#like one of my other ships tag when they got screwed over | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thebiggerbear · 9 months

Text

you taught me the courage of stars

Summary: Chuck is tired of his toys getting ideas of their own and talking back to him. He snaps his fingers and Dean knows that's it, they're all screwed...or are they?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Castiel

A/N: Hey all. So I started writing this about 3 years ago, basing this idea off of the promo/preview we had gotten for 15x18 after 15x17 aired. I took some guesses on Cas' confession/Empty deal (which was being heavily speculated at the time), how the bloody handprint ended up on Dean's jacket (though we knew it had to be something to do with Cas because it was thee handprint spot), Billie trying to break down the door, Cas helping Dean move, how things mentioned/that had taken place in 15x17 would play out, etc. I started writing it on the very day 15x18 was going to air and got about 80% through it before the episode premiered. Once I saw it though, I was completely blown away (what a freaking amazing episode!) and then had trouble picking this back up once I saw the finale to the series and where our beloved characters ended up. So it took literally years to get me to put in that last 20% but I wanted to complete it and put it up. ;) Hope it's okay.

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged in any future Destiel or Supernatural works.

Songs I listened to while writing: The Night We Met by Lord Huron & Saturn by Sleeping At Last

Please do not do any of the above. Thank you for your understanding.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Ship Taglist: @nancymcl

In one second, it was all over. With a snap of Chuck’s fingers, Dean came to, rapidly blinking his eyes, and trying to make sense of his surroundings.

He was in...the bunker. But there was no blood on the floor, no marks on the walls from Billie’s scythe, no wreckage from the havoc the cosmic entities had wrought upon their home in their bid for ultimate power.

He was still in Room 7B, the etchings and paint of the large devil’s trap on the floor still intact. He quickly scanned the space but he was alone. No dead Jack on the floor, no bleeding and mortally injured Sam…

“Sam?”

When no response came, he struggled to get to his feet, his side still hurting him from where Billie had thrown him against that wall. “Sammy?” He yelled out.

Still nothing.

Dean cautiously made his way to the closed door, the closed door that had been mysteriously resurrected from its destruction moments earlier, steeling himself for whatever he might find on the other side, and opened it.

The hallway was empty and again, there were no signs anywhere that an extraordinary final battle had taken place here. Confused but more worried, Dean trudged on. “Sam?”

Holding onto his side, he forced himself up one step to peer into the map room. No one was there.

“Sam?” He called once more. And again, only silence answered him.

He slowly made his way to the map table, glancing this way and that. To say he was worried didn’t quite cover it. The last time he saw his younger brother, Sam had been bleeding out on the floor after trying to save Jack and failing miserably. Where the hell had he gone? Who had taken him? And why did everything look Spic and Span all of a sudden?

Fear swam through him the longer the silence stretched on. Fear that suddenly turned into anger. “Chuck, you dick! What the hell did you do? Where’s my brother?” When no reply came, his fury grew. “Answer me, you son of a bitch!”

“Dean?”

Dean whipped around so fast it hurt. There, standing before him, was one of the very people who shouldn’t be, not after what he saw happen. “Jack?”

Jack’s eyes softened and he slowly approached the older man. “Are you…?” Not quite finishing his question, Jack warily lifted his arms to enfold Dean in a hug. When the latter didn’t pull away, too shocked to move, Jack tightened his embrace. “It is you.”

At Jack’s heartfelt whisper, Dean allowed himself to relax a tiny bit and brought an arm up to return the hug. “Hey, kid,” he ground out. When Jack’s arms tightened even further, Dean let out a pained gasp which forced the younger man to withdraw immediately in concern.

“You’re hurt.”

Dean hunched over slightly, using the back of the chair next to them to hold himself up for a moment. “It’s nothing.” His face contorted into a pained grimace that was then smoothed out in relief, and he waved a hand dismissively. “Just a leftover from that crazy bitch.” He turned his gaze onto a worried but confused looking Jack. “Kid, how are you here right now? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to see you. Really glad. But...how the hell are you standing here right now, talking to me? Last I saw, you were out for the count. Permanently.”

Jack’s brows furrowed further. “I’m not...sure.” At Dean’s dubious expression, Jack thought about it some more. “I know I died when Adam’s rib caused my insides to implode. But, after that...I don’t know, I just woke up here...in my room, in my bed. I’m not sure how.” He looked to Dean for answers, answers that Dean didn’t have, that he truthfully had never had but he and Sam had tried their best to give once Jack appeared on the scene and became something more than just the next monster they would have to face off against and conquer to keep the world spinning like usual.

Dean tried to think of something to say, anything to say, but he couldn’t. He was overwhelmed, hurt, and worried as all hell about his dying brother whom he had yet to find since coming to.

“Am I dead? Am I...a ghost?”

Dean’s eyes snapped to Jack, seeing the kid’s confusion morph into sadness at the thought. This...this Dean could answer. Even if he couldn’t explain it. “You’re not a ghost, kid. If you were, you’d look dead and you look fine to me.” A small smile started to form on Jack’s young face and his eyes lightened with a trace amount of hope and gratitude. It was true, Jack looked perfectly healthy and alive . Encouraged by the reassurance making its way into the kid’s expression, Dean continued, “Besides, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be feeling this,” he inclined his head towards his aching side. “If we were.”

The right side of Jack’s mouth tipped up as he mulled over it and decided Dean was right. “Where are we then? Where’s Sam?” He glanced around, expecting his dad to pop out of somewhere like Dean had just done. “And Cas?”

Dean’s eyes shut at the mention of the angel who had been dragged away by The Empty as he watched in horror, helpless to do anything to stop it. He could still hear Chuck’s smug chuckle as it happened, his eyes bright with a giddy pleasure that Dean wishes he could watch drain away when they can work out just how to kill him. He tamped the pain back down, unable to remember Cas’ tear-filled blue eyes staring into his own as a soft smile formed on the angel’s face at the words Dean had just spoken to him, before a deep blackness started to consume his being. He forced away the image of two shining blue lights in a sea of darkness being snuffed out by a final wave of black before it all disappeared. He couldn’t think about that, not yet. Instead, he focused on Sam. Where was Sam?

“He…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words, to tell their kid that one of his fathers was gone, the angel who Dean... “I don’t know where Sam is,” Dean choked out instead. “We’ve got to find him, Jack. Sam was hurt...pretty bad.”

Jack gave a stout nod and proceeded to make his way into the library, intent on finding Sam. Dean followed a little slower than he would have liked, due to the pain he was still in, but he was grateful at Jack’s speed and persistence.

They checked everywhere: the library, the kitchen, Sam’s room, the infirmary, the shower room, the garage...he was nowhere to be found. Dean’s fear now increased to full out alarm.

Jack stopped short in the hallway, forcing Dean to come to a stop behind him, and closed his eyes.

Dean watched him for a moment. “Kid?”

Jack’s jaw tightened. “I can’t sense him. I thought I might be able to but…” He slowly opened his eyes, looking upon Dean sadly. “My powers,” He warily lifted his hands, examining them closely. “They’re not what they used to be.” His gaze snapped to Dean fearfully.

Dean swallowed down the same worry he saw staring back at him, and gave him a sorry excuse of a smile. “It’s okay, kid. We’ll find Sam and we’ll figure it out. Like we always do.”

Jack seemed unconvinced but gave a dutiful nod. Dean himself was starting to wonder if maybe he had spoken too quickly on the whole being dead thing earlier. Then again, if he and Jack were dead, and Sam wasn’t here, did that mean Sam was...alive?

Dean’s body made its loud protestation to the thought and he couldn’t help but let a pained groan escape. Jack caught him before he collapsed and wound Dean’s arm carefully around his shoulders. “Jack, I’m good,” he gruffly insisted.

“No, you’re not,” Jack determined.

Not having the energy to argue, he allowed Jack to help him back to the map room where the kid gingerly lowered him into a chair. He tried not to grumble too much, being truly appreciative of the nephilim’s assistance. He slowly lifted his shirt and as he studied his rapidly darkening skin, Jack crouched down to get a better look. “That looks bad,” Jack murmured worriedly, holding a hand above the massively bruised area that was turning sickening shades of a mixture of colors that Dean never wanted to see but was all too familiar with. “I wish I could heal you.” Jack then lowered his hand to study it, willing it to give him the answers he wanted. “Why can’t I heal you?”

Dean took one more glance at his injured side and lowered his shirt. “It’s alright. It’s just a few broken ribs. I’ve had ‘em before. It ain’t no big thing.”

Jack appeared unsure but kept his doubts to himself. He got to his feet and vanished down the hall before Dean could utter a single word to stop him.

“Hey, kid, where are you going?” He yelled once Jack disappeared. After everything that happened, Dean was determined to keep him close. They still needed to talk about what happened before Billie showed up, to set some things straight, but he’d be damned if he let the kid out of his sight again, especially after watching what happened to him and knowing he was responsible. Jack had only wanted his forgiveness and to save the world, to save his family, a family that Dean had begrudgingly welcomed him into and then excommunicated him from in the span of a single year. Dean knew better now, he had let his fear rule him, just as Chuck had wanted, and he had nearly given that bastard his ending. He was grateful that at the last second, he hadn’t, and that had been because of Sam. Sam…

Before he could think further on it, Jack reappeared with a bag of ice in his hand. Without waiting for permission, Jack crouched down, lifted Dean’s shirt, and gently applied the ice to the swollen skin, earning a loud gasp and pained hiss from Dean. “Sorry,” Jack whispered.

Dean noticed the brown bottle Jack had placed down on the table before him and gently reached for it, giving the kid a pained smile. “You’re forgiven.” Realizing his words too late, his green eyes snapped to the light blue gaze immediately on him, a sad and soft yearning there that Dean had seen far too often.

Dean looked back down at the bottle, unable to deal with that just yet. He knew they needed to, it was only fair to have that conversation especially after what Jack sacrificed for them, no matter how much Dean had wanted to avoid it in the past. He remembered how he had told Sam in the next room how Jack wasn’t family, how Jack had heard him… Dean would never forgive himself for that. Chuck’s ending or not...there was no excuse. Like Sam said, they didn’t give up on family, and he had. And he was ashamed of it. Jack deserved better from him, Sam did, Cas… Cas deserved everything… They all deserved better from him.

Forcing himself to take a swig of the familiar carbonated liquid that burned the back of his throat as it went down, made Dean feel a little more settled, as settled as he could be after everything that just occurred and in these circumstances. He clapped Jack’s shoulder and gave him a grateful nod. “Thanks, kid.”

A thin-lipped smile made its way onto Jack’s face and he moved to focus once again on Dean’s injury.

Dean debated whether or not to say the words on the tip of his tongue, the words that had wanted out the moment they figured out they were being manipulated into giving that dick Chuck his ending. He contemplated the consequences and ultimately decided the hell with them. They might not have long now, wherever they were, dead or alive, before Chuck chose to end them for good, or worse screw with them some more. Cas had insisted they were real, that they were making up their own story as they went, despite Chuck’s interference and manipulations. Dean knew what meant most to him, what he wanted desperately to be real, and it was time he took back what was his, what he knew deep in his soul that mattered to him. That he couldn’t function without.

“You are, you know,” Dean murmured.

Jack turned an inquisitive gaze on him, his brows furrowing.

Dean studied him, thinking back to that last day of Jack’s life before he had died the first time. Jack had been so happy, at peace, spending time with him. He remembered the words the kid had said when he took him fishing. That had never been Chuck. That moment...that moment was real. “You’re family.”

Jack froze and Dean could see that same emotion from earlier making its presence known once again in his eyes.

“And I’m sorry that I said otherwise. That I...” The words that had been wanting to escape now suddenly caught in his throat and caused his eyes to start burning. “I’m just sorry,” he choked out. “You’re family.” He swallowed the emotion back down and leveled his gaze at Jack, his meaning clear. “And you always have been.”

The small smile of understanding that answered his declaration, the lightening of Jack’s brow as if a portion of a heavy weight was being lifted, was enough to make Dean soften slightly...just slightly. “I know,” Jack stated, his smile widening.

Dean watched him for a moment, surprised at Jack’s acceptance of his apology and heartfelt declaration, and then gave him as much of a proud smile as he could muster. He lifted his free hand and gripped the side of Jack’s head affectionately. “You’re our kid. And nothing is going to change that. You hear me? Nothing.”

Jack slowly nodded. Dean gave him an approving smile and released him, ruffling his hair before taking another sip of beer. Jack once again focused on Dean’s broken ribs but Dean didn’t miss the happy little smile curving the kid’s lips up. While he wasn’t one for sappy moments you tend to find in movies and tv shows, and he wasn’t someone who liked to discuss his feelings all the time like freaking Dr. Phil, he was relieved and feeling a bit happier than he had since this whole thing with Chuck going darkside had begun, since even before that… As happy as he could be anyway in the wake of everything that happened: his devastation at Cas’ death, the whole cosmic battle thing, Sam’s mysterious disappearance, and now their unknown circumstances.

Dean took another sip of beer before taking the ice from Jack. “We’ve got to find Sam,” he explained at Jack’s worried and confused expression. A resolute nod answered him and Jack got to his feet. He was about to help Dean do the same when the bunker door slammed open up above.

“Dean?”

At the familiar yell, Dean and Jack both froze. Then Dean was on his feet, pain be damned. “Sam?”

A shocked and terrified Sam appeared at the top of the stairs, breathing hard, and his hair a wild mess. Relief flooded Dean, seeing his brother in one piece, the fatal injury he had no longer appeared to be afflicting him. It should have added to Dean’s suspicion that something was obviously off here, first Jack and now Sam, but he was too thankful to see his brother alive and unharmed. “Dean, what--Jack?” Sam’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened.

Jack’s grin was so wide, his white teeth were showing, and he raised a hand up in greeting. “Hello.”

Sam hurried down the stairs so fast that Dean was sure he must have skipped a couple. He certainly had the long legs to pull it off. Once he reached the bottom, he launched himself at Jack, grabbing him up in his arms and hugging him tightly. “I thought you died,” Sam choked out.

“I did,” Jack asserted, happily returning Sam’s embrace. “At least...I think I did.”

Sam pulled back, his brows drawn as he studied his son. “But if you did, then how…?”

“I’m not sure.”

Sam gripped Jack’s face. “But I saw you.”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t looking so hot yourself there for a second either, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes snapped to Dean, a tiny smile replacing his worry and concern for a moment. He patted Jack’s cheek and released him, only to pull his older brother into a hug.

Dean let out a pained curse which forced Sam to let go of him immediately, his eyes scanning Dean’s body for any injuries. “What’s wrong?”

Dean regained his breath and waved it off. “A few broken ribs. It’s nothing.”

Sam arched a dubious brow. “That’s not nothing.” He indicated the spot where Jack was lifting Dean’s shirt and gently pressing ice with a nod.

Dean hissed when the ice made contact and grimaced. When Jack apologized again, he patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, kid. I appreciate you getting the ice.” He then glanced at Sam. “So, what the hell happened, Sam? We looked everywhere for you. Where the hell did you go?”

Sam watched worriedly as Jack tried to subtly heal Dean but couldn’t. “I, uh...I woke up in the Impala.”

“What? Why?” Dean barked out.

Sam shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.” He then met Dean’s gaze head on. “I was two towns over.”

Jack’s head whipped up in surprise and Dean’s jaw dropped. “Two towns over? What the hell?”

“Yeah,” Sam scoffed and tiredly wiped a hand down his face. “Exactly. Something’s off. I would say we’re all dead but with broken ribs...”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” After a minute, Dean cleared his throat quietly and gently moved Jack’s hand away, lowering his shirt. “Well, we should put our heads together and try to figure out just what the hell is going on.”

“There’s no need for that.”

Everyone whipped around to see Amara standing there, looking pristine in her pantsuit, the same suit Dean had seen her in before everything went to hell. He should have known his brief reunion with his family wouldn’t last long. Nothing good ever did, not in his life.

Dean hobbled forward to face her, placing himself in front of Sam and Jack. He ignored Sam’s quiet call for him and glared at the woman across the room. “What the hell do you want?”

Amara’s smile slowly faded and was replaced by slight contempt. “A thank you might be nice for starters.”

Dean scoffed. “A thank you? After what you and your dick brother did? You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.”

Amara arched an eyebrow. “I had nothing to do with that.”

“You had everything to do with it!” Dean yelled furiously.

Sam stepped closer to his brother. “Dean,” he warned, trying to get his attention.

Amara tilted her head curiously, studied Dean for a moment, and then started to walk toward the three of them. Sam grabbed Jack and pushed his son behind him protectively. At the same time, he gripped Dean’s arm and urged him to move backwards. Dean allowed it but never took his eyes off of the advancing cosmic being in front of them.

Amara’s dark eyes flickered to Sam. “There’s no point in running, Sam. You’re not fast enough. Especially not with Dean in his current condition.”

Sam’s jaw tightened and he sent her a fresh glare from behind Dean’s shoulder, gripping his brother’s arm tighter. “We’ll see.”

An amused smile formed on Amara’s face as she slowly shook her head, watching them curiously. “I admire your bravery and your loyalty. Your willingness to sacrifice yourselves for each other. You choose family time and time again, even when it means your very end.”

Dean straightened up as much as he could, and turned back to Sam. “Get the kid out of here. Take Baby and keep on driving. Don’t stop until you hit the ocean.”

Sam’s eyes flickered to his and he frowned. “I’m not leaving you here.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Dean snapped. “Take Jack and go. I’m not going to tell you again.”

Sam had been in such a tense standoff with his brother that he was caught off guard when Jack broke away and strode past them to Amara. “Jack!” Sam and Dean both yelled for him to stop but he ignored both of them.

Jack stopped a few feet away from the woman who by all intents and purposes was his great aunt. She watched him with a sliver of curiosity but said nothing. “How are you alive? How am I alive? Where’s Billie? Where’s Chuck? Why are you still here? Why can’t you just stop and leave us alone? Why can’t you let this world be? Why do you keep hurting my family?” His voice got louder and louder with each question but Amara didn’t shrink back one bit. Instead, she just continued to study him.

“Jack!” Jack’s eyes snapped over to the two brothers at Sam’s yell. They both had moved closer and Dean held out a hand, gesturing for him to join them. “It’s okay, kid. We’ll figure it all out. Just come over here.”

Jack shook his head, making both of their eyes widen in horror. “If I had my powers still, I could destroy her. I could end this. I could end Chuck. And then you would be safe. You would all be safe.”

“Jack, that’s not--”

“But you wouldn’t be,” Sam interrupted Dean. “That’s not what I want. That’s not what either of us want. That’s not what Cas wants.”

As expected, Sam’s words hit home and Jack’s eyes began to soften. Dean stared at his brother, the truth hitting deep down and causing the pain to swell up and drown him from the inside out.

