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stereksecretsanta · 5 years ago

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Merry Christmas, obsessedbutonline!

For @obsessedbutonline, who listed fluff, angst, and ‘Derek giving Stiles gift’ as a few ‘Likes’. I hope I did those items justice. Hope you have a wonderful Christmas, Friend!

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*****

The Gift

The gift. He supposed it all started with the gift. Or maybe Star Trek. Derek wasn’t sure. It was Stiles, after all. One day, the younger man had been debating the cuddle rating of a Tribble, before diving into an analysis of The Voyage Home being one of the worst movies in franchise history (except for the whales, of course), and the next thing Derek knew, he’d found himself discussing how Moby Dick was one of his favorite books. The random jumps from one topic to another hadn’t been anything new for Stiles, but that had also been the year they’d legitimately gotten ‘together’ after their contentious circling of each other’s orbits, so when Derek had opened an inelegantly wrapped early edition of the novel on that first Christmas as a couple, he’d been rendered speechless.

He couldn’t remember how long he’d stared at the leather-bound copy exactly, but he did recall feeling a bout of inadequacy. He thought he’d hid it well though. “Stiles – “ he’d started. “I wasn’t expecting…This is too much.”

Stiles had shrugged like it hadn’t been a big deal, an eager grin on his face. “Nah, it wasn’t too bad. A classmate mentioned a prof who needed an assistant to help translate some Latin verses, and I thought I’d check it out. When I went, I noticed a copy of Moby Dick in his office, and you’d mentioned it was one of your favorites, so I offered my translation services for free if he would sell the book for a discounted price.”

Of course, Stiles had remembered that weird detail from a throwaway conversation. And of course, he’d been resourceful in procuring it. That was just who Stiles was. Now, Derek, on the other hand… well, he’d felt completely out of his league when he’d pulled out the gift card he’d picked up a day earlier from a comic book store. He hadn’t even known if that was a store Stiles ever visited. He really sucked at gift-giving. “Sorry, I didn’t …”

Stiles had yanked it out of his hands before he’d even finished. “I love it. Thanks, Derek!” The younger man had beamed excitedly, clutching that cheap piece of plastic in his hands as if he’d just received some personal heirloom. There had been no uptick in the man’s heartrate, so there’d been no lie in those words, but that hadn’t stop Derek from feeling bad.

And it was then that he had resolved to do better, that he would be thoughtful and meticulous in his gift selection the next time Christmas rolled around. Stiles deserved as much.

But he’d mentioned he was bad at gift-giving, right? As in, monumentally bad. Because the next Christmas, when they’d settled down on his couch after an intimate holiday dinner he’d prepared for the two of them, Stiles had presented him with a charmingly wrinkled gift bag. And when he’d pulled out a lovingly restored and framed photograph of his family from before the fire, he’d not only felt a slight lump in his throat at the sentiment, he’d also felt remarkably small and completely lacking in comparison. It was a good thing they’d come to a mutual understanding that their birthdays would be a no-gift zone, because Derek wasn’t sure he could’ve handled double the inferiority complex this time of year.

“I found a copy of the photo from the digital archives of the town newspaper. It was for some fundraiser committee your mom chaired, I think. I saved a copy, and googled around for some pointers on how to increase the resolution so I could print out a decent version of it,” Stiles had explained.

Derek had nodded absently, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of his mother’s face under the cool glass. His whole family had stared back at him, carefree and unburdened in the moment that photo had been taken, eyes all shiny from a sunny afternoon picnic. “Yeah, I remember. It was a Pets in the Park fundraiser for the local animal shelter.” There had been an ache in the pit of his stomach at the reminder of everything he’d lost, but it wasn’t as sharp as it had once been. Now, it had been dulled by time, and tempered by the meaningful relationships he’d found, foremost of which was the one with the man beside him. “Thank you,” he’d said slowly, slightly surprised that his voice hadn’t cracked at the pool of emotion swirling within him.

“Anytime, big guy.” Stiles had leaned in, his weight and warmth freely offered as a source of silent strength.

But when he’d pulled out his gift for Stiles, he had had that sinking feeling of failing an important test. He hadn’t even had time to wrap it properly, opting to place a haphazard bow on it instead. “Sorry, I didn’t know …”

Stiles had grabbed the cellophane-covered box with a puzzled expression. “A bath set?” he’d asked slowly. “Is this your way of telling me I stink?”

There had been amusement in the younger man’s tone, devoid of upset or disappointment, but that hadn’t stopped Derek from feeling upset and disappointed in himself. After Stiles had gone through all the trouble of giving him such a personal and meaningful gift, he’d reciprocated with … soap. “Remember when you were on break during Thanksgiving,” he’d started to explain. “That necromancer problem we had?”

“Oh, damn, do I ever! We spent the whole night trying to wash zombie goo out of bodily crevices I never knew I had!” Then, realization had set in as those rich brown eyes widened. “This is perfect, Derek! Thank you!” And just like that, Stiles had fallen on him with his usual gracelessness, and proceeded to express his ‘gratitude’ properly.

That had been last year. But this time around, right before Stiles had returned to campus for his final two semesters of college, Derek had stumbled upon the ideal Christmas gift, while they were cleaning, of all things. They’d been packing up and storing some of Stiles’ stuff before the younger man headed back to school when they’d gotten diverted by some dusty, old boxes in the Sheriff’s attic. Somehow, in the way of procrastination, they’d ended up flipping through old photo albums when Stiles had paused to tell him about a picture of his mother.

“Oh, there’s the locket my dad helped me buy for Mother’s Day when I was eight,” Stiles had said as he’d pointed to a picture of Claudia Stilinski, vivacious and beaming brightly at the camera. Anyone could see where Stiles had gotten his smile. “I didn’t have the greatest taste in jewelry, so it doesn’t look like much, but she was so excited when she got it. She wore it all the time.”

“It’s nice that you have a memento to remember her by,” Derek had supplied.

Stiles’ shoulders had slumped a little at the comment. “Yeah, I think we accidentally sold it during a garage sale not long after she died. Dad wasn’t exactly in the best place, and he just wanted to get rid of the memories because they hurt so much back then. Lots of regret now. Who knows? It might’ve found another home, or it might be in a garbage dump somewhere.”

And that comment had led him down the winding, convoluted path to where he was now: standing in front of a teenage girl with bright blue hair and an eclectic ensemble of a loose plaid shirt, artfully ripped leggings, and combat boots.

“A hundred bucks,” the girl re-stated, her tone indicating that this wasn’t a negotiation.

“One hundred? The pawn shop owner said you only paid five dollars for it.” He could be stubborn too, though deep down, he knew he wasn’t really in a position of power in this situation, much as that rankled him.

Ms. Blue-hair shrugged. “So? If you want it that bad, then you should be willing to pay for it.”

She had him there. Three months of diligently interviewing the Stilinski neighbors, and following a trail of multiple goodwill and pawn shops had led him to that very locket hanging from the girl’s neck, that very locket Stiles had shown him in that old photo of his mother. He gave the teen what Stiles had laughingly termed his ‘murder-brow’ look and pulled out his wallet. Of course, he would pay, especially after all the work he’d put into tracking it down, and because this was for Stiles. He didn’t have to like being swindled like this though.

“That’s a nice jacket, by the way.”

Derek looked up from pulling out the cash and froze. He glared at the girl, hoping the intensity of his stare would deter whatever she was about to insinuate. It didn’t work.

“No,” he said flatly as she watched him expectantly.

“Okay, I guess we’re done here then. Nice meeting you.” And with that, she turned and started to walk away.

Derek ground his teeth together to keep from outright growling and fought hard to not wolf out. He hated being bested like this. Life would’ve been so much simpler if he could just take the damned piece of jewelry by force and run off with it. Stupid morals.

“Fine,” he conceded with a clenched jaw after she’d managed to walk several feet away.

She turned with a triumphant smile as he started to shrug off his leather jacket. When he held it out with the wad of cash, she unclasped the chain without any further objections and handed it over. “Pleasure doing business with you, sir.”

(***)

Stiles’ name flashed on his lock screen just as he was pulling up to his loft.

“Hey, you back already?” he answered as he shifted his car into park. His regular visits to Stanford notwithstanding, he’d been anticipating Stiles’ winter break for a while, and the timing couldn’t have worked out any better with him finding the locket when he had. “I was going to pick you up tonight after you’ve had a few hours with your dad.”

Several seconds of heavy breathing greeted his words, and almost instantly, he was on alert, muscles tensing and heartrate increasing. “Stiles?”

“Yeah, Derek, I’m here,” a familiar voice sounded through the phone. “Sorry, just had to get around Scott to check something out. But no, I’m not home yet. Got sidetracked on my way into town. Can you come to the preserve right now? The trail just off Parsons. We’ve got, um, a problem.”

Since his return to Beacon Hills, the supernatural activity in the area had decreased significantly, especially with a solid pack established in the area now, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t the occasional run-in with creatures bringing in death and mayhem. This sounded like one of those times. Shifting gears into reverse, he responded without hesitation, “On my way.”

The trip to the preserve was quick, the route having been travelled so many times that he could probably drive it eyes closed. After parking in the lot off Parsons, he picked up Stiles’ scent almost immediately, along with a few others of the pack, and had no problems tracking the source down a few hundred feet off a popular running path.

Not surprisingly, Scott noticed him first, looking up from a patch of tall grass and nodding in greeting as Derek silently approached. Stiles stood more out in the open, back turned and head down as he tapped busily on his phone. Once upon a time, his quiet ‘stalking’ would’ve caused a flailing of limbs and a high-pitched yelp from the younger man, but of the familiarity borne from the years of closeness, Stiles simply turned, smiled, and greeted him with a warm ‘hey’ as if he’d known he was there the whole time. And all things considered, he probably had.

They’d never been a couple for overt displays of affection, but the way Stiles unconsciously leaned toward him, trusting and open, worked just as well in telling Derek how the other man felt. He usually did the same, subtly breathing in the scent of his boyfriend and feeling more settled in his presence. They hadn’t seen each for a couple of weeks, and he’d missed having Stiles near.

“What’s going on?” he asked, looking around for the rest of the pack. Their scents were fainter, which meant they had been here recently, but had likely wandered off or left altogether.

“It’s Christmastime in Beacon Hills, so the usual. Y’know, carolers, Santa parades, sleigh rides, tidings of comfort and joy, and oh yeah, witches.”

Derek had never been bothered by Stiles’ sarcasm, though he wouldn’t openly admit that if asked about their first encounters with each other, but now, he found the trait rather endearing. “So, we’re dealing with a witch. How bad?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I was driving back into town when I saw a kid running across the road. Freaked me out, and barely stopped in time. When I went to check on him, he was crying and said an old woman had tried to take him. At first, I thought it was an attempted kidnapping, but then, he said that there was a lot of screaming coming from her big bag, and he was scared of getting stuffed in there with all the other kid. For this town, that triggered alarm bells. Stuffing kids into bags and lugging them around is not your regular run-of-the-mill kidnapper MO. I called my dad, and he came out here with a few units, but is running interference on the supernatural front. He’d mentioned that this was the third attempted kidnapping this month, so the deputies are on high alert. They still think it’s a regular human predator, so they’re canvassing the other side of the preserve right now, which means we can do our own investigation here. I called Scott, and the others are now fanned out, doing a search to see if we can catch a scent.”

“No luck yet,” Scott added as he strode over to join them. “Just a whole bunch of the usual smells, and with the people that use the running trails, it’s hard to pinpoint a specific one. We’re not exactly sure what we’re looking for.”

“I think I have a lead though.” Stiles held out his phone to show an etching of a stooped crone with a large sack. “We might have an Icelandic witch in the area, one that kidnaps and eats children, but I’m not a hundred percent. I hope I’m not right because … well, children! But she’s supposed to be active around Christmas. I need to double-check some books at my house to make sure though.”

Derek nodded, not surprised that Stiles had pretty much figured it out already. As human as Stiles was, he was arguably one of the pack’s most valuable assets, and truth be told, Derek felt quite proud of the other man’s quick wit and life-saving accomplishments. “So, you need to go home then?”

Stiles made a sound of agreement as he tucked his phone away and gave him an apologetic look. No words were needed to communicate how sorry he was that their reunion wasn’t what they’d planned.

“Okay, call us with any info,” Scott chimed in. “Derek and I will probably be more useful if we keep scouting the area. This is children we’re talking about. I don’t want anymore of them put in danger.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Alpha leader, sir,” Stiles replied jokingly, giving his friend a mock salute.

The years had matured Scott somewhat, enough that the erstwhile werewolf took his role and responsibilities somewhat seriously now. And for this, Derek was grateful.

Scott gave Stiles a shove to get him on his way, before shaking his head with a laugh and started to move back to the tall grass he’d been searching through earlier. “Go, you idiot.”

Stiles responded with the very mature gesture of sticking out his tongue. Then, Derek felt the younger man’s arm wrap lightly around his waist and pull him close for a quick kiss. The motion was casual, natural, and one that Derek returned without thought. “Sorry, not what we’d planned when I got back, huh? Let’s catch this witch fast so we can start our Christmas cuddle session, ‘kay?”

Derek raised an eyebrow at the comment. His boyfriend sure did have a way with words sometimes. “Christmas cuddle?”

“Hey, it is what it is.” Stiles shrugged innocently as he started to move away.

“I’m not calling it that.”

“Suit yourself, Sourwolf, but I’ve officially labelled it, and you can’t take that away from me,” Stiles said as he walked backwards toward the nearby trail. Derek half-expected him to trip on some invisible rock in the next few seconds. “Gonna say it all I want!”

He rolled his eyes as the younger man’s antics. “Go.”

“Christmas cuddle! Oh, and far be it for me to complain about seeing you in that t-shirt, but you do know it’s winter, right? We may live in California, and you may have some super-awesome internal wolfy furnace going, but I’m cold just looking at you. Where’s your jacket?”

“Go!” While he didn’t feel the chill as acutely, he didn’t need to be reminded about his fleecing by a greedy, blue-haired teenager.

After Stiles wave his acknowledgement and jogged out of sight, Derek turned back to join Scott. Their relationship may have started out roughly, but they’d fallen into a companionable pattern over the last few years. It was likely because of everything Scott had been through and his maturation, but Derek guessed part of it may have been out of respect for both their relationships with Stiles. Without much preamble, they quickly sectioned off their respective search zones, and fanned out into the thicker parts of the preserve. Derek had grown up here, had run and played amongst the trees and foliage so often that walking through it now stirred a sense of homecoming. Still, sometimes, there were things here that could still surprise him. Like the odd whiff of fear and panic he caught a few minutes after he’d split off from Scott. It was faint, probably non-existent for the newer wolves, but it was there, so out of place with the earthy scent of moss and soil. He started to follow it, his senses sharpening as he homed in on the potential prey. He hadn’t made much progress before he heard a howl off in the distance, and his entire body tensed, ready for action.

They’d found something!

Once he pinpointed the source, he was off, dashing through branches and over roots with a surety of stride that had been acquired from a lifetime of running these woods. He didn’t get very far though. He heard it first, a loud symphony of disembodied laughter all around him. Before he could stop and confront whatever it was, he caught a flutter of movement in his periphery, and then, he was flying, thrown through the air by an impact harder than anything in recent memory. He was out cold before he even landed.

(***)

He wasn’t unconscious for long. At least, he didn’t think he was, given that generations of werewolf evolution had refined his healing abilities to the point where he shouldn’t be. But however long it was, it was enough to find himself strapped to a board – or a crude table, perhaps – staring up at the flickering shadows of a stone ceiling. Or a cave? He honestly hated losing time like this and waking up in unexpected places, which, given who he was and where he lived, was an actual occupational hazard.

A whimper somewhere to his left drew his attention just then, and he tilted his head at an uncomfortable angle to take better stock of where he was, and with whom. Just within his field of vision, he could barely make out a small figure sat huddled inside a primitively constructed cage no higher than his hip. A wood fire burned beneath a big vat just a few feet away, thoroughly heating up whatever was inside if the bubbling sound was any indication.

“Hey,” he said quietly, if a little hoarsely, hoping the hunched figure would shift enough into the firelight for him to make out who it was.

The figure shuffled over, and Derek could see the tear-streaked face of a boy, probably no more than eight or nine years old. Stiles had said there’d been attempted kidnappings. It looked like one had succeeded.

“H-hello? You’re awake.”

“Yeah, I am.” He wasn’t good with children, barring the few cousins he’d played with when he was younger, yet that had been different. They’d been family. He knew this kid was scared, could hear it in the tremor of his voice and smell it in the dankness of the air, but he wasn’t sure what he could say to help with that. “I’m Derek. What’s your name?”

“A-Andy.”

“Well, Andy, if you give me a minute, we can get out of here and I’ll take you back to your parents.” He tried to sound reassuring, though he wasn’t sure it worked as well as he’d intended when he was tugging and testing the thick ropes tied around his chest, waist, and legs. They were tight, but he managed to slide a hand free enough to shift and start slicing away at the restraints with his claw.

“Just Mom,” the boy said quietly. “Dad left.”

“Okay, we’re going to find your mom then. I’m sure she’s really missing you right now.” He figured that keeping a calm tone and easy conversation going was as good a plan as any while he worked on the ropes.

Andy shuffled a little in his cage, his face dipping down again into the shadows cast by the nearby fire. “She’s working. She’s always working. She promised I’d get to see Dad, but she couldn’t take me, so I went to find him myself.”

