#it was written by Pocketknife in Ao3

[rayn1lazd]

"My Autumn"

[alwerakoo]

'Keep the car running'

TMNT 2012 Leonardo & Raphael & Donatello & Michelangelo Written for @tmnt-secret-santa-2024 PROMPT: Rainstorm

AO3

---

It's April who first finds the box.

The attic of the Farm House is a dusty place - full of sheet-covered furniture, old lamps, and cobwebs.

The winter air brushes past the small window - unfinished and bordered with yellow foam and insulation.

Leo has never been in an attic before. He wishes it wasn't so cold.

The chill settles in his bones like needles, digging into his muscles and making his knee buckle.

He knows April and Raph saw him limp up the ladder, but she didn't say anything.

He's not really sure why they brought him along.

Maybe to just get him out of bed.

The thought that he's now the type of person that needs to be tricked into getting out of bed makes him want to close in on himself until there's nothing left.

April looks back at him and smiles. It looks genuine. He's not sure what she's smiling about; he has done and accomplished exactly nothing besides staring out the window and turning an old toy car in his hands.

(He's still holding it. Mikey might like it.)

But she looks kind and pretty in the blue winter sun, so he forces a smile back.

It's not like Raph has been any help either.

He's currently sitting on the edge of an old drawer, and he almost has to bend in half to not hit his head on the slope of the roof.

He somehow makes it look almost casual, and if Leo were anyone else, maybe he wouldn't notice his sai, tucked away behind his wrist, carefully carving away at the wood.

“It must be somewhere in here,” April says, maybe more to herself than to Leo.

She reaches for another box, tucked deeper into the corner, pushing a stack of books over in the process.

That makes Raph look up, briefly.

They're looking for an old camera her family used to own, that probably doesn't work anymore but it's still worth a try.

The boredom really is rotting them from the inside out.

April cuts the tape holding the carton box together using a pocketknife - with the precision of a skilled fighter and the carelessness of a teenager.

She cuts her finger, but only a little.

Raph walks to stand behind her, maybe to make sure she doesn't take out a whole hand next - or maybe just to peek inside the box.

“Woah,” he says suddenly, which is an unexpected reaction. Then he laughs, which is more his style. “Is this yours?”

April scoffs, looking behind her shoulder to glare at him.

“What are you laughing at? You're a dick,” she says, without any real vigor, which means she's not really upset.

Probably. Leo doesn't pretend like he always understands his friend. Or girls, for that matter.

He walks up to them, and when his knee swells with pain, he doesn't let it show. If he did, they would start asking why he never uses the cane Donnie made for him, and he'd rather deal with hundreds of needles tearing his flesh apart, than to answer that particular question.

At first, he's not quite sure what he's looking at.

It's maps and books, handmade drawings, journals, something like suspenders, and strangest of all - a dusty pair of binoculars.

“It's my dad's,” April explains. “I think he used to be really into bird-watching when we still lived in the countryside.”

That makes a bit more sense. Leo was wondering why there were so many birds sketched onto the covers.

He goes to kneel down. It hurts, but if he doesn't sit right now, he might just fall over.

He's not really sure why he reaches into the box.

Maybe for something to do with his hands. Maybe he's just bored. Maybe it's already sitting right in front of him, and he'll die if he doesn't stop thinking about the pain.

He takes the first book in his hand.

It's small and heavy, and dusty; with a watercolor-ed bird looking right back at him from the cover.

He doesn't recognize it, which is not surprising because he doesn't know anything about birds.

The small text below the title lets him know it's a mockingbird, which might be a joke. He's not really sure.

“Wow,” Raph grins. “Didn't know your dad was an elite member of the Big Nerd Club.”

“Come up with something original for once, I'm begging you,” April says.

Leo knows he's been a little too silent for a little too long, but he can't bring himself to put the book down.

It's stupid and he shouldn't care, because he's sixteen, the city he left behind is being devoured from inside out, his father might be dead, and this is the last thing that should be on his mind.

And yet.

On days where he wakes early, right before dawn, like he's still being pulled along by old habits, like trying on clothes that don't quite fit him anymore – he likes to sit on the porch.

He likes the cold sharp air, how it fills in his lungs, how it shakes up his mind from the fog he so often finds himself in nowadays.

And when he sits there, he hears birds.

He always liked it, in an off-handed, natural way; the way he likes to hear wood splintering in the fireplace or the rain knocking on a window. Something he and many others have filed away as ''nice'' and simply never thought any more about it.

He looks at the mockingbird on the cover.

But maybe, he thinks. Maybe it would be nice to see them for once.

All of a sudden, Raph quiets.

And then there it is, that small moment where Leo can almost feel him think, his brain too fast to turn back now.

“You know,” Raph says, very quietly.

Leo puts the book down.

“No,” he answers without even hearing the question.

Raph raises his hands in a defensive gesture. Or at least Leo thinks it is; with his sai still held between his fingers it really could go either way.

“I didn't even say anything.”

“You did,” April says for Leo.

She sounds a little more upset now, and Raph looks slightly apologetic.

It makes something in Leo's stomach twist, because it used to be so hard to make Raph look visibly guilty about anything.

He's been walking on eggshells.

***

They find the camera in one of the boxes, virtually indistinguishable from the rest. It's old and smells of rust, but April says Donnie might get it to work.

He probably will.

Leo's muscles tighten when he walks back to the ladder.

That same evening, there's a box left on his bed.

***

He doesn't touch it for the first week.

Mostly out of some sense of pride. And because the thought of walking up a ladder again makes the skin in the back of his knees crawl.

But a week passes and then he's laying wide awake in the middle of the night – mind uneasily blank and the taste of blood in his mouth.

He was granted the privilege of having a whole room to himself – a small guest bedroom with a pullout sofa.

(April wanted to let him have her bed, which just felt wrong in a hundred different ways.)

He and his brothers haven't shared a room since they were little. He never realized this was something he was going to miss.

He sits in his bed, and it’s the first thing he sees.

Leo watches the box for a moment, like he's waiting for something that never happens. He's been doing that a lot lately.

He scoots to the edge of the bed to pull it closer, his fingers shaky and face numb, reaching one hand behind to turn on the lamp.

The mockingbird stares back.

He might get the joke now. It's not very funny.

The paper feels thin in his fingers.

His eyes glaze over the text, too hazy to catch anything. But they stay on the drawings.

Leo sits on his bed and watches those watercolor birds until it's morning again.

***

When he first wanders into the forest, he's not really sure what he's looking for.

Bird, preferably.

There's fresh snow on the ground, and his breath turns into white steam.

He's quiet and soft on his feet after years and years of practice, even when his bones grind against each other in a limp.

When he first sees them, he doesn't really know what to do with himself.

He stands there, his face cold and wet against his itchy scarf, and watches them from afar.

It's just birds: perfectly ordinary; stark against the white of the trees.

It's the first time in his life that he has ever considered mistaking a crow for a raven as anything remotely important, or even of any particular interest.

And yet – here he is.

He can't make up his mind; the vague images from the book too far away in his mind to be of any real use.

He fails. In a soft, gentle way.

He's still there, they're here, and next time: he'll know.

They don't sing so much as they scream, and it's all perfectly familiar and predictable.

He doesn't notice the time pass until his knee buckles.

***

He spots the bird after a few days.

It's not all that surprising; judging by the fact that he's the one stumbling upon what is presumably already a perfectly established routine.

The bird lands on a branch, like it's been doing it its whole life – which is probably true. It ruffles its feathers, all pale blues and grays; wings patterned like stained-glass.

He brought a chair this time. He tells himself that this is the sort of hobby that allows a kind of glamorized laziness, which is true enough.

He watches it sit, thrill quietly like an old wind-up toy waiting to be picked up.

It always made him think a little – how much animals seem to just idle. But they don't, not really.

They're doing exactly what they're supposed to.

He comes back the next day, and there are binoculars hung from his neck.

***

He forgets this is something he should be embarrassed about.

He's always been like this; maybe a little too enthusiastic and explosive about everything that made him the way he is. He wears his love on his sleeve, seemingly much to everyone’s annoyance.

They must've noticed, but it's only after a few weeks that someone asks.

“So, like.” Mikey interrupts himself, stuffing a thick sandwich that is mostly unevenly cut bread into his mouth. “Are you, like, an optician now?”

Leo frowns.

“What?”

He picks up more eggs on his fork. He's going to the forest right after breakfast, and he already learned the hard way how hunger makes the cold stick to his bones.

He didn't even realize how little he's been eating until now.

Donnie puts down his fork, running a hand over his forehead.

“Ornithologist,” he says, a little tired. “Is that what you mean?”

“Hey, give him some credit,” Raph huffs. “I'm surprised he even knows what that word means.”

Leo sits on their words for a moment, absentmindedly watching Casey trying to slip more of his eggs into Donnie's glass.

“I just like going outside,” he says, finally. Then, just to be a little mean: “You should try it sometime, Don.”

***

The next time he leaves, he leaves behind a handful of seeds, shamelessly stolen from April's coop. He's sure she wouldn't mind.

When he comes back, they're gone.

He can't know, but he likes to think the blue bird was at least a bit grateful.

***

“It's a bluejay,” he says during dinner. He knows this now, and it fills him with unreasonable pride. “The bird I keep seeing.”

Raph raises his head, and almost imperceptibly – looks at Donnie. They share a glance, the sort they seem to exchange a lot of lately.

They must know Leo can see it, and that makes something angry and bitter spark up inside his chest. But it doesn't catch tonight.

“Cool,” Raph says.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Mikey asks, mouthful of Donnie's half-raw chicken.

Leo pokes at his empty plate.

“... I don't know. They're hard to tell apart.”

But that makes his brain tick.

***

It's a girl.

He spends hours poring over his books to figure it out, and it makes him wish he could call April's dad.

(That thought makes his stomach hurt until he lays down for the night.)

He tells Mikey over a game of monopoly, where half the pieces are long missing, and most of the rules are made up and change every time.

“That's so cool,” he says. “Can I name her? I'm great at naming things.”

Leo doesn't offer to let him see her, and Mikey doesn't ask.

***

The bluejay they named 'Clunk' likes to ruffle her feathers when she lands.

That's mostly how he tells her apart from the others.

There's a sort of foolish, egotistical part of him that likes to think he'd know Clunk even without it; that he'd be able to point her out in a crowd of others with his eyes closed. It's probably not true.

