#if someone tells me to go eat a burger again i’m burning the entire fucking country to the ground

[liggy-attempts-poetry]

twig

looking in the mirror, sometimes i hate who i see.

i hate that i can see every vertebrate through my shirt and how they don’t line up right.

i hate that i can feel every piece of my knee just by putting my hand there.

the blue veins that pop up over the bones on my freakishly thin hands.

“i wish i had that problem” some tell me.

“it can’t be that hard to fix though” others say.

“that’s invalidating people who do struggle” even more scold.

but i struggle too.

and i struggled before in the way you want me to.

would my struggle be enough if i died from it?

would you even care if i did?

no.

because apparently hating the way you appear is only okay if you’re not built like a twig.

and i used to think so too.

so i know what you think.

you want to be skinny so you tell me i’m not allowed to hate myself for it.

but what you don’t realize is you want to be skinny, not twiggy

because nobody likes someone who’s twiggy.

and nobody likes being twiggy either.

[luminnara]

People Are Strange | Billy Hargrove x The Lost Boys x reader Part One

Tags: @smenny @oceansrose2002 @elegantplaidpsychicsludge-blog @henhouse-horrors

(This is set in like 1985, so pre-Michael for the boys)

Part Two

Warnings: mentions of abuse, homophobia, f slur

Finally.

Billy Hargrove was back in California. 

It had been a long ass fucking drive, but he had done it, all by himself. He was free now, free of Susan, free of Neil, free of Hawkins, Indiana and every stupid shithead in that poor excuse for a town. 

He had made it. 

He was broke. He needed a bite to eat. But he had made it, all the way to the beach, even, and that was good enough for him. Now, his father wasn’t around to tell him what he could and couldn’t do, or call him a pussy, or beat the shit out of him. Now, there was no stupid shitty mindflayer or whatever they called it to possess him and then rip his guts out. Now, Billy was in charge of himself, and he was about to exercise that freedom to the fullest extent by getting shitfaced every night if he wanted to. 

And he had picked the perfect town for it.

Back when he lived in California, the first time, he had never visited Santa Carla. It was further north than the suburb he grew up in, but he had heard plenty about it and its nasty reputation.

Murder capital of the world.

He figured he could handle that, after everything that had happened back in Hawkins. All Santa Carla had were gangs, and that was nothing compared to the monster that had torn through his mind back in Indiana.

Despite the nickname, it was a cute place. It was a picturesque tourist town situated right on Monterey Bay, with an amusement park out on the pier, a boardwalk full of shops, and a never ending stream of vagrants and runaways always coming and going. Billy didn’t really consider himself among their ranks, but he had a feeling that he would fit right in.

He hadn’t realized exactly how well, though.

The Camaro rumbled as he cruised through town, looking for a spot to get some food and maybe a shitty motel for the night. He wasn’t above sleeping in his car, but he had just done that the entire drive over, and he could really, really go for a real bed.

Food first, though.

He ended up at a diner, the sort of place where he could get a booth to himself and eat a greasy burger in peace. On the drive in, he had seen all sorts of weirdos—burn outs, punks, starving kids digging through the trash—and as fascinating as it all was, he was too exhausted from his journey to want to be surrounded by people just yet.

The diner was slow, the lunch rush having already passed. There were a few people sitting at the counter and a few more in booths, but it was quiet. Billy was enjoying the sound of the radio when someone approached him, and he glanced up to see a waitress standing there with a coffee pot in her hand. She was tired, nearly tripping over herself as she refilled his mug, and as she stood there and zoned out for a moment like a total fucking weirdo, he got the chance to check her out.

To check you out.

“H-Hey, sorry,” you said, sounding dazed.

“Long night?” The handsome guy in front of you asked, flashing you a smile that rivaled even Paul’s most heart-melting grins.

You were so deliriously tired that for a moment, you thought he was one of your boys. In your defense, he totally looked the part, with a curly, dirty blond mullet, a leather jacket, and an earring dangling from one ear. “…what are you doing out at this hour?”

He stared at you. “Excuse me?”

“Oh! Oh god, I’m sorry,” you snapped to attention again, but the bags under your eyes told him that it was just a matter of time before you full on collapsed onto the floor. “I’m not…used to being up during the day…working, I mean! Not used to working, not really…”

“You a night shift kinda person?” The guy asked, taking another bite of his burger.

“Yeah.” You swayed on your feet. “A night person.”

God, you wanted to go lay down. You were so fucking out of it. Being a half vampire was absolute ass, and over the past week, things had only gotten worse. You knew you had gotten yourself into this mess by insisting that you give the diner your full two weeks before you let David take you out to fully turn you, but Jesus Christ this sucked.

Heh.

Sucked.

“Can I, uh…can I get you anything else?” You asked, desperately trying to focus on him. He was cute, you decided, and you really, really wished you weren’t moments away from passing out so that you could appreciate him fully.

He eyed the way your hands were shaking. “…I’m alright, doll.”

“Wow,” you breathed. He sounded just like David with that pet name.

And then you drifted off, and Billy was left staring after you. Santa Carla was a weird place, indeed. A weird place with even weirder waitresses. Hot ones, but weird ones.

He left money on the table and bounced, moving on to the next item on his to do list: finding a place to spend the night. He had…not that much money left, having only stolen what he could out of Neil’s wallet before he ran, but it bought him a week in a semi-decent motel close to the beach, and that was good enough for him.

It wasn’t the Ritz, but it was a testament to his newfound freedom, and to Billy, that was worth way more than a room with a view. He took the opportunity to collapse onto his bed, sleeping the rest of the day away, recharging so that he could go and make Santa Carla his come nightfall.

——————-

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” David growled at you.

“I’m f….” Your head lolled as you dozed off mid sentence.

David rolled his eyes and grabbed your chin, jerking your head up.

“Fine!” You finished quickly, eyes wide open. “I’m fine. See? I’m fine.”

“You absolutely are not.”

“Just one more week at work, and then you can take me out hunting. Promise.”

“You’re really testing my patience here, doll.”

Doll…hadn’t somebody else called you that earlier? Yeah, somebody at the diner…somebody super cute. Handsome, even. Shit. You shoulda gotten his number or something. You already had four boyfriends, what’s one more? David would probably try to eat him, but that could be worked around—

“Hey!” David snapped his fingers in front of your face as you zoned out again. “That’s it. Dwayne, take her back home to sleep—“

“No!” You protested. “No. I’m fine. I can hang out tonight.”

Dwayne gave you a skeptical look. “You sure about that?”

“Yes I am.”

He narrowed his eyes, watching you for a moment before shaking his head. “You’re too much for your own good sometimes.”

You managed a tired grin. Now that night had finally fallen, you had more energy, and seeing the boys come to pick you up from work had perked you up a little bit. You were still dead on your feet, but you felt a lot less zombie-like than you had during the day. Seeing all four of your boyfriends there filled you with anticipation for the endless mischief the night could hold, and as your grin widened, you couldn’t wait. No matter how tired you were, you wouldn’t miss hanging out with them for the world.

And it really was sweet of them to come meet you outside the diner, after all.

“See? She’s fine!” Paul said, slinging an arm over your shoulders and nipping at your jaw. He was buzzing with energy, as if he was determined to somehow transfer some of it to keep you awake all night. “‘Sides, you won’t be havin’ this problem soon…”

Marko appeared on your other side, licking his lips in anticipation. “Baby, I cannot wait to watch you dig in for the first time…”

“We know, Marko,” Paul rolled his eyes as he pulled a joint out of his pocket. “It’s all you’ve been thinkin’ about for the past week.”

“I can’t help it!” Marko whined, bumping his head against yours. “It’s gonna be so fuckin’ hot…”

“Gotta pick someone first,” David cut in. “Got anybody in mind yet, sweetheart?”

“Not really…” you sighed.

“You’re supposed to be keeping an eye out.”

“I know…”

“Otherwise I’ll choose for you.”

“I know!” You insisted.

“You really haven’t seen anybody interesting?” Marko asked skeptically.

You knew he was even more eager for you to turn than David was. For Marko, though, you suspected that it was more about watching you tear people apart and less about the power trip of helping his girlfriend become an undead creature of the night.

To each their own, though.

“I mean…there was a guy at work today…” you chewed at your bottom lip.

David immediately stiffened. “A guy?”

“Yeah, but I don’t really wanna…you know.”

“Well…what kinda guy?” Paul asked, taking a hit before passing his joint to Marko.

“A, uh…handsome one…”

David’s nostrils flared angrily. “Handsome?”

“David, you can’t get mad at me for making an observation,” you began, folding your arms over your chest as you glared at him. “You guys always wanna know if I spot anybody interesting, when I work as a waitress in the weirdest town on the west coast. I see interesting people all day, and today, I waited on a guy who looked and talked so much like you I thought he was—“

“You point him out if you see him,” David growled. “So I can rip him in half.”

Marko let out a loud laugh and you just rolled your eyes. “You’re so tough, David.”

“Fine.” He sneered. “You can do it, then.”

“What? Me?” You groaned. “It isn’t time yet! I told you, I wanna wait another week—“

“Then you better hope we don’t spot him tonight, huh?” David pulled the cigarette out from behind his ear and lit it. “For his sake.”

“God, why are you being such a dick tonight?” You grumbled as the five of you set off towards the pier.

“He’s just in a mood now because you said another guy was handsome,” Paul snickered, exhaling a puff of smoke into your face.

“You know it hurts his ego,” Marko said with a pointed sneer towards David.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth before I shut it for you,” David growled.

“What was he like?” Dwayne finally spoke up.

“Who?” You asked, playing dumb.

“The guy.”

“Oh.” You thought for a moment, trying to recall your afternoon. “He got a burger and coffee. No tomatoes. Extra pickle.”

“That’s fascinating, doll.” David rolled his eyes.

“And he called me doll,” you said haughtily, glaring at him.

You watched him falter as he inhaled on his cigarette. “He what?”

“Mmhm. And it sounded nice.” You stuck your nose in the air and marched away, slipping out from under Paul’s arm to walk on your own.

The boys glanced at each other. David was fuming, nose scrunched in disgust as he imagined another guy calling you his pet name. Whoever he was, he had a fucking death wish.

“Chill out, boss man,” Paul said, clapping a hand on David’s shoulder.

“Paul.” David growled. “If you wanna keep your fingers, I suggest you keep your hands to yourself.”

“Well I suggest you go talk to her,” Marko snapped as he watched you strut away. “We’ll catch a bite on our own. You better go smooth things over, Casanova.”

“What?” David asked incredulously. “I didn’t do anyth—“

“He’s right,” Dwayne nodded.

“The hell are you talkin’ about?” David snarled.

Dwayne was never phased by his outbursts, though, and only looked at him calmly. “Go apologize. We’ll hunt solo tonight.”

“Yeah, and if you’re lucky we’ll bring you some takeout,” Paul cackled, elbowing David as the three of them walked past.

He just glared after them.

“Hey, baby!” Paul greeted when he caught up to you, grabbing your hand and spinning you into his chest. He plopped a messy kiss on your lips and he tasted like blood and weed, like he always did. “We’re all grabbin’ a bite. David wants to talk.”

“Have fun,” Marko smirked as he kissed your cheek.

“Tell him I don’t feel like talking,” you scoffed as Dwayne swooped in to steal a kiss next.

“Too late,” he said, an amused rumble in his chest.

“Ooh, maybe you’ll get lucky and have some bomb makeup sex,” Paul grinned, walking backwards away from you as he puffed on his joint.

“He fuckin’ needs it,” Marko mumbled.

“Fine.” You sighed. “You guys go have fun. Don’t eat anybody too hot.”

“But that’s my favorite flavor!” Paul yelled.

You couldn’t help but smile as you watched the three of them go, Marko immediately lunging for Paul before Dwayne managed to catch him in a head lock midair. They were a handful, but you loved them.

“Hey.” David’s voice had you turning around.

He actually looked a little ashamed, his eyes trained on the ground as he kicked at a pebble.

“Hey.” You said flatly.

He dared to look up at you. You could tell he was still grumpy, and he was only trying to talk to you because the others had probably made him…but this was still a massive improvement for him, and you considered it a success.

He sighed, started to roll his eyes, and then stopped. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” You asked, trying to encourage him. “You should actually talk about your feelings, you know.”

He made a disgusted noise and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You know I get…territorial.” He said, taking your arm and tugging you along to walk with him. “We all do.”

“I know.”

“It’s just a…a thing we all have to deal with.”

“Very beastly of you,” you laughed, nudging him with your shoulder. “I still don’t want you to kill that guy, though.”

“No promises,” he growled, expression darkening.

“…you can maim him if he really deserves it. Deal?”

“Deal.”

————————

Billy fucking loved Santa Carla.

Back in Hawkins, he was the keg king, and earning his title had been a piece of cake…but here, the beach parties were way wilder and way more fun, and he was having the time of his fucking life.

The town was vibrant during the day, yeah, but come nightfall it sprung to life. The rides on the boardwalk lit up the dark sky, and bonfires surrounded by party goers dotted the beaches. There was no shortage of shitty carnival food, and all the stores on the boardwalk stayed open late. Billy was pretty sure he could find any drugs he could think of within ten minutes if he tried, and he could get his dick wet even faster.

Yeah. It was his kinda place.

He left the Camaro at the motel and walked over to the boardwalk, smoking a fresh cigarette as he navigated the crowds. There really were all sorts of people there—everything from obvious tourists to kids enjoying summer vacation to criminals and runaways flitted around, creating one extremely colorful swarm of pedestrians. He didn’t look out of place at all, not the way he had back in Hawkins where everybody looked like wannabe prom kings and queens and Steve Harrington was the most exciting thing to happen in decades.

Before Billy, of course.

In Santa Carla, though, he had already seen fashions that would have given everyone in Hawkins, Indiana heart attacks. He looked tame compared to some of the punks he spotted lingering around. But still, for some reason…

He noticed he was getting dirty looks.

People stepped out of his way as he passed through the crowd. They watched him carefully, like he might suddenly lunge and bite them. One security guard in particular seemed to be keeping a particularly close eye on him while he wandered around, but rather than feeling perturbed, Billy felt energized. It was feeding his ego, making him feel wild knowing that everybody was looking at him and everybody was wary of him. He didn’t care why.

The sound of metal playing over speakers had him making his way towards the bandstand. When he got closer and squeezed his way through the crowd, the music grew deafening.

Just the way he liked it.

He felt like he had just wandered into heaven.

He had also just wandered right into the hunting ground of one very particular, very high, vampire.

When it came to hunting, Paul liked to be lazy. He’d been around long enough to learn how to let them come to him, and while the others worked hard for their meals, Paul worked smart. He was always so fun and charismatic that he could have humans eating out of the palm of his hand whenever he wanted them to, and when there were rock shows on the beach, the bandstand was always the perfect place for him to find some easy chow. Yeah, the music usually hurt his ears some, but he always got over it and everything healed before he could have an eternity of tinnitus, and he always relied more on his sense of smell than hearing anyways. He thrived in the chaos of the crowd, and tonight was no exception.

The crowd was fun. The band was loud. And even though he was lazy when it came to hunting humans, he still had boundless energy. He was actually glad that David had fucked up with you, because he was having a great time hunting on his own. 

“Hey man, watch it!” Someone snarled as he bumped into them.

Paul was too high to take offense at their tone, turning towards them with a lazy grin on his face instead.

What he saw would’ve taken his breath away, had he actually been breathing.

There was a guy there, wearing a leather jacket, with a glare that rivaled David’s. He had an earring dangling from one earlobe and a curly dirty blond mullet, shorter and darker than Marko’s but still good, and blue eyes that actually had Paul feeling a tiny bit weak.

The dude was gorgeous in a way that most humans weren’t, and Paul was immediately into him.

“Sorry, man,” Paul forced himself to say above the sound of the music, keeping that aloof smile on his face. “Here. Token of my apology?”

He held out his joint and the guy looked at it hungrily, like he hadn’t seen weed in months. And really, Billy hadn’t; Hawkins wasn’t exactly the best place to find it, and if Neil had ever caught him reeking of marijuana, he’d have been in for a world of hurt. In Santa Carla, though, he could have anything he wanted…and he was free to take it.

“C’mon. We can go smoke under the stands.” The blond guy in front of him grinned wildly, his eyes blazing.

Billy shoved his anger down and considered the offer. This guy looked like a total idiot, some Twisted Sister rocker type who was high out of his damn mind. His outfit was weird as hell, but at the same time, he didn’t look that out of place in the eclectic crowd, with his mesh shirt and white pants almost as tight as Billy’s jeans. He looked wild, an untamed mane of hair giving off the impression that he had been born headbanging, and in all honesty, he looked...interesting. Intriguing? 

Something.

Billy was still pissed at him for bumping into him—seriously, when he had turned around, he had expected to see someone twice this guy’s size just based off of the sheer force of it—but he could go for some free weed. And maybe some booze. And even though he didn’t want to admit it, he didn’t know much about Santa Carla or who was who around town, and he could use a guide.

“Fine,” he sneered.

Blondie grinned and grabbed his arm—why the fuck was he so strong?—and dragged him through the crowd. Bodies slammed into Billy as the two squeezed past, but the mystery guy didn’t seem to have any issue navigating the flood of people, as if they didn’t even bother him. 

Weird.

“Haven’t seen you around Santa Carla before,” he commented, turning on his heel to walk backwards and face Billy as he spoke. “You new in town?”

“You could say that.” Billy said as he shoved someone out of his way.

The guy just kept grinning that stupid grin. “Name’s Paul.”

“...Billy.”

They were finally on the edges of the crowd, Paul leading the way around the back of the stands. There was nobody else lingering around, just like he had hoped. It was a quiet spot, hidden from the chaos and noise of the bandstand, and the perfect place for a clandestine meeting or a quick snack...although now, Paul wasn’t really sure which one he was hoping for. 

“Billy, huh?” Paul asked, trying not to grin like a madman. “Where you from?”

“Little further south.” Billy said. He didn’t want to even consider telling anyone that he had just lived in Hawkins fucking Indiana for a year. “LA.”

Paul could tell there was more to his story than that, but he didn’t push.

“So...what, you come to Santa Carla for fun?” he asked as he lit the joint. “Or...are you running from somethin’?”

When Billy gave him an angry look, he knew he was on the right track. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Billy growled, snatching the joint out of Paul’s hand. He inhaled deeply, fighting the cough that was building in his chest. It had been a long fucking time since he had been offered weed, but he wasn’t about to look like a total pussy and hack a lung up. 

Paul could see the way he resisted and forced his body to behave. He could hear his heartbeat change. He appreciated the way that Billy was trying so hard to act so tough in front of him...and, honestly, he appreciated the way that Billy didn’t seem to have that natural fear that humans usually did. 

“Whatcha runnin’ from?” he asked, taking the joint back. 

“The hell do you care?” Billy snapped. 

Paul shrugged. “Just curious. I’m a people person, I guess.”

Billy forced a smile onto his face. It was in his best interests to be nice to this guy, he figured, and he knew how to do the whole smile and nod and be fucking polite routine. 

“You been here a while?” he asked as Paul handed him the joint again. 

The blonde broke into a laughing fit.

 How fucking high was this guy?

Billy took a hit and watched Paul clutching at his sides. He was laughing like a fucking hyena, as if Billy had just made the funniest joke in the world. Well, he was glad for the positive attention, at least...maybe this guy wouldn’t be half bad? 

“Oh yeah, a while,” Paul managed to squeeze out between cackles. “Long ass time. I know everything about Santa Carla.”

“Yeah? So you know who’s who around here?” Billy asked, starting to feel the effects of the (surprisingly, suspiciously, strong) weed. 

Paul’s laughter faded into something a touch more sinister and he leaned in, blue eyes suddenly so dangerous. “Oh, Billy Boy, you wanna know who’s in charge of Santa Carla?”

Billy couldn’t speak. He just held Paul’s gaze, refusing to break it, refusing to move and lose whatever weird ass energy he suddenly felt between them. He didn’t realize it, but he was being fucking brave, and Paul was impressed...because Paul was desperately trying to get into his head, and he couldn’t.

And that fascinated him. It also sealed Billy’s fate--any urges Paul had to take a bite out of him were gone, and he way preferred the thought of turning him and keeping him around instead. 

“I’ll tell ya who owns Santa Carla,” he said, reaching up to twirl a strand of Billy’s hair around his finger. “But can you hang?”

“What the fuck do you mean can I hang?” Billy spat venomously, teeth bared as he bristled. “What the fuck do you think?”

Paul just grinned, moving his hand to brush a rough thumb over Billy’s cheek. He tried one last time to get into that pretty head of his, staring into his eyes as he searched for something, anything, and once again...he came up totally empty. 

Weird.

“Yeah, I think you’ll fit right in,” Paul decided, taking his joint back and stuffing it into his jacket. Then, he slung his arm around Billy’s shoulders, noticing how right it felt to have him there, and led him away from the bandstand. “C’mon. We gotta find Marko.”

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

Marko was in the middle of whispering sweet nothings into a girl’s ear when Paul and Billy found him…and he was seriously pissed off by the interruption.

“Hey, what gives?” He growled as Paul grabbed him by the jacket and hauled him away from the bonfire.

“You havin’ fun, Marko?” Paul sneered down at him.

“Paul, I swear to fucking god, I am so hungry right now and if you don’t let me—who the fuck is that?”

Billy was standing there, hands in his jacket pockets, watching the two of them. Observing. Catching every little movement, honing in on every breath and shift of their weight. He was looking on with the coolness and the calculation of a predator, Marko thought, in the same way that he and the boys watched the crowds of humans on the boardwalk.

Marko’s nostrils flared as he tried to catch the scent of vampire, but other than Paul and the rest of Santa Carla’s usual nighttime denizens, all he could smell was human.

He tilted his head slightly. No werewolf. No demon. Just…human. Gorgeous human, but still…just human.

“What the hell is this?” He hissed at Paul, watching Billy from the corner of his eye. “Why’re you parading him around like this?”

“You mighta noticed Billy here is a little special,” Paul put a hand on the back of Marko’s neck and guided him towards Billy. “I think we should introduce him to the rest of the gang.”

Marko glanced up at him like he was crazy.

Then, Paul leaned down, his lips next to Marko’s ear as he whispered, “I can’t get in his head. At all.”

Marko frowned at that. “You were never particularly good at it,” he mumbled as he looked Billy over.

Okay, yeah. He could see why Paul hadn’t just eaten him. The guy was handsome, and he was definitely their type, right down to the jewelry. But looks didn’t mean he could just join them…even though it was weird as shit that Marko couldn’t seem to get in his head, either, and David would probably want to know about that.

“You wanna tell your boyfriend to quit checkin’ me out?” Billy barked.

“Aw, Marko, you didn’t tell me we were dating,” Paul leaned on him, leering down.

Marko gave him an exasperated look. “…my mistake. We gonna go find David and Dwayne or what?”

“Good idea, man!” Paul clapped him on the shoulder and then let him go again, leading the way up towards the boardwalk stairs.

Billy and Marko fell in just behind him, the former looking down at the latter and considering him. His head was fuzzy from Paul’s weed, and maybe if he was totally sober, he would have been able to figure out what it was about Marko that felt so off.

He was good at watching people. It was something he had picked up from years of dealing with his shitty father. As a child, he had learned to watch and anticipate, because that was what gave him the best chance of ducking away from swinging fists. Now, as an adult, he watched and anticipated and always knew what people wanted, and it gave him the ability to charm them into doing whatever he wanted. It also gave him the ability to simply notice things, little things that other people probably ignored—like the way that Marko bit at his thumb when he was looking around, or the oddly threatening little shine in his eyes. He noticed the way that Paul, so wild and seemingly carefree, had little moments of calm in which he looked around and took in his surroundings, watching people the same way that Billy was watching him.

Billy was high, yeah…but he could still tell that something was up with these guys. He felt like he should be wary, but at the same time, he didn’t care; he had survived being flayed not that long ago, something that probably should have left his mind completely broken. Whatever these guys were up to didn’t scare him in the slightest. Gangbangers didn’t scare him. Serial killers didn’t scare him.

Humans didn’t scare him.

“I think you’re gonna love Santa Carla,” Paul said over his shoulder. “We got everything here.”

“You tried the Chinese place yet?” Marko asked, glancing up at Billy with a smirk. “To die for.”

“Just got in this morning,” Billy said coolly as they slipped into the crowd. “Only food I’ve had was some shitty diner.”

“Oh yeah?” Paul asked, immediately thinking about you and your shitty diner. “Which one?”

“Hell if I know.” Billy paused. “Waitress was hot though.”

Marko’s proverbial hackles immediately rose and he sneered, ready to tear him a new one if he really was talking about you. As much as he liked the looks of Billy, that didn’t mean he wanted the guy pawing at you. Before he could say anything, though, Paul cut in.

“You got a thing for waitresses?” He laughed loudly. “Real specific type, man.”

“Nah. This one was real cute, though.” Billy grinned. He could do this. He could handle guy talk. Just like the locker room back at Hawkins High.

Marko caught sight of his smile and his eyes widened slightly.

Okay.

That was damn near perfect.

He couldn’t help but wonder how he’d look with fangs, though.

“Marko, you got any idea where Dwayne is?” Paul asked, glancing back and forth.

“You know where he always goes,” Marko said. “That alley, over by—never mind, found him.”

The metallic scent of blood suddenly wrapped itself around them as Dwayne carved a path through the crowd. Well, at least someone had gotten a nice meal. And he had mostly cleaned up, save for a smear on his jaw, and when Paul saw it, he desperately wanted to lick it off. Would that be rude? Would Billy care? …why did he care if Billy cared? Fuck it, he needed some fresh blood in his system. Billy could deal with it.

“Been lookin’ for you, man!” Paul said as Dwayne joined them. He looked up at him hopefully, asking—begging—for permission, and when Dwayne tilted his chin up a nearly imperceptible amount, he knew he had gotten it.

Billy watched as Paul swiped a long tongue over Dwayne’s jaw…and he was frozen. He had never seen two guys doing shit like that together, and he couldn’t believe they were just…doing it out in public.

Not to mention it was pretty fucking weird to lick blood off of someone’s face after a fight. 

...Weird and a little erotic.

Neil would have a fucking heart attack if he saw. His father had beaten the shit out of him and called him a fag just for doing his hair. But here, these guys were totally unafraid, totally uncaring about the occasional glare thrown their way, and Billy couldn’t even fathom being so open about it. 

He watched as Paul seemed to purr something in Dwayne’s ear, the brunette snorting softly in amusement before nudging at Paul’s head with his nose. It was the simplest sort of affection, but it was something Billy had never even seen before…and he didn’t know if it pissed him off because he thought it was stupid, or because he was jealous.

“—back by the bikes,” he heard Dwayne say as he pulled himself out of his thoughts.

“He hasn’t been out at all?” Marko asked nervously. He didn’t want to think about how pissed off David would be if he was hungry, and he also didn’t want to think about David deciding to take a chunk out of Billy. 

Dwayne just shook his head and then led the way back through the crowds, the others following him. Billy kept his hands in his pockets, fiddling with his cigarette pack and lighter. He was as nervous as Marko sounded, but he couldn’t show it. He couldn’t let these guys know that the tone in Marko’s voice had him wary as hell, and he was bracing himself for whoever he was.

He couldn’t panic.

Not here.

Not in front of these total strangers. He never panicked in front of anyone, never showed any weakness, and he wasn’t about to start now.

The vampires all heard the way his heart rate increased and suddenly their attention was on him, even though they didn’t show it. They were listening intently, Dwayne prodding at Billy’s mind and finding the same walls that Paul and Marko had. He couldn’t figure it out, either; they never had this problem with humans, and as far as he could tell, this guy was just that.

Human.

Billy swallowed his anxiety back down and his pulse eventually slowed again. Paul and Marko shared a glance, but kept their mouths shut. They knew each other well enough to know what the other was thinking. They liked this new guy, and they both had the urge to help him. To make him feel at home in Santa Carla. Because they had the feeling--and their feelings were usually right--that he was a lost boy, just like them.

--------

“David, quit!” you laughed, shoving at him. 

He just grinned against your throat, teeth brushing over your skin. “Why, kitten? Gimme a good reason.”

“Because we’re in public!” You squealed as he pulled you up against him.

You were sitting backwards on his bike, facing him and half straddling his lap. He had his hands around your waist and his lips on your neck, not giving a damn if anybody saw—and they definitely saw, because you were putting on quite the show—and he was perfectly happy to stay right there and make you squirm. He could feel hunger gnawing away at him, but for the moment, you were keeping it at bay…and besides, he would way rather make out with you than go hunting.

“Can’t wait until you’re finally turned,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Why?” You asked breathlessly, your fingers tangled in his hair.

“‘Cause I won’t have to be so gentle.”

He dug his fingers into your sides for good measure and your face flushed when you felt how strong his grip was. Sometimes, you almost forgot that he could tear you in half as easily as you would a piece of paper, and whenever he reminded you, an excited little shiver flew down your spine.

“You like it rough, don’t you, kitten?” He purred, licking a line up your throat. “I can smell you gettin’ wet….”

“David,” you whined, tilting your head away to look at him. “Quit teasing me!”

“Oh, I’m not teasing. I’ll fuck you right here. Right now. C’mon.” He slipped his hands under your thighs and hoisted you the rest of the way onto his lap, laughing when you yelped in surprise.

His teeth found the side of your neck again and he nibbled at your skin, a low growl rumbling in his throat. You couldn’t help but melt against him, sighing happily as you stroked his hair. It was moments like these, where David was so calm and loving, that you loved the most. Nothing else mattered. It was just the two of you, the rest of the world fading away even though the boardwalk was crowded and loud.

“I love you, David,” you murmured.

He hummed, his grip on you tightening. He wasn’t great at saying the words, even though there were only three of them, and you had only ever heard him utter them once. That didn’t matter, though, because you knew that he felt it, and you didn’t need to hear it out loud when he was so good at showing you in so many other ways.

“You’re too good for me, kitten.” He said, kissing the side of your head.

“Not true,” you smiled, nuzzling his cheek.

You heard that growl-purr rising again.

And then, he froze.

David fell completely still, for just a moment, just long enough for you to notice. When you pulled back, you saw his eyes trained on something behind you, and when you twisted around to see, you were greeted with the sight of the rest of your boys…

And one extra.

On the one hand, you were glad to see the hot guy from the diner. He really did fit in with the rest of the boys, walking next to Paul with his hands in his pockets and a very devil may care attitude about him. At night, surrounded by the dark sky and the bright lights of the boardwalk, he was even hotter than he had been earlier that day, and you didn’t mind the idea of adding him to the gang...On the other hand, you really, really didn’t want David to tear him in half.

“Sweetheart,” David drawled as he looked over your head. “That wouldn’t happen to be your boy, would it?”

“Uh…” you floundered as they got closer, “see, when you say it like that…”

“Oh, damn, looks like you two made up!” Marko taunted, that cute little sneer that you loved so much plastered on his face.

“This is Billy,” Paul said, nudging the new guy forward. “He wants to hang with us.”

Billy gave him an annoyed grunt as he was shoved, but he held himself back from slugging him. The platinum blond dude on the bike looked extremely fucking pissed off, and Billy couldn’t really blame him...if he had just gotten interrupted by these goons while he had a hot girl like you on his lap, he would have blown a gasket. 

You looked absolutely delicious perched there, too. 

“Well, you got me disappointed, doll,” Billy said nonchalantly, ignoring the guy behind you and the way his eyes narrowed angrily. “I was kinda hopin’ you didn’t have a boyfriend.”

You stared at him. Okay, yeah, you thought that was pretty hot...you were used to Surf Nazis making passes at you, but they were gross and always just pissed you off. This, though...this had you a little bit breathless. “Oh, wow...”

David glanced down at you and snorted angrily before slipping away to grab Billy by the front of his jacket. “Who the fuck are you?”

Billy just met his gaze. Yeah. This guy was scarier than Paul. By a lot. But he wasn’t scarier than a brain monster from another dimension...and he wasn’t scarier than Neil Hargrove. 

Not by a longshot.

You watched as Billy sneered back at David, something that even the rest of Santa Carla’s vampires rarely did. 

It was...pretty hot.

“Billy Hargrove,” the human said, lip raised slightly. “Who the fuck are you?”

David just stared at him. 

Billy smelled like leather and motor oil and cigarettes and weed, a combination that David loved because that’s what his boys smelled like, and it made his nose twitch. When he had grabbed Billy, he had noticed how solid he was, and David hated, he fucking hated, that he had to look up to meet his gaze. It was like getting up in Dwayne’s face...except Dwayne was chill and this guy was like a powder keg waiting to explode. 

Then again, so was David.

He didn’t understand why the boys hadn’t just eaten him. This guy was dangerous, he could tell, and if he was too aggressive, then there was no fucking way they’d get along well enough for him to join the gang. And the worst part, the most horrible part (besides the lovey dovey eyes everybody was making at him), was that Billy’s mind was totally closed off. 

It didn’t make any sense. He looked like a human. He smelled like a human. Billy Hargrove was a fucking human, just a guy, and for the first time in his nearly 80 years of being an undead fiend, David couldn’t get into a human’s head. He had run into this problem with other species, sure--werewolves were difficult, zombies didn’t have much going on upstairs, witches tended to be able to keep him out if they knew what they were doing...but there was nothing to indicate that Billy wasn’t a normal human.

But clearly, he wasn’t normal, and as much as he hated it, David wanted to keep him around to figure out what the hell was going on.

“David.” he finally growled. “And I wanna know what the hell you’re doin’ on my boardwalk.”

“Wanna let me go before you start askin’ questions?” Billy sneered. 

“Watch your fucking mouth,” David snarled, tightening his grip. 

“Or what?” Billy challenged. 

“Alright, okay,” you suddenly appeared between them, easing David off of Billy with a hand on each of their chests. “That’s enough of that.”

Billy looked down at your hand and then back up at David. He had a shit eating grin on his face that would have totally sealed the deal and had David ripping his head off then and there if you weren’t in the way. 

“Move, doll,” David growled. 

“Absolutely not,” you argued, crossing your arms over your chest and facing him head on. 

“Why?”

“Because...” you turned slightly, looking up at Billy Hargrove with a small smile on your face. “I think I like this one.”

David looked between you and Billy and you could practically see him thinking. You could tell that he was communicating with the others, too, and finally, after what felt like a lifetime, he gave a little nod. 

“Alright. Fine.” he said, taking a small step back. “Come back to our place, Billy. Let’s see if you can hang.”

[trashforhockeyguys]

Vienna Waits For You -1- William Nylander

A/N: The official start of Vienna Waits For You! I can’t wait for you guys to really get to understand William and Avalyn. This is probably the most unique story I’ve told so far. I hope y’all will enjoy the ride.

“Miss Bradshaw Kreitzburg, we can’t begin to explain how excited we are to have you here with us,” One of the Assistant Directors said as she was led into a posh hotel.

“Just Kreitzburg is fine, or Avalyn,” She cringed, hating it when people used the full name that her parents insisted on.

“There she is!” A loud voice boomed from the doorway of a very large conference room.

Avalyn couldn’t help but smile and nearly squeal as she ran to the man. Jackson Portland was one of the only people that she felt like really knew her. They’d been best friends since they first worked together in the early years. Back then, Jackson was an awkward lanky kid, not the bonafide sex god that he was now. Truthfully, Avalyn wanted to laugh every time girls literally threw themselves at him. To her he would always be Jacky, her best friend. 

“You made it!” She jumped in his arms, holding onto him for dear life. 

Jackson was like her life vest. She wasn’t sure she would’ve been able to do something like this without knowing he would be by her side the entire time. She trusted him with everything that she was. He’d been the one to call her about the role and tell her that she’d be perfect for it. 

“And so did you! God you look fantastic Avey. But you really could eat a little more. Do the Monsters have you on another diet?” 

“They wanted me to be on one,” She confirmed, “But none of them are here...soo I guess I’m not anymore?”

“Then you and I are going to burgers whenever this is over,” He declared, setting her down. 

She nodded excitedly. Going out with Jackson was always her favorite. Somehow they always found a way to just be normal twentysomethings. Jackson and Avalyn made each other feel almost normal for the first time in their lives. Seemed only fitting that the two of them didn’t want to let that go. 

“Have you scoped out our ‘advisors’?” Avalyn asked, holding onto Jackson’s arm. 

He shrugged, flashing his famous dimpled smile, “Oh you’ll love them.”

Inside the room, most of the younger Leafs were somewhat huddled together, keeping their distance until told to do otherwise. But some of the older, more experienced players were talking with some writers and producers from the project. 

Avalyn tried to calm her nerves, her grip on Jackson’s arm tightening with every step. She hated meetings like this. She didn’t know a single player on this team, hell she didn’t even know a thing about hockey. She knew that they probably all had their own preconceived opinions of her, none of which were good. Just like how nothing the media published these days was good. Good for press, but bad for her personal life. For once, she wished she could just pause it all. 

Some of her friends from childhood, which she lost contact with long ago, went to college and are in steady relationships. None of them have their entire life looked over with a magnifying glass. They could wear what they wanted, or eat what they wanted, go out with whoever they wanted wherever they wanted...Avalyn never had that luxury. But she couldn’t say she was jealous of them...envious might be a better term to use though. 

“Alright boys, listen up!” An older man in the team’s jacket called, “I want you to listen to what they instruct you. Remember, you’re representing the organization and Toronto.”

“Thank you for that Coach Babcock,” One of the show’s producers said before standing in front of everyone, “We’d like for all of you to pair up in a few minutes, but before we do that, why don’t all of you take a second and get to know each other. Get all of the awkwardness out of the way so we can all get to work? Gentleman, at each table is a dry erase board with a rink on it, I was told that’s what you all use in practice to show plays and things, feel free to do the same today. We’ll call you all when it’s time to come back together.”

Avalyn didn’t move for a moment, not as long as Jackson stayed where he was. But it wasn’t long before the producer was coming over with the other man, who seemed to be the coach of the hockey team. Behind them trailed several young men, which Avalyn could only assume were players. Jackson nearly jumped, seemingly excited about who was coming over to them. 

“Coach Babcock, these are the two I was telling you about,” Eric, the producer, looked proud of himself, “These two are the stars of our show, Jackson, Avalyn, I’d like for you to meet Mike Babcock, coach of the Toronto Maple Leafs, as well as three of his star players, Auston Matthews, Mitch Marner, and William Nylander.” 

“You don’t have to tell me who they are, Eric,” Jackson waved him off before extending a hand to the coach, “It’s an honor to meet all of you. You guys had a hell of a season last year.”

“Jackson grew up in Connecticut prior to becoming an actor, he’s one of the only cast members with hockey experience.” 

“Sick man, I love that movie you were in last summer with Taylor Kitsch. Shit was badass,” The one with dark hair and blue eyes said.

Avalyn couldn’t remember who was who. All she knew was one had long blond hair, and two with dark hair. She used to joke that all hockey players looked the same when Jackson would try to make her watch games, but she couldn’t say that anymore. No two players in the room looked alike. 

“See, I told you Avey!” Jackson joked, “She said there was too much blood. I tried to get her to watch American Assassin with me, since O’Brien and Kitsch are such great guys, but she wouldn’t.”

Avalyn felt uncomfortable in her own skin. She hated moments like this. Jackson always seemed to be in his element and on his game. But Avalyn wasn’t comfortable with these people. She didn’t watch hockey, all she really knew was that they constantly hit each other and fought over the tiny rubber puck. 