Which might explain why the boy hadn’t been reported missing yet. There was some give to the rope by his right hip, so he tilted his head and tried to look over at the boy and hoped he properly projected the sincerity of his words. “That doesn’t mean she’s not missing you, Andy. I know she’s probably very worried. She – “

The stench assaulted him first, sour and rancid, before he felt the whole space shake with a reverberating thud. Andy quickly scooted back into the corner of his cage with a scared squeak, leaving Derek to turn and search out the source in the dim light. An old woman came into view near the foot of his table, posture bent and face haggard, each of her steps sending tiny shockwaves through the cave. Her long, gray hair hung in a greasy, unkempt mess, framing a crooked nose and a gap-toothed, mirthless grin. She resembled the picture Stiles had shown him on his phone, but the younger man had neglected to mention one thing. She was a fucking giant!

The whole cave suddenly felt cramped, and her looming presence caused his heartrate to spike. He worked faster on his ropes.

“Good dog. You’re too old and gristly for my liking, but if my lads want a pet, a pet they will get,” she said in a voice deeper than he’d expected. She patted his stomach dismissively as she passed, and he fought hard not cry out at the jarring, painful contact. “Now, where’s my little snack? Little boy for a little snack. Little boy snack.” She cackled at her own wit.

He heard Andy whimper again as the old, giant crone ambled her way over to the cage, and he wanted to tell the boy to be brave, to hold on because he was almost through his rope. Yet, as he was about to do just that, he caught the scent of metal and electricity in the air. It cut through the myriad of other unpleasant smells like an olfactory beacon, clear and crisp and a harbinger of something – or someone – familiar. He couldn’t help but smile a little at the arrival of the calvary, even as Andy shrieked when the witch pulled him roughly from the cage and shuffled over to the boiling pot.

Then, several things happened at once. First, voices that sounded like the disembodied laughter he’d heard earlier came from somewhere outside. This time, however, they were shouting out in distress, intermingled with the familiar voices of his pack. The cries gave the witch pause for a split second, just as he cut through the last of his restraints and pulled free. After that, he was up and leaping through the air, aiming to get Andy free of the old woman’s clutches and away from the fire. And he managed just that, wrapping his arms around the boy as he clawed at the large hand that held him. But he underestimated the reaction speed of the crone, and barely managed to turn his body to shield Andy before her other hand swatted his side. He landed with bone-cracking impact against the boiling pot, adrenalin enhancing his movements as he rolled quickly to avoid landing on the fire or getting splattered by the hot liquid in the toppling vat. He was pretty sure he’d probably cracked a few ribs, but they were already healing. Andy seemed none the worse for wear when he looked down, unhurt and safe in his arms still.

“My boys! What are they doing to my boys?” the witch wailed.

Derek tensed briefly, thinking the giantess would take her surprise and anger out on him. He readied himself for a fight, but instead, she turned and marched the other way, he and Andy seemingly forgotten. He eased himself up with a barely suppressed groan, and let the small body pressed against his chest slide down to his lap. He could hear the pack outside, the growls of the wolves and the foreign-sounding chants from Stiles, and he knew that they had it handled.

“You okay?” he asked as he gave Andy a good once-over.

The boy simply nodded, his whole body still trembling. Then, without a word, he leaned forward and hugged Derek as if his life depended on it. Not sure how else to respond, Derek hugged the child back.

That was how Stiles found them a few minutes later when he stumbled clumsily into the cave. After some coaxing, they both managed to talk Andy into finally letting go. Scott took it from there, coming in to take the boy away to find the Sheriff, who had been called to the area when Stiles had triangulated Derek’s location. Stiles waited a moment after Scott had left before he turned and threw himself into Derek’s arms.

“Oh, thank every deity I just prayed to you’re okay. Had me worried.”

Derek squeezed the warm, lithe body clinging to him like an octopus, and bent down to briefly nuzzle his partner’s neck. He breathed in the fortifying scent that was simply Stiles and used it to ground himself after the crazy events that had just happened. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m fine.”

“I know. You’re one tough son of a bitch, but the uncertainty always gets me.” Stiles pulled away and gave him a look with those ridiculously wide Bambi-like eyes that made Derek’s insides go warm. “And of course, you would go all superhero and save a child while we saved you. With the way the boy was holding on to you, I thought you’d replaced me with a cuter, newer model.”

Derek quirked up his lip into a lopsided, half-smile. “Never,” he returned easily. “If I did, I would at least try to get a good trade-in price for you.”

“Smartass.” As his comeback, Stiles smacked his arm with the back of his hand. He then slipped said hand into Derek’s, intertwined their fingers, and started walking out of the cave. “See if I ever send baddies back through an intercontinental gate for you again.”

“So, she wasn’t a witch?” Derek asked as he followed Stiles’ lead out of the cave

“Oh, no, she was a witch. The giantess witch, Gryla, and her sons, the Yule Lads. I don’t know how they got here, but I was working off of some quick and dirty research, so the best I could do was track down caves in the area, which is what the literature says she tends to favor, and find a spell to send her back to her native Iceland.”

Derek silently listened as Stiles explained what had happened, both grateful and proud – and not for the first or last time either – at the quick wit and resourcefulness of the guy he got to call his. They eventually emerged from the cave, and he immediately felt lighter the moment he could smell the fresh earth and foliage again. The sun was beginning to set, creating lengthening shadows of the redwoods and the oaks that stood like sentinels around them. And with that came a distinct chill in the air. He felt Stiles shiver at the lower temperature, and wished he’d had his jacket around to offer the other man. The jacket that he’d exchanged for …

With his free hand, he reached into his jeans pocket where he’d tucked the locket earlier, and –

Shit!

Without another thought, he turned and sprinted back into the cave. He quickly scanned the area and did not see the locket anywhere. His eyes then fell on the overturned pot and the still-burning embers of the woodfire. A dash of panic began to taint his actions, but he didn’t stop to quell it. Instead, he rushed over to the dying fire and started digging through the ashes. His hands burned and healed almost simultaneously as he dug desperately through the charred wood, an odd combination of frustration and helplessness clouding his judgement.

“Derek?”

He heard Stiles, but didn’t answer, mainly because his fingers wrapped around a clump of metal just then. He looked down at what used to be Stiles’ mother’s locket, the piece now misshapen by the heat and bearing no resemblance to what it used to be. He dropped the thing, both dejected and angry. This was supposed to be the year. This was supposed to be the Christmas where he would show Stiles how much the younger man meant to him by putting the care and thought into his gift that Stiles had always put into his. But everything… everything had been for nothing.

“Derek? What’s wrong? You okay?” Stiles approached and knelt beside him, looking ready to join him in whatever he was searching for.

He brushed the soot and ash off his hands, shook his head, and stood up. “Nothing. I’m good. Just thought I dropped something but I was wrong. C’mon, let’s go home.”

Puzzled, Stiles stood too, though he didn’t pry, and together, they made their way out of the cave once more, but not before Derek threw one last, longing glance at the pile of ashes.

(***)

“Oh, my god, I’m so stuffed,” Stiles said as he plopped down on the couch and rubbed his belly. “I might have to be rolled off to bed later because there’s no way I’m standing up.”

Derek smiled softly at the younger man’s dramatics, and joined him on the sofa. Christmas dinner had been an intimate one again between just the two of them, with Derek doing most of the preparation, while Stiles had ‘helped’. He didn’t mind though. He enjoyed their time together. The way they fit together, their ease with each other … it had all been hard-won, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything. The younger man had chatted animatedly throughout the meal and Derek had let him go on, wanting to prolong the whole thing because, if he was being honest, he was dreading what would happen afterwards: their gift exchange.

“Merry Christmas, Derek,” Stiles said, as if reading his thoughts. He reached over to the end table and grabbed an unevenly wrapped gift.

Derek stared at the thing for a moment, just knowing deep down it would be a typical Stiles present, all special and personal. Why did Stiles even stay with him? He must come across as an unthoughtful, unappreciative jerk. Slowly, he unwrapped the gift, and revealed a collage of artfully arranged photographs. There were trees and flowers and butterflies dancing on sunbeams across open trails. They were beautiful, more so in that Derek recognized where they had been taken: the preserve.

“You sometimes talk about how you grew up in the preserve,” Stiles explained. “How it’s a second home to you, and how you have all those memories with your family there. I know the memories are special, so I went and took some pictures during summer break. I hope these help you remember all those good times.”

Derek blinked away the prickling he felt in his eyes. Stiles may have assumed he was touched by the gift, which was fine. He didn’t need to know what Derek was really feeling. He didn’t need to know that in that moment, he thought Stiles really deserved so much better than him.

“Thank you. It’s perfect,” he choked out. “I – “ He didn’t know how to continue. What else could he say? “My present isn’t –“

He stopped. Stiles looked at him expectantly. Not finding the right words, he leaned over to the coffee table and grabbed the last-minute gift bag he’d filled the day before. “Here.”

He looked away while Stiles eagerly dug into the bag. He knew what was in there, and he didn’t need to see the lackluster reaction the younger man would have at the assortment of Reese’s candies he’d find.

“Oh, this is awesome, Derek!” Stiles exclaimed excitedly. “Holy shit, there’s a half pound peanut butter cup in here! Hello, Heaven!”

Derek felt Stiles’ arms wrap around him in gratitude, but he couldn’t find it in himself to return the gesture. The younger man seemed to notice and pulled back. “Derek?”

He turned and took in Stiles’ questioning gaze. He couldn’t do this. They complemented each other so well in everything, but somehow, in this, they were completely mismatched. “Doesn’t it bother you?” he asked in earnest.

“What?”

“My gifts. Doesn’t it bother you that my gifts are so … so bad. Yours are always so … so perfect.” It felt good to get that off his chest.

Stiles gawked at him as if he was speaking a foreign language. “Huh? But I think your gifts are perfect. And that’s not a lie. You can tell, right?”

True, Derek hadn’t heard any change in the other man’s heartrate to indicate otherwise, but no one could like his choice of gifts that much. “I just ... I wanted to show you how much I appreciate you, how much I care about you, the same way to do for me, especially with the gifts you give me. But I can’t seem to do that.” This was uncharted territory for him, this admission. He wasn’t used to revealing his insecurities like this. Yet, this was Stiles he was talking to, he reminded himself. Stiles, who never had any shame in revealing his every failure and weakness, and who gave his trust without fear of being hurt. Derek owed him the same. “I found your mother’s locket,” he finally said. “The one from the album you showed me. I found it, and was going to give it to you, but I lost it when we fought that witch last week. I’m sorry.”

He stared at the coffee table. He stared at the discard wrapping paper of the collage he’d just received. He started at everything but Stiles.

And then, “That’s what you were worried about? Not being able to show me you loved me?” Stiles’ tone was incredulous, and it was enough for Derek to turn his attention to the younger man again. “You’re an idiot, Derek,” Stiles continued. “For the record, your presents are awesome. But that’s not the point. You drive three hours each way to visit me on campus every other weekend. You cook Christmas dinner for us every year. You help me pack for college each fall. You drop everything and meet me in a forest, no questions asked, when I call. You even spent all night picking zombie guts out of my hair. If that doesn’t say ‘love’, I don’t know what does!”

To put an exclamation to his point, Stiles pulled him in for a long, lingering kiss. “I love you, Derek Hale, and I know you love me. You don’t need to give me things to show me that. You show me every day in the things you do. And that’s more than enough.”

Derek looked at the man sitting beside him, stunned and at a loss. “I –“

“It’s more than enough,” Stiles re-stated firmly. “Now, stop your self-flagellation, and show me how much you appreciate my gift by kissing me.”

Stiles pulled him in again, and this time, Derek did put everything he had into that kiss because the weight of those heartfelt words were slowly sinking in. He loved Stiles. And Stiles … Stiles knew that. He groaned in appreciation at the true gift he’d been given as he pushed the younger man down onto his back, bracing his weight on his arms as he ground their hips together. Fuck it, he felt like he’d really won the lottery in finding Stiles … because Stiles was right, he realized as he deepened their kiss, tasting and teasing the smart, sarcastic, and silly man beneath him.

This … This was more than enough.

#obsessedbutonline #stereksanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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youarejesting · 5 years ago

Text

BTS365 Prompts

[Masterlist]

Please tag me in your work if you use my prompts. I want to see your work. Ever your Jester.

Tell me your birthday and I will tag you on your special day!

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April 23rd - 29th

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Kim Seokjin: DNA

You were visiting your friend. She had given you her address as you both had plans next week but you wanted to surprise her so you arrived early driving into the gated community. It was a whole town fenced off. Weird. You passed through security by dropping the name of your friend you were visiting and headed through.

You pulled up in a guest parking lot and walked to her house knocking. She grabbed you pulling you inside, “who knows you are here, did anyone see you?” “No but why is this place so cult-y I mean that rose business is everywhere the flags the buildings it’s even on that damn necklace you are wearing, if this is a cult I have to get you out. Don’t drink the kool aid”

She tried to rush you out the door telling you to get in your car and you both could leave, “look you have to go quickly out the way you came, if they find you I don’t know what will happen”

You were scared because she wasn’t joking there was no ‘haha just kidding’ no ‘April fools’ this was serious. She was serious. You went to race back to your car when you heard a chorus of howls. You were soon surrounded. By wolves? Pausing as they growled around you. A man coming out and leading you across town.

After the regular interrogation who are you, why are you here? You made it to a large building; it looked like a large frat house. You were led inside and to a door, standing there you smelt something pleasant, a soft jasmine, and cedar with a sharp fresh aqua. The moment you stepped inside you felt his presence, lowering your head like everyone else you felt weak. His back was to you and you didn’t know what was happening but the scent was all over the room and instead of being overpowering like axe body spray. This made your head fog up in the most pleasing ways.

“I heard you trespassed on our land sweetheart?” The word wasn’t spoken with endearment, as he pulled your chin up, your eyes caught his seeing a golden spark fill his dark eyes. He had stilled for a moment, your eyes scanned him over he was devilishly handsome and had broad shoulders, strong arms, his waist was thin and his legs firm. Your eyes met his once more realizing how you were blatantly ogling him. “Mine”

Min Yoongi: Pretzel

“Welcome everyone to the weekly CBM meeting, I see a lot of new faces so let's begin with introductions and why you are here?”

”Hello I am Kim Seokjin, I’m a werewolf, I have been coming here for three months because I accidentally shifted one night and my bonds broke, and they found me lying in the park and deemed it inappropriate. So now I spend every Wednesday for the next six months coming to Creature Behavior management”

“Hi I am Jung Hoseok I um saved a girl from drowning and swam her up to the beach but when I pulled her out of the water and shifted back I had no pants and her father beat me and I am here to prove I am good and I mean I get to meet new friends so it can’t be too bad right?” “I am Min Yoongi, a Zombie, strictly vegetarian, I just wanted a pretzel and apparently it’s considered inappropriate to threaten to eat someone if they try to push in line”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that and the zombie looked at you across the room swinging your legs back and forth on the chair. “I would let you eat me” You giggled watching his pale undead cheeks stain a dark grey. “My name is Y/N and apparently refusing to let a guy get you a drink at a house party makes me a tease and when you refuse their advances, they try to take you to the bedroom anyway, Yet when you refuse again publicly they accuse you of using your succubus powers on them. Then when you actually use your powers on them and force them to make out with one another, they don’t seem to like that”

“Ahh... my undead heart, you are my soulmate.” Yoongi laughed along with everyone in the circle muttering under his breath quietly but you still were able to catch it. “Marry me” “Okay bring the documents baby we can get married” You smiled and he lent forward licking his lips eyeing you up and down.

“How's next Wednesday for you?” “I will wear my best dress” You winked at him and he snapped his teeth back at you.

Jung Hoseok: Scale

Your father was a fisherman, and you spent your childhood years on the water. Sitting on the bowsprit legs dangling as you sang songs dreaming of pirates and mermaids and sea monsters. You would sing songs you made up and sometimes when you looked really hard you could see figures moving under the water. It was all the brilliance of a childhood imagination. But here you were years later a young lady home from the city, your father readied the boat some of the fishermen were new and some of their eyes lingered a little too long for your liking.

You sat on the bowsprit singing the old songs from when you were a kid, it was nostalgia and you remembered every word. Arriving at the usual fishing spot you swear you saw something move under the water. You grinned as your childish wonder had obviously come back to greet you.

You continued singing and playing on the ship sticking to the bow you loved looking over. The waves picked up but they did it so often you barely shifted. Your sea legs had long since been of use. “You might want to go in girl if it’s too scary for you”

You rolled your eyes standing and walking down the bowsprit like it was a tightrope grabbing the thick metal cord standing on the very edge. You were happily spinning around the cord when you definitely saw what looked like a torso. You saw it again. “Man overboard” You called across the boat. Everyone scrambled and you jumped in after him.

Just as you reached the area you had seen him he was gone, you turned to face a giant wave taking a deep breath.

You were pushed down hitting the side of the boat you tried to swim but the force of the wave was so strong. Arms wrapped around you and your eyes flew open seeing him the man in the water he looked oddly familiar. He swam quickly to the surface and held you there to breath.

“I never thought I would see you again,” he grinned and you felt the heat in your cheeks. “You used to sing all the time here, oh there is another wave hold your breath or whatever human thing you do” he tucked you against him and swam quickly under the wave.

You felt him rolling his hips against you and you tried to push him away, you had just met what the hell does he think he is doing. Looking down your eyes widened and looked away quickly. He wasn’t trying anything with you, the roll of his hips was how he swam. He was an actual real life mermaid. “Hang in there darling, I will bring you to the surface” he swam you to the boat.

Kim Namjoon: Pin

Watching the streets, the humans were getting smarter, locking themselves away at night, but what was this? A little girl walking the streets no more than four or five calling out for her mummy. Taehyung held his hand up telling his men to wait now wasn’t the time to strike; they had to be patient. “Mummy” she called crying, she tripped the scent of blood filled the air as she had scraped her knee. She cried hysterically and the door opened.

