Cas is losing weight and it’s hard to even get him to drink water. Jack doesn’t come.

He pets Castiel’s hair and whispers sweet nothings into his ear. Cas never responds and Dean cries in his damp hair. What’s he supposed to do? He can barely eat food himself. The only thing keeping him from breaking down completely is Miracle because she’ll remind him of feeding her and walking her and honestly, Dean is glad for the temporary distraction she provides.

“Cas,” he says and Cas whimpers.

“Cas, baby, please come back to me.”

His fever goes up.

 A month later, it’s not better. Dean only functions whenever Miracle forces him to. It’s been a while since Cas woke up to puke. Dean tries not to dwell on it. He spends his days laying in bed next to Cas, staring at a wall in silence. The only sound is Cas’ shallow breathing and Dean doesn’t know what to do.

He hasn’t really gotten Cas back and now he’s about to lose him again.

Why has Jack not shown up?

Doesn’t he care about them anymore?

He’s always said that he considered Cas to be his father, but does he just stop caring like that?

“Jack,” Dean whispers into the void, “please.”

Nobody answers him.

Castiel’s chest rattles.

 A week later, Sam shows up. Dean has been trying to pretend that everything was going fine, just to avoid Sam coming here. Maybe he shouldn’t have given his brother a key.

“Dean,” Sam says sternly and Dean can barely lift his head. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s eaten something. He hopes he didn’t neglect Miracle too much.

“He’s sick, Sammy,” he rasps and Sam’s expression softens. He walks over to the bed and feels Cas’ temperature.

“Dean,” he says, “we have to bring him to a hospital.”

Dean shakes his head. “He’s an angel.”

“He needs help.”

Sam doesn’t understand. Dean’s afraid that they will understand that Cas isn’t human and take him away. They’ll take him away and Dean will never get to see him again and they’re going to conduct experiments on him and Cas won’t understand and he’ll be in pain and Dean wouldn’t be able to save him because he can’t overthrow the government and Cas will think that Dean gave him to these people and he’ll resent Dean and wish him the worst and wish he’d never pull Dean out of hell –

“Dean, breathe.”

Dean sobs loudly and starts to cry. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to do.

“Please, let me take care of you. Of both of you.”

Dean sobs and doesn’t argue. He can’t. He can’t do it anymore. If he loses Cas again, then – then...

Who knows what he’ll do.

*

“Your friend doesn’t have long.”

Dean barely understands the doctor. Castiel is filled up with that black goo stuff – his lungs, his stomach, everything. Jack still doesn’t show. Cas is dying, again, and Jack doesn’t care. It’s almost like there’s no change at all.

If Jack doesn’t even want to save his father, what good is he?

They give Cas an infusion. Sam asks if Dean can get one too but he refuses. He’s fine. He doesn’t need any help. He just wants to sit here, next to Cas and be with him until the very end. Just like last time. Dean reaches for Cas’ hand and holds it loosely in his own.

“I’m here,” he whispers, “I’m here.”

It’s empty. These words mean nothing. Dean hangs his head.

In the end, it didn’t matter.

 Two days later, Castiel dies.

 *

 Dean has pamphlets. They gave him pamphlets but he hasn’t looked at them. He sits on his bed and stares out of the window. Sam has Miracle. Dean told him to take her. Castiel is in the morgue.

Why did this happen?

Why didn’t Jack come?

Dean prayed to him every waking second.

Why did Jack ignore him? Hands off or not – this is his father.

Dean doesn’t understand.

It makes no sense.

Maybe this is a dream. A terrible, terrible nightmare and Dean just has to find a way to wake up.

He remembers the nightmare djinns. It must be like that, right? Everything is just a dream and he just has to wake up.

Die.

He has to die to wake up.

And when he does, Cas’ll be there and he’ll be worried and hug him and Dean’ll hug him back and everything will be okay again.

Cas won’t be dead, then.

Dean gets up from the bed.

He walks over to the window and opens it. He bends forward and looks down. It would be quite the fall. But it’s going to be worth it. Down there, Cas will be waiting for him. If he imagines hard enough, then he can almost see Cas standing down there with open arms.

Dean smiles.

He’s safe.

His angel will catch him.

His angel will always catch him.

Dean closes his eyes.

His hands are shaking.

“Cas,” he whispers.

No matter what, at the end Cas will be there.

“Dean,” someone says and stops him.

He turns around.

“Jack.”

 *

 Dean steps away from the window and he can only stare. Jack is here. Why is Jack here now, when it’s pointless?

“I’m sorry,” Jack starts and Dean swallows down his anger. He wants to yell, he wants to scream and he wants to grab this kid and shake him. But he doesn’t. At least the kid looks guilty.

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” His voice is hoarse and Dean’s glad he didn’t yell. His voice would’ve given out.

“I heard you, I did, I swear. But Dean, I can’t fix the Empty. So I tried, I looked how to help Cas. I care about him, Dean, he’s my father. But I didn’t want to come here without a solution. If I would’ve come and would’ve said I can’t do anything, you would’ve lost hope immediately. I’m – I’m sorry that I’m late. But we can fix this, Dean. Look.”

Jack is holding something in his hands. He opens them somewhat so that Dean can take a peek. It’s glowing and Dean doesn’t know what it is.

“It’s a soul,” Jack says, “well, at least as much as I can make.”

Dean frowns.

“It will help Cas to battle the goo inside of him. The Empty has no dominion over souls, you know?”

Dean shakes his head. “Jack, he’s dead.”

Jack clenches his jaw. “And that’s why we save him.”

Dean looks at Jack’s hands. A soul. He doesn’t know what that means for Cas but if Jack is so sure it’ll save him... why shouldn’t they try?

It’s not like Cas could get anymore dead.

So he nods.

“Let’s go, then.”

 *

 It’s surprisingly easy to break into the morgue. Apparently they don’t really guard their dead and well – your kid being God probably helps too. Dean gets an uneasy feeling in this place. Cas is in one of these, dead. His hands start shaking again. But he has to pull through. For Cas.

For Cas.

With shaky legs, Dean walks over to the one that says “Castiel Winchester” on it and opens it. He takes a deep breath and pulls the gurney out. He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to look. He doesn’t want to see Cas all pale; all dead. He doesn’t think he could take it.

“Dean,” Jack says and Dean’s eyes snap to him. He’s holding out his hands.

“It’s got to be you,” he says and on auto-pilot, Dean reaches out and takes this soul Jack is offering him. It feels warm in his hands. It feels a little bit like a baby bird.

“Cas,” he says and he feels as if the soul in his end flickers. “Come back to me.”

He holds his hands over Castiel’s chest, looking at Jack who nods. Dean nods back and presses the soul inside.

 First, nothing happens and Dean wants to panic. He looks at Jack who’s frowning.

No no no no no no no this isn’t good. It’s not working, it’s not working –

Castiel tears his eyes open and he’s gasping for air, heaving dryly. Dean chokes down a sob, but Castiel grabs his own chest as if he’s struggling to breathe and his blue eyes fly to Jack. The kid just shakes his head and takes Castiel’s hand in his own.

“Fight it, Cas. I know you can do this. You’re stronger than it. You’re the only angel in all of existence that ever walked out of the Empty of his own will. Out of his own might. The Empty has no power over you – it never had. Why do you think it hated you so much?

It was afraid of you, Cas, because it knew only you could ever walk away from a confrontation. You’re the angel that defied and defied and defied again. The Empty can’t hold you. It never could. You were awake, and you found your own way out. Do you even know how much power that takes? How much will? And you did it.

You did this, with no help, no assistance, and you survived. The Empty followed you outside and you overpowered it. It tried to drag you down, again and again, but you kept fighting and you kept winning. I can only ever hope to be as strong as you, Cas.

You are Free Will. You’ve always been. Without you – without you, Chuck would’ve determined the ending. But he didn’t. Because you made us believe that we can choose our own path. That we can choose who we want to be.

You’re stronger than the Empty, Cas. It cannot defeat you.

You loved me, you believed in me, you supported me when I didn’t deserve it. You explained the world to me; and you made me see that it’s worth loving. The way you’d talk about a roadside flower and what a miracle it is, I – I saw the little things. I saw the things that make the world what it is. It’s not about the big battles, the big wins or even the big losses – it’s about the things you never appreciate. The roadside flower, the leaves on the trees or the rustling of the wind.

And with – with everything you said, I realised – I realised that you thought... that you believed you were lesser than these things. That the dirt on the ground deserved better than you. You praised everything – Sam, Dean, me, the world – but never yourself. You are the guy I look up to most because – because you’re so kind, and caring and full of love. I heard – I heard the birds sing and thought they must be singing about you. I saw flowers bloom and I thought they must be doing this for you.

You are so good, and so kind and I – I will make a world that appreciates you. I will make a world in which you are loved, unconditionally.

I love you, Cas. I’m sorry it took me so long.

The Empty can’t take you away from me. I won’t let it. You crawled your way back here again and again, and I will make sure that you’re rewarded.

You taught me I can choose my own destiny. That I can choose my own path. And you told me that I will forever be loved, no matter what. And you did. No matter what I did, you loved me. You loved me unconditionally, and I never appreciated it. I took it for granted but then I realised – you were never loved like that. You were never – you were never told that you are loved. But I do.

I do, and Sam does, and Dean does and so many more. You, of all people, deserve the world. And I’ll give it to you.

I love you, Cas. I’ll say it now, and I’ll say it a hundred times. You are loved, Castiel, now and forever.

And whatever sins you believe you committed – sins that you believe that cannot be forgiven – I give you absolution.

You are forgiven, Castiel. You were always forgiven.

I love you. I love you so, so much.

I can be God, I am, but... I can’t do it without you. What if I stop looking at the small things? What if I end up like Chuck? I need you, Cas. I need you to remind me of a fallen leaf, of a newborn bird. I need you to remind me of the wonders of the world.

You were always fighting. And most times, the enemy was yourself and nobody of us helped you. You’re stronger than I could ever hope to be.

You’re my father, Cas. Sam and Dean are so, so important to me, but – I’d pick you, every time. Now and forever, I will always pick you.”

 Castiel squeezes Jack’s hand. “All I ever wanted,” he rasps, “is for you to be happy.”

 *

 “He’ll never fully recover,” Jack says after he got them all home. Dean holds Castiel tight to his chest. The angel is asleep but his breath isn’t rattling this time. He looks at Jack, unblinking.

“The soul,” Jack starts, “will help. But Dean, you have to understand that when Castiel made it out of the Empty, he took death with him. It’s not going to let him go. The – the sheer might it must’ve taken him to survive as long as he did, I...”

Jack stops and looks to the ground.

“I could never hope to be as strong as that. But now with the soul, his grace can draw strength from it. But it’s a weak soul. It’s... it’s just an imitation, but it’ll hold. He’ll get better; and in time, he’ll be walking around again.”

Jack turns and looks at them.