But Jackson just seemed to fit right in with them. Almost like he was a member of the team and had been for a very long time. She was jealous of the fact that he always seemed to make it work. He was never a stranger. Whereas Avalyn always felt like a stranger. She often felt like she was playing dress-up all the time, and eventually someone would call her out on it. 

“Thanks for making fun of me again,” Avalyn said under her breath, “It’s nice to meet you guys.”

“So, what are you? The token romantic interest?” The blond quipped. 

“Willy-”

“No I uh-” She couldn’t really find her voice. She should’ve been used to people assuming she was only there to further the story. She was just pretty face, meant to smile and just be pretty. 

Maybe that was part of the reason she took this role...she wanted to prove she was more than that. Yet, she couldn’t even find a way to tell the man standing in front of her the very same thing that she was fighting to prove. 

“Actually, Avey is playing the only girl on the team. She’s pretty important actually,” Jackson cut in, “Pretty badass too.”

“Avalyn, we’d like you to pair with Willy, if the rest of you want to come over with me we’ll get you all sorted,” Eric suddenly interrupted, “You two can go over to that table over there.”

Suddenly, she was left with the blond that obviously didn’t exactly like her. Avalyn wasn’t uncustomed to it. A lot of people were standoffish with her at first, the sugary sweet persona she put on was enough to make anyone hate her. She knew that. But she wasn’t used to people being like this to her face. So blatantly obvious….he didn’t even bother trying to hide it. 

The blond, William, rolled his eyes before walking over to the table. Avalyn knew this wouldn’t be a very fun time. Jackson and the rest of the cast and crew would probably spend the whole session laughing. Yet, she was pretty sure William wouldn’t be overly helpful or talkative. 

She glanced around, hoping someone might come to her rescue, but everyone else was already paired off and talking to their respective hockey player. Jackson was already laughing with one of the dark haired boys, and a very large red headed man. Avalyn wished she could be like that. 

“Are you coming or not?” The blond grumbled. 

Avalyn took a deep breath and followed him to the table. He sat with his arms crossed. She wondered why he already seemed to hate her. Had he read something about her and decided she was a horrible human being? One of those cheap tabloids who made their living off of dragging her through the mud? 

“I’m Avalyn,” She said, trying to break the tension, but her voice still shook. 

He scoffed, “Yeah, I know.”

She nodded and reached for the glass of water. Couldn’t she have anyone else? Or just have someone else at the table? Why did they have to take Jackson and put him all the way across the room. She felt like she didn’t know how to do this without him. She was out of her comfort zone now. 

“Okay,” She said quickly, “You obviously don’t like me, but I don’t really care. I have a job to do, and so do you. So can we just please drop the shit and you actually tell me what I’m supposed to know?”

“Who said I didn’t like you?” He fired back, leaning forward. 

She let out an almost bitter laugh, “Oh, I got the message loud and clear. You have no reason to hate me, but you do. You know nothing about me, so next time maybe try to get to know the person before you form an opinion.”

It was his turn to laugh as he leaned over the table, getting closer. His eyes seemed to almost burn into her. For a moment she was afraid. She didn’t know this man, she didn’t know what he might do. But every bone in her body seemed to yell at her to run. Maybe everyone was right, maybe this was the worst choice she made. 

“I know enough,” His voice was low, but the power of it made her want to shiver, “America’s princess on the outside, and a fucking bitch on the inside.”

He leaned back in his chair once more. There would be no more talking. It was like Avalyn and William were on different sides of a battlefield. They both had the next attack just waiting, and neither would wave the white flag. Avalyn didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing what his words did. Each one was like a knife going deeper and deeper into her chest. 

William just didn’t want to give in. He was being stubborn, and he was sure all of the guys would say he was an ass. But he heard enough about little miss Avalyn Bradshaw Kreitzburg. He wanted nothing to do with her. Everyone that he knew that knew her all said she was really a bitch, that the sweet little innocent thing she had going was an act. That Jackson Portland acted as her guard dog in public because she couldn’t rip people to shreds for fear of losing her perfect little reputation. 

So William sat across from her, a smirk playing on his lips when she finally seemed to be at a loss. So, the two sat silently as the hours ticked on. No one seemed to notice that they weren’t talking, or that William wasn’t using the dry erase board like the rest of his teammates. By the end, no one seemed to notice that they didn’t move a single inch over the course of the entire session. 

“I’m not what you think,” Avalyn said quietly, “Whoever told you whatever ridiculous rumor, it’s not true.”

He smirked again, like he knew something that she didn’t, “I think Margret Vicklyr knows you enough to know the truth.”

Before she could even process the sickening feeling, he was gone. He couldn’t know Margret. Margot might hate her now, but surely she wouldn’t go as far as telling random people whatever she felt like it. After a couple of years, Avalyn hoped that Margret would just forget about whatever she was convinced that Avalyn did. But it seemed that she wasn’t forgetting...and now it didn’t seem like William would forget either. 

Avalyn struggled to get in a deep breath as everyone started to get up and leave. William looked too pleased with himself as he got up from his chair and started moving towards his group. 

William liked the feeling of having knocked Hollywood's princess back down to size, or at least that’s what he thought he did. He had no way of knowing what was really going on behind the glitz and the glamour. He had no way of knowing that she was struggling more than she could ever let on. 

William didn’t like Avalyn Bradsaw Kreitzburg, especially after what Margret told him during her summer in Sweden. The person that Margret described to him was horrible, incapable of caring for anyone but herself, and maybe her precious Jackson Portland.Yet, he couldn’t help but feel a sort of pain in his chest at the way she seemed to sink as soon as he landed his final blow. He knew his mother would’ve had his head if she saw him acting like that. But for some reason he couldn’t help it. 

How was he supposed to know that she was doing everything she could to keep her head above water and make this project work?

“Avey! C’mon, let’s go get dinner,” Jackson cheered, surrounded by the hockey players. 

Avalyn shied away from all of them, “I think I’m just going to go back to mine. Raincheck?”

“I’ll hold you to it!” Jackson cheered, following the team and some other cast members out of the hotel. 

As soon as she got back to her apartment, Avalyn tried her best to fill herself with music. All she kept thinking about was the way that he looked at her. The disgust...he made his mind up about her before he even met her, all because of Margo and whatever she came up with. All Avalyn wanted was to make this work, to prove that she was capable of choosing her own projects and that she was more than just the stupid doe eyed girl. 

But she still felt hollow, like she was already losing control. She still didn’t know anything about the game. Her ‘advisor’ wouldn’t be of any help. She would have to fight an uphill battle. But she wanted this more than she wanted any project before now. 

With music at full blast in her ears, Avalyn laid down, trying to drown herself in the sound of old classic rock and indie. She never did eat dinner like she promised. Instead, hoping the music would fill her in a way that food didn’t.

[gellavonhamster]

ghost stories

Suicide Squad (2016) || characters: El Diablo feat. everyone else || post-canon, sort of a fix-it

ao3 link eng || this was first written and published on ao3 in Russian in 2016 but I didn't attempt to translate it into English back then.  

Harley is the first to see him.

She catches the smell first. Something appears to be burning, and she checks cautiously if there is something wrong with the coffee machine. She doesn’t find anything suspicious – not that the appliances about to flame up smell like that anyway. Could it be that there’s a fire starting? That would be funny, but seems like there’s hardly a chance. It is the smell of a bonfire at the beach, of the fallen leaves being burned in the yards in fall, of a melting candle in the church; weirdly, all this at the same time. A smell that seems too pure for Belle Reve, for Gotham, for everything that makes up her life these days.      

Harley looks around once again – and springs to her feet like she’s been stung.

Chato Santana is standing next to her cage.

“Diablo?” she whispers, unable to believe her eyes. She would’ve thought she’s lost her marbles if there were any left to lose.    

“Harley,” says Diablo, and it’s his voice, his shy, sad smile, his eyes and his tattoos, and Harley squeals in delight as she rushes to him. The bars of the cage are live, so she only dares to stick out the tips of her fingers. He touches them with his hand – certainly alive, certainly not a product of her mind being tortured by boredom and monotony – and she laughs.

“You’re alive, alive, alive! How did you survive? And how did they let you in?”

“It’s a long story. And I don’t think I have much time,” Diablo looks guilty. He’s still holding her hand and looking at her so earnestly it’s almost worrying.  “Harley… don’t go with him.”  

“Huh? What do you mean, honey?”

“He’s coming here. Don’t leave with him, Harley, stay. It sounds strange, but this would really be for the best.”  

“Don’t leave with whom?” she can’t follow him. He gives her a melancholic look – and suddenly disappears. Without any smoke or flames or any other special effects. She can’t wrap her head around how it happened �� it’s just that he was here a moment ago, and now there’s no one beside her, and she’s reaching out towards nothing.      

“Diablo?” she calls, and when she gets no answer, she decides to get things straight by asking the guards. What kind of cruel joke is this? Only one person is allowed to joke here, and that person is her. “Hello there! Mister jailer, yoo-hoo! Where’s my friend?”  

No one is in a hurry to respond. Finally, one of the armed-to-the-teeth guards approaches the cage.

“Why are you yelling, lady?”

“Where’s my friend?” Harley asks petulantly. “He was here just now, and we didn’t finish talking. Where did you take him?”  

“There was no one here.”

“What do you mean ‘no one’? I just talked to him!”

The guard examines her from head to foot. Looks like he’s chewing gum, which, combined with his empty apathetic stare, makes him look like a cow.

“Definitely crazy,” he sums up, and leaves. Irritated, Harley forgets to take caution, hits the bars and falls down on the floor right away, writhing in pain.    

“Well, well, well,” she whispers, playing the recent events over in her head. Chato was very much corporeal – not a ghost, then. Yet the guards didn’t notice him, and then he vanished into thin air. Harley thinks about the being Chato transformed into by the end of the battle – an ancient one, as if straight from the walls of some Aztec temple. Could some petty bomb kill such a being? Could the Enchantress’s brother have survived too?  

“I am friends with a god,” she informs the ceiling. “Incredible.”

About an hour later, her Puddin’ comes for her, and she forgets the advice Diablo gave her.  

  Croc sees him on the night of the same day. He knows for sure that it is night thanks to the TV listings – the only reference point for time and days of the week that he has. Not that it was bothering him too much, truth be told. Monday or Sunday, every day in Belle Reve is a carbon copy of the day before. However, Croc doesn’t complain. He has a roof over his head, water, food – even better food than he used to have in the sewers in days gone by – and a TV, and it is honestly not too hard to do without such extras as companionship and fresh experiences. Still, he is glad to see Diablo. Even though first he lunges at him with his fangs bared, because he doesn’t immediately recognize him and supposes that Waller and company are sick of feeding him and decided to kill him. Or to put someone else in his quarters, which would have been no less audacious.        

“Croc, it’s me,” Diablo hastens to say, and lights up a flame over his left palm – so unusual and out of place in the dampness of Croc’s cell. Croc freezes and watches the flame for some seconds. That must really be Diablo; there are hardly many people in the world capable of such tricks.

“Hey, man,” Croc says. “Whatcha doing here?”

“Just checking up on you.”

Well, that must definitely be Diablo. Croc knows that there are hardly many people in the world who’d care to check up on him, but that sounds like something El Diablo would do. Back then, during the mission, he was friendly, asked “You okay?” after each skirmish, and could clap him on the shoulder without shuddering. And there are definitely even less people in the world that would touch him willingly.      

“Did they just let you in like that?” wonders Croc. Diablo gives him a slight smile.

“They don’t know I’m here.”

“So you’re, like, a ghost?” Croc asks. It occurred to him from the very beginning, but it sounds particularly joyless when said out loud.

Diablo gestures vaguely. “I’m still figuring it out myself, to be honest.”

“Hmm,” Croc glances over his cell. A bag of food on the cot catches his eye. “You want a burger?”

“Nah, I’m good. Save it for yourself.”

“They’ll bring more today, I’m telling ya.”  

“Then I want one.”

“Then you’re not a ghost,” grins Croc, and the fact that Diablo doesn’t flinch or try to look away also proves that this is the real Chato Santana, because most people don’t like seeing Croc smile.

And so he and Diablo, who kind of is a ghost but kind of isn’t, sit there eating burgers and watching some crap on MTV. Life has taught Croc not to be surprised by anything, so everything’s fine.  

“So what happened after the bomb went off?” Croc asks. Diablo opens his mouth, and then closes it again, apparently at a loss how to explain.

“I was smoke,” he speaks finally. “Then I was flames. Then I became myself again.”

“I see,” Croc replies, although, of course, he can’t see shit.

“Who are you talking to?” comes the guard’s voice from behind the door. “Hey, scum!”

Croc puts the burger aside.

“Wait a bit,” he tells Chato, gets up, and heads for the door.

When he comes to the bean hole, the guard already looks like he regrets calling him.  

“No one,” Crock smiles as widely as only he can, and the guard, who isn’t among the people able to watch him smile without blinking an eye, steps back reflexively. “But come inside, and I’ll talk to you if you wanna. How about that?”   

When he turns around, Chato has already disappeared, and Croc could have assumed he has dreamed it all, but there are two half-eaten burgers on the cot, not one.

  Digger sees him next, and he isn’t even amazed. The bastards keep drugging him with all sorts of shit to calm him down. Usually after the shot he just lies there, feverish, and can’t even move, let alone stand up, but who knows, perhaps they’re testing some new poison on him. Or they’ve started using something stronger because they noticed that a couple of hours after the usual stuff he’s already able to yell, bang at the door, and do everything he can to get the best of them while cooped up inside. Or it’s simply that there’s already so much of this shit in his blood that it’s impossible not to have any screws loose, try as he might to keep them in place. In any case, he’s not exactly shocked when, as he tosses and turns on the floor after another injection, he turns his head and sees El Diablo, large as life and twice as ugly.

“Fuck me sideways,” Digger says. He doesn’t have any energy to be mad yet. “I must be tripping.”

“You’re not tripping,” Diablo objects.

“You died. So I must be.”  

“I didn’t die either.”

Diablo sits down cross-legged on the floor next to him.

“Has it crossed your mind that if you stop getting on their nerves, they might start treating you better?” he asks.

“Go to hell.”

“Message received.”

There’s a footfall outside; a whole bunch of people must be running somewhere.

“They’ve turned the entire joint upside down,” says Digger, because it’s been ages since he has spoken to anyone who’d at least pretend to listen, so a hallucination will do. “Blondie escaped.”  

“I know,” Diablo replies gloomily. “I tried to warn her not to go with the Joker, but she didn’t listen to me.”  

“Why warn her?” Digger asks. Harley Quinn is no bosom friend of his, but she kind of tore out the heart of the witch who kind of tried to end the world, and anyway, teammates probably should take interest in each other’s lives. Probably. He’s never really made sense of that teamwork stuff. “What’s he gonna do to her?”    

“At best, what he always does.”

Two tiny figures of fire appear on Diablo’s open palm – a man and a woman. The man backhands the woman across her face, and she falls down. Digger watches the dancing flames with fascination, and meanwhile in his head, bit by bit, stroke by stroke, a plan starts to take shape. He wouldn’t be Captain motherfucking Boomerang if he fails to use any opportunity that turns up – even a ghost of one. 

“Listen, mate,” he begins cajolingly. “If you’re really here and it’s not just me tripping… help an old friend out, won’t you? I’m fed up with being stuck here, you know.”

“I’m not gonna help you escape,” Diablo says calmly. “How do you imagine that would even happen?”

“Can’t you just burn the entire Belle Reve to the bloody ground?”

Diablo smiles.

“I can,” he admits. “But I won’t.”

The next thing he knows, the son of a bitch is gone without a trace. Anger and offence must be giving Digger strength, because he manages to leap to his feet. Like a lunatic, he thrashes around the cell, looking for at least some kind of proof that someone else was here a moment ago.  

“Oi!” he shouts, knowing damn well that the guards have long stopped listening to what he has to say. “Grab the devil! A convict escaped! Hey, wankers!”  

But he’s feeling lightheaded, and this shit must be really strong, and he collapses, badly hitting his head.  

  Tatsu sees him next – late at night, in her apartment. She’s a light sleeper, and wakes up as soon as she hears footsteps. The sword is close at hand, and she grabs it instantly, blade swishing through the air.  

“Who’s there?” Tatsu asks, and then repeats in English. “Who’s there?”

There is nowhere to hide in her bedroom. The only furniture is the mattress and the pair of chairs she uses to hang her clothes on. Everything is on the floor or on the windowsill – weapons, her laptop, the book she tried to read before going to sleep but could not concentrate on. It is an ascetic, comfortless dwelling that does not look permanent and is not supposed to become so. Fate and Amanda Waller, though, seem to have other plans in this respect.  

There is nowhere to hide in her bedroom – but someone’s definitely walking in the antechamber; she flings the door open – and sees El Diablo, standing by the entrance and looking around. In a blink of an eye Tatsu is next to him, and the blade of the Soultaker is pressed to his neck.  

“Katana, it’s me,” Diablo says, unfazed. “Chato Santana.”

“Chato Santana is dead,” she says through her teeth. Chato Santana was a gangster who killed, albeit by a tragic accident, his own family – but she fought side by side with him, he sacrificed himself to save the world, he called their squad his family and died for them. That is enough for her not to let anyone use his name as a cover. “Who are you?”    

“I’m alive,” Diablo replies. He puts his hands up to show he’s unarmed, and forks of flame appear on his palms. “Or sort of.”  

Sort of.

Tatsu lowers the sword and looks warily at the man standing in front of her.

“How did you…”

“You’re gonna have a new mission soon. Demand that Waller tells you everything.”

“About what?”

“I couldn’t overhear that,” he says with regret. “But…”

Something knocks on the window. Tatsu turns around quickly, but that must’ve been just a tree branch hitting the windowpane. When she turns back to Chato, he’s already gone, and her apartment is silent.

It’s just four in the morning, but she can’t make herself fall asleep again. Having poured a cup of tea, Tatsu sits down on the mattress and thinks, think, thinks about what just happened. Tatsu believes in ghosts – her sword is teeming with them, so she wouldn’t say that her worldview is shaken. Still, this is strange, very strange. What did he want to tell her? Why did he disappear so abruptly? Like… a broadcast was interrupted.    

Colonel Flag calls her at daybreak and tells her that there’s a shoot-out between two gangs on the outskirts of Gotham, with metahumans on both sides. When Tatsu arrives at Belle Reve, it turns out they must have considered it to be not enough to ruin her Saturday morning, because she is asked – more like ordered, actually – to escort an inmate from his cell, an inmate who attacks anyone who tries to enter and has already injured three guards with his bare hands, and it’s not reasonable to sedate him before the mission, and “he’s likely to obey if it’s you, Katana” – the last is Rick’s argument, and if he told that to her face and not on the phone, she would have had to strain every nerve not to hit him with something.    

No one tries to attack her when she enters the cell of Captain Boomerang – Harkness is sitting on the floor quite still, his arms around his knees, and when he notices her, he even smiles with bruised lips.  

“Hello, gorgeous,” he says. “Am I hallucinating you too?”

“No,” the question is unexpected and confuses her. “Why?”

“Well, they keep injecting me some crap, and lately I’ve been seeing things,” Harkness explains peacefully, even eagerly. His voice is quiet and hoarse, which, combined with his Australian accent, leads to Tatsu being barely able to make out half of what he’s saying. To hear him better, she crouches down next to him, still gripping the sword hilt – there is no telling if he isn’t just making her come closer to take her down and bolt. “Saw the devil yesterday.”      

“The devil?”

“Our devil. Día… de fucking Muertos. Chato Santana.”

Tatsu gives a shiver and, having lost her balance, half sits down, half falls on the dirty floor.

She isn’t the only one to have seen him. She isn’t the only one he wanted to send a message to.

“Hey, luv,” Harkness frowns and reaches out to touch her knee lightly. “You all right?”  

“Same as you, more or less,” she wants to reply, which of course would mean she isn’t, not at all.

“What did he tell you?” she asks him instead.

  When Floyd sees him, he is hardly surprised, since the others have already warned him. Boomerang, Croc, and Katana tell him everything while they’re waiting for the helo, and had it been just Boomerang, who believes inexplicably that he has a sense of humour although he certainly doesn’t, Floyd most likely wouldn’t have believed his ghost stories, but it is even harder to believe that Croc, let alone Katana would agree to take part in such pranks. Which is why he listens to them closely and takes note: okay, then he doesn’t have to worry about his mental heath if the late Santana suddenly appears out of nowhere to give some advice or share some news or simply ask how he’s doing. So the four of them keep whispering to one another like kids at the back of the class until their transport arrives – just the four of them, which is a pity. If there is anyone on the team that he had missed a little, it’s Harley. Floyd knows some things about the Joker, for it isn’t possible, as they write in the papers, to belong to the criminal world of Gotham and not know anything about the Joker. Floyd knows what Flag had spilled to him when visiting him in his cell or escorting him there after a visit to Zoe. Floyd thinks that in his entire lifetime he hasn’t understood a thing about love – is it even possible to understand it, on the other hand? – but he feels like the mad and brilliant Harley, Harley the whimsical, Harley the loving deserves better.                

“What’s with the gossiping?” Flag inquires suspiciously.  

“Nothing!” Croc and Digger answer in unison, in unison, and Floyd facepalms because seriously, are they in some cheesy movie or what? They don’t tell Flag anything yet, but Floyd is almost sure that sooner or later Santana will visit him as well, because Flag is one of them too, after all. Not that he’s even trying to deny it; no one’s making him drop by Floyd’s cell every other day to chat about some nonsense through the steel door.          

So Floyd is hardly surprised when, as he makes his way behind the dumpsters loading one gun after another, he notices a familiar, head-to-toe-tattooed figure standing nearby.  

“There are snipers on the roof over there and around the corner of the shop,” Chato says instead of greeting. Floyd nods.

“I noticed.”

“Eight men in the drugstore on the other side of the street. Each with a machine gun.”  

“How do you know?”

“I’ve just been there.”

“Got it,” there’s no time for lengthy conversations. No time to say: glad you’re alive, man. No time to ascertain: are you alive, though? So he thinks over the plan of action, making a mental note to ask all these questions later, when there are no bullets whistling past their ears.  

People like them deserve no guardian angels, frankly speaking, but they may have managed to earn one for all of them.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Coming Home

Dean x Reader

Word Count: 4980

Warnings: Smut. Relatively vanilla, but decidedly explicit. 

A/N: For @impala-dreamer​ and the “Make Me Feel It” challenge. My prompt was “The Story,” by Brandi Carlile. To me, that song feels like letting your guard down and trusting someone to see you at your worst. 

Major thanks to @fangirlxwritesx67​ and @stunudo​ for the read-throughs and suggestions, and to @justcallmeasmodeus​ @thoughtslikeaminefield​ and @cracksinthewalls​ for listening to me grumble about this monster all day. 

October, 2006

Dean can’t sleep, and what-fucking-else is new? Not like he was Sleeping Beauty to begin with, but it’s harder since Dad died. He tosses and turns on the lumpy motel mattress, listening to Sammy’s snores. His muscles ache and his eyes itch and he can’t stop clenching his jaw. It’s been a couple days since he’s managed more than a catnap at a rest stop. 

If he pauses for too long, if he lets himself rest, the grief catches up and chokes him. Dean’s fine, or he will be. He just has to keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

He gives up around 4am, leaves Sammy a note and trudges down the block to the all-night diner. 

Left foot, right foot. Don’t look back. Don’t stop. 

All the diners are starting to look alike. On good days, the familiarity is comforting. Today it just feels surreal, like he keeps driving and driving and never really gets anywhere, and the grey fluorescent lights make his vision skip and skitter strangely. 

There’s one other guy at a table in the corner, a trucker nursing a cup of coffee; otherwise it’s empty apart from the waitress wiping down glasses at the other end of the counter. He blinks away the disorientation and sits down heavily on one of the cracked vinyl stools.  

She sets down her rag and comes over, smiling, and it cuts through the grey and the cold and warms him from the inside. 

He orders a coffee and a slice of pie, and he starts eating without really tasting anything. He feels fucking cold, like he brought October into the diner with him. 

He watches the waitress tidying up, rolling silverware, cleaning the counter… Dean catches himself staring at her hips, the way she shifts her weight as she stands. 

Maybe it’s the way she moves that’s got him distracted, maybe it’s just sleeplessness making his vision blur, but one way or another he misses his mouth entirely when he goes to take a sip of coffee. Blistering-hot liquid sloshes over his hand, and he promptly drops the mug. It shatters at his feet. 

He looks down numbly at the splintered pieces as the puddle begins to spread. She’s there with a towel before he can really register what happened. 

“Jesus,” Dean spits, finally snapping back into his body. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” 

She just gives him a little half-smile and shrugs, and Dean slides off the stool to get out of her way. He tiptoes gingerly around the mess and grabs a handful of napkins to get the worst of the coffee off his lap. His cheeks are burning with embarrassment. 

When she’s done, Dean perches back on his stool to shovel down the last few bites, ready to get the hell of her way, but she sets a fresh cup in front of him.

“Thanks,” he says automatically. 

She quirks her lips in a tiny smile, and fuck, she’s cute. Dean tries to muster up his most charming grin, but it feels stiff and twisted on his face. 

“Long day?” she asks softly. She’s watching him with her head tilted to the side like she actually wants to hear about it. 

“I’m fine,” he replies. Smile, shrug, don’t think. 

She looks tired, too. She’s got dark circles under her eyes to match Dean’s, but there’s something sweet and open in her expression that makes him feel comfortable, somehow. Something about her is warm, and Dean’s first instinct is to hold out his hands like he’s thawing them over a fire. 

Her smile isn’t pitying, just empathetic, a sort of bone-weary been there, done that look. 

“My dad died,” Dean blurts out. 

He wasn’t planning on telling her that. It’s the first time he’s said the words quite so bluntly, let alone to a stranger. He’s not that guy, he doesn’t go around dumping his problems on other people, but… he looks up, meets her eyes. His chest hurts. 

“I’m fine,” he insists. 

Fine. Smile, shrug, don’t think. You’re fine. 

Dean heaves in a breath. His ribs are being squeezed by some cold iron grip, and his throat is tight. 

She reaches out across the counter and puts her hand over his, and she gives it a tiny, gentle squeeze. 

“You will be,” she offers. 

He’s not that guy, he’s just not, and the ache in his chest is this massive unbearable thing that’s about to split him open, and the longer she looks at him with that warmth, the harder it gets to hold himself together. And he needs to hold himself together. If he lets go, even just a little, he’s going to fucking drown. 

Dean yanks his hand back like he’s been burned. 

“Sorry,” she says. Her eyes look sad, but she’s giving him a tiny smile, like she understands. 

“I gotta -” he chokes out, and he stumbles as he gets off the stool. He throws some bills on the table without really looking, and he turns to go. 

Left foot, right foot. 

He doesn’t look back. 

***

March, 2008

“Fuck, Dean, just take this exit,” Sam says. He’s got that bite in his voice again. 

“I’m fine,” Dean says. He burps and puts the cap back on the flask one-handed. He gets in the right lane, though. Time for food. 

Signal. Turn. Brake. 

Time’s passing strangely. He blinks and there’s another day gone. He hasn’t got that many days left. If he closes his eyes for long they’ll disappear. 

He pulls into the parking lot of an all-night diner. Sammy jumps out and slams the door before Dean can even cut the engine, like a petulant fuckin’ kid. 

Dean shivers, goosebumps running down his neck. He takes one quick slug from the flask, then another, trying to shake off the chills, before he follows Sam inside. 

He hasn’t been sleeping. Better ways to spend his last weeks. He’s crystal-clear, though. He’s fine. Everything is bright and sharp and hard-edged around him. The whiskey just warms him up a little. 

“Ordered you a burger,” Sam mumbles, when Dean sits down next to him. “To go, so we can get to a fucking motel.” 

“Told you, Sammy, I’m fine,” Dean says breezily, and asks the waitress as she passes, “Could I get a coffee, when you get a sec?” 

He ignores Sam’s glare. 

The waitress comes over, and Dean gets a quick impression of a soft smile and curious eyes as she passes him a steaming mug. He takes a greedy sip and burns his tongue. 

“Hot coffee,” he says hastily, setting the mug down to blow on it, and then he delivers the line with an almost automatic grin. “You know what else is hot?” 

“Come on,” Sam mutters.

Dean finishes with a wink: “You.” 

“You’re not gonna spill on me again, are you?” she smirks. 

He looks up at her, really looks. Something about her smile says come inside, stay a while, like stepping in from the cold to the golden flicker of firelight.

“I remember you,” she says. “You were having a rough night.” 

“Oh,” Dean says. “Oh.” 

He stares as she introduces herself. It feels so far away, now. Feels like he’s lived a few lifetimes since then, but he hasn’t, not really; he won’t even have a chance to live this lifetime. 

He shudders and wishes he’d brought his flask inside. 

“Sorry,” she says, “Not a good memory to look back at, I guess.” 

He shakes his head. 

“No, I’m fine, just… took me a second,” he says, and recovers, pasting on a bright smile. “Don’t know how I could forget such a pretty face.” 

Sam makes an exasperated noise next to him. 

“Smooth,” she says dryly. “What’s your name, butterfingers?” 

“Dean.” 

“Well, Dean, if you make a mess again because you’re too busy flirting to remember where your mouth is, you can clean it up yourself this time. Okay?” 

The words are light and teasing, but her smile looks like an apology, like she knows all too well how hard it is to look back sometimes. 

“How ‘bout you let me make it up to you?” Dean offers. “Let me buy you a drink when you’re done here.” 

She’s eyeing him up and down, and Dean flashes his most winning smile, even though he has a sudden inexplicable urge to hide his face. There’s a bell from the kitchen window and she turns without answering. Dean’s pretty sure he just struck out, and he’s more bothered by it than he’d like to admit, but then she’s back. 

“Yeah, okay,” she says casually, handing over a couple takeout containers. “I’ll be done in fifteen.” 

“Fuck’s sake,” Sam grumbles, as he counts out bills. 

“Hey, you get your wish,” Dean says, grinning. “You get to sleep in a bed tonight. Motel’s right up the road, if I’m remembering right.” 

“Yeah. Great.” 

She’s talking to the cook, hands on her hips, and Dean catches a string of profanities. He smiles to himself and shakes his head, trying not to stare. 

“I’ll meet you out front,” he says. She gives him a little wave, and he almost trips over his feet on his way to the door. 

Sam shoulders his bag, jaw set, eyes tired. 

“I can drive you,” Dean offers, guilt slithering through his stomach, but Sam shakes his head. 

“I’ll walk. I can see the sign from here.”  

“I just - I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.” 

“Yeah. I won’t wait up.” 

Sam turns to go, and Dean feels panicked, for a second. He’s going to blink and lose another day. He’s spent too many days sniping and snapping and being a shitty fucking brother. 

“Sammy,” he says, and Sam looks back, tight-lipped. “Thanks.” 

Sam’s expression falters, the bitter mask falling away and leaving sadness in its place. 

“It’s okay, Dean, I get it,” he says, so quietly it’s almost lost to the wind. 

Dean doesn’t watch him go. He gets in the car and fishes his flask out of the glove compartment. Then he leans against the hood of the car and eats his burger.

Chew, swallow. Don’t think about it. 

He sees her through the window, coming out from behind the counter. Dean sets the takeout container on the hood and gets to the front door just in time to open it for her. 

“So, where to?” he asks. 

“Not sure,” she says softly, looking down at her feet and fidgeting with the strap of her purse. 

“You okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

Dean snorts. “I’ve told that one a few times myself.” 

She rolls her eyes and laughs, sheepish. “Yeah, okay. I… I don’t usually do this.” 

“Hey, no pressure,” Dean says. He holds his hands up and takes a step back. “If you say the word I’ll leave right now, no harm done. Okay?” 

She’s evaluating him, and it feels like an x-ray, the way she stares. He can see the moment she makes a decision. 

“I’ve got drinks back at my place,” she says, and adds sharply, “I’ve also got mace, so… don’t get any ideas.” 

It’s oddly endearing, for a threat. 

Her place is a tiny, cluttered studio apartment in a not-great part of town. When she opens the fridge, he sees a mess of takeout containers and bottles. 

“Beer, tequila, whiskey…” 

“Whiskey’s good.” 

He looks around and realizes there’s nowhere to sit. There’s a single stool at the kitchen table, and an armchair in front of the coffee table; the only place big enough for two people is the bed. He looks at her, and she’s blushing, like she just had the same realization. 

“Shit, sorry, this is weird,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I don’t - I’m in a really fucking strange place in my life. Everything is… temporary, I guess.” 

“You and me both,” Dean mutters. He sits down on the floor, in front of the coffee table. She gives him a grateful little half-smile and hands him a glass. 

“Tell me about it?” She settles on the floor too, cross-legged, rolling her glass between her palms like someone who’s very used to holding a drink. 

They skip all the small talk, the flirtation and the easy questions, and they dive right into the things that Dean fucking hates talking about. Somehow he doesn’t mind. 

This was supposed to be a simple pickup, one fun night, a distraction, and instead he’s sitting on this chick’s floor asking about her childhood, finding that he actually cares about the answers… this isn’t like any one-night stand he’s ever had. It’s so much more intimate than that. 

The rules are different, with her. He doesn’t have to pretend to be fine. She doesn’t seem to pity him, when he talks about some of the fucked-up things in his life. She just accepts it. She accepts him. 

He’s not sure how long it’s been, when he finishes his third drink, but he’s starting to go hoarse. She doesn’t ask if he wants another, just takes the empty glass out of his hand. Her knee pops audibly when she gets up, and they both laugh. 

“I’m too old to be sitting on the floor, I think,” she says, heading to the fridge. “If I say we should relocate to the bed, are you going to take it as a come-on?” 

He smiles up at her, exhaustion and whiskey making his vision blurry around the edges. “Only if you want me to.” 

“Jury’s still out.” She looks down, cheeks flushed like that’s not entirely true. “But I think for the sake of my fuckin’ kneecaps… make yourself comfortable.” 

He does. He sits back against the pillows, sinking into them. She comes over and passes him a drink, and he looks up at her, feeling oddly vulnerable stretched out on her bed like this. 

“Be right back,” she whispers, and sets her own glass on the nightstand before she heads for the bathroom. 

Dean closes his eyes, thinking, just for a second. 

He wakes all at once. There’s bright gold sunlight streaming through the windows and a quilt on top of him. She’s curled into his chest, nose brushing his collarbone where his henley is unbuttoned. His hand is resting on the curve of her waist, tucked under her thin shirt. She’s just starting to stir; she shifts, settles closer, and he feels her lips on his throat. 

Dean can’t remember the last time he felt this rested, or this warm. 

He can’t remember the last time he wanted to stay somewhere. He wants to stay right here in this moment, taking in the tickle of her breath on his neck, the cheap pillowcase under his cheek, the sound of a siren in the distance. 

She pulls back slowly, sleepy-eyed. Then she smiles. It feels like coming home. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he remembers who he is. He remembers that this isn’t his life. 

He digs the phone out of his phone and snaps it open long enough to growl, “Be there soon.” 

She’s still smiling, but her eyes are sad. Dean wants to stay, more than he’s wanted anything in a long time, and that’s why he makes himself pull away. If he lets himself have this, even for a morning… if this was his life? He’s not sure he could let himself be dragged away from it, hellhounds or no. 

She takes the phone out of his hand and enters her number, “Just in case you’re ever passing through.” 

“I doubt it’ll happen,” he says roughly. “But… if I’m passing through.” 

Stand up. Deep breath. 

He feels cold, the warmth leaching from his bones already. 

This isn’t your home. 

He doesn’t have a home. Now he never will. 

She walks him to the door and he hugs her, barely feeling it, barely noticing the feather-light kiss she presses to his cheek. 

“You okay?” she asks. 

“I’m fine,” he says, and he turns to go. 

Right foot, left foot. Don’t look back. 

***

October 2008

If Dean doesn’t get out of this fucking motel, he might lose his fucking mind. 

He paces the bathroom, back and forth, feeling brittle and edgy and hollowed-out. One more nightmare, one more argument, and he might snap. He’s sick of Sammy’s fucking face, and looking at his own in the mirror is even worse. 

He sees hell whenever he closes his eyes. 

He dials her number before he can talk himself out of it, and she picks up on the second ring. 

“Hey,” he says hoarsely. “I don’t - I mean, I ended up coming through after all. I don’t know if you remember me, but… this is Dean.” 

“I remember you,” she says. He can hear the warmth in her voice, even through the static. 

She texts him the address: new place, same town. He tells Sam not to wait up. 

He’s not sure why he’s nervous. He’s not sure what it is about her, but there’s something about this chick that he can’t shake. The important thing is that it’ll be fun. It’ll get his mind off things for a night. He rolls down the window and turns the music up. 

Don’t think about it. 

When she opens the door, Dean’s heart jumps crazily in his chest. 

“So, do you want to go out, or...” Dean starts, as she closes the door behind him. 

“Can we just pick up where we left off?” she asks, breathless. 

Dean can smell the fresh, sweet scent of her hair. He feels dizzy, hot and cold all over, and when he leans in to kiss her it feels like falling.  It’s deep, syrupy-slow, her mouth opening easily under his, intimate and familiar. 

She lets out a barely-there whimper, deep in her throat. 

“Bed,” he chokes out. He’s not sure he’ll make it that far. 

He grabs her again, stumbling, as they practically fall through the bedroom door, and she whirls around to face him with this fiery, blazing look that makes him forget how to fucking walk. Her back hits the wall and he crashes into her. She slips her hands under his shirt and drags her nails down his lower back, and Dean gasps, grinding into her helplessly. 

“Please,” he pants. He kisses her neck, bites her jaw, whispers it again: “Please.” 

She yanks at the hem of his shirt. He almost rips her tank top. She shoves, sends him stumbling backward, and reaches back to unclasp her bra, letting it fall unceremoniously. Dean takes a step backward, still staring, so the edge of the bed against the back of his knees takes him by surprise. He sits down hard and scrambles back.

She pauses at the foot of the bed, letting him look. He rakes his eyes over smooth curves, speechless, as she unbuttons her jeans and shimmies them down her hips, and she crawls up the bed in nothing but plain black panties. 

She straddles him, pushing at his shoulders until he falls back against the mattress. He runs his hands over her, up her sides, trying to memorize the lush pillowy swells and dips of her, the velvety feel of her skin. Her mouth is hungry on his. 

She’s moving, slow and snakelike, rolling her torso so that he can feel the slight drag of her hard nipples up his chest, then twisting her hips, rubbing herself against him. It’s almost too much even through his jeans, all this hot rough friction. He grips her hips and rocks up against her, and she lets out a tortured little whine as she breaks away from the kiss. 

She gets Dean’s zipper down, tugs, and he lifts his hips obligingly so that she can get his pants off. He kicks at them awkwardly, making a face, and she giggles; it’s a nervous giggle, and it dies in her throat when he rolls on top of her. He pauses with his hands braced on either side of her head, and she stares up at him, cheeks flushed. 

“What do you -” he starts, and before he can finish the question, she reaches up and brushes the pad of her thumb over the curve of his lower lip. He flicks his tongue over it and watches her eyelids flutter. He ducks his head to kiss the hollow of her throat, then her collarbone. 

“Thought about this,” she says. “I was kicking myself, after. For being too scared to make a move, for -” 

She gasps when he slips his hand down the front of her panties, dragging two fingers down through silky-slick heat, running them up again, teasing before he pulls the thin fabric down. 

“I was wondering,” he confesses. He hooks his hands under her thighs and holds her in place, and she shudders at the first brush of his tongue. 

“I don’t do that - don’t invite strangers over,” she pants. “I don’t trust people, but you - fuck, do that again.” 