The loud bangs of the door sounded throughout the room, a constant reminder that Death wanted in, that she would get in and receive everything she felt was owed to her, namely their permanent deaths.

Jack had died by imploding earlier, unfortunately not causing quite the reaction they had hoped for. Chuck and by extension, Amara, were still alive and well. Sam had tried to save Jack and he had received a scythe to the chest for the effort. It hadn’t killed him immediately despite the severity of the wound but Dean was pretty sure that Billie had intended for it to be that way. As much as she wanted them dead, Dean knew she also longed to see them suffer, especially since they had ruined her carefully planned takeover, possibly even since Cas’ angel blade had sliced into her chest. The minute they chose to avert Chuck’s ending, the second they chose to attempt to save Jack instead of sacrifice him, Billie had been on them. Chuck had simply laughed and told Billie to have at it, and then gave her a menacing smile, promising she’d see him later, before he popped out, giving them a giddy wave.

Dean had yelled for Sam when the scythe cut through his brother like butter and had rushed towards them. Billie knocked Dean back into one of the concrete walls and considering how his body had made the impact, he was now on the injured list. Cas somehow not only moved Jack’s body and Sam into Room 7B but he also helped Dean get inside before Billie could get them. They had planned for contingencies, of course, and they had warded the room in preparation for anything that came at them, before Jack and Dean had gone to see Adam. Thankfully, that prevented Death from entering right that very moment, but it would only hold so long.

Cas had turned to Dean, seeing the desolation and fear on his face as he stared down at his bloodied younger brother. “You’re hurt, let me heal you.”

Dean waved him away. “Don’t worry about me. Heal Sam.”

Cas grimaced and glanced at Sam. The man, his good friend for these past twelve years, was not long for this life. He had already tried to heal him but whether it was due to his failing grace or the power of the tool of Death being the one to cause the mortal wound, the angel couldn’t be sure, he was unable to. He had failed Sam, he had failed Jack, he had failed them all…

“I tried but I can’t heal him. I’m sorry. I truly am. Dean, your injury I can do something about. Please, let me heal you.”

Dean’s eyes slowly lifted to Cas, empty and full of a deep consuming sorrow. One tiny tear escaped and made a slow trek down his cheek. “No point. We’ll all be dead in a few minutes anyway.” He swung his head back to Sam. “We lost, Cas. Chuck won and we lost,” his voice broke at the end.

Cas gripped Dean’s shoulder and forced him to meet his gaze. “We haven’t lost yet. Not completely.”

Dean stared down at Cas’ hand for a moment, seeing Sam’s blood transferring from Cas’ hand to his jacket. He glanced back up at the angel and laid his hand on the arm that was currently keeping him from shattering to the floor in a million tiny pieces. The staccato of bangs started registering for him again, and this time they sounded shorter and deeper. “Won’t be long now. Besides, I’m not leaving him.” He spared a tearful glance down at his dying brother. He then took a breath and buried his fingers into the sleeve of Cas’ trench coat, meeting the pained blue gaze watching him. “Thank you, Cas. For getting me out of Hell, for helping us and looking out for Sammy, for being there. For all of it. You’ve been the best friend we’ve ever had and I’m damn grateful. We couldn’t have done all of this without you. You know that, right?”

Cas’ lower lip trembled slightly and he looked away to gain his bearings, contemplating a decision to do something that he wasn’t sure Dean would ever forgive him for.

“So, thank you,” Dean ground out and patted Cas’ arm before wiping his face on his sleeve and sniffling. He focused on Sam and tenderly moved a lock of wayward hair from his brother’s pale face. Another bang sounded so loudly they nearly both jumped. Dean gave Sam a sad smile and rushed out, “You should get out of here, man, if you can. She’s after us, not you. Get out of here and go find a way to bring Jack back, stop Chuck, and live your damn life.”

Cas’ hand gripped Dean’s shoulder tighter. “I’m not leaving you here to die, Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean’s eyes snapped up to meet Castiel’s, surprising him with the amount of tenderness and affection he saw there, rather than the anger and commanding authority he expected. “I’m asking you to go. Sam and I, we’re not walking away from this. But you...you still have a shot.”

Cas held his gaze a moment longer and murmured, “There is no shot without you, Dean.” As Dean’s surprise lightened his green eyes, Cas stated, “I’m not leaving.”

Both men continued to study one another, seeking answers from each other’s expressions, until Dean gently laid a hand on Cas’ arm once again. “Cas,” Dean started, his voice still rough. He licked his lips nervously and tightened his grip on him. “You didn’t let me finish before when I tried to… There’s something I need to say.”

Cas immediately knew where this was going and attempted to shut it down, like he had before. He wasn’t ready for his life to come to a screeching halt, not yet, not before he could tell Dean what he ached to tell him for the longest time now, not before he could save his life. “Dean, you don’t have to say it. I--”

“Dammit, Cas. I’m going to die in a minute. Just let me get this out,” Dean huffed out a laugh of disbelief. “Please.”

Cas warred with himself internally, seeing Dean’s eyes pleading with him, knowing this wasn’t easy for the man he had rescued from Hell all those years ago to get out, never mind admit to himself. His love and affection for the man who had his arm in a death grip, as if he was afraid he would disappear, won out. He gave Dean a somber nod to continue.

Another bang shook the room. Billie was nearly through.

“I want you to know that I… I haven’t always…” Cas patiently gave him what little time he had to find the right words. He hadn’t known just how deeply he yearned to hear them from this particular human he had been watching over and fighting side by side with for years.

Another loud bang. This time, the hinges on the door groaned. They had a matter of seconds.

Dean ran his tongue along his bottom lip and hurriedly tried again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize just how much I--”

Cas could hear Billie rearing her arm back outside the door, ready to land the final blows on the wood before her. As much as it broke his heart to do it, he had to put Dean’s safety first. He always had, even above his own. He wasn’t about to break that stride now, even if it meant his very own life would now end. He lifted his free hand and placed it against Dean’s cheek, stopping him mid-sentence and making his eyes widen. “I know,” Cas assured him. “You don’t have to say it. I know .” He saw Dean’s shock emerge as his words began to register. “Dean, I need you to listen to me...there is another way.”

Dean’s brows began to furrow. “How?”

“You won’t like it.” Cas gave him a nod and stood, helping Dean to do the same. He stepped back a few feet, putting some distance between them, and he faced the direction of the door. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I really am. But, I made a deal.”

Dean froze for a moment and then yelled out, “A deal? What the hell are you talking about, Cas?”

Cas turned a sad expression onto Dean. “Not a demon deal. With The Empty, to save Jack. When we were in Heaven, it came for him… It was the only way to save him.”

“What?” So many emotions flickered over Dean’s face that the angel had trouble keeping track of each one, even after all of these years. The final ones he could make out were anger, and more importantly, fear. “Why the hell didn’t you tell us?”

“You know why,” Cas murmured, coming close to Dean again, unable to keep away for too long. He placed his palm against Dean’s cheek once more, his eyes starting to glisten slightly. “This is what I have to do. If The Empty comes for me now, it may distract Billie long enough for you to run. From what Sam said, The Empty isn’t happy with her right now. This will buy you some time.”

“What? No. I told you, I’m not leaving Sam. I-- Dammit, Cas, no. No!”

Cas gripped him tighter, pleading with him to listen. With Cas’ sharp vision, he could see Billie through the cracks of the mostly damaged door. He was surprised it was still somehow standing but at the same time, grateful. He needed to get these last words out. “It’s the only way. You get out of here and you find a way to stop Chuck. This is real, Dean. Chuck was never in control. Not when it comes to us. Don’t lose sight of that. For all of us. For Jack, for Sam, for...for me.”

Another tear escaped onto Dean’s cheek. “No, you can’t. I just--”

Cas pulled him gently into his arms and hugged him, careful not to squeeze his injured side. “I love you,” he whispered in the softest tone imaginable into Dean’s ear. Dean stiffened in his arms and Cas knew he had been heard. It should be any second now…

“Don’t do this,” Dean choked out. “Please. I just need… We need to… It can’t end like this. Not when I… Dammit, Cas, I want you to stay alive. I need you to… Don’t you dare do this to me again, you son of a bitch.”

Cas drew back, his eyes filled with tears, and stepped a few paces away. Dean, still in shock, thankfully made no move to follow. “You and Sam...you fought for this whole world,” Cas let out in a quiet sob. “I can at least do this.”

The whole room shook as if a bomb had gone off. Both men did their best to keep their footing, glancing at the door to see if Death had finally broken through. Not quite but there was no question about it, the warding sigils around the door were lit up and fading...fast.

Dean swung back to face Cas again and saw smoky black tendrils swirling around Cas’ feet. Horrified realization dawned on him and Cas gave him a tearful but affectionate smile. “It’s going to be okay, Dean. Remember, this is real. It always has been.”

Cas watched as a new look of determination came over Dean’s features as The Empty appeared, a devious grin on its features as its arm encircled his waist. Dean took a few steps closer and his jaw set in resolve. “We’re coming for you. I don’t care what I have to do or who I have to kill, I’m going to find a way to get you out. So you be ready, you hear me? We’re coming, Cas.”

Cas’ smile grew but unfortunately so did The Empty’s. As a tear fell down Castiel’s cheek, The Empty hissed out, “Told ya,” in a voice similar to Meg’s but not quite hers. Dean attempted to rush them but the cosmic entity waved an arm, sending Dean flying into another wall, causing the man to cry out in the shock of pain and for Cas to yell his name. “Uh uh,” Pseudo Meg told Dean, “he’s mine. We had a deal after all.” Dean watched helplessly as the black snakes that were The Empty encompassed Cas’ entire body. Cas managed to choke out two words before he was gone forever, “Keep fighting.”

Cas disappeared and Dean yelled out, “Cas!” reaching a hand across the divide as if he could somehow keep the angel there with him. The Empty smirked down at him and that was when the door exploded, allowing Billie entrance into the room. Dean pushed himself back against the wall, glad he had landed near Sam.

Death’s eyes were for Dean alone until she noticed The Empty standing there, smirking at her. When neither cosmic being made a move towards the other, and The Empty gave her a nod, she then turned her full attention to the injured man below her. “He went back to where he belongs. And now,” Billie raised her scythe as she stood above Dean. “So will you.”

Dean gripped Sam’s hand tight, clenched his jaw, and waited for the killing blow. He and Sam had talked about going out in a blaze of glory, all Butch and Sundance style. He may not have a gun in his hand, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to cower in the corner. Not for anyone, but certainly not for this bitch. He would face this head on, like he always had, like he had always planned for when he finally bit it.

What happened next, Dean couldn’t be too sure of. A tendril of black grasped Billie’s wrist and twirled her to meet The Empty head on. Chuck was suddenly there, watching in glee as his creations, his toys , were about to be broken for the final time. Suddenly, his expression changed, morphed into something of sadness and...regret? And then he snapped his fingers, and that was the last thing Dean remembered.

Dean turned to face Amara and Jack, with the former still watching the latter curiously. He didn’t hear Sam’s pleas or Jack’s impassioned and determined responses. He was only focused on one particular detail.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Dean asked quietly.

All eyes snapped to him and Amara smiled slightly but stayed quiet.

“What?” Sam looked as confused as Jack.

Dean took a few steps forward, waving Sam off. “You stopped it all, didn’t you?” Still no response. “Why?”

Amara thought it over for a moment. “I told you from the beginning, Dean. I can’t hurt you anymore than you can hurt me. Though you have disappointed me, setting me up for my own death and all.”

Dean’s gaze dropped to the ground and he felt guilt trying to take hold of him. But when he glanced back up at her, Amara could see the resolve in his eyes. “It’s not something I wanted but if you and your brother were a package deal, it had to be done,” he admitted unapologetically.

Jack’s eyes volleyed back and forth between them, narrowed in confusion.

When Dean’s expression didn’t falter one bit, Amara nodded and let out a sigh. “I suppose I understand. Though I am still disappointed.”

Dean let out a gruff, “Sorry.”

Amara smirked. “No, you’re not, but I can...appreciate what you’re trying to protect. Besides, I suppose many don’t often hear that word from the great Dean Winchester now do they?”

Dean’s expression stayed the same, once again unapologetically himself.

Sam appeared next to Dean. “Wait, if you’re here, then where’s Chuck?”

Amara regarded him for a moment. “He’s here as well.” All three men tensed at the revelation and Amara rolled her eyes. “He’s not roaming the halls. He’s here, with me.” She placed a hand over her chest.

“You mean he’s a part of you, that you consumed him?” At Amara’s nod, Sam’s brows scrunched in puzzlement. “How is that even possible? I thought he consumed you.”

Amara slowly moved away from them, keeping her eye on all three, until she reached the table where Dean’s beer bottle sat. Sam grabbed Jack, and Dean watched her suspiciously. Amara sat on the table, crossed one leg over the other, and took a sip. She let out a satisfied breath and regarded them carefully. “He did.”

They waited for her to speak and when she didn’t, Dean and Sam exchanged skeptical expressions. “And?” Dean asked impatiently.

Amara took another sip and gave an uncaring shrug. “I needed time to figure him out, from the inside. He really wanted a true balance between us, with him on the more powerful side of the scales of course. But, here’s the thing, when you cage or consume a cosmic being, it can only be for so long. As you mentioned, Dean, we’re a package deal. As you already know, if one of us dies, the universe is thrown into chaos. If we both die, then no chaos. Not the kind of chaos you would expect, anyway.”

Jack stepped up to Dean’s right shoulder. “How did you get out?”

Amara gave him a soft smile and an approving nod. “He’s a lot like you, Dean. I like that.”

Dean glanced towards Jack who stared up at him sheepishly. A smug smirk lifted the corners of Dean’s mouth and he turned back to Amara. “Like the kid said, how did you get free from the dickbag?” Out of the corner of his eye, Dean noticed the small smile form on Jack’s face and the curious relief wash over Sam’s.

Amara tapped her nails against the bottle. “Do you remember what bonded us, Dean?”

Dean gave her a short nod. “The mark. What about it?”

Amara smiled and placed the bottle down. She gently moved aside her jacket and blouse to show the familiar mark still present on her skin. “This is what imprisoned me for millennia.”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, we know that part. What does that have to do with Chuck?”

Amara narrowed her eyes angrily and Jack took a step forward, standing next to Sam. Dean watched the movement with an almost parental pride. He was once again reminded of his mistake claiming that Jack wasn’t family; Jack was a Winchester through and through.

“It has everything to do with my brother.” She waited a moment, then apparently let Sam’s interruption go, and once again settled her eyes on Dean. “It keeps me free, it’s what keeps us bonded. But for him, it has managed to keep him imprisoned…”

All of their eyes began to widen in surprise as her meaning dawned on them.

“Within me,” she finished.

Sam and Jack looked to Dean who shook his head as if to clear it. “Wait, so you’re telling me, Chuck is in a cage...in you?” Amara nodded, her smile widening as Dean let out a laugh in surprise. “How the hell is that even possible?”

She tilted her head. “I told you, I needed time to work it out. From within him.”

Dean once again shook his head, this time in bewilderment. “So you turned the mark and the cage he made for you against him.” At the lack of response, Dean laughed again. “That’s just freaking perfect. The bastard deserves nothing more.”

Amara’s eyes saddened but she nodded in agreement.

“Wait, hold up a second, Dean. Amara, you said that cosmic beings can’t be held for long. And as glad as I am to hear that he’s trapped, how long will that last?” At Amara’s annoyed expression, Sam held up his hands placatingly. “I mean, he couldn’t hold you for long. What if he does the same to you? What if he figures you out from the inside, too, or whatever?”

“Really, Sam? You couldn’t give me one moment to enjoy the idea?” Sam glanced over worriedly but saw Dean’s exasperated but amused expression staring back at him.

Sam gave his brother a sheepish shrug. “We have to know, Dean. If Chuck breaks free, this will only start all over again.”

Amara swung her foot in a slow circle as she spoke. “As for right now, the way I’ve worked it, due to the mark, that won’t be possible. At least not for a very long time.” At Sam’s disbelieving frown, she stated, “We’re talking millennia here. Look at how long it took me to get out of my cage where the mark was concerned. Chuck in his egomania never considered that the mark might not be the best thing for him when he consumed me. It will be a very long time before he can come up for air. Not unless I allow it. Perks of being a cosmic being.”

Dean studied her worriedly. “Won’t he keep trying to break out, though?” Amara’s eyes snapped to his. “When I had Michael in my head, he fought to break out all the time and it was rough. But he was just an Archangel. I can’t imagine having Chuck inside there for even a day and you’re talking years.” Just thinking about it was starting to give Dean another headache.

“We’re a little different that way, Dean.” Amara smiled warmly at him. “Besides, this gives me time to speak with him, work with him, show him the value of this world. Neither of us have to die and the world can continue on as it should.”

“You mean...now you’re God?” Jack asked.

Amara considered this carefully.

Dean arched an eyebrow. “You’ve got him trapped deep down inside of you now. Probably planning all of his little shows that he wants on some cosmic Netflix when he’s out again. Are you sure you’re up for the job?”

Amara’s smile grew bigger. “I never imagined I would...but I think I might want to stick around, maybe take more of this all in. I’ve never created anything before,” she finished in a whisper.

After a minute, Jack asked, “What about Billie? And The Empty?”

“Back where they both belong,” Amara nearly growled. “My brother was right about one thing, Death may have our death books and we may be reaped someday, but he did create space and time. The fact that they thought they could make a play for us…” Her eyes snapped to Jack’s. “Let’s just say that Billie has been demoted.”

“Demoted?” Was it possible Dean never had to worry about her coming for him or Sam? Ever again?

Amara nodded. “She’s been laid to rest in The Empty and a new Death has taken the helm.”

Sam frowned. “A new Death?”

“Yes, I believe you know her, Dean. Tessa?”

Shock and surprise colored Sam and Dean’s expressions as they exchanged glances.

“I remembered her from your memories.” At Dean’s wide eyes, she explained, “From our bond. I decided that she needed a new purpose, easing the physical suffering of those in the world the only way death can.”

Dean thought it over and then gave a little smile, nodding. “She’ll make a good one.” With that new purpose Amara talked about, after his time with Tessa during that deal with the first Death, he couldn’t imagine a better candidate.

“I agree.” Amara got to her feet and smoothed down her jacket.

“Thank you.” All eyes turned to Dean and he had a forced smile on his face but his eyes were genuine in their gratitude. “You didn’t have to help us but you did. So...thank you.”

Amara strode over to him. “I told you, Dean. You and I will always help each other.”

Nodding, Dean licked his lips nervously. “I have to ask, just one thing. If Tessa is back… Is there a way I can get into The Empty? To bring back someone who was sent there?” He ignored the question in Sam’s gaze, and the realization and sadness in Jack’s.

Amara laid a hand against his cheek, studying him. “I’m sorry, Dean. You can’t. It’s outside of space and time. There is no way. Not even I can.”