But he's able to point Clunk out when she sits on her branch and ruffles her feathers, and that's good enough for now.

He started to call her 'his'.

His Clunk.

She's not a pet. He's not sure she knows he's anything more than part of the everchanging background.

He thinks he likes it this way.

The thing is – he's not really sure why birds grab him in the way they do.

He thinks them pretty, sure. But there's also that itch he hasn't been able to scratch for so long; doing something new and doing it right.

Failing makes him want to come back over and over again, just to finally get it right.

There are no stakes. If he fails, there are no broken bones, no failed missions, no disappointed gazes. Her life doesn't weigh down on his shoulders with the force of an entire world.

He cares for her, of course. Maybe unreasonably so. But he could disappear, and her life would go on like always.

She'd ruffle her feathers, aim her gaze where his chair used to be, and maybe, for just a moment – linger.

And that's enough.

***

He measures time in pain.

Or more carefully – the lack thereof.

It's still rare, more of a sudden gasp than a deep breath, but his bones ache just a little less, his shell smooths just a little bit.

He started using Donnie's cane.

It's blue and fits into his grasp like a perfect mold, and he knows they're looking at him.

He knows the worry in their eyes looks deceptively close to pity; he knows they talk about him when he's not there.

But he lays it out for himself one night.

Or rather – Donnie does, rather incessantly, probably resisting the urge to hit him over the head with that cane.

It's this, or it's no cane, no walks, and no birds.

He hates that this is something they can hold over his head so easily now.

(Or at least, for the most part. It feels good to be known.)

April tells him he looks 'distinguished', which makes Raph laugh so hard he almost falls over.

Leo still takes that to heart. His chest is warm.

***

Months pass with winter, and the snow falls and melts.

There are more birds in the forest now. He notes them down, compares pictures in books and sketches, listens to so many new voices.

Clunk keeps coming back.

His heart feels full.

***

The rain starts out soft at first. He feels it coming in his knee.

He falls asleep to its rhythm, and it's still there in the morning, falling down the dusty windows they still hadn't come around to cleaning.

He only starts to worry in the evening.

The wind picks up, and April tells them it might be a storm.

It is.

Leo sits on the couch, rubbing his hands together.

He hasn't gone outside today, and his body itches.

“You good?” Casey asks when he starts to chew on his nail.

“... I'm worried about Clunk.”

Honesty is hard and it passes through his throat like he might choke on it.

His brothers quiet.

They're all sitting in the living room, and he can see their worry lines in the faint light of candles.

“... She's a bird,” Casey says.

April jabs him with her boney elbow for it, and he winces in pain, grabbing at his ribs.

“Yeah,” Mikey adds. “She's, like, built for this.”

Leo twitches.

His leg aches like a pile of old bones.

“She's gonna be okay. She's a tough lady, right?” Raph looks to Donnie, like he would know.

And Donnie nods, like he does.

Bluejays can mimic hawks. It's a defense mechanism. They open their beaks and make a sound that makes every small animal turn its head, fur stand straight on their collars, feathers ruffle.

But they're not hawks. They can bend their wings, break their bones, strain their voice all they want to, and still – they never will be.

Leo looks outside.

They forgot about the chairs on the front porch. The wind pushes them back against the railing, cold and loud.

The wood splinters.

Leo stands.

And then he runs.

***

The ground is wet and soft under his feet, and it's hard to imagine it was ever solid.

It's slippery and uneven, and he falls over himself over and over again.

His knee burns though his flesh.

He must've hit it somewhere. There's mud layering a patch of raw skin, pinkish and ugly.

He used to be the fastest out of his brothers.

Now, they catch up to him before he even gets past the tree line.

It's Mikey who grabs his arm first, pulling him to a harsh stop.

His hold hurts and Leo wants to scream. He wants to shred his throat raw, and he wants to dig into his own skin until he finds the part that betrays him again and again.

He thinks he might be angry.

Just maybe, because when Mikey turns him around to pull him into a hug, he falls limp.

“Dude,” Mikey breathes. Leo barely hears him over the wind. “What the fuck?”

“I'm”

He wants to say something, anything, but his face falls numb, stuck on his own thoughts.

Mikey shouts something over his shoulder. Suddenly, there's something wet and miserable that might've once been a blanket thrown over his shoulders.

“Fearless” Raph says, now in his line of sight. “She's not there, she's gonna be alright.”

“You don't know that,” Leo whispers.

He doesn't think Raph hears him over the wind. He's squinting at the harsh rain, leading Leo back to the house.

He supposes he'll have to trust Raph on his one.

Leo's cold.

He's cold, he's in pain, he's a useless son, he's a bad leader, he's a bluejay and he's so very afraid.

***

In the morning, the sky is clear.

He wakes up on the touch, feeling every muscle and joint in his body simmer like a burned-out cigarette.

Raph sits by the couch and doesn't say anything for a long while. Until he finally does:

“Do you want to see her?”

Raph takes him by the arm, which makes Leo feel like crying for a whole number of reasons.

But they don't get to leave before Mikey runs into them in the hallway, and subsequently – puts the entire house back on their feet.

April hands him tea in a pink thermos, before she even thinks to brush out her hair, and he takes it without a word, but a lot sitting on the edge of his tongue.

He never brought anyone else with him, and he realizes there's only one chair a little too late.

Raph doesn't seem to mind.

He crosses his legs on the ground, picking at his nails with his sai.

They sit and wait for hours.

This part of the forest doesn't seem all that changed, besides a few branches in places where they shouldn't be.

But it's unusually quiet, and Leo doesn't think to drink any of his tea before it grows cold.

Raph puts a hand on his good knee, opens his mouth, but doesn't say anything.

There are things Raph wants to say, want to ask – Leo knows. Maybe he'll let him, eventually.

But now, he feels like his lungs have run dry. He feels like he's been holding his breath for years.

“I'm sorry I didn't take you here before,” he says.

It means a lot of different things.

Raph turns to look at him, and with that – there's a soft whistle.

Clunk lands on her branch, her wings shiny and vibrantly blue from the rain.

She ruffles her feathers.

Her eyes fall to Leo's chair, dark and full of sun. She tilts her head, and it's almost like a nod.

Leo breathes.

***

Donnie does get the camera working, eventually.

Not that any of them had any doubts about it, not really.

He lays it on the dinner table, folding his arms over his chest.

“There,” he says.

April's face lights up, and he just shrugs, like it was nothing.

Mikey is the one to pick it up first, turning it over in his hands.

“What do we wanna do first?” He asks.

He holds up the camera backwards, like his own selfie is the most logical answer. But then he hesitates, and his face turns into something a little more thoughtful but not unkind.

He turns back to Leo and hands him the camera.

“You pick,” he says.

Leo smiles.

And he already knows the answer.

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 21st:  Hellfire | Back in Black - AC/DC | Tenacious a/n: so, I've written about Eddie inheriting Hellfire. now, it's time to write about Eddie founding Hellfire! he's a little shit in this one, and I love him so much it's nearly clinical. wrote this in the car on the way to my in-law's family party so it'll go up on ao3 later 🦇 ao3 collection | tumblr masterlist

“Mr. Munson,” the principal starts, seated opposite Eddie across the desk. “You’re a freshman. Freshmen don’t start clubs here. Why don’t you look around a little, broaden your horizons. There are some wonderful sports and music opportu–”

Eddie’s arms are crossed over his chest and he sits with both legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed. “It’s Eddie, and no. Why can’t I start a club? Why do only upperclassmen get to? Or is this just because it’s a Dungeons and Dragons club?” 

As if I’d wanna go and join the kids who look at me like the spawn of fucking Satan, he wants to say, but he needs to play it cool, hard as that may be. Or at least unless the principal, whose name he hasn’t bothered to commit to memory yet, doubles down on his refusal; then, all bets are off. 

“Of course not, we just encourage our youngest students to expand their interests. You might find that you’re good at something surprising or–”

Eddie knows that interrupting over and over again won’t help his case, but he can’t help himself. Hearing the same bullshit over and over again is infuriating and there’s no good reason that he can’t start a Dungeons and Dragons club for himself and the other kids with wild imaginations and nowhere else to go after that final school bell.

“Or, maybe starting a new club will let students try something new, something that’s been shit on for years that they otherwise may not get the chance to try?” 

The principal levels him with an exasperated look and a heavy sigh before leaning forward on his forearms over the clunky wooden desk. 

“Mr. Munson–”

“It’s Eddie,” Eddie insists for the second time. Mr. Munson is his dad and the name gives him a chill. He may carry a pocketknife and know how to hotwire a car, but he’s still no Al Munson. 

Another sigh. “Eddie. The day’s almost over, can we continue this discussion tomorrow? Buses will be lining up any minute.”

Now or never, he thinks to himself. 

“Well, then you have about a minute to make a decision. Can I start it or not? Maybe even on a, uh, a trial basis?” He shrugs and smiles with pursed lips and a raised eyebrow. 

Principal Whatever His Name Is drops his head for a second before looking back up at Eddie. “You’ve worn me down, Mr. Mun– Eddie. Trial basis only, and you need a faculty member to sponsor it. If you can do your due diligence, I’ll allow it.”

“Great!” Eddie claps once and stands. “Mr. Clarke already agreed, so I think we’re all set here. Good doing business with you.”  

“Wait–” 

The bell rings, saving Eddie like it has so many times in the past. He’s halfway out the door, stepping into the stampede of students running for buses, when he turns back around to see the principal shaking his head and rolling his eyes. 

“You know, my Uncle always says if you roll your eyes too much, they’ll get stuck like that.” 

Without another word, he slips into the tide and loads his bus, taking a seat in the back alone and whipping out his notebook and a black marker. Shades of black and red color the lined pages in the form of devils and demons and the words Hellfire Club hover above each sketch.

Good thing I didn’t tell him the name.

[cruelangelstheses]

with quiet courage

fandom: coraline rating: G characters: coraline, wybie words: 2.1k additional tags: canon compliant, post-canon, fluff, angst, mental health issues, character study description: years later, wybie gives coraline a gift. a/n: hi, this was written for the @ethereal-zine! i just thought it would be interesting to explore the long-term effects that the whole ordeal with the other world could have on coraline’s mental health. title from “with quiet courage” by larry daehn

read it on ao3

—

Something feels...wrong.

She can’t explain it, can’t even fully comprehend it herself, but the house feels different tonight, like it’s just waiting for the right moment to pounce. Every creak sends chills down her spine. This isn’t right.