“He’s essentially human now, Dean. Not in the sense that he’ll die from old age, but in the terms that he needs to eat and sleep. He’ll probably get sick a lot, but he’ll be fine.”

“The black goo will never go away?”

Jack shakes his head.

“No. But with the soul, his grace is strong enough to keep it in check and keep all the internal organs working. I – I have to go now. But I’ll drop in whenever I can. Say hi to Sam for me and – tell Maria about me, too, okay? I’m excited to meet her someday soon.”

Jack smiles brightly and holds his hand up in a wave. “Bye, Dean,” he says and disappears.

Dean lets out a deep breath and gently places Castiel on the bed. Castiel is breathing quietly and really, Dean should call Sam and tell him but he’s just so tired.

When he crawls into bed next to Cas, he thinks about the people at the hospital. He forgot to ask Jack to remove their memories. It would work out, though, right? Cas is alive and he’s home and now he’s finally gonna get better.

Dean snuggles up next to Cas and vows to call Sam tomorrow. They’ll sort it out together. But right now, the only thing that matters is Castiel’s soft breathing and the knowledge that a soul shimmers inside him.

 *

 “I missed this,” Cas says when Dean opens his eyes. He’s been awake for a while at this point, but he had wanted to enjoy Castiel playing with his hair. It feels nice.

“You never played with my hair before,” Dean replies.

“No, but I missed watching you sleep. It’s very calming.”

Castiel’s voice sounds tired, but it doesn’t seem to pain him like it did before. Dean is glad. Now everything would work out. And even if Cas would be bedridden for the rest of Dean’s life, then that is okay too.

“You can watch me sleep forever then.”

Castiel laughs a bit but he ends in some light coughing.

“This goo,” Dean wonders, “will you really never be rid of it?”

Cas sighs. “No. I figure being in Heaven would help me. I might be able to get rid of it if I was able to tap into Heaven’s energy reserves, but I don’t want to go there now. The soul Jack made for me is going to suffice until it inevitability runs out.”

“It will run out?”

“Yes. All souls do, eventually, and this one even more so. I figure that after it’s done – it will just disappear. But by this point, decades should’ve passed and I’ll be able to go to Heaven.”

“You can’t go now?”

“Why would I?” Castiel replies while smiling against Dean’s hair. “Last I checked, you’re not in Heaven, and won’t be for a very long time. I’d rather be here with you, then waiting for you in Heaven.”

Damn, now Dean’s blushing.

 Sam’s a bit upset when Dean calls him. He’s wanted to see Jack too, and he’s also worried about the hospital staff. Nobody’s called Dean yet so Dean has hope that Jack made them forget.

“Cas is alive,” Dean says because he thinks that maybe Sam didn’t hear him properly the first time.

“I... yes. You said, I just... I can’t believe it. I didn’t even think... it’s amazing. How... how is he doing? Is he conscious? Can he talk at all?”

“Yeah. Jack said he’s probably gonna be sick for the rest of his life, but he’ll be able to move around again.”

Dean is in his kitchen; and Cas is asleep in the bed. It feels surreal. It feels like someone’s gonna pinch him in the arm and wake him up and then Cas is still gonna be dead and they’re still in the hunting life and then they go on a hunt just for one of them to die.

But that’s not gonna happen.

Their hunting days are finally over.

“Can we come over?”

Dean looks around. Them coming here might be better than hauling Cas into the car. Cas just came back so he might get tired more easily.

“Only if you bring the dog. I don’t think Cas has properly met her yet and that’s a crime.”

Over the line, Sam laughs. “Yes, we’ll bring the dog. We’ll be there in about half an hour. Prepare to hold a crying baby, Dean.”

“Oh, it just feels like yesterday when I was wiping your dirty ass.”

Sam hangs up and Dean grins.

There’s hope for a future in his heart and for the first time, he’s not afraid of it. Things will get better and they’ll start getting better now.

 Cas made it to the couch when Sam and Eileen arrive. As per Sam’s promise, Maria is crying her heart out and Dean feels sorry for Sam. Eileen, God bless her, probably doesn’t hear the crying too much. Dean guesses it’s Sam who gets up in the middle of the night, judging by his face. Dean grins and bends down to greet Miracle. Man, he’s missed her.

“Cas,” Sam says and Cas responds in kind. In the corner of his eye, Dean can see that Cas tries to get up from the couch but decides against it in the last moment.

Eileen walks right over and plops herself and her baby next to him. “Your niece,” she says and Cas smiles at the baby who stopped crying when she spotted Cas.

“Hello, Maria,” Cas says. Maria blinks in his direction and after some thought, reaches out for him.

Cas takes her easily and puts her in his lap.

“Have you been keeping for father up?”

Maria wiggles her arms.

“You know, for all I missed, I’m glad Jack decided to skip the toddler phase. I wonder what happened to all the diapers I bought. My doula classes were very unhelpful with my son but they might come in handy with you, hm?”

Maria smiles brightly and starts whipping in Cas’ lap.

“Hm. I guess I can be Big Blue if you want.” He boops her nose. “But then you have to be Little Cutie.”

Maria blinks at him, then laughs and claps her hands. She turns her head to her mom and brabbles to her and Eileen just smiles.  

“You speak Baby, Cas?” Sam asks and Cas turns his head.

“No. Babies don’t use words like we do; it’s more of a... sense. A feeling if you will. They can’t think in complete sentences yet. It’s along the lines of Sad because hungry. Upset because dirty. Happy because play. Happy because friend. Like that.”

Cas smiles and lifts Maria up and she giggles.

“Guess she found a friend in you, huh?”

“That she did.”

 *

 Dean isn’t surprised when Castiel and Miracle get along splendidly. As soon as the dog warms up to the angel, Dean is permanently degraded to giver of food and honestly, he’s not even mad at that. Miracle keeps Cas company when Dean has to go to work and they even go on walks together – never very far in the beginning because Cas still has to get his legs under him but the important bit is that Miracle makes Cas leave the bed or the couch.

There are days, sometimes more and sometimes less, where Castiel is sad. Dean knows that that word is probably an understatement, but he doesn’t want to call it depression – it’s too big of a word and Dean’s afraid of it.

There are days when Castiel’s body just refuses everything and anything. Cas doesn’t want to see or hear Dean on these days and Dean respects that. He wants to be there, but his presence is upsetting Cas way too much.

Cas isn’t used to being sick and somewhere deep down Dean thinks he remembers. Cas needs to be useful. And on these days, he’s not useful at all. But Dean doesn’t know how to tell Cas that it’s okay. He doesn’t know how to make Cas understand that he doesn’t have to be useful. No words that Dean could come up with seem good enough for him. So he stays silent and he knows it’s not the right thing to do.

Cas gets sick at least one time a month, sometimes more. He’s always sick for at least two days, battling fever and puking up goo. Dean’s terrified every single time.

“I’m fine,” Cas says every time and Dean wants to believe him.

I love you, he wants to tell him but he’s afraid.

He’s not sure what he’s afraid of.

Cas cries at night sometimes and Dean pretends not to hear.

Cas has nightmares sometimes and Dean sleeps on the couch.

He doesn’t understand himself.

“Dean,” Cas says one day just after his bad days ended.

“I know you don’t love me. It’s alright. I’ve accepted that. It doesn’t change what I feel, how I feel. You are – I’ve never met someone like you. There have been others that have fascinated me, but – but I’ve only ever watched them from a distance. I was never inclined to come closer, to get to know them, to have them know me. I was content just watching them from afar, learning about them and studying them from my high perch.

But you –

I wasn’t supposed to get involved. I was supposed to tell you your part in the Apocalypse and then I was – I guess I was supposed to die.  But you were, well, you and it made me rethink. I wondered if you were right, if people could actually choose their own destinies.

And Sam – Sam as the Boyking of Hell, the true vessel of Lucifer, I expected him to be evil, I expected him to be malicious, but he wasn’t. Sam was good and kind and brave and the small spot of darkness was a stain on him, but then he’s only human and it didn’t even matter.

And I saw that I was wrong and I thought – I thought maybe Dean is right. Maybe this is a story we can choose for ourselves.

Maybe this could be a story that doesn’t end with humanity wiped out. Maybe this is a story that ends differently as it was foretold. I wanted to believe. I wanted to have faith in what you said and – and so I did.

I know you never had faith in me, but I had faith in you and – I never really stopped. People getting to choose their own lives, their own destinies, their own ends – it just had never been in the cards. Everything had always served a bigger plan; always aiming to getting closer to the one true end when there was so much more.

I’ve had people believe in me; when in the same breath they defied God himself. You’re here, they’d say, he is not.

And they were right. I was there; and he was not. I always wondered if our path was the right one – after all, who’d stop us if we were wrong? We’d listen to no one but God himself, so who would’ve been able to halt us in our wake? But still, I followed my orders and whenever I saw fit, I’d tweak them, just a little.

I’d let a child go. I’d give an old man a few more minutes to say good-bye. I’d save the mother giving birth. I’d do these things and I got punished for them and I’d falter. What if I did something wrong? What if I altered the big plan? What if the ending would never come as it had been planned? And maybe –

Maybe it didn’t. Maybe the mother I saved changed something. Maybe the old man saying good-bye gave closure to someone. Maybe the child I let go grew up to influence someone they were never meant to meet. Who can tell?

I realised something so small can change the world. Maybe it won’t change the world as a whole but someone’s world will be different.

But the point is: I went against my orders and every time, I got punished for it. And then I met you, and you went against your orders and I couldn’t see you getting punished. And I thought, maybe you had the right path. Maybe wrong decisions get punished and right decisions do not. So I decided to follow you. I decided to follow the path you were carving.

And then you left the path, so I decided to keep walking on it because to me, it was the right path to take. And I was right. Every time I got punished, I knew I was doing the right thing. They were wrong; and I was right.

They wanted to reverse me, they wanted to change me by any means possible but I didn’t let them. Even when they succeeded, I didn’t let them take you away from me. You allowed me to change, Dean, you allowed me to be who I’m really meant to be. And for that –

For that, I’ll forever be grateful. I was right. There was a better way and they were proven wrong. I’m – maybe I’m still defective. Maybe I’ll always be wrong, and broken, and useless. But if that’s who I am, then – then so be it.

I am – I was always ashamed of myself. Why couldn’t I be like the others? Why couldn’t I follow orders like them? Why was I so different? And no matter how hard I tried, no matter what I did, I – I was always the outsider. The one that didn’t belong, not really, and –

And when I was with you, that didn’t change. I was still the outsider, I was still different. Not in the same way, sure, but still, I didn’t belong. I’ll never do. I’ll never belong anywhere, because maybe there’s no place for me after all.

But – I wasn’t supposed to be here at all. I was supposed to be dead. I’ve died again and again and I came back, again and again because – because I wasn’t done yet. There’s still more. It made me think that maybe I have a purpose. That I have a reason for living, no matter how small it might be. And I always wanted –

I always wanted to make you feel safe. I always wanted to be the guy you could trust in. I wanted you to call me, I wanted you to need me. I needed you to want me, but maybe you never did and that’s okay.