“Taste so good,” he mumbles. It’s barely audible, the way his face is buried between her legs. She squirms, thighs shaking as he gets his lips around her clit. 

The words are rushed, high-pitched, spilling out along with tiny gasps and sharp inhales: “Thought about your mouth, fuck. Thought about this. It was - you do a thing, with your tongue, and - right there, oh, fuck, just - you kept licking your lips, and... Dean. Dean.” 

He sneaks a glance up at her. She’s arching her back, fingers twisting in the sheets, saying his name over and over in this broken, reverent voice. Dean feels raw and strange, like he’s the one spread-open and vulnerable here. He squeezes his eyes shut, tries not to think about it. 

She practically convulses when he slips two fingers into her, but he’s holding her down with his other hand. He works her with his fingers and sucks in quick little pulses, lost in the way she tastes. She grabs his hair, pulling him down against her, gripping so hard it stings his scalp, and it’s so fucking hot he feels like he could come just from this: her taste on his tongue, her fingers in his hair, her ragged voice as she says his name one more time. She shakes and shudders as she comes. 

“Gorgeous,” he can’t help but whisper, pressing a kiss to one of the stretch marks that show like pale tiger stripes on her thighs. The scar tissue doesn’t taste any different than the rest of her skin, but he kisses another to be sure, then drags his mouth up, nipping at the soft skin under her belly-button, licking a drop of sweat from the valley between her breasts. 

She’s panting, cheeks stained pink and sheened with sweat, looking up at him with glittering unfocused eyes, and the clench of pure fucking desire in his gut hits him like a freight train. The first slick press of his cock is almost too much. He closes his eyes and sinks in slow, feeling the give where her body opens up and lets him in. Her breath hitches in her chest when he grinds down, as deep inside as he can be. 

One of them is shaking, and Dean thinks it might be him. 

He kisses the underside of her jaw, mouthing at the soft salty skin there, and rolls his hips, and the wet-hot surge of friction is so fucking good. Part of him wants to move, snap forward and give in, fuck into her hard enough to obliterate the swelling sensation in his ribcage. Part of him wants this to last forever. 

He’s present in his skin in a way he hasn’t been in ages, frantic with all the input from his senses, lit up and fizzing with it. The strangled cry that rips from his throat sounds foreign, like an animal, like something wild… she digs her fingers into the muscles of his shoulders, tilts her hips up, and he’s so close to the edge of his control already. 

The physical details of it, the actual act, that’s nothing new. It’s this feeling in his chest. It’s the way he feels like he’s about to shatter. 

“There,” she groans. He opens his eyes enough to see her, and his vision is blurring, images of her coming through like shots from an unfocused camera: lips parting around his name, eyes rolling back in her head when he hits the right spot, sweat trickling down her temple to soak tendrils of hair. 

Dean’s so fucking close, so fucking hard, it’s like his entire universe is narrowing down to the throb of blood pulsing in his cock, the way she’s clamping down around him as she grinds up to meet every thrust, writhing under him, pulling him close, her fingernails fiery points of pain at the small of his back. 

This is so much more than he expected. He can’t breathe.

She lets out a gasp and a sweet little sob, arching up, and he can feel her all around him, soaking wet and searing hot, so good it blinds him. His hips jerk forward one last time, as if he could possibly get any closer to her. He gives in and lets himself go under. 

The tension bleeds from his muscles, leaves him wrung-out and quiet. He keeps rocking into her, soft shivers of pleasure rippling through them both, as she reaches up and cups his face between her hands, tugging him down for a kiss. He rests his forehead against hers for a moment, close enough that their breath mingles in the damp thick air between them. He kisses the tip of her nose, then her eyelids. He moves back to pull out. 

“Don’t go anywhere,” she whispers. “Stay.” 

“Can I go like six inches to either side?” Dean asks, and she makes a face, giggling, as they shift over together, trying to move without putting any real space between their bodies. 

Dean settles in between her sprawled legs, resting his head on her chest. Her heartbeat is slowing, gradually. He focuses on the sound of it, the feel of her ribs rising and falling under his cheek as she breathes, and she runs her fingers through the short damp hair at the nape of his neck. 

He wants to stay right here, just like this. 

He could pretend, for one night. He could pretend to be someone else, someone who gets what they want. 

“If I fall asleep, wake me up in half an hour,” she says dreamily. “Let’s do that again.” 

He can feel the waves closing in over his head. 

Her fingers slow and then stop. Her heartbeat goes low and even. 

When he’s sure she’s asleep, Dean shifts, doing his best not to disturb her. She doesn’t stir. He gathers his clothes and gets dressed silently. 

She looks so peaceful: hair tangled, skin glowing, lips curled up in a smile. She looks warm. Dean’s chest aches. He sneaks one last glance at her before switching off the light and turning to go. 

He doesn’t look back. 

***

February 2010

Dean waits for a moment, staring up at the dark sky, but there’s no answer. He wasn’t really expecting one. 

Deep breath. Drink. Swallow. 

He wipes away the tears, steeling himself to go back inside and pretend that nothing’s wrong. 

The wheezy voice echoes in his ears: going through the motions. 

Deep, dark… nothing. 

He wants to deny it, is the thing. He wants to deny it, but he can’t, even to himself, even to the quiet nighttime sky. But that dark nothing is easier than letting himself feel. When he slows down, when he rests, when he allows himself to feel anything, it all crashes over him, swamps him, fills his lungs and makes him choke. 

Inside, you’re already dead. 

When was the last time he felt alive? 

He sees her clearly: head thrown back on the pillow, lips parted, saying his name like a prayer. If he lets himself remember, he feels a ghost of her warmth and a swelling, fluttering fullness in his chest. 

Something inside him snaps. 

He practically runs to Baby, flings himself blindly into the driver’s seat, starts the engine with trembling fingers. He hits the gas and the tires squeal. 

The cold air slaps against his face, and his heart pounds, and he almost turns around five times before he hits the right exit. It’s not hard to find her place again, but it doesn’t occur to him until he’s knocking that she might’ve moved. She might not be home. She might have a fucking boyfriend who’s going to punch him in the face. 

She opens the door. 

He can see hurt and shock and something bright (hope?) flickering across her face, and then she looks him up and down. 

“Dean,” she says softly. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m -” 

“If you say ‘fine’ right now I’ll punch you in the mouth,” she says matter-of-factly. There’s no judgement in her eyes, just familiar wide-open warmth. “It’s three in the morning. You snuck out, like a fucking asshole, and then I didn’t hear from you in over a fucking year. So. Are you okay, Dean?” 

He has to force the words out; it feels like they’re scorching his throat. 

“No. I’m not.” 

He sways on his feet and sags against the doorframe. It’s pulling him under, one wave after another. 

She wraps her arms around him and squeezes, holding him close, right there in the doorway. He runs his hands up her back and buries his face in her hair, taking deep heaving breaths that burn his lungs. It’s all he can do to keep his head above water. 

She presses her lips to his pulse and whispers against his skin: “Come inside, Dean. Stay a while.” 

She pulls the door closed behind him as he takes one shaky step, then another. 

He doesn’t look back. 

.

.

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message over here! 

Tag team: @winchesterprincessbride​ @ultimatecin73​  @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @mogaruke​ @babypieandwhiskey​ @amanda-teaches​ @hannahindie​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​ @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms​ @maddiepants​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @leatherandfrackles @waywardbaby​ @covered-byroses​ @thoughtslikeaminefield​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @atc74​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @67-chevy-baby​ @wayward-and-worn​ @the-chocolate-moose​ @geekgirl1213​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @myfanficlibrarium​ @calaofnoldor​ @indecisive20something​ @carryonmyswansong​ @sycochick​  @akshi8278​ @woodworthti666​ @sandlee44​ @flamencodiva​ @weepingwillowphoenix​ @shamelesslydean​ 

[sachigram]

Telescope Now Chapter 4

((click here to read on ao3!!))

When Izaya wakes again, it's dark outside. He jumps, thinking he slept all day, but then he realizes it's just raining again. He feels a bout of nausea from his sudden movement, and he quickly sinks back into the couch with a loud groan.

“You sick?” Shizuo's voice asks. Izaya squints up at him. Shizuo is still here? He's on the other side of the sectional, as if determined to be as far away from Izaya as possible.

“Why're you here?” Izaya asks, letting his head fall. He doesn't remember much of the night before after deciding to go to Sunshine 60. He definitely doesn't remember how he got home.

“Wow. Did you just entirely forget about last night, or are you still waking up?” Shizuo says, and Izaya rolls so he can look at Shizuo without lifting his head.

“We didn't fuck, did we?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo chokes on his own saliva, his face going bright red as he coughs.

“What?! No! What the fuck?!”

“Ah. Then I guess it doesn't matter what happened,” Izaya says. He pulls his coat a little tighter around himself. He wants a blanket, but he doesn't want to move, and he's damn sure not going to ask Shizuo to get him one.

“It matters,” Shizuo says. He's got his feet propped on the coffee table, and Izaya considers berating him for it, but he lets it go. Shizuo must have helped him home.

“How pathetic am I?” Izaya asks, chuckling at his own misfortune. “Reduced to being helped by someone who wants me dead. Is this what rock bottom is like?”

“Stop being dramatic,” Shizuo huffs. “You got drunk. It happens. I'd be wasted all the time if I were you.”

“Ah.”

“I mean— fuck, that came out wrong. It's just that you're, you know, going through stuff, and I'm just saying if it were me, I wouldn't be able to handle it,” Shizuo babbles. Izaya smirks.

“What about any of this makes you think I'm handling it?”

“It just seems like you're the type that can handle anything,” Shizuo says.

“Shizu-chan, you don't know a thing about me. I guess that's commonplace for you, isn't it? Not knowing things.” Izaya tries to glare at Shizuo, but it's more effort than it's worth, being an asshole when he feels this bad. “Why did you stay the night here?”

“It was raining,” Shizuo says. “Also you were...upset. I don't know, I guess I thought it'd make me look even worse to leave before you woke up. I should have, though, since you don't even remember half of what you said.”

Izaya frowns, hating this. What the hell did he say? Surely, even drunk, he wouldn't go professing all his secrets to Shizuo, right? He really doesn't need another reason for anyone to pity him right now, and it's not like he's ever held on to the hope that Shizuo returns his desires. He decided a long time ago that if he couldn't have Shizuo's affesctions, he'd accept all of Shizuo's hatred. This is old news, nothing worth fretting over.

Right?

“What did I say?” Izaya asks.

“Uh.” Shizuo rubs the back of his neck, and Izaya is mortified, on pins and needles as he waits for Shizuo to keep talking. “You cried. Like, a lot. It was kind of concerning. You were even crying while you were asleep.”

“Oh. That's all?”

“That's all?”

“I can live with crying while drunk. Maybe I'm a sad drunk. I don't get drunk often enough to know.” Izaya tilts his head toward the TV and snorts. Shizuo is watching a home renovation show.

“You also passed out in the middle of the sidewalk. I guess you blacked out from the alcohol. I didn't know how drunk you were until we were moving. I should've stopped you from drinking so much,” Shizuo says.

“Stop acting like you're responsible for me. It's annoying.”

“You're annoying,” Shizuo counters maturely.

Izaya is going to tell Shizuo to leave, but it sticks in his mouth, refuses to come out. Shizuo looks nice like this, in the dim light from Izaya's living room, his white sleeves rolled up and his hair tousled from crashing on the couch. Izaya just wishes he could watch Shizuo stuffing his face with food to complete the image. It's like observing a wild animal in its natural habitat after getting used to only seeing images of it hunting. Maybe Shizuo feels the same way about Izaya, because despite his casual demeanor, he doesn't seem very at ease. Maybe he thinks Izaya is about to attack when in actuality, Izaya can barely lift his own head.

“Do you need something?” Shizuo asks suddenly. Izaya realizes he was staring.

“No.” Izaya watches a woman on the TV have a breakdown about her counters being too dark. Everything about this situation is so bizarre that Izaya can't grasp it's actually happening. “Am I still asleep?” he asks, expecting his sisters to emerge from somewhere.

“Stop being weird,” Shizuo says with a grimace, and Izaya laughs.

“I think maybe I've finally gone insane. I don't recognize dreams from reality anymore. They all just blend together.”

“You mentioned that before.”

Izaya grumbles, tries again to remember the night before. He recalls bits and pieces, knows he was an emotional wreck. It's possible he spilled his guts to Shizuo and Shizuo is just being nice about it. Then again, Shizuo has never been nice about anything before, so Izaya doubts it.

“Can you do me a favor?” Izaya asks suddenly, and Shizuo blinks at him. “Well. Multiple favors, actually.”

“What?”

“Can you go to the medicine cabinet and get me some ibuprofen? It's in my bathroom upstairs. Also a glass of water— and a blanket. It's freezing in here.” Izaya shivers in emphasis.

Shizuo narrows his gaze at Izaya before standing and shuffling away. Izaya hugs his coat tighter around himself. It's really too cold, and he wants to adjust the heat, but he doesn't want to move. Asking Shizuo to adjust the thermostat would be like challenging the gods. Izaya has no doubts Shizuo would break the thermostat into something completely unrecognizable, an avant-garde masterpiece.

Shizuo returns with a grunt. He tosses a heavy blanket over Izaya's head, and sets the pills and water on the table. Izaya adjusts, recognizing the fabric of the blanket.

“You brought the duvet from my bed,” he says, amused.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know where you keep extra blankets?” Shizuo asks, defensive.

Izaya hums and lifts up to grab the pills. He pauses, groaning as the room spins around him. Carefully, he sets the pills back down and stands, hurrying to the bathroom where he collapses in front of the toilet and vomits until his stomach is even emptier than it was before.

“Now this is rock bottom,” he murmurs, leaning back and flushing the toilet with his foot. He stays on the floor for a few moments, trying to decide whether he should throw up more, or risk taking the pills now. He stands and leans against the counter, looking at himself in the mirror. His reflection seems to blur around the edges, almost as if he's just an illusion. He sneers at himself. “I don't have time for this today. Not while he's here. Torture me later.”

“Are you talking to yourself?” Shizuo's voice asks, muffled from the wood of the door.

“Does that make you feel left out?” Izaya asks.

“Nah, knock yourself out. I'm gonna order food. You don't have anything here. What do you want?”

Izaya pauses, looking at the door in disbelief. He opens it, and Shizuo stands there, scowling at him.

“Well?” Shizuo barks.

“You're having food delivered here?” Izaya asks, giddy in spite of himself that Shizuo isn't leaving any time soon. “Get whatever you want. I don't think I'll be eating for a while unless I want to keep barfing.”

“Eh, soon enough you'll be craving something greasy. Tom-san always eats a lot after a binger.” Shizuo reaches in his pocket, pulling his phone out. He looks at Izaya closely. “Will you turn your nose up at a burger?”

Izaya grimaces, feeling nauseated at the thought of something so unhealthy. “If I do, you can just eat it yourself.”

“Fair point,” Shizuo says, and then he walks back towards the living room.

“What the fuck is going on?” Izaya asks his reflection. “Shizu-chan is hanging out with me.” He starts brushing his teeth. “Am I still dreaming?”

“Nope!” Mairu hops up on the bathroom counter, kicking her feet out as she watches him. “You've been asleep so long. I'm bored, you know?” She reaches out and pokes him. “I think Shizuo likes you.”

Izaya cuts his eyes at her. This is the first time he's actually seen either of the twins outside of his dreams. He looks around for Kururi, finally sees her hiding slightly behind Mairu.

“He seems worried about you,” Mairu continues. “You're way more popular than we thought.”

“You should've seen how many people came to your funeral,” Izaya says after he spits into the sink. “No one came to support me, aside from maybe Shiki-san. Kine wasn't even there.”

“Shiki-san likes you, too,” Mairu says.

“Different from Shizuo,” Kururi adds, her voice small. She sounds upset, and in contrast Mairu sounds too cheerful, like she's trying to make up for Kururi.

“Yeah, I don't think Shiki-san wants to jump your bones. But he might! Oh wow, that'd be something. We'd be loaded for real!” Mairu giggles and waves her arms around. “Hey, get over Shizuo and try to get with Shiki-san instead. Or Akabayashi-san! They're both executives, right?”

“I regret ever raising you,” Izaya tells them. He grabs his headband and pulls his bangs off his forehead so he can wash his face.

“Maybe this is what it will take to make you and Shizuo stop fighting,” Mairu says. “One big tragedy to bring people closer together! It's like a messed up love story.”

“Shizu-chan hates me,” Izaya says.

“Then why is he visiting you?” Kururi asks.

“I don't know. Why are you visiting me?” Izaya counters.

“We're here every day. You need other people, you know, aside from us.” She bites her lip, a nervous habit of hers, and she adds, quietly, “we miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Izaya says. He looks over at their faces, and his eyes burn. “I don't know how I'm supposed to move on.”

“We aren't going to let you move on,” Mairu says, and she reaches out to take Izaya's hand. He lets go of his facial products in favor of giving them his full attention.

“Is it really you in my dreams?” Izaya asks them. “Sometimes I see memories, but then other times it's like you're both trying to scare me to death.”

“Oh, who knows?” Mairu asks. She grins at him. “Maybe it's your own guilty conscience, or maybe we're just trying to wake you up.”

“You're both rotten. I don't know why I miss you.”

“I wanna talk more about Shizuo!” Mairu says.

“He asks us about you,” Kururi says.

“He does?” Izaya asks.

“Whenever he sees us, he'll mention you. He's kind of obsessed with you, but I guess you know that already,” Mairu says.

“Obsessed,” Izaya repeats, looking at himself in the mirror again. “He probably just feels sorry for me.”

“Would you feel sorry if it was him?” Kururi asks.

“You mean if Kasuka died?” Izaya puts a dollop of soap in his palm and starts his tedious skincare routine. “I don't know. I think I'd be happy if he was in pain. If he was miserable, I'd know he wasn't out forgetting about me.” He rinses his face and looks up to find his sisters aren't there anymore. Izaya takes a deep breath and towels his face dry before applying a moisturizer. Shizuo appears then, his eyebrows rising as he looks at Izaya.

“Wow. Are those cat ears?” Shizuo asks, grinning. He points to the headband.

“My sisters have matching ones,” Izaya says. “Or had, I guess.”

“Food's on the way. Sorry it's more junk, but I can't really cook.”

Izaya pauses and glances over at him. “Shinra told you to babysit me, didn't he?”

“'Babysit' wasn't really what he said,” Shizuo says, and he leans against the door frame. “Look, I liked your sisters. I really think they would've liked for me to...”

“Stop.” Izaya doesn't look at him, doesn't dare. He applies another product to his face and forces his voice into indifference. “Nothing has changed about me, Shizu-chan. So you've seen a glimpse of my personality you don't hate yet, so what? It doesn't mean you and I are going to be chummy.”

“No shit,” Shizuo snaps.

“What exactly do you think you're going to get out of this? My gratitude? Do you think I'm going to stop tormenting you? Allow me to ease your caveman thoughts before you have a meltdown— I'm the same person I always was, and I'm incapable of leaving you in peace.”

“I-za-ya.” When Shizuo says it like that, it's almost like a song, like a prelude to an incoming battle cry. Izaya tenses, can't help it, but at the same time, he's craving for Shizuo to throw a punch. Izaya needs some normalcy, and even if he's enjoying Shizuo's company for some incredibly bizarre reason, a fight would make them both feel so much better. Izaya has a lot of pent up tension, is practically vibrating with it, and Shizuo must be able to tell, because the fury in his eyes evaporates and is replaced with something else, something terrible.

“I don't want your pity, and I don't want your help,” Izaya hisses, glaring at him. He feels such hatred in his body that he thinks he might sink into the ground from the weight of it.

“I don't pity you,” Shizuo says.

“Right. I'm sure some part of you enjoys this. I'm actually proud, Shizu-chan, that's very cruel of you. I didn't think you had the brain power to be so vindictive.”

“I'm tired of hating you, Izaya,” Shizuo says suddenly, his voice rising. He grips the top of the door frame and cracks it. “It's exhausting, and it's stupid. We're too old for this shit.”

“So saving me from myself is going to make me hate you less?” Izaya spits, and Shizuo growls before taking a step forward.

“Where does this end? Tell me that. When you envision your life without me, is it because you've killed me? What do I have to do to get you to leave me the fuck alone?!” Shizuo shouts, and Izaya takes a step back, can't help it. He's cornered, and they both know it. Still, Izaya isn't capable of yielding, and he's even less capable of shutting up, even when it's good for him.

“I don't envision you at all unless it's the idea of you dying in front of me.”

“Bullshit. You're obsessed with me, you won't even let me walk down the street without trying to pick a fight with me. Why the fuck do you hate me so much?” Shizuo asks, and Izaya leers up at him.

“Because you're an idiot, an overgrown toddler who destroys everything in his path the second he doesn't get his way. You spout your incessant drivel about hating violence, but violence is all you are, all you're capable of. You're a hypocrite, Shizu-chan, and I could forgive so many things, but I truly hate hypocrisy.” Izaya slaps another serum on his face and turns back to the mirror. He's well-aware of how strange this scenario is, Shizuo arguing with Izaya while he's grooming and hungover. This is a new one, strange even for them.

“God, just shut up, I'm so tired of arguing with you,” Shizuo says, shoving Izaya a bit. Izaya caches himself on the counter and turns, a knife in his hand.

“Get out,” Izaya says, and Shizuo looks from the knife to Izaya's face.

“No.”

“I mean it, get out. I feel like shit and your questions are idiotic. You're really going to ask me why I hate you? Are you really that stupid?” Izaya lifts the knife to Shizuo's neck, but Shizuo still doesn't back down. Of course he doesn't. “Last time I checked, you hated me just as much as I hate you. Can you tell me why?”

“Because you're a shitty parasite who ruins everyone's lives. You know all the shit you've done to me! You're obsessed, like I said—“

“Stop saying I'm obsessed with you like you aren't equally as hyper-focused on me. Sometimes I don't even do anything! You'd rather blame every problem you have on me than take responsibility for yourself.”

“That's because it is always to do with you, and you fucking know it!” Shizuo shouts, tilting forward. The knife slides a bit, and a trickle of blood flows from Shizuo's neck. Izaya watches it drip down, his lips curling in a snarl.

“If you hate me so much then just leave! I didn't ask for you to help me, I didn't ask for you to save my life, and I'm not asking you to stay now, you fucking monster!”

Shizuo throws a punch, and Izaya moves out of the way before slashing wildly at Shizuo's chest. Shizuo curses and jumps back, and the wall cracks where Shizuo hits it. They glare at each other, hatred clear in their faces, and Izaya can't help but grin wickedly. This is more like it. This is the monster he knows so well.

“God, Iza-nii, do you just have to ruin everything?” Mairu's voice asks from behind him. He whirls to face the mirror, and it's her face he sees instead of his own. She sounds hollow, echoing. Sometimes the twins sound like this, and sometimes they sound clear as day, as if they're really next to him.

“You aren't real,” he tells the mirror. His hand loosens around the knife, and it hits the floor, clattering on the tile. Shizuo looks at it, and then back at Izaya.

“You're really fucked up, aren't you?” Shizuo asks, but Izaya is still looking at Mairu's face. It's so easy to tell she isn't really alive anymore when she looks like this, twisted and contorted. She vanishes, and Izaya sees his own face, hisses and yanks the headband off before he steps past Shizuo and leaves the bathroom.

“Just get away from me, Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, but of course Shizuo follows. He watches with a frown as Izaya marches into the kitchen and fishes a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet.

“Is that really a good idea?” Shizuo asks. “You're already sick.”

“Hair of the dog,” Izaya says, pouring himself a serving. He glances at Shizuo, sighs, and then gets out a glass for him, too.

“You wanna share your fancy shit with me?” Shizuo asks. Izaya shrugs.

“Sure, why not? Give you a taste of things you can't afford on your own. It'll hurt that much more next time you're forced to buy cheap.” Izaya pours it and slides it towards Shizuo, and then he raises his own glass. “To you, monster. May you live a long life full of destruction and torment.”

“Yeah, fuck you, too,” Shizuo growls. He takes a sip, and his eyes widen a bit.

“Smooth, right? This is Shiki-san's brand. I don't break it out very often.” Izaya throws his drink back and shudders. His stomach lurches in protest, and he worries the drink might surge back up, but it doesn't. “This is the weirdest day of my life.”

“I've had weirder,” Shizuo says. He leans on the counter and watches Izaya closely. “You never answered my question.”

“I'm sure I'll die of old age before I answer everything you don't understand,” Izaya says.

“Where do you see this going? I mean it, do you really think we can fight forever?” Shizuo asks, and Izaya gazes down into his empty glass thoughtfully.

“I try not to think about you, Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, and there is truth in that. He tries very hard to think about anything else.

“If you don't think of me, then how the hell do you come up with your batshit crazy schemes to piss me off? Why can't you leave me alone?”

“I don't envision my life without you, either,” Izaya says simply, and he looks up at Shizuo's confused expression.  

“We can't keep this up forever.” Shizuo takes another sip of his drink. “One of us is going to die if we keep fighting.”

“A hatred like ours won't just go away. Hate is a strong emotion, one of the strongest we're capable of. If you truly hate someone, you hate them forever.”

“I don't buy that. You can stop being an asshole, and I'll stop chasing you down. It's as easy as that.”

“Is it?” Izaya asks. He pours himself another glass before he tops Shizuo off as well.

“You're the one who won't let this go,” Shizuo says gruffly.

“You're right,” Izaya replies, swirling the whiskey around in his glass. “It's not possible for me to stop hating you.”

“What if I just stop giving you the time of day? Stop rising to it, like everyone's always told me I should?” Shizuo asks, his eyes darkening as he leans closer to Izaya.

“Do you really think you can ignore me?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo throws the rest of his drink back before baring his teeth.

“I think I'll kill you if you don't back the fuck off.”

“So then kill me,” Izaya says. “I always imagined you would.”

“You want me to kill you?” Shizuo asks in disbelief, and Izaya pouts as the familiar ferocity leaves Shizuo's features.

“I'd love it if I could kill you, but I don't think you're human enough to die. I'm sure one day you'll go too far, or I will, and then you won't stop. You'll kill me, and everyone will know what you're capable of.” Izaya smiles, but it's not kind, and it's not happy. “I win either way.”

“You're crazy,” Shizuo snaps. He slams his empty glass on the counter, and it shatters. Neither of them look away from each other. “Something's wrong with you, something with your brain.”

“Pot, kettle,” Izaya says, and he gets out another glass for Shizuo. “You asked me if I'd leave you alone, and now you have your answer.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I fucking do. You're never gonna stop bothering me.”

“And you'll never stop chasing me. Isn't there a comfort in that?” Izaya asks as he pours Shizuo's glass. Shizuo barks a laugh, and Izaya looks up at him, dazed, taken aback that Shizuo could ever seem so relaxed in his presence.

“God. God. Yeah, there is.” Shizuo lifts his new glass of whiskey to Izaya. “Somehow, you're the most stable thing in my life.”

“I do aim to please you, Shizu-chan.” Izaya smirks before he sips his drink. “I bet you're wishing you let me get hit by that truck now, huh?”

Shizuo grimaces as he tosses the entirety of his drink back. “No.”

“Liar. It would've solved all your problems, and it would've been hands-off for you. Hell, you would've had a front-row seat to it! Do you think you would've been in the splash zone?”

“Izaya, fuck, stop. I don't want to think about it, okay? You—“ Shizuo shakes his head, tops off his own glass this time. “Do you really not give a fuck about yourself at all?”

Izaya scoffs, not liking the direction this conversation is going. Shizuo was supposed to like the idea, was supposed to lament saving someone who would never change. He isn't supposed to be looking at Izaya like this, like he actually gives a damn.

“Is that why you were on Sunshine last night?” Shizuo continues, and the implications hang. Izaya snorts.

“You think I was going to jump?”

“Were you?”

“Is that why you're here, Shizu-chan?”

“Answer my question, flea.”

“Answer mine!”

They glower at each other, Shizuo leaning over the shattered glass on the counter, and they both startle when there's a knock at the door. Shizuo grumbles and moves towards it, and Izaya watches him go, considers putting a cleaning product in Shizuo's drink, but thinks better of it.

“How domestic of you to answer my door, Shizu-chan,” Izaya lilts. “Rumors will spread, you know? You can't even blame me for it.”

“Fuck you, it's the—“ Shizuo starts, and then he growls. “Dammit, Shinra, what are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?!” Shinra shuffles inside, Celty in tow, and they both look from Shizuo to Izaya. Izaya's head throbs.

“Great, now there are two monsters in my home,” he mutters, sipping more whiskey. He feels like he'd rather be alone with the ghosts and his looming insanity than deal with all this at once.

“Did you stay the night?” Shinra asks Shizuo, ignoring Izaya and his dramatics.

“Well, yeah, I mean... It's storming and he's...” Shizuo jerks his thumb towards Izaya. “He's losing it.”

“That implies there was something left to lose!” Shinra says, laughing, and Izaya sees red. He throws his glass at Shinra, but Celty's shadows catch it before it makes impact. “Izaya-kun! What was that for?!”

Rather than answer, Izaya picks up the entire bottle of whiskey and pads towards his couch. He feels them all looking at him, but he's too tipsy to care. They're murmuring amongst themselves, and Izaya is busy tuning them out when someone jumps onto the couch next to him, startling him.

“Mairu,” he hisses lowly as she shakes his arm. She feels so real, so heavy next to him.

“Iza-nii! I'm bored!” Mairu exclaims, and the entire couch seems to move with the way she's bouncing.

“You're going to hurt him,” Kururi says, appearing at Izaya's other side.

“Look at him, he's already hurt!” Mairu keeps shaking Izaya, who has to fight to put the bottle on the coffee table before she can make him spill it. “IZA-NII!”

“Get off me!” Izaya snaps, shoving at her. It does nothing, as he just seems to phase through her. He looks at his hands, wondering how she can touch him, but he can't touch her. “You can't be here now, I'm not alone,” he whispers vehemently.

Neither of the twins seem to hear him, or more likely, they're ignoring him. They barely listened when they were alive, so Izaya isn't surprised. He feels himself being tugged by them, by something else, and he closes his eyes as a light blinds him and makes his terrible headache even worse.

When he opens his eyes, he's on the roof at Raijin. Izaya would recognize it anywhere. He used to come up here for lunch and for quiet, though Shinra would often find him anyway. He looks down at himself and is surprised to find he's transparent. He can see the tiles below as if he's not really here at all.

Off to the side, he sees a younger version of himself absorbed in a book. Izaya recognizes the title, The Picture of Dorian Gray. He still has the book at home, and he rereads it pretty often. He watches himself for a few moments, and then he hears movement on the stairs, voices carrying. The younger version of himself scoffs before ducking behind the wall, out of sight. The door opens to reveal Shizuo storming out onto the roof, Shinra chasing after him.

“Fucking drop it, Shinra!” Shizuo yells, his hands in fists. He whirls on the younger Shinra, who throws his hands up in surrender. “I'm not being nice to that goddamn bloodsucker! I'm tired of you talking to me about him; it just pisses me off!”

“I'm sorry! It's just that you're both my friends, and...” Shinra rubs at the back of his neck. “It'd be so much easier if we could all hang out together. I really think you two could be great friends.”

“What did I just say?!” Shizuo takes a threatening step forward, and Shinra howls before jumping back. “He's been sending thugs after me! I know it's him, and I'm gonna wring his scrawny neck until his head pops off!”

“Shizuo-kun, please, he's just trying to get a rise out of you! He's still really mad about you hating him on first sight, and—“

“If you say another word, one more word to me about making nice with that bastard, I'm gonna seriously hurt you. I hate him, and I want him dead. If I never saw him again, it'd be too fucking soon.”

Izaya watches them, and then he turns to his younger self, winces at the expression he sees. He remembers this day, remembers overhearing this conversation.

“I just wish you didn't feel that way,” Shinra says, and then he sighs. “C'mon, don't threaten me! I'm your friend, you know?”

“You're his friend, too,” Shizuo spits, and he crosses his arms. “I mean it, Shinra, I'm gonna kill him one day. You might as well get it through your head. I can't be chummy with a guy like that.”

“It boggles the mind that you're even chummy with me,” Shinra says, grinning wryly, and Shizuo shrugs.

“Yeah, don't remind me. You're just one of the only people who isn't scared of me, that's all it is.”

“Liar,” Izaya says, knowing full well no one can hear him. “I wasn't scared of you either, and you hated me for it.”

Shinra and Shizuo leave soon after, and Izaya is left alone with the younger version of himself, who is fingering the corners of his book forlornly. Izaya wishes he could say something to himself, but at the same time, he has no idea what he'd even say. He doesn't have any wisdom to offer, and as for comfort, every version of himself would reject it.

“This is when I decided I'd make him hate me more than anyone else,” he says aloud, watching as the young Izaya goes back to reading, huddled in a corner, tucked into himself. “I thought if it was the only way to get him to look at me, I'd be okay with it.”

“Does it work out?” the younger Izaya asks, suddenly looking right at him, maybe even through him. “Are you happy?”

“Does it matter? He's looking.”

There's a tug on his arm, and Izaya jerks awake, finds he's flat on the floor beside his coffee table. Shinra is hovering over him.

“Izaya-kun? Hey, it's okay.” Shinra puts a calming hand on Izaya's cheek, and Izaya leans into it, needs to know Shinra is really here. “Do you know where you are?”

“I'm home. Shizu-chan was here...” Izaya looks around wildly until his eyes settle on Shizuo, who is standing beside Celty, a worried look on his face. “Weren't we just at school?”

“School?” Shinra asks. “What did you see?”

“My sisters were here...” Izaya groans and tries to sit up. A fresh wave of nausea hits him, and he curls into himself instead. “You think I'm crazy.”

“I don't. I think you're going through too much for anyone to go through alone.” Shinra leans down, closer to Izaya's ear. “I'm here,” Shinra says softly, and Izaya withholds a laugh. If this isn't real, this is the cruelest trick his mind has played on him so far.

“You're heavy,” Izaya mumbles, and Shinra pulls back, offers a hand to help Izaya up.

“What the hell is this? He's seeing ghosts and passing out? And we're gonna act like it's okay?” Shizuo asks, and Shinra sighs as he supports Izaya onto the couch.

“It could be a lot of things. All of this could still be the mind processing grief, it could be sleep-deprivation—“

“I slept fine last night,” Izaya interjects, and Shinra looks between him and Shizuo, his eyebrows raised.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Shizuo says, narrowing his eyes at Shinra. “You asked me to look after him, and he was freaking out. What was I supposed to do, leave him here alone?”

“It's just above and beyond what I asked you to do, that's all,” Shinra says, and then he turns to Izaya. “How are you feeling right now?”

“Hungry,” Izaya says earnestly. “Aren't we having food delivered soon, Shizu-chan?”

“It's here already. You just had to go and pass out.” Shizuo walks towards the couch, a paper bag in his hand, and he sets it on the coffee table in front of Izaya.

“I'm so happy the two of you are finally getting along,” Shinra says happily. He wilts when Shizuo and Izaya both give him a look.

“Can you leave? I was fine till you showed up,” Izaya says.

“So you were fine alone with Shizuo-kun?” Shinra asks.

“Yes,” Izaya snaps as he unwraps his hamburger, which is ridiculously big. “Look at this thing. How the hell do I eat this, Shizu-chan?”

“You eat it, dumbass. Can you even eat real food, or do you exclusively live off the blood of others?” Shizuo asks as he flops onto the couch beside Izaya. He reaches for the bag, and he hums in thanks when Izaya passes it to him.

“Well, Celty, I think we can go! They seem fine!” Shinra says, and he balks when Celty's PDA shoves into his face. “Really, they're doing great! You heard Izaya-kun, he wants us to go!”

“Celty can stay. You're the one on my nerves,” Izaya mumbles through a mouthful of food. Shizuo's lips twitch upwards.

“Celty and I are a package deal!” Shinra wails, and he looks closely at Shizuo. “Call if anything happens, okay?”

“Shinra really should monitor you. You passed out so suddenly.” Celty's PDA floods Izaya's vision, and he squints at the bright screen, his eyes struggling to adjust.

“I'm fine. You can all go,” Izaya says.

“No. You can relent to letting Shizuo-kun stay, or you can come stay with me. You can't be alone, I'm sorry.” Shinra steps forward and puts a hand on Izaya's shoulder, his fingers squeezing.

“As if any of you care what happens to me.” Izaya tries to shrug Shinra's hand off him, but Shinra holds on tight.

“I do care, and so does Celty.” Shinra frowns and shakes Izaya a bit. “I really think you should come stay with us for a while.”

“He's fine, I'm watching him,” Shizuo says. Izaya grimaces at him when he sees Shizuo is already almost done with his own burger, his cheeks full of food like some sort of monstrous rodent. He glares over at Izaya. “What?”

“Watching you disgusts me,” Izaya says, leaning forward to put his burger on the coffee table.

“You watching me disgusts me!” Shizuo shoots back.

“How am I supposed to look at anything else when you're smacking and—“

“Okay!” Shinra says, his hands going up. “Don't kill each other. I don't have other friends to replace you.” He nods at Shizuo, wordlessly conveying his thanks, and then he's tugging Celty towards the door. Izaya tongues at his cheek, and when he hears the door closed, he turns to Shizuo.

“You can leave now, monster. I don't want you here.”

“Tough shit,” Shizuo replies, wadding up the paper his burger was wrapped in. “Shinra's right, you shouldn't be alone.”

“I don't want you here!” Izaya shouts, and Shizuo stiffens. Izaya rarely raises his voice, hates to lose his cool, but the longer Shizuo stays and acts like Izaya is anything other than an enemy, the more Izaya feels himself slipping. “Get out.”

“So you're just gonna sit here feeling sorry for yourself?” Shizuo asks gruffly, his eyes looking from Izaya to the bottle of whiskey still on the table. “Flea—“

“Out, I said! Out, get the fuck out of my apartment!” Izaya stands, wobbles on his feet, and reaches into his pocket, withdrawing his wallet and a few bills. He throws them at Shizuo. “For your junkfood. Leave before I call security.” He makes his way back upstairs and flops into his bed, too hot with anger to even care his duvet is still on the couch. He doesn't relax until he hears the door close below him, and he's honestly surprised when Shizuo doesn't slam it.

***

It only takes a day for Shizuo to come back.

Izaya is curled on the couch, his eyes on the TV, though he doesn't know what he's watching. He barely flinches when his door bursts open, and when Shizuo comes to the couch to hover over him, he keeps his eyes trained on the TV screen.

“Simon said to give this to you,” Shizuo says, putting a bag next to Izaya. “He said it's your favorite.”

Izaya doesn't look at him. Shizuo growls and kicks at the couch.

“Oi, did you hear me? Are you deaf now, flea?”

“I don't want you here,” Izaya says irritably. He sniffs and pulls his blanket up higher, hiding more of his face.

“Tough shit, I don't care what you want.” Shizuo crosses his arms and stands there. “You think you deserve peace and quiet when you never give me the same courtesy? Fuck you.”

“Then do what you want, just shut up.”

Shizuo scrutinzies him, taps his foot on the floor. “What's wrong with you? You look worse than usual.”

“The urns are here,” Izaya says, motioning to the counter. He put them right next to the broken glass he's yet to clean. “Told you they'd liven things up.”

Shizuo hesitates a moment before he sits next to Izaya, closer than he did the day before. Izaya tosses the remote at Shizuo, who catches it and flips through the channels before settling on some cheesy movie. Neither of them speaks for a long time, and it's Izaya who eventually breaks the silence.