Coraline glances out the kitchen window at their garden, but finds that she can’t really see it, despite the fact that the moon is close to full, last time she checked. She raises her gaze to the sky, squinting in confusion, and her heart nearly stops at what she sees: a shadow passing over the moon in the shape of a button, holes and all.

Gasping, Coraline pushes herself away from the window, every inch of her suddenly on high alert. That’s when she hears it: a familiar metallic skittering across the floor, a sound she knows all too well.

She bolts out of the kitchen and up the stairs, leaping into her bedroom and slamming the door shut behind her. Her blood rushes in her ears.

It only gives her a few moments’ reprieve before she hears the skittering again, even closer and louder than before. Coraline backs away from the door, frantically searching her room for anything she could use as a weapon. She digs underneath her pillow for the pocketknife she bought in secret a year or two ago, but inexplicably, it’s nowhere to be found. Her heart nearly stops when she sees the hand crawl in from underneath.

The hand is severed at first, but from its wrist seems to grow an arm, a torso, another arm, all made out of needles. Coraline steels herself as the Beldam materializes before her eyes.

“You are my daughter,” she hisses, as something else appears in one of her hands. “You’re going to stay with me forever.”

In one hand, she holds another needle, already threaded. In the other is a gift box, and inside it sits a pair of black buttons.

“Hold still,” the Beldam continues. Coraline tries to move, to fight, to do anything, but her whole body is suddenly frozen. “This will only hurt a bit.” She takes a step forward, needle pointing at Coraline’s face, and then—

Coraline jolts awake and sits up rapidly, trying to catch her breath. The morning light streams through her bedroom window, a reminder of where she is: not the Other World, but the real one. Reaching under her pillow, she feels for her pocketknife. She is seventeen now, but still the events of her childhood plague her dreams.

She still has her stuffed animals. Most of the time, they sit on her shelf, watching over her like guardian angels, ensuring that danger doesn’t even make it through the doorway. Sometimes, though, on nights where the house creaks more than usual, on nights where Coraline swears she can feel a sinister gaze burning into her back, she grabs a few of them and sleeps with them in her bed, holding them tight against her chest, as if they will cast a bubble around her body that protects her from any harm. Sometimes she doesn’t even sleep, just lies awake in terror for hours on end. She’s far too old to sleep in her parents’ bed, but some nights, she tiptoes over to their bedroom and cracks the door open, just enough so she can see that they’re still there, safe and sound.

Coraline loves her parents, but they don’t completely understand everything. It’s not their fault; they have no memory of being kidnapped by the Beldam, and they weren’t witness to anything else that happened that fateful year. She tried to explain bits and pieces when she was younger, but they dismissed it as a child’s wild imagination or particularly vivid dreams, and she’s not sure she can really blame them. After all, it hardly sounds believable.

She’s made some other friends at her new school, and they’re wonderful, but none of them get it, either. They don’t understand why she cringes every time they point out the tiny door that leads to nowhere when they come over to her house. They don’t understand why buttons and dolls disturb her to this day, or why when she looks at a snow globe, it always takes her a moment to register that there is nothing frightening inside of it. “Something happened to me when I was a kid,” she told them once, to allay their concerns. “It was really scary. I could’ve died. So if I ever do something...weird, that’s probably why.” None of them questioned her, then, when she bought that pocketknife. If nothing else, she’s grateful for that.

Wybie and his grandmother are the only ones she can actually talk to about what happened, and she’s not going to come to them every single time she has a paranoid thought (which is, unfortunately, fairly often). Usually she can calm herself down, anyway; she just has to take deep breaths and remind herself that the key is gone, at the bottom of a bottomless well, and the Beldam can never open that godforsaken portal ever again.

It takes lying there for another ten minutes, eyes closed and focusing on nothing but the sound of her own breathing, for Coraline to finally muster up the energy to pull herself out of bed. At least it’s a Friday, she tells herself. She has to work a bit this weekend, but her job involves more stocking shelves than interacting with other people, so it’s still better than school.

It’s not that she hates school. She likes learning when it’s interesting, and she likes seeing her friends. It’s not even that she dislikes other people, because she doesn’t, really. Even people she thought were weird or annoying at first, like Wybie, have grown on her with time. It’s just that she fears she’ll have a flashback or a panic attack in the middle of class and embarrass herself. It’s happened before—in middle school she was branded a freak when a sewing project in her home economics class brought her to tears for reasons she didn’t know how to explain. Strangely enough, she feels safer in her neighborhood. It’s an environment she knows well, and as odd as her neighbors are, she trusts them to protect her, even if they might not be aware of it. She remembers Mr. Bobinsky’s warning not to go through the little door, and she remembers the adder stone given to her by Misses Spink and Forcible—and, of course, she remembers Wybie, who once called her crazy before he saw the Beldam’s severed hand for himself, before he helped her dispose of the key for good. Technically, he’s the one who found the Coraline doll that spied on her in the first place—a fact that she hates him for on her worst days—but she knows that he had no idea, and it doesn’t do any good to blame him. After all, even if he may have inadvertently introduced Coraline to the Other Mother, he also helped to defeat her.

While Coraline is choosing her outfit for the day, her phone buzzes: a text from Wybie. Hey Jonesy, it reads, meet me outside then. I got something for ya.

Coraline raises an eyebrow. That could mean anything. Still, she sends him a quick Ok and slips her clothes on. If it happens to be a slug or something, at least she can say her day got off to an interesting start.

Being writers, her parents don’t have to wake up as early as she does, so Coraline usually fixes her own breakfast—often something quick, like a muffin—and heads out the door. Today is no exception, her meal a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice. It sort of makes her feel like a kid again, in a good way. Sitting alone at the kitchen table, Cheerios in her spoon, the sun rising over the foggy mountains, a feeling of quiet peace and even innocence settles over her like dust on a bookshelf. In this moment, there is no fear, no nightmares, no flashbacks. In this moment, she is not a teenager doing her best to survive even while her mind begs to differ. She is the little girl she once was, before she was forced to be brave in the face of true horror. The sky glows pink and orange, a phenomenon unknown to the Other World. She’s grown to appreciate daylight more since then.

Finally, Coraline vaults her backpack over her shoulder and pushes the front door open, saying a silent goodbye to her parents in her head. Sure enough, at the bottom of the hill, leaning up against the Pink Palace sign, is Wybie, who looks like he’s playing a game on his phone. When he hears the sound of her footsteps, he looks up and waves to her.

“You’re back,” she says once she’s close enough to him to talk without having to shout. For the past two weeks, Wybie has been on a school trip to Germany. (Coraline couldn’t go because she’s taking Spanish instead of German.) It’s pretty stupid for them to get back on a Friday and then have to go to regular school for one day, in her opinion, but that’s just how it worked out. “You said you have something for me?” She can’t help but wonder if it’s a souvenir of some sort. She’d joked about him getting her one, but she didn’t actually expect him to do it.

“Yeah,” Wybie says. As they start to walk down the path that leads to town and their school, he pulls something small out of his jeans pocket, holding it in both hands so she can’t see what it is. His voice sounds strangely solemn. “So, you know how you said Miss Spink and Miss Forcible gave you that stone that one time? The one with the hole in the middle?”

Coraline remembers it well: the adder stone that helped her find the ghost children’s eyes all those years ago. When she read up about them later on, she found that rocks with naturally occurring holes in them, called adder stones or hag stones, are said to have magical properties. One of them is the ability to see through a witch or fairy’s disguises or traps, but others include the prevention of nightmares and curing whooping cough.

Coraline certainly doesn’t have whooping cough, but she does have nightmares, and she’s already seen the power of an adder stone for herself. “Yeah,” she says slowly. “They’re pretty rare. The Other Mother destroyed the one I had.”

Wybie flashes her a little half-smile and opens his palms, revealing a round, grayish stone with a medium-sized hole in it. “We visited the north coast one day,” he says as she takes it from him, “and I just happened to stumble across it. Apparently that’s one of the places where they’re more common, in northern Germany.” He shrugs. “I saw it, and I knew I had to give it to you. Not like you’ll need to find any more ghost children’s eyes, but…”

Coraline holds the stone up to her eye, feeling an odd comfort when she looks through the hole, even though nothing seems different. Feeling a soft smile spread across her face, she slips the stone into her pocket and says, “Thank you, Wybie.” Then, to lighten the mood, she adds, “I guess taking German was a good decision after all.”

Wybie blows a raspberry at her. “Hey, who got to go to a foreign country? Not you.”

They banter back and forth like that for a while, but part of Coraline is still focused on the stone in her pocket and the thoughtfulness behind it. It’s so small, but both the stone and the gesture give her the burst of courage she needs to get through the rest of the day, the week, the month. It’s a different kind of courage from what she had to muster up to stop the Beldam. It’s subtler, quieter. It’s the courage of a girl who has seen real ugliness, who has felt the deepest and most primal sort of fear, who went through hell and came out alive but unsure where to go from there. How do you keep on going when you’ve been face to face with death?

The answer, she realizes, is simple: it takes courage. It might be the kind that only a few people can see, but it’s courage all the same.

[yougoodfahm]

Chapter 1 – Leaving the Dust Behind

Auranis AU

Summary for whole fic: Roman and Remus are accepted to join Auranis, a protected and self-sustaining society that was founded within a country that had collapsed, leaving its citizens to fend for themselves. Now, the twins find themselves living a new type of life and try to navigate it as best they can.

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[Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5]

Wordcount: 1783 words

Warnings: mention of death and murder, weapons (knives, brief mentions of others including guns), let me know if I need to add more

Summary: Roman and Remus finish packing and make their way to the bus pick-up location to start their new life as citizens of Auranis

Read it on ao3!

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Roman rifled through the last drawer, making sure he didn’t forget something important. They needed to leave in the next ten minutes or so, and both of their bags were already basically packed, but he was double checking every inch of their tiny house just to be sure.

“Are you sure I can’t bring my radio? It’s going to be so boring without it,” Remus complained, holding up their nearly-broken radio that they had fixed about a year before.

Roman sighed and replied, “Yes, I’m sure. They say it very clearly in the pamphlet, take a look.” He grabbed the piece of folded paper from the top of the dresser and threw it at his brother, which was met with a groan.