I’m here now. And once I’m – once I’m better, I’ll be on my way. I’ll find something to do. I’ll find a place where I can be useful but until I’m strong enough for that – maybe it’s okay if I stay a little bit longer?”

There’s something here, Dean knows that. There’s something here he’s supposed to say, some clever line, some heartfelt comment, but – but he doesn’t know.

Dean hears I don’t want to go.

So he says: “I don’t want you to go.”

And maybe that was the right thing to say after all.

[bisexualcrowley]

Stay

Pairing: Crowley x Gender Neutral Reader 

Summary: After a bad fight with the Winchesters, you find an unexpected source of comfort in the king of hell

Content/warnings: Angst, cursing, bit of fluff towards the end

Word count: 1,153

Requested by anon

It was still dark when your car door slammed shut outside the bunker, the low rumble of the engine the only sound as you drove down the empty road.

You didn’t know where you were headed as the dark silhouettes of trees blurred into a town, into stretches of farmland and then back into trees again, all you really knew was that you wanted to drive, to get as far away from the place that had become your home.

Trembling hands clutched the steering wheel as you sped down the seemingly never-ending highway with knuckles white from pressure.  You were surprised how long you lasted before you found your eyes wandering to the dusty photo taped to the car’s dashboard, a picture of you arm in arm with Cas and the Winchesters at Bobby’s place, their smiling faces on most days a reminder of a happy memory, where tonight they brought a wave of resentment and misery.

“MotherFUCKERS” You shouted, slamming your hand against the grip of the steering wheel as you tried desperately to hold back tears. You weren’t going to cry, you just weren’t, you repeated internally again and again until it was ingrained in the backs of your eyelids, replaying like a broken record. 

“The Winchesters again, I presume?” The quiet, raspy voice of the king of hell was the last thing you had expected to hear tonight, and you absolutely hadn’t expected him to just show up in your car in the middle of the night, the action shocking you enough to lose control of the car momentarily, the wheels swerving off the road before the demon’s quick hand shot over to steady the wheel.  “Woah there pumpkin, just me”

“What the fuck Crowley, you scared the shit out of me” You breathed, tearing your eyes off the road to glance over at your friend, who had seated himself comfortably in the passenger seat and as always, donned a perfectly tailored suit. The only thing differentiating this Crowley from the Crowley you usually knew was the expression of concern painting his face, the demon apparently making no effort to disguise it. 

“Sorry love, I know I shouldn’t just pop in, especially this time of night but I heard you got into a bit of a spat with moose and squirrel, I wanted to make sure you were alright.” He spoke softly, and you could see out of the corner of your eye that he was fiddling nervously with his hands, an action you had never seen from the always so cocky man.

You felt your eyes swell with tears at his words, and in a discrete attempt to hold them back you took a slow breath, another, but another glance at Crowley had the walls you had built up shattering. Your body shook as a choked sob escaped your lips, the tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. 

The demon paused, at first in shock then quickly turning back to concern, and though he hated to admit it, affection. Damn these feelings, why do I care so bloody much about a hunter for shit’s sake.

“... Do you want to talk about what happened?” He asked cautiously, internally cursing at his previous thought. You bloody shitstick, you care about them because they’re worth caring for. 

You whimpered again, bit your lip to try and stifle the noise but it was futile, all your bottled up emotions taking right now to fly out all at once much to your dismay.

“N-not right now Crowley, just please, please stay, I don’t want to be alone right now ” You sniffled, silently thanking your voice for holding steady as you took another shaky breath.

Crowley nodded, and without a word he reached over and placed a hand over your knee. It was such a simple gesture, just a lingering touch but it had you sobbing all over again, this time not just from pain but mostly from the comfort you found in the motion.

Without giving it a second thought you let your right hand drift from it’s grip on the steering wheel to rest on top of Crowley’s. If it were any other time the both of you would have laughed at how he immediately turned his palm upwards and threaded his fingers through your own, giving your hand a soft squeeze before letting his thumb drift over your wrist.

Neither of you needed to speak to know what the action meant, and in the back of your mind you were grateful for the unspoken bond you shared, because God knows you wouldn’t have been able to find the right words had you chosen to talk.

The demon watched as the corner of your mouth curved up in a weak smile, your breathing slowing from shuddering gasps back to normal as the seconds ticked by, and he offered you a smile too. 

By the time you chose to pull in to a motel the sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon, and Crowley was passed out in his seat, hand still resting comfortably in yours.

The sight brought a tired grin to your face, the king of hell curled up peacefully in the passenger side of a beaten down old car. You didn’t know demons even did sleep until now, but it was a more than welcome discovery, and you quickly pulled out your phone and snapped a picture before undoing your seatbelt and giving his hand a soft squeeze.

"Hey, um, I’m gonna get a room and get some sleep if I can. If you want you can go now, sorry that I kept you around for so long” You winced internally at the unfortunate attempt at a joke, but to your surprise the demon chuckled, opening his eyes slowly and peering up at you.

“Don’t worry pumpkin, I’m more than happy to stick around for as long as you’ll have me.”

You opened your mouth to speak but as you had expected, the words caught in your throat, so you settled on squeezing the demon’s hand again, tighter this time and full of emotion.

Crowley returned the motion, and with a warm smile he reached up and pulled your face down to his, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

Your fight with the Winchesters was all but forgotten by now. As a hunter you had learned to live in the moment, take the time to enjoy the little things, and this was most definitely a moment you wanted to hold on to. You felt safe in the little car, hand clasped affectionately in Crowley’s  as the sun gradually rose in the sky, and it was beautiful.

[notquitecanon]

Ohhhh or maybe one where the reader just makes jasper talk for a while just cuz she adores his accent 🥺

Jasper could feel your bad mood from outside your house- he was always so attuned you you. If his abilities were anymore developed he would probably be able to see your mood like a dark storm cloud hovering outside of your bedroom. Alice had a vision in the middle of their hunt of how your day would go, but with the sunny weather and the face they were already in the Canadian wilderness- he could do nothing but hope it wasn’t too bad. After stopping by his house to change clothes, he made a beeline to the tree line that surrounded your yard like a natural property line. He’d seen your silhouette in your window starting at five pm, but couldn’t make a move until the sun had gone down. The last thing his family needed was Chief Swan getting called because your neighbor caught him climbing into your window. The moment the sun dipped below the tree line, he raced up and into your bedroom.

You had been wallowing in self pity: already showered, in pajamas, and lying face down in bed with your computer playing some of your music quietly. The moment he crossed into your room, you felt his presence like a calming wave washing over you. Eyes fluttering shut as some of the tension left your body, you muttered, “Jasper.”

“Evenin’ Darlin.” His voice was like honey-warm, sweeter than sugar, slow, and sticky. Drawing you into his words and keeping you there while he lingered on the edge of your room. Ever the gentleman, waiting for your invitation. Prying your head out of your pillow, you faced him.

While you observed his freshly glowing golden eyes, slightly disheveled blonde hair, statuesque posture, and heavenly face- he did the same, taking in your tense muscles, dark under eye bags, flushed cheeks, and the general feeling of resignation and annoyance in your emotional map. He didn’t fail to notice you’d been crying- you didn’t fail to notice that he noticed. You were the first to break the silence, adjusting yourself to meet his eyes easier, “Good hunt?”

Jasper breathed a quiet laugh, such an abnormal question asked so nonchalantly, but entertained the notion nonetheless, “Most of us went up into Canada, into the mountains. Emmet took on a pretty big grizzly so he’s in a particularly good mood. I got a Moose and a couple deer.”

You didn’t know what truly constituted a “good hunt” but his thirst seemed appeased so you nodded. The head ache that came after a long day hadn’t put you in a particularly chatty mood. Jasper filled the silence, “Alice told me you had a bad day- well, told me you would have a bad day. I’m sorry I couldn’t help, doll.”

Shaking your head, you brought your knees up to your chest before wrapping your arms around them, “Not your fault, Jazz, bad days happen.”

There was a beat of silence as the two of you stared at each other, him trying to dissect every emotion you were feeling and you mentally begging him to just drop it. Finally, you just patted the spot beside you, motioning for him to join you. Talking waant something you wanted to do, but just having him close would be a big step towards feeling better.

As always, the vampire had a hard time saying no to you. So with the mattress dipping beside you, he easily slid beside you- staying perfectly still until you were situated. As usual, you bunched up a blanket where you cheek would rest against his chest- thick enough to cushion against his stone chest but thin enough to be close enough to smell the comforting scent he always had on him. Cologne, cedar, leather, something woodsy, and a sweet scent you could never quite put a finger on. After letting you settle, he looked down to you, “Wanna talk about it, sugar?”

He felt you shake you head before you nestled closer to him, so he just wrapped his arm around you alternating between tracing patterns up you arm and running cold, graceful fingers through your hair. One of your arms flopped across him just to have more phsyical contact, and Jasper frowned out of your sight. Besides truly changing your emotions (which felt invasive), he didn’t know how else to help. So for the moment, he just let you curl into him. Golden eyes raked across the room before landing on a book on your nightstand so without jostling you, he easily snatched it up.

Not bothering to read the synopsis, he began flipping through the first chapter- quickly becoming amused at the scandalous historical fiction set during the Civil War in Mississippi. Now that he thought about it, he remembered Angela passing it off to you during third period. He chuckled at a particularly inaccurate and racy part. His laughter was deep and reverberated through his hard chest which roused you, at your movement, he tried to quiet himself, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. This book is just so terrible.”

His amusement made it hard not to smile as you tried to snatch the book out of his hands, the racy novel had been on lend from Angela and after the second chapter had been collecting dust on your nightstand. He easily kept it out of your reach, amusement growing at your protest (and quiet proud that he’d got you laughing again, he could already feel your mood lightening up). Listening to his laughter made you long to hear him talk in the smooth southern accent, about anything (anything other than that awful book), “Well, if the book isn’t up to par, how about you tell me what it was really like?”

As his chuckling was dying off, he thought about it before tossing the book back on the nightstand. It wasn’t that his past was an off limits topic, there was just a lot of it and he preferred to live in the moment with you. But you were staring up at him with hopeful eyes, and he could feel the remnants of sadness and frustration so he just nodded. “Well, first of all Mississippi didn’t see battle until The Spring of 1862, and union soldiers didn’t make any head way until a year later. So the notion that a this woman met a union soldier celebrating victroy in New Albany is just wrong. Even if it was true, she wouldn’t be so eager to fall into any soldiers tent considering Conderate troops would of torched her father’s plantation for being a sympathizer or vice versa.”

“Hmmm.” You hummed in response to the history lesson, before he continued going back and forth between learned history and personal experience until he hit where he was changed. You’d heard this story, traced the silvery scars on his arms, so once he went quiet you didn’t press any further. “So where were you at the turn of the century?”