“I didn't look in their coffins.”

“Huh?” Shizuo glances at him.

“I didn't want to see their bodies. I didn't want to remember them that way.” Izaya rolls to his back, and he watches Shizuo's face. “I'm actually a coward, you know?”

“I wouldn't have wanted to look either,” Shizuo says.

“Mm. I wish I had've.”

Shizuo keeps staring at him, a frown on his face, and Izaya laughs softly, shaking his head.

“I'm just not really convinced they're actually dead.”

“Flea.” Shizuo sighs and runs a hand through his messy hair. “They are. They're...gone. Don't do this to yourself.”

“Then tell me why those urns are empty.”

[css1992]

Damn, love your starker content. If you're looking for a prompt or something, I have one I think would be great for this pairing: TeenAU starker where Peter has braces and wants to give Tony a blowjob, even tho he's never done it before. Cue braces getting stuck followed by an embarrassing hospital trip or getting caught by someone. Tx for top tier starker.

First of all, I’m so sorry this took so long, I was having that worst writer’s block, I hope you can forgive me and I hope you’re still out there to read this! T.T Second of all, thank you so much for your kind words, sweetie, you’re too nice

High school AU, explicit, 18+

Word count: 5.7k

Summary: And even though he knew how he felt in his heart, he wasn’t quite ready to say it out loud, wasn’t ready to put it in so many words. He worried it was too soon, maybe Tony would freak out and leave, but still, he wanted to take a step further in their relationship, he wanted to show Tony how much he appreciated him. So he came up with a plan and it involved, well, his mouth. But he’d hesitated for too long and now he had freaking braces and he couldn’t help feeling a little insecure about them.

Warnings: mentions of bullying, mild violence (not explicit), anal fingering, oral sex, brief mention of blood. If you find anything triggering, please let me know!

-x-

“Come on, babe, there’s no way I’m not gonna like it, you’re beautiful, you couldn’t look bad if you tried.” Tony tried to pry Peter’s hands away from his mouth, but the younger teen held them tighter against his face, shaking his head firmly. “Please, for me? Just let me see it, you can’t hide forever, right? Get it over with.” Peter frowned, but then sighed, thinking to himself that Tony was right, there was no way he could hide it much longer anyway. Better rip that band-aid off. He took a deep breath, let his arms fall to his sides and smiled tentatively at his boyfriend. Tony held his face in his hands, thumbs stroking his cheekbones softly as he admired the metal wires and brackets on Peter’s teeth and that must have been the most embarrassing moment of his life. “You look so cute right now, you know that, right? I could eat you right up.”

“You mean it?” Peter whispered quietly, afraid that Tony would notice that he sounded funny, too, not yet used to how the braces sat against the roof of his mouth.

“Of course, munchkin.” He pulled Peter close and placed a sweet, warm kiss on his lips and it made the butterflies in his stomach go wild, but it quieted his nervous heart. He pulled away and smiled a little wider, if Tony said it was cute, then maybe –

“What’s wrong with your face, Penis? Looks like you had a fight with a cheese grater and lost.” Of course Flash wouldn’t leave it alone, Peter should have known. He closed his lips tightly and shrank against his locker, dropping his gaze to the floor, only to hear and feel Tony moving away from him and towards Flash.

“Wanna say that again, you little fucker? Come on, I fucking dare you, I’m gonna show you what’s wrong with your face, I’ll break your fucking teeth and no braces will be able to fix your ugly mug ever again, you fucking piece of shit.“ The boy kept pushing at Flash’s chest until he was cowering against the opposite wall and Peter jumped into action, pulling Tony’s arm just as other students started gathering around them in the hall, curious to see what the commotion was all about. Tony had already been suspended for punching Flash in the face not three weeks earlier, Peter couldn’t let him get in trouble again, he knew Tony’s father was… a complicated man.

“Tony, it’s ok, it’s fine, come on, leave it alone.” After a lot of pulling, he was finally able to get his boyfriend off Flash’s face. He didn’t waste any time and scurried away, yelling something over his shoulder that Peter couldn’t quite make out. Tony was fuming, face red, hands closed into fists. The younger teen peppered small kisses on his cheeks and lips to try and calm him down some, and finally the boy seemed to come back to himself. “It’s ok, I’m ok.”

“It’s really not, Pete, that asshole can’t talk to you like that, I swear to God, I’m gonna –“

“Forget about him, come on, he’s gone.” He stole a quick kiss from the older boy, who sighed heavily, burying his hands in Peter’s curls to pull him closer, deepening the kiss.

Peter still shivered and blushed at Tony’s eagerness and boldness. It was all pretty new to him, he’d never had a boyfriend before, just a few short flings. Tony, on the other hand, was – to put it mildly – very experienced. He’d dated pretty much all of the cheerleaders and a few guys on the football team. It was weird for Peter, kissing him in the halls, having Tony walk him to and from classes, sitting at the “cool table” in the cafeteria, having people that he’d never met in his whole entire life gossiping about him.  

Peter had heard so many stories about Tony before they got together that when he asked him out, almost four months earlier, he was sure it had to be a prank. There was just no way the Tony Stark could actually be interested in him, so, naturally, he said no. The older boy had looked so confused and shocked as he took a few steps away from Peter, all that famous confidence and cockiness completely gone.

“Oh,” he whispered, sticking his hands in his pockets, looking around the empty classroom he’d pulled Peter into. “I just – I mean, are you seeing someone else?”

“What?” Peter blushed, heart racing and palms sweating. He was so nervous, Tony was known for being a bit of a hothead, he always got into trouble for losing his shit and starting fights, Peter wasn’t sure if maybe he’d get angry because his prank didn’t work. “It’s not – I’m not seeing anyone, I just – I’m –” He stammered, not fully able to complete his sentences. To his surprise, the older boy didn’t get angry, he just ran a hand through his thick, dark hair and smiled in defeat.

“Is it because I got suspended last week? I swear, it wasn’t my fault, that asshole was bullying my friend. Bruce! You know him, right? He’s in the Decathlon team with you, ask him!” His eyes were wide, like maybe he’d found the reason why Peter said no, but then he quickly deflated. “Unless you just don’t wanna go out with me, which is fine, I mean, you don’t have to like me, I just thought – well, doesn’t matter.”

“Look, I know this is a prank.” Peter frowned, and Tony’s eyebrows shot into his hairline.

“Excuse me?” The older boy looked at him like he’d grown a second head, and Peter thought maybe he’d pissed him off for good. “What, you think I’m some mean girl in a teen movie or something?”

“I just – why would you even ask me out, honestly? You don’t even know me and you’re always making fun of the Decathlon team and the school band – both of which I’m a part of, in case you don’t know.” Peter had noticed Tony was always at the Decathlon competitions and band practice, and he was always laughing and whispering with his friends, and Peter could swear that he sometimes caught him looking directly at him before whispering something to James Rhodes.  

“Ok, first of all, I don’t make fun of the team or the band, I just make fun of Bruce, but that’s because he’s my best friend and we like to mess with each other, I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m sorry. And yeah, I don’t really know you, but I’d like to, that’s exactly why I’m asking you out. You’re smart, talented, and it doesn’t hurt that you’re easy on the eyes, to be honest.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. Peter felt his face burning and dropped his gaze to the floor. “There’s no evil plan, I just think you’re cute, is all.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? That you’re not messing with me?” He whispered, looking at him from under his eyelashes and, again, the older teen just shrugged.

“I guess you’ll just have to trust me, shortcake.”

And Peter did. For whatever stupid reason, he did. He didn’t really know Tony, just knew about him – knew that he was a certified genius, but also a troublemaker. He knew he was filthy rich, but he didn’t hang out with other rich kids, like Flash and Osborn, he was best friends with Rhodes, Pepper and Bruce, who, like Peter, didn’t come from money. He knew he was really popular and he dated around a lot, but he wasn’t an asshole about it – not that Peter knew, at least. He didn’t kiss and tell, he never slut-shamed anyone or leaked nudes of his exes, which was more than Peter could say about most guys in school.

So he gave it a shot, said yes and they went out for burgers. Tony was nice, funny and smart – but he was also sarcastic, short-tempered and a little arrogant. Peter wasn’t really sure how he felt about him after the date was over, but when he went to bed that night, he couldn’t stop thinking about him,  about his lips – couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss he’d dodged in his car when he dropped him home. Still, the older boy had smiled and kissed his cheek instead.

The next day, Peter was standing by his locker in between classes, talking to Ned and MJ about the movie marathon they were planning for the weekend, when he noticed the older boy approaching. Peter wasn’t sure if Tony would talk to him in front of the whole school, he had a reputation to keep and Peter was kind of a nerd, but not only did he talk to him, he also kissed his cheek as he greeted him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey, I’m Tony,” he introduced himself to a very flustered Ned and an unimpressed and suspicious-looking MJ. The former just waved dumbly and made a weird sound at the back of his throat and the latter just nodded at him, acknowledging his presence. Tony didn’t seem to mind the weird interaction, just turned back to Peter and smiled. “Wanna grab lunch together today?”

And that was probably the very moment Peter started falling for him. Slowly, but surely. He insisted on carrying his books, walking him to class, sitting with him at lunch, he even drove him home most days, even though his house was nowhere near Queens. He was a bit of a hothead, yes, and he sure as hell was trouble – and May could smell it from a mile away when Peter introduced him – but he was also the kindest, sweetest, most amazing person Peter had ever met and he wished Tony would let other people see that.  

Peter loved him. At least he thought he did, he’d never been in love before, but he missed Tony like crazy whenever they were apart for more than five seconds; he cared if he ate properly and regularly; he worried about his health and safety all the time; he always thought about him whenever he watched rom-coms with May on movie nights; his heart fluttered whenever he was around and, more importantly, he just wanted to be with him, take care of him. All the time. If that wasn’t love, what else could it be?

And even though he knew how he felt in his heart, he wasn’t quite ready to say it out loud, wasn’t ready to put it in so many words. He worried it was too soon, maybe Tony would freak out and leave, but still, he wanted to take a step further in their relationship, he wanted to show Tony how much he appreciated him. So he came up with a plan and it involved, well, his mouth. But he’d hesitated for too long and now he had freaking braces and he couldn’t help feeling a little insecure about them.

But then Tony looked at him with those beautiful, soft brown eyes, smiled at him and stroked his cheek with such devotion, and all his insecurities melted away and he just wanted Tony to know how much he loved him.

“Hey, about this Friday,” he started, pulling away from the kiss. He was still self-conscious about how he sounded because of the braces, but Tony didn’t seem to notice anything different, at least he didn’t mention it.  

“What about it, short stuff?” He smiled sweetly, wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist, pulling him closer. He placed small kisses on his jaw and chin and the younger teen giggled, pushing him away without any force. Peter always refrained from pointing out that Tony was only a few inches taller than him – the older teen seemed so happy he found someone shorter than him to mess with,  Peter let him have his fun.

“So, you know how my aunt is dating this guy from work?” Tony frowned, a little confused, but Peter just kept looking at him expectantly.

“Yeah?”

“She told me yesterday that she’s going to spend the night at his place on Friday.” He tried to give his boyfriend a sexy smile, but then remembered that the braces would probably make it look silly, so he closed his lips quickly. Still, Tony looked very excited and interested when he realized what Peter meant.

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow, a lopsided grin of his own taking over his face.

“Yeah, so I thought – maybe we could order some pizza and you could, uhm, spend the night?” He dropped his gaze to somewhere around Tony’s chest, brushing off imaginary dust from his shirt, as his face grew hot, when he felt the older teen’s finger under his chin, forcing him to look up at him.  

“Pete… Are you sure?” He asked him firmly, serious, looking for a truthful answer, and Peter nodded.

“Just – uh, I’m not sure if I’m ready to go… all the way,” he whispered quietly, “but like – you know.” He blushed bright red, but Tony didn’t let him avert his gaze. He smiled and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything. I’m actually a great cuddler, did you know that?”

“Silly.” Peter laughed, slapping him on the chest, feeling a little less nervous. “So, is that a yes?”

“That’s a hell yes, baby face.”  

For the rest of the week, Peter couldn’t think of anything else. MJ stopped listening to him by Wednesday and just rolled her eyes whenever Peter mentioned anything Friday-related, but Ned was just as invested on the date as Peter was. He helped him pick an outfit, the perfect movie and even the pizza place they’d order from. He went as far as to send him articles about how to give good blowjobs and handjobs and Peter had to draw the line there – although he did read the articles and made some research of his own.

So on Friday, Peter waved May off, promised to be good – which she didn’t believe much – and hurried to make sure everything was perfect. His bed was made, his sheets were freshly clean and smelled like fabric softener, and there were so many pillows on the couch he wasn’t sure where they were supposed to sit, but oh, well.

He dressed casual, but Ned said he looked hot when he tried the outfit on earlier that week. He hoped he did. He wore gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt that was a little tight over his chest – he didn’t have a broad, strong chest, but it looked ok. He fluffed his hair – Tony loved his curls – and tried not to give a lot of thought to the braces in his mouth, he still wasn’t comfortable with how he looked with them, but Tony always made sure to let him know he thought he still looked beautiful, so. There was that.

So when the bell rang, he took a deep breath, gave himself a little pep talk and opened the door. Tony was leaning against the doorway, looking sinfully sexy in black, ripped jeans and a leather jacket. He smiled at Peter and pulled him in for a kiss, and if the younger teen was already breathless just from looking at his boyfriend, that kiss almost sent him over.

“Hey, peanut. You look gorgeous.” He gave him a once over, as he put some distance between them, and Peter blushed slightly, slapping his chest.

“Come on in.” He opened the door further and Tony stepped inside, quickly getting rid of his jacket  and shoes, probably remembering that last time he was there aunt May almost bit his head off when he tried to walk into her living room in his combat boots.

“So, your aunt isn’t home?” He wondered out loud, taking a look around the apartment as if expecting aunt May to just jump from behind the furniture or something. It was funny, Tony was always on edge when she was around, trying to be a good boy, but she saw right through him.

“No, don’t worry, the coast is clear.” The younger teen smiled, sitting on the couch. The older boy quickly followed with a wicked grin, sitting close beside him, placing an arm around his shoulders. Peter chewed his lips and turned on the TV, feeling his heart race in anticipation. “Do you want to pick the movie?”

“No, I’m fine with whatever you wanna watch.” Tony kissed the ball of his shoulder, slowly peppering kisses along his collarbone. Peter’s breath hitched and he knew the blush was surely going all the all way from his cheeks down to his chest.

“Uhm, are you hungry yet? I thought we could order some pizza.” He turned slightly to the side, noticing that Tony didn’t seem very interested in anything else besides ravishing the skin of his neck. “Tony,” he sighed.

“Is this okay?” He whispered, moving away a little to look Peter in the eye. The younger teen turned to look back at him, nodding slowly.

Tony smiled and closed the distance between them, pulling him by the neck to kiss him deeply, slowly. Time stopped right then and there, the room was silent, the sound of their lips moving together the only thing he could hear, the burning touch of Tony’s hands on his skin the only thing he could feel.

Funny thing was, no matter how nervous he’d been up until that moment, the second their lips touched, he felt safe, wanted, loved. He knew Tony wouldn’t do anything he wasn’t comfortable with, so he let himself go, melting into his arms like like it was the safest place in the world.

He felt the older teen wrap his arms around his waist, pulling him softly, and gave in, climbing into his lap to straddle his thighs. Tony grunted when he felt Peter’s ass press down onto his jeans-clad erection and bucked his hips up, hands sliding from his waist to his lower back to pull him even closer. Peter’s heated skin shivered as their chests touched and Tony bit his lower lip, before pulling him into a messy, wet kiss. The younger boy rocked his hips eagerly, whimpering against Tony’s bitten lips as he felt his own rock-hard cock rubbing against the older teen’s taut stomach, eyes rolling back in pleasure.

Tony’s fingers ventured under his shirt, short nails scratching across the skin of his arched back, before lifting it slowly, as if asking for permission. It wouldn’t be a first, they hadn’t done much, but they’d had a few heavy make out sessions that usually ended with both of them shirtless – but not much more than that. Peter just raised his arms and let Tony take his shirt off, baring his chest, then went right back to kissing his neck, as the older teen moaned and rutted against his ass, his cock was so hard Peter could swear he could feel it pressing against his hole, begging for entrance, even through the many layers of clothing.

“Are you doing okay there, Pete?” Tony breathed into his mouth and the other boy shivered and nodded quickly, biting Tony’s chin and burying his fingers in his hair. The older teen’s teeth and tongue slowly made their way down his throat and towards his collarbone as Peter threw his head back, closing his eyes to concentrate on the feeling of his fingers squeezing the soft flesh where his hips met his ass. “I wanna try something. You trust me?” He placed soft kisses on his chest, then his tongue found one of Peter’s perked-up, sensitive nipples and he gasped, nodding frantically. “Good.”

His hands slid lower to Peter’s ass and he squeezed roughly, kneading his cheeks as he mouthed at his nipples, alternating sloppy, wet kisses with sharp, gentle nibbles, which drove the younger teen mad with want and turned the small nubs an angry red. It almost distracted him from the fact the Tony’s hands were now making their way down the back of his pants and underwear, skin to skin, the rough pads of Tony’s fingers scratching his soft flesh.

Okay, that’s new, Peter thought, and he liked it. He closed his eyes and bit his lower lip, as Tony sucked bruises on his collarbones, his fingers slowly making their way to Peter’s crack, until one of them pressed directly against his rim, touching it, but nothing else, and his breath hitched. He pulled away a little, looking down at the other teen’s face.

“Tony, I’m – I don’t think I’m –“

“Don’t worry, it’s okay, I know you’re not ready. I just wanna make you feel good, ok? Promise.” He kissed Peter’s chin softly, which made the younger boy sigh, eyes fluttering closed, as he nodded his head. “Let me know if you want me to stop, ok? Anytime you need to stop, just say the word.” Tony whispered against his pulse point and, again, Peter nodded, and then he felt the finger pressed against his hole start to move slowly, just rubbing circles against the puckered skin and Peter was so confused, because it felt fucking amazing. And dirty. And wrong. And right.

He felt Tony moving underneath him and he knew he wasn’t just rutting against him – which he was, too. He saw him take something out of his back pocket with his other hand, then the pressure against his hole disappeared, and Peter whined loudly in complaint, then blushed furiously in embarrassment. Tony smirked at him, licking his lips.

“Patience, padawan.” He placed a kiss on his chin, then Peter heard him uncap something and when he looked down, he noticed Tony was holding a tube of lube. His fingers tightened on Tony’s shoulders and the older teen looked up at him. “Hey, what did I say? Do you want to stop?” Peter shook his head quickly, holding Tony’s face in his hands.

“I trust you,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss him, and as soon as their mouths made contact, he relaxed again.

Tony held him close, deepening the kiss, and for a few minutes, that’s all they did. Peter rutted slowly against Tony’s stomach and the older teen rolled his hips in time with him, as they kissed and kissed like time meant nothing – and it didn’t. It really didn’t.

At some point, he felt the other teen’s hands sliding again down the back of his pants, he could feel his fingers were wet and colder than a few minutes earlier and he braced himself for what he knew was about to come. At first, Tony just rested a digit against his hole, rubbing it gently, not applying any pressure, and once the younger teen relaxed completely, muscles going lax, he felt one finger try to breach him.

“Umf, Tony,” he whimpered, and he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, why he was calling his name, he just wanted to say it. The older teen shushed him, warm, wet lips pulled his earlobe into his mouth, nibbling lightly as his finger sunk in deeper and deeper into Peter. “Oh, fuck.”

Peter had fingered himself before, but it was so fucking different from having someone else – Tony – do it to him. It felt so dirty and intimate, like Tony had all this power over him, like there was nowhere he couldn’t touch, nothing he couldn’t do, like Peter’s body belonged to him. It felt exhilarating and scary and fucking awesome and hot – so fucking hot.

Peter gasped when Tony’s finger was completely sheathed and curled inside him. It burned a little and he felt impossibly stretched, but so good at the same time, a delicious kind of pain irradiated from his lower back all the way up to the back of his neck, where his hair stood on end. He closed his eyes and pushed his hips back against Tony’s hand, silently begging for him to move. The older teen didn’t waste any time, as his finger slid out slowly, then slid back inside a little quicker and surer than before, sending shivers down Peter’s spine.

The boy started rolling his hips in time with Tony’s movements, literally fucking himself on his finger, making sure to rub his leaking cock against the older teen’s stomach and his ass on Tony’s impossibly hard cock, until he felt his finger touching someplace in him that sent him to heaven and back in a matter of seconds.

“Oh, fuck, Tony, fuck.” He wrapped his arms around the older teen’s neck and clung to him like a drowning man, soft moans and whines leaving his lips unsolicited as the finger moved and moved and pushed against that bundle of nerves so deliciously, and Peter’s cock was so hard and pressed so tight against Tony’s abs and Peter really wanted to hold out, he needed to, didn’t want it to be over so soon, but fuck –

He came with a cry, nails leaving angry red marks on Tony’s neck as the older teen pulled him into a rough, hungry kiss, biting his lips and licking his mouth like the world was about to end. Peter let him, let him take control of his body and ownership of his mouth as he rode out the waves of his orgasm, thinking that there was no way he could ever feel so good ever again in his whole entire life.

He sagged against Tony’s body when he was done, completely spent, and felt him wrapping his arms around him tightly, like Peter was gonna fly away – and maybe he would, who knew – as he peppered small kisses down the side of his face and slowly withdrew his finger, leaving the younger teen painfully empty.

“Tonight was supposed to be all about you, I had a plan,” Peter mumbled after a few silent minutes, pulling away a few inches to look into Tony’s glinting eyes. The older boy grinned, holding his face in one hand to pull him into a kiss.

“Well, I had plans of my own. I guess great minds think alike.” He butted his nose against Peter’s lovingly and the younger teen smiled.  

“I guess,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss Tony again. A little roll of his hips revealed that Tony was still rock-hard and Peter took a deep breath, before pulling away, getting off his lap. Before the older teen could ask what he was doing, he was on his knees, between his spread legs, and Tony reached out to hold him by the shoulders.

“Hey, hey, hey – you don’t – you know you don’t –“

“I know.” Peter smiled again, unbuttoning his jeans carefully. He tried to remain calm so his fingers wouldn’t shake so much and Tony wouldn’t notice how nervous he was.

“Pete,” he tried, but before any more words could leave his lips, his hard cock sprung free from his jeans, which caught Peter by surprise. First, because he didn’t expect Tony not to be wearing any underwear; and second, because – fuck – he knew Tony would be big, he’d cupped him through his jeans many times before, but still – “Fuck.”

Peter took a deep breath, trying to remember everything he’d read online over the week. He closed his eyes and placed tentative kisses on the tip of his cock and down his shaft, and he heard Tony cuss under his breath, melting into the couch. It made Peter a little more confident, so he took the tip into his mouth, surprised when he felt his cock growing even bigger and heavier against his tongue, as Tony moaned loudly, hands gripping the pillows around him.

Peter hollowed his cheeks and started sucking, trying to take a little bit more of his cock into his mouth, slowly. When he was reading about blowjobs, he was afraid he wouldn’t like it, or that maybe he would gag in the middle of it, but it was actually making him hard again, seeing and feeling how turned on Tony was by his mouth on him.

He placed a hand on his heavy, tight balls, fondling them carefully, as he tried to take more of his cock into his mouth. He could almost feel the tip reaching the back of his throat, but before it did, he started pulling back, which it was enough to make Tony moan and thrash underneath him. He smiled, lips stretched wide around the other teen’s thick cock, then decided to try and take him in a little further. It was all going perfectly fine when suddenly he felt like he couldn’t keep going, like something had stuck –

“Aw, fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Peter was so shocked by the sheer desperation in Tony’s voice that he immediately tried to pull away, but Tony’s hands flew to his head, holding him in place. “No, no, no, no, no! Fuck, Pete, it’s – ah, fuck, God, it fucking –“ that was when Peter realized what was happening.

“Umf,” he was mortified, he could feel tears burning behind his eyelids as he shut his eyes tightly, not sure what to do once he realized Tony’s foreskin was stuck in his braces and it must hurt like a motherfucker, because Tony had gone soft almost immediately, as he panted and gasped for air, hands holding Peter’s head firmly in place, terrified that he’d try to move away.

“Hold on, hold on – lemme just –” he could barely finish his sentences, completely out of breath, and Peter’s face was wet with tears at that point, and he was also a little breathless. He felt Tony’s fingers in his mouth, trying the free himself carefully, but Peter could taste blood on his tongue and fuck if it wasn’t the worst night of his whole entire life. “Ah! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Finally, he felt Tony pushing his head away as he fell sideways to the couch, both hands covering his dick as he buried his face in the cushions, trying to stifle his cries.

“Oh, my God, Tony, I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry!” Peter didn’t really know what to do, he didn’t even know if he should try to touch his boyfriend, he looked like he was in so much pain maybe he wouldn’t want him to, so he he sat there on the floor, frantically trying to think of what to say. “I swear I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry!”

“I know, baby, I know, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” but the way Tony was breathlessly whispering that into the cushions made it very clear that it was not okay.

“Jesus, Tony, what – I don’t know what to do!” He cried, panicked, and the older teen took a deep breath, raising his face a little to look at Peter, and his face was so fucking red and his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

“Ice, babe. Get me some ice, it’s gonna be fine, I promise, ok?” He was breathing a little easier by then and Peter nodded frantically, as he got to his feet and hurried to the kitchen to get an ice pack. He hurried back in record time and Tony turned on his back, taking the pack and quickly placing it on his lap, letting out a heavy sigh as he did. “Tony, should I take you to the hospital?” He asked, standing by the couch and looking down at his boyfriend, who winced.

“No, it’s fine,” he sighed with his eyes closed, but it didn’t calm Peter down, not even a little bit.

“Tony, I tasted blood!” He cried, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, and Tony reached one hand out for him to take.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s just a tiny cut, I promise. It’s just really sensitive right now, but it’s gonna be fine in a couple of minutes, I promise.” Peter didn’t want to take his hand, he wanted to run and hide, but he also didn’t want to be alone, or away from Tony, so he lay by his side, burying his face in his neck and clutching his shirt.

“I’m so sorry, Tony, this wasn’t supposed to happen, I should have known, I shouldn’t –“

“Peter, it’s fine, I promise.” They were silent for a few seconds, until Peter felt Tony’s chest trembling under his cheek. He looked up, worried that his boyfriend was crying, but he was laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes – again. “Oh, my God, I can’t believe this just happened,” he laughed harder, rubbing a hand over his face.

“It’s not funny.” Peter was so embarrassed, he wished he could bury his head in the dirt and never have to look at his boyfriend again.

“It is a little funny,” Tony managed to say as he laughed his ass off and Peter tried to get up, annoyed, but the older teen held him. “Hey, what’s the matter?” He frowned, a little confused, as he tried to stifle his laugh.

“I wanted to make you feel good, I wanted tonight to be special, and I blew it, all because of these stupid, ugly braces, I don’t even know why you’re still here after this catastrophic disaster!” He knew he was being a little dramatic and maybe he was overreacting, but he just really wanted the night to go well, and it was ruined.

“Hey, c’mon, we did have a good time. Tonight was special, is special. We’re gonna order a huge pizza, we’re gonna binge watch all Marvel movies, and if it makes you feel any better, you can kiss my pee-pee better before we go to bed, what do you say?” He smiled that stupid, beautiful smile of him; soft, brown eyes glinting with mirth.

Peter stared at Tony’s face, thinking about the absurdness of that night, thinking that what was supposed to be a hot date night ended with Tony holding an ice pack to his bleeding dick, trying to comfort Peter for basically almost biting it off. He was silent for a few seconds, contemplating all that madness, before he exploded into a fit of giggles.

“God, I love you,” he blurted out breathlessly, almost without thinking, but as soon as the words left his mouth, his face turned red and his eyes widened, panicking. Before he could take it back, though, Tony smiled softly and winked at him, placing a chaste kiss on his lips.

“I know. I love you, too, brace face.”

[supernatural-freek]

Love Me, Trust Me, Leave Me To Drown

Dean x Sister!Reader, Sam x Sister!Reader

Synopsis: You stayed, and like the giant space cat thing promised, your memories of before have long since left you. Things are good, things are great, but then Jack shows up like a glitch in the Matrix, and those floodgates open right back up. Soon, the one secret you didn’t know you were keeping might very well destroy everything you have.

NOTE: The long awaited Part Two!

MASTERLIST (PART ONE) (PART 3)

.

Okay, if anyone ever tells you that Sam can cook, kill them. Literally just stab them right in the fucking face because they are lying to you. Sam can’t cook for shit. You want breakfast made for you? You go right up to Dean and you give him puppy dog eyes and he will make you a feast.

“It tastes great,” you told him with a strained smile, desperately trying not to throw up whatever the fuck you just ate. Same called it porridge, but God damn, it didn’t taste like it. It tasted like a dog pissed on cardboard and then you burned a fucking Wendigo on it and then you ate it.

Holy shit, you were never going to look at porridge the same ever again.

Sam’s sweet little smile made you feel a little better, but it wasn’t enough to make you swallow down another mouthful of-of-

You shuddered. It didn’t need to be thought about.

“I’ll make it every morning,” Sam decided, watching you earnestly. You narrowed your eyes. He played the doting brother really well, but he was just a demon in disguise. A demon whose torture speciality was really fucking bad food. 

If this was what was waiting for you in Hell, you were going to cry. And then find a way to live forever. Perhaps they’d let you off the rack if you just agreed to whatever they wanted straight away?

Sam was still waiting for an answer though, and your smile withered to a grimace. “Sure bro,” you answered heavily, resigning yourself to your fate. You’d just get Dean to smuggle you burgers from the outside world. He loved you enough for that.

You brightened. Dean. Your other brother would save you. Dean would do anything for you. He always had, even when John didn’t approve. You’d always adored him for that.

Grinning brightly, you shoved the bowl back at Sam and got to your feet. “Thanks for the food, Sam! I’m gonna go find Dean!”

You bounced away before Sam could say anything. You were weak for your brothers - anything they asked you to do you would do. Even if it meant pretending to like rat poison. 

Yuck, the aftertaste that lingered in your mouth was even worse how was that possible-

“Dean!” You cheered, bursting into his room without any sort of warning. Thank God he wasn’t naked and masturbating to the bad pornos he loved so dearly. Thank God it wasn’t him fucking someone. That would be awkward on all fronts.

Pfft. ‘Fronts’.

Anyway.

Like the actual drama queen that he was, Dean had thrown himself off the bed when you’d kicked his door open, and so he was laying on the floor, blinking up at you in a daze. “Y/N.”

You sprawled out across his bed, burying your face in his pillow. Ew. It was kind of sweaty. “Clean your shit,” you mumbled.

Something poked your ribs. “What?”

You raised your head up to stare over the edge at him. “Sam is trying to kill me with his cooking and I need you to smuggle me actually edible food so I don’t die a premature death.”

Dean snorted, getting to his feet and simply laying over the top of you. You grunted in protest as his weight pushed you into the soft covers. Fuck. He was a heavy son of a bitch. “What will I do?” Dean pondered.

“Get off me for one. Christ, what do you eat?”

Dean huffed some sort of offended noise. “That’s rude. Do you want my help or not?”

You instantly let go of the weight thing. “Yes.”

Satisfied, Dean rolled off of you and instead laid down next to you. It was like being at a sleepover. Except it was your brother. Your brother who was literally just a grown child with stupidly adorable freckles. This man was precious. 

“Let me tell you a secret,” he whispered, just like a high school girl.

You rolled your eyes but indulged him anyway. “What?”

“Sam knows he can’t cook for shit. He just likes to fuck with you.”

You shot up, mouth hanging open. Fucking what?!

Oh, Sam better watch his fucking back. Cause you were gonna be standing behind him with a fucking knife that traitorous little bitch.

You barely heard Dean’s protests as you vaulted off the bed and sprinted down the hallway, intent on finding Sam and shaving his entire fucking head. You couldn’t believe he’d made you eat that disgusting pile of dogshit and hadn’t said anything.

What had you done to earn this betrayal? Dean was the one who was always being a dick and playing pranks, and instead, Sam had turned on you? You were just his sweet, innocent little sister! What the fuck!

“Samuel!” You roared, voice echoing and doubling.

“Hello?” An unfamiliar voice answered you, and you faltered in your rampage, immediately seeking out the owner of the tentative greeting. You found him easily, tucked away around a corner and peering at you with large eyes.

“The fuck are you?” You asked gruffly, coming to a stop. He was young, whoever it was that had appeared in the bunker. Vaguely familiar too, but you couldn't, for the life of you, figure out where you knew him from. "How'd you get in here?"

The boy frowned, looking adorably confused and concerned. "It's me," he answered nervously. "Its Jack."

Jack. Yes, you remembered him now. Memories appeared like fog in the morning, cementing in your mind as if they’d never been gone in the first place. Of course you remembered Jack. The son of Lucifer, but also the son of Kelly. 

A wide smile broke out across your face. “Jack!” You greeted eagerly, immediately reaching for his hand and tugging. You’d always been so easy with tactile actions - Dean hadn’t spoken to you for almost two weeks after you’d given Jack a tight hug and an affectionate pat on his cheek.

Jack followed without much protest, but there was still a hesitance in his movements, as if he’d noticed that something wasn’t quite right in this situation. You couldn’t for the life of you think why. You and Jack had always been close. It was like Dean and Cas.

You were friends.

“Samuel!” You roared, upon entering the kitchen and finding your brother eating a nice fresh salad. “You have some explaining to do!”

Sam looked up, brow furrowing in mock innocence. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” he answered. His eyes flicked to Jack, behind you, and something about him visibly softened. He’d always loved Jack like he’d love a son.

You scowled at him. “Whatever the fuck you made me eat before - you know that it’s worse than shit.”

“You said you loved it.”

“Because you’re a pussy, Sam, and I’d hate to hurt your feelings.”

Sam’s mirth fell away. “Watch your language,” he warned. “Dean’ll have your head.”

You scoffed, twirling away from Jack to grab a bottle of Coke from the fridge. “Dean can kiss my as-”

“Finish that sentence, sis, and I’m going to lock you in your room for a week.” Dean’s voice was gruff, but teasing, and you grinned as you took a swig from the bottle of soft drink. 

You threw him a cheeky grin. “Just means I get to sleep for ages.”

Dean returned your smile, and then sat next to Sam, screwing his face up at the healthy food. You hid your snort in another drink of Coke. God, both your brother were such wussies about certain things. 

Jack, who’d simply watched the interactions up until this certain point, spoke up, his voice soft but forceful. “Y/N, who gave you those memories?”

Time seemed to come to a complete standstill.

What the fuck, Jack?

You had no idea what he was talking about - absolutely none, you swore it. All of your memories were real, you’d lived these things. You knew Jack and you knew Cas and you knew Dean and you knew Sam.

(Deep down, you knew something was wrong with them. You’re memories were shiny, as though someone had tampered with them. No. No. They were real.)

“Jack.” Dean’s voice brooked no room for argument. He needed an explanation. You all needed an explanation.

Jack’s wide eyes flitted over to you, something like unease passing over his face. “Her memories,” he said, suddenly unsure. “They aren’t real. They’ve been implanted. It’s why she didn’t know me until I introduced myself.”

Your mind went very, very, very very very very far away from your body for a very long pause. No. No, you remembered Jack. Of course you remembered Jack! You’d taught him to play tag, running around the bunker in a frenzy, loud laughter bouncing off the walls. You’d-You’d introduced him to ice cream and-and-

It was real. It had to be.

“So where did I come from?” Your voice doubled and echoed as your body swirled around the room. You were still sat in that fucking chair of course, but your body was swirling anyway. “Who am I? Am I a Winchester?”

Nobody said anything for too many heartbeats.

Right.

Of course.

Of-fucking-course.

Dean’s voice was steely and yet still wounded when he said, “We’ll get Cas. We’ll figure this out.” He pushed away from the table and stood up, his green eyes hooded and his face shadowed. “I need some air.”

You reached for him. “Dean-”

He winced away, hurrying off with almost-silent footsteps. You looked to Sam, eyes wide and pleading. He didn’t look up from the table, fork limp in his hands.

You looked to Jack, who just looked back with bottomless eyes that made you fall and fall and fall.

[quwarichi]

My reactions+summaries for SPN S5-15 PT.3:

Supernatural Episodes (that were memorable to me):

Currently: S15E20

[Disclaimer: these were written as I was watching each episode for the first time. It’s literally my brain vomit. Let it be known that I watched the series from season 1 but only around season 5 it occured to me that I might want to remember some episodes, so this was created. I am a pretty big destiel shipper, but it only shows here when I absolutely can’t contain myself. You can enjoy my reactions without shipping them. HAVE AT IT]

Seasons 14-15:

S14:     

S14E01: Hey look Dean has a funny hat now. Haha. And that's the only thing different. Oh wait where did the plaid go? Guess he burned his clothes in an accident and changed into something nearby. Alright. OH WAIT WHERE DID DEAN GO. Sam is tired. Jack is learning how to fight from Bobby. Good on him. Castiel is suffering. A demon knows more about Destiel than Cas does *wink wink* Bless that demon. Give him a raise for the wonderful words he said. Praise. Scratch that he just started a demon gang fight against Cas fuck them up good Cas don't leave survivors. Stop beating Castiel up you know he's taking it easy on you otherwise all of you would be fried chickens. "Sister Jo" is back in business. [Side note: Jensen and Daneel shooting this scene together had me dying the writers did that on purpose]. Michael visits Anael. Jack is sad. Cas is hurt. Lucifer is alive. Oh wait it's Nick. Why is Nick. How is Nick. Nick is pretty understanding and nice. Nick. Hm. The demons got Cas how dare they you fuckers, you motherfuckers I WiLL rAiN hElL FiRE UPoN yOu. Sam is sad and missing Dean. Mary is too. Sam should have hidden the knife in his hair. Cas is embarrassed. Jack gets caught. The demon wants to replace Crowley. How dare he. Awesome action scene. Keep expecting Dean to show up and beat someone up. Cas and Sam miss Dean. Cas and Jack talk about losing their powers. Sam misses Dean. Michael helps monsters now?

S14E02: Hey look Michael's a dick who knew. Srsly fuck him. Cas can't help and is sad. He is also a babysitter to Satan's former vessel and Satan's child. Is Jack Nick's sort-of son or is that taking it too far? Questions for later. Lucifer is now the Supreme Agent of Evil. Cas is sassy. Jack is adorable and needs hugs. Cas is trying to be nice to Nick. Nick is suffering. Castiel feels different. He feels like he matured and grown a lot. Like he's more at peace with himself. He says that when he Fell he still had Sam and Dean which is so adorable. Cas gives Jack a beautiful talk. Michael is wearing a tux, which looks great on Dean but horrible on him. Dean yells at him to get out. Nick is sad and still has Lucifer instincts. Nick is sadder now. He wants his family back. Cas is amazing in this episode. Kudos, truly. He just admits he understands Nick's situation because he occupies Jimmy's vessel. Woah. Nick just said Castiel is a body-snatcher and he's no different than Lucifer. How dare he. How DARE YOU. CASTIEL HAS BEEN NOTHING BUT KIND TO YOU. HE TRIED TO BE CALM. HE TRIED EXPLAINING AND SYMPATHIZES WITH YOU AND YOU GO AND CALL HIM THAT. WHY. JUST... WHY??? CAS STILL FEELS AWFUL FOR WHAT HAPPENED TO JIMMY AND HIS FAMILY. HE NEVER WANTED THAT. FUCK YOU NICK. GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER. Jack went to visit his grandparents can he get any more adorable I mean OH MY CHUCK LOOK AT HIM. He tells them Kelly had a baby boy and they're so HAPPY HIJFKDHDUHEJDUDH. Jack dear I know you just met your family and you're emotional but saying Dean doesn't matter is like a death sentence in the fandom so tread lightly. Nick is channeling his inner Lucifer. Dean is BACK BABY.