“But you just said you got Tessa out. Why can’t--”

“When I sent Billie and The Empty back there, I could only keep the door open long enough to locate the ones I needed and get them out. Any longer and it would have been too much of a risk. My brother and I truly have no power over that place.”

Dean felt the ache in his chest consume him and he gave a broken nod, dropping his eyes to the floor so she wouldn’t see the tears trying to build there.

Amara lowered her hand to hover above his chest. “There isn’t anyone there you need to bring back, Dean.”

Dean’s head snapped up and his eyes tightened in defiance of those words. “Yes, there is,” he bit out. “And if you can’t help me, I’ll find another way to break in.”

She smiled softly. “Dean, I’ve thought over our conversation from that deli quite a bit. You know why I had brought Mary back, that I tried to free you from your anger. I wanted to give you something you needed, something I thought you needed. But now I see...that what you really needed has been here all along, hasn’t it?”

Dean’s brows furrowed, wondering just where she was going with this. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat and maintained his unflinching gaze, listening.

Amara smiled though her eyes became slightly saddened. “Had you not given me what I needed back when I was bent on revenge and destruction, I would have never seen how truly precious this world is. I would have never seen the fragile beauty that surrounds this place every moment of every day. As I told you that night, I tried to free you from your anger, to help you to accept the present and to realize this beautiful reality, while sometimes tragic, is better than any idealized fantasy that you could wish for. Because this, right now, is not my brother’s ending. Dean, this is real and real is always better.” She snapped her fingers, making all three men tense.

They waited but when nothing happened, Dean turned to her with a quizzical expression. As Dean opened his mouth to ask her what the hell that had to do with getting into The Empty, a word spoken behind them made him freeze in shock.

“Dean.”

Dean whipped around in shock and there stood Cas, his trench coat and attire the same as Dean had last seen him, smiling widely, his blue eyes soft and glistening.

“Cas,” Jack nearly whispered. Sam was just as surprised as the kid. His hazel eyes immediately darted over to Dean who was still staring at Cas as if he were a mirage that he was afraid would disappear should he blink.

Dean didn’t remember commanding his feet to move. It was almost as if the moment that Cas appeared, his body felt a strong pull, tugging him in the angel’s direction, and he just had to get closer. “Cas?” He choked out in disbelief, his eyes filling the moment he was less than three steps away from what was on the end of that impossible force.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas’ timid smile widened and his gaze grew glassier.

Dean let out a sharp breath and launched himself at Cas, wrapping his arms around his friend and crushing him tightly to him. He ignored the screaming pain in his side, biting his lip until it practically bled and tears began to blur his vision. He wasn’t letting go, not for anything. Cas returned the embrace and let out a soft sob into Dean’s jacket. Dean squeezed his eyes shut in relief for a brief moment, forcing tears out which he subtly wiped away, and then pulled back enough to press a rough kiss to the side of Cas’ dark head before gripping him tightly once more.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” Dean whispered gruffly into Cas’ ear. “You hear me? I mean it, I can’t lose you again, Cas.”

Cas’ fingers dug into Dean’s shoulders and he gave a short nod.

“And…” Dean swallowed, intent on nothing stopping him from saying what he had been wanting to say ever since he realized just how much his best friend mattered to him, how much he truly needed him. “Me, too, Cas,” he whispered into the angel’s ear. “I love you, too.” Feeling Cas’s fingers dig further into his shoulders at the declaration, Dean pulled back slightly and grabbed Cas’ head in between his hands, meeting the wet blue gaze head on. “And I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

Another tear rolled down Cas’ cheek but his smile was the brightest Dean had ever seen it, even more than the few moments he could elicit an amused chuckle or pleased grin out of him in the past, more than when Cas had declared his love for him and reached his true moment of happiness earlier. Dean realized, staring at the angel who had become the friend that knew him better than he knew himself, had joined his family, and had fought by his side for twelve long years, that this smile was his new favorite. He could stare at it for days, it was that mesmerizing. But most of all, he loved the wearer of this smile.

Jack and Sam were at their side in an instant. Dean pulled back enough to give them room, but kept his fingers buried in the back of Cas’ coat, unwilling to let go until he was convinced his best friend wouldn’t disappear. Jack eagerly threw his arms around Cas who heartily returned his embrace.

Sam laid a hand on the angel’s shoulder and squeezed which was responded to with an affectionate smile from Cas. “Glad to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back,” Cas agreed. “And I’m glad to see you’re healed and doing well.”

“You were in The Empty.” Jack’s face saddened with realization. “Because of the deal you made to save me?”

Cas nodded but smiled softly at Jack, pulling him in for another hug. “A deal I don’t regret making and I would do it again if it kept you safe.”

The corner of Jack’s lips began to tip up in the corner and he tightened his hold on Cas. “I’m happy you’re back, Cas.”

Cas’ smile grew wider and he closed his eyes, reveling in this moment with his son.

Sam’s eyes met Dean’s over the other two’s heads and they both shared a nod. Everything was back to how it should be.

When Dean saw Sam’s gaze flicker behind him and his features tense, Dean turned around to find Amara standing a few feet away, studying their group intently. The woman’s hazel eyes slowly ran over them and ended on Dean himself.

Dean exchanged quick glances with his brother, and at Sam’s nod and him moving even closer to Cas and Jack in a protective stance which caught the latter two’s attention, he stepped towards Amara and gave her his full attention. “Alright, so you brought him back. And you brought Jack back, Sam… You saved us, saved the world. So, what’s the catch?”

Amara’s brow scrunched up. “Catch?”

Dean gave her a look. “Why did you do it?”

“I told you, I—”

“That’s a load of crap,” Dean cut her off. “Nothing like that comes for free.” Realization played upon Amara’s beautiful features and her eyes sharply focused on him. “I get the whole caging Chuck thing and I’m glad you did it. The bastard deserves it after everything he did. But why did you get Cas out of The Empty? Like you said, it was no easy feat. And what’s more, why did you bring Sam back? Or Jack? Did you purposely set this up so we’d be in your debt? So you could call in a favor? So if you whistled we’d come running? Because that is not happening. So if that’s why, you’d better think again, lady.” When she didn’t answer him right away, Dean then spoke through clenched teeth. “What is it that you want?”

Amara straightened her spine and crossed her arms. “There is no catch, Dean.”

Dean scoffed. “There’s always a catch.”

She considered that for a moment but then spoke again. “Perhaps,” she agreed. “But that is not the case here.” At Dean’s disbelief, she continued. “I told you before, we’re connected. We always will be. I can’t hurt you anymore than you can hurt me and what’s more, I don’t want to hurt you. I never have. I have only ever wanted to help you.” Amara lifted a gentle hand to Dean’s cheek which made the man shrink back slightly, warily watching her as she pursued the touch until her fingers made contact with his skin. He saw a tender smile form on her face when he didn’t pull away. “I have always told you that we will help each other, and that’s true. But not in the way you’re thinking. I’m not doing this to gain a favor or keep you in my debt. I’m doing what I told you I wanted to do back in that deli.”

Dean’s brows furrowed in confusion and his eyes were shadowed by an obvious distrust that he didn’t care if Amara could see or not.

“I thought your mother was what you needed and that’s why I brought her back. To free you from your anger; to show you that the reality of her was better than some age-old fantasy you had. And like I said that day, I now know I was wrong. It turns out that you needed something entirely different.” She lowered her hand and moved her gaze past his shoulder.

Dean slowly glanced behind him to find Sam, Cas, and Jack all carefully watching them. Sam swallowed convulsively, Jack glared, and Cas watched with indifference tainted slightly by worry. He swung his eyes back to meet Amara’s.

“They’re the family that you need, Dean. I understand that now.”

Dean processed her words and found he couldn’t deny that she was right nor did he want to. He had meant what he said to his dad a while back; he had a family. One he would fight to keep together, no matter what it took. Just like his dad had, though he would…be different. Yes, he would do it all differently. Jack, Sam, Cas…they all deserved better. And better is what they would get. He wasn’t perfect by any means, but his family knew that and loved him anyway.

Cas had been right; they were real. And as Amara kept reminding him, reality was far better than any fantasy. It stunned him for a moment to let those words travel through his brain: love, real. He knew Sammy loved him, Jack even, but Cas…Cas indeed loved him. He had said it right before he got taken by The Empty. Cas could have chosen any words to say for his impromptu deathbed speech, but he had chosen those three specific ones, and for Dean alone. A warmth started to suffuse his chest when the word ‘real’ repeated itself over and over in his head. This was real and he could have it. He never thought he could, especially after Lisa and Ben, but here it was, right in front of him. Maybe not in the exact way he had fantasized about for years, but it was here all the same and it was all his . Reality was indeed better than any fantasy he could have cooked up. He wouldn’t trade his brother, his son, or his…his angel for anyone else. He didn’t need some white picket fence or a wife or PTA meetings to attend in order to make him feel like his dreams came true. He had a family, a real one, and that was a dream enough for him. He nearly smiled at the thought of it. He had a family.

In the next second though, the happy thought then dropped into a pit of all-consuming dread. If all of this with Amara wasn’t real, if this was some hallucination of his or a grand scheme of manipulation a la Chuck style, he had no idea what he’d do. This brought back the recent memories of how each of his family members appeared in the bunker one by one after she pulled the Thanos-snap with Billie.

His brows furrowed in concentration on one particular thought. “That’s why you did it.” At her confused expression, he clarified, “Sam. In the Impala two towns over. That’s why.”

Her puzzlement smoothed out into an understanding smile. “You needed time to talk to him. To tell him the truth.” Dean chanced a glance back at Jack upon her words. His son’s glare in Amara’s direction softened when his eyes met Dean’s. Dean’s gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, shaking his head slightly in disbelief at the realization that yeah, Amara did know him better than he had ever thought. Almost eerily so. His three biggest regrets when he thought he was about to die earlier had been that he hadn’t been able to save Sam, that he hadn’t confirmed to Jack that he was family, and that he hadn’t told Cas what he had been wanting to tell him this whole time. And now, within a matter of minutes, all three regrets had turned into opportunities for him to rectify them: Sam was alive (and safe was debatable but Dean would take it), he had apologized to Jack and made sure he knew that he was their kid, and he had told Cas that— Well, he was able to tell Cas how much he meant to him. And he still had his family.

“I told you, Dean.” Dean’s head whipped back around to Amara. “Reality is better than fantasy. And what you have, it’s real.” He was still overwhelmed by that realization, unable to say anything and wanting to really. Instead, he gave her a simple nod. He saw a slight sadness in her eyes that a moment later vanished only to be replaced by a light of determination. “It is time that I took my leave. I interrupted my vacation to help you boys the first time, and I am eager to get back to it. From what I hear, there’s nothing like getting a Swedish massage in the Swiss Alps.” She smirked and took a few steps back. “And before you ask, Dean, no I don’t intend on pulling the strings like my brother used to. I plan to take a much more laid back approach to it all.”

“So, basically, we’re on our own? Like we were before?” A feeling of familiar disgust began to churn in his stomach.

She studied him for a moment. “I wouldn’t say that. I’m not abandoning any of you; I’m simply in the background. Though that does remind me.” She snapped her fingers quickly, making all of the men jump slightly. Dean was beyond terrified to look behind him, afraid that she had pulled the old bait and switch on him. He was working up the nerve to turn when Amara smirked over at him. “There, that should take care of everything. Now,” She slipped sunglasses on that had appeared in her hands out of nowhere. “Jack, I’m still thinking it over but I may need your help if I decide to restructure things a little.”

“Why should I help you?” Jack bit out from behind Dean. The older man closed his eyes and let out a breath of relief. When he felt the warmth at his shoulder from Jack, he opened his eyes quickly and grabbed at his son’s wrist, attempting to pull him further behind him.

Amara didn’t flinch, literally or figuratively. “Because I would think after everything we both have been through with Chuck’s setup, you might want to have a say in redoing some things. Like Heaven for starters, for the souls in its keep as well as angel management. After the whole Lucifer fiasco and the low number trying to keep the lights on…it’s a mess. As a matter of fact,” Amara turned her gaze onto Cas. “I could also use your help in that department, Castiel. I’d appreciate a full tour and rundown of how things work up there.”

Cas squared his shoulders and approached Dean’s side that Jack was on, also standing in front of the younger man protectively while giving her a defiant glare. “My powers are not what they were.”

“Mine either!” Jack added from behind the two men.

Amara’s smirk grew. “Are you sure about that, boys?”

Dean and Cas exchanged a puzzled look as Sam approached the group near Dean’s other shoulder, standing in front. “What do you mean?”

This time, Amara lowered her glasses slightly to look at all of them. “I’m saying that both of my nephews can come off of the bench. They’ve been there long enough. So can Dean. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’d really like to get going.” She pushed her glasses back into place and a handbag appeared on her arm out of nowhere, her smirk firmly in place. “I’ll be in touch, boys. Toodles.”

Before she could vanish, Dean called out to her. “Amara.”

Her gaze snapped to his, questioning.

“Thank you,” he forced out, knowing deep down that he meant it. He was grateful for her intervention and for everything she had done for his family; he just felt like he couldn’t completely trust in it yet or her.

A full grin bloomed on her lips. “You’re welcome. And, Dean.” This was it. He tensed, waiting for the final blow, for the last rug to be pulled out from under him, the ultimate ‘Aha! Gotcha!’. “Have a little faith.” Dean’s gaze tightened and Amara beamed at him before disappearing.

His skin broke out in goosebumps and his heart started to race when Cas grabbed his jacket and gently turned him in his direction, murmuring “Come here.” Dean swallowed compulsively when the angel’s blue eyes stared into his. The man would never admit it but as much as he loved Cas, and he was grateful to have him back, he wasn’t sure that he was ready for things to ascend to the next level between them quite this quickly. Not when their son and Sam were watching.

But to Dean’s surprise and possible dismay, Cas’ eyes traveled down to his injured side instead and a shocking mix of relief and disappointment bloomed within his chest. Cas lifted his shirt slightly, intent on placing a gentle hand on his skin, when Dean’s eyes bugged out of his head. “The hell?”

Where there had been mottled and splotchy skin before, now there was only smooth skin. Jack, who had been watching along with Sam, stared at it, puzzled. Cas pressed his hand to the area and for the first time since waking up, Dean didn’t flinch. He felt absolutely no pain at all. He let out a sigh of relief. Thank God—er…whatever—that he wouldn’t need to worry about that injury. That would have been a real bitch of a time to not only wait for the broken ribs to heal, but to still get around and fight if they needed to.

“Did she heal you?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t feel anything.” He thought back to the moment she had touched his cheek. When Cas touched him to heal him, he would always feel a sort of warmth traveling through his body at the speed of light, coming to a concentrated area which was also the sight of the wound or injury. This time, he hadn’t felt a thing. And he was alright with that. He wondered if Amara kept him wounded until the last second as a sort of safeguard. Not that he could have killed her, but he would have tried like hell if she had turned out to be a threat.

“I wonder…” Cas muttered. He studied his two hands carefully and Dean watched as his eyes began to glow in a familiar electric blue.

“She gave us our powers back,” Jack stated in awe. One quick glance from Dean showed Jack’s eyes giving off a golden glow all of their own.

“Yes, she’s restored us to full strength,” Cas replied, meeting his son’s bright gaze with his own.

Sam gave his brother a dubious look. “Do you think she really meant what she said? About wanting to restructure Heaven?”

Dean couldn’t be sure, but right now, he didn’t want to waste another second thinking about her, their ordeal, or any other battles coming their way. He had his family back, all healthy and at full strength, and he’d take the win. “I don’t know, Sammy, but right now, we’re not focusing on that.”

Sam looked unsure. “Dean, if she gave them their powers back so she could use them in some way, then—”

Dean laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder and squeezed. “I get it, and we’ll deal with that when the time comes. But right now, we got you back, we got Jack back, and Cas… And both of them are fully charged with angel juice. Let’s just take the freaking win, man. We’ll worry about all of that other crap later.” Sam still seemed uncertain, but at Dean’s intent gaze, he eventually sighed in capitulation.

“Okay. I still think we should make a plan, though.”

Dean gave him a smile. “We will. After.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “After?”

Dean’s grin grew and he turned them both to face the other two members of their family who were looking at them with mirrored tilted heads in confusion. Like father, like son. “Sammy, we’re going to head to the beach and we’re going to stick our toes in the sand.”

“Why would we stick our toes in the sand?” Cas asked.

“Because it’s what we’re going to do to celebrate us defeating Chuck.”

“How does sticking our toes in sand at the beach indicate a celebration of victory in battle?” Dean glanced at Sam who gave him a smirk, completely leaving him on his own for this one.

“It just is,” Dean decided. “Trust me on this one, Cas. So, Jack and Sam, you two go start packing up.” Dean hated to let either of them out of his sight, especially after recent events, but he felt slightly better knowing that the two would be together and it would only be for a short time. “I’m going to go start packing myself. We’re leaving in ten.” He ignored Sam’s smirk getting wider and clapped his hands. “Let’s go, hustle up. The sooner we blow this place, the sooner we can get to our vacation.” And the sooner they were on the road with him behind the wheel of his beloved car, the sooner Dean would be able to breathe again, no longer holding his breath waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“One quick question.”

Dean rolled his eyes and turned to his brother. “What?”

Sam suddenly appeared nervous. “Would it be alright if… I mean, would it be okay if I invited Eileen to go with us?” He quickly stammered out.

Dean grinned and Sam rolled his eyes. He knew that his older brother would tease him for years to come over this. “That’s adorable.”

“Can I ask her or not?”

Dean clapped his shoulder, deciding to have mercy on him…at least until they got on the road and he had nowhere to run. And Eileen was going to be there so it would be double the fun. “Absolutely, little brother. I’ve told you before, I like Eileen, and I think it’d be great if she came along. We’ll pick her up wherever she’s at.”

The relief played out on Sam’s features and he relaxed slightly under Dean’s hand. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Dean nodded and slapped Sam’s shoulder again. “Alright, let’s get packed up and ready to go. If you’re not here in ten, I mean it, I will leave your asses behind, so let’s go.” He wouldn’t dare to leave them behind, never again, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud at this moment. Despite his attempt at giving them a sense of urgency, Sam slowly made his way over to Jack and ushered him out into the hallway while pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Dean watched them go and then turned to Cas who was studying him intently. He felt an unfamiliar shyness creeping up inside him and his nerves began to take over, but he cleared his throat quietly, intent on pushing past the forming anxiety. “Cas, I, uh—Do you need to pack anything? A different coat, perhaps?”

Cas gave him a look and Dean let out a nervous chuckle.

“Right.” He took a few steps towards the angel. “Listen, I…” Dean struggled to get out what he wanted to ask, and he licked his lips anxiously. Why was it so difficult to ask this? It shouldn’t be that big a deal.