“Darling are you hurt?” The girl nodded, tears pouring down her face, her little heart beating hard from the hysteria. “Come to me okay” she whispered and the little girl got up and walked over. Taehyung signaled to his people and they dropped down from the roof into the shadows.

“They are coming Abigail bring the girl inside” “Where is my mummy?” She cried “please my mummy?” Men came out guns pointed at the red eyes glowing from the shadows, “is she human?” “She is bleeding, vampires don’t bleed” “Come inside sweetheart” the woman said and the vampires started to attack each human was captured and tied, each dragged back to the castle. “We brought dinner sir?”

“Shut that child up” Namjoon waved his hand and Taehyung did just that and the room fell silent as her body fell limp on the floor. “Okay not only did you steal my prey you snapped my neck?” The little girl shouted and with a loud crack her neck sat normally on her shoulders. She stood up, form changing from a child to an adult. “I spent years perfecting my skills of shape shifting to lure people out and you want to steal my kill.”

Namjoon’s eyes widened, “Restrain her” and she was taken to the cells except being a shapeshifter it didn’t last long even if it was bars of silver. Namjoon was in an important meeting when a cat jumped onto his desk and transformed into that woman again. He leaned back in his chair pissed, she talked too much. His hand gripped around her throat tightly and she smiled unaffected despite the little uptick in her artificially beating heart.

“You can’t kill me” she scoffed “I can damn well try”

Park Jimin: Zipper

Running through the forest on your early morning jog, you let your mind wander. The music in your ears takes you away to another world as you put one foot in front of the other. Before long you realized something was wrong you weren’t on the path.

The tree’s were dense, the air cold and your music cut out your phone battery dying, something was seriously wrong. Walking along scared this is when someone either dies or the early morning jogger finds a dead body, it’s always the joggers. What did they ever do?

The sky darkened and it started to rain, an hour lost became two, three, four until the small glow behind the rain clouds disappeared and it rained on through the night. You were cold but you kept stumbling around looking for the path looking for something.

There was a light in the distance and you strode over without hesitation, behind you it sounded as if someone was singing it was beautiful too beautiful for a creepy night in the forest. You continued toward the fire but the singing got louder.

The voice was angelic and it almost pulled you away but the thought of warm fire kept luring you in. It was a camp, there was a fire and a big pot over it, there were people walking around. On closer inspection the people looked unnaturally long and thin and all you could smell was a bitter rotten scent. You almost stepped into the camp when you noticed hoof prints in the mud. All too soon you realized the singing had stopped when a hand covered your mouth you couldn’t move your body frozen.

“Shh, don’t make a sound or they will kill you” the angelic voice whispered gently singing and walking you backwards. You were entranced by the words flooding your mind and making your head spin. The figure behind you tripped and you fell with an audible groan.

“Run” he grabbed your hand taking off through the trees, those things roared and you heard loud hooves and grunts that seemed so close to you.

The man in front of you was wearing a cloak and had such an agile form he moved like a serpent or cat so smooth and graceful. His body Zipping in and out of the trees, unlike you, who stumbled and tripped hitting every branch along the way. The screech behind you sent chills up your spine and you started to turn to look behind you.

“Don’t look at them! just keep moving we are almost there” Wherever there was you were unsure. There was a weird feeling like you had just dived into warm water and you felt safe and he slowed down.

“We are safe here, come inside you are all wet I will get you some clean dry clothes” he returned and you saw just how beautiful he was. “Please don’t look at me, I know I am nothing like the men you are use to, tall, strong, bearded protectors like that with broad shoulders and big muscles, it’s just Fae are smaller with weird features so I am just”

“Beautiful” you whispered your words shocking him.

Kim Taehyung: Honesty

Kim Taehyung had lived in the elven city all his life and was a little odd for an Elf. His features were a little different for any normal elf as well, his ears stuck out a little more and his features weren’t as pointed as the other elves. He had a strange view of the world and didn’t think the same way as everyone else. For one he was too playful for any young adult elf, he was expected to be more mature for his age and two he had a wolf companion. Mind you it was a tiny thing, a runt of its litter and super fluffy with dark fur that shone in the sun. All this wasn’t passable for a common elf but to make matters worse. He was Prince Taehyung, the middle child he had one older brother and one younger sister.

Walking into the city you were confused, Your parents wanted to unite the kingdom’s and have you marry someone of the royal family. You hated it, of course you had been disciplined every day to act like an elf but you didn’t want to live your life stifled by propriety and poise. You reluctantly waved out the window and stepped out in your frankly too big dress, your father greeted the other elven King and you saw the first Prince step forward and kiss your hand like a gentleman but you hated it he was textbook royalty and just as you hid your disdain behind your lace fan another prince ran in his hair a mess of twigs and from his knees down was just mud and grass stains and following his muddy footprints was a tiny fluffy wolf trailing his own paw prints across the marble floor.

“Please forgive my son” the queen turned to her son and gestured for him to leave and he bit his lip looking upset. “How about we adjourn to the dining room for some refreshments?”

“I would like to bide in my room, if you could kindly escort me whilst on your way to your Quarters? I need some time to collect my bearings after such a long journey?” You used your fake princess act and the younger prince nodded looking slightly alarmed at his family, his mother nodding earnestly and he swallowed, gesturing down the hall.

“I deeply apologize for my current disheveled appearance, I was in the garden” “Your hands seem clean?” You said curiously “I was wearing gloves” he grinned “Ah gloves” Once out of sight you bent down “And who is your tiny companion?” The wolf jumped up placing his dirty paws on your dress.

“Princess!” He looked ashamed “Your gown” “Oh well, it is dirty now, what's a little more?” “Princess I must implore” His voice came out more like a deep childish whine and you couldn’t help the elated feeling it brought you. “Implore all you wish, but I will not yield”

“Stubbornness is unbecoming of a Princess” “Do you know much about being a Princess?” “Sadly my knowledge in that area is limited, but, I believe it shan't be different from the wonders of being a prince.” “You too recite somber balladry and compressing yourself into derisory bodices”

“I don’t know what you just said but it sounded fancy” He smiled sheepishly. “Can we drop the act, I feel you hate being royalty as much as I do” “If I am honest there are not enough fanciful words that can express my loathing for being born royal, I am a laughing stock of the village Prince Taehyung thank the stars he is the second brother he is as odd as he is odd looking”

“I think you are handsome, more so than your brother, I would love to bask in your very presence and gaze upon the pleasantness that is your beauty. Perhaps we should switch places and you can be Princess y/n” “Your room Prince Taehyung?” He grinned

“I see Shall I escort you, to your room Princess y/n?” “How kind of you but I am simply at the end of the hall, do not trouble yourself?” “When we have composed ourselves and our outfits, Can I have the pleasure of escorting you around the uh courtyard perhaps?”

“Perhaps the library instead, if I am caught outside once more the queen will have my head” He took your hand and flushed a little as he pressed his lips to your hand softly. “I will be eagerly awaiting?”

Jeon Jungkook: Batman vs Ironman @yungisseesaw

It had been years since Jungkook’s people and the Human’s world became one, it was strange like two alternate timelines crossed over joining into one. The humans were not so welcoming for the first few years and so growing up Jungkook had people stare and judge him for his differences.

Jungkook was now a Young adult and a big time nerd, he spent his time watching superhero movies and playing video games, going to the arcade and funnily enough playing DND with his friends, all of which were human. Jimin and Hoseok were roommates and they had a really cute neighbor who Jungkook had seen only a handful of times over the fence a few times which meant she didn’t know he was a centaur. So while the others went to get pizza and movies Jungkook was home alone. Him and cars didn’t really mix well, not only didn’t he fit, they made him nauseous. You had chosen that moment to invite yourself over, except in a towel. “Hello, Hoseok, Jimin, are you home, I know you said to use the key for emergencies, but my hot water ran out”

“They aren’t here?” Jungkook said hiding behind the couch she turned and squealed “They went to get pizza and movies” “Oh well is it okay if I borrow the shower, I am freezing”

“Of course go ahead?” You went upstairs and he frowned curling up on the couch trying to curl his feet up and cover himself in blankets and pillows to hide his legs from her. “We are home?” Hoseok shouted and they laid out pizza boxes and drinks. “Why do you look so pale?”

“Y/N, is in the shower right now, her hot water ran out and she asked to borrow your shower” “Dude, you finally talked to her face to face, how did she take it?” “Well I was kind of hiding behind the couch?” They looked down at the fort he had made around himself and they smiled sadly.

“Wow that feels better” “Hey, Y/N, what do you think of centaurs?” Jimin grinned dodging Jungkook’s hand as it was swinging with vengeance “Hmm uh I have nothing against them, they are people too” “Would you ever date a centaur?” Yoongi added that any girl for their best friend had to get through them first.

“I mean yeah, I don’t know how the business would work but if I like someone it’s for who they are and not what they look like, any of you could come out right now and tell me you were one of the Cenpeople and I would still love you all just the same.

Yoongi seemed to approve and ripped the blankets off of Jungkook revealing his horse lower half and his weird four legged lounge pants. “Hyung!” Jungkook tried to grab at pillows and the blanket to cover himself back up but resorted to burying his face in a throw cushion sniffling in shame and embarrassment. His ears were bright red.

You looked over at him and sat on the couch across from him, “Do you know what I have a problem with Kookie, that you think that Iron man is the best rich orphan powerless superhero when clearly it is Bruce Wayne”

“You two are still arguing about that?” Namjoon scoffed “They have been going on about it for three weeks now” Jimin grinned “It’s like their odd way of flirting I think it’s cute”

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sheriffofmagic · 6 years ago

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Im always a big slut for hurt/comfort, so if you made it Vang0Chainz I would perish. Also Burger Chainz trying to enculture Vang0Bang0 by having a movie marathon that turns into a sleepover. Also what if Burger knew Vang0 before he lost his memory but promised Vango that he'd never tell him who he was before. im also tipsy lol im jus throwing spaghetti places. i love your blog btwww

I was going to go to sleep but i saw this ask and had to start writing immediately (must have some weird dumb pavlovian response to vang0chainz) anyway this is super dumb hopefully, maybe you’ll enjoy it. it’s almost 5am and i didnt proofread this so its definitely a huge mess but uhhhhh here’s the trash you ordered

---

“Will you stop fussing?” Vang0 says, snappier than he intended.

Burger Chainz pulls back from where he’d been inspecting Vang0’s hurt shoulder, a mix of hurt and embarrassment on his face.

“It’s not like this is the first time I’ve been shot,” Vang0 continues, “at least… I don’t think it is. Muscle memory or somethin’. Anyways, I mean it. I’m fine. And you hovering over me like I’m about to drop dead isn’t helping.”

Vang0’s not fine, obviously. He’s been shot which, muscle memory or not, stings like a bitch and more than anything makes him mourn for his jacket which there is no salvaging from the burn marks. A shame really, the chrome color had nearly matched that of his hair. He’d been thinking of turning it into his signature look, perfect for merchandising. Oh well. He wasn’t dead so that was a plus of sorts....

They were at Vang0 and Burger’s place (technically Vang0’s but Burger was there so often the distinction hardly felt necessary anymore) and, aside from the bullet wound, this was a pretty typical Saturday night. The TV providing a low din of noise to fill the empty spaces of whatever inane conversation was taking place between the two of them. Tonight was more tense than usual. Vang0 Bang0 was not a strong man. High charisma, low constitution. All that. Hiding pain wasn’t exactly in his repertoire but ignoring it? That he might be able to manage, especially if it stopped his massive cyborg friend from pulling the kicked puppy look for the next couple of hours.

Night City wasn’t exactly known for it’s premium broadcasting, most nights after midnight channels tended to switch to the same things. Classics. Vang0 didn’t care much for it, looking back at the past, even the fictional past, wasn’t really his thing. Burger Chainz, though, Burger Chainz loved them. Tried to hide it, Vang0 knew, but he’d referenced them often enough that Vang0 picked up. Vang0 was observant like that, even though he pretended not to be.

All this to say, it was after midnight, Vang0 was the one in pain, and yet Burger looked like he was the one on the verge of a breakdown. Vang0 took pity on him, the kind he only indulged in when the streams were turned off and the hour was late and he could pretend he and Burger were just normal friends, “What’s this one about again?”

Burger looks startled for a moment then glances briefly between the TV and Vang0, “Uhh, it’s a rom-com. He’s emailing another kid from his school but he doesn’t know who it is.”

Vang0 bites back a sardonic comment about how if this kid really wanted to know who his secret admirer was he could cross reference the dialogue patterns and… yeah maybe he can see why he’s not the most fun person to watch movies with and- oh. Burger is still talking.

“-things were different back then, ya know? People weren’t so… nice.”

Vang0 laughs, “You think people are nicer now?”

He gestures to the wound in his shoulder and Vang0 rolls his eyes (Eye? Can monochrome robotic eyes roll?) “Well, not bad folks maybe. Criminals still aren’t great. Prone to violence and all that. But normal people? Yeah I think they’re better.”

“Well aren’t you optimistic.”

Without missing a beat Burger replies with a wry smile, “Well, I have to be don’t I? With you around. Gotta cancel out that negative energy.”

Burger goes back to watching the TV, a slight uptick in the corners of his mouth. Vang0 can only look at him half dumbstruck, half distracted by the pain (getting shot really does hurt).

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Burger Chainz glances toward him, unsure, “Mean no offense. Just- you kind of assume the worst. About situations. ‘Bout people. Sometimes, even ‘bout yourself, if it’s not outta line to say.”

“It is.”

“Okay.” An awkward silence. Punctuated by the sounds of the film, too loud to be filling this space. This isn’t the conversation Vang0 wanted to be having. Not now. Not ever, if he could help it.

“How is it wrong for me to assume the worst? Huh? People do the worst all the time. We see it every day. You see the world we live in? You want me to be optimistic here? After everything I’ve gone through?”

Burger finally looks away from the screen, for once there’s no tension in his brow, only sureness. “I don’t want you to be anything other than yourself but goin’ through life thinking every shadow is out to get ya isn’t much of a way of livin’.”

“I didn’t think I’d have to remind you of all people that I have good reason to be distrustful.”

“You don’t. I-” he sighs, “I just wish you’d be willing to things as more than just black and white.”

“Oh forgive me if I’ve had some encounters,” he gestures to his shoulder, “that paint Night City in a bad light.”

Burger hesitates, “Does it hurt?”

“Obviously.”

“Right…”

They lapse into silence again, both of them staring at the screen but Vang0 can tell from the rigid set of Burger’s shoulders that he’s not really paying attention. He’s too on edge.

It’s not until after the emotional turning point of the film that Burger Chainz breaks the silence. The kid’s friends have all abandoned him, over something stupid Vang0 presumes despite not having paid much attention to what was going on. The kid was angry. Alone. And then the resolution starts and he’s so not alone anymore.

“It can’t all be bad though, right?” Burger asks tentatively.

Vang0 raises an eyebrow at him though which he means to convey Uh well, it is. In case you forgot I was shot by a person in your dumb city just a few hours ago. But which Burger Chainz apparently interprets as… honestly Vang0 has no clue how that man’s mind works.

“I- I mean. It’s not all bad all the time. Aside from the getting shot thing. Not great.”

“Can’t forget the memory wipe.”

Burger’s eye darts around the room, “R-right that too but- But. It’s not all bad. I mean, it’s pretty bad but think about it. You have an apartment and your fans and a sorta job and Dasha and- and me.”

He pauses.

“And that can’t all be bad. I’m only sayin’- the whole world ain’t out to get you, only part of it.”

This shouldn’t be comforting. At all. It should be unsettling. It should make Vang0 want to laugh bitterly and spout some brilliant sardonic response about the world being a cruel place that doesn’t care about people like him. But the music in the movie has shifted to something more hopeful. But it’s the late hours of the night where things like hope are less dangerous to feel. But Burger is looking at him with a soft look in his eyes. Like he really believes what he’s saying, the sap, and like he wants Vang0 to believe it too. He doesn’t but for just a second, Vang0 wants to. He wants to believe in a world with gentleness, the one Burger seems to be able to see where no one else can.

He sighs. Not a defeat. Not an agreement because Vang0 never yields. But an acceptance.

Vang0 tries to release the tension from his shoulders as much as he can, schooling his face into something less jaded. If anyone deserves to believe the world isn’t all sharp edges it’s Burger.

He looks between Burger and the screen, “So do these kid’s friends suck or is that just me?”

There’s a flash of disappointment across Burger’s face, but he’s never been one to push especially not with Vang0. If he drops the subject, Burger will follow. The flash is gone in an instant and a small smile grows across Burger’s face, any residual tension drifting away with it.

“Definitely not just you, they suck. You might’ve missed it but earlier they-”

And he semi-listens to Burger re-explain the plot of the movie he hadn’t bothered to pay attention to but he finds it capturing him more now. His attention is locked somewhere between the play-by-play and the actions occurring on screen. It’s the resolution now and everything seems to be coming together just a little to easily. The friends are back and the school is welcoming and the crush is confessed and everything is wrapped up too neatly for Vang0 to feel satisfied. There’s still a panging ache in his shoulder. His head is still chattering away as it has been since he woke up. Still there is that faint voice urging him to pull away. To focus on what he’s good at and make content and be alone and convince himself that that is enough. But the volume is so low that the old pop tune playing over the credits doesn’t feel abrasive. Burger is leaning in towards him slightly, conspiratorially, as if talking about this dumb classic is as important as mission details. There’s a smile on Burger’s lips that reaches his eyes. And Vang0 is content, for this moment, to pretend that happy endings are enough.