S14E03: Dean doesn't NOT like Sam's beard. Jack, Cas, and Dean reunite. Jack likes Disney confirmed. A girl asked Jack if Cas is his dad and he says Cas is one of his dads OMG OMG OMG. Jack is heartbroken he couldn't help the girl and Cas feels awful for him. Honestly Cas has been through so much lately and he didn't even get the chance to hug Dean when he came back. Jack saved Lora. Cas apologies to Jack. Bless Cas. He's a freaking Angel. Cas is so freaking adorable and he's such a dad for Jack and they're like hey dad hey son and omg omg omg gaaaaaaaaah they're adorable. He's making Jack SOUP. FREAKING SOUP. Something's wrong with Jack why are you coughing blood no no no no no bad blood.

S14E04: Dean likes horror movies now. Sam's beard is gone. Dean's inner fanboy is coming out. It's one of these episodes. Sam is so excited. Dean is fangirling. DEAN IS IN GLASSES PART 3 OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG. Fortnight has unfortunately bled into the Supernatural universe and we have to live with that fact now. Dean is, fortunately, a Zelda fan so we're good on that front. Sam is a nerd. Dean is concerned. Sam meets his female counterpart. Sam has trauma from Halloween. Dean wants to have Halloween with Sam so badly awwwww.

S14E05: Dean and Sam run into Bobby and Mary. Sam is nervous about talking to his mom about her dating life. Bobby and Mary are sort of a thing now and Dean is okay with that. He just wants his mom to be happy.

S14E06: Sam and Charlie are very awkward. Hooray. Jack is suffering because his coffee doesn't taste right. Sam looks so happy playing with a fidgetspiner. Jack and Dean are being Hunting Buddies ™. Jack just learned what courting before dating before sex is and Dean is not happy or comfortable about that conversation. Other Dimension Charlie had a love of her life but she died. Jack asks Dean about courting over pie and it's adorable. Dean says that when they get back to the bunker he'll give Jack the talk. Hooray! Jack and Dean play the "bad cop, hero saves the damsel" plan and it works fantastic. Jack calls Dean old and Dean looks so offended it actually hurt him OMG. Some girl has a crush on Jack now. Jack is very confused. Hunter!Jack is very awkward and adorable. Is Jack on a date? I think he's on a date. Is he even allowed to go on dates yet? Dean didn't give him the talk. Hm. What would Cas think? And Sam, Sam would be very confused about it too. Hm. Definitely sensing some romance in the air. Approving of that. Oh BOI SOMETHING IS ABOUT TO GO DOWN. Oh wait of course not Jack was raised by Cas who are we fooling of course he wanted to use the bathroom. Dean calls Jack and he's like "Hey so I'm pretty sure she's in love with me so tell me everything you know about sex. Go!" Dean is not having ANY OF THAT BS RN. Vans? Vans! Vans. Dear lord Jack should get an acting award *ba-dum-tss*. Dean be giving out relationship advice like he's some sort of expert when in reality his emotions are so constipated he needs to swallow Dulcolax to communicate with others. Jack has a crazy fan now. He follows in Sam's footsteps and got himself a Becky. Congrats? Jack is coughing again. And now he's bleeding from his nose. No. Nope. Not happening. Denial, ACTIVATE!

 S14E07: So... Nick is slowly losing it. Or very quickly losing it. Depends on how you look at it. Cas is watching over Jack and tries healing him. Jack is really bad shape. They take him to a hospital. Cas does NOT have time for bureaucracy. Three worried fathers watch as their kid suffers and it HURTTS. Jack's body is shutting down and they're suffering. Cas just gave Jack his trenchcoat so now we have a trenchcoatless Cas and a trenchcoated Jack. Rowena is BACK BABY. Jack meets Rowena. Cas is so ready to give his grace for Jack. Dean is taking Jack on a fun day. He's teaching Jack how to drive awwwww. Dean and Jack are awesome. Cas feels helpless. Cas calls Jack Sam, Dean, and his' son OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG I'M HAVING A FUCKING SEIZURE. Jack and Dean are eating burgers on the impala and have fun. Meanwhile Nick is on hunt for his family's killer, being as adorable and questionable as ever. DEAN AND JACK ARE F***CKING FISHING. Jack wanted to go fishing because Dean said he went fishing with John and it was a happy memory for him and Jack considers Dean a father figure GAAAAAH IT HURTSSS. WHY IS JACK SO AT PEACE WITH DYING LIKE WHAT THE FRICK NOOOOO. AND WHY IS CAS DRIVING A TINY BLUE CAR WHO GAVE HIM PERMISSION TO BE ADORABLE. Do you ever wonder how many times a week Castiel thinks about the story Gabriel wrote on the walls of his bunker room about his time in Monte Carlo with the porn stars? He read the entire story, just summarised it for Sam. So he KNOWS everything. Things to wonder about. Nick is channeling his Lucifer or Lucifer is channeling his Nick they are one it's scary. Jack is being healed? Is he healed? He's HEALED. Jack is BACK BABY!!! Cas and Dean look so relieved. Wait why is he staggering. Why is he coughing. Cas is so pissed at the Shaman. CAS IS A PISSED OFF FATHER. CAS IS AMAZING. FREAKING DAD CAS FOR THE RESCUE. It feels like this is a setup for Lucifer to come back. Not sure how to feel about that. Um. Ummmm... Empty do your freaking job and keep him asleep. JACK IS DYING FREAKING KILL ME WHYYYY.

S14E08: Jack doesn't want them to be sad. Dean is not okay. None of them are okay. Cas is also worried about Dean. Jack is being optimistic about things and it hurts. WHAT. WHAT. HE CAN'T DIE. NO. NOOO. DEAN DIDN'T GET TO SAY GOODBYE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS NOOOO. CAS IS IN SO MUCH PAIN BUT HE'S STILL WORRYING ABOUT SAM AND DEAN OH MY GOD WHYYYYY. CAS WANTED JACK TO DIE A LONG TIME AFTER HIM. THEY'RE GETTING DRUNK TOGETHER TO DULL THE PAIN WOW THIS IS HURTING HAHAHA I'M NOT CRYING FUCK YOU MY EYES ARE LEAKING. THEY'RE EATING NOUGAT BARS THAT JACK LIKED. CAS DOESN'T EVEN EAT FOOD IT TASTE LIKE MOLECULES TO HIM. Jack is in Heaven but Empty is slowly taking over Heaven. Jack meets Kelly in Heaven. Kelly is so happy to see him until she realized he died. Anubis is an odd fellow. Cas is so happy seeing Cas again. And Kelly too. Empty has invaded Jack and Kelly's Heaven. Shit is about to go DOWN. Dean and Sam consider Jack their child. EMPTY IS HURTING CAS AND KELLY WHILE JACK IS WATCHING. CAS SAVE JACK. WAIT NO NOT LIKE THAT. DON'T YOU DARE. I WILL FUCKING END YOU EMPTY YOU SON OF A THING. CASTIEL HOW COULD YOU. Cas doesn't want Sam and Dean to worry. He says he's in peace with his decision. IN PEACE MY ASSBUTT! LISTEN HERE YOU EMOTIONALLY INCAPABLE ANGEL, YOU HAVE DONE MORE THAN ENOUGH FOR THE WHOLE EARTH. YOU SACRIFICED FROM YOURSELF THINGS OTHERS WOULDN'T EVEN BEGIN TO IMAGINE. YOU GAVE UP HEAVEN FOR SAM AND DEAN. YOU DESERVE TO BE HAPPY AND THEN YOU MAKE A DEAL THAT THE SECOND YOU'RE HAPPY YOU'LL DIE??? ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE??? In other news Jack and Kelly hugged and it was beautiful. Jack promises not to tell Sam and Dean about what Cas did. Jack is BACK BABY. Dean hugged Jack. Get the fuck away from Cas you Naomi Bitch. Jack is happy to eat burgers again. Is Jack wearing Dean's robe?

S14E09: Is this a Christmas episode? Why, I think it is. Hey look Michael is a woman now. Wait Garth NoooOOooo you can't do it. Oh wow he has a little girl now. Jack is guiltily eating cereal in the middle of the night and Cas catches him. Sam is apparently acting like a mom. Wow. Cas is being a sassy angel. Castiel likes the toys that come in the cereal box. OMG why are Jack and Cas so cute. Cas is happy Dean is feeling better but he feels guilty about lying to him about the deal. Jack is happy he can pick a lock now. HELP THEY KIDNAPPED JACK. FUCK YOU MICHAEL. Awww they're going on a family hunting trip! Team Free Will 2.0 VS Kansas City. Awww. *The hellish version of a Christmas song plays in the background*. JACK IS FUCKING SMILING. Okay so Michael I'm gonna need you to get out of Dean you sick son of a Chuck. 'Freaking ruined the Christmas episode.

S14E10: Awww they brought Pamela back! Also Dean owns a bar and he likes to flirt. He looks so happy owning a bar. Michael is sassy, and it's almost likeable. Probably because it's Dean's face. Michael is trying to get underneath Cas' skin and Cas looks so done with it. One of Dean's happy memories is the stripper case with Sam. FUCK MICHAEL. FUCK HIM SO HARD. HOW DARE HE. HE JUST SAID DEAN ONLY TOLERATES CAS BECAUSE HE FEELS LIKE HE OWES HIM FOR HELL AND CAS HASN'T DONE ANYTHING FOR DEAN EVER SINCE. *Cue epic fight scene* Hey look Dean is a cage now. Cas is so worried about Jack's soul.

S14E11: Dean is acting suspiciously. Sam's aware he and Dean only hug if it's of the world I'm dyinggg. Sam likes gossiping apparently. Dean came to visit Mary awww. Dean is now a welding master. Well now Nick is being arrested by Donna and now Donna might be about to die and NOPE. Dean is being really sweet and it's freaking everyone out. Mary thinks Dean's adorable when he's sleeping. Nick is being creepy and kidnapping Mary. Nick without Lucifer is unlikeable at best. Mary keeps a severed head in a jar. Dean tells Sam he loves him.  He shows Sam a box he plans on being buried alive in the ocean with Michael inside of it and yeah so that's not happening.

S14E12: Dean has a nightmare about being stuck in his coffin forever. Sam calls Cas. Dean says he knows he wasn't the greatest brother for Sam and Sam has this 'WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL' look on his face because that is some grade A+ bullshit right there. Cas gets a call from Dean and he's so excited because he thinks Dean is giving up his plan but Dean tells him he's not so Cas is sad. Cas is so pissed at Dean. Dean and Cas have an argument/goodbye. Dean and Sam argue. It hurts. It hurts so much. He punched Dean and then he hugged him. He tells Sam and Cas he believes in them. In all of them. Oh well I guess that if Dean gets trapped in a box at least Cas will never be taken by the Empty since he'll never be happy HAHAHAHA KILL ME NOW.

S14E13: This episode is about the city the bunker's in OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG. Someone stole Baby. There's a kid who thinks they're serial killers, which they are, but not exactly. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. JOHN??? OF ALL THE PEOPLE, JOHN? WAS THAT EVEN AN OPTION??? WHAT THE FUCK???!!! MARY AND JOHN FINALLY SEE EACH OTHER AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. And  Sam and Dean witness it. Sam is very awkward with John. Oh wow. So, they pulled John out of 2003 and it has changed history and now Sam likes raw food and standing desks and runs a law firm and Dean is a murderer and thief with a price on his head. Hm. Zach and Cas are reunited as bad angels no no no no THIS IS BAD. OH WELL AT LEAST CAS DOESN'T UNDERSTAND POP CULTURE REFERENCES ANYMORE. BUT NOOOOOOOOOOOO. Cas is a killer now NoooOOooo. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Cas doesn't recognize Dean and Sam as his friends. Cas is beating up Dean and Sam. Noooo. This is weird. No. Nope. Not happening. Cue the awkwardness of a family dinner. When you remember that everyone at that table died at least once it's very very weird. A family who defied Death, God, the Darkness, Demons, Angels, Monsters, and a few nasty humans here and there. Wow. Dean actually has some self-love speech and it is amazing. The character development is just *chef's kiss*. Why is this so beautiful Sam stop crying you know it makes Dean cry and when Dean cries I cry stopp it.

S14E14: Family hunting trip time! Oh look Rowena is also there! Rowena has some sort of attraction to Cas and it's chilling. Cas and Dean are on some sort of a coffee date. Jack is coughing blood again. Someone stop it. Cas is worried about Dean. Dean is only honest with Cas awwwwwww. Cas asks Jack if he's fine. Cas worries about everyone but when will someone worry about Cas? Jack, Cas, and Dean look like two parents and a child. Jack asks what an AV club is and Cas explains and then Dean calls Cas a dork. They're adorable. Cas is a VERY serious FBI agent. Rowena and Sam need to act like a married couple and it's AMAZING. MORE. GIVE THE FANDOM MORE. Jack has suffered at the vet's office. The Gorgon is hitting on Cas. Wait till Dean hears about that. Cas has been paralyzed. Cas is worried about Dean. That's strike 2. Another moment of Cas being worried and someone is about to die. Cas explains to Jack about the fragility of humans and death and moving on which makes you believe he thought about a time when Dean and Sam die and he's left all alone and now I want to walk off a cliff. Michael is out. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. JACK CALLED HIMSELF A WINCHESTER OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG. Jack got his wings back!

S14E15: Jack is playing with his snake. Cas is worried about Jack. Dean is eating. Cas and Sam go on a case together [Poor Misha. Jared must've tortured him]. Cas with his pop culture references. The only thing good about episode 13 aside from some closure for the boys is that Cas lost his knowledge of pop culture. Cas sometimes looks at the Saturday Evening Post when Sam and Dean are asleep. They're very soothing. Sam and Cas walked into a town that seems stuck in the late ‘70s. Even Cas thinks it's weird. Sam looks happy drinking a milkshake. Cas pretends to drink cuz he doesn't eat. Cas has no social skills. Jack is trying to feed the snake. Dean likes bacon. Some woman checked Cas out. Cas reads a series of love letters between the victim and a milkshake serving a young woman. Cas is so done with people hitting on him. How Cas describes Sam "I'm looking for my partner. Tall man. Hair? He has beautiful hair." FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. SAM BECAME A PART OF THE WEIRD TOWN FUCK FUCK FUCK. HE'S WEARING GLASSES THIS IS FUCKING WEIRD. CAS IS SO SCARED AND CONFUSED. SOMEONE SAVE HIM AND SAM. Dean is terrified of the snake. Cas is angry. Cas is worried and understanding about how Sam feels. CAS JUST FUCKING TOLD A MAN HE'S NOT GOD BECAUSE GOD HAS A BEARD.

S14E16: JACK IS ADORABLE STAB ME IN THE GUT AND TWIST IT WHY IS HE SO ADORABLE. Jack is so awkward around other people. OMG WHY ARE YOU SO CUTE WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT YOU FREAKING LOVEABLE DORK. JACK IS LIKE "WELL I'M TWO-TWENTY! I'M TWENTY-TWO!!!" Jack is so freaking happy hanging out with kids his "age". Oh no he's sad.

S14E17: There was supposed to be a family game night. Cas is meeting up with Anael [The fact that this is Daneel and Misha on the same set is amazing]. Nick is back and off his rocket. Anael and Cas discuss God. Jack is going dark side. Woops. Jack sweetheart you're worrying me. Jack what did you do. Jack?

S14E18: Jack what did you do to Mary. What did you do. This is very scary. Oh wait he KILLED HER. WOW. OKAY. HOW THE HELL DO YOU FIX THAT SHIT. DEAN WILL NEVER FORGIVE HIM. SAM TOO. DEAN MIGHT TRY TO KILL HIM BUT THEN SAM WILL STOP HIM AND TELL JACK TO NEVER COME BACK AND CAS WOULD BE SO TORN BECAUSE HE PROMISED TO PROTECT JACK BUT HE KILLED MARY AND WOW THE WRITERS REALLY DUG DEEP WITH THIS ONE. Cas is remembering one of his first hunts with Mary. Did Dean just... Did he tell Cas that if Jack did something to Mary he's dead to him? I think he did. Huh. Welp, time to dig a hole in the ground, huddle into a fetus position and cry. Cas is not even mad. We are fine. Nothing is wrong. Oh wow what is this? A guilt trip down memory lane? Why are you hurting us by showing us all the nice missing moments between Mary and the rest? Is this fun for you you sadistic fucks? Jack needs a snickers. Mary is dead. Wow. Sam just stopped Cas from walking over to Dean. Wow.

S14E19: Dean gives a beautiful speech. Bobby is back. Cas is still protective of Cas. There's a lot of awkward silences between Dean and Cas. Made-up Lucifer is a dick. What do you mean Cas doesn't love Jack um hello? He gave away his chance at happiness for Jack. Fuck you Made-up Lucifer. Oh no. Dean is crying alone. Naomi Bitch Replacement is messing with Jack's head. Fuck her. A pillar of salt? Really?. Okay so Soulless Jack is horrible. I love him so much but he was already like a toddler playing with a bazooka. Now he's like a SADISTIC toddler playing with a bazooka with no soul. It really feels like Cas is the only one left with a sense of rationality. Cas is pissed at Sam and Dean for locking Jack up.

S14E20: So, Jack's pissed. Dean calls Jack a monster and I think why it bothered Castiel so much is because that would mean Castiel is a monster too. Chuck is BACK BABY AND OHHH BOI IS THIS A RIDE. Cas is so done. Dean smashes a guitar. Chuck and Dean yell at each other. Chuck is such a dork. Castiel is so pissed. Jack and Castiel reunite. Sam has a talk with Chuck. Chuck breaks the fourth wall. Dean is here to kill Jack. Cas doesn't want that. Dean and Jack are about to die. Jack is okay with that. Welp CHUCK IS HORRIBLE AND NOPE. DID CHUCK JUST KILL JACK. NO NO. CHUCK'S GONE DARK SIDE. No why is Jack dead. This isn't fair. 

S15:

S15E01: Cas does NOT like that a demon inside Jack's body. Chuck literally jump-started the apocalypse. Cas is not okay.

S15E02: You can't tell me that Cas telling Dean it wasn't all a lie isn't him telling Dean that what they have is real. WELCOME BACK KEVIN TRAN, ADVANCED PLACEMENT. Kevin is BACK BABY. God and Amara are being siblings. Rowena and Ketch together are very weird and Crowley will NOT approve.

S15E03: Rowena is awesome. Cas and the demon inside Jack are very... Iffy with each other. Belphegor is awesome. Cas literally just FUCKING PUSHED BELPHEGOR INTO HELL AND JUMPED AFTER HIM WITH A COMPLETE STRAIGHT FACE WOW HE IS SO DONE. Cas tells Belphegor that Jack is like a son to him. Cas is forced to sing a song to praise Lucifer. Shit is going down. Cas and Belphegor did NOT work out. Wait does that mean Cas will get stuck in hell. Oh fuck. Oh crap. This is bad. Why does Cas has to suffer so much? Whyyy. He never wanted anything special. Just to be with Jack, Sam, and Dean. He wanted to do good. Whyyyy. ROWENA NO. NOPE. NOPE. DON'T DO IT. SAM DOESN'T WANT TO. DON'T MAKE HIM. STOP IT. ROWENA NOOOO. ALSO CAS AND DEAN STOP FIGHTING IT'S BAD. UM, DEAN? IT'D BE GREATLY APPRECIATED IF YOU AND CAS WOULD STOP FIGHTING. IT'S SCARING THE CHILDREN AND MAKING THEM CRY. STOP IT. STOP IT. STOP IT! OH HEY I'M CRYING, WHAT A SURPRISE!

S15E04: Sam has a weird dream. Awesome fight scene though. Dean likes vegan bacon now. Or not. Wow Chuck might actually be afraid of Becky. Meeting Exes is awkward. CHUCK IS A DICK. BEING A WRITER DOESN'T MEAN YOU GET TO ABUSE OTHERS. FUCK YOU.

S15E05: Dean can't handle spicy jerky. Sam has bad dreams again. Um, Lilith's back? What? Is that a thing now? Wow.

S15E06: Cas is fishing now. He's also really sweet and cares about a guy who sells him fish bait. He also goes by Clearance like Meg used to call him, which is extra sweet. Cas is investigating stuff. Cas and Dean talk and Cas acts like a sassy toddler. Cas's powers are fading. Sam might have a small crush on the deaf hunter. Aww that's so nice. He saw she was naked so he turned away. Awww. What a gentleman. Dean raised you well. Dean doesn't know what's God and what's him.

S15E07: Sam and Eileen are definitely having fun, with margaritas and bacon. Dean refuses bacon, which leads us to believe he had truly given up on this world. Dean gets flirted with. Dean gets reunited with an old "friend". Sam and Eileen are AWKWARD AND DEAN IS TO BLAME BECAUSE HE'S THE ONE WHO TEASED SAM. OH MY GOD IT'S LIKE WATCHING TWO NERDS FALL IN LOVE WHAT THE HELL. IS THAT HOW SAM FEELS WHEN HE'S WATCHING DEAN AND CAS??? THAT'S TORTURE. WOW THEY ALMOST KISSED AND THEN CAS WALKED IN OMG IT IS LIKE SAM WITH DEAN AND CAS. Cas is so pissed with shamans. OMG OMG OMG DEAN IS ABOUT TO SING OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG WOW HE SINGS SO BEAUTIFULLY SOMEONE GET THAT MAN A CONTRACT HE'S SO HAPPY WHAT OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG. Cas became grade A at threatening people. Kudos. Dean loves Texas now. Cas and Dean are awkward. Ever remember season 1 where they found out demons existed and felt like they were in over their heads? Well now they want to fight God.

S15E08: Sam is being an overprotective boyfriend. He's so cute. Oh my god... Are they getting Adam out of the cage??? Is this happening??? I know the last season is supposed to sort of give closure to unfinished plotlines but if this really happening it's amazing. Rowena is BACK BABY. Rowena is FUCKING awesome. A real queen, if you will. Crowley would be proud. She's also gives Cas and Dean a quick couple's counseling session. Adam is out of hell. It happened. Dean so ships Eileen and Sam. Dean and Cas are AWKWARD. Michael is back. Michael and Cas talk. Cas channels his inner Lucifer. Cas and Dean FINALLY talk. CHUCK YOU FUCKING DICK GET AWAY FROM EILEEN SAM WAS FINALLY STARTING TO BE HAPPY. OMG OMG DEAN AND CAS ARE GOING TO PURGATORY??? Dean and Adam talk.

S15E09: Wow Chuck is so manipulative. Wow. Chuck is really unlikeable anymore. Woah, did Cas just call Dean stupid? Cas has SNAPPED. So happy Sam has Eileen now. Any girl that can be tied to a chair, deaf, and still kick ass and sass God in front of him deserves a Sam Winchester. Wow Sassy Cas really ain't taking Dean's BS today. Chuck is a sadistic fuck. Chuck has lost it. God Complex much? Dean and Cas are in purgatory. Getting the band back together and it feels good. Benny died. That's sad. Dean and Cas discuss the guilt. OMG WHAT HAPPENS TO CAS IN THE FUTURE??? HE GOT THE MARK AND WENT CRAZY??? AND DEAN HAD TO BURY HIM IN THE BOX??? DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME THIS SHIT IS NOT CANON FANFICS CAN'T MAKE THIS STUFF UP. HE LOOKS SO HEARTBROKEN. Meanwhile in Purgatory: Dean is looking for Cas who has disappeared and they need to go back soon and things are BAD with a capital everything. DEAN IS PRAYING TO CASTIEL OMG OMG OMG HE BARELY DID IT EVER SINCE PURGATORY ROUND 1. He admits he should've stopped Cas from leaving. He calls Cas his best friend AWWWWWWW. HE'S CRYING OH MY GOD. HE FORGAVE CAS!!! THIS IS SO CANON HDJCJRIHEISHS. OMG CAS IS OKAY AND THEY HUGGED DEAN LOOKS SO HAPPY FUCK THIS I'M CRYINGGGG. SAM AND DEAN BECAME MONSTERS??? FUCK THAT SHIT. CAS TAKES THE MARK OH NO I DON'T WANT HIM TO GO INSANE. Cas and Dean arrive at the casino. Save Sam!!! SAM, SAM WHAT ARE YOU DOING MAN? NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. AWWWW SAM AND EILEEN KISSED AWWW. NOW WE NEED A CAS AND DEAN KISS AND WE'RE GOLDEN GUYS. LET'S MAKE IT HAPPEN. I BELIEVE. Jack and Billy are BACK BABY.

S15E10: It seems like Sam and Dean lose luck. Baby shut down. Garth named his twins Sam... and Castiel. Dean is definitely not insulted. Garth is a dentist now. Dean is afraid of dentists. Dean has a dream where he and Garth are tap dancing in black and white. OH MY GOD GARTH WHAT DID YOU DO TO DEAN'S MOUTH. GARTH TOLD DEAN HE NEEDS TO GET A COLONOSCOPY AND I FREAKING DROPPED MY PHONE. CHUCK DOWNGRADED SAM AND DEAN TO NOT MAIN CHARACTERS AND NOW THEY HAVE TO DEAL WITH NORMAL PEOPLE PROBLEMS HAHAHAHHAHA THIS IS AWESOME. DEAN IS HOLDING BABY CASTIEL AND HE'S LIKE "THIS CAS KEEPS LOOKING AT ME WEIRD" AND SAM ANSWERS "SO KINDA LIKE THE REAL CAS" AND THEY KNOW. Also Sam and Dean are holding babies and it's adorable.

S15E11: Cas comes back to find out Sam and Dean are going to Alaska. Cas gets a call about Jack related info. Ahem... Jack is BACK BABY! Cas is worried about Jack. Jack is tied up. Cas to the rescue! CAS AND JACK REUNITE. This is like the most interesting pool game ever. Dean and Sam's luck is BACK BABY. JACK AND SAM AND DEAN REUNITE.

S15E12: Cas is so happy Jack is back. Dean and Cas are best buddies. Cas and Jack play 4-in-a-row. Cas and Jody meet for the first time. Jack wants to help. Cas still cares a lot about Claire. Billy is PISSED.

S15E13: The recap starts with the pizza man montage, which is really the only way it could. Ruby and Anael are BACK BABY AND WELL IT IS AWESOME. [Just pointing out that the fact they brought both of Jensen and Jared's wives for this is amazing] also Cas has no chill with his sass. Cas wants to almost die and go to Empty to talk to Ruby. He gets into the Empty and runs into Empty-Meg and she called him Clearance awwww. Ruby is BACK BABY. Cas almost dies by the Empty. He comes back though. Otherworld Sam and Dean are terrifying. They seem... Okay, and it's horrible. Also they're spoiled. HELLHOUNDS BABY! Jack arrives at Eden. Jack is crying + he got his soul back!!!

S15E14: Supernatural is BACK BABY. JACK IS STILL DEPRESSED NOOOO. DEAN HAS SCOOBY-DOO UNDERTHINGS PASS IT ON. Dean and Sam meet Mrs. Butters. She's nice and she made Christmas and Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July and Halloween collide in the calendar. Jack is out of his room now. Oh hey Dean's actually trying to not be angry at Jack. They have a monster radar! Lunch bag, she pack them lunch bags I-. Jack is still being sad noo. She keeps giving him smoothies. It's weird. OMG SAM IS GOING ON A DATE WITH EILEEN THEY REALLY SAID SAILEEN RIGHTS. Oh wait. Oh fuck what the fuck why is she ripping his head off oh no Jack run. Oh fuck why is she an evil mastermind all of a sudden they were happy. DEAN GETS TRAPPED TOO. DEAN BEING A REAL BROTHER BEING LIKE "YEAH I CAN WAIT UNTIL MY BROTHER IS DONE GETTING LAID FOR HIM TO COME BACK AND RESCUE ME AND OUR CO-ANGEL-CHILD". Dean is really trying with Jack my heart wow. Ugh not again with Sam and the nails the waves of nausea are hitting me-. Oh no Mrs. Butters story is really sad I don't like the old MoL. Oh goodbye Mrs. B we'll miss you. Awww Jack honey of course you can kill Chuck here I'll do it for you you just eat your nougat bars. OH MY FUCKING GOD DEAN MADE JACK A BIRTHDAY CAKE I REPEAT HE MADE JACK A BIRTHDAY CAKE JACK IS FOUR NOW CELEBRATE WITH US ALL *HYPERVENTILATING HARD*. 10/10 episode would recommend with a side of angst.

S15E15: Cas is BACK BABY! Aww Jack wants to wear matching ties. Awwwww. Sam and Dean are going after Amara. Good luck with that. Oh a church case for Cas? A little on the nose there. Oh wow this is getting dark. Aww Jack doesn't want to say something so Cas talks about himself instead. God I love them. Cas is amazing. I love him so much. Jack too. Meanwhile, Sam and Dean are eating with Amara lunch. Crossroads demons are out of fashion, as per told by Rowena, the Queen of us all. Jack needs Cas' permission to create a social media account. Even the internet knows to give Cas cats. God bless the internet. Oh my god Dean and Amara talked and wow it was deep. Amara's intentions with Mary were... Wow. Poor Dean though. Wow Cas and Jack can't catch a break. Oh god Jack was stabbed he's okay but we're not okay what the hell. Once again, we are reminded that against regular humans Cas is a freaking supernatural creature with super strength and the wrath of heaven. Hey wait why does the crossroad demon look like he’s kidnapping this girl? Oh well guess we'll never find out. JACK IS GOING TO DIE? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK BILLIE??? WHO AUTHORIZED THIS SHIT? HE NEEDS A PARENT OR A GUARDIAN'S PERMISSION!!! Cas not wanting to see Jack die again is hurting me. What do you mean it's not his choice Jack go to your room you're grounded until they kill Chuck. Cas um where are you going?? What do you mean in case you won't come back? Are you going where I think you're going? You better stay the FUCK away from the Empty or I swear to all that is sacred (the impala, Sam and Dean's flannel, Led Zeppelin) that I will cry. What do Sam and Dean need to know??? What is this shit????? I WILL SUE!!!!!

S15E16: Hey is he going to get killed? Called it! Hey Dean darling how about you let Sam know about Jack? Any minute now honey? No don't you fucking- Dean! Hey it's tiny Sam and Dean look at them awww. Hey Caitlin seems nice. Woah weird monster in the candy machine alert! Dean why are you so depressing this episode??? Sam being in the dark hurts me. Um Dean? What have you got there buddy? Is that a knife? Put the knife down, Dean put the knife down this isn't funny- oh thank god Sam Dean almost fillet-ed himself. Tiny Dean being scared but also macho aww. It's a Baba Yaga? A Baba FREAKIN Yaga? Wow. Omg Dean's face when he heard the woman having sex is priceless. He really grew up. Good on him. Caitlin you majestic being you managed to have Dean admit his fear wow Dean honey am I proud of you. Aww Sam is trying to call Cas. Um... Dean? OMG OMG ARE YOU TELLING HIM? YASSS SAMMY GO OFF. DEAN FUCK OFF JACK IS NOT DYING ON MY WATCH. OMG THE SILENCE. WOW.

S15E17: This starts with Amara. What a queen. I really like her now.  She can cut me with her cheekbones. Look at her. Wow. She's so pretty. Cas is there! Sam is giving Dean the silent treatment. Yeah Dean is talking depressing. AHHH AMARA IS HERE. Jack meets Amara awww. Yes I want them to spend time together YESSS. Amara and Dean are like that couple that didn't work out because they figured they'd be better as friends and it's so nice to see them. Sam is amazing wowwww. Dean WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST- WHAT DO YOU MEANT JACK ISN'T FAMILY YOU- UMM WAIT IS JACK- NOOOOOOOO!!!!! OWW MY FEELINGS. Jack looks so sad nooo. Cas is there Cas make it better. Aww Amara with a flower. Chuck is back... Yay. Lol Chuck didn't write the Dean/Amara debacle and he thinks it's weird that's amazing. Amara is amazing. Amara trying to make Chuck not act like a spoiled brat wow this is hard. I hate him with passion. AMARA YASS QUEEN GO OFFFFF. HOLD HIM. Jack you shouldn't UNDERSTAND HIM you should be PISSED. HE DID THE HELLO AJAJAGDVSHA. OH.MY.GOD I LOVE ADAM AND SERAFINA SOMEONE HUG THEM. Jack has a skittles aura wow. The final ritual, the ROCKS. Adam looks so relieved that Jack got it. OH I DID NOT NEED TO SEE HER DIGGING INTO HIS RIBS. Dean whatcha doing there buddy? Aww he thanked him!!! I still don't forgive what he said though. IT'S TIME??? IT'S TIME BABY. SAM BEING FRUSTRATED AND CAS HELPING AWWW. They found the key, HOORAH! Cas awww thank you for helping Sam. Sam no don't go alone. Empty is Meg now waaaaaht. BILLIE WANTS WHAT NOW??? Sam lying Through His Teeth to the Empty the man is a LEGEND. No Cas it's not time we need to stop this. Dean, Dean you're scaring me. Cas being angry at Jack eating the ribs the angel is legendary. Chuck you sick sick bastard what did you do you FUCKER??? AMARA STOP IT. DEAN WHAT THE HELL YOU DO NOT PULL A GUN AT YOUR BROTHER WHO THE FUCK- WHAT THE FUCK- CAS DO SOMETHINGGGG NO STOP HURTING EACH OTHER. STOP IT. CHUCK YOU SHUT THE HELL UP. DEAN STOP IT STOP THE VIOLENCE. YESS SAM TELL HIM. FUCK YOU CHUCK. AMARA NOOO. DEAN OH MY GOD NO. SAM IT'S BREAKING MY HEART. NOOOO AMARA NOOO. CHUCK NEEDS TO DIE BUT NOT LIKE THIS. OMG SAM NOOO. DEAN YESSS PUT THE GUN DOWN. FUCK YOU CHUCK. OH YOU CAN GO SUCK A DICK DON'T YOU EVER, EVER CALL CAS THAT. OMG CAS IS LITERALLY THE EMBODIMENT OF FREE WILL DID NOT EXPECT THAT. FUCK YOU CHUCK. OMG JACK NOOOO.

S15E18: DEAR LORD SOMEONE SAVE JACK HE CAN'T DIE NO NO NOPE NOT HAPPENING. Jack this is very sweet but they will NOT leave you. Billie not now. Yeah Dean tell her. Yass dads go OFF. WHERE IS JACK WHAT DID YOU DO BILLIE??? THE EMPTY??? NO DON'T DON'T DO THIS. JACK? JACK NO? JACK???? FUCK YOU BILLIE BRING HIM BACK. Oh you can go fuck yourself for all I care this is SO NOT THE TIME FOR THE BOOK. Yes Sam go OFF. Cas you really shouldn't be talking about the Empty. Isn't this episode when the deal goes down? Fuck you Billie you lost my respect. OMG JACK YOU'RE OKAY THANK GOD. Um... Empty? You okay there? Damn Sam being sassy. AND THEN HE GOES TO SIT IN THE CORNER HAHAHAHA. Yes Dean tell her. Did she just shush him? Empty ma gurl you good? Um, Billie? What's interesting? Jack's back BABY! He is not yours. Yes Dean go OFFF. CAS BEING A DAD. Aww Dean and Sam having a talk yes I'm so proud of my expressive babies. They be talking. Um, what new plan? What changed? Oh who this? Charlie is BACK BABY! YASSS MY QUEEN. Aww is that her gf? It's her gf. Oh okay where's her fucking gf??? Jack are you okay? Cas is worrying aww. Nothing's over Jack you're just three you have tons ahead of you. Dear lord Cas are you listening to yourself this is what you need to tell yourself OH MY GOD I'M BANGING MY HEAD AGAINST THE WALL UGHHHH. Billie you're being a dick stop it.  Crap everyone's disappearing. WAIT EILEEN? NO NO NO NO YOU WILL NOT DO THIS TO ME. EILLEN IS GOING TO BE FINE. WHERE ARE THE THREE DOTS? WHY AREN'T THEY THERE??? DRIVE FASTER DEAN!!! Why is the car empty? Where is she? Sam? Aww the screensaver. FUCK. SHE'S GONE. SAM? YOU OKAY? OH GOD BILLIE FUCK YOU LOOK WHAT YOU DID. NOOO. So Dean is going to kill Death again? Neat. Um Cas? I'm all for spending time with Dean but I'm worried. Aww Dean and Sam hugged. Oh hey Donna! (Is it me or is her accent off?) Jack is silent. Jack is driving. I'm so proud of him aww. Damn the badass music is awesome. Dean with the scythe is awesome. Look at that power couple. Aww Sam and Donna hugged that's cute. Let's go. Oh hey Charlie how are you? Bobby is BACK BABY. Bobby is awesome. Um Jack? How come that plant just died??? Sneaking into Death Library because those two are idiots. Oh hey splitting up is a great idea. Hi Billie, how are you? KILL 'EM DEAN. CAS ATTACK! BILLIE YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE RIGHT NOW. FUCK YOU BILLIE. DO IT DEAN KILL THEM. WAIT WHAT? Billie didn't kill them? Who did? CHUCK? THAT MOTHER FUCKER I WILL MURDER HIM. OH GOD PEOPLE ARE DISAPPEARING. WHERE ARE THEY? WAIT, NO, NOT CHARLIE NOOO. BOBBY? NO NOT BOBBY!!! DONNA? DONNA WHAT'S HAPPENING??? DONNA? NOOO!!! Oh Billie's dead now great. You can't kill Dean though. Run you two RUN. Run like hell run. Dean? Fuck. Billie leave him ALONE. FUCK FUCK RUN AWAY. BILLIE SHUT UP THIS IS A CRISIS. CAS PROTECT DEAN. PROTECT HIM LIKE YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT. YES YOU GOT HIM. FUCK YOU BILLIE FUCK YOU SO HARD. INTO THE DUNGEON. CAS REACHING INTO DEAN'S BACK POCKET AND CUTTING HIMSELF WHY??? OKAY SIGIL. SIGILS ARE NICE. OKAY GOOD DEAN IS OKAY. Dean you're being depressed this isn't helping. Billie enough of the banging. Dean you're not angry enough with this you're good. Yeah fuck Chuck but that's not the point. Dean noo. Cas do somethingggg. Dean it's okay. It's not your fault. Um Cas? What's that? Wait, the deal? Now, you're doing this now? UM, WHAT? WHAT'S HAPPENING? YEAH WHY NOW? YOU'RE LOOKING AT YOUR TRUE HAPPINESS DUMMY. IS, IS HE- WHAT'S HE DOING??? KNOW WHAT? AWWW LOOK AT HIS REVELATIONS. YEAH WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? CAS? UM. UM???!!! YES CAS TELL HIM TELL HIM HOW YOU SEE HIM THIS IS AMAZING THIS IS EVERYTHING I'VE EVER WANTED. MY HEART IS BEATING SO FAST. I CAN'T BREATHE I CAN'T BREATHE I CAN'T BREATHE. WHY ARE YOU CRYING NOOOO. CHANGED??? WHAT'S HAPPENING? WHAT'S HAPPENING SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT'S HAPPENING??? IT'S NOT A GOODBYE SHUT UP. D- DID HE JUST. DID HE JUST SAY- DID HE JUST SAY I- HE TOLD DEAN I LOVE YOU???!!! IS THIS A DREAM??? IS THIS REAL LIFE? WHAT'S HAPPENING? WHY ARE YOU CRYING??! I'M SCARED WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW???? "don't do this"??? DON'T DO THIS??? WHAT DO YOU MEEEAANN??? WAIT EMPTY BACK OFF NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO THE HAND ON THE SHOULDER THE HANDPRINT NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. FUCK THIS NO I'M NOT OKAY THIS ISN'T HAPPENING NOOO. CAAAAAAAAS NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! DEAN? DEAN DO SOMETHING?? DEAN WHAT'S HAPPENING??? WAIT WHERE IS EVERYONE? IS IT THE WHOLE WORLD? DEAN? DEAN? SAM IS CALLING YOU? DEAN? ARE YOU CRYING? YOU CAN'T CRY OTHERWISE I'LL CRY NO NO NO NO NO THIS IS FUCKING BAD.