He knew the contraband list by heart at this point, making sure that there would be absolutely no reason for them to be turned away before they even got the chance at a better life. No weapons (including knives, needles, sticks, guns, or anything else that could possibly injure someone), nothing that can start fires or produce heat, no radios or other pieces of technology, no drugs, no alcohol, and nothing made of glass.

The only things they could take were whatever clothes they were wearing, plus two pairs of pants, two shirts, two pairs of socks, two pairs of underwear, one set of sleepwear, one jacket, one pair of shoes, and two miscellaneous items, as long as it all fit in a backpack or similarly-sized bag. They could also bring a little food and water for the bus ride, but they had to finish it all by the time they arrived or would have to throw it out.

Roman shut the final drawer and turned to face his brother and their bags. He sighed and checked his watch. Only a few more minutes to go. He grabbed Remus’s bag and searched through it, giving it one last check before they headed out the door to be absolutely sure that he didn’t try to sneak any contraband inside.

Clothes, clothes, clothes, tennis ball, deck of cards. It seemed clear, but he’d check before they got on the bus as well just to be safe.

Roman then turned to his own bag to make sure he had everything. He had all the clothing, plus his large notebook that he’d written and drawn in since he got it four years ago. He also had his favorite pen, plus two apples, a chunk of bread, and a bottle of water for the two of them to share.

Roman looked down at his hands, which were rough from years of hard work. He had his mother’s ring on his right pinkie finger, which was the only finger it would comfortably fit on. Since he was wearing it, the ring wouldn’t be counted as a third miscellaneous item, hopefully. He wanted to remember her, and he’d worn the ring at nearly all times for the past three years.

Roman shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts and hoisted up his backpack, slinging it onto his shoulders. He then picked up his trusted pocketknife, which he had decided to take along as protection during their walk to the pick-up location but would bury in the sand before they got on the bus.

Remus picked up his own backpack and headed towards the door. The two of them said a silent goodbye to the place that had been their home for the past five years or so. It wasn’t much, but it had been theirs. Roman twisted the ring, and then headed out into the cool, dark air.

The stars were out and shining as usual, giving them enough light to see their way without tripping over any debris. They had about an hour until sunrise, which was when the bus would arrive.

The two brothers treaded lightly — which, in all fairness, was not particularly difficult on the sandy surface. Their boots naturally stepped over bottles and chunks of metal that had been cast all over by the high winds of the area.

Roman and Remus walked in silence, staying close to buildings and half-collapsed walls so they could duck behind them at a moment’s notice. Roman kept his pocketknife at the ready and both faced in different directions, scanning the area for any sign of danger. They had both been jumped many times before and certainly didn’t want to repeat the experience, especially not today.

After about half an hour of hiking, Remus signaled to Roman with a silent gesture that he saw patroller lights in the distance and pulled him into an alleyway so that they wouldn’t be seen. The patrol sweeps were never good, they were the last part of the Ocrium government remaining and they were notoriously cruel.

Roman shuddered as he remembered their mother, who had been killed by a patroller because she was looking through a dumpster for food and hadn’t heard them ride up to the alley. He twisted the ring around his finger until the lights had passed them by.

The two of them popped out from the alley and continued on the rest of their walk, luckily without much trouble. The sky lightened before their eyes, right along with Roman’s plan.

The sun had just barely started to cut over the hills in the distance when they reached the pickup area. The brothers saw a cluster of about two dozen other people positioned next to a sign that read “Auranis,” and both of their faces lit up with a hopeful grin.

Roman knelt down and dug a hole in the sand to bury his knife. He motioned for Remus to take off his pack so he could go through it again. Remus groaned but complied, and soon enough the two of them had their packs back on as they joined the rest of the group.

When the sky was finally the familiar pale blue of day, a light gray bus appeared on the horizon and drove towards the group, coming to a gentle stop in front of them.

Roman fidgeted with the hem of his dusty brown shirt and looked over at Remus, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet and whose eyes were gleaming with excitement.

The bus’s front door opened, and a woman stepped out. “Alright, as you board the bus, I’ll need to see your confirmation passes, so have those ready to go.” The crowd nodded, and Roman quickly got out the two passes from the front pocket of his bag. He handed one pass to Remus and kept the other in his hand, which was slightly shaking.

As the crowd made its way into a line that eventually moved onto the bus, Roman couldn’t help but give in to the infectious sense of excitement that permeated the air. Everyone seemed so genuinely glad to be there, for the opportunity to escape the unfortunate reality that they had lived in for so long. For a chance to start over.

When they reached the front of the line, Roman showed his confirmation pass to the woman, who smiled at him and let him board the bus. Remus soon followed, and the two of them plopped down onto one of the large seats towards the back. Only about half of the seats were filled up by the time everyone had gotten on.

Roman looked out the dusty window, admiring the morning light and the world that they were leaving behind. After just another minute or so the bus began its journey.

For a while, the two of them continued to sit in silence, just looking around at the bus, out the window, and at the other people riding it alongside them.

Eventually though, Remus started to get fidgety as he began twirling his short, messy hair around in his fingers. Roman suggested that they break out the deck of cards that Remus had brought, and he happily agreed. They played one of their all-time favorite games that they had made up as kids — they called it Resistance.

Pretty soon the both of them got hungry so Roman got out the food that he had packed, and they ate a breakfast of apples, bread and water. They kept playing Resistance until the bus pulled to a stop at the second pick-up location.

The two of them looked around outside, but the scenery seemed pretty similar to what they were used to. There seemed to be a few trees in the distance, but that was about the only difference. Another two-dozen people boarded the bus, and then they once again started driving but this time towards the city.

Both Roman and Remus dozed off after growing tired of playing the card game after several rounds. Before they knew it, the bus was driving up towards a massive building. Honestly, the word “building” didn’t do it justice, since it was far wider than any building that Roman had ever seen or even dreamed of. It went on and on and on to both the left and right, and he could just barely tell exactly where the gray, concrete walls ended.

Sat right in front of them, though, were two huge wooden doors that were covered in intricately carved designs. The doors opened to them, and the bus drove slowly just inside of the walls. They were soon followed by a second bus that came up the road behind them, and then the doors were shut, closing them inside.

Although the entrance was dark at first compared to the bright sunlight, after a moment Roman’s eyes adjusted and he saw that they were in a large enclosed area that fit them as well as two other buses that weren’t currently being used.

The woman at the front of the bus stood up and said, “Alright, everyone. Gather your belongings and follow me. I’ll be your guide for the next few days. My name is Allana, and just let me know if you have any questions, though I’m sure many of them will be answered soon enough in orientation.”

She went out the bus’s door and waited as the rest of the passengers followed her. Roman quickly shoved their few belongings back into their bags and stood up, barely able to stop his feet from sprinting towards the rest of the group waiting outside.

As Roman and Remus stepped off of the last stair of the bus, Allana motioned the group to follow her towards a door leading away from where they had entered.

The group followed her and as they filed into a new, large and brightly lit room, Allana said with a smile, “Welcome, new citizens, to Auranis.”

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[Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5]

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Let me know if you want to be added to a taglist!

[fangirlingtodeath513]

Mischief Night | a destiel fic for the Promptus Exchangarama on the @writersofdestiel server

written by myself and @gii-heylittleangel

Summary:  Dean and Cas are the last ones to leave the graveyard after they wrap filming for the day and they see a bit more than they bargained for.

read here on ao3 or continue reading below the cut

Julian ducks behind one of the large marble headstones, cradling the wound on his side. Wincing, he yanks off his henley, ripping two strips off and folding the rest into a thick square, pressing it over the wound and tying the strips around his torso to hold the fabric to his side. It’s a terrible bandage, but it’ll do until he manages to get out of this graveyard and back to his car. Carefully, Julian peeks around the side of the headstone and immediately regrets it.

He comes face to face with a pair of bowed legs that he’d know anywhere. “Bet you’re wishing you’d kept running, Agent Shurley,” the man sneers, a sliver of moonlight glinting off his blade. 

Julian grunts, grabbing onto the headstone as he forces himself to his feet, defiant in the face of the serial killer he’s been hunting for nearly a year. “I’m not running from you, Decker. Only one of us is making it out of this cemetery and it won’t be you.”

Smirking, Decker steps closer and grabs him by the throat. “I guess we’ll see about that.”

“Cut! Great take, let’s reset and we’ll go once more,” Gabriel yells, already turning to talk to his assistant. 

Dean quickly releases Cas’s throat, thumb stroking down the side. “That was a really good take.”

Castiel hums, leaning back against the fake headstone behind them. “You did well. Very scary.”

Dean and Cas are shuffled off the set under Gabriel’s orders so it can be reblocked before the next take. They end up in their chairs far behind the camera setup, shoulders brushing as they relax.

“I hate filming in graveyards,” Dean whines, gazing hopelessly around the spacious, dark graveyard their camera crew is currently set up in. 

Castiel, his boyfriend of nearly three years and co-star for this movie, smirks. “You’d think after six years doing horror movies, you’d be used to it by now.”

Scowling, Dean leans his head on Cas’s shoulder. “I am used to it, that’s the problem. They’re so creepy. I mean, there are dead people six feet under us.” He shudders.

Castiel smiles, patting Dean’s cheek gently. “Not right under us, but nearby. Only two more scenes and then we can go back to the hotel.”

Dean catches a movement in the corner of his eye, but by the time he turns to look, there’s nothing there. Writing it off as the semi-darkness playing tricks on him, Dean turns to press a kiss to Cas’s temple. “We don’t have to be on set until the afternoon tomorrow,” Dean grins, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Castiel shoots him a dry look of exasperation, but Dean knows it’s just for show.

They film two more takes before wrapping for the night. Dean and Cas both stick around to help the crew pack up until, eventually, they’re the only two left in the graveyard. Wrinkling his nose, Dean reaches over to grab Cas’s hand. “Let’s get out of here, this is creepy.”

Castiel grins. “What, you don’t want to spend the night strolling through this beautiful graveyard? It could be very romantic.”

Dean shoots him a glare, tugging on his hand to get him moving. “No, I’d like to be out of here as quickly as possible, thanks.”

Castiel laughs, allowing Dean to tug him along. “You don’t want to wait and see if the ghosts decide to show themselves? It is Mischief Night, after all.”

Dean scoffs, turning back to look at his boyfriend. “You can’t really believe in that stuff, can you? Mischief Night is just a night for kids to pull pranks on their neighbors and get away with it, there’s nothing spooky or scary going on.” 