#this is... bad #but i tried and that counts for something #i was t*psy when i started writing this and am no longer t*psy if that gives and perspective #answered #burgerbang0 #vang0chainz #Anonymous

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mssjynx · 6 years ago

Note

Hi! I’ve been reading a bunch of your stuff lately and was wondering if i could request #24 (nsfw) with either Ohmcat, Ohmtoonz, Minicat, or Daithi de Wildcat

alpha / beta / omega au

daithi de wildcat drabble

24. You keep glaring at me and I have to confront you about it.

warning: nsfw

a/n; this is my first smut for ddw!!! i dont know how im writing them!! i dont know if this worked!!! be honest and let me know what you think :)

hope you enjoy! i hope they were both in character

The party was shit. The alcohol wasn’t good and the food tasted bland. The smell of weed and cigarette smoke polluted every corner of the house and Tyler really did just want to go home. He was buzzed on shitty vodka, having thrown back a few shots with Marcel before the alpha had gotten caught up dancing with Scott.

Now Tyler was sat on the couch with a beta whose name he didn’t remember practically sitting on him and chattering away in his ear. He could barely listen though she didn’t seem discouraged. He could guess she was high off her mind and, honestly, he was glad that at least she was enjoying the night.

Bored, as he had been for the past hour, he cast his attention around the room, snorting to himself when he noticed a very drunk Brian swinging a very sober Brock around in a hazardous dance. When he flicked his attention over his shoulder, he met bright blue eyes with surprise, not expecting to find them staring right back at him.

What only furthered Tyler’s confusion was the anger hiding in that glare. Daithi had his arms folded, eyes sharp and irritated as he glared Tyler down for a few more seconds before turning back to Anthony and Evan. The beta didn’t look back at Tyler, but the American could see he was still angry, foot tapping on the floorboards and fingers clenched in fists at his sides.

What he had done to deserve such anger, he could only wonder, and he settled back into the couch. Ten minutes later, as the girl he sat with pulled him to his feet and tugged him towards the dancefloor, he noticed Daithi again, brows furrowed and a displeased frown twisting his mouth. He kept Tyler’s eyes for only a minute before turning away and Tyler couldn’t help his own irritation flaring. He hadn’t done anything to piss Daithi off, he didn’t deserve to be a target of the Irishman’s anger at all.

With a determination to fix this problem, the alpha placed a hand on the girl’s back and dipped to speak into her ear as he pointed to the dancefloor. Ryan looked extremely out of place where he swayed, not one for the centre of attention or drinking or dancing. “Go dance with him, I gotta sort something out,” he explained and was relieved when she clapped her hands with a giggle.

Placing a kiss on his cheek, she pranced off in the direction of the omega and Tyler laughed to himself as the nervous man got an armful of a pretty high beta. Lingering to watch for only a moment before he swung his head around, he met those icy eyes and this time, locked them down.

“What’s got you lookin’ so pissed?” he demanded as he stalked up to the Irishman. It was mildly dissatisfying when he found that the both of them were pretty much the same height and there was no intimidation or reluctance in those bright eyes.

Still, nothing infuriated him more than the way Daithi folded his arms over his chest and turned his head away. “Nuthin’,” he snapped, voice thick with his accent; a giveaway that the beta had had his own fair share of alcohol that night.

“You’ve always been a shit liar,” he responded, falling back against the wall to stand beside his friend. “What’s wrong?” He wasn’t a sensitive guy, anyone who knew him knew that.

“‘M fine,” he replied and Tyler rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, and I’m dating the Queen,” he snarked back, huffing a sigh and grimacing at the fresh scent of weed. “It smells like shit in here.” Daithi let out a hoarse laugh, nodding in agreement. Then, with the sudden need to pee, he pushed off the wall. “I’m going upstairs,” he declared and stepped over to the doorway. When he heard no movement behind him, he turned back and frowned at where Daithi still leaned against the wall. “You comin’?”

Surprise rose those thick brows before he was pushing off the wall and following Tyler out into the hall and to the staircase.

“Where’re we goin’?” Daithi slurred and Tyler snickered when he stumbled on the stairs. “Fock off,” was the quiet snap he received.

“Need to piss,” Tyler explained. “Do you wanna stay down there?” He turned as he asked the question, meeting Daithi’s glance. At the short shake of his head, he smiled and felt a tickle of relief in his chest when the beta returned the grin. “Exactly.”

They popped each door open, dawdling their way down the hall until they came across the nice clean bathroom. Daithi shuffled to the mirror, frowning at his reflection as Tyler turned to the toilet and flicked the lid up. In silence, they relieved themselves, switching places and rinsing their mouths out in the sink.

“So what was ‘er name?” Daithi asked as they stepped into the bedroom beside the bathroom. Bland; Tyler assumed it was a guest room.

Tyler flopped down onto the bed and sighed happily. “Who?” he asked, brain feeling fuzzy from the few drinks that were still coursing through his body.

“T’e girl you were with,” he said, and Tyler turned to where his friend sat on the desk chair. He didn’t meet Tyler’s eyes and confusion flickered through the alpha’s thoughts.

The girl. On the couch, stunk of weed, chattering in his ear. He snickered, reliving the image of Ryan awkwardly catching the girl as she tried to spin into his arms. “Don’t remember,” he admitted as he yawned. “She was probably too high to tell me.”

All Daithi replied with was a short, “Hmph,” as he continued to spin around on the chair.

Tyler flopped onto his side instead, watching his friend spin, kicking the carpet to push him around. “What, you think she was cute or somethin’? What’s got your panties in a twist?” he asked and Daithi only glanced at him for a moment before he was turning his attention to the ceiling.

“No,” the Irishman declared. “She looked annoying.”

“Oh?” Tyler muttered, frowning at both the Irishman and himself. What else could have pissed the Irishman off? In his drunken state, it really was too difficult for him to consider it and he gave away a huff of defeat. “Why’re you pissed then?” he asked straight up and frowned further when Daithi didn’t meet his eyes at all.

“I told ye, I ain’t pissed,” the Irishman snapped, but the anger could be heard in his defensiveness and without the stench of weed around them, Tyler could scent the irritation. “I couldn’ care less about who ye take a fancy to,” he continued, stopping the chair and glaring at the wall.

For a long few minutes, the two remained in their silence as Tyler turned those words over in his brain a few times. “I couldn’ care less about who ye take a fancy to.” Why did Daithi sound like he was lying through his teeth? But why would Daithi actually care about who Tyler took interest in if he wasn’t telling the truth?

It felt too silly to think about for the drunk alpha and a laugh bubbled out of his throat. “You jealous or some shit?” he laughed, cracking a grin as he met Daithi’s eyes. “You wanna come sit on my lap?” The words were teasing as he giggled but no smile pulled at the beta’s mouth. He gave the alpha a pointed glare before turning to face the blank computer screen on the desk behind him.

Tyler’s grin fell.

“I was kidding,” he said. “What, do you actually like me or some shit?”

Perhaps being blunt wasn’t exactly the right route to take while handling this as Daithi’s shoulders tensed. “Fock off, I don’t,” he spat and Tyler couldn’t ignore the uptick of his heartbeat if he tried.

He gaped at the back of the beta’s head, eyes wide and mouth agape. Daithi was actually jealous of that girl? He wanted to be the one cuddled up to Tyler, flirting and taunting? Did he want to kiss Tyler? Did Tyler want to kiss Daithi?

He couldn’t help flicking his tongue out to lick his lips at the thought, his stomach flipping in a weird way. The immediate “no way” didn’t come to mind like he thought it would and the drunk haze that occupied his mind made it seem far less of an internal crisis as it should have been. He simply pushed himself to sit upright and exhaled.

“Daithi, c’mere,” he said, running his fingers through his hair.

Slowly, the beta turned and glanced over his shoulder. He wore a suspicious look in his eye and didn’t turn the chair as he glared. “Why?” he demanded and Tyler snorted.

He lifted a hand and beckoned at the Irishman. “Come on, fuckhead. C’mere,” he repeated and smiled at the sigh that the beta released. He swivelled himself around and slowly wheeled himself to the bedside.

“Whot?” he asked, brows still furrowed.

Closer, it was easier to see the pink that flushed Daithi’s face, the guarded look in his eye. His eyes were less blurry and the nerves on Daithi’s face only made the beta look cuter (in a weird, unusual way).

Without thinking into it, he let the weird urge that flipped his stomach and buzzed his nerves take over. He reached up, not too fast as to scare Daithi off, but quick enough that he was able to catch a hold of the beta’s shirt before he could back off.

Letting the contact linger between them for a moment, just to make sure the beta wasn’t going to freak out on him, he then pulled Daithi forward, sitting up in preparation.

“Nogla,” he scolded when the beta leant back slightly. “Get your ass-”

With a grunt, the beta pushed off the chair and clambered onto the mattress, situating himself above the alpha’s lap. Close. A hand on Tyler’s shoulder. His own hand on Daithi’s thigh. He felt the world spin around them and all he needed was to catch the flash of uncertainty in those pretty blue eyes before he made a decision.

He yanked at his shirt, yanking him close, and flinched when Daithi’s lips crushed against his. The dull pain of contact didn’t linger though as Tyler caught the Irishman’s jaw and fit their mouths together properly.

And honestly, it was weird. Daithi’s lips were chapped, he was big and clumsy on Tyler’s lap and he seemed uncertain with every touch. But Tyler could feel the fire beneath the beta’s skin and the craving to break it free was overpowering. He pulled back, watching Daithi blink dazedly.

“Daithi, kiss me,” he commanded. “Properly.”

Then he pulled Daithi down to sit on him and sealed their mouths together once again. Two seconds. Slight adjustments. Daithi’s hands tightened on his shoulders and his mouth melted against Tyler’s in a way that had heat and excitement erupting in his lower belly. Their mouths moved together with a lack of experience, but from fleeting kisses Tyler had shared in the past with girls he’d met in clubs or out on dates, he knew well enough to lead Daithi on.

With warm cheeks, he licked lightly at the beta’s top lip and couldn’t stop himself from moaning when Daithi arched his hips forward in response. Fuck, was all the alpha could think as the seam of Daithi’s lips parted and before Tyler could comprehend any of it, Daithi was sucking lightly on his tongue and sighing into his mouth.

He arched his own hips up, only a subtle motion to grind his arousal up against Daithi’s, but the action only reminded him how many boundaries lay between them. His hands slid around to the underside of Daithi’s thighs, slipping up to his butt which he squeezed out of curiosity.

The breathless moan Daithi pressed into his mouth was far too erotic and something primal took control of Tyler as he locked up. Holding Daithi against him, he rolled to the side and pressed the beta down into the mattress. Hips caught between Daithi’s legs, mouth still locked on the beta’s, he growled and nipped at the beta’s bottom lip.

“Fuck,” Daithi breathed as they drew back for air, but Tyler didn’t wait for a critique, diving back in and licking into Daithi’s mouth. He braced himself on one arm, his other holding the beta’s thigh upright to give him more space between Daithi’s legs. Everything felt right when he rocked his hips down, grinding his arousal into the Irishman’s heat and gripping his thigh hard enough to bruise.

When the beta could no longer breathe, he tipped his head back and Tyler didn’t chase his mouth despite how much he craved to. He let Daithi breathe and instead lost all of his focus to the expanse of pale skin revealed before him. Another grind of the hips, a breathless whine from Daithi; he dropped his head to the slope of the beta’s neck and locked his lips onto the skin.

“Oh hell,” Daithi murmured, hand sliding up the back of Tyler’s neck to grasp his hair as the alpha began sucking hard, deliberate marks into the beta’s throat. His hips didn’t stop their grinding as he rocked his arousal against Daithi, dragging as many different sounds from the beta as he could. The pleasure surrounded them in a hazy, stinking up the room so much better than the weed downstairs.

Tyler forgot all about the party. He forgot all about the girl.

All he had space for in his mind was Daithi’s body beneath him and the heat that seemed to devour them. “Tyler, ye’re gonna leave a mark,” Daithi groaned as Tyler bit as skin he’d been teasing with his tongue. The alpha only grinned, sucking it between his teeth and lavishing it with his tongue. “Fock-” The beta’s gasping curses were the best encouragement Tyler could receive as he worked his way down Daithi’s throat.

It wasn’t long before the need and the heat was getting to his head and he was bucking his hips down to meet Daithi’s grinds, putting torturously not-enough pressure on either of their arousals.

The second thin fingers started grabbing at Tyler’s shirt, he pulled up off the beta and yanked his shirt up over his head. By the time he’d wrestled his belt off and shoved his jeans and boxers down his thighs, Daithi was on his back, jeans on the floor and shirt thrown behind him. His cock was swollen, bent up to rest against his stomach where it leaked precum.

Tyler felt his mouth watering as the fresh scent of arousal and Daithi filled his nose. “Fuck, you smell amazing,” he couldn’t help but growl, taking Daithi in his hand and sliding his fingers over his length.

He watched as Daithi’s eyelashes fluttered, eyes rolling back as he fell to the mattress. He didn’t seem strong enough to hold himself up as his thighs shook where they bent either side of Tyler’s hips. Pressing in to occupy that space again, Tyler was glad for his large hands as he slid his own cock alongside Nogla’s and took both of them in his hand.

Immediately, Daithi was gasping, teeth burying in his bottom lip as he bucked up into the contact. “Yes, yeah, that’s good-” He choked on the words as Tyler flicked his wrist. The burn was a little much without lubrication and he hummed in thought for a moment. Without a care for modesty, he spat into his palm before smearing the little beads of precum leaking from their arousals down their cocks.

It wasn’t perfect, but it’d do, he decided as he dipped down and caught Daithi’s bottom lip between his teeth. Settling over him, he flicked his wrist again and felt the beta’s pleasured sigh wash over his mouth.

“Fuck,” he murmured, before slipping his tongue into Tyler’s mouth as the alpha jerked them both off. It was impossible to keep his hips still as the cold touch of his hand drove pleasure through the both of them. Daithi’s hips stuttered with every pump and Tyler could hardly stop the moans and growls that threatened his throat.

He kissed Daithi deeply, rolling his hips and moving his hand hard and fast. His own climax was tense in his guts and he could feel the taut muscles of Daithi’s thighs growing tighter around his waist as the beta sought out his end also.

“Fuck, Tyler- Don’t- Don’t stop,” the beta whimpered, mouth and body pliant as Tyler kissed him and ground against him.

His only response was a somewhat animalistic growl as he thrust his hips forward and slid his thumb and finger along the very sensitive skin beneath the tip of their cocks. Daithi spilled first, bucked up and moaning into Tyler’s mouth as the alpha chased his own release and came onto the beta’s stomach.

Every tense muscle in his body released and he made an effort to at least flop to the mattress beside Daithi instead of outright squashing him down into the mattress. But almost instantly, the beta was curling into him and pressing his red face into the alpha’s neck.

Tyler couldn’t help his flustered blush as they both lay together panting.

“Holy fock,” was all Daithi managed to say and when he managed to draw himself back and meet Tyler’s eyes, there was no mistaking the little glimmer of happiness and pleasure that hid there. Tyler only scoffed, reaching up for the beta’s bruised neck and pulling him forward into a kiss.

It was softer; modest and sweet as they enjoyed the laziness of the moment and the bass of the music from the floor below. By the time they pulled away, Tyler was feeling light-headed and Daithi was grinning widely.

“Wanna come home with me?” the alpha asked and Daithi’s grin was enough of an answer that he could ask for.

And if in the cab home, Tyler had to kiss Daithi to keep him quiet while he worked his hand into the beta’s pants, then no one but he and Daithi needed to know about it.

#anon #daithi de wildcat #banana bus squad #bbs #fic #fanfic #drabble #alpha/beta/omega #alpha beta omega #a/b/o #abo #omegaverse #alpha! tyler #beta! daithi #sm/ut #ns/fw

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the-roanoke-society · 6 years ago

Note

What's the story behind the Agents of Sass and Class tag? How did Seraphim and Succubus meet within the society even tho they were from two COMPLETELY different agent circles? P.S I love you, bitch. 💖💖💖

now you did get the initial beginning down pretty square—seraphim had heard, on the periphery, that oh, we had a new necromancer, and man, her origin story was equal parts bizarre and intriguing (with the normal touches of tragedy that seemed to paint the narratives of everyone at the estate from time time—but such is the human and non-human condition of this plane, unfortunately).

let’s talk about it.

between the emotional aftermath of enoch’s abrupt departure, the city in the hills, all on top of routine missions that she was still being handed from lilith, there was a lot that seraphim missed. it wasn’t because of apathy. it was because of exhaustion. (and then there was still the matter of agent whiskey, of statesman. she was… still working on figuring that part out. but jack loved a good chase. and a good fuck.)

a large part of that was succubus’s training and entire initiation. but even as it was, for some reason seraphim couldn’t quite discern, lilith had been very keen on the senior agent being at least a bit aware that she was around.

very keen.

“hey, it’s—clementine. right?”

those were her first words to her. she’d overheard poltergeist a few days ago, talking to wendigo and mothman about his newest recruit. that he’d done the grave test, as he’d done with other field agents in training before her.

seraphim didn’t hate him. not exactly. but he reminded her so much of john who sparked such a deep anger and hurt inside of her that it was difficult for her to physically be around him for long. and it broke her heart to see another person being spiritually shattered in this way.

she’d pivoted abruptly, leaving the lounge before any of the three had seen her. fuming.

we aren’t wild horses. this is all so goddamn unnecessary and exhausting.

it didn’t feel like they were being broken and remade into something better. it just felt like breaking.

looking back, seraphim was grateful that rae had let her carefully lead her to one of the stools by the center island, get her tissues, a wet towel for her face, and food that was actually plated. she was hardly the first person seraphim had seen weeping in an odd place in the manor, although crying in front of an open fridge was a first.

clementine wasn’t clementine for long. soon enough, she was raeanna. then rae. but a lot about her was… guarded. that first conversation in the kitchen that night was very much a weird kind of dance. seraphim had to learn where to press, where not to press. the shapes of what she was willing to share versus what she wasn’t. and succubus, for her part, had only a vague idea of who seraphim even was.