S15E19: alright, the world is empty. Oh no Dean is coming to meet up with Sam and Jack no no this is bad the jacket. "Where's Cas?" I- DEAN OH MY GOD NOOO. OH NO JODY AND THE GIRLS NOO EVERYBODY'S GONE. Jack calling out for his dad my heart hurts no. Dean this is not the time for a beer. UH SAM NO YOU'RE NOT GIVING UP NUH-UH NOPE NOT TODAY. UM SAM, DEAN? YOU'RE NOT SACRIFICING YOURSELVES WHAT THE HELL NO. GOD I HATE CHUCK SOMEONE DESTROY HIM. SHOOT HIM IN THE GODDAMN CHEST, PLEASE. Side note: how cute is Jack in his jammies? Okay back to angst. Dean stop falling asleep on bottles. Jack? What's up honey? Aww cuteness overload from the jammies. Aww Dean found a dog look how happy he is OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG LOOK AT HIS FACE AWWW AHHHH HE'S SO EXCITED. OH MY FUCKING GOD KILL CHUCK KILL HIM I WANT HIM TO BURN ALIVE OH MY GOD PUNCH HIM. Oh hey Michael long time no see? What's up? Tis a shame about Adam, truly. Oh the book? Hey I love how Jack is just off to the side, eating a nougat bar. Hey are they gonna talk now? Oh wow. Um, Cas? How are you calling? I HAVE A REALLY BAD FEELING ABOUT THIS. OH MY GOD WATCH DEAN RUN. FUCK IT'S LUCIFER. WHAT DOES HE WANT. LEAVE. LEAVE. THE EMPTY LET YOU OUT AND NOT CAS? BITCH. LUCIFER YOU ARE NOT PART OF THE TEAM. Oh who that lady? Betty. Oh hi Betty. I like Betty. She makes me laugh. Lucifer building a house of cards. Jack you okay buddy? Oh hey Michael. Nobody trust Lucifer. Ohhhh how does God end? Um Lucifer? What are you doing? Why does this entire episode feel off? Wait, Chuck pulled him out? Gross. Kill him. LUCIFER LEAVE JACK ALONE. He will NEVER BE WITH YOU LUCIFER. YEAH STAB HIM GOOD MICHAEL. Jack you seem... Off? Michael you seem off. No question mark. Michael why you lying. Oh yay Sam cracked it. Hey you know the lake reminds me of where Jack was born. Oh yeah, doing spell stuff. Very badass. Um. What happened? Oh fuck. Oh fuck. CHUCK. KILL HIM. BREAK HIM. SAM, DEAN, NOOOO. MICHAEL YOU SON OF A BITCH. OH HE DED. RIP. CHUCK YOU STUPID BASTARD. What now Chuck? Gonna go kick puppies? Oh wait, you already DID. DAMN SAM I'M PROUD OF YOU. OH CHUCK DON'T YOU DARE. NO. NO. OW. NO. NO THIS IS HORRIBLE. THIS IS AWFUL. STOP IT. STOP HURTING THEM. NO. NO. HEY DOES ANYBODY FEEL A WEIRD DÉJÀ VU? LIKE, DIDN'T BECKY MENTION IT? "No classic rock, no Cas"? OH MY GOD THIS IS CHUCK'S ENDING. THE ENDING HE WROTE. FUCK. THE META. IT'S DEEP. NO STOP IT. STOP HURTING HIM. OH MY GOD OWWWW. OH PLEASE CHUCK THEY'LL NEVER STAY DOWN. SHUT THE FUCK UP CHUCK. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU SO HARD. IT IS NOT ENOUGH. FUCK YOU. YEAH SAM HELP DEAN UP. YEAH YOU WON. LOOK AT JACK ALL CUTE IN HIS WHITE SHIRT. Jack you look nice. Is that a new haircut? HAHA Chuck you can't do anything. YESSS!!!!! FUCK YEAH JACK YESS YOU DO THAT YESS I'M SO PROUD. I'M SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU. OF ALL OF YOU. FUCK YES. Wait the book is blank? Wah- oh my god it's monologue time, bitch. I love this plan. It's awesome. Oh so that's what happened to Jack. They tricked you Chuck. Punched you right in your stupid face. METAPHORICALLY. They're not going to kill you. They're better than that. You fucker. Dean's no killer you fucker. Neither is Sam. Oh. Oh yes. OH YESS. THEY'RE WALKING AWAY. THIS IS BETTER THAN I'VE EVER HOPED. I'M SO SO PROUD OF THEM. DEAN SAYS THAT'S NOT WHO HE IS HE LISTENED TO CAS OH MY GOD. I'M SO PROUD OF THEM ALL. MY HEART CAN'T HANDLE IT. OH MY GOD. OH YESS LEAVE HIM TO ROT IN THE DIRT. YESSS. YESSS. YESSSSS!!!!! I'M SO SO SO FUCKING PROUD OF THEM ALL HOLY SHIT THEY DID THE GROWTH THING OH MY GOD HOLY SHIT. YEAH CHUCK THEY LEFT YOU, DEAL WITH IT. YES. I'M SO HAPPY. Aww is Jack going to bring everyone back? *Gasp* is he going to bring Cas back? Are we getting a reunion? OH MY GOD THE MUSIC IS SO NICE. JACK LOOKS SO AMAZING. THE PEOPLE ARE BACK!!! LOOK AT JACK SMILING ALL IN PEACE I'M SO PROUD OF HIM. I'M SO, SO PROUD OF HIM. HE GETS IT. HE GETS THE BEAUTY IN HUMANITY AND IN EARTH. IS JACK THE NEW GOD NOW? DEAN AND SAM ARE SO PROUD OF HIM. OH MY GOD IS JACK NOT COMING BACK? WHAT? WHY? Jack I just want you to know I love you so much. You're so smart and understanding and caring. You're better than God. You're Jack. Dean I know it's hard but Jack knows what he's doing. Jack understands faith. He understands family. He understands love. He understands. I LOVE HIM SO MUCH I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM NOOO DON'T LEAVE ME I MEAN I'M SO PROUD OF YOU BUT NOOO MY BABY YOU'RE A BABY AND YOU'LL ALWAYS BE ONE YES. Sam and Dean, alone at the bunker. I'm so proud of them. They've come such a long way ever since the start. They get to be free now. But they're alone. Not for long. Next episode, everyone is coming back.  OH NO THE TABLE. THE FUCKING TABLE. NO NO NO THEY WROTE JACK AND CASTIEL I CAN'T HANDLE IT SOMEONE HOLD ME. LOOK AT THEM DRIVING MY BABIES A MONTAGE OH MY GOD THIS IS AMAZING THE TEARS NO THEY LOOK SO HAPPY THIS ISN'T GOOD FOR MY MENTAL HEALTH. OH THE FAMILY DINNER. THE COWBOY HATS. THIS ID NOT OKAY. THE DINNER WITH TEAM FREE WILL 2.0 THIS HAS BEEN AMAZING I LOVE EVERYTHING. 

 S15E20 will be posted a few days after the episode!

[nelllraiser]

teardrops on my guitar(m) | leah & nell

TIMING: shortly after and then you’re free (escape from the ring) LOCATION: nell’s greenhouse. PARTIES: @nelllraiser and @phoenixleah SUMMARY: leah helps heal nell’s arms, and gets some veggies in return. taki gets to see his cat crush.

To be honest, Nell had been in dire need of some burgers from Al’s, and Leah was always good company for a trip such as that. After breaking loose from the Ring with Remmy, she’d been eating more than perhaps seemed humanly possible after going hungry for an entire week. Now that her stomach was full, she was walking Leah towards her greenhouse behind the Vural place, figuring it was as good a place as any to do this. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Nell asked again, not wanting to take advantage of Leah and her tear’s healing abilities. “I still feel sort of bad that all I got you for something like this was lunch.” Nell knew that phoenix tears went for obscene amounts of money on the supernatural market, and she still wanted to make sure that everything was still alright with Bea’s friend. Opening the door to the greenhouse, Nell circumvented around the mattress that was still in the center of it, leftover from when Bea had been dead, and Nell hadn’t felt right sleeping in the house. To be honest...she still used it when Bea wasn’t home, the house seeming too quiet to be alone in it, as if her sister were still gone. “Alright, here we are,” she said before stopping some twenty feet in, surrounded by greenery.

Leah would never turn down a good burger, so stopping at Al’s with Nell before giving her what she needed was never not an option in her mind.  She was worried about the youngest Vural, if she were being honest.  After everything that had happened with all of them- after what happened with Bea, she still felt a certain ache and anxiety around the Vurals, like she couldn’t do enough to help.  She didn’t know exactly what happened that got Nell involved in an underground fight ring, and for once she had no desire to know anymore about something that was clearly supernatural.  Maybe she was doing a disservice to herself and the Scribes, but she was worried she’d find out something she didn’t like about the ring- and if Nell were involved in something like that- well, … It was easier to just not ask questions.  She adjusted her bag on her shoulder as she followed Nell, not remembering the last time she’d been back there.  “Really.  I’m really more than okay with it.  I wouldn’t feel right taking money, not from you.”  She probably wouldn’t feel right taking it from anyone, but then she wouldn’t have offered tears to just anyone, either.  “I know you’ll keep it quiet- people don’t need to know where you got these from, right? ...and that’s really all I can ask, honestly.”  Her eyes fell to the mattress in the center, and that pang of worry was back in a flash.  How could she have been so distant and selfish when Bea died to not even reach out to Nell and Luce?  “I don’t think I’ve ever been in here.  It’s..beautiful. Are you… in here a lot?”, she asked vaguely.

Nell nodded at Leah’s answer, having wanted to confirm one last time that this was all in line with her sister’s friend. Though she figured...it wouldn’t be blasphemy is she also counted Leah amongst her own friends. Certainly they weren’t as close, but it was safe to say she always enjoyed the other girl’s company. “Alright then, deal. Thank you again, Leah.” As for not spreading the news of the tears, Nell didn’t hesitate to reassure the phoenix. “Oh no, of course. I won’t be telling anyone where they came from. I know how...people like you can often be targeted. And I have no interest in putting you in danger.” If anyone tried to hurt Leah, Nell wouldn’t hesitate to make them regret, and she knew Bea was of a very similar mind. “Really? I guess that makes sense. I’m pretty...protective of the greenhouse. I don’t usually like people going into it without me. Of course, sometimes Bea gets to come in if she needs vegetables for dinner sometimes or something.” It was still strange at times, readjusting to Bea being back and mentioning her in everyday conversation as if she’d neve died in the first place. “I mean- I spend a lot of time here. It’s...peaceful, you know?” It was basically Nell’s retreat at this point, a safe space to be away from all the noise of the outside world. “I’m glad you like it, though. Maybe you could take come clippings with you if you won’t accept payment.”

With a smile, Leah dismissed Nell’s thankfulness.  She never quite knew how to react to gratefulness, especially when she knew in her heart something was the right thing to do.  She didn’t have to question whether she’d give the tears to Nell, or whether to bring extra for the other Vurals.  “You brought her back”, she started, knowing she didn’t have to explain what she meant.  “And now you’re hurt because of it.  This is literally...literally the least I can do.” At Nell’s reassurance, she reached into her bag, fishing around for one of the vials she’d brought with her.  She nodded, letting out a breath.  “I trust you, Nell. And, well… if it does somehow get out, it’s not like I don’t know where to find you,” she teased.  Her hand finally found the vial, and she pulled it out, holding it up triumphantly.  Her eyes landed on Nell’s wounded arms, and she blinked.  They were worse than she thought.  “They won’t be instant”, she explained.  “Not with your arms being so bad.  But maybe after an hour or two, you’ll notice a huge difference.”  She looked around, amazed at the variety and condition of plants that surrounded them.  Nell was describing the greenhouse almost like her own private sanctuary, and it reminded her of how she felt about the library.  “Maybe I’ll take some veggies of my own?”, she suggested.  “Do you have any kale?”

“We brought her back,” Nell corrected gently, knowing it wasn’t just herself that was responsible for Bea walking the earth once again. “I would have...there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. For Luce, too.” She figured that went without saying, but the witch wasn’t sure what else to say in response to Leah’s words when it came to her wounds. At the sight of the vial, Nell’s eyes lit up, hopeful as to how they might make it so her arms seemed to constantly sting and crack. She tried to reign it in as Leah explained, giving a nod. As for her arms...they looked like someone had splashed a map of the world across them, shiny continents plastered onto rougher patches here and there, still raw in places and pink and fragile. “Anything is better than this,” she simply said, endlessly frustrated with how limited she’d been ever since the resurrection. “I’m ready whenever you are?” Nell asked, presenting the gruesome sight of her arms for inspection and phoenix tear application. “Leah, you can have literally as many veggies as you want if it means being able to do something as take a fucking shower without having to worry about reopening my arms. I’ll give you an entire forest of kale.”

Leah nodded.  “You all did.” She couldn’t imagine what it took for all of them to get Bea back, even now, it was clearly still affecting everyone in some way.  She’d helped Winston with their tech problem, at least, but emotional trauma was going to be a little harder for all of them to overcome.  “I know that, Nell.  And I know they know that, too.”  Even when they bickered or argued, the love the Vural girls had for one another was so strong you could basically see it flowing through them.  She expected nothing less than Nell and Luce to try to bring Bea back when it first happened, and part of her felt like a coward for giving up hope so soon. With a laugh, letting her eyes fall to more of Nell’s plants.  “You’re like a regular old granny, growing all of this in here, you know that?  Okay, deal… I’ll have free reign of all your kale and zucchini.  That’s how you can repay me.” She winced as she got a better look at Nells arms, every new angle seemed to provide deeper insight into just how damaged they truly were.  “Shit.  How did you explain this to the hospital?”, she asked, as she popped open the vial.  “I can see why they wanted to keep you there for so long.  Okay, hold still…”, she warned.  Gently taking hold of Nell’s left wrist, Leah pulled her arm out straight so the tears could access area’s evenly.  Her face was serious and concentrated as she began the process, tipping the vial along Nell’s arm and letting the contents spill out onto it. The last thing she wanted was to use too much on one arm before she had the chance to start the process on the other. “Stop me if it’s hurting you”, she said, letting her eyes shoot to Nell’s for only a second.  

As far as emotional trauma went, Nell was firmly refusing to let it truly sink in, or rather acknowledge it. She’d power through. She always did. That’s how it worked, right? Either way, a warm smile was on her lips at the mention of her sisters and their relationship. It was certainly..complicated at times, but at the end of the day they were family. “Excuse me?” Nell said, faking outrage at Leah’s words. “I am not a grandma! But if I was a grandma, I’d be the hippest one. If anyone’s a grandma, it’s Bea.” She stayed still as Leah poured, a little apprehensive as the drops began to flow. There was a reason her blood sacrifice scars had been so prominent on her arms before the necromancy had even happened. Injuries made by blood magic weren’t meant to be healed by magical terms. But at this point, Nell was desperate to have her arms healed. With everything going on with the Ring, she couldn’t afford to be caught at anything less than her best. Hopefully, seeing as phoenix tears weren’t the traditional sort of magical healing, it wouldn’t have any adverse effects. Finally, the tears made contact with her skin, and Nell clenched her teeth as a burning sensation began to follow the liquid’s path. That wasn’t supposed to happen, was it? Maybe it was just the residual blood magic fighting back, trying to keep the sacrificial wound from being healed. But even though it hurt, she could see her skin stitching itself back together before her very eyes. If she could have her arms back, the pain was worth it. “No, keep going. It’s fine.”

With a loud laugh, Leah held up a hand defensively.  “You’re the coolest granny”, she reassured.  “All the other grandmas go to you for grandma fashion advice.”  She pointed at her with a teasing finger, grinning.  “Are you calling Bea a grandma cause you think she’s old?  Because I’m not too far behind her, honey.”  She bit her lip as she continued to pour the tears, wanting to get every inch of Nell’s arm before she starting on the other one.  Her eyes darted up when she noticed it was causing Nell pain, but she continued. She nodded at her words, understanding. Pausing in between would just make the pain last longer.  “Hey, where’s that big guy Taki?  I haven’t seen him in a while”, she said, wanting to distract Nell.  Satisfied that she was done with her left arm, she grabbed Nell’s right wrist, glancing up at her before she began again.  “We good?”

“You bet I am,” Nell joked back with a slight chuckle. “I’m the baddest bitch in the retirement home.” Though, if she was being honest...the chances of making it to a ripe, old age at the rate she was going seemed slim. Before the last couple of months, she’d barely thought about her own mortality, but after watching her sister die, being an inch from death, and continuously finding herself in bleak situations...it was a reality she could no longer escape. “I’m calling both of you grandmas because I think you’re both old,” she shot back with a grin. Then, Taki seemed to appear at the very mention of his name, instantly rubbing up against the ankles of Leah with eyes sleepily slitted in contentment. He’d always been fond of the girl, after all- they shared the element of fire. Nell spared him a smile before gritting her teeth again, and giving Leah a determined nod. “We’re good. I just want my arms back.” She’d bear the pain ten times over if it meant she could get rid of this sense of powerlessness. 

Leah rolled her eyes playfully, chuckling.  It was something she could really see happening, Nell being the ring leader to a bunch of badass old ladies.  “I’ll be sure to remind you of that on your 28th birthday, we’ll see what you think of that then.”  She smiled down at Taki as he walked by, taking her attention away from Nell’s arms momentarily.  “I’ve summoned him!”, she joked.  “Hey there big guy.”  She always felt a certain kinship with the Ovinikk, and hadn’t seen him since before Bea died.  Leah nodded back, licking her lips before pouring the last bit of the vial onto Nell’s right arm.  “There.”, she said, letting her eyes meet Nell’s again.  “That should be it.  They already look like they’re getting better.”  It wasn’t a lie- she could tell just by looking at them that they were already vastly better than when she got there.  But Nell still had a long way to go.  “It’ll take a few hours, … maybe even into tomorrow to be 100%.  Maybe you should have a movie night with Winston or someone, just so you’re not tempted to go out and get yourself into more trouble… at least not until you’re fully healed.”  There was a playful smile on her lips, but the sentiment was real- if Nell wanted this to work, she needed to rest.  Suddenly, she held up her finger, as if she was remembering something.  She rummaged through her bag, pulling out two more vials and presenting them to Nell.  “For Bea and Luce.  You’ll probably see both of them before me, so… I figured I’d just give them to you.”

“If I make it until then,” Nell joked, though the delivery of it might have come off a bit more morbid than she’d intended. With everything that had happened in the past few months...it wasn’t exactly looking all that promising. The witch tried to brush the thought aside like an errant cobweb, moving on to something much more enjoyable. Taki. “He must have sensed your radiant presence,” she said lightheartedly. Meanwhile, the oversized cat began to purr ferociously, patting his paws against Leah’s legs as he stretched, almost as it to ask why she was paying attention to anything other than him. As Leah signaled the end to the healing, Nell instantly went to test the limits of her arms, stretching and flexing them. They still weren’t prettily healed, but her voice broke out in a relieved laugh when there was little to no pain as she moved. “Thank you, Leah,” she breathed, not knowing how to express her endless gratitude in a way that was sufficient. “Thank you so much. This is...this is really helpful.” At least she could gain some of her autonomy and power back now that her arms were nearly mended. As she gripped the vials in her hands, she again asked, “Are you sure? If you give us these you have to take more vegetables and stuff than you can carry.”

Leah gave Nell a pointed look.  “Don’t talk like that”, she warned, putting a hand on Nell’s shoulder.  “You can’t let yourself even think like that, Nell, because you’re gonna manifest it.  You’ll make it to 28.  You’ll make it to 108.  Because your sisters will kill you if you don’t.”   There was no doubt in her mind that if something happened to Nell before then (and who knew, with all the bad luck she’d been having lately), that Bea and Luce and Blanche and Winston would go to the ends of the earth to bring her back, just as they had done for Bea.  But she also couldn’t imagine all of them having to go through that again.  She laughed at Taki at her feet and at Nell’s comment, kneeling down to scratch behind his ears now that she was done with Nell’s arms.  “Do you need some attention, Baby?” she asked over his purr.   She pressed her face into Taki’s and then kissed him on the forehead before quickly standing back up to chat with Nell, though she continued to pet him.  She nodded to acknowledge the thanks, biting her lip.  “I’m really, really glad, because after all the shit you’ve been through lately, this is the least I can do, like I said.  For all of you.  I’m so, so positive”, she nodded again, and then glanced around at all the vegetables just begging to be picked.  “Okay, fine… but can you and Taki help me bring them to my car?”

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

What the Water Gave Me

Happy holidays, @gryvon!  And thank you to @stetersecretsanta​ for putting this all together! 

You can also check it out here on AO3: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21876028

A run in with a rusalka leaves Detective Stiles Stilinski with a crippling fear of the water. And help comes from an unexpected quarter.

Or, that time Stiles hates Peter Hale, right up until he doesn't.

What the Water Gave Me

“I don’t like him,” Stiles says.

“I don’t even know why you think your opinion matters here, kiddo,” John replies as he tips a jar of salsa into a serving dish because, yeah, that’s about as classy as things get around chez Stilinski. “This is my weekly poker game, and I can invite whoever I damn well please.”

Stiles growls.

He’s not proud of it, but he growls.

“By the sound of that, I’m not the one who’s been spending too much time hanging out with werewolves,” John says. “And you and Derek…?”

“Are me and Derek what?” Stiles asks, and then mentally backpedals. “No, don’t answer that. Me and Derek have never been and are never going to be a thing, okay?”

Stiles and Derek are bros. There was some awkwardness there when Stiles was pubescent and drowning in hormones, but he’s over it now. He’s not sure that Derek ever will be, because at the same time Stiles was at the mercy of his raging hormones he was also at the mercy of his raging nascent spark, and he might have maybe magicked all of Derek’s clothes off him this one time. To be fair to Stiles, it was a total accident, but Derek’s never really forgiven him. To be fair to Derek, it was in Whole Foods.

Not all of Stiles’s memories of his spark in those formative years make him laugh. Magic is... magic can be terrifying. As someone who lives with it in his bones, Stiles would rather not dwell on that. It’s much easier to think of Derek’s pale naked ass and chortle.

But no, Stiles and Derek are bros. Stiles likes Derek. He does not like his asshole of an uncle, Peter, with his expensive suits, his smirk, and his habit of looking at Stiles like he’s some sort of interesting and slightly gross scientific specimen: Gentlemen, the dung beetle.

And it doesn’t help that Peter Hale is Beacon Hills’ foremost attorney. Defense attorney. How John can even bear to have him in the house is a total mystery to Stiles. Peter’s life’s work is literally to screw John. In a professional way, not a fun one, because ew. Point is, Peter is the enemy.

His dad should not be inviting the enemy to poker games.

John lifts an unimpressed eyebrow at the expression on Stiles’s face. “Son, while you’re living under my roof—”

“Stop right there,” Stiles says, dragging a corn chip through the salsa. “I’m twenty-five years old, and the only reason I’m living under your roof is because you broke into my motel room and stole all my things.”

John snorts. “After I fought the cockroaches for them! That place was a fleapit, Stiles!”

“I had an aesthetic going on!”

He did, too. He was a weary jaded detective, all hard-bitten cynicism and jagged edges, living in the gutter and staring bleakly into the void while he listened to slow jazz on his phone. It was very emotive. Very noir. He’d been considering taking up smoking.

“An aesthetic? You had a fungal infection!”

Okay, so that’s technically true. But when Stiles had applied for the newly created detective’s position in the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department after a few years in Sacramento, he was adamant that he would be coming back as an independent adult. Apparently though, that was not negotiable once his dad actually saw where he was living. So here he is, back living in his dad’s house like he’s a kid all over again, and although it’s nice not to have to worry about dying of cholera or whatever else was lurking in that motel, it hasn’t been without friction.

Like tonight, for example.

“How about this, then?” John asks, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “I don’t pull the ‘while you’re living under my roof ‘card and—”

“Deal!”

John fixes him with a challenging stare. “And you don’t tell me which friends I can invite over for poker night?”

Dammit. Stiles knows when he’s been stymied.

In a final act of petty revenge, he grabs the chips and salsa and flees upstairs.

He eats them in his childhood bedroom with the lights off, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling that he put there when he was eight and listening to Dad and his friends—including Peter Hale—laughing and talking downstairs.

It’s no good.

Even Miles Davis and his Blue Moods album are never going to get Stiles’s fledgling noir aesthetic back now, are they?

The Yoda plushie on Stiles’s bookshelf gives him a look of wry agreement.

***

Stiles is the first detective in the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department to be Supernatural Certified. That means he knows his weird shit, basically, and has done the courses to prove it. It means that whenever a case can’t be explained away by the usual measures, it lands on his desk. Which means, in a town with a nemeton close by, that Stiles gets a hell of a lot of overtime. It’s routine stuff mostly, and not at all as dangerous as his dad worries. Most supernaturals are just regular people, after all, with a little extra going on, and Stiles can hold his own with a spark as strong as his. The long hours he works are great for the student debt he came out of school with, but not so great for his social life. As in, apart from catching up with Derek a few times a week for coffee, Stiles doesn’t have a social life.

Derek’s eyebrows judge him on a Tuesday morning as Stiles pours what might be an entire cup of sugar into his coffee.

“Look,” Stiles says, “I’m not saying I hate Peter, but why does he have to be such a smug asshole?”

“Weird,” Derek says and sips his tea. “He says the same thing about you.”

Stiles jolts. Peter talks about him? But also, wait. “He says I’m a smug asshole?”

Derek considers for a moment. “No, he says you’re a little asshole.”

“I’m not even smug?” Stiles gasps. “Does he think I’m not smart enough to be smug? I can be smug, Derek!”

“I am aware.”

Stiles glares at his coffee.

Peter Hale is the first werewolf he ever met. Well, not the first, since he’s known all the Hales forever, but he’s the first one he ever saw shift. Before that, werewolves existed for Stiles conceptually, but only like, say, Iceland did. It was a thing, and Stiles knew about it, but he’d never actually figured it was something he’d have to deal with on a daily basis. All that snow and herring, ugh.  

Anyway, when Stiles was twelve and his spark manifested for the first time and some bad shit happened—there may have been explosions involved—suddenly a rampaging, slavering beast was charging right at him, tackling him to the ground while he screamed and the world erupted into flames around him.

And then, just when Stiles thought he was going to die, the rampaging, slavering beast turned into a naked man—which Stiles would like to point out was disturbing on a whole new level—and yelled, “Are you trying to burn down the whole fucking forest?”

And that was how Stiles found out that Peter—and all of the Hales—were werewolves.

He wasn’t brought into the circle of trust so much as he accidentally incinerated his way into it, because while people nowadays know that the supernatural is real, most supernatural beings prefer to keep their status to themselves.

Stiles has a bunch of files on his desk relating to what he suspects is hunter activity that show exactly why that’s still the case.

He tips more sugar into his coffee. “Anyway, how’s the rest of the pack?”

Derek’s resting bitch face softens into a smile. “Good. Cora and her girlfriend are thinking of moving back to the States. And Laura is expecting again.”

“Again?” Stiles blinks. “That woman is a baby machine!”

“And if you call her that,” Derek begins.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles says. “My throat, her teeth, I know. What is this now though? Baby three?”

“And four,” Derek says. “Twins.”

“Jesus.” Stiles says. “We definitely need to take Patrick out drinking. Like in commiseration or something.”

“You mean in congratulation.”

“With twins on the way? I know what I mean.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “You know, some functioning adults actually treat children as a good thing.”

Stiles wrinkles his nose. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “Maybe when you’re a functioning adult, you’ll understand.”

“Excuse you!”

Derek quirks a brow. “How’s Yoda?”

Stiles glares at him, and drinks his sugary sludge.

***

Stiles is halfway through lunch, brushing fallen lettuce from his burger off his open case files, when Tara leans into the bullpen. “Stiles? Hale’s here to see you.”

“Good,” Stiles says, leaping up and barging toward the door to the foyer. “He owes me an apology for this mor—”

It’s not Derek.

Of course it’s not. It’s Peter Hale, looking smug and sharp in a suit that probably cost more than what Stiles still owes in student debt. It’s pinstriped for fuck’s sake. Who wears pinstripes in Beacon Hills? Stiles is barely wearing a shirt with buttons. If it wasn’t for stupid regulations he’d be wearing a t-shirt. And his Converse.

“Detective Stilinski,” Peter Hale says smoothly, looking him up and down.

Stiles picks a piece of lettuce off his tie. “Mr. Hale.”

“I’d like to discuss a client with you.”

Stiles sighs, and holds the door open to let him through. He sets his burger down on his desk. “Which client?”

“Clare Stepanova,” Peter says.

Stiles rolls his eyes, grabs the file, and uses it to wave Peter Hale through to the nearest free interview room. He takes his burger too, because fuck it, he’s hungry.

Stiles takes a seat on one side of the table.

Peter takes one on the other side, and checks his reflection in the two-way glass. Does something to his already-immaculate hair, because he’s as vain as he is arrogant.

Stiles rolls his eyes and flips open the file on Clare Stepanova.

Clare Stepanova. Twenty-one years old—though Stiles doubts that—absolutely gorgeous, and a mouth on her like a Prussian sailor. Stiles wasn’t her arresting officer, but he definitely remembers being shocked by her language when Tara hauled her out the back to the cells. And it takes a lot of language to shock Stiles. Still, at least her curses weren’t literal. Stiles knows they could have been.

“Now how did Clare Stepanova afford an attorney like you?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.

“She has wealthy parents,” Peter says.

Stiles snorts. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Well, she has wealthy people who call themselves her parents, and were able to pay my retainer,” Peter says.

Stiles eats the rest of his burger and folds his arms over his chest. “What do you want?”

“I want you, as a Supernatural Certified detective, to go over her file.”

Stiles nods down at it. “Already did.”

“Then you’re aware that this isn’t a regular case.”

“Bullshit,” Stiles says. “She’s not a regular collar, but this is sure as shit a regular case. This isn’t a newly-bitten beta wolfing out on a full moon and breaking indecent exposure laws, or some wendigo kid slipping up and eating the neighbor’s cat. Clare Stepanova has no biological imperative to walk out of Sephora with $600 worth of cosmetics shoved down her jeans. Her being a rusalka has no bearing on this case.”

“Ah,” Peter says, his eyes lighting up for a moment.

“You didn’t know?”

“I got the vague impression of water,” Peter says. “Your spark has come a long way, it seems, now that you have it under control. Finally.”

One of Stiles’s most useful and valuable skills is his spark-given ability to know exactly what supernaturals he’s dealing with at a glance.

Kevin from the grocery store: fae.

Mrs. Iravani from the library: peri.

Clare Stepanova: rusalka.

Peter Hale: asshole.

“I would have expected,” Peter continues, “someone with a spark to have a little more empathy to the supernatural.”

Peter Hale: asshole.

Peter Hale: Grade A asshole.

“I have plenty of empathy,” Stiles says. “But until you can prove to me that rusalki need three different types of top-of-the-line lipstick and a bunch of other overpriced glittery shit to live, then I’m afraid I’m going to reserve that empathy for people who actually need it.”

Peter smiles slightly.

“I think we’re done here,” Stiles says. “I have reports to get back to, and you have to go and break it to your client that she’s shit out of luck.” He closes the file and rises from his chair. “Have fun with that, I guess.”

Peter doesn’t even have the decency to look slightly miffed at his wasted trip.

***

Stiles spends the rest of the afternoon writing a recommendation to the DA’s office for dropping charges in a case against a wiccan who was going sky-clad under the full moon last month. Mrs. McIntyre isn’t technically a supernatural—she has as much magic in her as you’d expect from your average elementary school teacher—so she doesn’t necessarily fall under Stiles’s purview, but she’s sixty-eight years old, never had as much as a parking ticket, and Stiles has incredibly fond memories of her back from when she was his third grade teacher.

It’s late when he gets out of work.

John has already left and gone home, but he sends Stiles a text asking him to pick up some milk, so Stiles swings by the gas station on the way home. He parks away from the pumps, wanders in to get the milk and whatever Skittles happen to catch his eye—four different packets do—and then heads outside again.

And steps immediately into a puddle.

Stiles groans and looks down. He doesn’t remember that puddle being there when he walked inside, and it’s not raining so where—

The water glistens in the light like an oil slick, and Stiles can’t tear his gaze away.

For a second he watches the colours, mesmerised, and then the truth of it hits him.

He can’t tear his gaze away.

He doesn’t want to, but also he literally fucking can’t.

His chest squeezes as fear grips him. He hears footsteps behind him, but he can’t tear his gaze away.

Feels soft, cool fingertips brush his cheek, but he can’t tear his gaze away.

He drops the milk and Skittles.

Feels the tickle of her hair against his face as she leans in, and he can’t tear his gaze away.

His phone. He needs…

He can’t make his hands move.

She smells like fresh water, like nature, like a cold, clear stream he wants to drown himself in.

“Hello again, Detective Stilinski,” she says.

Stiles stares at the colors in the puddle, and he can’t tear his gaze away.

And then her hands are covering his eyes, and everything goes black.

***

It’s dark when Stiles blinks away again.

He’s…

He squints into the gloom, but he doesn’t know where he is. He’s cold and wet.

He’s…

He’s been stripped down to his underwear, and he’s lying in about an inch or two of water. There are rough bricks underneath him, and…

Is he in a cellar?

He might be in a cellar. There’s a crack of light some distance away that might be a door? If it is, it’s some distance away and also higher than Stiles is, so he guesses there are stairs. It’s too dark to make them out though. There doesn’t appear to be any other light source.

Stiles shifts slightly, and the water tickles him.

It’s cold. Not shiver-to-death cold, but cold enough that hypothermia might become an issue. Does the light from under the door mean it’s daylight up there? When the temperature drops at night, the cold is definitely going to be a problem. If he lives that long.

If it’s daylight up there, has he already been here an entire night?

Dad must be looking for him then. Dad, and every cop from the station.

Stiles’s hand goes instinctively for his phone in his pocket, and only brushes against naked skin.

Underwear only, right.

He closes his eyes, not that it makes much difference, and reaches for his spark. It’s always there are the core of him, both hidden behind and intrinsically bound to his heartbeat. It’s—Stiles knows it sounds lame as fuck, but he’s always thought of it as his soul. Something uniquely him, but also something that’s not bound to his physical form. His spark encompasses so much more than bone and muscle and meat and, Stiles likes to think, it will last longer than those things too.

He finds it shining warmly behind his breastbone and he focuses on it.

If he can summon it, he can use it to—

And then the cold water is lapping at his skin, higher and higher, and Stiles opens his mouth to suck in a breath but he gets a mouthful of water instead. It rushes down his throat, suddenly a torrent.

Stiles flings himself upright, coughing and hacking, wiping at his mouth with his shaking hands.

The water recedes again, sliding down his skin like an icy caress. It leaves a shiver in its wake that Stiles feels through to his bones.

He doesn’t reach for his spark again.

***

“Hello again, Detective Stilinski,” Clare Stepanova says for the third time, or maybe the fourth, as Stiles chokes and coughs and tries to clear his lungs.

The water rises when she speaks, like tides pulled to the moon. And she’s beautiful, so beautiful, but she won’t let the water take him. He’s cold and he’s weak and he wants to sleep, wants to stop fighting the heaviness in his lungs, but she won’t let him go. She draws the water out of him with a flick of her wrist, her gold hair gleaming like moonlight in the gloom, and then she smiles and commands the water to drown him again.

The weight in his lungs is like lead. His head throbs. His chest aches. His heartbeat turns sluggish.

And then she pulls him back.

“Hello again, Detective Stilinski.”

Five times now, maybe six.

***

He’s lying on the floor, staring into the gloom. The water laps at his ears but he hasn’t got the strength to move. He’s going to die here. Every breath is harder than the last. Every one sounds like the wheeze of squeaky bellows. He’s going to drown in two inches of freezing water. He’s cold, he thinks, but he can no longer feel it. And his spark, that part of him he always thought of as indestructible, flickers on and off like a faulty lightbulb.

The water creeps up him again, icy fingers climbing his clammy skin, and a hot tear leaks out of the corner of Stiles’s eye and slides down his temple.

He’s going to die here.

And when the door crashes open and Stiles is blinded by the sudden blazing light, he thinks, for a moment, that’s what’s happened. And then there’s a dark shape moving down the stairs, and footsteps splashing toward him, and the roar of a werewolf fills the cellar room, and Stiles passes out.

***

“No,” John says firmly as Stiles blinks awake. He covers Stiles hand in his, and draws it away from the scratchy thing in his nose. “That’s your oxygen, kiddo. You need to leave that alone.”

Stiles squints at him.

His dad looks tired; about as tired and wrung out as Stiles feels right now. He’s sitting in a chair beside Stiles’s hospital bed, and he’s wearing a uniform that looks at least three days old, judging by the creases and what look like coffee stains down the shirt. His stubble’s about three days old too, and grayer than it should be.

Stiles pulls in a wheezing breath.

“You had pulmonary edema,” Dad says. “They’ve drained the water from your lungs, but you also have pneumonia, so that’s what’s causing you some issues now. You’re gonna be in here for a few more days before they’ll let me take you home.”

It’s a lot to take in, especially since Stiles can’t even remember for sure how he got here. His brow creases. “Clare?”

The name comes out like a croak.

John’s expression hardens into one of grim satisfaction. “Dead.”

Stiles tries to summon up a bit of feeling for that, but he’s mostly numb. Also, he’s mostly astonished that she was prepared to kill a cop over a shoplifting charge, but that’s the way of it with some supernaturals, isn’t it? Especially the old ones. Centuries of feeling superior to mundane and mortal humans tends to result in more than a few egotists who don’t see why they should be bound by human laws. Like vampires, for example. Total assholes who think they’re better than everyone else just because they saw Beethoven live in concert or whatever. Vampires are the fucking worst. Well, at least they were the worst, but for the record Stiles is going to shift rusalki up to the top of the list now.

He thinks back to the cellar. “Werewolf?”

John squeezes his hand and nods. “Peter.”

Stiles feels a jolt of surprise at that. For some reason he’d thought Derek, mostly because Derek is his best friend and has always had his back. Or maybe angry Talia, because she loves him like a mother. But Peter? Clare’s defense attorney Peter? Clare’s defense attorney Peter who thinks Stiles is a little asshole? Yeah, that’s definitely out of left field.

“The pack was tracking you the whole time,” John says. “Turns out that rusalki can hide scents. Who knew, huh?”

Well, Stiles knew. He’s done the course. But now isn’t really the time to bring it up.