Castiel hums, falling into step beside Dean. “Some people say the veil is thinner tonight, with it being the night before Halloween and everything. Perhaps we’ll get the chance to see a real ghost.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean shoulders the bag he’d left near where the crew had been set up, slipping his hand back into Castiel’s almost immediately. “I hope for both our sakes that we don’t.”

Laughing, Castiel squeezes Dean’s hand and the two of them start their long trek through the cemetery. The state of Massachusetts had been kind enough to lend their movie the use of Mount Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge. It’s a huge cemetery and the first garden cemetery in the entire United States. There are more than a few sections that are still unoccupied, so they’d set up shop in an unused part of the cemetery out of respect for people who had loved ones buried there. The set designers had dressed it up with a few fake headstones and some random flowers dotted around, just enough to make it look like a real cemetery. It still didn’t make Dean any less nervous. Cemeteries are objectively creepy, no matter what Castiel says. 

“I hope Baby hasn’t been egged,” Cas says idly, peeking at Dean out of the corner of his eye. 

Scoffing, Dean rolls his eyes. “Anyone in their right mind would know better than to egg a beauty like her, Cas. Besides, it’s usually houses that get egged, not cars.”

Cas freezes beside him, which tugs Dean to a stop since they’re still holding hands. Frowning, Dean turns to look at him. Cas’s got a mix of terror and awe on his face, which is more than a little disconcerting. “Cas? You okay?”

Hushing him, Castiel nods at a spot to their left. “Tell me you see it too.”

Dean narrows his eyes at his boyfriend before following his line of sight. His heart stops when he finally sees what Cas is looking at. There, off in the distance, is a person. The cemetery closed hours ago, they only had special clearance to be here because of filming. Dean nervously reaches for the pocketknife he keeps in his bag. “Hey, you okay? What’re you doing here so late?”

Castiel slaps a hand over Dean’s mouth, glaring at him. “Sh! You’ll scare it off.”

Dean scoffs. “It? What do you mean by it?”

Castiel just shakes his head, which doesn’t help at all. Frowning, Dean turns back to find the figure gone. “Where’d he go?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “They disappeared. Back to wherever they came from, I presume.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at Castiel. “You don’t honestly believe that was a ghost, do you?”

Cas cocks an eyebrow at him. “Is it really that unbelievable? We’re in a cemetery on the night people claim the veil is thin.”

“You should believe him.” Dean jumps, head whipping around so he comes face-to-face with a cheery redhead who has her arms crossed over her chest.

“I should? Why’s that?” Dean asks cautiously, scanning the woman from head to toe. She certainly doesn’t look like a ghost.

“It’s not every day you get to talk to a real dead person,” she answers with a grin, eyes flickering between Dean and Castiel. “I’m Charlie, I was murdered by the straights a few years ago.”

Dean snorts, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth in abject horror. Castiel smirks. “The straights can be quite awful, truly.” 

Charlie grins. “I’m glad someone finally gets it, jeez. Straight white dudes, right?”

Dean squints at her. “You can’t really be dead. You don’t look like a ghost.”

“Oh, right, because you’ve seen a ghost before?” In the blink of an eye, she disappears entirely, reappearing behind them and prompting Dean to fall flat on his ass in shock.

“Holy fuck, you’re a ghost?”

Castiel’s stifling laughs as Charlie just grins at him. Castiel offers him a hand to help him up, which Dean grudgingly takes. 

“Believe me yet?”

Dean scowls at her. “Unfortunately. Shouldn't you be in Heaven or something?”

“Technically, yeah. As far as the angels are concerned, I am. I like to take a few nights to have some fun on Earth, though, and the veil is particularly thin for the next couple of nights, which means people can see me.” She grins, slipping her hands in her pockets. “It’s fun to scare you, mortals. Gives me a break from all the dumb Heaven stuff for a little while.”

Dean squints at her, glancing at Castiel. “You planned this, didn’t you? You hired her to prank me or something?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I apologize for my boyfriend, he’s very resistant to things like this, especially when they’re in front of his face like you are. It’s a gift.” 

Charlie smirks, raising her eyebrows. “Boyfriend, huh?”

Castiel turns to smile at Dean, lacing their fingers. “A very good one.”

Dean blushes, rubbing the back of his neck.

“She botherin’ you, boys?” A gruff, distinctly New Orleans-tinged voice asks. Dean and Cas turn to find a burly man standing behind them, wearing suspenders over a dark henley and a flat cap perched on his head. 

“Oh, Benny, relax. I’m just having some fun!”

Benny smirks, eyes sliding between Dean and Castiel before ultimately settling on Charlie. “Best to keep them away from Alastair. And probably Crowley too, just to be safe.”

Dean glances between them, eyebrows pinched in confusion. “Right, uh, Cas and I should be going anyway, so… nice to meet you.” He grabs Cas’s hand and heads in the direction of the cemetery entrance. Castiel doesn’t fight him on it, thankfully, and they make it a couple of roads up before they encounter another ghost, this one watching them with interest and a smirk that makes Dean’s skin crawl. 

“Out here all alone, hm?” he asks, barely glancing at Castiel as his eyes settle on Dean. “Probably not a good idea.” 

Dean grips Cas’s hand tighter, clearing his throat nervously. “We’re leaving.” 

Before either of them get a chance to move, the ghost is charging at them, eyes entirely white. Dean dives out of the way, dragging Castiel to the ground with him. Both of them are quick to scramble to their feet, only to find themselves face to face with the ghost. 

“You’ll be a perfect vessel,” he purrs, grabbing Dean by the throat. 

“Alastair! Hands off the humans.” 

Dean stumbles back a few steps when he’s released, looking around for whoever had just saved them. He finds a man in a dark black suit, so dark that he nearly blends in with the night. 

Alastair smirks. “I found them first, Crowley. I’ve got dibs on Green Eyes.”

Dean takes a few steps back warily, dragging Castiel with him. “Listen, we don’t want any trouble, we just want to get back to our hotel room.”

Crowley sneers, stepping closer. “Oh, you’ll get back to your hotel room alright. Just not in the driver’s seat.”

Crowley takes one step in their direction and Dean pulls Cas to him, taking a few steps back. They look behind them only to find Alastair staring at them with his unnervingly white eyes. Dean lets out a squeak of surprise as he stumbles back, his hand letting go of Cas’s. 

“Come on, Green Eyes. We’ll have some fun, maybe scare some humans, huh? I can’t exactly leave the cemetery in this form.” Alastair’s hand comes to Dean’s cheek but Dean ducks, stepping away from the ghost. Alastair sneers, turning to Dean with an annoyed face. “You can’t run, Pretty. Not from me.”

“Okay, you two, leave the humans alone,” Charlie’s voice comes from behind Cas, who jumps as he turns to face her. “You know you’re not supposed to possess any humans and me and Benny won’t let you anyway.”

Crowley snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “As if you two could stop us.”

Benny raises an eyebrow. “Y’all both know we can, and without even breakin’ a sweat.”

Dean slowly walks to Cas, grabbing his hand when he’s close enough. Dean puts his other hand over Cas’s mouth before he can say anything that will bring the ghosts’ attention back to them and starts pulling him away from them, using their distraction as an advantage.

The four ghosts start to bicker at each other, discussing who’s stronger and how easily they could take the other out. Dean and Cas stare at them for a moment, not sure if they should be scared or consider it a comedy. Cas is the first one to take a few steps back, pulling Dean with him. Dean doesn’t even resist, letting Cas pull him backwards as they stare at the ghosts. 

They manage to walk a few feet like that, which makes them start to think they’ll be able to escape the cemetery without the ghosts noticing. They turn to run through the last roads but before they can take two steps, Crowley appears in front of them. “Hello, boys.” He shakes his head lightly, lips pursed in disappointment. “So, you two thought you could just sneak out of here? You do remember we are ghosts, right? Not that easy to trick us.”

Alastair materializes on Cowley’s right, his arms crossed over his chest. “Very naughty of you two. Leaving without us? Tsk, tsk, that’s not our agreement.”

Dean and Cas turn to run in the other direction, getting separated when their hands untangle. Dean runs towards the right, but Alastair appears in his view and makes him stop in his tracks. Alastair smiles at him. “I thought we covered this, Green Eyes. You can’t hide, not forever, and I’m the only one here that has eternity to play seek.”

Cas runs towards the left and he’s able to take a few more steps than Dean before Crowley appears in front of him with a snarky smile. “Come on now, angel. We can have some fun, don’t you think?”

Cas shakes his head, dodging Crowley as he keeps running, trying to get away from him. Crowley only smirks, disappearing again. He appears in front of Dean, who is trying to make his way to the cemetery’s gate. Dean stops so suddenly that he almost falls on his back. 

“Oh, c’mon. What, you two get your kicks chasing humans?”

Crowley shrugs. “Well, it is fun, especially when the humans are as dumb as you two are.”

Dean rolls his eyes but doesn’t stay still long enough to reply, starting to run to his right, toward Cas. They meet in the middle and run towards the gate, not even worrying about their stuff. Alastair materializes in front of them, making them stop in their tracks and start running in a different direction.

Crowley and Alastair play with them for a long time, each time making them run back into the cemetery and getting them as far away from the gate as they can. Dean and Cas start to get tired, their steps losing intensity and not long after, their breath comes out shallow, and they don’t have enough time to get it back to normal.

Charlie watches the two with a smile on her face, laughing every time Dean or Cas almost fall on the ground. Benny has an annoyed expression, his brows furrowed and arms crossed over his chest as he stares at Crowley and Alastair playing with the humans. 

After what must be almost an hour or more, he pokes Charlie in her ribs, taking her attention away from the humans. “We should do somethin’, Charlie. Help those two before Crowley and Alastair get tired of just playin’ with them and actually possess them.”

Charlie sighs but nods. “Yeah, fine. The last thing we need is those two dicks out there in the world, again. But you have to admit, it’s pretty funny.” She waggles her eyebrows at him.

Benny tries to fight the smile on his lips but ends up giving up. “Alright, yeah, it is. But I think they’ve suffered enough.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

Charlie and Benny disappear only to appear in front of Dean and Cas, making the two stop on their tracks. Alastair and Crowley materialize themselves in front of Charlie and Benny, who have their arms crossed over their chests and brows arched. Crowley and Alastair stare at the two ghosts, squinting their eyes at them.

“You two are going to protect the weak humans, eh?” Alastair’s the first one to speak, giving a snarky smile. 