“my name’s morgan. uh, seraphim’s my handle. it’s nice to finally meet you.”

an exorcist, fine, a senior agent of apparent high regard, sure, but succubus didn’t know her and didn’t exactly relish the idea of a sleepover-tier get-to-know-you conversation in the middle of the night with the witch that poltergeist had constantly used as a standard to decimate her confidence.

the closeness and seamlessness they share as a duo on the field wasn’t formed overnight.

but it was engendered in one.

because succubus found that for the life of her, she couldn’t withstand the barrage of kindness.

they ran into each other a few times after that, always in passing. succubus still had her training to finish, and seraphim had her normal fieldwork.

but one day, shortly after succubus had finally graduated out of poltergeist’s authority to become an agent in her own right, lilith called seraphim into her office. all of her usual calm smile and gentle—if not a little suspicious—demeanor.

“morgan! there you are! i see the color’s gotten back into your face since you came home. did mr. daniels have something to do with that? … aaannnddd look, now there’s even more pink there, i’m taking that as a yes.”

“lil, please. look, did you need to ask me something? i’m assuming you called me up here for a reason.” seraphim took a seat in one of the plush armchairs on the other side of lilith’s desk, watching her superior thoughtfully twirl a red apple in the space above an open hand. it had a bite out of it.

“you know me well. i did have something that i wanted to assign you, and agent succubus.”

“agent? oh, she got through training! thank god, i was scared that adam was going to run her off, or worse, and—wait, both of us?” seraphim lifted one brow. it wasn’t that she’d been hit with dread, but she’d never worked with rae afield before. she wasn’t sure what to expect.

“yes, she’s become quite the gifted necromancer under ‘geist’s—particular brand of tutelage. … morgan, would you like an apple, or are you just jealous that you haven’t quite mastered the art of object levitation?”

seraphim sighed. “both, if i’m honest, but joe’s been teaching me energy manipulation.” she caught the apple that lilith tossed to her from a bowl on the small table behind her and eyed the manila folder she slid onto her desk towards her. “granted, it’s not like i have a separate universe at my hands. our magic doesn’t look the same. but it’s…” her voice softened. another sigh. this one was sadder. “… it’s nice to be able to explore what i can do. after everything. you never really stop learning, i guess. not really.” she poked at the folder. “but uh, i’m a little bit more curious about that, ma’am.”

lilith smiled kindly. she’d have to speak with mothman later, see what exactly they’d been up to. “we’ve had—reports,” she began, flipping open the folder. seraphim took a bite out of her apple, reaching forward to touch one of the photographs that was on top of a stack of scanned newspaper clippings. “of something interesting happening around the outsides of las vegas.”

seraphim picked the picture up, frowning at it. “uh—lil, uhm, what, what am i looking at?” she spoke around the apple bits in her mouth. the only distinct shapes she could make out in the photo were the mountains in the distance and a police cruiser. but this black blur in the middle…

whatever it was, it was massive. easily at least ten, twelve feet, comparing it to the car. big, dark, and—were those antlers?

“we’re not a hundred percent sure. but we’re afraid that given the damage its caused and an uptick in insomnia and night terrors around the part of the city where it’s been sighted, it may be something demonic.”

“which is why you’re sending me. okay, i follow you.”

“we also think it might not be completely alive in the traditional sense.”

“… it’s not what now?”

lilith rubbing her hands together. not a good sign. “we don’t think it’s—living. no mundane weapons seem to slow it down, which isn’t necessarily a huge surprise, but other members from the nevada office that were dispatched had similar misfortune. granted, their specializations aren’t quite like yours, or like rae’s, and we’re wondering if maybe we just need an approach with… let’s say a dynamic more like the one you two have.”

“lil…”

“i don’t mean anything as shallow as a game of holy versus unholy. i only mean that both of you are walking different sides of the same road, going the same way. you have a decent handle on being, as luca has said, a ‘light-bringer,’ and rae makes a weapon out of darkness. between the two of you, this thing doesn’t stand a chance, and the vegas mayor will, once again, owe me a debt.”

“uh, once again?” why was it that she consistently left lilith’s office with more questions than answers?

“it’s a long story, i’ll tell you when you get back. now go find rae, please, i’d like to speak with her. take this file with you to review. our dear darling quetzl just got back from visiting his mother, he’ll fly you out tomorrow morning at six a.m. sharp.”

“yes ma’am.” seraphim bit down on her apple, holding it in her mouth as she used both hands to shift through the file.

this would make for some interesting afternoon reading, but first, to find succubus…

* * *

“did you eat breakfast?” seraphim asked the next morning, hoping that a pair of dark capris and a light grey button-up wouldn’t end up being too hot for the desert. she couldn’t bring herself to just wear a tank-top. she didn’t like how people looked at her scars.

“… what?” succubus was rubbing sleep out of her eyes, almost tripping up the steps into the jet. almost. “oh shit—uhm, no, i opted to get as much sleep as possible. kind of regretting it.”

“what, sleeping in or not eating anything?” seraphim got up into the plane first, slinging her duffel bag upwards onto the rack over their seats.

the good witch—which seraphim thought was a fuckin’ weird name for a plane—was one of the nicer jets in roanoke’s hangar. the flight from kentucky to nevada wouldn’t be tremendously long, but it’d give them a few hours to rest, and if seraphim had her way, to be better friends.

this would be the first time they’d be stuck together for an extended period, and she wasn’t sure what to expect.

succubus laughed, and readily handed her own bag to seraphim’s outstretched hand. “both.”

“then boy do i have a surprise for you two!” seraphim and succubus both jumped at the booming voice of quetzl, who was the most intense morning person seraphim had ever met. all dark eyes, dark smiles and a demeanor that could be likened to a nuclear reactor.

before either of them could quiet react he’d already stuffed pop tarts into their hands—smores flavor into seraphim’s, strawberry into succubus’s. “you’re welcome. now please, go sit down, i’ve got to radio phoenix and get him to open the hangar up for us, but as soon as the gate’s up, we’re outta here!”

and as soon as they sat down: “dude do you want to trade? that one’s my favorite.”

“seriously? hell yeah, that one’s my favorite too.”

okay. off to a good start.

but seraphim closed her eyes as soon as they hit cruising altitude—she’d watched succubus take out a worn copy of carrie, and had to hide her smile—and when she opened them again, it was to the tune of quetzl’s voice over the p.a. system. “ladies! and—other ladies! all of the two ladies on board. we’ll be landing on the airstrip by our nevada compatriots here in like, thirty minutes. we’ll be right on the outskirts of henderson, which means around a thirty minute drive to the site that lilith wanted you to investigate first. so please return your seats to the upright position, do the thing with the tray tables, you’ve been on a plane before, just don’t run around the cabin, that’s literally it. … thank you for your patronage.”

succubus rolled her eyes. “is he always like this?”

seraphim laughed in response. “welcome to air quetzl. never boring, and sometimes just—real fuckin’ annoying.”

“better annoying than boring, though?”

the senior agent hummed, nodding. “i—yeah. better annoying than boring.”

* * *

agent tahoe met them in the hangar. blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and all six feet of her like a ray of sunshine. seraphim thought she was going to bruise her knuckles with the strength of her grip. where the hell does lilith keep finding all these morning people?

“seraphim! good to see you again, look how long your hair’s gotten! and you must be our newest crowned, agent succubus! i’m senior agent tahoe. our ah, staff’s stretched a bit thin at the moment, what with all the monster bullshit, but don’t worry, i’ll be the one making sure you get to where you need to g—“

“emilia! baaaabe! how’s it hangin’?”

“… clark.”

her tone went deadpan and succubus was trying desperately to keep some sense of professionalism.

“oh come on, you’re not still mad at me, are you?”

“if you two will follow me, our ride’s waiting in the garage juuuuust down this corridor here—“

“oh sweet, what did boss man upstairs lend us?”

“i said you two. meaning them. you are going straight inside where someone can keep an eye on you. and don’t touch anything.”

“emilia!”

“go fucking upstairs.” but all the venom in her voice disappeared when she turned back to the team at her shoulders, following close behind her. “in all seriousness, we’re really glad y’all are here. whatever this thing it, it broke jarbridge’s legs, compound fractures, too. i mean, she passed out, which is good, she says she doesn’t even remember it happening, but i’m pretty sure lovelock’s gonna have to take some kind of sabbatical, you know how squeamish he is around blood…”

succubus glanced at seraphim once. her face was a little pale.

but seraphim just put a warm hand on her shoulder, and leaned closer to her. “hey. this asshole hasn’t met us yet. we got this.”

* * *

tahoe was the kind of woman where, if you didn’t make any attempt to steer the conversation, she could talk gore and guts for literal hours (seraphim had heard her do it enough times before).

once they’d gotten into a shiny black falcon coup (that, despite how clean it looked, was straight out of 1975) seraphim watched succubus’s face become more and more drawn.

she’d survived poltergeist. that spoke volumes in and of itself. but even the confidence bred from that firewalking brand of training, well…

seraphim remembered her first mission solo, without enoch at her side. all she had to do was envision that bright yellow doorway on lincoln street and it all came flooding back, visceral but short-lived. the nervousness. the fear. and for her, at least, an acute case of being overwhelmed.

but then… poltergeist hadn’t left.

would it have been so bad if he did leave, really?

seraphim shook her head. “—emilia! emilia. uhm. look, now, you know i love a war story as much as the next agent, but ah, rae looked a little confused as to why you were being so cold to clark, and frankly, i am too, i thought you two had patched things up?”

if there was one thing tahoe liked talking about more than body horror—it was her exes.

succubus didn’t want to let on that her heart was in her throat, and she had her hands balled into fists in her lap so no one could tell they were shaking. what had she gotten herself into? double compound fractures? were her bones about to see the light of day as well? she suppressed a shudder.

she loved bones. she loved her own bones. she loved them most when they were safely under her skin like they were supposed to be.

but succubus also loved gossip, and seraphim, as it turned out, was an excellent enabler.

also turned out that quetzl was just as awful to date as succubus had judged beforehand, according to tahoe. “and okay, i’ll concede that maybe i shouldn’t have been looking through his phone but damnit, rae, it was my own sister! like, both of my sisters! who does that?”

* * *

their arrival point was hardly anything climactic—although ‘cinematic’ was still a word that seraphim would’ve used. in a very regional gothic sort of way. the sun was high by that point, not a cloud in the sky and it was so blue that it hurt her eyes. she could see roaring vegas in the distance as she stood by the front of the coup, taking a drag off of her cigarette. her usual pre-mission ritual these days.

“i didn’t know you smoked,” succubus said quietly, but even as soft as her voice was, seraphim jumped anyway, coughing. “oh shit, sorry, i didn’t mean t—“

“it’s okay! it’s okay. it’s a gross habit. i keep telling lilith i’ll quit, but…” she stared at it in the v of her fingers, shrugged, and then took one long final inhale before flicking upwards, snapping her fingers, and—where the hell did it go? “i don’t know. i don’t have a lot of motivation to stop. and anyway, that’s not why we’re here, we’re here!” with a grand flourish, she turned, motioning to the spread of desert before them. “to catch a monster.”

succubus grinned. “i do like the sound of that.”

“hell yeah you do! we are the fuckin’ veil!” tahoe had a mapped spread out over the car’s hood, covered in various markings. “shit, iiiiii am utter garbage at location work, i wish jarbridge was out of medical already—“ she laughed. “man she’s probably high as a kite right now anyway. she’d be useless. okay, look just—you two come over here.”

seraphim and succumbs watched at her shoulders as she pointed with one black-painted nail to a part of the map marked with three sharpie x’s, all in a triangle and all on the other side of a low, craggy ridge about a mile or so from where the dirt roadside where they’d parked. “based off of all the intel we’ve been able to gather, we think that it’s home base is right around here. now, it’s daytime, and this thing is one nocturnal son of a bitch, so the strategy is to get a jump on him on his home turf. catch him with pants down, or whatever.”

succubus hummed, “oh, now those are my favorite kind of missions—“

tahoe lifted her eyebrows. “remind me to ask you some questions when this is all over and we get celebratory shots on the strip or something. now!” in a few wide strides she was at the trunk, popping the lid with the wave of a hand as she walked. “these are yours.” she handed seraphim her usual pistol, and succubus a standard issue handgun marked by the roanoke insignia and a few sigils she couldn’t quite recognize.

“there’s my baby!”

“uh, morgan, what kinds of babies have you been around…?” but seraphim was too busy taking practice swings with a large wooden bat, embedded with nails, wrapped in barbed wire and prayer beads.

“rae, meet virgil. virgil, rae. most trustworthy man i’ve ever met.”

succubus lifted her eyebrows in approval. “will, uh, i get one of those—?”

seraphim had the audacity to wink. “if you make one yourself. i’ll tell you virgil’s story over all those shots tahoe said she was going to buy us here in a second.”

but tahoe was back studying the map. something about her posture was different. her back straighter, her lips in a tighter line. there was a beat before she lifted her eyes to the agents, sighing. “i wish there was something more i could give you. anything more. but this is it.” another short exhale. “we don’t know what, exactly, this is. but you two are going to be the best crack at it that we’ve taken so far. if things get hairy, just head back here. i’ll stay here with the ride. my office is a button-press away. don’t—“ she swallowed. seraphim felt nervousness tug at the base of her stomach. this wasn’t like emilia. “don’t be scared to bail out. might’ve saved jarbridge her legs. i’ll be here, okay? comm’s on. you’ve got your specs. call me beep me, whatever.”

succubus lifted a hand, reflexively tracing the frames that rested across the bridge of her nose.

“… good luck.”

seraphim had one hand on the top of the holster strapped across her thigh, the other on virgil’s base. he rested easily across the width of her shoulders. she knew where the grooves were to keep the barbs from digging into her work jacket (although a few still did anyway). succubus realized the weird straps of leather stretching across seraphim’s back were just another holster as she took one more swing, then popped the back into the curved sockets. “we won’t let you down, em. rae—stay at my shoulder.”

but she waited until they were a ways down, making their own path through the sand before she kept going: “—but when i say get behind me, get behind me.”

succubus frowned. “what, you think i can’t handle it?”

“rae—“

“no, no, please, enlighten me.” they didn’t stop walking. their path started to descend down, and succubus could see the rocky edge they’d have to hike over to get to the triangle marked on tahoe’s map. she wondered if it’d be like the monster movies she’d watched as a kid; would there be a cave? a dark, yawning maw on a hillside, looking like it’s full of nothing but pitch, like how sophie walked into the cavern in howl’s moving castle?

seraphim didn’t answer immediately, but then: “this is our first time. not to make this sound all euphemistic and shit, but i’d prefer if you didn’t, i don’t know, get a part of your neck bitten out, get your bones broken—y’know. work stuff.”

succubus blew out a breath. “right. … right. i, uh. i’m—“

“don’t.” seraphim smiled. succubus realized how easy it looked, sliding onto her countenance.

it didn’t make sense.

she’d seen this same woman look absolutely haunted when she thought no one was looking.

“i’m here to act as guardian angel. this is a part of your training.” and softer: “… and mine, too.”

“hmm?”

“nothin’. just stay close, okay?”

“‘kay.”

* * *

the rest of the walk was fairly quietly. seraphim kept singing under her breath, but succubus couldn’t make out anything familiar. she thought she heard something like “it’s rainin’ tacos…”

they came up on top of the ridge, and succubus squinted, staring down. it was a sheer drop, and while it wasn’t like they were on top of the grand canyon, she was pretty sure a fall from this height could kill someone. or at least make sure they never walked again. seraphim whistled lowly, motioning off to the left. “looks like there’s a path that goes down.” her voice was soft, but solid. “if i had to guess, we’re probably standing on top of this thing’s house. ten bucks says there’s a cave or something similar down there.”

“deal.”

and as it turned out, there was a cave.

well—‘cave’ might’ve been too kind of a descriptor.

to seraphim it looked more like a giant had straight up just clawed a huge whole into the side of the rock. the entrance was marked by sharpened, jagged stones that looked too much like teeth for her liking.

they approached painfully slowly. as soon as the ground had evened out, seraphim had drawn her pistol, and succubus mimicked the movement. but there was no sound, nothing, save for the wind whistling over the ridge.

“look like about how you expected?”

“with a bit more cacti, yeah. and the police cruiser is a surprise.”

the saguaro looked like they belonged there, but that car did not. seraphim wondered if it was the same one she’d seen in the photo lilith had shown her, but this one had definitely been through the wringer.

all the windows had been shattered. the sun caught the shards of glass that surrounded it, making it look like someone had spilled stars onto the sand. it was covered in dents, the place where the engine was had been hit downward (whatever engine there had been was now probably less engine and more just… car parts scattered underneath the cruiser), but what caught her eye the most was a set of six long lines dug along the length of one side.

claw marks? teeth marks? it was anyone’s guess.

—oh. and we’re about to find out.

succubus suppressed a shiver underneath a full sun. “what do we do?” she whispered. she could see seraphim’s jaw working, brows furrowed.

“should’ve brought a grenade…” a short sigh. “well, too late now, and this isn’t exactly joe’s last d and d campaign. i don’t think charging in there is a good idea. we have no idea of the layout, and ‘strength in numbers’ doesn’t apply to every situation, especially not ones like this.” she lifted a hand and ran it along her chin. “… okay. okay. i have an idea.”