“I was still with Maria, we were going back and forth across the border in Texas and New Mexico, I honestly didn’t now it was the new century until 1905, but we were the cause of the Austin Dam failure.” He mused, thinking pack, “I left shortly after the start of the First World War, to search for my friend Peter and because I was tired of fighting Maria’s battles- she starting to lose trust in me and me in her.”

You’d heard him talk about Peter and Charlotte, the only two he ever let escape, “Did you find him?”

“No, not until the late 1930’s, so I mostly just wandered around the South and the West as a nomad. The roaring twenties were fun between Chicago and Mexico City, I’d like to go back to New Mexico someday.” He thought aloud, cold lips ghosting on the crown of your head as his grip on you tightened ever so slightly. The hand laid over him searched for his so you could intertwine you fingers with him. He squeezed for a moment before detaching just to play with you fingers, burning hot compared to his cold touch.

“Where’d you go next?” You asked, letting him gently tug and curl your fingers with his. Jasper laughed bringing your knuckles up to his lips. When he had just fed, it was so much easier to be so close- which is where he preferred to be.

“You’re mighty full of question tonight, ma’am.” He teased, dropping you hand in favor of lightly digging his fingers into your side. The quiet squeal, laughter, and weak attempts at fighting him off was so delightfully human that he couldn’t help but do it every now and then. Jasper gave you a moment to calm down before continuing, “I spent some time in Tennessee and then Kentucky, the Great Depression hit those areas pretty hard, but it was better than being involved in a territory war.”

“Peter and Charlotte ran into me in the Appalachian mountains- that would be the late 30’s- it was easier to hunt without gaining attention up there.” He paused to gauge you reaction, carefully checking for any fear. Finding none, he sighed in relief before continuing, “They told me about Coven’s in the North, how there weren’t many territory disputes and how in some areas they could even go out in day light...”

You let your eyes slip closed, tension melting as you listened to his honeyed words, and his fingers toyed with your hair. Jasper kept going, talking about traveling with Peter and Charlotte through the Midwest and Northern states before breaking off from them too. Then it was the Fifties, going into a diner and meeting Alice. You’d always envied Alice a bit for her closeness to Jasper, even though you knew neither of them felt that way for each other, but you were also incredibly grateful to her- who knows where Jasper would be without her.

“I remember she said that I’d kept her waiting long enough and I thought to myself I’ve never seen this woman in my life, but I sat down with her regardless and she told me about ‘vegetarianism’ and our future family. I could feel her excitement but I thought she was crazy.” He laughed to himself, a beautiful sound. You’d heard this story a few times from him and Alice. “I was about to go on my way, leave Alice in the wind when she told me something I couldn’t ignore.”

You perked up, neither of them had ever mentioned this part of the story. Craning you’re neck up, you saw he was watching you expectantly with a soft smile tugging those perfect lips up- waiting for a reaction, “She told me that she’d seen me with my soulmate and her future family. She couldn’t tell me when, or where, or how, but she’s seen it and I had to trust her. She felt so sincere and I’d been lonely for so long that I left with her that very afternoon.”

You sat up very suddenly, blood rushing to your cheeks ass you turned around to him, “Jasper, you’ve never told me that before! What are you doing with me then?”

Jasper couldn’t help but grin at the flash of indignation and feisty anger, but quickly frowned when it morphed to hurt. His movement was much faster and infinitely more graceful than yours as you took your face in his hands, “You were the girl in the vision, (Y/N), you’re what I’ve been waiting for.”

It was like someone pulled a plug on your negative emotions as they drained out to be replaced by jittery happiness, and he didn’t need his brother’s telepathy to see the wheel’s turning in your head, “Oh.”

Meanwhile, you were trying to figure out the appropriate reaction to being told your someone’s soulmate. You’d never really imagined life without Jasper, you’d long since admitted to yourself that he was the love of your life, “Well, I’m glad you believed her otherwise I could be with Mike Newton right now.”

It was a bad joke, but he laughed nonetheless and pulled you back down with him, now wrapping both arms around you-effectively trapping you to his chest, but you had no reason to be afraid or even attempt to break free. There was a long pause of silence, him sending off soothing vibes, (it was getting pretty late) listening to the sound of your heartbeat as it slowed, and waiting for you to doze off. It did surprise him when you spoke back up.

“Where’d you go next?” It was quiet, sleepy, but a request he wouldn’t deny. He’d pay you back by asking a hundred inane question about your childhood tomorrow.

Pulling your comforter over the two of you, he adjusted you to what would be a more comfortable sleeping position. He continued, “Well, in took a few years but eventually we met Carlisle who welcomed us to the family with open arms. It took a bit to adjust to the new life of going to highschools and colleges, being around humans. Alice would occasionally drop little hints about you, your hair color, eye color, things you would do in her visions, and that was enough to encourage me to stay with it.”

You only hummed in response, turning over a bit as you let him nudge you towards sleep. Jasper was more than surprised when you made it to the mid-seventies without falling asleep, but was satisfied that he could no longer read any anger or frustration on you. Brushing a lock of hair out of your sleeping face, he silently laughed at your unconscious reaction to his cold touch. Yes, he had waited nearly sixty years for you.

“Good night, darlin’. I love you.”

Bad moods and all, he’d wait a hundred years more for moments like these.

[homoose]

Moose I feel like I’m losing it bc I rlly don’t know how to feel :( I was just walking down a street near my apartment that I hate walking down bc a bunch of weirdos hang around there but I had to to get to an appointment and this guy said the sickest most perverted shit to me and just totally ruined my day. I don’t know if I want to cry or feel angry or just ignore that it ever happened and move on? I didn’t even think what I was wearing would get any reaction but now I never want to wear it again :(

Sorry to dump on you I just feel so embarrassed I don’t know who to talk about it to.

I’m so sorry 😔 it’s hard to ignore/pretend it never happened bc unfortunately those things can get into our noggins!!!!! it’s totally okay to cry and feel angry. no one has the right to make you feel unsafe and uncomfortable, and that’s a totally natural reaction.

at the end of the day, it helps me to remember that:

1) men like that are gross and think they have power over me but they don’t

2) I have a choice in how I let their grossness affect me.

here’s a great article for some other ways to recoup ♥️

[humanmoodring-retired]

Scrying Over You || Luce & Nadia

TIMING: Current  LOCATION: Luce’s Bedroom PARTIES: @divineluce and @humanmoodring  SUMMARY: Luce peers through the looking glass, and a familiar face peers back.

Focus on the fire. Focus on the flame, on the energy. It lived inside her, it was within her, she could do this she could-- Luce’s eyes flicked open and she stared at the wall of her room, irritation growing. The candle before her sat, untouched. Unlit. Unburning. “Fuck’s sake.” She swore angrily and swiped the candle off her bed. It rolled along the wood flooring and she caught Iggy staring at her from his terrarium, orange eyes reproving. “Sorry.” She apologized to her familiar, running her hands through her hair. She was just so fucking frustrated. Her magic, it didn’t feel right, none of it felt right. She couldn’t sense the flames that lived within her, she couldn’t feel the way they burned in her chest. They were still there, but it was as though they’d been sealed off from her. And if she didn’t have her fire, she didn’t have… anything.

Moisture welled up in the corners of her eyes and Luce swiped at her eyes, ashamed. Here she was, fucking crying because her fire wasn’t listening, when she should be focused on getting her shit together. She reached into her bag, fumbling around for the pack of tissues she kept. As she did, her hand brushed against the silver compact, the scrying mirror she kept on her. It wasn’t her magic, it had been charmed by someone in the coven that had banished her from their ranks. So maybe, maybe it would be different. Taking a deep breath, Luce shut her eyes and focused her magic. She wanted to see… Remmy. She wanted to know that they were okay, in the wake of everything that had happened, even if she couldn’t bring herself to see them in person. She just wanted to know that they were okay. Because she cared. Because she cared for them.

So, Nadia was used to losing time. It was kind of a given, being incorporeal. If she wasn’t existing in the moment, then she kind of wasn’t existing at all. Which was terrifying! But she’d never just lost time during the middle of doing something. She’d been with Blanche, hanging out in her apartment and trying not to think about the exorcism looming on the horizon. Then, she blinked, and somehow she’d made her way to Luce. Which, embarrassingly, wasn’t new. She’d taken to checking in on people when she could, usually during the day while they were going about their lives. Making sure that Kaden was alright when he was doing animal control patrols, checking in on Arthur while he was doing desk work on campus, visiting Evelyn at the Artesian, occasionally watching Luce while she worked at the tattoo parlor. She never went home with them, though, trying to avoid the breach in privacy. Yet, here she was, in Luce’s room. Maybe this was an upgraded form of sleepwalking. It was scary, that she’d somehow advanced to wandering away while in the middle of doing something. She frowned, looking at Luce and the way she was crying, and Nadia wanted to scream over the fact that she couldn’t do anything about anything. Instead, she stepped a bit closer, looking down at the little mirror in Luce’s hand. Then she jerked back as, for the first time in what felt like forever, she saw her reflection.

Luce just wanted this to work. Even if fire was refusing to listen to her, she couldn’t be losing touch with her magic. She couldn’t-- that sort of thing didn’t happen. Witches just didn’t lose their magic like that. She felt a sudden wave of cold rush over the metal of the mirror in her hand and her eyes flicked open, suddenly hopeful. She expected to see Remmy with Moose in their room at the Haunted Mansion, curled up with their dog. Or maybe with Morgan or Blanche or one of their other friends. Instead, a pair of hazel eyes stared at her from a face that was all too painfully familiar. Nadia. Flinching, Luce shook her head. She hadn’t meant to look for her, hadn’t focused the magic there. She’d already run into that bitch at the art store. She’d had enough of seeing her laugh and gloat and twist the lips that Luce had once kissed into a cruel sneer. Luce didn’t want to see her here, in the reflection of her mirror, against the backdrop of--

“Wait. Wait a second.” Luce leaned in, focusing on the mirror, staring at the background. That was… her painting on the wall. The painting that hung over her bed. That was her nightstand, a forgotten coffee mug resting on a coaster. “Nadia?” She whispered before turning around. But, she was only greeted by empty air.

It wasn’t Nadia’s appearance that freaked her out so much, though she’d definitely seen better days. It was the fact that she saw herself, that she even had a fucking reflection, that caused Nadia to check herself over, see if she could feel anything. She ended up sticking her hand through Luce’s bed, and the realization that she wasn’t actually there was crushing, even though she didn’t know what else she’d expected. Of course she wasn’t there, of course she hadn’t somehow gotten her life back without having to go through another exorcism. That would have been too easy. But the sound of her name caused Nadia’s head to snap up. “Luce?” she said, trying not to get hopeful because she knew Luce couldn’t see her. She knew that. But the other woman was looking at her in the mirror, and then when Luce whipped around to face her, Nadia could have sworn her eyes passed over her. “Luce?” She walked closer, slowly, so fucking slowly. “Can you-- Are you-- Luce?”