“Yes, Dean, I will go with you to your room and help you pack.”

Dean’s eyes widened. How in the hell did Cas know that?

A soft, understanding smile formed on Cas’ face. “I told you, Dean. We can pick up on longing. And right now, you want me to go with you because you don’t want me out of your sight.”

Dean opened his mouth to immediately protest but found he couldn’t. It was true; he didn’t want to let Cas out of his sight in case he disappeared again. After everything, he couldn’t take that right now. Hell, he couldn’t take that ever. Never again. Instead, he cleared his throat for a second time and dropped his gaze to the floor. “Okay.”

He started to make his way towards his room, grabbing onto Cas’ sleeve and gently tugging him along. He didn’t need to look at Cas to know his best friend was sporting a huge grin, especially when a couple of Dean’s fingers tenderly brushed against his wrist. If anyone forced him to admit it, Dean would say he was trying to get a better grip on Cas’ coat or that it was an accident, but deep down, a small part of him yearned for the brief contact. That same part of him also didn’t seem to mind it so much when Cas’ fingers brushed against his hand when the latter handed him a few folded shirts to throw into a duffel bag about four minutes later.

And Dean would deny it to the ground, but he had taken two minutes of the allotted time they had been given to sit on the edge of his bed with Cas next to him, their shoulders touching at the very same site Cas had initially left his mark, and it made him sigh in relief, enjoying the brief absence of chaos and the ensuing silence. The seasoned hunter and the angel took a moment to breathe and Dean could swear it was some of the best time he had ever spent on this earth. So this is what it was like—to love someone and have them love you in return. It was new and unfamiliar but Dean found himself liking it. He had loved Lisa and Cassie, and they had loved him, but it had never felt like anything close to this. This moment of sitting together, not saying a word, staring at the wall across from them, barely touching, no more secrets between them, enjoying the peace and just being, was suddenly in his top ten moments. Sex was awesome but even that didn’t compare to this. Dean didn’t exactly believe in soul mates but he understood why some people did. The feeling he got just from having Cas there, with their kid and Sam down the hall from them, preparing to show them one of the beaches he had gone to back in the day when on a solo hunt after he and his dad split up, well, it was indescribable.

And that same feeling continued to fill him twenty minutes later as they barreled down the road in Baby, heading towards Eileen’s destination, who had enthusiastically agreed to the small vacation. Dean glanced at Sam who was grinning down at his phone like an idiot as he and Eileen presumably swapped texts. He then checked the rearview mirror to find Jack showing Cas something on his phone that he had found, most likely what to do on a beach since the former had been asking Dean repeatedly about this topic until he shut it down three minutes earlier. Not even the knowledge of Sam packing some books in the trunk of the Impala to research further into Amara’s switcheroo could lessen this newfound feeling inside of Dean. He wouldn’t say it was quite peace or happiness but he would venture it was something in between the two. Actually, he knew it was when he saw Cas’ smile as Jack played a video of baby turtles making a mad dash to the ocean after hatching.

Dean grinned and turned up the music as a familiar Led Zeppelin song came on. He hit the gas and Baby took off faster down the open road. Not quite peace or happiness but pretty damn close. Yeah, he could live with that.

A/N: The about 80% mark I got up to 3 years ago was the Dean and Cas reunion scene, right when Jack and Sam are approaching. Please let me know what you think. 😊

#dean x castiel #destiel #destiel fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #deancas #casdean #castiel x dean #spn 15x18 au #15x18 au #spn fanfiction #destiel fanfic #dean x cas #cas x dean #dean winchester x castiel #castiel x dean winchester #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #thebiggerbear writes #you taught me the courage of stars

18 notes · View notes

timeforelfnonsense · 5 months

Text

Read Sunshine & Starlight on Ao3 Pairing: Dafni (F!Tav) x Astarion Rating: M (Later Chapters will contain explicit content) TWs: Light descriptions of canon level violence Tags: Meet cute bad, 3rd person alternating pov, chubby elf OC, Cleric Tav

Summary: Astarion had a plan. A nice, simple plan. All he had to do was not fall for her. After centuries of practice charming victims for his master, it should have been easy, but Dafni of Gwynneth was complications he didn’t see coming. Compassionate, selfless, innocence. She was every good thing Astarion had given up on after two hundred years of torment. There is something familiar about her. An inexplicable pull that draws him to her over and over again. For the first time in his undead existence, Astarion has something to call his own. Something to protect.

“Gods, my head.”

Dafni cringed, her nose screwing up in pain as she brushed the sand from her curls. She wasn’t entirely sure how she ended up on the unfamiliar beach. The last thing she could remember was connecting the transponder.

Judging by the ship's state, she was lucky to walk away with only a few gashes and bruises. Even the little glass jars and vials within her healer’s kit survived without so much as a crack. She got to her feet, cleaning off what grime and viscera she could.

She was back on the Material Plane, at least. Of that, she was sure.

There was a distinct heaviness to the Material Plane, which Dafni had yet to grow accustomed to in the two months since her wanderlust had driven her to leave the misty moors and majestic forests of the Moonshae Isles behind. She hadn’t realized just how thin the veil between worlds had been back home before coming to Bauldr’s Gate. Even in the Material Plane, the Isle of Gwynneth still echoed with the whimsical, wild magic of the Feywild.

Dafni riffled through her bag, procuring a filigreed compass from the disorganized heap of her belongings. She could feel the airy magic of home tickle her fingertips as she popped it open. The golden needle glowed as it flicked west.

There was a fey crossing somewhere nearby then.

Dafni tugged at the hem of her sleeve, her lower lip pressed between her teeth. If she were lucky, it would lead her to the court of the Summer Queen or some other court on amicable enough terms with her own. She could seek sanctuary there and send word to her mother.

Thesmia’s Spire of Laurel housed one of the most vast collections of elven knowledge outside of Evermeet. There was a possibility a solution to her problem could be found within the walls of her mother’s tower. Dafni’s lips pressed together in a tight line. She loved her mother, but Thesmia’s well-meaning coddling often bordered on stifling. The idea of running home at the first sign of trouble felt too much like an admission of defeat.

Besides, Nothing stayed a secret from the High Lady for long. It would not be a matter of if she learned of the tadpole, but when. No matter how much favor her mother had once held with Ordalf, she would not risk the safety of Sarifal’s Court for one eladrin. Especially not her.

She took a deep breath, the sweet, synthetic smoke of the nautiloid's smoldering wreckage scorching the back of her throat. Running home was not an option. She’d simply have to find a cure herself.

No easy task.

But giving up had never been in her nature, and this seemed a dreadful time to start.

Finding other survivors would be her best course of action. There was safety in numbers, and besides that, there was a chance other survivors may not have fared as well as she had. Magic tickled the tips of Dafni’s calloused fingertips; she still had a bit of power left she could save for more serious injuries. She’d make do with old-fashioned field medicine for anything else until she could rest. There was one thing left to do.

Her nose wrinkled as she cast a glamour over herself. She’d grown so used to wearing one she had almost forgotten how restrictive her mundane disguise felt compared to the vibrancy of her authentic appearance.

The magic felt itchy and stiff as if she were cramming herself into clothing two sizes too small. It felt wrong pretending to be something she wasn’t, but she had little choice. The majority of the common folk she’d come across in the Outer City knew very little of the land of Faerie, but the few who saw her for what she was, were quick to label her a trickster and deceiver. She’d need allies if she wanted to get through this ordeal, and she’d rather not start out with an air of suspicion hanging over her.

There was something exceedingly suspicious about that woman.

She didn’t look like the creatures from the ship, but something about her prickled at his senses. A nearly imperceptible otherness that made his hair stand on end. It was like she was blurry at the edges. Astarion’s brow wrinkled, try as he might to bring her into focus; some invisible force would coax his attention away whenever he came close to genuinely seeing her.

Astarion watched her, crouched low behind the turk of a felled tree. One of those brain creatures had captured her wrist in its tendrils. She gave it a punt, sending it a few feet back with a wet thud. She drew an elegant longbow from her back, releasing two swift arrows. The creature seized, collapsing into a heap of ichor.

Her lower lip stuck out in a pout as she wrapped a hand around the angry red mark on her arm. Light radiated from an amulet around her neck before flashing beneath her palm. A sense of instinctive dread skipped down Astarion’s spine as the air crackled with divine magic.

He felt like an idiot for missing it—the pale blue of her clothing. The eight-pointed star was engraved at the center of her breastplate. He had thought her a mind flayer thrall, but she was something much, much worse.

A cleric.

He almost laughed at the irony. Of course, he’d be spared by the sun only to be run through by a cleric. And a servant of the Protector of the Elves, no less. No one could claim the gods lacked a sense of humor. At least she was pretty. That would take some of the sting out of his demise, even if it was only a mind flayer’s trick.

Her freckled skin was the color of sage and stood stark against the pale gossamer fabric of her puff-sleeved blouse. She was fuller figured than most elven maidens, with wide hips and an ample bust that her light armor did very little to hide. Bouncy, pink curls fell around her shoulders from a high ponytail as she meandered her way up the cliffside path, mumbling to herself in elvish.

Always so quick to roll over, aren’t you? The memory of Cazador’s voice taunted.

Pathetic.

Astarion’s nails bit into the flesh of his palms. His lip pulled back into a silent snarl. For 200 years, that’s what he has been. Pathetic. Cazador’s wretched creature.

But he was free now and never needed to be pathetic again.

His chances of overpowering her would be slim if he relied on strength alone. But, if he could lower her guard, he might be able to get the upper hand long enough to get the answers he needed. He crouched low beside a fallen tree, doing his best to look shaken and meek.

“You there!” He shouted, “Can you help me?”

“Over here!” He called, waving her over.

Her breath caught as she drew close enough to see the details of his appearance. A pale elf stood before her. Lean and graceful.

“Are you hurt, friend? I-I think I have enough magic to heal you, so long as it isn’t anything too serious.” She stammered in clumsy common.

She watched, enraptured, as he ran his hand through a perfect coif of ivory curls. Dafni flushed, imagining her own fingers running through those soft, tossed curls.

He had truly been blessed with the aloof, dreamy beauty of Sehanine Moonbow. An incandescent majesty that demanded admiration and awe. He knew it too. His pretty mouth curled up into a sly, close-mouthed grin. His crimson eyes gleamed with amusement and knowing as he returned her gawking stare with an appreciative glance of his own.

There was something about him. Something more than his spectacular beauty. It tugged at the very core of her. Familiar. Like finding something once beloved centuries after it was misplaced.

Still, she was sure this must be their first meeting. She rarely forgot a face. Especially one as lovely as his. Judging by his finery, he wasn’t the sort to visit her clinic in the Outer City, and she would certainly have remembered him from court.

“I could do a turn if you’d like?” He quipped, “So you can check for injuries, of course.”

Dafni’s face burned right to the tips of her pointed ears. She was supposed to be helping him. Not staring like a starry-eyed ninny.

“I apologize, I’m not normally so– Distractible.”

Dafni strained to keep her smile in place. The taste of soot and bile filled her mouth at her little fib. In truth, she was exceedingly and frequently distractible, even in the best of situations. It was a trait that drove her mother up the wall for years before she released Dafni from her apprenticeship.

The man cleared his throat, stifling a chuckle, “I’m fine, to answer your previous question. I’ve got one of those brain things cornered. You can kill it, can’t you?”

“I– Oh! Yes! Of course!” She stammered, plucking an arrow from the quiver at her back, grateful for the distraction from her self-induced humiliation.

The tips of her ears twitched ever so slightly to a distant rustling. Her eyes narrowed as they locked onto a shifting patch of grass beyond the cliff’s shadow. Her fingers flexed with tension as she drew back. She had been about to lose her shot when a frightened boar burst from the overgrowth.

“Good news,” she chirped, lowering her bow, “it was just a–“

Dafni froze, his slender arms wrapping around her waist. He pulled her flush to his frame. A scream had been at the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it at the cold steel brush against her throat.

“Shh. Not another sound.” He whispered against her ear as he guided her to the dirt below, “Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.”

“Bastard,” she spat in elvish. A crown of cascading foxgloves bloomed in her hair, her hold on her glamour faltering as the magic strained against her anger. “Spider Queen, take you.”

“ That was quite vulgar for a priestess .” He scolded, tipping her chin up to face him with the edge of his knife. “ Now, I believe I asked you not to speak.”

Dafni took hold of his arm and twisted as hard as she could manage. Did he think her a helpless child? A maiden, too frightened and frail to fight back? With a sharp jerk, she slammed her head into his jaw. Her captor recoiled, losing his grip just long enough for her to break free.

A dull throb began in her head, but anything was better than a slit throat. He snarled at her, spitting out a mouth full of blood. Dafni drew the long sword at her hip, holding it between them.

“Come near me again, and by the Seldrine, I swear, I will cut that smug head right off your shoulders!”

“You rotten brat!” He growled, “You’re in league with them, aren’t you? Those tentacled –”

Astarion winced, his gut twisting as a wave of vertigo washed over him. He clutched at his scalp, the sharp, nauseating pain behind his eye slowly melting into something else entirely.

Visions of an ancient forest so lush and vibrant it could have been ripped right out of the pages of a fairy story. Sunset-drenched marble columns and spires wrapped in crawling vines. The sound of feminine laughter. The bright, spicy-sweet smell of laurel on a temperate breeze. Wanderlust. So deep he felt it in the marrow of his bones.

Memories, he realized. Not his, but hers. Fragments of her life unfolding before him to him in a rapid reverie.

Chipping, cornflower blue paint, and creaking floors. A shabby townhouse. An elf with mousy brown hair and a sweat-laden brow. The sound of her teacup clattering softly against its saucer in her shaking hand. The sharp, minty scent of willow bark and creamy elderflower mixed as he twisted the pestle in his hand. The crunch of gravel beneath his boots on the way to the city gate. Nostalgia and homesickness as the old oak trees of the Cloakwood came into view.

A prayer on his lips as he twisted and writhed against his restraints. Confined to a pod, helpless as the Mindflayer approached, a wiggling tadpole between its gnarled fingers. The taste of sick that threatened to escape his throat. Like ice and shadow, a whisper of darkness crept beneath his skin, calling for vengeance.

“They took you too. I saw it during... Whatever just happened.” He offered her a crooked grin, his voice playful as he continued, “And to think I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. Apologies.”

He saw her relax a tad as he sheathed his dagger. He scooped her bow up from the dirt, offering it to her with as apologetic a look as he could manage.

“Apology accepted. I suppose I might have done the same if I thought you were a thrall.” Her expression softened, and she extended a courteous hand, “I’m Dafni, by the way. Practitioner of Corellon’s holy arts, ranger of what I’d like to think is above-average skill, and I suppose, as of today, fellow tadpole haver. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Astarion,” He offered her a shallow bow, taking her hand into his own, “and I can assure you, the pleasure is all mine, darling.”

Her pulse quickened as his lips brushed against the back of her palm. He had caught a whiff of her on the ship, but he hadn’t been able to truly appreciate the nuances of her scent at such a distance. She was floral, woodsy, and tart, with a subtle earthy sweetness that made his mouth water.

“ Astarion, ” She said, speaking each syllable of his name as if she were savoring it, “What a pretty name.”

A shiver slipped down his spine. He had never given his name much thought, but something about the sound of it in her melodic elven accent felt almost intimate.

“Well, aren’t you a dear? As much as I'd prefer to stand here and listen to you say my name, I think we may have more pressing matters to attend to.” He said, gesturing to his temple, “Do you know anything about these worms?”

The cheer fell from her girlish face. Her lower lip snagged between her teeth as she drew in a sharp breath. “I met a woman aboard the ship. She told me they would turn us into mind flayers if we didn’t get them extracted in time.”

“Turn us into….” Astarion let out a burst of bitter laughter. “Of course, it will turn me into a monster. What else did I expect?”

A frown touched the corners of her mouth. Her heart ached for him; his tone may have been glib, but beneath it, there was a genuine pain. A world-weary resignation she hadn’t accepted from someone so bold.

“Hey,” She spoke in a quiet, comforting voice.“I know things look pretty bad, but that means they can only get better, right?”

She offered him a small, hopeful smile, placing a gentle hand on his arm. She cringed as she felt him go stiff beneath her touch. Dafni’s face grew hot. She pulled back immediately, tucking the offending hand behind her back. With the exception of their introductory rituals, most denizens of the Material reserved touching for acquaintances and kin. A lesson she’d learned the hard way after a few humiliating encounters.

She watched as a touch of chagrin flashed across his pretty face, fading the moment his gaze flicked up from the withdrawn hand. An easy smile formed across his lips. Blite and rakishish, but his eyes still held a touch of uncertainty.

His reaction felt practiced as if his discomfort mattered far less than the risk of it being perceived. A furrow formed between her brows, her lip catching against her bottom teeth as she bit back her apology. It would be best to drop it. She suspected an apology would draw more attention to his reaction and embarrass him further.

Dafni tried to keep her tone even, as if nothing had happened, “Maybe it would be a good idea to look for a cure together. There is safety in numbers, after all. Maybe we will get lucky and find the gith woman from the ship or another survivor who knows where we might find a cure.”

Astarion’s posture relaxed slightly, his head tilting to the side as he considered her offer. Dafni could feel her pulse quicken with each passing second. Truth be told, she was desperate for him to accept her proposal. The idea of facing such a task alone was more than a little bit daunting, and despite having made his acquaintance at knifepoint, there was something about him that set her at ease. Perhaps it was the comfort of being among her people; maybe it was his playful charm, she couldn’t say. But, she was confident she would feel much better if they stuck together.

Dafni let out a breath she hadn’t noticed she’d been holding when Astarion responded, “You know I am usually more of the go-it-alone sort, but you do seem like a useful person and to know. If we could find an expert– Someone who knows how to control these things… We might still have time. Very well, I accept.”

#dafni of gwynneth #astarion #astarion ancunin #tav x astarion #bg3 fanfiction #sunshine & starlight #elf writes #tavstarion #astarion fic #astarion x f!tav #astarion x tav

8 notes · View notes

the-possum-writes · 2 years

Text

Scared Gecko

❥Tags: sfw, tooth rottening fluff, headcanons, gender neutral reader

❥Ship: Flame Prince/ Reader

❥A/n: Haven't done anything Flame Prince related, so have this fresh batch of headcannons.

❥Taglist: @watchingfromthefloorboards @foxpearl1wilder

❥You're a fire gecko humanoid, which means you're both fire resistant and also able to head outside the fire kingdom without issue.

❥Turns out your family is indebted to the royal family so you're unfairly sent out to serve them as payment from their behalf.

❥It's terrifying™ since you've heard stories about how evil and malicious the royal family is, not only to each other, but especially to their staff.

❥You're practically fearing for your life by the time you reach the castle grounds. Upon crossing the thresholds you're sent to the prince's chambers as his own personal servant since the last one mysteriously disappeared.