“what’s the idea?”

“you go wait by the cruiser. i’m gonna whistle and try to draw it out.”

“… are you being serious?”

seraphim grinned and it looked borderline maniacal. “sure am. something tells me it might have a weakness to sunlight, hence why we only see it at night. if it is demonic, like lilith thinks, i’ll be able to bind it. and if it’s undead—also like lilith thinks—then you’ll just dispatch it.” she nodded to the handgun at succubus’s hip. “those bullets are holy. should do the trick. now get over there. i’m going to see if i can pull off a tom and jerry, get the jump on it from behind if we can just lure it out.”

so. succubus found herself on her knees behind the front part of the cruiser, sheltering behind the busted metal. she watched as seraphim had walked a far, wide circle, coming back to the ridge face and slowly edging her way along the rock, her spine pressed as flat against the stone as it would go. virgil, abandoned for the moment to make space, leaned against the rock some ways away. succubus was already regretting that decision.

it felt like ages passed as she side-stepped. side-stepped. side-stepped. side-stepped again.

until finally seraphim was close to the cave’s mouth. but she didn’t draw her gun again, like succubus had expected. it stayed holstered alongside her thigh. but she did roll up her sleeves to reveal—were those tattoos? where had those come from? succubus couldn’t remember seeing them before. had she found time to mark herself somehow?

but she didn’t have enough time to ponder. because seraphim met her eyes, nodded once, and turned her neck.

there it came, a whistle, low, long and, succubus reasoned if she could hear it from all the way behind the police car, loud. seraphim abruptly jerked back, flattening herself again. her palm spread wide against the stone, trying to feel the vibrations of movement, the vibrations of anything.

but an entire minute passed. then two. then five.

seraphim blew some air into her cheeks, and with trembling legs, finally began walking back towards the car. “look, rae, i think maybe the recon team got the wr—“

it came so quickly that seraphim immediately collapsed to her knees. it was a high-pitched banshee wail of a shriek, so cacophonous and blaring that even when succubus jammed the heels of her hands over the shell curves of her ears it did nothing to soften the sound. she screwed her eyes shut, and just as abruptly as it started, it was done. when she opened them, trying to remember how to breathe, how inhaling and exhaling felt, seraphim had collapsed onto her rear on the other end of the cruiser.

succubus swallowed. “what. the fuck. was that.” her voice was quiet. a jet plane would have been quiet in comparison to what they’d just heard.

seraphim had no color in her face and couldn’t immediately answer. “… okay. that’s uh. probably the target. i apologize, i completely gave in to the monkey brain flight-or-fight response there and didn’t pick the right one.”

“i don’t know if i necessarily agree.” they stared at each other for a few beats of silence. both were afraid to move. it wasn’t something either of them were trying to hide that moment. “—what do we do now?”

seraphim took a breath, her mouth moving to answer, but was interrupted by—succubus didn’t know how to describe it, not straight away. it had different parts, all moving and all happening so close together it was hard to pick them apart. the whoosh of air, the clean cut of metal on metal, that short of shink noise that a knife made up against a whetstone. succubus blinked.

she thought she’d seen sparks between them.

literal sparks, as if the side of the car had been hit with something.

her mind was trying to catch up.

… are those claws?

the fingertips—nails, talons, claws, all of them—of a hand (‘hand’ was a generous descriptor in this instance) were sticking out of the side of the car. not opening the door. they were sticking out having gone through the outer frame of the cruiser.

tap. … tap tap.

succubus was going to be sick.

taptaptaptaptaptaptap—

seraphim abruptly fell backwards as the half of the car she’d been leaning against was wrenched back, and she found herself staring upwards, right into the face of the monster of the photograph.

“jesus christ you are so much uglier up close.”

“morgan for fuck’s sake—!“

succubus was reaching, grabbing, trying to grasp her pant leg, something as this thing let out another scream. it threw the chunk of cruiser down where seraphim had been lying in partial shock just seconds earlier. the crash was deafening and before seraphim quite knew what was happening, she was sprinting across the sand with her elbow in a grip that was almost bone-crushing.

“run!”

it didn’t matter that they were armed. it was too close too fast. there was no time. no space. it was on them like–what was it poltergeist had liked to say? white on rice.

that thing didn’t have to make a noise, they could both hear the hoofbeats behind them, could see the too-long, too-prickled shadow catching up to overtake theirs on the desert ground.

“what the fuck! what the fuck! shit!” succubus wasn’t leading them back to tahoe, then there’d be three dead agents instead of just two, and she absolutely believed that there was for sure going to be two.

“—i have another idea!”

“oh fucking great!”

“no no no, this one’ll work i’m positive!”

“isn’t that what you said last time?!”

“if you remember correctly, i said no such thing! trust me, old school always works! let me go on three, okay? one—three!”

succubus hadn’t planned on turning around, but then the—demon? zombie? old forgotten demigod or someone’s bastard offspring? who knew?—started to make a new sound. she ran until its shadow wasn’t touching anything in her sight, ending up back against the ridge. only then did she turn.

… wow.

what she hadn’t seen was seraphim pulling off what she’d honestly considered a hail mary.

they couldn’t outrun it. in the time it would take them to draw their guns, it probably would’ve sliced them open at the elbows. and as any necromancer, or exorcist, or witch, or sorcerer can tell you: it’s very, very difficult to concentrate enough to do anything, let alone put up a decent defense or guard, when you’re actively being chased and doing the opposite of gaining ground.

not for seraphim, anyway.

not yet.

as soon as succubus’s grip released from her arm with a push, seraphim dropped like dead weight onto her back and prayed—prayed very, very hard, and focused, just like she’d been taught.

she forced her elbows to meet, right up to her wrists, as she was very, very narrowly missed being stepped on (which would’ve been lethal—apparently she’d missed the velociraptor feet the first go-around). and as she did so, the marks on her arms made a shape—a circle, decorated with smaller symbols, around and around and around…

a seal.

“a capite ad calcem.”

from head to heel.

freeze, motherfucker.

succubus turned in time to see the target upheld over seraphim, who was flat on her spine against the dirt, directly underneath it. it almost looked like it was being suspended by the thinnest strands of razor wire—succubus kept catching glints as it thrashed, and something black began to ooze out of it.

seraphim had some drip right onto her flushed cheeks, struggling a bit to keep the seal intact.

succubus began to understand why poltergeist had brought her up so often. for a beat, she could only stare.

and with a bit of surprise, she realized she didn’t feel envy, or any kind of spite—because that’s just what adam would have wanted, isn’t it? to break a thing before it got a chance to breathe?—she felt awe.

she felt pride.

which quickly melted into panic as soon as seraphim’s voice cut through her haze, upped a pitch in the chaos. “rae? buddy? a little help? this dude’s—oh shit, no you do not, asshole mcgee—just a smidge stronger than i first thought. show me what you’ve got! deport this fucker!”

every line blazed into a brightness that hurt her to look at for too long, and it suddenly all snapped into place. every single thing poltergeist had taught her, flooding back. perhaps her learning retention was better than she thought.

as another of the monster’s cries echoed against the ridge wall—this one perhaps a bit more pain than rage—she ran closer.

those were petrov lines—which meant that was an azrael seal. azrael was an archangel who had special dominion over retribution; his marks (and succubus understood that oh, those are what seraphim had on her arms, i just couldn’t recognize them in broken pieces—) aided in trapping demonic entities that had manifested onto the physical plane. this was one of the first seals that seraphim had been taught, and for good reason.

okay. so a demon.

but petrov lines, those only appeared for beings that were demonic just in part. something that came from some of the in-between worlds, an underworld that was a hell but not a hell.

something that succubus merely recognized as undead.

fuck, it’s both.

but succubus suddenly felt a surge of confidence at the light of the lines, and she lifted her hands, gun forgotten, darkness already beginning to twine out from her elbows, down to her wrists. she stalked, predatory, and seraphim tried to both watch her partner and keep this thing under control.

she may not have seen succubus’s hand motions, the intricate movements of her fingers in rapid succession followed by a definitive slicing motion.

but she heard her, speaking in the same tongue she had.

“ad initium—asshole!”

seraphim watched as cords of black intertwined with the lightlines, and kept watching as they found the creature’s neck.

it was both forces together that bore themselves down and quite literally razored the being into little chunks. no more black fell on seraphim’s face. it simply dissipated, as if it had turned to ash.

what was it that lilith had said?

walking different sides of the same road.

it took about a minute for it to disappear completely, and when it did, for about as long, neither agent moved. seraphim was exhausted. muscle fatigue manifested as tremors in her arms. she stared up at an empty sky as succubus slowly walked towards her, finally kneeling down by her side.

“… you good?”

“… yeah. you good?”

“yeah.”

“groovy.”

seraphim closed her eyes. she could’ve fallen asleep if she hadn’t started to hear distant yelling: “oh my god what did you two DO?!” tahoe was scrambling down towards them, yelling, looking equal parts horrified and elated. “i heard—oh my god, i—morgan, rae, you’re alive, you’re both alive, hallelujah, and no bones! morgan, what the fuck is all over your face? whose blood is that? is that blood? holy shit i can’t believe you—woah woah!” she caught succubus as she flopped off to the one side, threatening to collapse. “rae. rae, stay away. morgan. … morgan!”

she slapped the exorcist on the bicep, and the exorcist in question swore but in a much more whiney tone than she’d originally meant, to which tahoe just quipped: “oh walk it off you big baby. we’ll have a beta team come out and cleanse this area, it’s still tainted, which means if you’re gonna faint, you can’t do it here. c’mon now, up we go—“

succubus, as a newer recruit, had the luxury of tahoe’s arm around her waist, helping her to stagger to her feet. seraphim had a few false starts before she managed to first roll up onto her knees, then finally, to stand. her first few steps were shaky. but she shook her head, blinked a few times, and glanced over at succubus and tahoe walking back towards the car.

and they grew steadier, as she went.

around thirty minutes later, time found them all sitting at the bar of a classic, neon-tinged greasy spoon diner, complete with black-and-white checkered floors and a jukebox in the corner that apparently knew three songs: rocketman, dancing queen, and under pressure.

not a bad mix, honestly.

“ladies!” tahoe was the first to lift her shot glass. the three of them swirled with some cheap well tequila, given a pink sheen from the lights. “what do we want to toast to?”

“… uhm.” seraphim mumbled, staring at her glass. “weee… should toast toooo…”

“… new friendships?” succubus had spoken so softly that at first, seraphim wasn’t sure she’d heard her. but once she understood, she grinned, broadly.

“to new friendships—and to the first of many victories.” succubus smiled back at her. … i think i could really like it here.

“cheers!”

their glasses clinked to the tune of sir elton john, crooning softly: “and i think it’s gonna be a long long time… and i think it’s gonna be a long long time…”

#the roanoke society #agent succubus #agent seraphim #agents of sass & class #agent quetzl #agent tahoe #agent lovelock #lilith #agent poltergeist #once upon a time in nevada #(what's this? morgan actually created content? the madness!)

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stranger-who-writes-fiction · 6 years ago

Text

a pal and a confidant

Fandom: Supergirl Rating: T Pairing(s): None Summary: Director Danvers and Supergirl might not be sisters anymore, but maybe they can be friends. A/N:This isn’t k*lex. If I see anybody tag it as such? Yer blocked.

...

Kara hisses, experimentally probing the cut for the umpteenth time only to confirm what she already knows.

Yeah. There's Kryptonite in there.

Off-brand Kryptonite. Kara would laugh if it didn't hurt to do so. Ever since the aerosol Kryptonite stunt pulled by Otis and Mercy, there's been an uptick in Green-K knock-offs. Very few have been potent enough to have any sort of discernible damage, and Kara has to admit, the look of shock on a would-be assailant's face as she shrugs off the glowing rock is pretty satisfying.

This batch, though.

She takes a deep breath, tipping her head back against the cool brick of the semi-abandoned warehouse. She experimentally narrows her eyes, trying to engage her x-ray vision. It...works? Maybe? She's dizzy; the image of the interior of the building across the way tilts and wavers out of focus. But that could just be the result of the pain.

She takes another deep breath and wonders if she should test something else, like strength or flight, but the prospect of falling several stories onto hard concrete is...very unappealing.

Maybe I can...take it out...? She steels herself, gritting her teeth as she seeks out the offending shard.

As soon as she touches it, white hot pain shoots up her side.

NOPEnopenope. She cringes, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. It's not like the Kryptonite bullet she once extracted from her arm—a single oblong object that was easy to grip and extract.

This is a weird jagged shape, lodged deep in the lower right side of her abdomen. She thinks she can probably get a decent grip on the one edge...but she might pass out before she can pull it entirely free.

And just as she wants to avoid faceplanting on concrete, she'd also like to avoid being passed out in an alleyway, with Children of Liberty and DEO Agents combing the surrounding area.

She bites back an annoyed grunt. Three weeks ago, she would've welcomed being found by the DEO retrieval team. Being safely escorted back to headquarters for some time under the solar lamps? To be treated by medical staff with actual, sterile surgical tools to extract the Kryptonite shard? Great! Perfect! Bring it on!

Now, she can't imagine being unconscious, at the mercy of Haley and her agents, for an undisclosed amount of time. Nightmarish images of waking up in a containment cell as Haley continues her witch hunt fill her mind, strengthening her resolve to steer clear of them.

Which solves the one problem, but creates another.

What is she going to do?

J'onn's office is too far, as is CatCo. She briefly considers L-Corp, but recalls the underground lab where Sam was kept, and the same sort of uneasiness that accompanied the thoughts of the DEO resurfaces. Besides. It's just as far as CatCo, back in the heart of the city.

She feels hot and nauseous. She doesn't have a lot of time here...

“—sure the scene is secure, Director Danvers, and then report back to HQ.”

“...Yes ma'am.”

Kara doesn't catch the full conversation—her ears are ringing and it's possible that the longer the Kryptonite is lodged in her side, the more her powers are affected—but it's enough to know that her sister is here, and won't be traveling back with Haley.

But she's not your sister, Kara thinks, glancing down at her uniform. Not right now, anyway. It's almost enough to make Kara reconsider. To bite the bullet, so to speak, and try to fly out to J'onn's office.

But the torn, frayed edges of the dark blue fabric—which is now closer to a deep purple—is what ultimately forces her away from the support of the brick wall, and out into the alleyway. She sways slightly, and presses a hand to the cut, not liking the pain or the unpleasant, hot stickiness on her palm.

She carefully surveys the main street, making sure to remain out of sight. There aren't as many agents as she feared—there's only a handful of them, eight at most, congregating near two nondescript black SUVs.

She spots Alex off to one side, talking to another agent. Her motorcycle is parked nearby.

A plan begins to form. A risky one, certainly, but far less risky than flying to L-Corp or handing herself over to Haley.

“Bag the rest of the evidence,” Alex is saying. The agent nods; she's essentially giving him the same instructions Haley gave her, which means she's just about ready to leave.

Kara takes a step back, and surveys the nearest building. Like most of the structures in the area, it's brick. Flat roof, two stories.

She hastily runs the numbers in her head—she won't be able to clear it, necessarily. Not in her current weakened, rapidly-de-powering state. But then, she doesn't want to clear it. She just needs a better vantage point.

This is gonna hurt, she sighs, gathering the last vestiges of her strength.

She jumps.

And just barely clears the roof line. She does land on her feet...and then almost immediately drops to her knees with a pained wheeze. Her side is on fire, and she's sure she's just buried the Kryptonite shard deeper.

She hears the motorcycle rev on the street below. Panting with effort, she forces herself to the far side of the roof, and just as she thought, Alex is leaving the scene, turning down...Cypress? Mission?

It doesn't matter—it's a street within jumping distance.

...She hopes.

Even as the world tips dangerously to one side, and something...pulls, distressingly so, in her side, Kara still takes several steps back and leaps once more, praying to Rao that she's guessed mostly right.

She lands in the middle of the darkened street. The asphalt gives a little, because she's misjudged the force, and resulting uneven surface forces her off balance. She almost pulls that aforementioned concrete faceplant.

That, though, is the least of her concerns, as Alex barrels towards her on her bike.

The glare of the headlights is blinding; she's too weak to move. The jump took every last ounce of powers and strength she had. If Alex hits her...it's not going to be good.

She sluggishly brings up an arm to...what? Cushion the blow of a four hundred pound Ducati?

The tires screech, and the bike swerves to one side, perilously close. Kara flinches, but all she can feel is a slight back draft.

She wheezes with relief, physically sagging as the bike's engine cuts out. Kara hears Alex's helmet being tossed to one side, landing with a sharp CRACK on the pavement.

“What the hell—!” she starts to shout, but it tapers off as she gets closer to Kara.

Kara, who is currently on her knees and very nearly bent completely in half as her entire right side throbs. “Um. Sorry,” she says. “Didn't mean...to get so close...”

Alex's eyes are wide with shock and confusion. “What hap—” she starts to say, only to change her mind. “Stay here,” Alex commands, and Kara panics a little as she turns to run back to her bike and, presumably, the other agents.

“No!” Kara rasps. Alex keeps hurrying to the bike. Kara tries again, “You can't—Director Danvers!”

Her voice is firmer. Stronger. Alex stops. “I don't...” Kara pauses. Partially because she's a little breathless, and partially because she has to be careful here. She has to get Alex on her side. Kara doesn't really know what's survived, in terms of Alex's memories of Supergirl—she's not sure even J'onn knows, given how deeply entrenched they were in Alex's psyche—so it's not like she can reliably say, hey, remember that time you helped me out after that brush with Kryptonite poisoning?