For a moment, Luce stood there in stunned silence. She’d seen Nadia in the reflection of the scrying mirror, something that shouldn’t have been possible. A scry could only show you an image of something or someone that was tangible and here, someone at a distance away. It couldn’t show you spirits, because they didn’t exist in the same way that people and things did. This… How was this possible? Staring back at the mirror, she did her best to angle it, trying to find Nadia in the small reflection. For a moment, there was nothing and then-- “Nadia.” She breathed. “It’s you, right? It’s really you? And not,” Luce paused, swallowing back the fury and pain that washed over her at the thought of the woman who’d stolen Nadia’s body, “not someone else?” She asked. As the reflection of the mirror passed over the woman’s face, she watched as Nadia’s lips moved. Luce heard a voice, crackling and soft, like it was coming through an ancient radio. And then, her name. A flicker of a smile spread across her lips and she nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.”

“Oh my god, you can hear me,” Nadia breathed out. “And see me?” She questioned, eyebrows furrowed together as she took in her reflection in Luce’s tiny mirror. She could cry, but instead she ended up laughing, unable to properly understand what was going on. She’d kind of just accepted that, like this, there were only a few people that were going to be able to see her. Luce wasn’t one of those people, or she hadn’t been the last time Nadia had been around her. Though, Nadia wasn’t quite sure how long ago that had been, at this point. “Hi, it’s me. Or-- Yeah, I mean, it’s me.” Not in the flesh, though that might have been a good joke, if a bit morbid. She looked around Luce’s room, but not much had changed since the last time she was there, except Luce looked a lot sadder, and Nadia was lacking a body. “I don’t-- I definitely wasn’t here a few minutes ago. Or maybe longer than that? Time’s, like, fake.” Especially when one didn’t sleep or eat or breathe or any of the other things that had to be done to tell fucking time. “How-- Uh, are you, you know, doing alright?” What else was she supposed to say? Nadia didn’t even know how she got here. She wasn’t going to complain, though.

“Just in the mirror. It’s like-- you’re on one of those shitty walkie talkies though. But, it’s-- fuck. Fuck.” Luce swore, running her free hand through her hair as she stared at the small compact in her palm. “You’re here. You’re actually here.” She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry or… what the hell was someone supposed to do in this situation? There wasn’t exactly a chapter in the Ho-ing Handbook on what you were supposed to do when one of your not quite one-night stands got cast out of her body by a demented spirit. “My magic, well, no magic should be capable of doing this. Scrying, this sort of thing? It’s for looking at things that are far away, in a physical sense.” Shaking her head, Luce continued, “I’m not going to question it right now. You’re actually here.” At Nadia’s question, she let out a shaky breath. Was she doing alright? She could lie. She could lie and pretend that she was fine and that everything was fine. But… She was tired of lying. She was tired of pretending. “I’m not great. Everything’s been… a bit shitty. But, I think I’m preaching to the choir there.” Luce said with a tense attempt at a grin. “How about you? Are you--” Alright wasn’t the right word, how could she be anything close to alright? Nadia had been forced out of her body, she’d had her life stolen from her. Again. “How are you holding up?”

Nadia gave a small wave into the mirror. “You know what? I’ll fucking take it.” She’d give just about anything to be there in person, but this was-- Fine wasn’t the right word, but it was better than everything that had been going on for, like, months. She’d been possessed for months, and it was almost worse than being possessed for years. It was worse than being possessed for years because this time she had so much to lose. More to lose than she ever had before. And she kind of had lost a lot, more than she knew what to do with. But… at least she was there, even if she wasn’t, not really. “I’m here in spirit,” Nadia said, but her nonexistent heart wasn’t in the joke. She was more focused on what Luce was saying, and she glanced at the mirror, a scrying mirror, doing her best to remember what Luce was saying. “So is it normally used for looking at objects or people, or can it be used for both?” It was probably dumb, to be asking questions about mundane things when both of them were going through hell, but it was interesting, and it was something to focus on that wasn’t doom and gloom and the fact that her soul could get destroyed soon. “Shitty is… Yeah. Yeah. You were gone for awhile, too.” Maybe she was showing her hand with that, and she almost wanted to take it back. Luce had said she didn’t want anything serious, and keeping track of when the other left town wasn’t quite casual. Nadia was just… too relieved to be talking to her to care, though. “You know, I’m--” tired, scared, feeling useless. She went through the motion of running a hand through her hair and looked around the room. “I am not quite as dead as I appear.” She shot Luce a wry smile. “Not quite holding up, but definitely holding on.”

The laugh that came out of Luce’s mouth was more out of reflex than actual mirth. “I’d say that’s some gallows humor, but… feels a little soon.” She offered, words trailing off as she continued to stare at the compact. Nadia was really here. Luce had thought that when that woman had won the war in taking control of her body-- well, she’d assumed that Nadia’s soul had been lost. Gone, moved on, whatever the fuck you wanted to call it. She’d thought that Nadia was dead. But, right here, there was proof that she wasn’t. At the other woman’s question, Luce nodded. “Not exactly. It’s used mostly for looking at people, animals. Objects, not so much. You need to have a strong connection to them for it to work-- the last time I used this, I was looking for Nell’s cat.” She said, the words sounding sillier than the reality of the situation. That had been the night at the pet hospital, when she’d gotten a call from a scared Nell. It felt like it had happened years ago. Would Nell even call her now, if something like that happened to Taki? Luce didn’t know the answer to that question, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

Shifting on the bed a bit, Luce’s movement caused a shadowy lump at the head of her bed to stir. Rhiannon peeked her head up, eyes blinking sleepily as she padded over. The cat butted her head against Luce’s side and the witch’s gaze flicked back to the mirror. “Hey. Hey, Rhiannon. Nadia’s here. Can you see her?” She asked, tilting the compact towards the cat as best she could. But, the cat flopped back down on the bed and fell back asleep without a second glance at her. “She misses you, I think.” Luce said, attention directed at the mirror again. I miss you too. She wanted to say that. Instead, she cleared her throat, “You knew I left town too, huh?”

“Well, I do have both feet in the grave. I think this goes a little farther than gallows humor, but, hey, I’m still here, so that’s a plus.” It was a bit morbid, but Nadia said it with a smile. Most days, she couldn’t stand being like this. Most days, she had little concept of what a day even was when she wasn’t around another person, a living, breathing person. But she was still here, and, really, nothing made a person overcome their fear of ghosts like actually being one. She moved a bit closer, staring into the mirror and more than a little fascinated with it. It was so weird to see herself again. It was a good reminder that she existed. “Well, apparently this one can look at ghosts. I’ll admit, finding a cat might be a bit more useful.” Nadia didn’t comment on the mirror finding things or people that the user had a strong connection with. She couldn’t, even though she… wanted. She wanted to, but wanting was hard, and she didn’t have time for it. Besides, wanting led to being stupid, and this, everything that existed or didn’t between her and Luce, was something that she was too scared to be stupid about. Casual. It was just supposed to be casual, even if Nadia couldn’t maintain casualness to save her life.

Seeing Rhiannon would have made Nadia’s chest ache if it was possible. Seeing how big her kitten had gotten was just a reminder of how long she’d been gone. She gave the cat a soft smile, especially when Rhiannon didn’t pay her any mind. “Oh, totally, I can tell she missed me.” Nadia laughed a bit and sat on the bed, making sure to stay within view of the mirror, and reached over to pet Rhiannon. She still wasn’t the best at touching things, but she managed to run her fingers through soft fur when she really concentrated. She couldn’t feel anything except the slightest tingle of warmth, but it was nice to know she could even do that. Rhiannon’s ear twitched, which was a good as anything from her; the only thing that would have shown the cat’s love even more would have been if she’d attempted to swat at Nadia’s hand. She looked back at Luce. “I-- Yeah. I mean, there’s not much to do, like this, a lot of the time, so I’d go by Ink Inc. and other places, and you weren’t there, so I figured you weren’t, like, around or anything. I didn’t see you around.”

“Yeah. You’re still here.” Luce echoed. She wanted to ask why, or how-- but, she realized, it didn’t really matter, did it? Nadia was still here. Which meant that there really was a chance that she could get her body back. There was still hope. And that had been in short supply for… a while now. Luce’s eyes remained trained on the sliver of glass in her hand, watching Nadia regard herself in the mirror. It was still so hard to believe that she was really here. With her. Talking to her. “It’s never done this before and I’ve had it since I was a teenager. The-- my mother’s coven, someone from there charmed it for me. I’ve used it before, but it’s never done anything like this. Not that I’m complaining, I just… It’s never happened before.” She said with a slightly disbelieving expression on her face. Did this have something to do with her flames not cooperating? Was her magic, was something wrong with it?

As Nadia moved to sit next to her, Luce waited for the bed to dip with the familiar weight of the other woman. But, of course, the sensation didn’t come. She wasn’t here, not like that. She was… a soul without a body-- not quite ghost and not quite girl either. Swallowing, she did her best to hide how much that reminder pained her and focused on Rhiannon’s sleeping form. She could see Nadia reaching out, could see the barest twitch of the cat’s ear. Proof. Undeniable proof that the other woman really was here. A part of her wanted to reach out, to see if she could feel the barest hint of Nadia’s presence against her skin. But before she could extend her hand, Luce blinked at the woman’s words. “You’d come by the shop? I didn’t know that. I mean, there’s no way I could know. I wasn’t… around.” She said and sighed, shaking her head. “Sorry. I’m trying to get better about-- I don’t know. Talking. Being present. Being,” Better. “Here for people. My birthday came around and I sort of… freaked out. And I fucked off from town for a bit because it was easier than dealing with things.” But then, she’d come back and everything was somehow worse than how she’d left it. “Which was a bad idea. Hindsight 20/20 you know?”

Nadia smiled at Luce. She was still here, for better or for worse, and here was where she’d stay until her dying breath. As far as she knew, her fucking body was still breathing. She liked to think that she’d know whether or not she was dead. Maybe she’d feel it or something. “Okay, so this is a new kind of thing.” Nadia didn’t know shit about magic, but things didn’t just change. Not without a cause. She was mostly ghostly because she’d been kicked out of her body. “So something had to have happened. I-- I mean, I’m glad. It’s kind of nice, that you can see me. Like, not a lot of people can. More than you’d think, but not a lot.” Fuck, how was she going to explain this to Blanche? She’d probably literally just disappeared while they were in the middle of something. But this… was kind of better. “Hey, you’ll figure it out, alright? I wish I could help you find out what’s going on with that thing.” She frowned at the mirror, feeling useless. “But at least you didn’t get, like, a worse spirit, you know? Like, some of them are jackasses.”