❥There's nothing but bad thoughts flowing through your mind, what kind of terrors does he have in store for you? Make you walk over needles for his entertainment? Clean his shelf stacked with skulls of his enemies? Wash his toilet with nothing but a toothbrush??

❥You're met with he sight of a young man encased inside a glass lantern, it didn't last long since you immediately bow in front of him, anything to avoid upsetting him somehow.

❥"My prince, I present myself as a feeble servant to follow your orders, your cripsy highness... Uh, crispy-ness." Yeah, you'll need to work on that.

❥He eyes you up and down with disinterest, that was until a thought came to mind. "You don't look like you're made of lava, how are you fire resistant without magic?" he asks of you, to which you reply. "I'm a fire gecko your highness, I can walk in these lands as much as I can wander into other territories without flames."

❥This give him an idea. "As your first task I order you to fetch me something..."

❥You're mentally praying to the patron saints of geckoes that wherever he's sending you isn't plagued with monsters or ice, imagine the suprise when the location on your map leads you to Turtle Prince's library.

❥You walk up to the desk with shaking knees, hoping you don't screw this up. "I'm here looking for..." you squint at your own messy handwriting.

❥It takes a few attempts but you manage to sneak back into the Prince's chambers with the book he requests intact, you wanted to ask about it but his expression wasn't friendly in the slightest.

❥He basically orders you to read to him, a task you would've done anyway if he asked nicely. But manners don't seem to be part of his lingo.

❥"And they lived happily ever after, the end." you close the book as you reach the last page.

❥After this single reading seesion the prince mellowed out and made small talk with you about the story. "Do you think they stayed together? There was that one plot hole with the rival but..."

❥He's asking for your opinion?! You? Basically a commoner turned servant.

"I think the rival was more of a metaphor, his death felt so abrupt and nonsensical." you bring out your own headcannons. The prince gives you a glare, almost like saying 'how dare you have an opinion unlike mine' but he then turns thoughtful. "I never thought about it that way." he rubs his chin.

❥It soon became routine, you would fetch items for the prince like a bookclub and in exchange he didn't make you do tedious tasks like wash his floors with a toothbrush. But eventually it wasn't just books, it was sometimes scented candles, or dry twigs, pinecones and grass from the outside world just so he could burn them himself.

❥The more you read to him the more open he became with you, the flame Prince talks to you about his interests, how he ended up in a lamp and the kind of things he'd want to do if he ever got out.

❥"Like what?" you ask.

"Well, I've always heard the Birchwood forests burn lovely at this time of year, it would be nice to spread my legs a little, pick out and smell some wildflowers while I'm at it."

"Kind of drastic, but it sounds nice."

You've grown to appreciate the young man. He's kind of destructive, no thanks to his family locking him up, but he's also very curious about the world around him and it's kinda endearing.

"My prince I have an idea, if I may."

"Go ahead." he allows you to speak.

"What if... We, break you out and have that walk together...?" you twiddle with your fingers as he contemplates the thought.

Flam Prince had a serious expression as he slowly stood up in his lamp shaped prison, resting his hands against the glass. "Are you aware of what my father will do if he catches you?" he warns. You start shaking but still nod relentlessly. "He'll dip you in ice water!" the prince keeps fueling your fear, but you don't go back on your idea. The prince sees enough, relaxing his body along with his facial features that always look so sad and annoyed, but now he's giving you a proper smile. "There's no one else I'd share a stroll with."

#adventure time x reader #flame prince x reader #reader insert

133 notes · View notes

ashtonisvibing · 8 months

Text

"Fuck me before I die"

Fandom: Jacksepticeye Egos

Alternate Universe: Normalcy AU

Ship(s): Schneeplebro (Platonic/Implied Sexual)

Character(s): Henrik von Schneeplestein, Chase Brody

Warning(s): Alcohol abuse, mentioned depression, talks of suicide, smoking mention, vomiting

Originally Published: Oct. 26, 2023

Word Count: 3,283

Author's Notes:

so, you read the tags (i hope). you know that this is a very heavy one. and if you didn't, i'm saying it right here and now: this is a very heavy one. i'm pretty sure the dead dove tag applies to this one, so i'm using it. if there's any other tags i should use, as always let me know (still don't fully know what tags are available on here)

this is exploring chase and henrik's relationship to each other a little, even though it's during an extremely hard moment in chase's life. but hey, aren't the hardships the best times to explore characters and how they interact? : )

small and quick german phrases will be in german, but if there's any instance where henrik speaks a full sentence in german it'll be indicated by these [ ] brackets, just to make it easier to understand him.

pronoun check:

henrik: he/him

chase: he/him, they/them

Link:

if you liked what you read, consider giving this a reblog, please! it'll let more people see my work!

[plain text: if you liked what you read, consider giving this a reblog, please! it'll let more people see my work!]

The Normalcy AU MAsterpost

Full Story:

The nearly freezing rain beat against Chase's skin and made his clothes stick in the most uncomfortable way. He could barely see through the water dripping from his bangs, but in his drunken state he didn't care. He didn't care about anything, really. He could feel the effects of the whiskey he downed not that long ago but it didn't cure his numbness. Seeing his brother, Jackie, earlier didn't help. And he knew whom he was going to see now wouldn't, either. But that was his plan, wasn't it? Ever since Stacy came by to let him know.

"Chase, what the hell...? What...?"

"What..? Jus'... Tryna drink an' forget... An' all that..."

"Did you forget that you were supposed to take the kids today?"

"... Figured you- you wouldn't want me seein' the kids.. Cuz'a the beer an' shit.."

"I just... I thought that maybe you had tried getting help, like I asked.."

He still held the whiskey bottle he'd bought in his hand. He threw his head back as the glass opening touched his lips, hoping for even just a drop of the burning liquid. He didn't want to think about this morning. He didn't want to think at all. He wanted to forget everything for a little while. Forget how much he had screwed his life up in a few years. If only he had actually grown up, had tried a little harder. If only...

The burning neon light signing "Emergency Room" stung his eyes, needing him to shield himself by pulling his hat down further. He was finally here, now all he had to do was wait. So he sat against one of the pillars and did just that. Waited. Despite the sign on the wall telling him he wasn't allowed to smoke he still tried to find his cigarette pack in any of his pockets. When he realized he didn't have it he silently cursed. He could've sworn he picked some up with the whiskey. Next best thing was to just chew on his hoodie string and try not to think.

Don't think, don't think, don't think, don't think, DON'T THI-

"Chase...?"

Chase was jolted out of his thoughts by a voice. He looked up and saw whom he wanted to see. Henrik, an old friend of his. They hadn't seen each other in... Chase couldn't remember. Henrik went to medical school and that took up his time. Then his wife got pregnant and that took up his time. Then his wife gave birth prematurely and died, leaving Hen as a single father in med school. Then Chase's divorce that made him want to...

They just hadn't seen each other in a while.

Chase did his best to stand up, but he nearly tripped over his own two feet doing so. The only thing that kept him from tasting rain water and concrete was Henrik catching him.

"Gah- Verdammte Hölle, Chase, are you-" And then Henrik took a sniff, and the strong smell of whiskey wafting from Chase nearly caused him to turn away. "You've been drinking again."

"Man.. Really putting that brain to good-" Chase was interrupted by a hiccup. "Good use.." He could barely stand up properly as he chuckled a little. He didn't even realize he had left the bottle in its paper bag on the ground. "Got nothin' better t'do these days..." What else could he do? The only thing that kept him from spiraling was the burning syrup going down his throat and making his mind fuzzy. And when that fuzz went away, down some more. An endless cycle that he didn't see the point of breaking now.

"Wha's the point in.. In getting help..? Won't fix my shit life.."

"Yeah, because once you get help and back on your feet then you'll be the one to fix your life. And it's not like you'll have to do it alone."

"Pfft, no one's gonna help me.. No one gives a shit 'bout some... Some sad asshole..."

"Chase, that isn't true! You've got Jackie and your parents, you've got me-"

"I don't got you anymore... Fucked that up, i's all I do, remember..?"

"Chase..."

"- Chase!"

Chase was snapped out of his thoughts by a different voice yelling his name. He hadn't even realized he had sunk right back into his thoughts, but he was thankful that he'd been snapped out of it. "So- Sorry... Lots'a thoughts as always..."

Henrik let out a sigh as he looked around for Chase's car, although realizing just how drunk the other was made him grateful he didn't seem to see it anywhere. It meant he didn't drive all the way here while drinking. He didn't even really care what brought Chase to the hospital tonight, whatever the reason he needed to be brought home. Or maybe to Jackie so that he didn't keep drinking. "Alright, I'm driving you... Somewhere. Probably to your brother, I do not trust you to be alone." The doctor helped his friend to his side and wrapped the other's arm around his shoulders, his own arm wrapping tightly around his waist as they walked to keep him upright. "I could try and clear your apartment of any alcohol you have and you would possibly have some stashed in a secret cabinet."

"Want you t'come home with me..." Chase mumbled out as he watched his feet sway and stumble across the parking lot concrete. It didn't even feel like he was walking at this point, like Henrik was just pulling him along and he was pretending to walk. "Have a night of fun... Like we used to 'fore we met Stacy an' Maria..."

Henrik nearly dropped Chase at that suggestion. He knew perfectly well what "a night of fun" meant. Before the pair had met their now ex wives they fooled around together. A lot. It basically became routine for them to go home together for a hard fuck whenever they met up. Hen nearly considered it before he shook his head a little. "Chase you are far too drunk for that, you probably don't even know what you are ta-"

"Had this idea since this morning... Wasn't drunk then..." Chase knew if he told the truth Henrik wouldn't come back with him. He chuckled a little as he looked up at his friend, and the doctor was able to see just how shitty the other looked. He was soaked and pale and probably freezing, and judging by the huge dark circles under his eyes- and just how sunken they looked- he'd been getting barely any sleep lately. Hell, there's a chance he didn't let himself sleep, simply having his body force himself to pass out for even a few hours of rest. He was in horrible shape. "C'mon, jus' one last night... An' then I won't bother you again.."

That sentence... Concerned Henrik. He didn't want to think about what that could imply. It could simply just be that Chase wouldn't ask for any more favors. But...

"Alright, fine." Hen didn't want his friend to be alone tonight. He didn't know what could happen if he simply took Chase home and left him there. And taking him to Jackie maybe wouldn't be any better. Maybe being a doctor gave him a bit of a savior complex but he just had a feeling that he needed to be with his friend tonight. And if that included a quick fuck with a drunk man, then he could suck it up and deal. "But we are going to your apartment, I am not letting Robbie hear us." All the doctor got was a hum in response as he helped Chase into the passenger side of the car, getting in on the driver's side and pulling his phone out.

Chase didn't understand a word that Henrik was saying while speaking to... Whoever. It was all in german. Probably one of Hen's parents, telling them he wouldn't be home tonight. He didn't really care much as he watched water droplets fall from his hat and onto his lap. His hand gripped at... Nothing. "Shit, left my- My drink back there.." He tried to get out of the car but Henrik was quick to place an arm over his chest, giving a glare as he continued talking. Okay, he wasn't getting out of the car any time soon apparently. But he really needed that drink.

It took a few more seconds before the doctor put his phone away, replacing it with his car keys. "So long as I am with you you will not be having any alcohol." The engine revved to life once the keys were turned and they were off to Chase's apartment. Thankfully Henrik remembered the way there from the hospital. "I will keep you distracted all night if I have to."

Chase let out a snort and a chuckle. "Don't think my ass can handle that much dick.. Or are you gonna let me play with you tonight..?" His speech was getting less slurred now. That was good, it meant he was slowly getting sober. Henrik couldn't help his little chuckle at the other's words. He missed his friend's dirty humor, sometimes.

"Whatever you need me to do so you will stay away from the bottle."

Thankfully Henrik managed to keep the conversation going the entire half an hour they were driving. It never gave Chase a chance to go back into his head and think too much. The doctor knew that was the last thing his friend needed right now, was to think about anything else but the present moment. And it was nice to just... Talk. About anything and everything that came to their minds, about a new movie one of them saw recently or what they had to eat last night. He needed to reach out to Chase more often, even if it was just to talk on the phone for a few minutes. Maybe that could help the other get just a little better as well.

It took several minutes to get Chase out of the car and up the stairs to his apartment. It didn't help that he nearly tripped right back down the stairs a couple of times. But soon they were inside, and Henrik was immediately hit with the horribly strong smell of various alcohols, as well as the state of the apartment. Glass bottles, cans, and take out containers littered every surface area. Dishes that probably hadn't been used in weeks were stacked on the kitchen counter.

"[Jesus Christ, Chase, how are you living like this...?]" Henrik spoke under his breath as he looked around the disheveled apartment. All he got was a groan in response. Chase was barely hanging on to the doctor, his head hung low and tangled hair covering his growing pale face.

"Doc, I don'... Feel so good..." He mumbled before his body lurched forward with a retch. The doctor was snapped out of his shock over his surroundings and was quick to lead Chase to the nearby sink so he could vomit any contents that were in his stomach. This certainly wasn't the first time Henrik had seen someone puke their guts out, he'd become desensitized to it thanks to working in the medical field. So he was able to look over what was in the vomit, disappointed that it was purely liquid. Maybe he just hadn't eaten in the past few hours, but knowing his friend's mental state...

Henrik turned the faucet on to wash away the rest of the vomit, grabbing a paper towel and wetting it to help clean Chase's mouth. "Alright, because of that we are not having sex tonight.. I'm assuming you have not eaten at all today, so I am going to order us some take out and we will watch movies together." The other man let out a small groan as he shook his head, letting out a few coughs to make sure everything was out of his system.

"Uh-uh... Gotta stick with the plan..." Chase chuckled a little as he moved his hair out of his face. "Gonna be the last chance you'll ever have t'fuck me, man..."

Henrik could feel a pit form in his stomach at that sentence. In other circumstances, that sentence could be taken as a good thing. Chase could be seeing someone else, or he was moving across the country. Anything else would make sense in a different situation. But here? While his friend was hunched over the sink, his life seemingly becoming more of a mess? The doctor could hear his heart in his ears from how hard it was beating. "What do you mean by that, Chase..?"

"Gonna off myself t'night.." Chase hummed a little as he stared into the sink drain. The dark hole at the bottom of the silver dish felt like it was growing more and more and soon it would just swallow him whole. "Had a whole plan and everything.. Go hang with Jackie for a while, then bring you back here to get-" He heaved a little before he went back to talking. "-get my brains fucked out. Or fuck your brains out, either was cool.. And then I'd be gone..! Once less screw up in the world..."

It felt like Henrik's heart completely stopped. He knew it hadn't, he knew what a heart stopping was actually supposed to feel like. His heart was still technically beating, but in the moment it seemingly just... Stopped. The entire world around him stopped as Chase's words sunk in. He made this entire plan, one last day of fun with the ones closest to him, and then...

Henrik felt like he was going to puke.

How did any of them not notice how far gone this man had become?

"Chase... What..." The doctor ran a hand through his hair in any attempt to stabilize himself, to keep himself as calm as he could be right now. He needed to be calm for Chase. "Why did you never say anything..? If you are feeling that low one of us could have helped you. Is it money that is the issue? I can cover any therapy bills that you may ne-"

"Stacy took the kids." Henrik was interrupted by his friend's low voice. His stare into the sink was so intense he could have set it on fire by now. "Caught me drunk this morning. I was supposed to take the kids but... C'mon, they don't wanna be around their sad dad." Chase finally looked up at the doctor. His dark blue eyes, once holding so much spark and excitement... They truly looked dead. Completely dull. "So she took 'em. Something about... I dunno, doing it for my own good?" He let out a snorted chuckle. "Lot'a good that did, huh..."

"Chase, you can't keep doing this! You're gonna drink yourself to death!"

"Isn't that what everything wants? Finally, the dead beat's actually dead... Don't gotta watch 'im spiral anymore..."

"....... I'm taking the kids back to my place. You're not allowed to see them until you get some sort of help."

"Wh-"

"Those kids love you to fucking death, Chase! You seriously think they want their own father dead?! I just-..."

"Stace..."

"... I know how much they mean to you. That's why I'm doing this. Get sober, get help, anything. Just... Stop drinking yourself into a hole. If you won't do that for all your friends, maybe even your own brother, then do it for them. Give them their dad back. Please..."

Chase was snapped back into reality by Henrik shaking his shoulder and calling out his name. He looked up at the doctor... And he didn't expect the expression he'd see. The other's face was pale, tears already starting to fall down his face. What was he crying for? "Hey, doc, what's with the long fa-" He was immediately cut off as arms pulled him into a tight yet shaky hug. Oh, this... He hadn't felt one of these in a while. Sure, of course Jackie gave him hugs. But... This one was so emotional. Henrik held him like he might vanish right then and there if he let go. Chase needed to take a few moments before his own arms wrapped just as tightly around his friend, nuzzling his face into the crook of the other's neck. The doctor's hand ran itself through the other's hair.

"Chase, ki-" Henrik needed to take a pause at that word. "Killing yourself is not the answer to losing your kids... You should be trying to get better..." The other man gave a dry, hollow chuckle in response.

"I... I don't think I can, doc..." He pulled his face away as his own tears started to form. He didn't want to start crying on his friend. "What the hell am I supposed to do, huh? Just quit cold turkey? I mean- Fuck, how long would it even take..?? What if Stacy's never happy with my progress or whatever.."

"Please, do you really think she would do that to you..?" One of the doctor's hands reached up to gently cup Chase's cheek, earning a tired sigh from the other man as he leaned into the touch. "She knows just how much you love your children.. She is taking them away because she thinks they are the only thing that will get you to recover. The rest of us have tried everything we could, and that has not worked. What else is there to do..? Because there is not a single chance that we are just going to leave you to die. We will all help you in any way we can. Just please, try to get better..."

Sometimes you don't realize how badly you need someone to hit you with reality until it happens to you. Chase wanted so badly to ignore Henrik's words. To keep telling both of them that he wasn't deserving of anyone's help, that at this point he was far too gone. That he should just be rotting six feet below by now. But he wanted to get better so bad. He didn't want to keep laying on the couch drinking until he passed out, and have the cycle just keep repeating. He wanted to see his friend and family again. He wanted to see his kids laugh and smile, he wanted to crack jokes, he wanted to look at the world and not see grays.

He wanted to get better.

Chase only gave a noise in response as he leaned more into Henrik's arms. At this point he was just so tired that he could barely do anything else, only limply wrapping his own arms around the doctor for any sort of closeness. That's what he needed so badly right now. Just to be close to someone that apparently cared about him. He was glad that that person was Henrik right now. And they just stood there next to the sink for what seemed like hours, even if it had only been mere minutes. Just standing there in each other's arms and taking in the air around them. There were so many things that both of them wanted to say, but after Henrik's words the silence was needed so much more. And in all honesty, both of them just needed some rest, even if it was simply sitting down together.