It hurts to imagine Alex being ambivalent about the K-Radiation and anti-Kryptonite suit—and, more importantly, dwelling on it is unproductive.

So she thinks instead about...about the DEO, actually, and about all the irate venting Alex's been doing, lately.

“I don't trust Haley,” Kara says. “I need help...and I don't trust Haley.”

She can't see straight and she's barely conscious, but she can see the blurry shape of Alex caught between her slumped form and the bike. She's considering what Kara has said, and Kara knows she's got her.

She's feeling pretty smug about it. She's never been on the 'enemy' side of ‘the enemy of my enemy...is my friend.’ It feels kinda...badass. She smiles. Or...is she actually smiling? She can't feel her face.

“Damn it,” she can hear Alex mutter. She's vaguely aware of her arm being thrown over Alex's shoulder, and being awkwardly lifted-and-or-dragged to the motorcycle...

But then she's out.

And then she's not, when shockingly cold water is tossed on her face.

Kara sputters awake, irritated (thanks to the water) and still in pain (presumably, thanks to the Kryptonite still in her side.)

“Don't move.”

It's Alex, her voice gruff and close by. Kara blinks the water from her eyes, and turns to see her sister seated on one of the bar stools in her apartment, slightly hunched, examining her injury.

“Am I...” the words scrape over Kara's dry throat, “on—a table?” She almost says your table, but catches herself. Supergirl's not supposed to know this is Alex's apartment.

“I didn't want you bleeding on my couch,” Alex tells her. And Kara has to admit...that’s fair. “I don't have any equipment here, just basic first aid supplies.” She finally looks at Kara. Her expression is hard. “It's going to be...messy.”

Kara gives a halting nod. She understands, but. She's not looking forward to it.

Alex nods back—sharp and sure. She disappears from Kara's view, and seconds later, Kara can hear the kitchen faucet running.

Kara let's her head fall back on what is definitely Alex's dining room table. She can feel the woven table runner, functioning as a kind of makeshift pillow.

Alex eventually reappears—she's still in her DEO gear, but her magnet gloves have been swapped out with bright blue latex. A plastic box with a bright red cross on the side sits at the far end of the table.

“Will this work on you?” Kara turns her head to see a bottle of alcohol in Alex's grip. She can't read the label—everything's going a little fuzzy again.

“Uh...” She's certain she doesn't have her powers, so the answer is probably yes. But as she glances down at her side, and sees her hand resting on the table, she notices the bright green glow of Kryptonite poisoning.

Is it a good idea, to mix alcohol and Green-K?

“Yeah,” she says, ultimately deciding that she'd rather risk it, than be aware during what's about to transpire. She weakly accepts the bottle, and gets a good look at the green veins snaking down the back of her hand.

Not good.

She takes a swig, and promptly coughs it up, unprepared for the burn.

Alex rolls her eyes in annoyance.

“You're wasting a very expensive bottle of vodka,” she says. Kara squints at the label. Alex doesn't typically buy vodka...

And then it occurs to her that she bought this for Alex. A gift for being promoted to 'Director' several months back.

(She’s not sure if she should feel grateful, that Alex is using it for this, or a little offended.)

“Sorry,” she croaks, and does her best to keep it down the second time.

She does. She takes another prolonged gulp.

“Alright,” Alex grabs it before she can take a third, “that's enough.”

“Sorry,” she says again. “Least I didn't...waste it.”

“No,” Alex agrees, “but I needed some for this.” With very little ceremony, Alex douses Kara's side with some of the remaining liquor.

Kara's only just starting to feel the pleasant burn of the alcohol; the sting in her side is enough to make her clench her fists as she lets out a kind of pained grunt.

“It's only going to get worse,” Alex warns in a flat tone. But then, she softens, just marginally, as she explains to Kara exactly what she's going to do. Kara listens, and only manages to catch about...twenty percent?

Thirty? Twenty-four? She lets her head fall back again as she considers the numbers.

She can feel Alex poking at the cut. Kara fidgets, unconsciously tensing muscles. But her leg throbs, like it's been bruised.

“Don't move,” Alex says sternly.

“How come...my leg hurts?” Kara's words are starting to slur a little. Has she always been this sensitive to alcohol?

“...I had to bungee you to the back of my bike,” Alex admits under her breath.

Kara blinks, and realizes that she never really considered how Alex managed to get her back here, on a motorcycle, while she was passed out.

Again, she’s not sure if she should be feeling grateful or insulted, but as she tries to imagine the scene, all she can think is that it’s...very funny.

She laughs, only to have her breath stolen away as pain flares in her side. “I said don't move.” Alex repeats, and Kara resolves to remain as still as possible.

Don't move. I can do that. I'm great at not moving...just like I'm great at stealth. Does Alex still remember that I'm really good at stealth? ...Does she know anything about Krypton?

Kara's thoughts are a jumbled mess, and she's not sure if she's out of it because of the buzz or the blood loss.

“I can't really see—it looks like—” There's a frustrated grunt. Then the scrape of the stool against hard wood. The rumble of one of the drawers in the kitchen—the junk drawer, probably, given how much rummaging follows. The drawer closes. Alex's footsteps approach. And then the soft click of a flashlight turning on, and more probing. “I think the shard's intact.”

She probably knows it blew up. Everyone knows it blew up. Does she know about the Phantom Zone?

Wait, wait. Does she know...does she remember Astra?

Of course she'd have to remember Astra. Or at least...partially remember that event...

But...Kara remembers Alex's hardened stare, back in Parthas. Her claims of Kara's invulnerability, and her denial that Kara could ever understand...could ever conceive of anything else.

There were so many times when Kara was vulnerable. Emotionally raw, and hurting.

And Alex doesn’t remember any of that.

Alex, who is currently saying something about pulling out a shard. Kara doesn't care, she's too busy thinking her frenzied, distressed thoughts. Everything she'd talked about with J'onn becomes far too real, as she stares at Alex's ceiling; Alex, who regards her as a complete and total stranger.

Kara feels a sudden tug. Her nerve endings seize.

And then she's out again.

When she awakens the second time, she's still on the table, but Alex's apartment is dark, and Alex is nowhere to be found.

It takes much longer to rouse herself without the aid of the cold water, but eventually, her vision steadies, and there's a distinct soreness that runs...the entire length of her body, really. But the sharp, stabbing pain of the cut and the all-over burn of the Kryptonite are both gone.

She shifts experimentally—both to test her side, and to see if maybe Alex is asleep in bed, or on the couch.

She isn't. Kara sluggishly attempts to reason on why that could be...did she go back to the DEO? Maybe...Kara vaguely remembers something about...Haley? Something about Haley...and then, of course, the impromptu game of Operation, wherein she was the poor schmuck under the knife.

Her temple throbs. Right. A game of Operation, with a side of very expensive, very potent vodka. She runs a hand over the ruined portion of her uniform, noting the presence of a bandage and again marvels at the fact that she can barely feel any pain. Alex did a really good job, all things considered.

But there's the headache to keep in mind; without the DEO solar lamps, her powers are taking their dear, sweet time coming back.

Stupid Kryptonite, she thinks. Stupid Haley. Stupid DEO. She wonders if she's maybe a little hungover.

Long minutes tick by, and still, no Alex. Kara drums her fingers against the table top. She's not at one-hundred percent, but she has just enough energy to be a little restless.

Maybe she should just...leave.

She turns the thought over in her mind. That feels...wrong, somehow.

Wrong to Kara Danvers, she reminds herself. But maybe Supergirl should take off, before Director Danvers comes back and grouches at her some more.

Slowly, slowly, Kara leverages herself into a sitting position, with the intent of slipping out of one of the windows, and flying back to her apartment. Slowly, slowly, she turns herself around, swinging her legs off the table.

So far, so good.

...Except for the nausea that wells up in the back of her throat.

Not a big deal, she decides, as that sort of thing usually passes.

...But not this time, apparently.

Which sends her scrambling to the kitchen, ignoring as her side screams at her to stop. Mercifully, she reaches the garbage can in time, emptying the meager contents of her stomach into the bin.

Ugh. Gross.

She braces her hands on the sink, leaning over it, waiting for the feeling to pass.

And, of course, it's in the midst of this...delightful display...that Alex should suddenly reappear.

“How did you know where the trash was?”

Kara looks up, startled. She hadn't heard the front door. Alex is glaring at her, apparently back from an early morning jog, if the windbreaker and Nikes are anything to go by.

“...X-Ray vision,” Kara lies.

“So you've recovered your powers?” Alex counters, looking skeptical.

She briefly considers sticking to her story, but worries that Alex might call her bluff. Ask her to...crush a brick with her bare hands, or something.

She ducks her head sheepishly. “...It was a lucky guess, actually.” It's still a lie, but it's one that Alex appears ready to accept.

“I guess I'm grateful you found it,” she mutters. “...But get out of my kitchen.”

“...Right. Sorry,” Kara hobbles back to the table, dropping into one of the chairs—it seems like a closer, easier alternative to the table itself. “Um.” Kara doesn't know what to say; should she apologize again for trespassing in the kitchen? Ask how the jog went? “I'm...guessing...you got all the Kryptonite out?”

Alex nods, but says nothing else, refusing to elaborate.

Kara offers a flustered follow up, unprepared for the nonverbal response. “I...um,” she pauses. “...thank you.” It's the first thing that comes to mind, and it sparks a reaction in Alex. She raises her eyebrows. In...surprise? “Really. I didn't...” she breathes out sharply through her nose, “...I didn't have anywhere else to go.”

Alex narrows her eyes once more and crosses her arms, physically closing herself off from the gratitude. Kara bites back a disappointed sigh.

But after a moment, Alex shifts somewhat uncomfortably, looking at the floor. Her mouth pulls to one side, in a manner Kara immediately recognizes as 'begrudging acceptance.'

“...Well I sincerely doubt that, but. You're welcome.”

It should be sad, that that's the nicest thing her sister has said to her alter ego in weeks, but Kara's too busy beaming at this development.

There's a lengthy, awkward pause that follows. And Kara doesn't immediately catch it, as she feels fairly comfortable, seated there, in Alex's apartment, smiling like a goofball.

Alex, though, is tense, looking at her somewhat expectantly. And it's only then that Kara realizes that while it's not a problem for Kara Danvers to hang out here, Supergirl has very much overstayed her welcome.

“Oh, I—” Kara clears her throat. “I guess I should go.” She stands to leave, when a fresh wave of nausea hits.

And she must look flushed, as she desperately glances as Alex, because she's already rolling her eyes, waving her towards the kitchen.

“Go, go,” she insists, and Kara rushes back to the garbage can. “Didn't realize Supergirl was such a lightweight,” she grumbles, just loud enough for Kara to hear between gags.

It's not as bad, this time around, because there's not much left to heave up. Once she's finished, she unsteadily makes her way back to the chair, and is surprised to see that Alex has moved it closer to the window, and that her sister is in the process of opening the blinds.

“Sit,” she says simply. When Kara stares at her blankly, she huffs. “You need sunlight to recover, right? So.” She gestures towards the now-open window. “Sunlight.”

“...Thanks,” Kara says, and does as she's told. “I'll...I won't stay long, I promise. Just a few minutes to ease the nausea—”

“No, don't—Just. Sit there.” Alex holds up a hand, making a kind of 'stay put' gesture. “I don't want any more messes to clean up, you already ruined one of my tablecloths.”

“Sorry.”

“And stop apologizing, God.”

“Sor—” Alex shoots her a mercurial glare, “—okay.”

Alex sighs, and runs a hand through her short hair, before moving towards her bedroom. Kara allows her attention to drift a little, not wanting to make this any weirder for Alex, even though this totally wouldn't be weird under normal, pre-memory-wipe circumstances.

Kara silently curses Haley, eyes drifting shut as she relaxes under the soft, warm light of the early morning sunrise.

She can distantly hear Alex opening and closing drawers, cabinets. Probably getting ready for the rest of the day.

She drifts off a bit, after that, only to be shaken out of sleep by her boot vibrating.

“Wzzzt?” She pitches forward. “Wzz...oh.” It's her phone.

She starts to reach for it, wondering who would be calling her at this hour. She turns to look at the clock on Alex's mantle, startled to see Alex standing in the living room area. She's turned away, facing the TV, one hand on her hip, the other holding her phone.

Huh, that's funny, that she's on the phone too—

Kara freezes, eyeing the buzzing phone in her boot.

Alex is still turned away; she carefully extracts the device and checks the glowing screen.

ALEX CALLING.

Kara's just about to shove the phone back into her boot when Alex turns.

Kara hurriedly mimes pressing the 'answer' button, nearly dropping the phone in the process.

“Uh...hello? I mean. Ah. Hello.” She makes sure to hit the 'send to voicemail' option as discreetly as possible. “...I, uh. Right. Yes. I'll be there...shortly. To do that...thing, we agreed to...do.”

She pretends to end the call, watching as Alex does the same.

“That was, uh, a...colleague,” Kara feels like she has to really sell the ruse. “Another...superhero. We have, ah...a thing? To do, so. I...I should really go.”

Alex is clearly both unimpressed and unconvinced by the rambling, but doesn’t care enough to question her further. She just nods.

“Right,” she says, all business. “Just. If your powers don't come back right away, you'll need to change the bandage. And clean it—obviously, we were short on supplies, so it's not my best work...”

“I will. Promise,” Kara says with a smile and a nod. “Thanks again, Director Danvers.”

She moves past Alex, headed for the front door. As she does so, her sister sighs.

“I think...in light of the whole...late night, emergency surgery thing...” she says, “you can call me Alex.”

Kara has one hand on the doorknob, but she pauses, and looks back over her shoulder.

“...Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Alex says, but hurriedly adds, “In the field, though, it’s still ‘Director Danvers.’”

Kara looks at the living room rug. “So...does this mean we're friends now?”

Alex rolls her eyes again.

“Don't push it,” she says. “We're friendly. Not friends.”

Kara narrows her eyes dramatically.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Because...I mean. I'm pretty sure I remember some mutual bonding over our hatred of Haley.”

“There was no bonding, you were drunk.”

“We could make a dartboard with her photo!”

“You're feeling better, obviously. You can leave, now.”

“Seriously. I'll pay for the darts.”

And, Kara knows Alex is fighting it, but she can see her smile, even as she puts her hands on her hips and attempts to be mean.

“Who knew Supergirl was such a giant dork, geez,” she exclaims, nudging Kara aside and grabbing the door. “You're worse than my sister.”

At which point, Kara is politely, if also somewhat physically, kicked out of Alex's apartment, but she can hear her sister still snickering behind the door.

Kara smiles as she makes her way to the stairwell at the end of the hall.

“Oh yeah. Definitely friends.”

NOTES:

- I think it’s clear I know nothing about emergency medicine OR alcohol. In spite of being related to individuals who are very familiar with both. - Title from Andrew Gold’s “Thank You for Being a Friend”

#stranger writes #supergirl fic #kara danvers #alex danvers #long post

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scripted-dalliances · 6 years ago

Text

Rest In Peace: Chapter Eight

Title: Rest In Peace

Chapter: 8

Summary: A part of Faithless Fairy Tale, a more in depth look at how they brought Laura back to life. Appearance of old faces, creation of new ones and if you’re looking for canon, it left a long, long time ago. If you squint you might be able to see some pieces from the book.

“Fear no more, says the heart...” -Virginia Woolf

Mad Sweeney pushes himself up off the floor, pissed for several reasons, top three being the fact he has just face fucked the floor, that Laura had ruined what was turning out to be a fan-fucking-tastic dirty dream and worst of all, he was clearly sporting a stiffy.

“Fuck you, dead girl, I was sleeping!”

“Yeah, and now you aren't. Come on, get up and get dressed, ginger bitch. We have a long drive back.”

That gets his attention, “Back where?”

“Back to Indiana. To find Anubis and Ibris. I have questions and I want them to answer them. I mean. Odin is dead now, so even if they had a deal it should be fine to just ask what it was.”

“You sure that's smart? They might take one gander ‘atcha and decide your trial period of second life is over. I might not be able to pluck that coin outta you, but Anubis might.”

“Then I will do a lot more than smack his hand if he tries.”

Sweeney gives out a dry chuckle, he doesn’t deny that he kind of wants to see it. An ancient god of death getting slapped silly by little Laura Moon. It was a painful experience, that he was familiar with but that didn't mean he had sympathy for anyone else who was on the receiving end of it.

(More so if he thought they deserved it)

“Fine, give a man some fucking privacy to get dressed.”

Laura looks down her nose at him, still on the floor, hidden by the bed.

“You got a boner, don't you.”

He feels his fucking ears burn, “Out!”

She leaves, but he is distinctly aware of her smug knowing smile.

He most certainly does not jack off to that same smug smile at all.

They decide to take one of Ostar's cars. It's the least fancy and brightly colored of her harem of cars, just a black SUV that has tinted windows and enough space for Sweeney’s long legs, so it's possible she'll never even notice or care. They argue for hours on who gets to drive it before a light bulb bursts right above his head, proving soundly that his luck is still fucking shit and they're more likely to survive if she drives.

Before they leave, Sweeney hunts down one of Ostara's many fluffy friends and picks it up by the scruff of the neck to bring the rabbit to his face.

“Oi, tell your old lady we'll bring the car back after we've paid a little visit to Anubis.”

The rabbit’s black nose twitches and Sweeney rolls his eyes.

“If anything happens to the fuckin' car you can have Shadow fuckin' Moon be the one to fuckin' pay for it. Its his damned dead, asshole wife!”

“Ex- asshole wife.” Laura calls out, climbing into the driver's seat.

Sweeney drops the rabbit, “Whatever, call it alimony then.”