It wasn’t like Nadia could blush, but she would have, for sure, if she was in her body. “I mean, only sometimes. I just, like, check on people, sometimes. When I’m not busy.” So pretty often, actually, but that sounded embarrassing and depressing, and busy meant that she was trying to figure out how to not die getting her body back, which was just depressing. “I didn’t, you know, expect you to know I was there. I didn’t even know if you knew I was, uh, like this.” The look on Luce’s face was something that Nadia wanted to brush away. Luce Vural was confident and carefree and smiling (or maybe smirking, but hey, Nadia liked it), and every single time Nadia saw her and she wasn’t, all Nadia wanted to do was help her. These weren’t casual thoughts. She wished she could think casual thoughts. “Yeah? I gotta admit, I thought you were pretty good at it. The, uh, being there for people. Not that we ever-- I mean we kind of talked, but-- Ugh. I’m also not good at this, either. Talking.” It was easier when she wasn’t so fucking focused on her own emotions. Instead, all she could think about was how warm Luce was, and how Nadia could probably feel Luce if she was close enough. Just a little closer. She looked away. “I-- I can’t really blame you for leaving. Town’s kind of shitty, honestly. But… I am glad you’re back.” I was worried about you was better left unsaid, but she felt it. Fuck, she felt it.

That smile-- how could Nadia still smile, after everything that had happened to her? Luce didn’t know how she could do it. As she listened to the woman’s words, Luce’s face fell, expression distant. Something had changed, sort of. She’d helped kill someone. Not that she hadn’t done that before, which was… still something she hadn’t fully unpacked. But, she’d helped kill someone who wasn’t a threat to her, who would have left well enough along if Luce had just let Lydia go. Was her magic changing because of that? Was the fire fading and were souls taking their place? Swallowing, she shrugged and offered a sliver of a smile. “Yeah. I’ll figure it out. Probably just something weird going on with the charm on the mirror. I’ll ask my sisters about it.” She would. No more secrets, and she meant those words this time. No more secrets. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

“You were checking up on me?” Luce said, the words coming out, half teasing, half worried. Had Nadia seen her on the nights when she’d stumbled out of Soul, drunker than she should be? Or the days when she holed herself up in her room, surrounded by sketches that were cast off and pushed aside? “That bitch in your body told me that… you weren’t around. I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t think you were still around, which,” Luce let out a wry laugh, “Is a pretty shitty conclusion to jump to, now that I think about it.” Listening to Nadia, she almost wanted to grin. Who would have thought that a ghost-- a soul? A spirit?-- could get flustered. “I’m really not. But, I’m working on it.” Luce said, thinking about Remmy. She wanted to be better, but how could she even say that? She’d helped to kill someone they cared about, someone they loved? And she was still running, in a way. She hadn’t talked to them in weeks, too afraid of what would happen if she did.

Staring at the mirror, Luce wished that she could reach through the glass and touch the woman’s face, to do… something. Reassure her? Help her? Luce didn’t know what, all she knew was that her fingers ached to touch Nadia. “I’m glad to be back. I--” Her words hitched and she cleared her throat, “It’d be nice if you were back too.” She said as she shifted in place on the bed. Her free hand rested on the covers and she watched as it passed through the place where Nadia’s hand was, their fingers crossing over one another in the reflection. But, there was no familiar press of skin against hers, none of the cool comfort of her body. Luce was still alone.

“Totally,” Nadia said. “Granted, it was a shit offer made by someone who knows significantly less about--” she motioned to the mirror, “any of this than your sisters probably do, so I’m pretty sure I’d have been more of a hindrance than a help, especially, you know, all incorporeal.” Even if she was in her body and hadn’t been possessed for months, Nadia didn’t know shit about magic mirrors or, just, magic in general. She added that to the list of things she wanted to learn when, if, she got her body back. It was a constantly expanding list. She hoped she got to work through it.

At Luce’s next words, Nadia ran a hand through her hair, the motion a habit that just refused to die despite the weeks she’d been unable to feel herself do it. “Only at work, really. I haven’t been here or anything, actually, since I was here, like, the first time.” Just because she could walk through walls didn’t mean that she should. Even like this, Nadia valued boundaries, tried to uphold them as much as she could. Sometimes, sure, she wandered, usually unaware and for a bit longer than she should, but she always came back to herself, always made sure she didn’t go too far. “Well, the bitch in my body is kind of a bitch so…” She let the words trail off, worry clear on her face. “She hasn’t bothered you, has she? I mean, hurt you. Has she tried to hurt you?” God, Nadia didn’t know what she’d do if-- Cordelia had a habit of knowing how to hurt Nadia by going after the people she cared about. She hated the thought of Cordelia even talking to Luce; she didn’t know what she’d do with herself if the bitch had hurt yet another person that she… cared about. She needed to stop thinking about that. “Hey, working on it’s the first step, right? It’s good that you’re even doing that. A lot of people don’t care to.”

If she closed her eyes, Nadia could imagine that Luce’s hand was in hers, warm and comforting and grounding. Instead, she looked down to where Luce’s hand had simply passed through hers, a steady reminder that, like this, she wasn’t fully present, not when her body was off doing who the fuck knew what. “I wish I was back, too,” her voice thick with emotion and tears that she could shed. She swallowed the feelings down, trying carefully not to get too emotional, even if all she could be was a collection of thoughts and emotions that were only occasionally heard. Strong emotions weren’t good while she was like this, a fact that she had to remind herself often. It was hard, being unable to feel anything but her own emotions. How did people do this? She’d like to get back to normal. She’d never complain about being a fucking empath ever again. “But this isn’t permanent. I should-- It’s being worked on. I’m getting my body back. Soon, hopefully.” She moved her hand a bit and loosely wrapped it around Luce’s. Nadia knew the other woman couldn’t feel it, but it made her feel better to see it. Almost like she was real. She didn’t voice the fact that she could actually die trying to get her body back, that she’d been through two exorcisms and neither of them had gone particularly right, that there were so, so many things that could go wrong. She could be a little hopeful, here, consequences be damned.

Work. The tension in Luce’s shoulders eased some at that and she nodded. Work was safe, for the most part. She’d crashed at Ink more often than she should, stumbling in through the backdoor after a long night at Soul and crashing on the couch. But, it was better than if Nadia had seen her here, or in the woods. At Nadia’s question, Luce shook her head. “Not unless you count messing with my head. She hasn’t done anything to me, so… silver linings, you know?” She said with a tense smile. Even if that bitch had tried to hurt her, would Luce have been able to do anything about it? It was still Nadia’s body, still Nadia’s face that looked back at her, even the smirk and the cruel eyes were distinctly not Nadia. The only thing Luce was good for was fire and even that…

Luce watched the way Nadia’s eyes drifted to their fingers in the reflection of the mirror and, for a moment, she wondered if the other woman would pull away. She had always made it clear that things between them were casual, and Nadia had always been okay with that. But, the fear and anger and sadness that Luce had felt when she realized that the woman had been pushed from her body and trapped in this half-life? It scared her. It terrified her in the same way her feelings for Remmy had. As she stared at the mirror, she watched as Nadia’s fingers curled around her own. Luce wished she could feel her. She wished she could touch her. She wished that she could do something to help, that she could do anything good. “If there’s anything I can do to help, just say the word. I want--” Her words caught in the back of her throat, “to help. If I can, I want to do it.” I want you to be here, to be safe. She wanted to say the words, but some part of her just couldn’t bring herself to voice the truth.

“Well, at least she didn’t try to shoot you,” Nadia muttered. “She seems to enjoy that.” And stab people, apparently. She was still scared and pissed off at the thought of what Cordelia had done to Blanche, and what she’d done to Kaden, what she’d nearly done to Regan. Luce was lucky, in a way, that somehow Cordelia hadn’t decided to take a literal stab at her. Nadia was grateful for that, at least. God, she wished she knew what Luce was thinking, feeling. Some sort of insight into anything that wasn’t herself would be awesome. Nadia liked to think that she was good at reading people, even without the empath thing, and maybe she was, but it was hard like this when she literally had nothing to focus on. “The fact that that’s the silver lining to this whole thing is such shit.”

Looking at Luce, Nadia felt the feeling of waking up from those falling dreams, a tightness having built up in her whole being because she didn’t really have a throat for it to get stuck in. She didn’t have a way to properly express the lingering dread and the relief and the where do we go from here that she wanted to. Fuck, she wanted to. But this wasn’t the time, and it might never be. Instead, she gave Luce a half-smile. “This is helping. Seriously. I… This is grounding, talking with someone. Sometimes…” Sometimes she would be so light that she didn’t touch the ground, and sometimes she was so heavy that she would sink into it. “Sometimes I’m not really here, and talking keeps me present. So, this? This is good.” Any other kind of help would be too much to ask of a woman that barely knew her, even if she wished it was different. She was already asking too much of the people that did know her, know what had happened and what was going on. It was too dangerous. She was putting too many people in harm’s way.

Shoot her? Luce’s eyebrows shot up at that. Who the fuck had been shot at? Christ, what would she even do if that bitch came at her with a gun? She didn’t know how to defend herself against that kind of thing, even with her magic. Which she wouldn’t use, she wouldn’t do that to Nadia. “Kinda tracks with this town, you know? Nothing quite like radio silence from your local body-snatcher being the bright side of any situation.” She said her words joking, but still tinged with bitterness.

Luce couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Nadia, to exist like this. Not quite here, but not completely gone either. All while she was surrounded by people who couldn’t see her, couldn’t hear her. She was alone in a way that Luce, for all her love of isolation and solitude, knew would drive anyone to madness.“I’m glad. That this is helping. That I can,” still be good, “Do something good.” She said with a nod. Looking at the mirror, Luce hovered her hand over the space where Nadia’s arm rested, fingers tracing shapes in the air where the other woman’s skin should be. A triangle, the sign of fire. A circle, cut into quadrants, the earth. Zig-zagging line, lead. Alchemical marks that were found in any binding ward. But, without a surface to imbue with power, they were just shapes in the air. “I just wish I could do more.” Luce said, voice quiet.

At Luce’s expression, Nadia had to laugh bitterly. “Yeah, she really fucking likes hurting people.” Cordelia liked hurting the people that Nadia cared about because she liked hurting Nadia. That’s just who she was, who she’d become. Anything to get control over a body that wasn’t really hers. Nadia was a fool for giving it up in the first place; she owned up to that, and she knew that all of this was her fault. She was too weak to hold onto what was hers. But Cordelia should have never gone after the people that Nadia cared about. She wasn’t supposed to do that, and Nadia would be damned if she let that bitch do it anymore. “Right? At least she’s not out there murdering people.” As far as they knew, of course. Truthfully, the radio silence was just as concerning, the not-knowing. Because Cordelia was the textbook definition of unstable, and Nadia had been there while she was stable, at least somewhat. Cordelia was prone to violence, but she liked it, the thrill of it. She liked pain, feeling it and causing it. Radio silence could mean anything, and that terrified Nadia.