"Hey doc...?" Chase spoke up after another minute, his voice just barely loud enough for Henrik to hear him.

"Hm...?"

"You mentioned take out... Could we get pizza...? Haven't eaten all day..."

Henrik couldn't help his small chuckle as he nodded, leaving a small kiss on the other's head. "Sure... Does pepperoni sound good...?"

"Sounds amazing right now..."

#ashton is writing #normalcy au #jacksepticeye egos #jacksepticeye au #henrik von schneeplestein #chase brody #alcohol addiction #tw sui talk #vomiting #ask to tag #cuz i have no idea how to tag this over here-#anyways heavy ass fic for henrik and chase you're welcome guys-#kinda rushed the ending a little cuz i was out of ideas by the end

10 notes · View notes

magniloquent-raven · 2 years

Note

Could a I get trans!Tommy x Billy fic where Billy finds out Tommy is trans and he's freaking out but Billy just reassures him and comforts him until one thing leads to another and they end up having sex?

this ended up 1) a college au for some reason, 2) t4t because i started writing billy as trans without even thinkin about it at first lmao and 3) MUCH longer than i thought it would be, holy shit

i hope all that's okay & i really hope u enjoy ur fic 💕💕💕

~tag list ppl just in case yall are interested even tho its a ship ive never written before? @growup-thatbeautiful @spreckle @prettyboy-like-you ~

[read on ao3]

“Carol broke up with me again,” Tommy says, words slurred by the alcohol in his system and muffled by his forearm squished against his cheek. He blinks up at Billy from where he’s half-laying on the peeling cover of his algebra text book. They didn’t bother clearing the homework from his desk before dumping three six-packs and a plastic bag stuffed with snack food on top of the mess.

He’s usually a fun drunk, Billy wouldn’t have brought beer if he’d known it was gonna go like this.

But of course it’s because of Carol. It’s always because of Carol. Except that one time it was because of a phonecall with his mother that he refused to talk about, even after the tequila loosened his lips enough to have him waxing poetic about his ex-bff with a wistful look in his eye.

“Again?” Billy leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. He’s got one booted foot propped on the edge of Tommy’s roommate’s bed. “This is the third time in four months, man. Is your dick too small to keep her satisfied, or what.”

He’s supposed to push back. That’s how this works. He’s supposed to bristle and sit up and defend himself, because he has some fucking pride. And before he knows it he’ll be too busy exchanging barbs with Billy to think about how miserable he is about the breakup.

He’s not supposed to turn his head, hiding his face in his folded arms, and mumble, “Something like that…” all morose and self-pitying.

Because no one comes to Billy for this shit. To be vulnerable. To talk about feelings and have an honest heart-to-heart and a shoulder to cry on and all that crap people want when they’re going through a real break-up. He can put on a good face when girls come sniffing around for a rebound lay. The girls who got screwed over by their white-bread boyfriends and want to pretend they’re over it by getting fingerbanged in a public bathroom by some bad boy who won’t call them after. But fake sympathy and an uncanny ability to deflect questions about why he doesn’t want his touch reciprocated did not prepare him for…whatever is happening right now.

“Y’know there’s other ways to fuck a girl, right,” Billy says from behind his beer. There’s not much left and it’s still not making this conversation any easier.

Tommy groans, burrowing deeper into his sleeves. “I know.”

“Hm.”

“S’complicated.”

“Not if you know what you’re looking—wait. The break-up. Right. Look, you want my advice? Move on. Live a little. You came halfway across the country to, what, stay leashed to the same pussy you’ve been getting since you were twelve? Who the fuck does that.”

“Dunno.”

Billy blows out a slow breath, then downs the rest of his beer. He drops the empty can on Tommy’s desk and watches it rock, tip, and fall over. It rolls, wobbling through drying condensation rings and chip crumbs ‘til it hits Tommy’s elbow, coming to a stop next to his left ear. He doesn’t move.

The assholes next door are having an obnoxiously loud argument, only slightly muffled through the thin walls. The radio on Tommy’s bedside table warbles through a jingle that keeps cutting in and out. Neither of them speak for a long, awkward moment.

“...She really did a number on you, huh.”

Tommy sighs. “Nah.” He pauses, then peeks out from the crook of his arm. “Kinda.” He stares at the can nestled up against his arm, looking uncharacteristically contemplative. “Dunno, man, I just want people to stop leaving me.”

Billy’s lungs seize painfully, his whole chest tightening around the jagged edges of a sympathetic twinge, like gripping a shard of glass in his fist, cutting himself open on it. There’s anger dripping from that open wound, familiar and yet foreign in its compassion for Tommy of all people.

They’ve never been especially close. Billy’s not especially close with anybody, and he always figured hanging around Tommy would make it easy to keep it that way. The guy just gives off a vibe. The small town jock type, only ever wants to talk about tits and booze and whatever stupid, embarrassing gossip he can turn into a joke.

For six months Billy’s been content to do that, to hang out with Tommy drinking beer and pretending to care about the low-cut tanktops their English lit professor favours. It feels good, in a way. Safe. But it was never supposed to be about Tommy himself. He wasn’t supposed to care about him. Caring about people is dangerous. Makes it harder to cut ties if he needs to. Or worse, it means the inevitable rejection if he ever gets outed will actually hurt.

Tommy’s still looking at him, sullen and hazy-eyed. His freckles are just barely visible in the shitty lamplight, his hair is sticking up at odd angles, flattened on one side from laying on his desk. He’s kind of pretty when he’s not being a shithead.

Wait. No. No, no. Absolutely the fuck not. Not going there.

Billy tries very hard to look like he has no opinions about Tommy’s face. Or his stupid puppy-dog eyes.

He bites his tongue when panic tries to sharpen it. The anxiety bubbling in his gut turns to bile burning his throat, and it’s tempting to lash out, to spit venom like the sour taste in his mouth is anyone’s fault but his, like pushing Tommy away would fix anything.

He hasn’t seen Max since he moved into his tiny dorm room on campus. Hasn’t spoken to her since his acceptance letter came in months before that. He thought it would make things easier, better for both of them, but now he just gets angry at himself when seeing flashes of red hair makes his heart clench.

It’s only ever made his life worse, he doesn’t know why he keeps trying it.

The first time he let a boy fuck him he felt so shitty about it afterwards that he told everyone who would listen that the guy kissed like a dead fish and couldn’t even get his dick hard. It made Billy feel something, when people laughed and said that probably meant he was a fag. Something sickly and awful, but somehow vindicating.

He caught three meatheads beating the shit out of the boy who took his virginity three weeks after he lied about it never happening. The look on his bloodied face still haunts Billy’s nightmares.

Billy’s never made anyone’s life better by being in it. He doesn’t know what to say to someone who doesn’t want to be left.

“Yeah, I hear you, amigo,” he says grimly, and regrets it immediately. It’s too personal. Too self-pitying. It’s echoes of when is mom coming home, and a slap ringing in his ears, a phantom ache in his jaw, the taste of salt and iron.

He keeps his gaze locked on a tiny dent near the top of the unopened beer he reaches for, hoping to occupy his hands, only to be stopped in his tracks when clumsy fingers pat his knuckles. He’s not sure if it’s meant to be a comforting gesture or if Tommy’s just too drunk to keep his hand steady and was trying to grab ahold of him.

The look on his face is oddly intense, sombre, like stroking the back of Billy’s hand is the most important thing he’s ever done and it’s taking all his concentration to do it. There’s a little pinch between his eyebrows, and a slant to his mouth.

Billy should snatch his hand away, but he lets it happen. Despite his embarrassment it’s kind of nice.

“I like having you around.”

Well. That might be a bridge too far. Maybe. The tips of his ears feel hot. “Okay, I think you’ve probably had enough to drink tonight, Hagan.”

Tommy scoffs, his nose wrinkling a little.

“Seriously, if you propose to my hand I’m never buying you beer again.”

“Liar.”

“Don’t test me.” Billy can’t quite keep the laugh out of his voice.

“Pff.” He pauses, his fingertips coming to rest along the length of Billy’s thumb, pinky finger toying with the ragged edge of his nail. “You like having me around, right?” There’s a desperate edge to the question, a tremble that makes Billy nervous.

“I—” He chews the inside of his cheek, studying the sad twist pulling at the corner of Tommy’s mouth. “Yeah.” Maybe he’s drunk enough he won’t remember this tomorrow. Maybe that’s why Billy nudges his hand, linking two of their fingers together, a tiny smile tugging at his lips when Tommy gapes at him. “Yeah I do.”

Billy’s head pounds when he stirs, rustling unfamiliar sheets, and the light filtering in through crooked blinds makes his eyes ache. At least the cottonmouth isn’t too bad, and his stomach seems to be behaving itself. He’s definitely had worse, much worse.

There’s a groan across the room. He buries his face into the borrowed pillow tucked under his arm to hide a snicker.

“Shut the fuck up,” Tommy grumbles. There’s a whoosh of displaced air and a muffled thump. A pillow hitting the carpet. “Shit.”

“Nice aim.”

“Urgh.”

He doesn’t have class today, there’s no rush to be anywhere, but he’s never been good at laying around doing nothing. His first few weeks of adjusting to life free from Neil he tried sleeping in, rebelling against rules he was no longer bound by, but he mostly ended up staring at water-stained ceilings bored out of his mind. He doesn’t bother anymore. The entire life he’s building for himself is a fuck you to Neil, he doesn’t need every little thing to be about him.

He stretches, his shoulder popping loudly in the early-morning quiet, and glances over at the lump of blankets in Tommy’s bed.

“How’s your head?” Billy asks, not bothering to keep the smirk out of his voice.

Tommy grunts. The outline of his shoulder shifts slightly.

“That bad, huh.”

Another noncommittal noise.

Billy rolls his eyes, pushing himself upright and out of bed. His jeans are around here somewhere in the mess, but he doesn’t remember taking them off, and definitely doesn’t remember tossing them…over the half-eaten remains of last night’s pizza. Gross.

There’s a grease stain on the back of one thigh, but they pass the sniff test.

He’s wiggling them over his hips when Tommy finally sits up. “M’ gonna be sick,” he croaks, and falls out of bed in a tangle of sheets and oversized t-shirt bunched around his midriff. Billy gets a glimpse of soft freckled stomach and a yellowing tanktop before Tommy gives his shirt a hurried tug, smoothing it down with jittery hands.

He doesn’t look at Billy as he staggers towards the door, steps over discarded gym shorts, catches his toe on the busted folding chair his roommate keeps promising to fix, and finally slips into the hallway, hissing curses under his breath.

And Billy doesn’t think anything of it. Tommy’s never a ray of sunshine in the morning, and he’s even worse when nursing a hangover. He was focused on getting to the bathroom down the hall before he tossed his cookies all over the floor, he didn’t exactly have time to stop and make small talk. It’s not weird.

But it gets weird.

Billy waits way too long for him to come back. He tosses back the last of his flat, warm beer. Combs out his curls with his fingers, carefully rearranging them in the mirror propped next to Tommy’s sparse bookshelf. Picks through the crumpled worksheets strewn across the desk. And finally decides to check if Tommy choked on his own vomit.

Only he’s nowhere to be found.

And, fine, Billy’s not needy or whatever, he can get breakfast on his own. It’s not like they had plans Tommy’s flaking out on, Billy just kinda thought…

It doesn’t matter what he thought. It’s fine.

He goes back to his own dorm. Changes his jeans. Isn’t bothered.

…He’s a little bothered when he sees Tommy later that day and Tommy bugs the fuck out, all but fleeing in the opposite direction.

Because. Yeah, that’s weird.

Doubt starts to dig its spindly fingers in, thin and brittle but pointed.

They both said some shit last night. Which was Tommy’s fucking fault, getting drunk like that when he was in a mood. And he’s the one who kept trying to make it all touchy-feely.

Christ, he should’ve fucking known Tommy was going to remember, it was stupid to engage with him in the first place. Shit’s awkward now because he’s a fucking sucker and now Tommy knows it.

Or maybe it’s more than awkward, and Tommy’s straight-up pissed at him. Billy’s stomach curdles at the thought.

He can’t handle this. Tying himself up in knots because he got the brush-off. Worrying and wondering and chewing his thumbnail ‘til he tastes blood. It’s pathetic.

Tommy doesn’t have class today either, so Billy checks his dorm first.

And then he checks the cafeteria. The lot behind the cafeteria where Tommy smokes sometimes. Carol’s dorm—thankfully empty, he doesn’t feel like answering a million questions and then having his answers dissected by her and her friends after he leaves.

He’s running out of places to look when he spots Tommy next to a payphone in front of the main office. The walkway is empty, it’s just Tommy hunched around the phone, clutching it in both hands and deeply engrossed in his conversation. Enough that he doesn’t seem to notice Billy approaching.

His voice is low, but Billy catches snippets. Carol’s name. “Mamá,” sighed repeatedly, exasperated. He gets more agitated every time he stutters to a halt, apparently cut off.

“I just thought you should know, okay!” Tommy runs a hand through his hair and rolls his eyes skyward. “No—no, mamá, iba a traerla—yes, I was…”

Billy leans against cold brick, his denim jacket scraping the wall as he crosses his arms, waiting.

“Ese no es mi problema,” he snaps, glaring at nothing and getting steadily louder. “No. I’m not her precious little neita anymore, she can’t stay in denial forever!”

Oh?

Billy’s ears are ringing. Tommy’s voice is an indistinct buzz.

It could be nothing. A slip of the tongue. Billy’s Spanish getting rusty. It could be Billy reading into things—hoping, like that’s ever gotten him anything but heartbroken—just, seeing things that aren’t there because he wants to be a little less alone.

But still. He’s never seen Tommy wearing less than two shirts, and he's always been just as averse to the dorm's shared bathroom as Billy is. Sometimes tiny, incidental things will throw him off, but Billy never thought much of it until now. Until he was smacked in the face with the possibility that Tommy could be like him.

It feels a little unreal, a little like vapor he’s trying to catch with his bare hands, not quite solid but leaving enough droplets of water on his hands that he’s knows there’s something.

Tommy seems to realize he’s shouting, and glances around, worrying his bottom lip. It slips from between his teeth when he locks eyes with Billy and his jaw goes slack.

Because he’s been trying to avoid Billy all day or because he thinks he might’ve just outed himself?

Either way his posture immediately changes, going rigid, spine straightening, holding himself with enough bravado that it almost hides the way his gaze darts around, nervously scanning the empty sidewalk. Looking for an exit, probably.

He mumbles a rushed goodbye into the receiver, not waiting for a response before he slams the phone back onto its hook and folds his arms, fists balled in the crooks of his elbows.

“I swear to god, I’ll piss on your pillow if you take off on me again.” Billy pushes away from the building, pointing a threatening finger.

“I wasn’t—fuckin’—what the hell. Gross.”

“So don’t leave.” The words twinge as they leave his mouth, falling heavier between them than Billy really meant them to. Tommy flinches. Just a little. The tiniest twitch at the corner of his eye. A minute change to the slope of his shoulders. Billy exhales slow through his nose. “What’s the deal, Hagan.”

“Shit,” Tommy mutters, sweeping a hand through his hair and shifting away from Billy with a grimace. “Shit. Look, man, I don’t know what you think you heard, but it’s—I’m not. Y’know what, just forget about it, okay.”

Billy raises an eyebrow. He can feel his heartbeat racing, hammering at the inside of his ribcage. “Forget what exactly,” he says, keeping his voice even.

He has to know. For sure. He can’t just out himself for a maybe.

“Don’t play dumb, you’re shitty at it,” Tommy snaps, but there’s a thready quality to it. “I’m not gonna fucking say it. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Do I?”

“I saw the look on your face, man, I’m not stupid. I know what it looks like when someone realizes they’ve been hanging out with a fuckin’ freak.” He jabs a finger at Billy, gesturing in a vague circle around his face. “That. Right before the regret sets in. And you bail. Or worse.” He clenches his teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching. It’s not quite enough to hide the current of anxiety thrumming through his jerky movements.

There are things he should say right now. Things he should do. But all he’s getting it static. Fuzz. He’s wildly spinning a dial and getting nothing but snippets of words that he loses in the white noise.

He’s fucking this up.

He tongues his cheek. Deliberates.

“We should take this somewhere else,” he says carefully, pointedly flicking his gaze towards the office building behind them. They might be alone out here, but there’s no guarantee they’ll stay that way. There are people in there. For all he knows there could be someone peeking through the blinds at them right now.

But Tommy just stares at him, incredulous. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”

“Would you just—” Billy blows out an irritated breath. The back of his neck is prickling, like he’s being watched. He can’t fucking concentrate. “It’s not what you think.” The scoff he gets in response is not encouraging. “I’m not bailing on you, alright, would you just come with me and let me say my piece?”

If their positions were reversed he knows what he’d do. He wouldn’t risk being alone with someone who just found him out, it’s a stupid fucking thing to do. Anyone who asked him to take that risk would get laughed at and left in the dust. And yet here he is asking Tommy to trust him, like he has any right to do that.

Promising to stick around doesn’t feel like enough but it’s all he can give right now. He wants it to work so badly it hurts, aches like he’s ripped out a part of himself as an offering.

Tommy narrows his eyes, looks him up and down, and mutters. “Fine.”

All the air punches out of Billy’s lungs. Maybe he can salvage this.

They walk in stiff silence, a careful six inches apart. Billy’s boots scrape against the pavement. He picks at a scab along the edge of his fingernail, watching Tommy out of the corner of his eye, catching the erratic flash of his hands flitting from place to place, pushing through his hair, adjusting the hem of his shirt.

His dorm is closer, he steers him in that direction, ignoring Tommy’s suspicious side-eye.

It’ll be fine, he can clear shit up when they get there. It’ll be fine.

Still, guilt squeezes at his insides.

His dorm room door clicks shut behind them. It’s deafening.

He has no plan. He probably should have come up with a plan. His palms are sweating and his heart feels like it’s trying to crawl out of his mouth and his throat is so dry he’s not sure he could say anything even if he knew what to say, but…fuck, staring at the ripped corner of his Metallica poster isn’t even remotely productive, he needs to think—

Tommy grips his arm, tight enough to hurt, and tugs him around. His lips are pursed, downturned, and his eyes are bright, intense, flicking across Billy’s face. Billy’s half sure he’s about to get punched—Tommy looks to be working himself up to something—but instead he blinks and Tommy’s gone, Tommy’s…on his knees, clumsy fingers plucking at Billy’s belt buckle.

“Oh—” Billy sucks in a breath, grabbing Tommy’s wrists.