“I had a better paying job than Shadow and owned a house, if anyone is paying alimony it would be me.” She says as he gets into the passenger side and she adjusts the car seat. Bringing it up as close as she can to the wheel. Meanwhile, he rummages through the bag at his feet that he brought, until he finds a stack of air fresheners.

He unwraps three lemon shaped ones and throws them in her lap. Laura looks down at them with a sneer while shoving on a pair of sunglasses.

“Really.”

“Shadow might not care for lemon scented you, but I sure as hell pick it over molding corpse.”

The first few hours of their drive isn't bad. Its not like they aren't used to sharing small spaces for impossibly long distances. This time she has the ability to aim all the air conditioners in her direction while he keeps the seat warmer on his side on high.

It also helps that he brought a blanket and a very pink fuzzy hat.

“Not a fuckin’ word outta of you dead girl.” He pulls it on and crosses his arms like a grumpy child. As if she was the one who made him wear it.

Laura keeps her face carefully blank, “I didn't say any thing.”

“You were thinkin' it.”

She struggles to hide the uptick of her lips.

“You do look pretty in pink.”

“Fuck you, dead bitch.”

“Fuck you back, Suibhne.”

“I spy with my little eye something that begins with the letter ‘C'.”

“It better be cat.”

“It ain't.” Sweeney says with a delighted smirk.

Laura slams her feet on the brakes and Sweeney hits the dashboard with enough force to warrant a crunch.

“You’re an asshole, dead girl.” He hisses at her. Blood from his busted nose runs down his face and into his beard. She grins and continues their little game.

“I spy with my dead eye, something that begins with the letter D.”

Sweeney sniffs wetly, but then after a beat of silence asks, “Is it dickhead?”

“Bingo.”

The drive goes by faster than before. Probably because the SUV is naturally more efficient than an old ice cream truck, it helps too that neither of them need to stop for much. At most it’s a quick bathroom break, but Sweeney isn't the type of man who cares where he pisses so more often than not its just the side of the road.

On one such occasion, Laura gets out too just to stretch her limbs. There is a hint of stiffness in her that makes her worried that rigor mortis is a real possibility if she doesn't keep moving. It makes sense as much as it doesn't, her body moves but her insides don't.

There's no blood, every vein clogged and more than one of her organs stapled shut. Twice in some, while others are completely missing. Making her feel like a doll with no stuffing, nothing keeping her together but a gold coin and thread.

Except when she kissed Shadow and felt her heart beat…

Except when she touched Sweeney and felt her blood race…

Above her, a bird cries out. Laura covers her eyes to better see it fly over head. It circles twice, enough for her to fear it might be a damned vulture before it lands atop the car's hood and she realizes its far too small.

It's a hawk, and it opens its mouth to yell at her.

“What the fuck is this.” Sweeney comes up behind her, smoking and glaring at the bird as it continues it’s angry squawking. “What’d you do to piss it off?”

“Why do you think I did anything?”

“I might have shit luck, but even I’d still bet on those odds, darlin.”

“Go!” A new voice shouts.

“…Did that bird just tell me to go?” Laura questions, mostly at the bird.

“There you have it. Even the local wildlife is telling you to piss off.”

The hawk spreads its wings and lets out a sharp gutted cry; could be anger or indignation, fuck it could be a happy sound. All Laura ever owned was cats, she knows fuck all about birds.

“Go with!”

Laura has been having a really weird after life, all things considering, so stopping to talk to a hawk on the side of the road is just…well it is what it is. Fucking weird, but she does it.

“You…want to come with?”

The bird ruffled its feathers, puffed up and started earnestly bopping it's head. Laura shrugs and opens the passenger door, but quick as a lightning , Sweeney is pushing her hand aside and crawling in.

“I call FUCKIN' shot gun, the talking chicken nugget can sit in the fuckin' back.”

Laura slams the door closed, Hard enough to catch the tall idiot by the elbow and moves to open the back door instead. Gesturing to the bird to get in.

“Sure you want a lift? I mean you've got wings and this idiot never shuts the fuck up. I know which one I'd choose.”

The hawk flies into the back.

“Great.” She closes the door and walks back to the driver side. Mad Sweeney is glued to the radio, the bird is perched on the seat. Every now and then picking at something between it's claws and chewing.

“So, a dead woman, an unlucky leprechaun and a talking bird go on a road trip. Set up for a good joke, right?” She says, strapping herself in.

“And by good joke. You mean fuckin' awful, right?”

A new voice from the back pipes up, “Actually, I'm a God.”

Both of them scream in reply.

The bird who is not a bird at all, sits casually and as both Laura and Sweeney spit and sputter out curses in shock.

“Fuckin hell! Give a fella some sort of fuckin' warning you trickster asshole!” Sweeney puts a hand to his chest, where his heart is trying to escape his ribs. He will die of a damn heart attack before the end of this trip. He can feel it in his bones.

“Normally I wouldn't agree with him for anything, but holy shit yeah.” Laura looks at the man. He's handsome, dark skinned and naked. Really, really naked. “Also…maybe clothes? I’d like to at least know your name before I know what your balls look like.”

Sweeney glances back. Regrets it instantly.

“At least cup yourself, lad. This ain't our fuckin' car and I ain't paying to clean your dick sweat from it.” He tells the guy but there is no reaction from him. No shame.

Mad Sweeney looks harder at the man and sighs. He knows that look.

“Oh fuck me…” He glares at the dead woman beside him. “You just had to do it, didn't ya. You just had to let the bird in.”

“He asked!”

“He is fuckin' mad as shit! LOOK INTO HIS FUCKIN' EYES, WOMAN. HE IS BATTY AS A FUCK-” Sweeney glanced back to point, only to find he couldn't, “..he is a fuckin’ bird again. Fuck.” The hawk was back and blinking at them both. “Why the fuck is he a bird again?”

Laura shrugged, “How would I know? Maybe all your stupid yelling scared him.”

The hawk flapped it's wings.

Sweeney glared, “You’ll have a lot more to fear from me than the tone of my voice if you don't fuckin' change back, you mad feathery fuck, and tell us what the fuck you want.”

There is no pop, no dazzle of magic. Just one moment there was a bird, the next the man was back.

“I'm not scared of you.” The man says simply.

Before Sweeney can fling himself into the back and start a fight, Laura catches him by the shoulder.

“Stop trying to fight naked bird boy. I do not have the energy to properly workshop all the insults I could make from it right this second. And I'd really like to give it my all, so maybe hold off?”

“He wouldn't win.” The man says, as if stating a fact and nothing else.

“Wanna fuckin bet, bird brains?”

The man tilts his head, either confused by the insult or Mad Sweeney in general. Either way, Laura clocks the blankness in his eyes and acknowledges that whoever he is, he isn't playing with a full deck.

“Hey, so. Hello. I'm Laura.”

“I know.”

Taken slight aback, she waits for him to continue. When he doesn’t, she pushes on. “Any chance you can tell me your name or perhaps the reason why you suddenly decided to join us?”

The man blinks at her, processing for a long time before answering.

“I am called Horus. I know you are going to my brothers. I wish to come with.”

“…Okay.” Laura accepts this best she can. Horus as far as she can tell, is also an Egyptian god. So that makes sense…at least in the context of where he is traveling to. “Still gotta wonder. Wouldn't flying as bird be quicker?”

Horus doesn't answer, only looks at her with mournful dark eyes. Laura is shocked to see a second later a tear runs down his dark cheek.

“Hey, listen its fine. You can come with.” She awkwardly attempts to back track. She isn’t good with people, and knows it. But so far this God hasn’t done anything to her except ask for a lift and within seconds she has made him cry. That's a record even for her.

“Shit. There is probably some shitty karma coming my way now isn't there? For making some innocent god cry?”

“Ain't you, dead girl.” Sweeney tells her, voice lowered. He hands the weeping god his blanket and even an opened pack of peanuts. Which seems to cheer Horus up considerably. As he quickly stops crying and starts to pop them into his mouth to chew. “Chances are he has been a bird so long, everything up there is scrambled eggs. Doubt he remembers what his brothers look like let alone what street they live on.”

He knows, after all, just how little it takes to lose your mind. What it's like to be a bird and lose everything that you were and not even notice until its too late. The ability to turn back into a man fades every time you take flight, that's what they don't tell you.

Even now, sometimes he has days he wishes he could spread his wings and take off. Leave everything behind, just to feel the wind and the air hold him again, to be free and light as only a bird can be.

“But he knew who I was. Knew I was headed to them…”

Horus, having finished all his treats, leans towards them.

“The ravens told me.”

Laura glances at Sweeney, who growls and bangs his fist against his knee. “Okay, does that mean something or is that crazy bird code?”

“Huginn and Muninn. Odin's pet ravens. They've been following us for so long, I sort of forgot. Figured with Odin dead they'd fuck off. Either they've gained a sense of self or someone else has given a job to the lil bastards to keep tracking us.”

Horus frowns, “They were always meant to leave him. Even he knew that. If they work for someone new, it was always meant to be.”

Horus holds out his hand. And it takes a second for Sweeney to realize he wants a treat. With a heavy roll of his eyes, he bends to pull out another bag of snacks from his bagged horde. He pops it open and hands it over, watching in disgruntled amazement as the god upends it all into his mouth at once.

Laura starts the car and pulls it back onto the road. She doesn't exactly remember the way to the funeral home, other than a vague general direction she should head to and can only hope there is a sign for their business when they reach the state.

“So, Odin has a few minions still roaming about. Does it matter?”

“Does it matter she asks,” Mad Sweeney repeats, voice mocking. “Of course it fuckin matters. You, dead girl, killed him. In front of a group of holy witnesses at that. Now Shadow and Miss Spring might not say anything, but you can bet Media and Techdick will. I have no doubt they were watching from afar.”

There had been too much going on, afterwards to notice for sure, but Laura didn't doubt it.

“Never mind what feathery dumb and dumber are up to, by now there will probably be a whole new war gearing up. All against the dead girl who decided to go highlander on their big man. Fuck, there's no telling if they're teaming up or not either, old gods and new.” He chuckles, “Ain't nothing brings people together like a common enemy.”

Laura frowns, “I don't know why you're laughing. If they come after me, you're just as fucked.”

“Aye. Not much changed for me then is it?”

Laura stays silent, he's been eerily right for most things and she hates the idea he might be right about this.

#Madwife #mad wife #mad sweeney x laura moon #mad sweeney #laura moon #mad wife fic

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dotthings · 7 years ago

Text

My history with Sam & Dean’s close emotional sibling bond is a little complicated, but it is important to me. It isn’t my fandom focus for a lot of reasons, and probably would never be my sole/primary focus but that’s not a reflection of how much it means to me emotionally. That was kind of part of the problem, in fact...it matters a lot and canon finally hurt in the wrong way one too many times.

I’m encouraged by the slow repair SPN has been doing to it for me, slow steps, starting S11, and S14 is doing some very very interesting things I’ve been waiting on for years.

So here’s a bit of a review on my ups and downs with it.

In the S1-5 era I was heart-first absorbed in the Sam & Dean bond. It was my anchor, even if I never, ever was a “brosonly” or watching “only for Sam & Dean”--other characters always intrigued me. But Sam & Dean was my “Brotp.” When Cas arrived and I started to ship Destiel, that continued, this is why Team Free Will was necessary--I had to put all those feelings somewhere. While platonic duos and romantic ships don’t elicit the identical type of emotions, both can be potent with the screaming/crying/squeeing/flailing. I just added Destiel onto that. That’s a lot of feels to cope with all at once.

S6-9 I was still into the bro bond and getting more and more into Destiel. But as SPN canon continued to make certain story decisions with the Sam & Dean bond, the harder I found it to relate to it. It became less of a comfort space and more alienating, while Dean and Cas has steadily made sense to me. I know it hasn’t for everyone, but this is a personal, subjective thing, buttons pushed or not pushed, nerves hit or hit the wrong or right way and Dean and Cas became more consistently my anchor in the SPN storm. This isn’t an either/or thing to me, I felt the loss of my connection to the bro bond, and I’d just go back to multi-squeeing if SPN continues to go in the direction I hope.

S9 was a bit of a struggle but I still believed in the strength of the bro bond. My feelings were starting to burn out on it but I was still there.

S10 slammed the door shut on it for me. With a big resounding clang. It was cumulative, it was too much at last. I still loved Sam and Dean, although Dean has been my more consistent touchstone character than Sam, I’ve always loved them both. I cycle in out of feeling connected to Sam, to Sam making sense, but I love them both, always--and Castiel. SPN at times in latter-era engaged me on each of the brothers, while the bond itself got elusive.

Team Free Will became my anchor platonic bond and brotp, a new comfort zone. Who knows why, maybe something about the alchemy of Sam, Dean, & Cas together, these three battered soldiers who start to become each other’s home, with Cas being the wanderer that Sam & Dean finally give a home to, but the interactions of all the relationships therein, Sam & Cas, Sam & Dean, Dean & Cas are important to me. Team Free Will enfolds multiple relationships and accommodates fans who tend to multi-love and consider multiple character pov’s.

Some people think just because somebody intensely ships Destiel that platonic bonds can’t or won’t matter to them; that’s not how this works at all.

When I say I was into the Sam & Dean bond in early SPN--I mean it. I was into it, emotionally. Never shipped it, never will, never did I think “this is the only thing on the entire show that matters” and I never will. But it bone-deep matters to me, as these characters do. During the past few seasons I’ve been warming back up to the Sam & Dean bond again. It’s never going to be what it was in S1-3 but that’s not a bad thing to me. Because one of my problems during Carver era was the refusal to let them grow enough.

So it means a great deal to me what Dabb era is doing, to advance things, to be more emotionally honest, to finally move beyond some of the things in the Carver era that were holdovers from the Kripke-Gamble era that and that I got desensitized on and burned out and hurt by it to the point where I had to step back from investment in it. I’m not saying Dabb era is perfect or Dabb era has never angered me. But this is how my tracking of the bro bond maps.

S11-13 have been very much transitional stages for the bro bond and maybe at some point I’ll try to go into more detail as to how/why, but I felt S11-12 canon presented them a bit distantly to each other, but growing more functional, and S13 was a lot warmer between them, and for me, and S14 so far...I am shook. There are things happening I have waited a long time to see. Now I’m holding my breath, not wanting to spook it off.

Charting my engagement with the bro bond would look like a wavy line: a sharp upward climb, then a drop in the middle, then a slow climb back upwards. It never stopped mattering to me, but I did dis-engage from it for several seasons for a time, for canon story and emotional reasons. And I find it weird, given my long history in the fandom, and with the bro bond, and my positivity for both characters, even if I had to step back from the bond itself at times, the false narrative that gets around about “bro bond hater.”

To take a brief side-bar into fandom wank for a moment--because it’s relevant, I wish it weren’t, but it’s just so pervasive in SPN fandom and it does affect people emotionally--the following things will get you labeled a “bro bond hater” even if you’ve never bashed Sam, Dean, or their bond in your life:

-rooting for character development -recognition of Sam and Dean as autonomous individual people along with the bond being important -criticism of codependency -criticism of ruthless isolation -not shipping incest -shipping Destiel (automatic “you hate Sam”) -identifying strongly with the Team Free Will relationship instead of exclusively Sam & Dean

Feeling protective of them and wanting them to end some of the recursive, harmful cycles they seem to get caught in, and wanting their bond to flourish and grow stronger instead of being worn down by lying and codependency and inability to community...all that gets painted, by a certain sub-group, to be hostile to the bro bond. I know, it’s wild.

The fact is, just as there are all kinds of Sam, Dean, or Cas fans, who ship any number of things, got into the show differently, watch differently, have different priorities, different favorites, different personal histories, nerves, buttons to be pressed right or wrong, so there are all kinds of Sam & Dean bro bond fans, from the most hard core ride-or-die ONLY Sam & Dean, to TFW fans who love the bro bond dearly but it’s not some exclusive thing, to fans somewhere in between, to fans who have Sam, Dean, or Cas as a favorite, who ship Destiel, who don’t ship Destiel, who ship S/D or don’t ship S/D, or somewhere in between, and who connect to different aspects of the relationship the most, different seasons, different storylines, and have different ids and wants.

I feel like “Sam & Dean fandom” should be a welcoming place, just as Sam and Dean take others into their family circle and offer people literal shelter at the bunker and who care so much it hurts, not just for each other, but those they love. That...hasn’t really worked out, in terms of the very specific aisles of fandom that are about “Sam & Dean” specifically. But the bro bond is widely loved by a lot of different types of fans and different shippers. Personally I find the TFW aisle the friendliest space for me to jump in and go HULLO HAVE YOU SEEN MY SAM & DEAN FEELINGS LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MY FEELINGS but everyone finds their own way. There’s been way too much virulent gatekeeping from the exclusive “onlies” and I think that’s hurt a lot of bro bond fans. It’s even hurt some fans who are narrowly Sam & Dean focused because not everyone wants to be surrounded by intense gatekeeping and hostility to everything else on the show, they just want their Sam & Dean feels and go in peace. “Bros fandom” therefore is pretty big, and crosses fandom lines.

SPN is in its 14th season and these two characters have grown so much and their relationship has changed so much. While SPN is an inconsistent canon, and my positivity can fluctuate, and canon changes, I feel this bond has consistently all along remained the main fulcrum of the show, and the bond itself has endured in canon, and I want to know now what’s next for them and I hope it’s in my favor because I really do miss that sibling bond and what it meant to me and I’m appreciating this uptick in my wanting to engage with it a whole lot.

#sam winchester #dean winchester #Sam and Dean: a work in progress #meta #supernatural #spn #castiel #team free will

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