“I’m glad, too,” Nadia said softly, and, focusing, attempted to squeeze Luce’s hand. It was about the same as trying to brush Rhiannon’s fur; there wasn’t much, but it was something, a reminder that she was there, as much as it might seem like she wasn’t. That was, perhaps the worst part of being like this. As much as she phased through things like they weren’t real, she was the incorporeal one. She was the thing that didn’t really exist. Nothing could touch her; she could only hope to touch them, and sometimes she was too overwhelmed to even manage that. But this? She could do this. She eyes tracked the movement of Luce’s finger’s, remembering like a waking dream the way they felt on her skin. “I can’t ask you to do anything more,” she whispered, too scared to speak loud, too scared of the emotions that would worm their way into her voice. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t know what I’d-- I don’t want you to get hurt. This is gonna be over soon, and I will let you know if I’m-- when I’m back. I will.” Even if she was still like this, even if it went horribly wrong, she’d let Luce know.

As Nadia’s fingers moved to curl around Luce’s in the reflection, a small grin flitted across her face. There was nothing good about this situation, no real reason for her to smile. Nadia was still a ghost, Luce’s magic was still… fucked, nothing had changed in any real way. But, it felt better. Somehow. Looking at the reflection, she watched as Nadia’s lips moved, expecting to hear the words. But, it was like scanning through an old radio scanner, with white noise filtering in with every other word. “Can’t… do more... Don’t want you…” Luce’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion as she tried to piece together the words. “Over soon…. When… back.” Swallowing, Luce shook the mirror, as though that would do something. “I can’t-- something’s happening. I can’t hear you.” She said. Even as she spoke, the sound of static grew and the reflection in the compact began to shift at the edges. “I can’t-- I’m losing you,” Luce said. She was losing Nadia, again. No, no, no. Couldn’t she just have five minutes of something good? Or did she not even deserve that? “I can’t see you, but… stay. Please. If you can.”

“No,” Nadia said with no small amount of despair as she watched her reflection fade from the tiny mirror. “No, please, I just want-- Fuck.” God, she wanted to scream. She could, probably, but that wouldn’t be good for the Vural’s electricity. She needed to stay calm, but it was hard, it was so fucking hard. Especially when she just-- She had more she wanted to say, to make sure Luce didn’t try anything dumb. And she had things she wanted to avoid saying, didn’t know how to say, but she wanted to feel them on her lips and know that they could be heard if she voiced them. “I can stay,” she whispered, even though she knew she wasn’t going to heard. She tried to squeeze Luce’s hand again, though she failed the first few times before she succeeded. She pulled her knees up to her chest, halfway sinking into the bed but not able to bring herself to care. It wasn’t like she needed to put up appearances, anymore. “I’m here.” She didn’t feel like it, but she was. “I’m here.” Reaching over, she managed to tap against Luce’s nightstand once. Two times. “I’m here.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

▶hi killian! you should really hurt some poor innocent person like the monster you are, i'd love to see that :)

CW: Dehumanization, wing whump, accidentally hurting a child, minor injury to child, blood

He didn’t want to - he didn’t, he didn’t, but the woman’s fingers wouldn’t stop poking, prodding through his wings, pulling on flight feathers until his fae-voice keened at the violation, the ache, even as his human voice whined. 

The mix of sounds was off-key, sharp note and flat. It made the woman wrinkle her nose, clicking tongue against teeth. “Come now, little thing, you bled so well earlier. Have you no tears left?”

He hated her, but he didn’t want to hurt her.

And he definitely didn’t want to hurt the little girl standing next to her, hidden nervously behind the noblelady’s skirts. A niece, or something. 

Killan might have had a niece by now. He’d never know, would he?

He didn’t want to hurt the little girl, who had done nothing but watch him, wide-eyed, as Lady Layla poked, prodded, pulled in her attempts to make him cry again, so she could show her niece a monster’s tears.

He didn’t want to hurt her.

The little girl finally found the courage to step out from Layla’s skirts, and he moved to lean forwards, obedient, well-trained.

Terrified.

But just as he leaned into the little girl’s hands, to let her run her fingers over the muzzle locking his jaw shut, the lady Layla pulled a flight feather in one quick twist-and-pull, a flash of pain, and the nameless thing jerked forwards, jaw aching as he fought to snarl, and swiped his talons at the noblelady, hoping only to make her bleed in some small way half as much as she had brought blood from him.

He had forgotten, in the moment, about the little girl. 

Her wail rose high and sharp, and the creature jerked his talons back to stare, wide-eyed, at the blood welling up along her arm where he’d cut into her, talons so sharp they slid through skin like a heated knife through new butter.

I’m sorry-

I don’t know why I reacted-

I’m sorry-

Layla’s gasp was as loud as a shot and she pulled her niece back, dropping into a crouch to check her over, eyes narrowing at the slashes across the little girl’s arm. Then she turned slowly to look at the creature. 

The cold hatred there was unmistakable, and the creature curled into himself, wings tightly curled against his back. He tried to speak through the muzzle, to apologize, but the only sound he could make was a low whine, a plea for mercy.

The flight feather she had pulled from him lay on the ground, a hint of pale, shimmering blood at the end. 

“How dare you,” The noblelady said, softly. “How dare you.” 

The girl’s cries continued as Layla led her from the creature’s small, cell-like room, and the creature’s own whimpering sobs soon filled the silence, as he curled over on himself, talons curled tight to his palms.

He hadn’t wanted to hurt her.

He never wanted to hurt anyone.

When the lord came to punish him, the creature only spread his wings on either side for the lash, and knew he deserved every muffled scream torn from his throat.

---

Tagging Killan’s crew:  @astrobly​​ @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @slaintetowhump , @quirkykayleetam , @whumpallday , @whumppsychology, @doveotions, @broken-horn, @moose-teeth, @whumpfigure, @spiffythespook, @oceanthesarcasamfox,  @whump-only, @just-strawberry-jam, @loopylunacy (if you would like to be added to an OC’s tag list, please send your request via an ask! Those are easier for me to keep track of and I tend to lose requests in comments, reblogs, tags, or PMs!)

[cloverhighfivewritestoo]

Quarantine Roomies

👉 Read it on Ao3

This is @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover​’s fault. She wrote Be Mine, this Quarantine (1.6k) and I continued it (hence the part 2). So if you want context, go read the other fic where Dean tries to sum up the courage to ask Cas to quarantine together. (also, I continued the fic, so there’s details from her fic that went into mine too)

But if you just want to start where Dean gets to Cas’ place, here we go.

college!AU, buddies to not-buddies, fluff, 2k

And so Dean had moved in with Cas for the quarantine. Cas had a second room with a futon, which he had made into a bed for Dean. “So here’s the room I have for you,” said Cas. “It’s not much, but…” Dean was just trying to breathe. He was here. In Cas’ apartment. He was going to sleep in the room right next to Cas’. “Do you think it’ll do?”, asked Cas. The bed could have been nailed to the wall vertically, Dean wouldn’t have cared. “It’s perfect, Cas. Thanks.” “OK then. Um, I cleared two drawers in the chest of drawers there – don’t try to open the other drawers, they’re gonna explode – and, um, the closet is pretty empty except some boxes.” “OK. Cool.” Dean and Cas looked at the room in silence. “Oh,” said Cas, “do you think you need a nightstand?” “What?” Cas didn’t wait for Dean to actually answer. He rummaged in the closet and produced a box that was high enough and big enough to serve as a nightstand. He turned to Dean and smiled. “All set!” Fuck. That smile. Dean was fucked. Cas shuffled on his feet, inching towards the door. “So, um, I’ll let you unpack your stuff.” “Oh, you can stay.” Cas sat on the futon with a smile. “Did you bring a lot?” Dean just wanted to sit next to Cas and hug him and kiss him, but he had to keep face. “Just what I need. You have a washing machine?” “In the basement.” “Alright.” Dean unpacked his bags and felt Cas’ eyes on him the whole time. Cas would even comment on the shirts Dean brought, pointing out that this or that shirt was a favourite of Dean’s or himself. For some reason, it made Dean happy. And Cas seemed happy too. It was a bit weird how he felt happy just unpacking and talking. Dean tried not to read too much into it.