Dark eyes glare up at him. “Oh come on, this is what you wanted right? You’re not leaving because you want something. And it’s not gay if I’ve got a pussy, right—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for a second?” Billy says all in an exasperated rush, staring at the ceiling, a little lightheaded. He’s not entirely shocked by the heat that seared through him when he realized what Tommy was trying to do, but he wasn’t prepared for how much he wants him to. And now really isn’t the time to be thinking about using Tommy’s mouth to get off. “Look, I…”

His throat closes up. He still can’t say it.

Slowly, he lowers himself to the floor, sitting on the heels of his boots, his knees brushing Tommy’s. It’s easier to look at him from this angle. Or maybe it’s just because the strange intensity in his gaze has been replaced by confusion. There’s a vulnerable helplessness there that Billy didn’t notice before. Guilt grips him tighter.

“I told you, it’s not what you think,” he says quietly.

Before he can lose his nerve—an ignoring all the doubts plaguing him, what if he thinks less of me, what if he’s angry I kept it a secret, what if—Billy hooks his fingers under the hem of his shirt and tugs, pulling it over his head.

Tommy blinks at him. Opens his mouth. Shuts it again.

He doesn’t stare at Billy’s scars. Billy expected him to stare. Showing him the scars was the whole point. He looks at them, sure, but he doesn’t look for very long. His eyes wander, scanning the entire expanse of tanned skin on display. Lingering on the freckles on Billy’s shoulder. The trail of soft blond hair below his belly button.

If he was less caught up in feeling feelings that made his insides squirm and his fingers itch he might’ve laughed at how dazed Tommy’s looks. But he’s sure his expression isn’t any better. A hot flush prickles up Billy’s chest as he sits there, just letting Tommy ogle.

“Uh.” Tommy clears his throat. His cheeks are pink. He hasn’t looked up yet. “So…”

“Yeah.”

“You…”

“Yup.”

“Huh.”

A beat. “I mean you can still blow me if you want, I just figured you’d want to know what you were getting into first.”

That does it. Tommy finally makes eye-contact, his eyebrows creeping up his forehead, a startled, slightly hysterical cackle bubbling out of him. The flush on his cheeks is still there but he looks less like he’s been hit over the head. “Asshole,” he says, unable to entirely keep the smile off his face.

Billy shrugs, a grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah, but I have it on good authority that you like having me around.”

The light in Tommy’s eyes dims a bit, and for a horrible second Billy thinks he’s fucked up again. Tommy huffs a quiet laugh, breaking eye-contact. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

“What?”

“Uh. Last night. Being all…” He grimaces, and wiggles his fingers in the air.

“...Is that why you took off this morning?”

“I…maybe.”

“Jesus Christ,” Billy groans, and punches his shoulder. “You aren’t the only one who hates being left behind y’know.”

“Oh.”

You had me worried.

He bites his tongue. It doesn’t need to be said. Tommy’s expression is soft, despite the fact that he’s rubbing his bicep where Billy hit him.

“You didn’t scare me off,” Billy mutters instead, and winces at his own plaintive tone. But he can’t seem to stop now that he’s started. “You still haven’t. Still like having you around. Y’know, if—if you’re gonna stay.”

Tommy lets out a quiet breath. A tiny noise in the back of his throat. And then he sways forward, closing the gap between them, and kisses Billy square on the mouth.

He’s not expecting it, is the thing. People are usually pretty unsubtle when they want him, and he can read the signs. He knows when someone’s going to make a move and he can prepare, put himself in whatever headspace he needs to be in to get through it.

And it’s not like he wasn’t aware that Tommy had been checking him out, but this is…it’s something else.

Because he was caught unawares he doesn’t have a goddamn plan, so he just reacts, messy and a little desperate in a way he hasn’t been since his first few times getting physical with someone. It would be embarrassing, except for the way Tommy’s breath hitches, and he leans into it. He can’t seem to get close enough where he is, because he shuffles forward on his knees ‘til they’re on either side of Billy’s thighs.

He hovers there, straddling Billy’s lap, still pressing sloppy kisses to his lips, but doesn’t sit until Billy grabs him around his waist and tugs.

Tommy lets out a sharp puff of a gasp as he’s pulled closer, it’s warm where it tickles Billy’s moustache, and he finally breaks their kiss to snicker.

“Fuck off, you surprised me,” Tommy says, the annoyed act falling flat when the words come out breathy and trembling.

“Mhm,” Billy hums, grinning at Tommy’s complete inability to keep a straight face while he slips his fingers under the seam of Tommy’s waistband, toying with the elastic of his briefs while his palms rest comfortably on his lower back.

There’s a heat simmering in his gut, coiled low and tight, but the weight in his lap and hesitant fingertips pressed to his stomach feel just as pleasant. It’s…weird. New. Fragile. He’s not quite sure what this is but he wants to hold on to it.

“So…we’re good, right?” He bites inside of his cheek to ground himself, and stop any more stupid questions from falling out of his face.

“Yeah, I mean—yeah? Pretty sure I’m, uh. Very good right now.” His eyes flicker down. “I was better a second ago though.”

Billy pushes the tip of his tongue between his teeth, feeling very smug when Tommy zeroes in on it. “You sure you’re not mad about earlier?” he lets his voice drop an octave, leaning in just enough to feel Tommy’s breathing quicken. “‘Cause I’ll work real hard to make it up to you if you are.”

“That cheesy porno shit usually work for you?” His tone is light, teasing, threaded with laughter, but his gaze is still heavy on Billy’s mouth, pupils blown and hazy with lust.

“Oh please, like it isn’t getting you going?” Billy dips his hands lower, fingertips pressed lightly into the soft flesh of Tommy’s asscheeks. He isn’t digging in, isn’t pushing, but Tommy shifts closer anyways, ‘til their chests are nearly flush, and they touch, briefly, with each shallow breath. “I bet your briefs are soaked right now.”

Like his are any better, really. It’s taking all his self-control not to squirm and rub his hard little cock all through the slick mess under him.

Tommy’s eyes fall shut, and he shudders. Billy feels him quiver. He slides his hands up Billy’s chest, palms skimming his ribs, briefly pausing to trace his scars, and coming to rest just under his collarbone.

A pause.

And Tommy shoves him. Hard.

His back hits the carpet, knocking the air out of him in a rush, a wheezing, incredulous laugh. Sparks dance up his spine. The heat in his belly flares. Tommy’s looking down at him like he wants to devour him, and Billy’s more than willing to let it happen.

This time when Tommy goes for the belt buckle, he doesn’t stop him.

It jingles against the button on his jeans, flopping to the side as Tommy fumbles with his fly, hooks his fingers into worn belt loops, and tugs. His jeans are as much of a pain to take off as they always are, they both grimace and groan as he wiggles out of them, stopping to pull off his boots when they get in the way.

“How the hell do you sleep around so much in these?” Tommy mutters, finally prying Billy’s legs free and chucking his rumpled jeans across the room with an annoyed huff.

Billy snorts. “They don’t usually come off.”

“...Oh.” He feels, suddenly, like maybe he’s said too much. The way Tommy’s eyeing him makes him feel every inch of his bare skin on display. He’d sit up, make himself a little less vulnerable, but Tommy’s shifted positions, straddling his stomach. “Do you just do over the clothes stuff, then, or…”

“Don’t really get touched at all, actually. Easier to avoid getting hate-crimed that way.” He turns his face away, cheek brushing the carpet.

Tommy nods, running a hand through his hair. “Shit, yeah. It’s…Carol’s the only girl I’ve ever been with, and sometimes she didn’t even wanna. Y’know.”

“Yeah, guys aren’t much better, trust me.”

“I know,” he says ruefully, smiling small. “I think maybe Carol only kept me around as long as she did because she couldn’t find any other guy willing to go down on her that much.”

“Damn, and she still dumped you? So ungrateful.”

“Ha, yeah, well. She found someone with a real dick apparently. Said she missed getting fucked properly, or whatever.”

Billy scoffs, “Ten bucks says she comes crawling back in two weeks when she gets tired of being some prick’s fucktoy.”

He tenses, regretting the thought the second he has it. Tommy’s gotten back with her every time she’s asked. She snaps her fingers and he’s there, hers again like nothing happened. As much as Billy hates watching it happen every time, he gets it. His track record when it comes to letting the people he loves hurt him isn’t any better. But this time…

Does he have any right to hope it’ll be different now? Probably not.

Tommy raises his eyebrows, a guarded sort of curiosity behind his mostly blank expression.

“Don’t take her back,” Billy says, softly, stupid, vulnerable hope cracking him open. He focuses on the feeling of Tommy’s slacks under his palms, warm thighs bracketing his torso. The rough scratch of carpet against his bare back. The smell of his musty dorm room. Anything but the way his stomach twists into knots while he waits to get shot down. “She’ll just break your heart again, man,” he adds, like he can cover his ass and make it look like this isn’t about what he wants at all.

“And you won’t?” He’s quiet. Serious. There’s a sad twist to his mouth.

“I—” The silence in the air between them is stifling, heavy in Billy’s lungs as his chest rises and falls. In some fucked up way that feels like an admission. An acknowledgement of…something. The idea that Billy might have the power to break his heart is fucking terrifying, and the implications make his head spin. He bites his lip. “Not by leaving.”

Tommy huffs out a dry laugh, bowing his head and giving it a tiny shake. “Gee, thanks.” He’s hiding a smile. A small one, but it’s warm, despite his hesitance.

Billy grabs the front of Tommy’s shirt, tugging him down while he cranes his neck, meeting him halfway to press a brief kiss to his mouth.

It’s less brief than he planned. Tommy’s fingers end up wound in his hair, his firm grip making Billy’s scalp tingle and heat simmer under his skin. He groans, low in his throat, and licks into Tommy’s mouth in retaliation.

Time starts to blur a little. He’s not thinking about why he kissed Tommy in the first place. He’s not thinking of stopping, god fucking forbid. All that matters is the sharp, biting pressure of fingernails, the gentle glide of warm lips against his, and the sounds he can pull from Tommy with a flick of his tongue. Everything else is sort of fuzzy.

He tries nipping Tommy’s bottom lip. Lightly. Testing the waters. He inhales sharply, something like a gasp he caught halfway, and more importantly, his hips jerk forward. Just a little. But him pressing down against Billy’s stomach like that sets a fire inside. An immediate needy wanting that rushes through him like an adrenaline spike.

Billy pulls back an inch, breathing hard, “Do it again,” he demands, clutching Tommy’s waist with guiding hands, “C’mon, c’mon.”

“Jesus—fuck,” Tommy’s nose brushes his cheek as he starts to move, curling into Billy’s space and panting bitten-off curses in puffs of humid air against his jaw.

The seam of Tommy’s pants chafes a little, rubbing against the taut line of his stomach, catching on the light dusting of hair, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he can feel Tommy’s legs start to tremble, and he gets to watch the way his face goes slack with pleasure, his eyebrows furrowed as he works his hips back and forth.

It’s not hard to imagine sliding inside him like this. Tommy sitting on his cock, all wet heat and freckled thighs. Riding him ‘til his muscles give out and Billy has to take over, snap his hips over and over, listening to the slap of skin and Tommy’s pleading for more.

Fuck.

His grip on Tommy’s waist tightens, right as he gives one last jerky thrust, and his whole body tenses. He whimpers right in Billy’s ear before his head drops, hitting his shoulder.

Billy feels like a live wire. He aches. He wants.

He waits, with bottom lip caught between his teeth, squirming and hoping it’s not too obvious.

“Sooo,” Tommy drawls, still catching his breath, his nose smushed to Billy’s collarbone. “D’you want me to blow you, or was that—”

“Fuck, yes.”

Tommy snickers. “Alright. Prepare to have your world rocked.”

“Oh, and my pick-up line was cheesy porno shit?”

“Yeah.”

“Dick.”

His shoulders shake with barely suppressed laughter, and Billy can feel his smile widen. He’d almost be content to bask in the moment like a cat in a sunbeam, except—

Tommy shifts, sliding a thigh between his legs and pressing, and yeah, that’s much better, nevermind. He lets out a slow, shaky breath, staring hazily at the water-stained ceiling.

“You liked seeing me get off, huh.” Tommy kisses his chest, lips still curved into a smile. Billy swallows hard, and folds his lips between his teeth. “You soaked right through your underwear. I can feel it.”

He’s making his way down way too slowly. On purpose, the little shit. But Billy refuses to crack. He can wait. It’s fine. He only feels a little bit like he’s going to explode.

Tommy replaces his thigh with his hand as he crawls backward, trailing a light finger over the growing wet spot and not doing nearly enough to ease the throbbing ache between Billy’s legs, his lips trail down, inch by agonizing inch as he goes. He’s got nice lips. Billy wouldn’t mind kissing him for hours. Being kissed.

Being kissed somewhere very specific right fucking now.

Billy’s legs spread a little further apart, without really meaning to, he arches his back, wriggles, trying to subtly get Tommy where he needs to be a little faster.

Except he fucking pauses. Kisses Billy’s hipbone. Flashes an absolutely shit-eating grin.

“Would you hurry the fuck up,” Billy groans.

Which cracks Tommy up. A laugh he’d obviously been holding back bursts out of him, muffled a little as he leans into Billy’s stomach, his shoulders shaking.

“I hate you so much.”

Tommy looks up at him, eyes shining. “Nah. You don’t.”

“Fine, but I’d like you a lot more if you stopped being a tease.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckles, and finally, finally, settles between Billy’s legs, flashing a grin before he pushes Billy’s briefs aside and drags his tongue through the wetness underneath.

“Jesusfuckingchrist—” Billy inhales sharply, his whole body arching into the sweet pressure of Tommy’s mouth, somehow ending up with one leg hooked around him, trying to pull him closer. “Oh fuck.”

A whine catches in his throat when Tommy huffs a laugh, warm air somehow feeling cool against his flushed skin. He’s beyond caring about looking desperate, he just needs more. More of this. He rocks against the steady stroke of Tommy’s tongue, his breath hitching every time he brushes his cock and a concentrated bolt of pleasure lances through him.

Then Tommy wraps his lips around it, and sucks, and Billy’s vision whites out. It feels so good it fucking hurts. He cries out, wordlessly, grasping for something to hold on to.

“Holy shit, dude,” Tommy breathes, pulling back, pulling away, what the fuck, no—

“Hng,” Billy grunts, his hands waving uselessly, trying to reach Tommy to put him back where he was.

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs, a little breathless, a lot delighted. “Just…” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Billy’s underwear and starts tugging them off. “You’re so loud, man.”

The part of his brain that’s still working—the part that isn’t floating on a cloud of horny thoughts, mostly about how fucking pornographic Tommy’s mouth looks right now, pink, flushed, and slick from nose to chin—is smart enough to know that if he’s too loud they might get caught. But he’s having a hard time making himself care. And he’s sure he’ll care even less when Tommy puts his lips back where they fucking belong.

Then Tommy’s leaning over him, damp grey briefs folded up in one hand, easing Billy’s mouth open with the other.

He’s slow about it. Deliberate. Telegraphing his movements so Billy and the three brain cells he’s got left understand what he’a about to do. Billy could clench his jaw against his prodding at any time. He could turn his head to escape Tommy’s hold.

But he doesn’t.

The taste of his own sex isn’t unfamiliar, but it’s oddly thrilling in this context. It feels dirty in the best kind of way. Cotton sticking to his tongue, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth, Tommy’s gaze heavy on his parted lips. Billy wonders if he’s thinking about other things he could stuff Billy’s mouth with to shut him up.

Biting down on creased fabric is odd, but it definitely muffles his whimpering.

Which is, admittedly, handy when Tommy dives back in with no warning.

He doesn’t hold back at all, pressing in close, his hands gripping Billy’s hips to keep him in place. His tongue curls around Billy’s cock, over and over in firm swipes.

And Billy sees stars. He can hear his own stifled moaning through the makeshift gag, but he barely recognizes is own voice. Every pitched, breathy noise that comes out of him is a shock he doesn’t have time to linger on, and he doesn’t fucking care to, not when he can barely process how good he feels right now, let alone feel anything but Tommy’s mouth and the heat building under his skin. His whole body is taut with it, muscles tensing as he tries to hold onto the sparks dancing through him.

It doesn’t take long for him to come with a hoarse shout and an embarrassing gush of wetness all over Tommy’s chin, white-knuckled and curled around Tommy’s sloped shoulders.

He flops back, breathing hard and staring, unseeing, at the ceiling.

“Holy shit,” Tommy says again, with something resembling awe.

Billy closes his eyes, trying to measure the rise and fall of his chest. His whole body is tingling. And a little sore.

He feels a little tug, Tommy picking at the briefs stuffed into his mouth. He loosens his jaw and lets him remove them. There’s spit trickling down his cheek. Tommy wipes it up, carefully patting the side of his face.

“You good?”

“Mhm,” Billy hums.

“...Been a while?”

He cracks an eye open and glances over at Tommy. His eyebrows are near his hairline, but it doesn’t look judgemental. A little amused, maybe. Billy sighs. “You could say that.”

“Oh?”

It’s been thirteen months since anyone’s touched him below the belt. He doesn’t remember who it was, but he remembers tequila and lime, hearing shitty dance music in another room while he let someone stick their hand in his pants, half-expecting it to retreat immediately.

No one’s ever touched him like this, though.

He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, unsure how to respond. He lands on, “Never been blown before.”

Tommy blinks at him. “No shit?” His hand makes a weird aborted movement, then lands on the carpet next to him. Billy has the weird urge to hold it. Or to be held, maybe. As the sweat on his skin cools he starts to itch, an unfamiliar ache blooming in his chest.

“No shit,” he echoes.

“That’s…” Tommy scratches his eyebrow. “Kinda hot actually. I popped your cherry.”

“I’ve had sex.”

“Yeah, but not that kind.”

“...Whatever,” Billy mutters, his cheeks flushing.

“I’m serious, dude.” Tommy’s smiling now, his lips still shiny and pink and distracting. “That was, uh. Kind of awesome. All of it. Plus the cherry on top.”

He can’t help but snort, and smacks Tommy’s knee. “Fuck you, Hagan.”

“Maybe next time.”

That catches Billy’s attention. Whether it’s the promise of a next time or the thought of fucking him, he doesn’t know, but either way he’s suddenly unable to look anywhere but at Tommy. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Tommy lifts his chin a little, like a challenge, but his eyes are warm. “You said you weren’t goin’ anywhere, so…”

“I meant it.”

He’s caught off guard by the almost bashful way Tommy ducks his head suddenly, the tips of his ears going red, hiding a widening smile. “Good.” He shuffles a little closer. “Though I get why you’d stick around. Y’know. After I rocked your world.”

Billy groans, and rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Nah, nah, I wanna hear you say it.”

“No.”

“Come ooon.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And good with my tongue.”

“Jesus Christ,” Billy mutters, “Okay, fine, you rocked my world. Congrats.”

Tommy preens, supremely pleased with himself, and pokes Billy’s shoulder. “Told you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Billy tries his hardest to look annoyed at the prodding, but fails to do anything but grin at the ceiling.