“Anyway,” John continues, “Peter figured it might have been Clare, so he set up a meeting to talk about her case, and followed her after that. He was supposed to wait for backup, but, well…” He grimaces. “Apparently you didn’t have that much time left.”

Stiles sucks in another wheezing breath. “Wait… won’t he get in trouble? With the Bar Association or something?”

“Oh, son,” John says, and his mouth quirks. “If you think Peter Hale gives a flying fuck about the Bar Association, you really don’t know him at all. Besides, attorney client privilege doesn’t cover crimes in progress.”

He nods, and a rush of dizziness leaves him with black spots in his vision.

“Careful,” John says, with mild rebuke in his tone like Stiles has just tried to run a marathon, not nod. “You need to take it easy, kiddo.”

“Yeah,” Stiles rasps, and feels a sudden prick of tears in his eyes. He doesn’t even know why. He’s just… it’s all been too much, he guesses. Clare Stepanova tried to kill him, and he didn’t even fight back. He’s never had that happen before. And he knows it was because he was in her thrall, and he knows it wasn’t his fault, but he still hates that he made it so easy for her. Stiles has always been a fighter, oftentimes against all advice to the contrary, and it’s terrifying how Clare just shut down that part of him. Like it was nothing. Like he was nothing.

Stiles was supposed to be stronger than that, smarter than that. He feels as helpless now as he did when the water was rushing into his lungs.

John squeezes his hand again, and Stiles summons up a weak smile for him.

And then Derek turns up with a massive blue teddy bear wearing an It’s a boy! ribbon from the hospital gift shop.

“You can put it with your Yoda,” he says, glowering at Stiles like Stiles’s near-death experience has personally offended him.

“I love it,” Stiles says, his voice still rasping, and opens his arms for a hug.

Both his dad and Derek get in there, and Stiles closes his eyes and feels warm again for the first time in days. And he wonders where Peter is right now.  

***

It’s four days before Stiles is allowed to go home. He curls up in a blanket on his dad’s couch, and doesn’t move for hours. He stares unblinkingly at the television until John makes him move into the kitchen for dinner. Then, after they’ve eaten, John herds Stiles upstairs and toward the bathroom.

“You stink, kiddo,” John says.

“Way to pull your punches, Dad.”

“Get cleaned up and get in bed,” John tells him. “I’ll bring you your meds.”

Stiles shuts the bathroom door and strips off. Steps into the shower and…

He can’t turn the tap. The thought of water on skin is…

He can’t.

And he knows he should. He knows his dad is right. He stinks. And he knows the steam from a hot shower will be good for his pneumonia. But he just can’t bring himself to do it.

He steps back out of the shower and crouches down in front of the bathroom sink instead. Ferrets around in the cabinet until he finds a bunch of wipes, and cleans himself with those instead.

He’ll shower tomorrow.

***

Three days later, and Stiles is out of wipes. His skin is greasy, and his hair is an oily mess. He’s also got a gross scraggly excuse for a beard, but he can’t bring himself to shave. Not even when the blast of water in the kitchen sink, or the trickle of it through the coffee machine is enough to make him freeze up. He’s pretty sure they can smell him all the way downtown, because there’s only so much that deodorant can do. Spoiler alert: not much.

“Poker night tonight,” John says. “Want to join us?”

Stiles pokes his spoon at his cereal. “I’m good.”

John’s face is creased with worry. “Stiles,” he says, “what’s going on, kid? You’re…”

Decaying, Stiles thinks. Moldering. Something.

“Not yourself,” John finishes. “Do you need to talk to someone? A professional?”

“I’m tired,” Stiles says. “Once I get over the pneumonia, I’ll bounce back.”

John holds his gaze for a long moment, and then nods.

Stiles knows better than to think his dad is letting this go though. The Stilinskis are a stubborn bunch.

He waves his dad off to work, and dozes on the couch for most of the day. He’s jolted awake sometime in the afternoon when the door opens and footsteps tread down the hallway.

“Good lord,” Peter Hale says, looking at where Stiles is nesting like a rat on the couch, surrounded by blankets and junk food wrappers. “You smell like you’ve been dead for a month.”

Stiles grunts and shows him his middle finger. “Thanks for rescuing me.”

“Please,” Peter says. “Your father and Derek would have been on my case for eternity if I hadn’t ripped that bitch’s throat out.” He grins and shows his teeth.

“Well, thanks anyway.” Stiles feels a sudden thrill at the thought of Peter wolfing out over him, and pretends he doesn’t. “How did you get in here anyway? Do you have a key?”

Peter raises his eyebrows. “As though I’d need a key.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. Peter is such an asshole.

Peter strides over to him, and wrenches his blankets off. “Come on. You’re a mess, and your father’s worried about you. So is the pack.”

Stiles allows himself to be bullied all the way upstairs and into the bathroom. He baulks when he sees the shower.

“Peter, I…” He can’t finish the sentence. He can’t admit his fear, even when he knows it’s etched into his skin, and written into every expression. Even when he knows he literally reeks of it.

“Shirt off,” Peter says. “And then sit on the edge of the bath for me.”

Peter’s no-nonsense tone is easy to obey, and it gives Stiles something to rail against. He’s grateful for both those things as he pulls his shirt off and grumbles about overbearing asshole werewolves getting all up in his business, and this is bullshit, Peter, bullshit.

The blast of water in the sink makes his blood run cold and freezes the words in his throat.

Peter squeezes out the washcloth under the tap, and then grabs the bar of soap from the shower stall. When he turns back to face Stiles, his expression is grim.

“I thought you were a corpse,” he says. “When I found you in that cellar. I could barely hear your heartbeat.”

Stiles hunches over and looks away.

Peter crouches down in front of him. He takes Stiles wrist in his hand, and draws his arm out straight. Stiles shivers when Peter drags the warm washcloth from his shoulder to his wrist. “You scared me, Stiles.”

There’s no hint of rebuke in his tone. There’s only something softer than that; an admission, not an accusation.

“Scared me too,” Stiles murmurs.

Peter scrubs the soap along the washcloth, and then drags the cloth down Stiles’s arm again, leaving foamy bubbles in its wake. “So scared you can’t even face the thought of a shower?” He pinches the skin on the back of Stiles’s hand, and the mark doesn’t vanish. “So scared you’re letting yourself go dehydrated?”

Stiles nods, his eyes stinging with shame and helplessness.  

“She’s dead,” Peter says, his blue eyes shining. “She’s dead, and she can’t hurt you now.”

“I know,” Stiles rasps. “I know that, but…”

“But you don’t feel it,” Peter says, and hums slightly. “You know what you need, Stiles?”

“A therapist?”

“Well, possibly.” Peter smiles slightly. “But in the meantime would you settle for an amoral and slightly sociopathic werewolf by your side who’d tear out the hearts of your enemies if they even looked at you sideways?”

Stiles should be embarrassed at how long it takes him to get that. “But you hate me.”

“Nonsense,” Peter says, and swipes the washcloth over Stiles’s collarbone. “You are the thorn in my side and the pebble in my shoe, Stiles, but I’ve never hated you.”

“Really?”

“Do you think I break into the houses of people I hate and give them sponge baths?”

Stiles blinks. “No. That would be weird. I mean, this is weird enough, but that would be super weird.”

Peter’s laugh is low and full of warmth. He rises to rinse the washcloth out, and then he’s back, lifting Stiles’s other arm up and washing it gently. Stiles feels almost dizzy at the touch. He feels weak and helpless, but a part of him melts into this too. The part of him that wants to be cared for, wants to be allowed to need this without judgement.

Stiles is pretty sure he’ll judge himself harshly enough for this at a later date, but that’s a problem for future Stiles.

He closes his eyes and lets it happen. Drifts for a while on the feeling of being looked after.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Peter says softly. “Take the rest off.”

It should be humiliating, probably, but Stiles is floating from Peter’s touches, so he lifts his hips and lets Peter pull his sweatpants down and off. The hospital sponge baths were perfunctory and clinical; this is not. This feels almost like an act of quiet worship, and Stiles might be drunk on it.

“Good boy,” Peter murmurs, and Stiles melts a little more.

He’s zoned out enough that he can almost pretend the careful swipe of the warm washcloth over his dick and balls doesn’t happen. Almost. But by the time he jolts and his eyes flash open, Peter has already moved on to his thighs. He finishes up at Stiles’s feet, and Stiles toes curl at the slight tickle.

Peter smiles up at him, and then stands. “Now how about your hair, sweetheart? You look like a weasel dipped in oil.”

Stiles snorts. There’s the asshole he knows and… knows. There’s the asshole he knows, period, full stop, and nothing further to add.

Peter’s expression turns serious. “It needs a wash, Stiles. Do you think you could handle some water through it, if I’m here?”

Stiles’s heartbeat quickens, and he’s afraid that it he so much as blinks he’ll be back in that cellar, water rushing into his throat and drowning his screams.

“I have an idea,” Peter says, and then disappears from the bathroom. He’s back a moment later, wheeling Stiles’s computer chair with him. “Let’s do this salon style.”

He flings a clean pair of sweatpants at Stiles, and Stiles climbs into them. Then he sits on the chair, and Peter wheels it back toward the sink. It’s not quite the right height, but Peter pillows a rolled-up towel under the back of his neck, and folds a dry washcloth over his forehead.

“I’ll do my best to keep the water off your face, hmm?”

Stiles nods. He wants to close his eyes, but he doesn’t dare.

It’s… it’s not as bad as he was afraid it would be. The tickle of water on his scalp makes his skin crawl, and makes him want to leap out of the chair, but Peter works quickly and calmly, and his fingers massage Stiles’s scalp deftly.

“What do you know about this Braeden person?” he asks.

“Which Braeden person?”

“The incredibly attractive and intimidating woman that Derek has fallen head over heels for,” Peter says. “I like her, but on the other hand I feel like I shouldn’t approve.”

“Because she’s very possibly a mercenary?” Stiles asks curiously.

“No, I think that’s hilarious,” Peter says. “You should see Talia’s face! I just feel like I shouldn’t approve because, well, I like to make Derek squirm.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Stiles says.

Peter catches a trickle of water before it escapes the washcloth on Stiles’s forehead. “He’s my nephew. It’s my job.”

“It’s really not.”

Peter shrugs. “Well, we’ll agree to disagree. Now, want me to attack that abomination you call a beard? No water, sweetheart. Just shaving cream and a washcloth.”

Stiles nods warily. “Just… just keep talking, okay?”

Peter smirks. “I’m a lawyer, Stiles. That was never going to be an issue.”

***

When it’s done, all of Stiles’s doubts and insecurities come rushing back in. He’s clean and he’s shaved, but at what cost? Peter Hale saw him naked, and not just naked, but a whole other level of nakedness than Stiles is comfortable with. Peter didn’t just see his skin; he saw his vulnerability. Somehow Stiles knows that’s the thing that’s going to be hardest to reconcile.

He sits on his bed and stares out the window, and wonders if tomorrow he’ll be able to actually brave a shower, or if he’s going to be scared of water for the rest of his life. Which would be fine, if it was swimming in the stuff. But showering? Doing the laundry? Hydrating? These aren’t optional activities.

Stiles sighs, and grabs his laptop off his desk, and queues up an episode of Star Trek. Why aren’t sonic showers a thing yet? They need to be a thing.

The knock on his door doesn’t really surprise him.

“Come in, Peter.”

Peter opens the door. He’s holding a glass of orange juice.

“Shouldn’t you be downstairs playing poker with my dad and all his friends?”

Peter ignores the question and sits next to Stiles. He sets the orange juice down on his bedside table. “I think you and I got off on the wrong foot, Stiles.”

“What, when you broke into my house without a key?” Stiles grouses.

“No,” Peter says. “When you were a twelve-year-old with a newly manifested spark, and I scared the hell out of you.”

Stiles feels the faint echo of that fear as he thinks back to that day. And what a hell of a day it was. “To be fair, I was exploding the forest at the time.”

Peter nods. “True. But still, I feel that being lunged at by a werewolf was probably quite traumatizing.”

“It was actually more traumatizing when I saw your dick,” Stiles says. “Werewolves, that was totally out of left field. But naked men jumping on me? Dad had warned me about how dangerous those were.”

Peter’s eyebrows do something complicated. It’s a Hale trait. “You thought I was a child molester?”

“Not for long! But, in my defense, you were a naked man who jumped on me. I was twelve, Peter. There wasn’t a lot of nuanced thought involved!”

“Well,” Peter says at last, “When it comes to nakedness, I suppose that we’re even now after today, sweetheart, aren’t we?”

There’s a strange weight in the air as Stiles avoids Peter’s gaze, and he thinks it’s all in the way he just said the word ‘sweetheart’. Usually Peter uses the word like it’s a sharp weapon, but now—and ever since he walked into the house this afternoon, if Stiles is honest—there’s no barb in the word at all. It sounds almost…

Almost real.

“Peter,” he asks cautiously, lifting his gaze again, “do you like me?”

“Yes,” Peter says.

“I mean, not because I’m pack adjacent, and Derek’s best friend, and Talia refers to me as the son she always wanted, but like-like, like—”

“Jesus Christ, Stiles,” Peter says, and rolls his eyes. “Yes.”

This is the part where they should fall into a kiss, right? Stiles reaches for Peter, only to find a splayed hand on his chest.

“Nu-uh-uh,” Peter says. “Not until you drink your juice, sweetheart.”

Well, Stiles guesses, there’s some incentive.

He drinks his juice.

***

Stiles narrows his eyes at the bottle of water on his desk. He’s been back at work for three days now, and he’s mostly a lot better, but still not a total fan of this whole hydration business. It’s a shitty thing to develop a trigger over, but he’s working on it. He’s downloaded an app on his phone that reminds him when to drink, so he’s no longer got an excuse to avoid it. Also, his therapist prescribed him a shitload of Ativan, so that’s pretty sweet.

“Stiles?” Tara calls from the door. “Hale’s here to see you.”

Stiles leaps up from his desk, anticipation bubbling through him. Peter promised to bring him lunch, and he’s been counting down the minutes. Not because he gives a fuck about the new fusion place on Third that Peter’s been raving about, but because, well, Peter. Peter has been visiting Stiles every day, both at work and at home, checking that he’s functioning. They’ve got into a weird pattern now where when Stiles showers, Peter sits in the bathroom and talks to him. It should feel humiliating, but it doesn’t. And Peter isn’t even a jerk about it. He’s still a jerk about everything else, but, well, that’s Peter. It turns out that there’s just a lot more to him than that asshole exterior. As embarrassing as it is to admit it, Stiles might actually be in love.

Ugh. He has taste in his ass.

But so does Peter, probably, so it all works out.

And frankly, Stiles can’t wait for the day when showering with Peter means something a whole lot more sexy than their current arrangement.

He wrenches the door open. “Hey, Peter, I—motherfucker.”

Derek blinks at him.

“It’s always the wrong Hale,” Stiles says. “Every damn time.” He plasters on a smile. “Hey, Der-bear. It is great to see you!”

“Clearly,” Derek deadpans. “Anyway, Mom wanted me to remind you that it’s pack dinner this Friday, and she expects to see you there. And she said she’s making extra cookies so you can take a bunch home, and not try to smuggle them out in your pockets like last time.”

“She can’t prove that ever happened.”

“Stiles, your jeans smelled like chocolate for days. You should do your laundry more often.”

“You’re not actually supposed to wash your jeans after every wear.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “You are if they have chocolate in the pockets.”

“Point,” Stiles admits.

“See you Friday,” Derek says, and claps him on the shoulder before leaving.

Stiles heads back inside to the bullpen—and discovers Peter sitting at his desk, his fancy Italian ankle boots resting on Stiles’s open files. He’s eating something from a takeout container. It smells fucking orgasmic.

“How the hell did you get in here?” he demands. “Did you break into a police station?”

Peter smirks. “I brought you lunch, sweetheart. Let’s not quibble over the details of why, and how, and whether or not it’s really an indictable offence.”

“Someone let you in the back door, didn’t they?”

“Your father,” Peter admits. “I met him in the parking lot.”

Stiles leans his ass on his desk. “You’re such a dick,” he said fondly.

Peter shrugs, and nudges Stiles’s water bottle closer to him. “Takes one to know one.”

“Touché.” Stiles takes a sip of his water, trying not to grimace, and Peter rubs his knee gently in silent encouragement. Then Stiles steals his takeout and starts shoveling it into his mouth. “When I finish this, want to go make out in the file room?”

“Sweetheart,” Peter says with a broad grin, “I can’t think of a better way to spend my day.”

And how weird is Stiles’s life now? Because it turns out that neither can he. He wouldn’t say he’s grateful to Clare Stepanova—fuck that evil bitch—but Stiles knows that if he hadn’t been attacked, he and Peter would still be bitching about each other to their families, and snarking at each other when they met, and both of them dancing around the fact that maybe, just maybe, there was a spark of something between them that wasn’t sheer contempt. And, since they’re both such assholes, they would have died of old age before admitting it.

So there’s an upside, Stiles guesses. A crazy weird upside to being drowned repeatedly by a rusalka, and it turns out it’s the bastard of a werewolf pointedly nudging Stiles’s water bottle toward him again.

When Stiles had come back to Beacon Hills, he’d tried to like the idea of being alone. Romanticized it even, in that gross fleapit of a motel where he pretended to be a hard-bitten cynical film noir detective. But it turns out Stiles isn’t that kind of guy at all.

The corners of his mouth turn up as Peter nudges the water bottle against his thigh. Stiles picks it up and sips from it, and Peter makes a smug, satisfied noise.

It turns out it’s nice to be cared for after all.

[imagining-supernatural]

Moments of Weakness

Part 4 of But It Burns

Summary: When you hit rock bottom, you have nowhere to go and end up on your former best friend’s doorstop, bruised, bloody, and broken. You aren’t expecting him and his girlfriend to take you in and try to patch up your shattered life, especially with the danger your presence puts them in.

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2181

An entire fucking month. For an entire month, the doctor kept you on bedrest. For a whole thirty days, you treated Bucky and Natasha like shit. For a goddamn month, they kept their fake smiles and refused to kick you out.

But things changed the last week. And by things you really meant that you changed.

You didn’t treat them like shit anymore. It was obvious they weren’t going to kick you out. And they didn’t deserve any of this, but you didn’t have much of a choice. You were four months along in your pregnancy. That meant you had five more months until you were at full term. And until the doctor took you off of bedrest, you couldn’t really go anywhere. But as soon as he lifted your restriction, you were heading straight to Ecuador.

Until then, you might as well ease the burden Bucky and Natasha had on you.

So you stayed quiet.

You made polite small talk when you crossed paths in the kitchen, left your door open just enough to let a sense of goodwill settle over the apartment, and you made sure you kept your spaces clean.

The apartment was quiet.

But that just gave your thoughts room to grow.

The silence pulled out the memories you’d rather stay buried deep.

The knife in your hand. Blood all over. Tony’s lifeless, hazel eyes staring up at you.

You’d loved him. Maybe it was wrong. People would say it wasn’t real love. They would tell you that he’d manipulated you into believing it was love. But they were wrong. What you felt for him was real.

That didn’t mean you weren’t scared of him. And when it was just you, you could handle that fear. But suddenly there was a baby in the equation. You loved Tony, but you didn’t trust him.

The last person you’d ever trusted had been Bucky. The only person you ever trusted was Bucky.

“Yeah, one second. She’s just in her room.” his voice grew louder as he walked closer. There was a soft knock on the ajar door and he walked in, holding his cell phone out to you. “It’s Dr. Banner.”

“Thanks.” You couldn’t even meet his eyes when you took the phone. He started for the door before hesitating a moment, as if he was going to turn back to you. But then he continued onward and his footsteps faded as he went towards the kitchen.

Somehow, this new silence was worse than the arguments.

“Hey doc, what’s up?”

“Your stress levels, apparently,” he said. “Bedrest is supposed to help your body relax. You’re not relaxing, Y/N.”

“I’m doing everything right. By the book. Ask Bucky. I can’t eat any healthier or take it any easier.”

“Emotionally, though?”

“I’m fine.”

You’d answered too quickly. It didn’t take a professional to see through your lie.

“Y/N…”

“Why do I feel like you just caught me with my hand in the cookie jar?”

“I don’t know your history, Y/N. But you came to my operating table looking like a punching bag with a police escort. Normally I’m a little more tactful for this conversation, but you’re a straight shooter so I’m just going to put it out there.” He paused for a second and you tried to prepare yourself for whatever he was going to say. “I’d like for you to see a therapist.”

A short bark of laughter escaped. “Fuck no. I’ll do anything you say except for that, doc.”

“Why not?”

Some things are best left in the dark recesses of your brain. He wouldn’t accept that answer though. And you couldn’t come up with one on the spot, leaving yet another span of silence.

“Y/N, if you don’t go to therapy and try to work through some of your issues, you won’t be able to get those stress levels down and you’ll be on bedrest until you go into labor. I know how badly you want to get off bedrest. If you want it, this is your best shot.”

“What are the other options?”

“There are none.”

Great. “Well… I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I can ask, I suppose. Other than that, your tests came back looking pretty good. Pretty steady with your last rounds of tests.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Y/N, I suggest you think very seriously about therapy. Stress isn’t good for the babies.”

“I know,” you whispered. And with that, you hung up the phone and let your head drop back against the wall, welcoming the sharp, brief moment of pain.

Five more months. Could you really handle five more months with Bucky and Natasha? Or should you just take your chances at sneaking out of the country and finish your bedrest in Ecuador?

With a sigh, you slid out of bed and padded into the kitchen where Bucky was on his laptop at the table. You slid him his phone and he grunted you a thanks as you went to the fridge. Pulling out a cheese stick, you paused, staring into the fridge. A fridge fully stocked by Natasha and Bucky.

You couldn’t go to Ecuador until your bedrest was over. Here, Bucky and Natasha were the only reason you were able to do as well as you were. If you were on your own in a foreign country, you’d have to buy your own food. You’d have to find your own source of income. You couldn’t lay around all day.

“Hey Buck?”

His head flew up at your voice. You hadn’t initiated a conversation in a week. “Yeah?”

“What’s the Mob doing? Any of Natasha’s contacts bring in anything good?”

You could tell he had no idea where you were going with this. It was in the set of his head, that slight tilt. The narrowed eyes. Tightening of the muscles of his cheeks. “Nothing really. A few small hits. Big shipment. Nothing ground-breaking.”

“Stefan’s smart. He’s probably flying under the radar right now. Cleaning up the Mob rankings. Making sure everyone is loyal to him, not-not Tony.”

Bucky just nodded absently, mind somewhere else. “Why now, Y/N? Why the sudden interest in—well, in anything?”

“The doc says I’m too stressed. Having a half billion-dollar price on my head isn’t really helping with that. And he really thinks therapy could help. Right.”

“Maybe it would.”

You scoffed at that. “Right. Let’s just dredge up all those memories that make up the shit-storm of Y/N’s life. That’ll help her de-stress. Great plan.”

“It really does help, you know.”

“You know this from experience?”

He nodded, shocking you. He’d gone to therapy? When? The question didn’t leave your lips though, and he sat forward with a different line of conversation. “It could help you understand everything. Why you do what you do. Like why you killed that first guy… how many years ago was it again?”

“Shit, you don’t give up, do you? I know why I do what I do. I don’t need to pay someone to tell me the technical terms for what kind of fucked up I am.”

“Then talk to me,” he offered. “I can’t tell you technical terms, but I’m pretty good at untangling people’s pasts. It’s kinda what I do.”

“You’re a private investigator, Bucky. You get paid to find out if someone is cheating on someone else.” The jab was received well, and he just half-smiled and pushed out the chair across the table with his foot. You eyed the chair for a moment before grabbing an apple and sitting down. It was the first time you’d sat at the table in over a week. This was the longest conversation you’d had with anyone.

“So, Y/N, have you been back to Joe’s Diner?”

“What?” You and Bucky used to go to Joe’s Diner all the time your freshman year of college. Midnight milkshake runs, greasy burgers for breakups, and pie to celebrate a good grade. It was your go-to place. And somewhere you hadn’t thought of in years.

“Joe’s. It’s still there, you know. I pass it at least once a week.”

“Of course, it’s still there. Best damn burgers in the city.” Your mouth was watering just thinking about it. “It would be a disgrace if it were to shut down.”

“Agreed. So? You been there lately?”

This normal conversation was throwing you off and you couldn’t find your voice, so you just shook your head.

He leaned back in his chair and grinned. “I’ll pick some up next time I’m out.”

“I don’t think that falls under Dr. Banner’s menu of acceptable pregnancy bedrest food.”

“He doesn’t have to know,” Bucky said with a shrug. “One night can’t hurt.”

“You know,” you started hesitantly, heart beating way too fast. “Those were the exact words Shantelle used to get me to try cocaine the first time. One night can’t hurt.”

“Well, Shantelle’s a fucking idiot. I’m not. And I think we both could use one of Joe’s famous burgers.”

The fact that he didn’t react to your first real reveal of a piece of personal information somehow made it easier to relax back into your chair. “And one of this chocolate caramel milkshakes. I think that’s exactly what I need. Shit, now that you brought up Joe’s, I know that’s what I’ve been craving for the last two months.”

“Remember that time you dumped your milkshake on that jerk’s head because you got in that argument and he said that Emily Dickinson was obviously straight?” Bucky’s laughter prompted a few light chuckles from you. “Man, that was golden.”

“Don’t forget the best part! I made him buy me another milkshake. I can’t believe I actually got him to buy a milkshake.”

Bucky’s laughter grew louder as the memory took shape. “Shit, I forgot about that! And didn’t you also talk him into tipping Crystal twice what the milkshake cost?”

“That fucking moron deserved it.”

Your cheeks were starting to hurt, which was a sad testament to how little you’d smiled in the last few months. If less than five minutes of smiling and laughing could make your cheek muscles protest, what did that say about you?

“I should have made him clean up the milkshake too,” you mused, trying to push aside your negative thoughts for a moment. You wanted just one moment of happiness. A minute or two. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

Apparently not, because when Natasha walked in half an hour later, you were still at the table with Bucky, reminiscing about better days.

“Hey, babe,” Bucky greeted with an easy smile. Your own smile fell slightly as your little bubble of comfortable happiness was popped, but you tried like hell not to let it show. You liked Natasha. You just didn’t know her as well as you knew Bucky.

“Hey yourself. How was your day? Both of you?”

She was surprised to see you out of your room, you could tell. But thankfully she didn’t let it show too much.

Bucky took the lead in the conversation. “Great. I closed one of my cases—the one with the Remus’s boy. And I made Y/N remember that time she tried square dancing—”

“Fucking shut up, Buck! You promised that would stay between us.”

He shot you a shit-eating grin, teasing you like nothing bad ever happened between the two of you. “You knew from the get-go that Natasha and I have no secrets. But I do promise that I won’t tell anyone else.”

“Fuck you,” you muttered, half laughing. “Not all of us can be as graceful as you are, Barnes.”

“It’s annoying, isn’t it?” Natasha asked. “We took a ballroom dancing class and he looked like he’d been doing it his whole life, but I kept stepping on everyone’s toes and tripping over nothing.”

“I think he sucks the gracefulness out of every else in the room and keeps it for himself,” you agreed.

“Whatever helps you two sleep at night,” Bucky said smugly, leaning back and locking his fingers behind his head.

With an eyeroll, you stood up. “Well, you enjoy that high horse you’re on. I’m going to go lay down for a while.”

Natasha excused herself before you could leave, but not before sharing one of those silent conversation looks with Bucky. Once she was gone, he grabbed your hand loosely, waiting until you looked down at him. Gone was the joviality in his eyes, replaced by a serious gleam. “Y/N? That thing with Shantelle and the cocaine? Was that when things started going downhill for you?”

Your voice was stuck in your throat and you had to swallow a few times and look away before you could answer. “I don’t know. Maybe? I… I don’t know. That might have been the first step off the path. But completely downhill? That came after.”

He nodded a few times before squeezing your hand. “Thank you. Thank you for trusting me with that.”

All you could do was lift your chin in acknowledgement, tug your hand from his, and head down the hall to your room.

NEXT: Truth Is A Double-Edged Sword coming soon

Series Taglist Open. Add Yourself HERE

BuckyxReader tags: @lavieenlex @hallow-hazel​ @infinity-dreamchaser​ @clintawcoffeenobarton  @amomenttowrite​ @zanthiasplace​ @clairese1980 @bandbandeau​ @zahiaouzidane @li-ssu​ @mogaruke​ @molly-hooperific​ @optimistic-babes​ @scarletlingeries​ @daughterleftbehind​ @carryonmyswansong​ @ria132love​ @rebecarbc-blog​

[the-recusants-sigil]

Hey again!! Thank you again for the brilliant request- I’ve been editing while I work all day, so sorry for the delay! BUUUUUUT here is Part 2, with Xaldin~

Enjoy! <3

Xaldin

Words: 2784

-It didn't happen often, but at this particular moment, Xaldin was in deep shit.

-His mission was straightforward, and in an ideal situation, there wouldn't have been any danger to begin with. How a simple reconnaissance mission could go so horribly wrong was beyond him.

-In a rush to get out the door that morning, he had skipped eating and hadn't bothered to prepare. No potions, no ethers, not even a packed lunch.Nothing. Though he hadn’t eaten much the day before, either, he wasn't going to bother going back for anything. After all, it was just a pithy little recon mission; what could possibly go wrong?

-A lot, as it turns out.

-He was just supposed to be surveying the land around Beast's Castle. That was all. He was to report back with details about the landscape, the foliage, the climate and anything else that stuck out to him as noteworthy; basically, he was scouting for possible synthesis materials and nothing more. He was not to engage in combat of any sort with anything unless it became entirely necessary.

-An hour in, and what had happened? Wolves. Wolves happened. 

-He noticed them following him at a distance, first. Just a few, with jet black fur, watching him for a few moments and then darting off into the cover of the thick underbrush. They weren’t aggressive, or so he thought. But after the sun went down, he noticed more and more sets of yellow eyes peering at him. Surrounding him.

-It was a large pack, larger than he'd ever seen. Normally, dealing with them would be a cakewalk. In terms of firepower, Xaldin was certainly at an advantage with several lances and power over wind. But these wolves were different. He hadn't seen it at first, but after impaling one  of the beasts, it occurred to him that these were, in fact, Heartless. They hadn't immediately seemed like it, but as the first few burst into clouds of shadow, he was certain that these weren't actually run-of-the-mill timberwolves. Three more of them charged him head-on while the rest of the pack closed in on him. As soon as he dealt with those three, another two leapt at him from behind. Every time he dealt with one, it seemed two more were there to take its place.

-It was more than he could keep up with; the swarm of Heartless was faster and stronger than he'd anticipated, and they were starting to chip away at him. They lunged as soon as he turned his back, gnashing teeth and razor claws tearing at his cloak and ripping  through his flesh. 

-At this point, tired and hungry with nothing to heal himself, Xaldin knew he had to find a way out. With a shout and a strong gust of wind, he propelled himself over the ring of Heartless and towards, what he hoped, was safety. He had hardly any energy to use his powers, though, and barely any energy left to run. And where would he go, he wondered? He had gotten soft. This would have been nothing for him to deal with before.

-Exhausted, hungry, and resigned to failure, the Whirlwind Lancer raised his right hand and summoned a corridor of  darkness to take him home. Something heavy crashed into him from behind; the set of jaws clamping down on his forearm and the Heartless sending him tumbling through the corridor were the last things he remembered.

-At least, from that world, anyway. He could tell right away that something was off. This was, decidedly, not The World That Never Was, because he'd never seen a damn cornfield anywhere in that world. There was also no moon in the sky, whereas back home, the faintest beginnings of a heart-shaped moon hung low in the sky. Something had gone wrong. He knew another corridor just wasn't possible right now, and he briefly wondered what he could do.

-The opportunity to grab a bite to eat had presented itself, though, and he plucked an ear of corn from a stalk before peeling it and biting down. He spit it out immediately- raw corn was tough to chew and, frankly, disgusting.

-He could hear the occasional roaring, whooshing sound not far from him, though, and an acrid smell hung in the air like something had been burning. But it was something, and anything was better than standing around this field with who knows what kind of Heartless. He pushed his way through the stalks as he marched towards the sounds, lifting his boots high to keep them from getting stuck in the loamy soil. It couldn't have been a strawberry patch, oh no. It just had to be fucking corn.

-And suddenly, as he shoved aside the last few cornstalks, he was out in the open. Back on a paved road, just like the roads in the World That Never Was. There was that rumbling noise again--

-A truck horn blared at him and he jumped out of the way just in time as the massive thing went barreling past. Up close, he felt the roar of its engine in his chest, and as it passed, he counted his blessings he hadn't ended up plastered onto the front of it. He watched the eighteen-wheeler thunder down the road and disappear into the night. Apart from the near-death experience, the place didn’t seem too bad. The stars were very visible here, unlike the World That Never Was, and it seemed... peaceful. If he squinted, Xaldin could make out a cluster of lights shimmering in the distance. City lights.

-He looked down the road to see another pair of lights coming, this time from the opposite direction, and he summoned what energy he had left to wave vigorously at the oncoming car.

-You hadn't expected any surprises on your trip back to college. That morning, you'd said a tearful goodbye to your family several hundred miles away, and now you were on the home stretch- five more miles of corn and alfalfa, over the bridge, and back to business. So when a tall man in a torn black coat jumped in front of your Jeep and began flailing wildly, to say you were a little offput would be putting it mildly. As you slammed on your brakes and brought your car to a screeching halt, the man collapsed, falling face first onto the asphalt.

-You were dead tired and not in the mood to deal with any of this, if you were perfectly honest, but what were you going to do- leave him to be vulture fodder? He was still breathing, that much you could see, but you'd want someone to help if you were in his position. You flicked on your hazards and got out, examining the man carefully, one hand on a small pocketknife just in case.

-...............

-How you managed to smuggle him into your apartment without your roommates asking questions was a goddamn miracle. It was also fortunate that you had the unit right next to your elevator, so loading him onto one of the move-in day dollies and getting him up to the fifth floor was a cakewalk.

-In no time, you'd laid out some towels and dumped him unceremoniously onto the couch. He was covered in large gashes, bruises, scrapes, and dirt. You were able to get a closer look at him now: he was tall and broad-chested, with muscles that visibly strained the fabric of his coat. He had long, black hair twisted into braids and prominent sideburns. He looked like some kind of... warrior. While you gathered some supplies to at least clean and dress the wounds you could see, you wondered briefly if he was an actor or something.

-So what had left him this badly hurt? Whoever did this could, and hopefully would, catch a battery and assault charge at the very lightest for what they'd done. 

-The second you touched his arm with a cloth wet with peroxide, his eyes flew open and he looked around wildly. They were an intense violet- mesmerizing, totally unique, like tanzanite.

-”What are you doing? Stop that.”

-You certainly hadn't expected him to be so rude. “Excuse me? I'm trying to help you!”

-”You don't know what you're doing, lass,” he growled, taking the cloth from your hands and undoing the zipper of his coat. The black undershirt he wore was also in tatters, making it even easier for you to see the definition of his abs. It occurred to you, then, that this guy was fucking ripped, and it might not be a great idea to piss him off. “Why did you stop to help me?”

-”Couldn't just leave you. So... do you remember what happened to you? Can you tell me your name?”

-”...Xaldin.”

-”Come again?”

-”My name is Xaldin.”

-”Ah.” The two of you sat in silence for a while. He continued cleaning and dressing his wounds, and you contemplated the whole scenario. Either he remembered everything and wasn't talking, or he remembered perfectly and didn't want to say. Whatever the case, you decided not to press the issue. 

-After a long pause, you finally spoke. “I'm Y/N. I forgot to ask, do you want some water? Something to eat?”

-He looked up, eyebrows raised. “Tea would be lovely if you have any, lass. And anything to eat, really. Very hospitable of you.” He was gruff, straight to the point, yet... something about the way he held himself betrayed that rough exterior. And he hadn't tried to murder you or steal any of your things, which he would have had no trouble doing. That thought made you feel a bit better.

-It dawned on you, though, that there was no food in the apartment because you'd been gone for three months, so you carefully helped him down to the car and drove across town in search of a drive thru open at two in the morning. Finally, you settled on a local burger joint, and as you pulled in front of the menu, you began rattling off recommendations. He wasn't clueless, though- he'd seen these things before, once.

-Those went out the window, though, because Xaldin leaned past you, out the car window, and started ordering. “I'd like two large Number Fives with extra bacon, curly fries with both, and two chicken sandwiches with a side order of chicken tenders. And-”

-You cut him off furiously. “Xaldin! I don't have that much money!” you hissed. He shrugged lightly.

-”I do,” he replied, producing a heaping handful of little yellow... somethings. They were sparkly, sure, but you doubted very much that they would let you pay with what resembled a handful of D&D dice.

-”$48.20, please pull forward.”

-”Shit!” You cried. “Dude, what the hell?”

-”Don't worry about it,” Xaldin said as you pulled forward to the cashier.

-Of course, when Xaldin said “don't worry about it”, what he really meant was, “I'm going to intimidate the cashier into giving us that food”. The young man took one look at Xaldin and decided it wasn't worth the trouble; you sped off towards your apartment with two massive bags of food. Maybe picking this guy up was a mistake?

-But over the next few days, you became accustomed to each other. He stayed in the apartment, for the most part, resting and reading the books on your shelves. You watched him glance through Romeo and Juliet before bitterly flinging it to the side. In your conversations, you were quick to note that Xaldin was a pretty angry guy. Or, at least, it seemed that way. Other times, he was almost eerily placid, like he wasn't quite aware that he should be feeling or acting a certain way. He mentioned heartbreak and a past lover offhandedly once, and it made you wonder just how much this poor man had been through.

-He talked a bit about work, too, and how exhausting it had been. After a surprise termination at his old job, with no severance package or anything, the new job had worked him to the bone from day one. He worked with most of the same coworkers, which was both a positive and a negative according to him. Xaldin noted that this was his first proper “weekend” off in years, and of course it would be spent covered in lacerations.

-At this point, you produced a tall glass and a bottle of red wine from your wine rack. You  uncorked it for him and filled his glass about halfway.

-”Drink up,” you offered. “Sounds like you need it.”

-You spent more time together than you intended to, ditching syllabus week in favor of taking care of Xaldin. There was just something about him that drew you to him. It could have been his voice, the way he worded things, watching his walls come down bit by bit... 

-And just as you enjoyed being with him, you were starting to grow on him, too. He dared not smile in front of you, goodness no, but he showed his growing affection in different ways. When he picked up a package of sausages in Target and tore it open right then and there to get to the good stuff, you panicked and told him that it needed to be paid for first. He listened.

-He picked up on the hints of sadness in your voice when you talked about home, about the family you'd left behind, about all of the pressure on you to strive for greatness when, really, you just wanted to find happiness. Xaldin understood, and for the first time in a long time, he was genuinely sympathetic.

-It was at precisely that point that alarm bells started going off in his head and he knew he had to RTC. 

-He didn't plan on telling you he was leaving. He'd already caused enough turmoil in the past week. But whatever it was about you that he found so comforting, so relaxing- it was so easy to drop the warrior act and just be himself--

-That night, the two of you were mixing drinks and watching The Bachelor, thoroughly enjoying tearing the contestants apart. Even that part of you, he liked- you could be just as vicious as he was and he didn't have to pull punches or mind his manners. You could keep up with him. He hadn't had a connection like that since--

-Since--

-Xaldin's brain short-circuited and the next thing you knew, the man had turned to face you, gripping both of your arms gently yet firmly in either hand, gazing at you with those gorgeous tanzanite eyes. Your breath hitched in your throat as you realized what was happening.