After, they’d gone grocery shopping, because Cas said Dean was the better cook so he should be there to choose what to buy. Cas declared he had quite the sweet tooth, and Dean promptly added a few cake box mixes to the cart. “That’s gonna be a lot of cakes though, Dean.” Dean winked. “Did you know you can make cookies out of cake mixes?” Cas’ eyes widened. “Funfetti cookies?” Dean smirked. “Any mix.” Dean smiled fondly as he watched Cas carefully choose three more boxes, two of which were funfetti. Dean added some multicolor nonpareils to the cart. “More fun for the funfetti.” Cas smiled wide. Dean wondered if he was completely red now. Dinner was frozen pizza, since Dean declared that coming back from groceries nobody wants to cook. But he baked a batch of funfetti cookies nonetheless, which they ate on the couch, watching a Mission: Impossible movie. Actually, Dean had two cookies, and Cas just kept on eating them slowly. At one point, Dean had to tell Cas to slow down. “Come on, buddy. You’ll be sick.” Cas had looked sadly at the cookies plate. “They’re just so good.” He’d taken another cookie very slowly, his eyes on Dean, as if he was worried he’d stop him. Dean just shook his head. “Hey, don’t come crying to me when you get a tummy ache.” “OK,” Cas said, shoving the cookie in his mouth. Fuck. Dean was so fucked. How will he last a whole quarantine with this adorable fucker without completely losing his mind? Cas got up. “I’m getting milk. Want milk?” “Nah I’m good.” He watched Cas go to the kitchen – hgnnn that ass – and then heard him shout back “Hey I’m not sleepy at all.” Dean shouted, “No shit.” “We could watch another movie.” “Alright.” Cas came back, took a big gulp standing in front of the couch, licked his lips – yeah, Dean was soooo fucked – set his glass on the coffee table, and flopped down next to Dean. And, Dean noticed, he was… quite closer this time. But Cas looked like nothing special was going on. So Dean started another movie. When the movie was done, Dean looked at Cas. “You still seem wide awake. That was a lot of cookies.” “No, it’s just my weird sleeping schedule.” “If you say so. I think I’m gonna head to bed though.” “Yeah me too. I’m gonna read a bit.” Dean knew he couldn’t sleep though. He was thinking about the afternoon, unpacking his things with Cas sitting on the bed and chatting him up, and going grocery shopping, how fun it was – how can it be fun? But it was. And then talking about their teachers over dinner, and then Cas’ face lighting up when the cookies were done and how he almost burnt his mouth trying to eat one right away… His head was dizzy with Cas smiling, and all the faces he made, and how painfully adorable he always was, on top of being goddamn hot, on top of being so easy to be with. Dean had left his door slightly open, closed enough so it looks like he has his privacy, but open enough so he can see if Cas walks around in the night, hopefully in his underwear. OH GOD. Why had Dean have to think about that? And so Dean was fixating a bit too much on the soft light reflecting in the hallway from Cas’ room – who, it seems, had left his door slightly open too – and his ears were picking up the sound of ruffling sheets as Cas changed positions to read, the page sliding against the other page as he turned it, the occasional hm or sigh in reaction to what he was reading. Dean felt a bit of air blow on his nose. It took him a few moments to realize it was morning and that he had dozed off to sleep – at what hour he had no idea, but he hadn’t seen Cas’ light turned off.  He felt a bit of cool air again. He took a deep breath. He heard purr. Dean’s eyes shot open. The cat! He’d forgotten the cat! The cat was purring louder. “Hey buddy,” Dean whispered. The cat yawned and blinked. It purred some more. Dean realized his nose wasn’t itching. His eyes weren’t on fire. What? He was allergic to cats, he’d even brought medicine for an army – and forgotten to take any. “How come I’m not allergic to you?” Purr, purr. Dean took his time to wake up, even petted the cat on his head, which granted him more purring, which almost put Dean back to sleep. Eventually, he got up and just pulled on a pair of jeans, walking in the kitchen barefoot, no shirt on. He started to prepare some coffee. Dean heard Cas in his room make waking grunts as he stretched. He heard Cas say “Hey Jack, you sleep well?” Damn, Dean could hear the cat purr from the kitchen. He heard Cas again, “Come on, let’s see if Dean is up.” Suddenly, Dean regretted not putting on a shirt. He felt very self-conscious. He didn’t have time to dwell on that for long: there was a loud clang behind him and a “OUCH SHIT”. He turned to see Cas wincing, holding a foot. A chair was on the floor. “You alright?” Cas breathed in sharply. “Yeah, yeah. Just banged into the chair.” “How did you do that?”, Dean said, and he saw Cas’ eyes glance over his chest and look away. “I dunno, clumsy I guess,” Cas said, as he picked up the chair and sat on it, rubbing his shin and his foot, looking pointedly down. Dean was in shock. Did Cas just check him out? He suddenly felt very naked. But going to put a shirt on now would seem too weird. Better play it cool. “I got coffee going.” “Thanks.” Dean walked around the table to Cas. “You’ll be alright?” Cas showed his leg. “Yeah. My ego’s probably more bruised.” “Alright.” Dean sat on the chair on the side, turning it slightly to face Cas. They both looked at Cas’ leg, while Cas was moving his foot to check what hurt and what was OK. The coffee was dripping in the background. “Cas, by the way… and this is weird… I think I’m not allergic to your cat.” “Jack? He’s hypoallergenic.” “But he’s got hair. He’s even quite fluffy.” “Still hypoallergenic.” “Uh. Nice. I don’t have to take meds then. Cool. Talk about a coincidence, you having an allergy-free cat.” Cas seemed to think about something. “I knew you were allergic.” “What?” Cas looked down. “When I got Jack. I knew. That’s why I went for this type of cat.” “What? Wait. You already had a cat when I met you. You got a new cat?” “No, it's the same cat.” Cas bit on his lip. “Actually, I got him two weeks after I saw you.” Dean’s heart was racing, but mostly he was confused. What was Cas saying? “I don’t follow. This cat is clearly older than we’ve been friends.” Cas looked at his hands. “I saw you before you saw me.” “What? When?” “Last year. You were arguing with someone about their cat. And I’d just moved in, and I wanted a cat. I thought if one day I’m lucky, maybe this guy will come to my place, you know, be my friend, and I don’t want to kill him, so, I got a hypoallergenic cat.” “Last year.” “Yeah.” Dean thought he was dreaming or something. Did Cas just tell him he had a crush on him since last year? No. He said ‘friend’. He couldn’t help but repeat what Cas had said. “You got that cat because of me, last year.” “Yeah.” Dean was stunned. He didn’t know what to say. Could it be… ? No. But… ? Cas glanced at Dean, who wasn’t moving, or, seemingly, even breathing. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.” Cas got up and went to his room. He closed the door. Dean listened to the coffee as it finished dripping, his gaze focused on Cas’ bedroom door. He tried to wrap his head around… all of it. The cat. The easy friendship. Cas texting him good morning every day. Him sending Cas stupid pics of his breakfast like it’s important. The long nights chatting. Cas asking him to come spend quarantine with him. And Cas so happy every time he got to stick around with him. Oh. Dean got up. He knocked lightly on Cas’ door. “Cas.” Cas’ voice came muffled. “No Dean it’s fine. I’m sorry I brought it up.” Dean insisted. “Cas, can I come in? Come on.” It took a moment before he heard a feeble “OK”. Dean opened the door. Cas was sitting on his bed, his arms around his legs, his head between his knees. Dean sat by Cas on the side of the bed. “Hey. I’m glad you told me.” Cas didn’t move. “Why? It’s all gonna be awkward, now.” Dean sat closer. “Cas, look at me.” Cas lifted his head. There were tears on his cheeks. Dean felt his heart sink and his breath catch in his throat. “Cas, oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Cas’ big, blue eyes were perplex. “Why?” “Because I’m stupid.” And as he said that, Dean took Cas’ face gently in his hands, and kissed him softly. Cas said, “Are you sure?” “Yes,” Dean said, as he kissed him again. Cas let go of his legs and passed his arms around Dean. The feel of Cas’ hands on his bare skin sent electricity through Dean. He kissed Cas harder, who kissed him back with impatience. Moments later, they came for air. Dean started laughing, Cas started laughing too. Dean said, “I’m glad we cleared that up on the first day. This is gonna make the quarantine so much better.” Cas looked at Dean with the biggest smile and kissed him. “So much.” In Stanford, Sam almost walked into a pole when he got a pic from his brother: Dean was all smiles, an arm around Cas, who was laughing, nudged in Dean’s neck. Of course, there was no text.

     I’d love to hear from you!

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[yikeswtfmate]

[i am not taking any more requests at the moment]

@the-chocolate-moose asked: o hai, babe. I see you're still taking prompts, so here I am requesting 69 with our soft boi Bonky! 👀

Yeah, listen my babe, the ‘You see that death glare means she likes you.’ was implied, OKAY? You don’t need the actual prompt, right???

[warnings: language]

masterlist

Y/N is nearly knocked off her feet when the explosion sets off far away to her right. It makes her ears ring, swiping her off balance for a few moments, but at least she can’t hear Barnes’ incessant nagging anymore. This mission has taken everything out of her, and she nearly starts crying in relief when she manages to stumble on the Quinjet, sweaty, bruised and spitting blood. Barnes is right behind her, stamping his feet until her head nearly bursts with pain.

“I told you to be careful.” He grunts, throwing the machine gun to the side.

Unregulated use of firearms be damned apparently. Fury would be furious, she thinks and spits out some more blood as she snorts.

“I swear to God, Y/N, if you can’t listen to orders, you’re not allowed to go on missions anymore.” Bucky stoops until he’s level with her, whether assessing the damage to her face or just trying to be a dick, she doesn’t really care.

Just when she’s about to pounce on him, ready to punch him until he’s just as bloody as she is, Sam swoops in and they’re finally off to base.

“You don’t have the clearance to do that, Tinman.”

He offers his hand to Y/N, arm going around her waist, shouldering her on to a nearby chair, where he straps her in. Sam moves her face this way and that, mutters some questions that she can only nod to in reply. Bucky watches them, mouth set into a straight line. He doesn’t want to see Sam kneeling in front of her, dabbing at the cut on her face, or the way her fingers curl around his wrist. Instead, he just growls deep within his chest and moves towards the front of the jet, falling on the seat next to Steve.

“You really should go easier on Y/N.” He comments without taking his eyes off the horizon. “It wasn’t her fault we didn’t have the intel to know we’d walk right into a trap.”

“She should’ve been more careful, like I asked her a million times. She could’ve died.” He grumbles.

“Is that what it is, Bucky? If you’re afraid you might lose her, maybe it’d be better to just come clean, instead of tormenting her.”

Bucky grunts, but remains silent for the rest of the journey home. Both Sam and Y/N stay in the back and he can hear the hushed conversation, although can’t exactly pick on more than one sentence she nearly screeches – “I fucking hate him, Sam!”

A week later, after succeeding in avoiding Bucky Barnes at social hang outs, gym sessions, and even mission reports, Y/N is sitting on the rooftop, entranced in her own thoughts. There’s a blanket draped over her shoulders, but the late spring wind picks up strands of her hair and cuts across her cheeks. The tea has long since gone cold, forgotten at to the foot of the bench.

She barely registers the body that sits next to her, before another cup of tea, steaming and just the right colour of cream, is placed between her frozen fingers. Y/N looks at Bucky, whose jaw is clenched, set into an unreadable expression that can be seen even in profile. His hands are thrust into his pockets, deliberately looking as if he’d rather be anywhere than here.

“What –” She starts but he instantly cuts her off.

“I owe you an apology.” He mutters.

“I’m sorry. Did the great Sargent Barnes just said he owes me an apology?”

“Would you shut up for once?” He looks at her then, annoyance and embarrassment mixed in his eyes.

She raises her eyebrows, and mimes locking a key to her mouth, offering him the chance to speak. Y/N’s curious about what he has to say, but must admit that the initial shock is starting to make way for a sliver of hope. Although he’s still being an asshole about it, apparently.

“It wasn’t your fault. I was just – ” He sighs again, as if the thought of what he’s about to say physically pains him. “I was scared you were going to get really hurt.”

“I know the risks of this job.” She shrugs. “I just hate it when you act as if I’m a hindrance to you, as if I’m that stupid.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. And I don’t think you’re a hindrance. Bucky frowns and looks at her again. “I’m just always scared you might get hurt and I can’t – I can’t bear the thought of it.”

They stare at each other then, each trying to process what he’s just said. Bucky is incredulous that he actually managed to voice his feelings, after months of lashing out, unable to face his worst fear – that he might actually be falling for this woman, this delicate person that he could break in half only with a wave of his hand. He’s been trying so hard to distance himself from her, to not let her get close to him, yet here he is, as he’s staring right into her eyes, and he can feel her presence in his veins, in every corner of his heart, in each fibre of his being.

Y/N takes in a breath, stops, looks back up at him and lets out a long exhale. Her head tilts slightly to the side, and she can practically feel the uncertainty radiating off of him. He must be terrified, she realises. Her fingers search for his and the shock on his face when she interlaces them together is sweet. Funny, but sweet. She smiles – softly, don’t run away from me now, I’ve been waiting for you for too long.

“I thought you hated me.” He whispers, and her fingers squeeze his. “You told Sam – ”

“Of course, I do. I hate you when you start acting all mighty as if I can’t take care of myself.” She rolls her eyes. “But I’ve been in love with you for far longer than letting that get in the way.”

“In love?” Bucky can’t utter any more words. This woman.

“Yes, James. You’re a pain in my ass, but I’ve been in love with you for a long time now. Thank you for noticing by the – ”

The rest of her words fall right into his mouth, as his lips press against her. She smiles, his fingers cradle her face and she would really like to punch him now, for being so stupid, so dense. Later then, for now she’ll let him make up for lost time.