Charlie shrugs. “You can count it more as trying to keep you two idiots here. I don’t think the world needs to have you two out there again.”

Benny looks at Dean and Cas, nodding towards the cemetery gate. “Get your things and go. We’ll keep ‘em here.”

Dean grabs Cas’s hand and they start taking a few steps back to where Dean’s bag had been discarded earlier. The sunrise illuminates their path as they walk slowly, still keeping their gazes locked on the four ghosts.

Charlie sighs as she rolls her eyes. “C’mon, man, me and Benny can take care of these two, just go!” She waves her hand at them, an invisible force pushing them to walk faster or they would both fall on the ground.

Dean and Cas look at each other, then at the ghosts, before looking at each other again. They give a small nod to each other and start running towards Dean’s bag, Dean grabbing it as they keep running to the gate.

Charlie chuckles, rolling her eyes softly as she turns to the other ghosts. “These humans, always so scared.”

Crowley and Alastair scoff at her, Crowley walking closer to her. “Why would you let them get away? They were ours.”

Charlie shrugs as Benny answers, “They’re not yours and they deserve to get out of this cemetery as themselves, not as you two.”

Alastair growls and disappears. Benny also disappears, reappearing in front of Dean and Cas again, with Alastair in front of him. “Face it, Alastair, you’re not gettin’ ‘em,” Benny’s voice sounds flat as if he’s just bored with Alastair. He looks at Dean and Cas and waves his hand at them. “Go on, he won’t get to you.”

Dean and Cas walk past the two ghosts, walking backwards as they stare at them, worried to let them out of their sight. Benny sighs and waves at them again, making them turn and a force pushes them to run. They don’t even fight it, just start running to the Impala, which is now only ten feet from them.

When they get to the car, they turn to look at the ghosts as the sun finally gets full in the sky. The four ghosts vanish before their eyes, Dean and Cas’s eyes widening. They stare at each other, not knowing what to do.

Dean shakes himself and stares at Cas in annoyance. “Are you happy now? We saw four ghosts and two of them wanted to use as meat suits.”

Cas sighs as he opens the passenger’s door. “Can we please just go, Dean? I don’t want to see any other ghosts.”

Dean scoffs, sliding behind the wheel. “Oh, now you don’t wanna. You better not. I think we’ve had enough experience for a lifetime.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, staring at the road in front of them, until Dean starts to laugh. Cas stares at him with his brows frowned and his head tilted. “Dean, why are you laughing?”

“Dude, we just spent a night in a fucking cemetery, running from ghosts who wanted to use us as meat suits. This would be a hell of a story for a movie.”

Cas chuckles lightly. “Yeah, just not a horror one. But I’m sure Gabriel would love to direct it anyway.”

Dean nods softly, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I’m sure he would.”

[thethistlegirl]

Favorite Fic Recs

Honestly I love so many fics in this fandom that it’s really hard to choose recommendations! I went through my bookmarks on AO3 and picked out a few that I have read, reread, and can’t stop thinking about. (if I know the author’s Tumblr I will mention them as well) 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14393949 by @wolfypuppypiles 

“End of the Road”. This is the fic that really got me into the fandom in the first place. I read this and thought “Wow, there are a ton of talented writers in this fandom and this is exactly the kind of stories I wanted from the show”. So here I am. And there are many more amazing stories from @wolfypuppypiles so please check them out!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15300660 by @asflowersfade

“5 times Mac Didn’t Save Himself”. Honestly this one haunts me. I can’t stop thinking about these scenarios and they are so well written and every one believable. This story perfectly showcases the writing genius that is @asflowersfade. Seriously, read all their stuff, it is amazing.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14573853/chapters/33677691 by @tomminowrites

“Bullet+Pocketknife”. Again, it was so hard to choose just one of @tomminowrites‘s stories! There’s so much here, but this one stood out to me because it’s almost all written as a phone call, and it still managed to make me cry. This is brilliant writing and if you haven't read it you should.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15177839/chapters/35198261 by @bands-space-and-monsters-oh-my

“To the Ends of the Earth”. This story (still in progress) is an amazing twist on the end of “Wind+Water”. You should also check out all of @bands-space-and-monsters-oh-my‘s incredible episode tags too, they’re such amazing little additional scenes to the show.

https://archiveofourown.org/series/987786

“The Ambassador Series”. This is a fantastic series that really explores the depth of Mac and Jack’s friendship. These stories have a lot of love put into them, they’re incredibly detailed and read like actually watching an episode.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14112633 by @alliemackenzie28 and @macgyvermedical

“Radioactive”. An amazing fic that takes place in “Bear Trap+Mob Boss”. If you couldn't tell by this point in the list, I am quite a fan of whump fics, and this is one of the best ones I’ve read.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15155615 by @telltaleclerk

“The Drawer”. This story is really, deeply emotional, a “what if” Jack had actually been killed by the Ghost’s bomb in New York. It hit me hard, but it is so so worth the read! 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14007726/chapters/32257359 by @altschmerzes

“stay in the game”. This is a great fic about Mac’s found family coming together to help him, and how much they all care about each other. It’s got a great, engaging plot and it kept me waiting anxiously to see how it was going to end.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851509 by @sassysarcasticlove

“First Meetings”. This is a very, very cute story about Mac and Bozer finding each other and their friendship. After all those painful fics here’s a happy fluffy one about brothers and best friends. Mac and Bozer’s relationship gets skimmed over a lot and I love how this story captured it!

This list got so long...and should be so much longer, because there are so many amazing writers and fantastic stories in this fandom!

[searchforthescars]

Little Beast - Chapter 9/9

IT’S HERE!

Real quick, I want to say a big thank you to @bombshellsandbluebells for her tireless editing and encouragement, @thecarstairsheir for listening to me blab about this AU for close to a year and a half, and to @lindseysfandoms, @daisytachi, @maskingtapepoetree and @memorifics for their amazing reviews and tags. It’s alway a sad day when a story ends, but you guys have made the journey worth it.

Also, if you want me to continue the story via a collection of disconnected one-shots (anyone remember The Bunker Diaries? kinda like that...), let me know. I’m not sure I’m ready to let these kids and the small town go just yet, but it’s all at my readers’ behest. :)

Once again, THANK YOU for reading, and enjoy the end.

We pull our boots on with both hands but we can’t punch ourselves awake and all I can do is stand on the curb and say Sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine.

I couldn’t get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time.

Three years and four months later…

“Are you doing it tonight?” Raven asks Murphy under her breath from where she’s perched next to him on one of the diner’s bar stools, letting her bad leg dangle off the edge.

Murphy taps the small, wrapped gift on the counter beside him, nodding slightly. “She can read lips,” he hisses, “so watch it.”

Raven grins brightly, bouncing slightly in her seat. “I’m so excited! But are you sure you don’t want to do it alone, just the two of you?”

Murphy shakes his head. “We’d end up texting all of you anyway.”

Raven laughs. “You’ve both come far since you met. Remember when she hated all of us?”

“I never hated you,” Emori says, sitting on Murphy’s other side. She kisses his cheek. “I just wasn’t sure what to do with you.” [Read on Ao3]

Murphy gently smacks Emori’s hand away when she reaches for her present. “No, Mori,” he says as if she’s a naughty child. “Wait until we exchange gifts.”

“Can I guess?” she asks, lips pursed in a tiny pout. Murphy fights the urge to kiss her.

“No!” he exclaims. “You always guess right and it isn’t any fun.”

Emori smirks. “True. I am good.”

“Damn right,” Raven laughs, and the two high-five over Murphy’s head.

“God help us,” Luna mutters as she passes, giving Murphy a conspiratorial look. Murphy chuckles and grins, the butterflies in his stomach churning.

“Can we exchange gifts now or what?” Octavia shouts over the chatter and the Christmas music coming from Lincoln’s repurposed jukebox, which sits in the corner lit up in red and green. The entire friend group, plus their significant others, Anya, and Lincoln, had drawn a name out of a bucket right after Thanksgiving. Murphy got Octavia, and he’s pretty sure Emori got him, which was surprising, but welcome.

Obediently, the music is turned down and everyone moves tables and chairs to sit in a circle. Octavia sits next to Monty on the floor, and there’s a space between them meant to be filled by someone who will never show up. Harper leans against Monty’s shoulder, her other arm around Lexa. Bellamy, Clarke, Miller and Lincoln sit on the booths closest to the circle, and Luna hikes herself up to sit next to Raven.

“Who wants to go first?” Lincoln asks, barely getting the question out before Anya steps over Monty to give an envelope to Bellamy. “Well, okay then.”

“Consider this your reward for being the diner’s first employee and getting Baby Blake into college. And no, you can’t give this back,” she says firmly, stepping back and watching him tear it open.

“Oh my gosh,” Clarke breathes at the same time Bellamy half-yells, “What?!”

“What is it?” Octavia asks, jumping up to look over her brother’s shoulder. “Holy shit , Bellamy!”

“I can’t take this-” he starts to protest.

“What the fuck did I just say?” Anya grumbles. “You can, and you will. Get your ass in college with that money. Become a teacher and make sure all those kids-” she gestures out the window toward the elementary school, “turn out as good as you.”

She sits down with a decisive nod, and Bellamy thanks her quietly, looking to Clarke, then to Octavia, lost for words.

“You deserve it,” Clarke whispers, leaning forward to give Bellamy a kiss. Bellamy shakes his head wordlessly.

The exchange goes on after that. Octavia appreciates the pocketknife Murphy gives her, though he doesn’t miss the angry glares Bellamy shoots him. Emori insists on going last, so when it gets to her turn, Murphy can already tell that the entire diner is quietly buzzing with curiosity and anticipation.

After she gives her gift, Murphy’s going to give Emori hers. His heart is pounding in his chest, his hands shaking no matter how hard he balls them into fists.

“I got John,” Emori says softly, a laugh in her voice. “And my present is...sort of a big deal, I guess. So get ready.”

She hands Murphy an envelope, then sits back in her stool, biting her lip as he turns it over in his hand.

“Open it!” Lexa shouts, craning her neck. Murphy carefully undoes the seal, then pulls the single sheet of paper out.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, his trembling hands nearly wrinkling the paper. “Is this-”

Emori nods, lower lip trembling as she wraps her arms loosely around her torso. “Flip it over.”

He does. Written in Emori’s distinctive hand is Baby Murphy. 19 weeks. And below it, Surprise, John! It’s a girl.