-His eyes snapped shut as your lips collided with his. You pulled yourself into his lap and grabbed a fistful of hair as he deepened the kiss. He wasn't as rough as you imagined he would be; on the contrary, he moved slowly, precisely, enjoying every moment with you. When he nibbled at your lower lip, you obliged, and his tongue swept inside your mouth to explore.

-Five minutes turned into fifteen. Fifteen minutes turned into an hour. It wasn't until the doorknob on the front door rattled that the two of you scrambled off of the couch and darted to your room for a little more privacy.

-..............

-It killed Xaldin to leave the note. It really did. But there were too many liabilities, including his growing affections for you, and he needed to get back to the Castle. With a dull ache in his chest, one that he had long since forgotten, he placed the note on your nightstand and opened a corridor to take him home.

-You awoke the next morning, groggy and sore, with thoughts of cooking a big breakfast for the man. Your heart sank, however, when you noticed the empty spot next to you where Xaldin had been only the night before. Part of you expected this to happen, but it didn't make the hurt any less real: there was no way he was in the bathroom or something, he was just gone.

-A folded piece of notebook paper rested on your nightstand. You knew exactly what it was the moment you spotted it. Slowly, tears welling in your eyes, you unfolded it tenderly and read the neat cursive handwriting:

Y/N,

Sincerest apologies for leaving unannounced, my dear. It was the easiest way for us both. Thank you for showing me kindness, hospitality and warmth; thank you for offering me reprieve from an unforgiving world, however short; and thank you for being a ray of light in a sea of darkness. Until our next meeting.

Yours,

X ~~

[sunlightdances]

Blooming in the Shadows (4/6)

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader Rating: Overall PG-13 because of canon-typical violence. Also swearing. Warnings: Angst! Dean and the Reader swearing like sailors! Mutual pining with a dash of bed sharing and a slow burn romance added in for extra fluffy goodness. Summary: You and Dean Winchester are barely friends. His sudden reappearance from Hell brings you together, and you find yourself right back in the life you ran away from when you were a teenager. (Canon AU that takes place during season 4, specifically starting at 4.01 - for reference, Dean is 29) This chapter: We’re playing fast and loose with canon, friends. Dean, Sam, and the Reader make it to Pamela’s to try to get some answers about who pulled Dean out of hell. Dean has a realization.

Sam is scouring his laptop for any lore that could explain the mark on Dean’s arm, and Dean is researching this Pamela woman Bobby’s sending them to. He trusts Bobby, but he wants to go in prepared. He’s never been one for psychics poking around in his brain.

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. A game of rock paper scissors let Sam have his own bed, and to his credit he didn’t even gloat. Still, you’re on the opposite side of the bed from Dean, sitting as far away as possible without actually falling off the mattress.

Dean knows he fucked up earlier. He’s just-- he’s confused and he doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him. He’s worried that something’s going to come after the three of you again tonight, hence his suggestion that you all share a room.

He tells himself it’s not just because he wants you close, because that’s absolutely not it.

It’s not, even though he feels immeasurably better knowing there’s not a wall separating the two of you, knowing that he’ll at least be able to help you if something should happen.

“I’m going to get some food,” Sam announces, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. “Burgers?”

“I’d kill for a good burger right now,” Dean agrees. “Kid?” He nudges your foot.

“Sure,” you say, your jaw opening up in a massive yawn. “Some fries too?”

Sam chuckles. “You got it. Be back in a bit.”

You go back to your book, and Dean looks back at the laptop in front of him, a comfortable silence settling over the two of you for once.

“Can I ask you something?”

He glances at you, eyebrows raised. “Uh, sure. I guess.” He turns to face you more directly.

“Do you remember it?”

It’s not the question Dean expects you to ask. He knows what you mean, and he has no idea how to answer you. The truth? He remembers every single second. He re-lives it every night.

“I don’t remember a thing. It’s like-- a dream that you forget once you wake up.” He lies, and if his voice is a little shaky, if it’s obvious that he’s talking out of his ass, you don’t call him out on it.

“Do you--” You start, but then shake your head and fall silent. It irritates Dean for a reason he can’t explain, knowing that you’re reining yourself in around him.

“Just ask the damn question, sweetheart.” He snaps.

There’s no anger, no offense, nothing on your face. “Do you really hate me this much?”

Your words seem to echo in the room. Dean has no idea what to say. He doesn’t even know what to feel. Images flash like a movie through his mind, of the first time he met you at Bobby’s when his Dad dropped him and Sam off for a summer. He remembers the first time he looked at you and thought… maybe. He remembers the hurt he felt when he overheard you telling Sam you thought it was a good idea that he apply to college.

He remembers, distinctly, wanting to push you away the minute he realized how much you really meant to him, because he wasn’t sure he’d survive you leaving him. Not you.

“I don’t hate you.” He says, his voice hoarse.

You shake your head, “Then why--”

“I’ve always--” The sound of the door opening stops Dean’s confession, and his eyes shut involuntarily.

“Sorry,” Sam looks between the two of you. “Cheese on both burgers?”

.

.

.

The night is not easy. Dean feels the space between you like a physical wall, and knows you spend half the night awake staring at the ceiling like he is.

His mind won’t quiet. He’s thinking about you, about the things he never said, and he’s thinking about what’s going to happen over the next few days as he gets closer and closer to unraveling this.

He still has to have the inevitable conversation with Sam. He has to figure out where to go from here, because he honestly doesn’t know how to even begin to describe to his brother what he went through.

The night is uneventful, as far as whatever’s hunting them goes. He still feels almost static electricity every time you move, every time you accidentally brush up against him in the small, creaky bed.

There’s so much he wants to say to you. He wants to apologize. He wants to ask you why you left all those years ago. He wants to know if him asking you to say would have made any difference.

He wants to know how long you’re going to stay now.

He doesn’t say anything.

In the morning, he busies himself making coffee and tries not to feel your eyes on him from across the room. Sam assumes the two of you had another fight, and Dean lets him think it. It’s easier to explain.

Sam hears from Bobby that Pamela is another day’s drive, maybe two. You pack your bags in near silence, and get in the car as soon as the sun comes up.

You’re in the backseat, and Dean hates how comfortable you look there. It makes him want to see you there more often.

After an hour of driving and another ten minutes of begging him to stop, Dean pulls into a rest stop so you can get out. While you practically race off to the restrooms, Sam gives him the look. Dean knows that look.

“What,” he practically growls.

“When are you going to--”

“If you finish that sentence the way I think you’re going to…”

Sam’s eyes are imploring. “We were kids when she left. She was hurt, and she’s regretted it ever since.”

Dean’s eyes snap to Sam’s. “She tell you that?”

Sam shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “It’s obvious, dude.”

Dean clenches his jaw, looking out the window. “She had years to come back. She never did.”

Sam’s voice is quiet. “You ever think that she didn’t feel like she could?”

“We have bigger fish to fry, okay? We don’t have time for this.”

“It’s going to be hard to figure this out of you two are at each other’s throats the entire time!” Sam says, frustrated. “Look, I know there’s bad blood there and you’ve both said things--” He stops, sighing. “I’m just saying she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want to be. Maybe it’s time to put all that behind you.”

Dean watches as you walk back towards the car, and the thing is -- his gut knows Sam is right. His head knows it too. His heart? That’s an entirely different story.

Sam gets out so you can climb into the backseat, and you fold your legs underneath you. “So? How long before we get to Pamela’s?”

“Long enough that we’re going to stop for some food.” Sam says. His tone makes it sound like a suggestion, but Dean hears it for what it is. He’s begging for some normalcy and some conversation.

Dean rolls his eyes, but puts the car in drive. He meets your eyes in the rearview mirror and sees your questions swimming there. Perceptive. He shakes his head minutely. If Sam wants to have a pseudo-family meal, then that’s what they’ll do.

Dean finds a relatively crowded diner off the interstate that advertises the “best pie in three counties”, so really it’s a no brainer. He missed pie.

The three of you crowd into a booth - you and Sam on one side, and Dean on the other. An uncomfortable silence settles over you. Dean hates it, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. A pleading look to his brother when you’re not looking has Sam clearing his throat, asking about what you’ve been up to over the last year or so.

“Hunting, mostly.” You shrug, sipping your Coke. “I took a few odd jobs here and there, waitressing and stuff. But I just kept falling back into it.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, wryly, “I know how that goes.”

“Who are you hunting with?” Dean asks, and kicks himself when it comes out as more of a demand. “I-- anyone we know?” He tries to soften the question.

You rattle off a few names, but he doesn’t recognize any of them. He hopes Bobby put you in touch with these people, and that they aren’t just strangers. For a reason he doesn’t want to identify, he doesn’t like the idea of you putting your life into other people’s hands.

The three of you order lunch, and it gets quiet again as you wait for your food. You’re thumbing through your phone absently, and Dean wonders if someone’s waiting for you. The thought makes his stomach turn.

Sam shares some hunting stories and you do too, but it’s half hearted at best. Everyone’s preoccupied.

Dean rubs absentmindedly at the mark on his shoulder through his shirt with his free hand while he eats and listens to you and Sam chatter away. When he looks up, you’re staring at him, eyes laser focused on his hand.

He drops his hand to his side, and your eyes meet his briefly before focusing on Sam and whatever story he’s telling.

Dean hates that he likes the way it feels when you’ve got your eyes on him. He shakes it off, reminds himself that all this is temporary, and that you chose to leave. It was your choice.

It’s just the close quarters of the last few days making him feel like he’s going out of his mind, his palms itching to touch you, to see if the feelings he was hell bent on repressing when he was nineteen years old are still there, still strong enough to knock him backwards.

“Dean?” Sam brings him out of his thoughts. “We were saying we probably shouldn’t put this off any longer.”

Dean doesn’t look at you, can’t look at you. “Yeah,” he agrees noncommittally, “Let’s go.”

There’s money thrown on the table and a few extra french fries eaten, and then the three of you are piling back into the Impala. You have to squeeze by Dean to get into the backseat, and he grits his teeth at the feeling of your shoulder brushing is chest and the smell of your perfume. Jesus, he chastises himself, get it together.

An hour in the car is too long.

He’s on edge, and can’t shake the feeling that everything is going to go to shit once they get to Pamela’s. He wants answers, but part of him is afraid of what they’re going to find out.

.

.

.

Dean’s got the pedal almost to the floor boards as he drives as far as possible away from whatever the fuck just happened.

Something just burned Pamela’s eyes out. Burned them.

His hands are clenched tightly to the wheel.

Bobby met them at the hospital an hour earlier and then kindly told them to “get the hell out of here before whatever it is comes back”, and Dean didn’t think twice.

A quick glance in the rearview mirror shows you curled in on yourself, arms clamped around your bent knees. Dean tries not to remember the panic on your face when it happened.

Pamela is screaming - the light in the room and the high pitched noise too much for any of them to take.

On instinct, Dean reaches for you and for Sam, his hand gripping your elbow and Sam’s shoulder as you all turn away from the light. When it fades, it’s so quiet, Dean assumes the worst.

“Oh my god…” You whisper, and Dean lets go of you as he turns around.

“Fuck,” he curses, “Is she--”

“She’s alive, but barely,” Sam confirms, two fingers pressed to Pamela’s pulse. He starts talking to her quietly, trying to rouse her.

When she comes to, she just says one word - “Castiel.”

“I’m calling Bobby,” you say, and Dean finds himself whipping around, eyes a little wild.

“Stay in the room.” He says. It’s a demand. “We’re not getting separated. Not anymore.”

You don’t argue, don’t say anything else, but he watches your hands shake as you pull your phone out of your pocket and start to dial. You start to talk, urgent but quiet, as Sam tries to calm Pamela down.

For once in his life, Dean doesn’t know what the fuck to do. His instinct is screaming at him to run. To get out, to get far away, to stop trying to figure this out, because it’s just getting more and more violent every time.

Bobby arrived in record time with fake IDs and a story already made up for when he took Pamela to the hospital. You insisted on going with, and Dean felt like this whole thing was his fault, so into the Impala you went, all of you pacing in the waiting room while Bobby spun some unbelievable tale to get Pamela admitted.

He sees the way your hands are still shaking, and wants to go over to you, pull you into him, make you calm down, try to convince you everything was going to be okay, and for a second the urge is so strong he hates you for it.

The feeling is there for a split second before he swallows hard and watches as Bobby comes back, telling them Pamela would live, but that they need to go. Because whatever’s after them is sending a warning, and they can’t be here in a hospital where so many people have no idea what could be coming for them.

Now, Dean doesn’t know where the fuck to go or what the hell to do. He’s floundering, until Sam starts talking. “Dean… this is stupid, but-- what if we summon it?”

Dean watches you sit upright.

“Are you out of your mind?”

Dean doesn’t say anything.

“I know you two like your hare brained ideas, but--”

“I think we should do it.”

You stare at him, mouth agape. “You saw what happened to Pamela.”

“What other choice do we have? This thing is powerful and it pulled me out of hell. I need to know why.” Dean hears the pleading note in his own voice and fights off the desperation he feels. He needs answers.

Part of him knows that getting answers means you leaving shortly after, but he can’t keep imagining something worse happening to you because you got tangled up in this before they figure out what they’re dealing with.

He needs to end it.

Tonight.

.

.

.

They find an abandoned barn off the beaten path and decide it’s a good a place as any to do the summoning ritual.

Sam is inside while Dean busies himself getting supplies from the trunk, you hovering there, ready to help if he asks for it. When his hands are full, you take over, his murmured instructions to you about where to get the rest of what they need distracting him from thinking about what’s about to happen.

You lean over to reach something, and a glimmer catches his attention. When you straighten, he sees the necklace that’s fallen out of the collar of your shirt. The gold chain and single star pendant makes his breath catch.

“Your necklace.” He says, all he can manage.

You freeze like you’ve been found out. You try to act casual, but he sees how uncomfortable you are in your stance. “Thought we might need some luck.”

It’s right there, under the stars on the verge of doing something incredibly stupid and dangerous, that it becomes crystal clear to Dean. For his entire adult life, he ran from this, ran from his feelings, ran from you. As a teen, he pushed you away for fear that you’d see who he really is - his father’s son, a man who kills and hurts and gets hurt in return, and that you’d realize you’re too good for him.

He pushed you away, forced you out of the only home you’d ever known, because he thought in some dumb, teenage part of his brain, that it would be better for you in the long run.

He broke your heart and his own in the process, and he’s beginning to see it was all for nothing, because you’re here, wearing the necklace he bought you for your sixteenth birthday, because you thought it would bring you luck. You and him luck.

“Are you okay?” You ask, and he realizes he’s been staring, heart in his throat.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. I didn’t realize you still had that.”

“You gave it to me.” You say simply, and he opens his mouth to-- he doesn’t really know what he’s going to say, spill his guts probably -- and then Sam is coming towards them, signalling that he’s ready when they are.

“Ready for this?” You ask, and Dean shakes his head.

“Hell no.”

You snort. “Time to face the music.”

Dean stops short, wanting to tell you-- something. He has no idea what’s going to happen, but he can’t make the words come out. “Stay sharp in there,” he settles on.

You nod.

You, Dean, and Sam all step into the barn and shut the door behind you, the sound of it sounding as ominous as possible.

Dean prays to whoever’s listening that you make it through this.

He’s got something to tell you afterwards, after all.

[winmance]

Help, I’m Alive

Chapter 8

Three. That’s the number of kids Laurent’s uncle has killed.

One of them was a friend of Laurent’s, a twelve-year-old boy who talked to much, according to Laurent’s uncle. The other one was the kid of another doctor who didn’t deal well with the fact that Laurent’s uncle had lied to him by pretending he was in love with him.

It was concluded that both had committed suicide and since no notes were found, no one ever found out why they did it.

Laurent knows why they did it.

“It’s unfair,” Damen mumbles under his breath.

“I know.”

“He should be in jail.”

“I know.”

Laurent rolls over Damen until he’s almost lying on top of him, their naked bodies pressed against each other.

“Is your dad coming for Christmas? Or are you visiting?”

“No,” he sighs, “Kastor and Jokase are going over with the baby. I don’t- I don’t want to be with them.”

“Why not? It would make them uncomfortable.”

“Because I would be alone, and my dad would be sad for me, so would his friends and the rest of our family. I don’t want that.”

“How’s the weather in Greece during the winter?”

“Not as cold as here. It rains a lot, but it’s not super-hot. Why?”

“Well, if you want to make them awkward without breaking anyone’s heart, I could come with you. If you want, of course.”

“You would do that?” He asks, surprised.

“Yes.”

“Shit, that would be awesome! I can already imagine my brother’s face when sees you and Nicaise.”

Laurent smiles before placing an unexpected kiss on Damen’s lips.

“I love that you always include Nicaise.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re a great man, Damen,” he says, holding his face between his hands. “The best man.”

“And you just saved my Christmas. How can I say thank you?”

Laurent thinks about it for a moment before licking his lips, a habit he has whenever he feels a little insecure.

“Do the thing with your tongue again?”

He doesn’t have to ask twice.

  “Have you try asking the parents?” He asks one afternoon while they’re watching Nicaise’s judo match. “I mean, of the kids who… died. Maybe they could testify against your uncle?”

“Elias parents died  shortly after his death. They didn’t want to keep living without their son.”

“And the other one?”

“Aimeric’s dad offered him to my uncle. He knew what was happening.”

Damen looks at Laurent, an expression of horror on his face at the revelation. How could someone do that? How could a father, someone who’s supposed to protect their kid, have done something so awful?

“Nicaise won,” Laurent says with a proud smile, “you were right. Judo is a really good thing for him.”

    Luckily for Damen, there’s not a lot of kids who are named Aimeric who grew up in the same city as Laurent. He’s able to figure out Aimeric’s last name in only a few days, but finding his parents turned out to be harder.

Aimeric had three brothers to whom Damen sent an invitation on Facebook as soon as he found them.

He gets Aimeric’s parent’s address after three weeks of research.

   Lying to Laurent about where he’s going turns out to be the hardest part of his plan. Aimeric’s parents live eight hours away from Laurent’s place, which forces Damen to leave for an entire weekend.

Laurent sends him two pictures: the first one of Nicaise and him under a blanket eating burritos, the second of himself lying naked on top of the cover, with a simple sentence, “Wish you were here.”

He’s this close to turning his car around and to driving back home.

He doesn’t, of course. Instead, he goes to Guion and Loyse’s house and forces them to listen to what he has to say.

   Damen’s dad hugs Laurent so tight when he sees him that, for a moment, Damen is afraid he’s gonna break him.

Then he hugs Nicaise with almost as much strength and much to Damen’s relief (and probably Laurent’s, too), Nicaise doesn’t tell him to fuck off. To their surprise, he’s nice and polite, so much so that Laurent ends up asking him if he did drugs before coming.

“You raised him well.”

“No, I didn’t.”

He’s about to protest when his dad comes toward them, one of his friends under his arms.

“Where’s my grandchild? I need to introduce him to Aegus. He won’t believe how much of a sweet child he is!”

“He’s probably eating somewhere,” Laurent says. “Go where there’s food. He’ll be there without a doubt.”

Damen’s father claps on his friend’s back and pushes him toward the kitchen.

“Well, it will be hard for you to leave me now,” Laurent says with a smirk. “Your father has already adopted Nicaise.”

“Yeah, I think he’s spent more time with Nicaise than with Kastor’s baby,” he laughs, even though he’s a little ashamed of enjoying it so much. “I don’t mind staying with you forever, though.”

“Neither do I,” Laurent admits. “Come on, take me into the gardens.”

“You’ve already seen them.”

“That’s not what I asked,” he says with a wink.

If anyone asks, being caught deep inside Laurent in the middle of the garden by his brother was totally worth it, if not for the orgasm, then for the look on Kastor’s face.

  Nikkandros stops at his father’s house the next day. For a moment, Damen thinks about closing the door in his face and never talking to him again. It only lasts a moment, though. Instead, he invites him inside and they sit in Damen’s old room, the same way they used to when they were younger.

For the first hour, it’s just Nikkandros begging for forgiveness over and over again.

“Why?” Damen asks, “Why did you leave? Why didn’t you call?”

“I wasn’t sure you wanted to talk to me. I felt… I felt so guilty, Damen. You have no idea how guilty I felt. I left you, in that house. I tried to rescue you, but when I couldn’t, I just- I left you.”

“You did what you could, Nikkandros. I don’t blame you for it, and neither should you.” He sighs and rubs his face. He wishes things could simply go back to the way they were, just for this. “Is it my forgiveness that you were looking for?”

“Yes, but your friendship, too. I miss you like hell.”

“We could… we could try and talk over the phone. Send each other texts, like we used to. I can’t promise that things will be like before; we’ve both changed too much, but we can try.”

Nikkandros breathes out, relief washing through him, and he turns toward Damen with his little finger in the air.

“Pinky swear?”

“Hell yeah, pinky swear!”

    “Fuck yeah!” Nicaise yells when he opens his present.

“Language!” Laurent reprimands him. “I swear to god all this kid does is swear.”

“Yeah, I wonder who he gets that from,” Damen says with a smirk, which earns him a kick in the ribs.

“Be nice, or else I won’t give you your present.”

“You’ve already given me my present,” he frowns.

Laurent just smiles and drops a kiss on his lips before getting up and walking out of the house.

“Where is he going?” He asks Nicaise.

“I don’t know. Not far I guess, considering he’s in pajamas.”

Sure enough, Laurent is back only a few minutes later, an enormous box in his hands.

“The fuck is it?” Nicaise asks as he goes to help Laurent carry it.

“You should hurry up and open it,” Laurent tells him as soon as the box is on the floor.

Damen doesn’t waste any more time and begins to tear open the box, only for the top to be pushed off by the thing inside instead.

“Burger!” He exclaims, taking his dog in his arms and hugging him as tight as he can without hurting him. Burger starts licking his face; his tail wagging in happiness. “I missed you so much buddy, you have no idea.”

“Your dog is a Maltese?” Nicaise asks, dumbfounded. “You’re like, the tallest man I have ever seen, and you’ve got a Maltese? Are you serious Damen?”

“He’s my baby!” Damen defends himself, “Look at him! Who’s a good boy? Yeah, it’s you, my love, yes it’s you!”

He closes his mouth so Burger can lick him properly, apparently as happy as he is to find him again.

“He kisses you with that mouth,” Nicaise tells Laurent before going back to his own presents.

“How did you find him?” Damen asks. “Please tell me you didn’t steal him.”

“No, I didn’t. I went to every vet I could find and asked them to put an out an announcement for him. Turns out he was adopted by a very sweet old couple, who were very touched by your story. They said they took him because he was gonna be put down, but that they’re too old to take care of him properly. I promised we would send pictures though.”

“Thank you.” He says, kissing the top of Burger’s head and extending his hand for Laurent to take it. “You have no idea how much this means.”

“I do. It means as much as you going to Aimeric’s parents and asking them to testify against my uncle.”

“How do you-“

“My lawyer called me. His mother testified and so did his brothers. She kept letters from their exchanges, where my uncle promised Aimeric’s father a good position and some other fucked up things in exchange for his son. Uncle went to their house to make sure they burned all the letters, but Loyse took them out of the fire.”

“Can they prove your uncle wrote them?”

“Yes, they can. Even if they couldn’t, now that someone has started to talk, other men came to us and told us he abused them too.”

“You’re gonna win,” he breathes out.

“I’m gonna win,” Laurent repeats, “and my uncle will roast in prison for the rest of his life.”

“Shit!” Damen yells, pulling on Laurent’s hand until he falls on the floor on top of him.

Laurent laughs and lets Damen kisses him, not even protesting when Burger gets on top of them, wanting to celebrate too.

“I fucking love you, Laurent De Vere,” he whispers, touching his forehead to Laurent’s.

“I fucking love you too, Damianos Akielos.”

[the-borhap-boys]

Bruises Fade: Chapter Two

Slow burn Ben!Roger Taylor X OC

Summary: Amelia Mcallen, an old friend of Freddie Mercury’s just came back from traveling abroad and she finally meets his band for the first time. She grows close with most of the band but grows to hate one man in particular. Can their hatred for each other ever change?

Note: This chapter kind of sucks but I wanted to get it out so I didn’t destroy it through over editing like I tend to do.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of abuse

Word count: 3406

When she got the call to meet the boys at the rehearsal space and bring dinner Millie jumped to her feet. Louis and she were curled up on the couch, watching some cooking show and she felt bad to leave him but needed time out of the house. Louis offered to drive her and she accepted his offer, giving them more time to spend together.

In the car his fingers rested on her thigh and he smiled over at her as she talked about her day. Since she’d only known the band for a couple of months, she hadn’t wanted them to meet yet. She didn’t know how Freddie would react to her having a boyfriend and she also didn’t need her two separate worlds to collide.

Louis was usually peace, warm mugs of tea, early bedtimes, steady jobs, gentle classical music and studying by the fireplace. The band and Freddie were excitement, shots of vodka and drunken nights, cigarette smoke and pounding eardrums. They were the complete opposite of each other and she liked being able to cross between the worlds seamlessly.

“So when will I get to meet the infamous Freddie?” Louis questioned

She swallowed softly, trying to think of an answer that wouldn’t upset him.

“Oh, they’re pretty busy right now and since we had classes and everything….” she trailed off letting him figure the answer out for himself.

“So, you’re what? Embarrassed of me?” a hint of anger slipped through his usually calm demeanor.

Her shoulders rose to her ears at the familiar hiss.

“No, I just don’t think you would get along very well but if you want me to I can plan a dinner or something or if you want you can meet them today or,” she babbled on with anxiety until his thumb stroked the inside of her thigh.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, baby. I can meet them whenever you feel comfortable,” he soothed.

She sighed and relaxed back into her seat, entwining her fingers with his.

“But I would like to knew the men you are spending all your time with. got to make sure you aren’t cheating on me,”

She turned to him and snatched her hand back from his.

“Why should it matter who I spend time with? Shouldn’t you trust me?” she questioned angrily.

She didn’t enjoy being mistrusted and the idea that it falls on the band to make sure she didn’t cheat on her boyfriend pissed her off.

“Sure, I trust you but I don’t trust men around you. I mean, just look at how beautiful you are,”

Heat rose to her cheeks and she tucked her head against the window shyly.

He continued on “anyways women aren’t always the most trustworthy. Remember my ex? She was always cheating on me, you could be the same.”

The tinge of happiness she felt from his compliment melted away and she turned towards him again in fury.

“Because one woman cheats you think we all cheat. I love you Louis. I would never cheat on you.”

He yanked his hand off her thigh and slammed it down on the console in between our seats.

“Do not yell at me in her car,” he yelled. “What had I told you about your temper? You need to learn to control it or we can’t be together.”

Tears pricked against her eyelids and her nose began to burn as she pressed herself against the door. His eyes glared forward onto the foggy street not once looking at her.

“I’m not yelling,” she whimpered. “but I’m sorry for upsetting you,”

He wouldn’t say a word and as they rode in silence tears dripped down her cheeks. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Her fingers trembled and she sniffled trying to hold back sobs.

When they pulled into the parking lot of the rehearsal space, he turned to her and gently grabbed her hands in his. She kept her eyes on her jeans, picking out every flaw in the cloth and trying not to make eye contact.

“I’m sorry for making you cry but you understand her jealousy, right?” he said sweetly.

She nodded hoping to keep his anger at bay. She felt lucky it was just a small outburst and there were no true repercussions. He brought her hands to his lips kissing each knuckle softly.

“I love you my dear”

“Love you too,” she murmured before pressing a kiss to his cheek and climbing out of the car.

As he pulls out of the parking lot, she watched him, waving until he was out of sight.

“Who was that?” Rogers husky voice asked in her ear.

She jumped and grabbed her heart with her free hand. He doubled over in laughter and after she caught her breath, she glared up at him.

“That was no one and that was mean,” she grumbled.

He chuckled slightly, his chest still heaving from laughing so hard and she tried not to stare at the half opened linen shirt draped over his shoulders.

“So, is that why you wouldn’t go out with me?” he questioned before taking a drag from his cigarette.

“No, that was because you are a cocky asshole,”

His eyes narrowed and he blew his smoke directly in her face forcing her to turn away coughing and waving her hand around. She tried to walk away from him before she dropped the bags of food balanced in her arm. Before she took three steps, he grabbed her shoulder and spun her around roughly. He plucked a bag out of her arms and walked beside her into the studio.

“What was that for?”

“I am not an asshole,”

Inside the studio John and Brian were occupied with actually rehearsing while Freddie leapt to his feet the minute he saw them and swooped her into a hug. When she stepped out of his grasp, he looked at her face and scrunched his face up in confusion.

“Had you been crying?” he questioned.

She wiped her eyes quickly and felt a few tears but she can’t tell him about the fight right now.

“No, it was raining,” she said.

Roger looked up from rummaging through the bag of foods and smirked knowingly.

“it was not raining.” He said bluntly. “The tears might have something to do with the guy she kissed in the car,”

“Would you shut the fuck up Roger,” she growled.

He bit into a burger and sat back on the floor reclining on one hand, his legs spread in front of him.

“Ooh princess has a mouth on her,”

She went to take a threatening stepped towards his relaxing body but Freddie grabbed her by the shoulders and stepped in front of her.

“Since when are you kissing boys in cars?”

“Since it was my boyfriend,” she spat angrily. “does that make you happy?”

Freddie’s face lit up and he twirled her around. John’s warm chuckle rang through the room forcing her to smile slightly.

“Since when have you had a boyfriend? When can we meet him? Is he treating you right?” Freddie questioned.

“I’m sure you’ll meet him soon. Yes, he treats me fantastically,” the last bit felt almost painful but she wasn’t going to say her boyfriend yelled at her when she didn’t clean his socks the way he liked or how he accused her of cheating on him if she was even thirty minutes late anywhere.

“I’m happy for you darling,” Freddie smiled and she couldn’t help but feel peaceful.

She was with her boys eating burgers, drinking beer, arguing and laughing. No one was going to hurt her.

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

   They’d been rehearsing for a few hours and she had papers from her literature class spread across the floor as she lounged. Her entire body was spread eagle across the floor and her head laid face down on the linoleum when she felt a gentle pressure on her back. She glanced up quickly to see Roger with his boot resting on the small of her back.

“What would happen if I stepped on her,” he mused aloud. She glanced around the room to see John chuckling as Brian rolls his eyes.

“Would she just snap in half? You know fragile little bird bones and all,”

She rolled onto her back and his foot landed heavily on her stomach forcing out a heavy exhale.

“I do not have fragile bones,” she groaned.

He bent down and lifted her arm off the floor where it lied limply. As he shook it back and forth violently, she giggled and try to pull away from his grasp.

“Look at her Deaky. She’s just ever so weak.” He laughed as she finally rolled away and jumped to her feet. He began advancing towards her hands outstretched, fingers wiggling in the air.

“Who thinks our little Millie is ticklish?” he said over his shoulder to the boys. Freddie jumped to his feet, bouncing up and down.

“I know she is,” he laughed watching Rogers antics.

“Leave the poor girl alone, Roger,” Brian said as he continued plucking away on the red special

“Yeah Roger! Leave me alone,” she giggled as she tried to hide behind John. Her plan didn’t succeed when he grabbed her arm pulling her out from behind him and holding her right within Rogers grasp.

Rogers fingers crawled up and down her sides and she sucked in hiccupping gasps over her giggles. He threw his head back in delight at her reaction as she tried to wriggle away from the two men holding her hostage.

“Can someone help me?” she squealed. “Please! Freddie! Brian!”

Neither man came to her rescue and she continued thrashing around. Just when she thought he was finally done Rogers arms encircled her waist and he threw her over his shoulder. She screamed and kicked as she tried to climb off him.

“Hold still before I drop you,” he laughed but she began panicking and her thrashing stopped as anxiety seized her body.

“Roger put me down!” she yelled, her tone changing from playful to angry.

He continued laughing carrying her around the room like some kind of prize but as she slowly got quieter and quieter he grew worried. He lowered her to the ground and she walked over to her books silently. She wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone. The tone in the room changed from joyful and playful to somber in a moment.

She laid back down on the ground and began studying again as the boys picked up their instruments. No one mentioned the sudden change and she silently thanked them in her head.

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

After hours of rehearsing Millie was half asleep on the floor with John’s sweater under her head and Brian’s jacket on top of her. The boy’s voices slip into her sleep muddled brain and she tried to understand their conversation.

“Freddie, she was sobbing when they pulled in and she wouldn’t even look in his eyes,” Roger muttered.

“Well what are we supposed to do? Attack her boyfriend because he made her cry? Roger, couples fight maybe if you stayed with a girl for more than one night you would know,” Brian said

“Oh piss off. He is not treating her right, I just knew it.”

“Maybe you should just…” John started.

Before he could finish, she rubbed her eyes sleepily and sat up.

“good morning gorgeous,” Freddie chuckled.

She groaned softly and a smile spread across Rogers lips as he stood above her, hands on his hips.

“What time is it?” she grumbled

“About 4 in the morning,” Brian answered as he helped her to her feet.

She jumped up, fully awake and began throwing her school books into her bag. All the boys stared at her in confusion but she didn’t have time for them right then.

“Fuck shit fuck! He’s going to kill me,” she said to herself.

she began to riffle through her wallet looking for change but when she didn’t find any she threw it to the side in frustration.

“Do any of you have enough for a phone call?”

Brian dug around in his pocket and pulled out a couple of coins. As she dialed the home number her hands shook not prepared for the screaming match about to ensue.

“Where are you,” he asked, deadly calm.

“I went and spent the night at a friends house, I’m so sorry I didn’t call we were watching tv and listening to music and the time just escaped me and then I..”

He interrupted her babbling “What friend?”

“Laura finch. You haven’t met her.” she held her breath expecting him to blow up. He didn’t and she exhaled slowly. “I’ll be home first thing tomorrow morning. I promise.”

Nothing.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Nothing.

The dial tone began to beep before she even took the phone away from her ear and the tears began to prickle to her eyes again. She rested her head against the phone box, letting the cold seep through her cheek.

When she turned around Roger was leaning against the wall. He frowned in contemplation and they stared at each other silently, soaking in each other’s presence.

“Can I hug you?” she asked so softly she could barely hear herself.

He didn’t respond but opened his arms and enveloped her tightly. The scent of sweat and nicotine clung to him and soft tendrils of hair brushed against her cheek as she pressed her face tight against his shoulder. His fingers nearly dug into her waist but it was a comforting tightness and she felt like she could stay there forever.

Too soon she had to step back, his fingers dragging along her waist as she pulled away.  

“Do you think you could drive me to a friends house tonight?”

He stared down at her blankly.

“No,” her mouth gaped open at his answer “You can spend the night with one of us,”

She backed away slightly and stared at him in confusion as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall again.

“Roger, I’m not staying with one of you. I would get in so much trouble,”

“With your boyfriend? Millie, that’s not ok.” He said calmly stepping forwards and forcing her back. “You shouldn’t let him treat you like that,”

She turned away, not able to look at his piercing blue eyes any longer. His hand fell heavily on her shoulder and she jerked away quickly.

“You don’t get it Rog. He’s a good man. He just gets angry sometimes,”

When she glanced back up at him his face is flushed and his jaw was clenched.

“I’m not driving you to a friends house. You can stay at my place or one of the other boys,”

She stormed back into the rehearsal space and grabbed her bag off the floor. Brian jumped off the couch at her entrance and put his hands up in a calming gesture.

“Can one of you drive me to a friends house?” she asked angrily.

“Millie, its 4 in the morning just stay at Freddie’s place for the night,” Brian said stepping towards her.

Roger busted back into the room, mumbling under his breath and kicking anything he could find.

“Stubborn brat,” she heard him mutter. She glared at the back of his head as he stomped over to the drum kit. Her fingers clenched tightly on the straps of her bag and she almost bite her tongue but she just couldn’t. She’d had enough and just snapped.

“You know apparently I’m a stubborn brat because I don’t want to go back to a random man’s house,” she growled angrily towards Brian making sure she was loud enough for Roger to hear. He stood up from the drums and stormed over to her until they were inches apart.

“First of all, since when are we just random men? Second you are being stubborn because you are willing to went back to a man who is hurting you when we all want to help you,” he hissed, poking her in the shoulder with each word.

Her mouth gaped open at his accusation and she glanced around the room hoping for some sort of back up.

“Close your mouth, love. You’ll catch flies,” he sneered.

“you know nothing about her boyfriend and even if he was hurting me which he is not,” she added the last bit quickly making sure to defend Louis. “Why do you care?”

His eyes met hers for a second before he rolled them exaggeratedly and stormed away. He threw his hands in the air.

“Fine, you know what. I don’t care. I’m so sorry for caring about you Millie. What do you want me to do? Punish herself for caring about you?” he yelled sarcastically. “Why can’t you open up to us for once? We try to be nice to you and you seem like you want a friend but then you just retreat back into your little shell every time,”

“I do not retreat into a shell,” she said, her eyebrows furrowing as she wrung her hands together.

“Whatever. I don’t care anyways.” He mumbled “even if I did it doesn’t matter because you had a monopoly on who can care about you,”

She ran her hand through her hair and glanced down at the ground. When she looked back up Roger was sitting at his drums, his fingers tapping away on the rim of the snare. The other three boys all stared between the two of us accusingly.

“Fine! I’ll stay at Freddie’s. Does that make everyone happy?”

“You do know that Roger and I live together darling,” Freddie questioned.

She grabbed her bag tightly and exhaled slowly.

“Yes. Of course. But that shouldn’t matter since Roger doesn’t care about me anyways,”

“Immature children,” Brian muttered as he put the red special in its case. John nodded in agreement. Millie sat on the couch waiting for them to finish packing their stuff. Too pissed to help.

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

When they pulled up outside the flat after dropping off Brian and John both mine and Rogers tempers had cooled but neither of them were speaking to each other.  The rain had finally begun to fall and she began to shiver as soon as I climb out of the van. Freddie pulls me under his arm tightly, leading me up the steps as Roger walks ahead of us.

Inside the flat she sat on the edge of the couch tapping her foot anxiously as Freddie pulls out blankets and pillows for her. Roger retreated inside his room, too irritated to even look at her. After Freddie wished her goodnight and turned off the lights, she sat up in the dark watching the muted tv. Just before she laid down Roger walked silently back through the room, dropping a stack of clothes on her head.

“What the hell was that for?” she hissed, sitting up and glaring after his retreating body.

“Fred told me to bring you something to sleep in,

Her dreams were full of drum sticks and calloused fingers surrounded by soft blonde curls entwined with the smell of nicotine and a faint hint of cologne.

When she woke the next morning, Freddie was sitting at the table eating breakfast and she already knew she needed to hurry up and get home. She rushed to change back in her clothes and decided to walk back to her flat considering it wasn’t too far. Her fingers fumbled frantically over the buttons on the front of her shirt and she was trembling too much to fasten her necklace. She shoved it in her pocket.

When she stepped back into the kitchen Freddie yanked her into a tight hug.

“If you ever need anything don’t hesitate to call. We would all do any thing to help you darling,” he murmured.

She nodded slowly before pulling away and began the short walk home. As she got closer to her flat her feet dragged more and more, unsure of what would be waiting for her inside. Would she get a kind soft boyfriend with warm tea, ready to study for their next exam together or would she get a monster who was going to scream until she was curled in a ball. Either way she knew she just had to grin and bear it. She just shouldn’t have stayed out so late. It was her fault anyways. It was always her fault. She just needed to do better. If she did better Louis wouldn’t be angry with her and Roger wouldn’t be angry with her.

@shutup-sorry