“Emori-” he chokes out, tears in his eyes. “Holy shit .” He pulls her arms away from her torso and rests his hand over her stomach. There’s no bump yet, but his heart swells with love for the tiny baby that’s there, right under his palm. He can’t tear his eyes away from the ultrasound photo, either, but makes himself when Raven snatches the paper from his shaking hand with a happy shout.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispers to Emori, kissing her temple. “I can’t believe it.”

“Are you upset?” she asks, doubt in her eyes.

Murphy shakes his head. “Never.” He kisses her forehead until her nervous frown smooths out. “I’m going to be a dad!”

“Hell yeah!” Anya, who has seemingly gotten over her shock, yells.

“And actually…” he pushes his present toward Emori and the entire room goes silent as Raven shushes them loudly. “This fits perfectly with my present.”

“Oh?” she asks, face glowing as she beams up at him, obviously relieved that he’s not angry. As if he ever could be. “Does this mean I can finally open it?”

He nods, the nerves threatening to overwhelm him. “Yep.” Please let her say yes.

Emori takes the small package, curiosity calming the adrenaline still rushing through her. She wasn’t sure if the anxiety surrounding her gift was good for the baby, but she couldn’t think of a better way to reveal her pregnancy than surrounded by all their friends. She knew John wouldn’t mind, either, which is the only other reason she had done it.

She carefully unwraps the ribbon tied around the package, watching the ultrasound photo pass from hand to hand around the circle, while all eyes remain on her. Briefly, she wonders if there’s something the others know that she doesn’t, because the atmosphere is too expectant for this to be any ordinary present. Disappointingly, no one’s eyes give anything away.

“Just rip into it, Emori!” Raven says, leaning forward, eyes bright. Emori rips into the paper, tossing it aside to reveal a small white box.

“John, what-”

“Open it,” he says, voice unreadable. Emori does so, and lets out a gasped “oh!,” touching the delicate gold band with one finger. “John, is this-”

When she looks up, John is down on one knee, and the entire room is holding its breath.

“I knew I wanted to marry you three years and four months ago,” he says. Emori feels her chest tighten and tears prick at her eyes. “And I’ve never changed my mind. I want to wake up with you in our shitty apartment and live my boring life with you because you make it less boring. You make it perfect. I want to love you even when - and especially when - you don’t love yourself. I promise to try every day to be the person you think I am, the person our daughter will be proud of.”

He reaches for the box and turns it toward her. “Will you marry me?”

She reaches out blindly, grips the edge of the counter tightly, her thoughts scattering. “I- I don’t have a left ring finger,” is all she can think of to say.

He laughs, more nervously than anything else, and reaches up to pull the ring out of the box. “It’s on a chain, babe. See?”

“You really do think of everything,” she laughs, wiping a runaway tear from the corner of her eye. She reaches for his hand and pulls him to his feet, wrapping her arms around his shoulder. “Yes, John,” she says, sniffling slightly. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Thank God!” he exclaims in a rush of breath, bending down to kiss her, then wrapping her in a hug as the entire room breaks out in cheers. When he puts the ring around her neck, she touches it and smiles.

“Finally!” Raven exclaims, throwing up her hands and giving Monty a high-five. “I’ve known about this for months! The suspense was killing me!”

“You knew?” Emori asks, laughing when Raven nods dramatically. “And I never even had a clue.” She looks up at John. “You’re learning the art of the con. I’m so proud.”

“Dude, we love you, but move,” Miller tells him. “We wanna see the ring more than your ugly mug.”

Obediently, Murphy steps aside, staying close to Emori, his hand in hers, as her old family celebrates the start of her new one.

The next morning, she goes to the gravestone she erected for her brother after his cremation and tells him the news.

“Thanks for bringing us here, Otan. To Virginia, I mean.” she finishes. “I owe you one. Actually…” she touches her stomach. “I owe you everything.”

She turns, feet crunching in the fresh Christmas snow, and goes to join John at his parents’ graves.

“Hi, future parents-in-law,” she says to the weathered stones. The smile John gives her is blinding.

[caranfindel]

Fic: I focus on the pain (the only thing that's real)

Written for the Celebrating Sam event (thanks to @spnlittlebro and @ohsamtumbles for this marvelous event!) The prompt was “field surgery.” This was supposed to be from Sam’s POV, but Dean kept taking over (as he so often does when I try to write Sam), so you get both sides.

Pairings: None (gen)

Warnings: Language, pain

Also available on LJ, DW, or AO3

Side A

Like many of the stupid things Sam does, it happens too quickly for Dean to stop it. Once minute he’s on his ass in the damp slippery grass, fallen like a goddamn amateur, watching the spinthaak advance and hoping he can get off a shot before it rips his head off. The next minute Sam’s charging between him and the spinthaak, close enough (too close too close too goddamn close) to shoot it right between the eyes. Dean sees its tail twitch forward before it goes down and he rolls out of the way, because he knows what’s at the end of a spinthaak’s tail. He hopes to god that Sam got out of the way in time. But a strangled cry of pain puts his heart in his throat.

Sam’s on his knees, pawing at his chest, and in a second Dean’s in front of him. He tries to pull his brother’s trembling hands away to check for blood, because a spinthaak has pretty big fucking claws, too. “Sam. Sam! Did it get you?”

“I’m okay. Kill it.” Sam bats his hands away and waves toward the spinthaak’s corpse. He clutches his chest again and sinks to the ground with a groan.

“It’s dead,” Dean says. “You got it. You got too close, you moron! Where did it get you? Did it sting you?”

Of course it did, of course it did, because nothing but a spinthaak’s sting would put him in this much pain. Sam’s curled up on the ground, writhing, whimpering, and Dean doesn’t want to think about what it takes to make his brother fucking whimper.

(But he already knows. He’s had John Winchester’s voice murmuring in the back of his head all morning. Spinthaak venom. Just a tiny bit in each quill, but it’s one of the most painful things a human being can ever experience. Knew a fella got stung in the finger, said he’d have shot his own arm off if his friend hadn’t been there to stop him. But the pain isn’t what takes you out. The venom is a paralytic. The quill burrows its way to your core if you can’t yank it out fast enough, gets to your heart or your diaphragm and boom, you’re gone. No antivenin, no CPR. Your only hope is to get that quill out before it’s out of reach. And you’ll be in too much pain to get it out yourself. That’s why you never hunt a spinthaak alone.)

He grabs Sam by the shoulders and rolls him onto his back, pushing his jacket and shirts aside, and gently prods his skin, looking for an entry wound. There it is. Deceptively small, a slightly swollen red pinprick right below his collarbone. Jesus fuck, it’s already so close to his heart, and he knows it’s getting closer, the deadly quill burrowing deeper beneath the surface. It’s got to come out, now.

“Fuck.” He runs his hands over his face. “Okay. Okay. I have to cut the stinger out. It’s gonna reach your heart if I don’t. I’ve gotta do it here and now.”

Sam doesn’t answer; he just keeps making wounded animal noises and rocking back and forth. Dean doesn’t even know if he can hear him, but he keeps talking, to reassure himself as much as Sam. “No time to get the kit.” He digs for his pocketknife and lighter. “We’ll do this old school. It’ll be fine, okay? You’re gonna be fine.” He holds the blade in the flame for a minute. It’s not enough, he knows it’s not even close to enough, but he can worry about infection later. Don’t worry if you can’t swim; the fall will probably kill you.

“All right. Here we go.” He straightens Sam again, presses him flat against the ground. “You gotta hold still, man, okay? Sammy? Can you do that? You gotta hold still for me.” Sam nods and then screws his eyes shut and bites off a scream as he’s rocked by another spasm of pain. Shit, he’s going to bite his tongue in half. Dean yanks off his belt. “Sam. Sam! Open your mouth. Bite on this.” He jams the leather between Sam’s teeth, takes a deep breath, and begins probing the wound with his knife. “I’m sorry, man. I know this is hot.” Sam shudders and gasps, clenching fistfuls of grass, panting as Dean pushes the knife further. “That’s it,” Dean murmurs. “Keep breathing. You’re doing great. You got this.”

Sam’s legs start thrashing, pushing against the ground. “Please, Sammy, you’ve got to hold still,” Dean sighs. He throws a leg over Sam and straddles his body, resting on his thighs, his feet hooked over Sam’s lower legs. Sam’s eyes fly open, wide with terror, and he clutches at Dean’s arms. “I’m sorry,” Dean says. “I have to keep you still. Okay?” Sam nods again and Dean takes his brother’s hands and places them on his own knees. “Here. Hold on.” Sam’s fingers dig into denim as Dean goes back to digging for the quill. “It’s okay,” he says. “You’re gonna be okay.” There. There it is. Something solid at the tip of his knife. Sam pushes his head back into the ground and shrieks around the belt, squeezing hard enough to bruise Dean’s kneecaps as he works his knife below the quill to guide it back up toward the surface.

Suddenly Sam reaches for the belt and wrenches it out of his mouth. “No gag,” he pants. “Please.”

Gag? Sam thought he was fucking gagging him? Jesus. Dean keeps prodding at the quill, easing it out. As he leans closer, he can hear Sam whispering something that sounds, maybe, like not back there, not back there and ah, fuck.

“Doing good, Sam,” he says, partially to reassure Sam but mostly to drown out what he’s whispering because Jesus fuck, Dean cannot think about that, cannot think about what memory Sam might be reliving, back there, held down and gagged and in excruciating pain. “Almost there. So close.” Sam covers his face with his hands and lets out a long, drawn-out moan as the end of the poison quill surfaces. “There you are, you fucker,” Dean mutters. He has to resist the urge to grab the quill and yank it out of Sam’s flesh. Don’t squeeze the end, John Winchester’s voice barks. That’s where the venom is. You’ll squirt it right into him.

“Okay, okay.” Dean can reach the dark center of the quill now, and he gingerly grasps it. Watch it, son, it’s going to be slippery from blood. He eases it out and sits up, trembling with relief. “Shit, Sammy.” He holds it up for inspection - an inch long, with a barbed tip and bulb at the end the size of a sesame seed; such a tiny thing to be responsible for so much agony. “Look at that son of a bitch.”

But Sam’s still keening, still breathing in ragged gasps, still clutching at his chest. “Oh, god, it’s still burning, it’s burning, Dean, it’s still in there.”

There’s another one. But it’s okay. Dean can do this. He stops to scream “fuck!” up into the sky, then takes a deep breath. He can do this. “Okay. Okay. One down, one to go. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” He uses his shirttail to wipe the blood off Sam’s chest (Sam’s heart hammering against his hand, galloping out of control) and plants his hands on his upper arms (quivering, slick with sweat) to hold him down and keep his hands out of the way. “I’m sorry, Sammy. You gotta try to hold still. I can’t find it. Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” Sam moans. “Oh god, get it out, get it out, please, Dean.” His breath is ragged and shallow; his lip is bloody from where he’s bitten it, and his whole body is shaking. Dean struggles to keep him steady with one hand as his fingers run lightly over Sam’s chest, looking for the second entry wound. After a lifetime he finds it, a tiny swelling hidden inside his tattoo and fuck, that’s so much closer to his heart and Sam’s whispering not back there, not back there because apparently he has to convince himself he’s not back in Lucifer’s fucking cage and Dean’s running out of time and he doesn’t think he has the strength left to keep restraining his delirious, struggling little brother.

“Sam,” he says sternly. “Sam. Listen to me. He likes it when you squirm, Sam. Don’t give it to him. Don’t you do that for him. You stay stiff as a board and let him go fuck himself. You got that?”

Sam stares at him in terror again, then takes one long, shuddering breath, closes his eyes, and stills.

“There we go.” Sam’s still trembling but not kicking, not thrashing, not fighting him. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Dean inserts the knife and cuts down further, and when he finally reaches the quill he can’t think about the bulb of venom, he can’t think about grasping the center of the shaft; he’s got to get this fucking thing out of his brother right now so he whispers fuck, Sam, I’m sorry and grabs it and and he pulls. Sam cries out, kicks and thrashes, then his eyes roll back in his head and he goes limp.

~~~~~~~~~

Side B

There’s a pinpoint of pain, needle-sharp, tiny but intense, and then another, and then the points of pain expand, spreading fiery, white-hot hurt across his chest. His legs buckle and he crumples to his knees, clutching at his chest, trying to put out the fire but he can’t, it’s inside, it’s under his skin and lapping at his flesh. He wants to call out to Dean but Dean’s busy, Dean’s finishing the spinthaak, so he tries to bite it back but it comes out as a whining scream, and then Dean is at his side, wide-eyed. “Sam. Sam! Did it get you?”

Sam pushes him away, waves toward the spinthaak, or at least where he thinks the spinthaak must be. “I’m okay,” he gasps. (He’s not okay.) “Kill it.”

“It’s dead,” Dean says, with a quick confirming glance over his shoulder. “You got it. You got too close, you moron! Where did it get you? Did it sting you?”

Sam’s on the ground now, he thinks, but he doesn’t feel anything but fire - every nerve in his body is throbbing, tethered to his chest, to the fire charring his ribs. “Oh, god,” he moans, as Dean grabs his shoulders and rolls him onto his back.

Dean pushes Sam’s jacket and overshirt aside and pulls up his t-shirt. He gently prods at his chest and his fingers are cold, so cold against burning skin. “Fuck. Okay. Okay. I have to cut the stinger out. It’s gonna reach your heart if I don’t. I’ve gotta do it here and now.”

(Oh yes god please get it out here and now please.)

“No time to get the kit.” Dean releases Sam to dig for his pocketknife and lighter, and Sam curls back into himself and god, it hurts so much, it’s like flaming spikes are being hammered into his flesh. Dean’s still talking, keeping up a continuous patter of reassuring white noise as he runs the blade through the flame of his lighter. “We’ll do this old school. It’ll be fine, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

Dean pushes him flat against the ground. “You gotta hold still, man, okay? Sammy? Can you do that? You gotta hold still for me.” It’s too much, it’s too much like being restrained (tied up strapped down chained) but Sam nods because it’s not Lucifer, it’s Dean, and Dean will take care of this, except being held down hurts so much and Sam screams again, trying so hard not to scream, bites his tongue, bites his lip.

“Sam. Sam. Open your mouth. Bite on this.” Something is shoved into his mouth; it tastes like dirt and blood and fire and brimstone and it’s firm but yielding when he bites into it, not slippery, nothing like his own intestines, nothing like his heart or liver or a red-hot iron rod or any number of things that have been shoved into his mouth.

Dean’s hands are like ice on his chest; his flame-purified knife is an icicle compared to the fire consuming Sam from the inside. Cold fingers pry inside him, peeling him apart, groping, searching. Sam squeezes his eyes shut and he can’t open them, can’t can’t can’t because if he does he’s going to see Lucifer rooting around inside of him, pulling him to pieces with long, cold fingers.

His legs start kicking, trying to crawl away from the pain, because Sam’s brain knows (thinks) this is Dean but his body is screaming no, no, get away and then something heavy is holding him down and he can’t move and oh god it hurts and he’s afraid to look but he does and it’s Dean, it looks like Dean but that doesn’t mean anything, doesn’t prove anything.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says. “I have to keep you still. It’s okay.”

It’s Dean and it’s okay except oh fuck, it’s not okay, he’s on fire, he’s burning up on the inside, his blood is molten lava spreading the fire though his body and someone’s cold, cold fingers are poking inside of him and the gag between his teeth tastes like hellfire and ash. He yanks it out of his mouth and says “No gag. Please.” Dean doesn’t argue and that proves it’s Dean, it’s not Lucifer, because if Lucifer wanted him gagged, he’d fucking be gagged, so it has to be Dean, even though Sam’s burning and the fingers inside him are ice and oh fuck everything hurts. But Sam’s not back in Hell, he’s not back there, not back there.

The icicle pierces him further and Sam keeps trying not to scream and trying not to push Dean away because Dean’s saving him, Dean’s cold hands and icy blade are going to put out the fire, and Sam reminds himself that he’s not in Hell, he’s not in Hell. Then the frozen fingers are gone and Dean crows triumphantly but it can’t be, it’s not gone, Sam can still feel the fire spreading through his body. His hands are free now, and he reaches up to his chest and tries to claw the pain out. “Oh, god, it’s still burning, it’s burning, Dean, it’s still in there.”

Dean screams “fuck,” icy palms planted on Sam’s chest. “Okay. Okay. One down, one to go. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” He swipes at Sam’s skin with his shirt, wiping away blood, icy fingers prodding, poking, in search of an entry wound, asking where it hurts, but it hurts everywhere, from the tips of his hair to his toenails, his whole body is in agony. He tries to crawl away from the pain again but someone (something) traps him, holds him down, demands his attention.

“Sam. Sam. Listen to me. He likes it when you squirm, Sam. Don’t give it to him. Don’t you do that for him. You stay stiff as a board and let him go fuck himself. You got that?”

He opens his eyes and he can see him now, Dean or something like Dean, towering over him, blocking the sun. If it’s Dean (it has to be Dean oh please God) he needs to do what he says. If it’s Lucifer it doesn’t matter. Sam takes a breath and his fingers dig into the earth at his sides and he locks it all down, no kicking, no fighting, because someone has set him on fire and someone is dissecting him with ice and someone keeps telling him it’s okay, it’s okay and someone wants him motionless and maybe they’re all Dean, he doesn’t know any more but he’s not back there, he’s not back there, if he keeps saying it then it will be true, and then Dean says I’m sorry and there’s a white hot explosion in his chest and he kicks out and screams and he’s sorry and everything goes dark.

…

When he comes back, it’s to a more familiar set of pain. Rough ground and small stones underneath him, the dull ache of muscles that had been clenched in agony, the sting of a bitten lip, the sharper sting of alcohol on a wound, the low throb of a jaw long clenched in pain, and the sudden stab of a needle, of Dean stitching up his wounds.

“Hey.” His voice is dry and ragged, and he’s shaken by a spasm of coughing before he can say anything else.

Dean startles at the word, and quickly sits him up with a hand supporting his back, pushing a bottle of lukewarm water to his lips. “Shhh. Don’t talk. Drink.” Sam’s mouth tastes like blood and dirt, and he spits out a mouthful before draining the rest of the bottle.

“All right,” Dean murmurs, easing him back onto the ground. “Let me finish up here. You okay?”

“Mostly. You?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.” A stab of the needle again, as if for emphasis.

“You didn’t get hurt?”

“Only my pride. Can’t believe I let that thing knock me on my ass. And I can’t believe you jumped in front of it, you dumb shit.”

“Someone’s gotta save your candy ass.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t let it happen again.” Dean continues stitching in silence, head down in concentration. When he speaks again, he doesn’t look up.

“Look. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” asks Sam, confused.

Dean looks up now, eyes narrowed. “How much of that do you remember?”

(He remembers everything.)

“I remember I was in a lot of pain. I remember you doing whatever you needed to do to save me. I don’t remember you doing anything you need to apologize for.”

“Okay.” Dean nods solemnly at the ground. “Okay.” He stands up and offers Sam a hand. “Come on. Let’s go burn this fucker.”

Sam takes his hand, climbs slow and stiff to his feet, and begins the process of forgetting that his brother knows what appeals to the torturer.

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

If you think you’ve read this before, you’re not wrong. What can I say? Apparently, Sam being in pain and being unable to tell if he’s topside or in Hell is my happy place. (I am so messed up.)

I apologize for taking liberties with the spinthaak, if you happen to be familiar with spinthaak lore.

The title is from “Hurt,” which is awesome whether it’s performed by Nine Inch Nails or Johnny Cash.

[hannibal-abo]

Turnabout

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2GXVgX1

by cellostiel

Hannibal goes very, very still. He notes where Will tossed his pocketknife without looking at it, calculating who would reach it first if they both lunged for it. Will rolls his eyes.

"Jesus, calm down." He shifts off the bed to shuck his pants, leaving Hannibal closer to the knife and himself vulnerable. "Even if I wanted to, how would I turn you in? You'd destroy all evidence before we got even close."

"You know." Hannibal murmurs.

~

Will and Hannibal fuck, and during this, certain things come to light.

A disconnected scene from a fic I haven't written yet; you can read the beginning notes for context. It's a Hannigram dual-serial-killer smut fic, so uh. Expect a fair amount of what that usually entails.

Words: 1797, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Hannibal (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter

Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter

Additional Tags: PWP, Blood, Alternate Universe, Serial Killer Will Graham, references to violence, Smut, Trans Male Character, Trans Will Graham, Dark Will Graham

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2GXVgX1