“Now, I seem to remember you promising to put some work in, and so far you’ve just been layin’ there.” The smug look on his face is absolutely out of control. Billy swats at him, but Tommy just catches his hand and kisses his palm, grinning like a fucking maniac. “Gotta do better than that, Hargrove.”

Billy tackles him, rolls them over, and pins Tommy’s hands above his head.

And he puts some work in.

#billy hargrove #tommy hagan #tomgrove #billy x tommy #trans billy hargrove #trans tommy hagan #stranger things #a raven's writing desk

122 notes · View notes

thebiscuiteternal · 1 year

Text

(For @tavina-writes)

Okay, so! There are basically two professions that I hardcore headcanon for a modern!Huaisang, and those are either animal rescue or art restoration.

This is my attempt at a coherent timeline/set of notes for the latter. (feat possibilities for Sangyao and Nielan, but the hints are so very faint so I won't bother tagging them).

---

As in most of my modern AUs, the Nies are known for positions of strength. Bodyguards, security details, military, athletes, etc.

Growing up, Mingjue is no exception. Between excellent grades and top scores in school athletics, his future seems to be set for him.

Huaisang is a bit more of a problem child, but for reasons outside of his control.. He was born with a heart problem and undersized lungs, and is eventually diagnosed with chronic fatigue and ADHD on top of those.

He can't participate in school sports and he has to take medications just to stay awake in his classes. (And sometimes skips taking them, because with all the attention on his big brother, it's not like anyone cares if he passes.)

The two classes Huaisang does actually put effort in are art and history, so Mingjue makes his baby bro a promise that if Huaisang tries to bring home good grades in the others, he'll make sure that there are always art supplies for him and will help him enter competitions. Once he's got a few prizes of his own, maybe the rest of the family will look kinder on him.

It works! For a while, both their futures are looking bright.

And then just after Mingjue graduates and starts getting ready for university, their father suddenly dies of a misdiagnosed heart condition (which Huaisang immediately gets tested for, because of his known heart issues).

With Huaisang's mother dead and no one being able to reach Mingjue's mother, they are shipped off to distant relatives.

Mingjue considers putting off university for his brother's needs, but Huaisang throws a fit at the idea. So they agree that Mingjue will pick a school close to home and they will keep in touch constantly. It'll be fine!

About halfway through their first year separated, Mingjue notices his brother's texts are turning weird. Almost like they're in code. And when he figures out the code, he realizes that things are not going well. Huaisang talks about missed doctor visits and their cousins repeatedly breaking his forearm crutches and their aunt and uncle blaming him for it every time and threatening to pull him out of school if he doesn't shape up.

Seething, Mingjue immediately looks into filing for custody of his brother. It's not easy, but he manages to get them set up in one of the family housing dorms and arranges for Huaisang to take remote classes. He takes care to make sure that his exams and Huaisang's medical visits don't clash. They'll manage.

All the art competitions pay off, and two years after Mingjue graduates, Huaisang is offered a full ride to a high rank art school, majoring in art restoration/conservation. The area's a bit expensive, but between their inheritance and Mingjue's new job bodyguarding a big name politician, they can afford it. Like before, they live out of family housing and Huaisang does as much of his schooling remotely as he can (except for studio work and labs, of course).

Despite his health problems occasionally trying to screw him over, and the fact that he still struggles with classes outside his realm of interest, Huaisang manages to get out with excellent marks and a portfolio that immediately gets him snapped up by museum director Lan Qiren.

There’s still one big problem, though. Their jobs will mean even more time apart than they had to deal with during their schooling, and whether they like it or not, Huaisang is going to need someone to help him when his brother can't.

So they hire a live-in nurse/aide, Meng Yao (recently graduated, double major in nursing and accounting, and in need of work) who looks after Huaisang at home and accompanies him to work with Lan Qiren's permission.

In fact, once Lan Qiren learns that Meng Yao has an accounting degree to go with his nursing degree, he also offers him a job working with the museum's grant department. He says it's to keep Meng Yao from getting bored and potentially being a nuisance (like one of his nephews' boyfriends) while staying by Huaisang's side, but he genuinely does think Meng Yao does good work.

Both Nies are fully supportive of the idea, so Meng Yao accepts because of course he's not gonna say no to an extra paycheck as long as it doesn't interfere with his original job.

So things have finally settled into a pretty comfortable existence for the three of them, aside from the occasional annoying museum donor, like Meng Yao’s biological father (who's pretty much only a donor for the tax break but still thinks it gives him license to make demands about how the museum runs). Huaisang always, always makes sure to shoot him a quick warning text to stay scarce if Jin Guangshan shows up, and Lan Qiren will take the time to keep an eye on Huaisang's health during those tours/meetings because he knows and understands their situation.

A few side bits:

Huaisang is still kinda-sorta the face of the restoration labs. Some people get weird about his crutches or Meng Yao always being close by in case of emergency, but for the most part, everyone's too distracted by his pretty face and enthusiasm to care. He hates galas and other big events though, because even with Meng Yao’s help, he usually ends up exhausted and disoriented by the end of the night.

Mingjue does his best to meet them for lunch at least one day a week. If Huaisang's having a good health day, they have a set of favorite restaurants to choose from, if not, the museum has a pretty damn good little cafe.

Huaisang and Meng Yao have both taken note of the fact that Mingjue turns interesting shades of red whenever the director's older nephew happens to be there at the same time as one of his visits. They haven't yet finalized a plan for how to deal with this, but they're working on it.

#mdzs #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #jin guangyao #modern au #worldbuilding

44 notes · View notes

lizisshortforlizard · 11 months

Text

Living Dangerously - Chapter 28

Jurassic Park’s animal handlers: none of them ever mentioned by name in Michael Crichton’s original novel. Who were they? What were their lives like on Isla Nublar? Did any of them survive the disaster? A year in the life of those responsible for the care of the dinosaurs. Many people would kill to have their jobs. But would they die for it?

Jurassic Park novel/Jurassic Park film (1993)

Viewpoint: 3rd person female oc

Warnings: few mentions of the ol alcoholism

Tagging: @heresthefanfiction @ocappreciation @wordspin-shares @howlingmadlady @arrthurpendragon @themaradwrites @starryeyes2000 @kmc1989 (please lmk if you would like informed of my sporadic updates)

Read on Ao3

Chapter 27 | Chapter 29

Since You Been Gone - Rainbow

Several weeks later

Although the island would be virtually uninhabited over Christmas, InGen had shipped in an impressive Douglas Fir that was already shrivelling up and disintegrating in the tropical heat. It was dropping enough needles to make Marìa implore the Almighty for help every time she swept the floor, which was now a daily task. Someone had used the cherry picker to fling tinsel over the model skeletons in the atrium of the visitor centre. The Alamosaurus had a shiny blue party hat perched jauntily on top of its skull.

About as festive as you could wish for in a near-Equatorial country. Muldoon wanted to meet with Lizzy beneath the skeletons before he began the long journey back to Kenya.

“I’ve done the best I can with staffing, but there will be two days at Christmas and again at New Year when you’re by yourself. I’ll be back on the third.”

Lizzy nodded solemnly.

“You do not go out in the park by yourself on those four days you’re alone, do you understand me?”

”O-kay?”

”I don’t care what you see on those video monitors in the control room. I don’t care what alarms go off. It’s not your problem to fix. You make a note of it and tell someone later, but whatever happens you stay indoors.”

”Richardson said-“ She started.

“I don’t care. You do what I say.” He fixed her with an icy blue stare. “Screw Richardson and his half-baked ideas.”

”No, thanks.” She wrinkled her nose.

Muldoon didn’t smile. “Armstrong, are we clear?”

Lizzy sighed. “Yes, we are perfectly clear.”

He remained unconvinced. “The weather looks alright too, no storms forecast-“

”Seriously! I’ll be fine!” She reassured. “Go home, see the kid. Don’t worry about me.”

Satisfied his point had been made, Muldoon became apologetic. ”Sorry about all this.”

Among the offers of come back to Oz, come back to Baton Rouge, come back to Lisbon, there would have been the offer of Kenya too, and not just out of politeness.

“You know I hate flying, it makes me feel very green. I’m the logical choice, anyway. No ties. No commitments.” She wiggled her fingers, conscious for the first time in a while that the weight of her engagement ring was no longer there.

If it had to be anyone, it may as well be me.

Everyone else had parents, kids, significant others, siblings. Jeff was back in Newcastle for the festive period, with his own blood relatives.

Lizzy had nobody.

“You can give me a bell me if you need to. Don’t care if its the middle of the night.” The park warden handed her a piece of paper with a Kenyan dialling code on it. “Doesn’t have to be work-related, either.”

Lizzy cleared her throat, unsure what he meant. “Got it. Thanks.”

”One last thing.” He reminded her. “Do not go near that raptor.”

“Aw, but I was planning to take her on a day trip to climb Sibo!”

”Not funny. If you remember one thing from this conversation, let that be it. No raptor.”

Kathy’s silhouette appeared in the double-doorway, dragging her chunky duffel bag, the contents threatening to burst forth from the zips all over the marble tiles. It looked like it weighed more than she did.

“Travelling light, are we?” Muldoon looked her up and down.

She waved him away, pushing her glasses back up her nose. “Hey, Minnesota is cold. You really think I’m walking over a snowy runway in my flip-flops?”

The park warden was still fixated on her luggage. He pointed to it with his boot. ”You’re going to make me carry that to the airport, aren’t you?”

”No, no way!” Kathy made a show of exclaiming, before quietly muttering out of the side of her mouth to Lizzy. “I absolutely am.”

“Keep commenting on how heavy it is, how small you are, until he feels bad.” The ethologist suggested, but she knew her deceptively strong friend was able to lift and carry two straw bales at once.

“Oh, I plan to.” Kathy abandoned the bag on the floor and pulled her in for a hug. “Next year, I don’t care how far apart we are, you are coming for Christmas with my family. There‘s always gonna be a place set for you at our house.”

Lizzy managed to blurt out her thanks awkwardly.

Promised I wouldn’t cry. Jeez.

“And this year-“ Kathy continued. “-if you feel ill at all then you just up and leave the island, okay? It’s not worth it. Call the mainland at Puntarenas…or my mom. I’ve set her as speed-dial two at Ray’s desk.”

“Nice surprise for him next time he tries to call Palo Alto and gets Momma Baker instead.” Lizzy grinned at her friend’s ranking system of who to contact in an emergency. “Just think of me when you’re raising a toast, okay?”

”I will not be cheersing anything this year-” Kathy denied. “-unless it’s with a juice box.”

Lizzy scoffed. “Like he’d know.”

”He’d know.” She insisted, sweeping her braids over one shoulder. “Muldoon said I could if I wanted, but we made a pact. The pact holds firm even if we’re not in the same place anymore.”

The Team Leader was in her mid-twenties, and fond of a beer with the guys, especially on Friday evenings after work. But she had decided to lead by example.

“How’s it going? You helping him…stop?” Lizzy dared to ask. She’d been avoiding finding out for the past few weeks, in case the answer wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

��Really good. You’ll be pleased to know he remains firmly on the wagon.” Despite Kathy’s insistence he didn’t have to go all or nothing straight away, Muldoon had quit the booze cold turkey. The following weeks the island’s coffee usage had increased dramatically. He’d been shorter than usual with almost everyone. Kathy had taken the worst of it more than once, like a trooper. But so far, so sober.

“That is really good.” Lizzy’s eyes darted past Kathy to see the man in question picking up and hoisting her friend’s ridiculously overpacked luggage over his shoulder without changing expression, as if it were nothing.

“Yup. Really good.” She caught herself biting her lip.

Tom swaggered in, minus any bags of his own. “Hey, I thought we already had the Christmas party? What’s with the gathering?”

“And I thought you were leaving on today’s ferry too? Where’s your stuff?” Lizzy wondered aloud.

“Nah. Tomorrow.” Then louder, for Muldoon’s benefit. “Gotta reduce the amount of time this one has to single-handedly destroy the island. Right, boss?” “Christ. Don’t remind me.”

Tom’s gaze rested on Kathy, who looked very uncomfortable at the sudden attention.

”I’m actually gonna miss you, four-eyes. Who’d have seen that one coming?”

”Uh-huh…”

“Well-“ He ironically saluted before turning to leave. “Until next year, loser.”

“Now or never.” Lizzy elbowed her friend in the ribs. “I’m not doing it for you.”

Kathy gave her the dirtiest look possible before jogging after Tom.

“Baker, we have to get going-“ Muldoon sounded exasperated, still holding her bag.

“Give her a minute.” Lizzy told him. “It’s important.”

”Kennedy of all people, is missing-her-flight levels of important? That’s new…”

”Wait, Tom!” Kathy called as she ran.

The Texan turned and stared at her hurrying closer, confused.

”I, um-…I made you this.” She pulled a parcel out of her shoulder bag, it too was straining at the seams. “But I dunno how cold it gets in Texas, it’s probably useless…You know what, never mind, you don’t have to take it. It’s stupid.”

She hugged the gift close to her chest, wishing she could rewind the last thirty seconds. Why had Lizzy encouraged her to do this?! It was so dumb. He clearly still hated her.

“You give that here, missy. I’ll be the judge of whether it’s stupid or not.” Tom held out his hands. ”Can I open it now?”

”Uhm…okay. Why wait, I guess?” She chuckled nervously then hiccuped.

Tom tore the paper, making a performance out of doing it as slowly as possible while Kathy carefully awaited his reaction.

Muldoon huffed and looked at his watch.

”Woah…is that-”

She’d knitted him a slightly lumpy scarf in the colours of the Texas state flag. Everyone had received a woollen item from Kathy as a gift, in the colours of their place of origin.

”Dude, you made this? For me?” Tom couldn’t hold back a massive grin, and immediately threw the paper aside and tied the scarf in a loose knot around his neck. “Shit, that’s sick, man! It’s soft as all Hell! Sorry, Heck. Soft as Heck.”

Kathy let out a sigh of relief. She’d been half-expecting to be ripped to shreds for her handmade gift.

“But I don’t have anything for you, Kit…”

”It’s okay.” She knew he’d been saving up to really spoil his little sister this year. Lizzy had told her as much. “I wasn’t expecting anything in return. But I made them for everyone else, and you actually work really hard, and-“

Next thing she knew, her face was pressed close to his denim jacket as he scooped her up in a bear hug.

She couldn’t recall having physical contact with Tom before, doing her best to stay away from him unless she had no choice. As far as she knew, he didn’t do hugs. Not with anyone.

Kathy tensed, stiff as a corpse until she heard him rumble against the side of her head ”Thank you, darlin’.”

He sounded so genuine, and she buried her face in the fabric of his jacket, squeezing her eyes tight shut to hide how they were welling up.

She relaxed into the hug. ”Happy Christmas, Tom.”

***

The two weeks that followed turned out to be uneventful, if very lonely, for Lizzy. On the big day itself she’d opened a few small gifts her friends had left for her, including a brand new knitted bobble hat. In the colours of Namibia, not Scotland. She had called Jeff in Newcastle at InGen’s expense, had a lengthy catch-up and a good laugh, then nuked some leftover macaroni cheese, the Christmas dinner of champions, before focusing on writing up her behavioural research she was in serious danger of falling behind with. Lizzy wondered if she’d ever get clearance from InGen to publish a paper on the behaviour of juvenile Velociraptor mongoliensis. Unlikely, but she had to write the damn thing first.

She missed her elephants.

Don’t go out into the park. She wasn’t an idiot, and Lizzy had to admit it was asking for trouble. If anything happened, nobody would find her for a very long time, that much was certain. God forbid she came to a sticky end because she fell and broke her ankle, or something equally stupid.

But watching the dinosaurs on a video screen just wasn’t the same as being out there among them. Hearing the sauropods trumpet in the far distance was nothing like feeling the ground shake when they walked by. Seeing the dilophosaurs flare their crests near the river, smelling the Rex on the breeze and knowing in your gut she was nearby even if you couldn’t see her. You could just feel her. Lizzy missed the smallest things she’d started to take for granted in her job.

She may not have her elephants, but she didn’t have her dinosaurs either. Neither did she have her new favourite, the little raptor who was her biggest challenge yet. Lizzy wondered if there was a fellow lonely soul on Isla Sorna who had been given a similar task to her. If they had family they missed, or if they too had friends but were alone in the world.

Some local InGen employees came and went between Christmas and New Year, but she was soon left to her own devices for the second two-day stint of solitude.

It was far worse than the first time around. Lizzy thought constantly about using the Kenyan dialling code, or hitting speed dial two. But she always talked herself out of it.

They don't need me bothering them. They see me every single day, they see their families hardly ever. God, give them some space. Stop being so bloody needy.

She kept trying to persuade herself of the passing of time, trying to think of things to do while she was effectively trapped indoors, all while debating if cabin fever was a legitimate medical condition and how long it normally took to develop. She wondered whether she could find Gerry Harding’s San Diego number and really piss Sarah off by calling him at home to ask.

New Year's Eve, however, more than compensated for how tedious Lizzy's Christmas break had been.

She was leaving the showers that night, minding her own business, and rounded the corner wrapped in her towel, humming, totally unprepared for who was waiting for her when she finally glanced up at close range through half-misted glasses.

“Shitting Heaven!” Lizzy shrieked, flattening herself against the wall in shock.

Muldoon was just there in the corridor, looking surprised, in the process of unlocking his door.

”You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack!” She accosted him when she recovered her wits, red-faced and angry now the fear had retreated. “Christ alive! Thanks for the warning!”

“Sorry, Armstrong.”

”Don’t give me Armstrong! Why the Hell didn’t you say anything?” She moaned, rubbing her forehead, heart still thumping with the force of a war cannon against her sternum. “You must have heard me coming!”

“Again, sorry.”

Lizzy’s eyes widened. She’d been enjoying singing loudly in the shower. Horribly out of tune, and she knew it. A one-woman rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody.

There was no way in Hell he wouldn’t have heard. She’d been performing the entirety of the song as a solo for the last five minutes.

The absurdity of the situation hit her, and she covered her mouth to stifle a nervous laugh. Now was not the time. She was still very much ticked off at him for ambushing her, and she wanted him to know.

“Why are you here?” Lizzy demanded, doing her best to regain control. The park warden was back a full four days before schedule. Not that she was counting down, or anything.

“Baker phoned me.” As if that was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

“So?”

”She had a feeling. She was worried about you.”

”You came back because of a feeling? Someone else’s feeling?” It didn’t make sense to Lizzy at all. He didn't normally go in for superstitions, or anything of the sort.

Muldoon recalled the previous night, and the fateful phonecall that led to cutting his trip home short. His daughter had answered and come to get him, tapping with her small hands covered by new wool mittens that she point-blank refused to take off, even when she was eating dinner, or sleeping.

“Baba, phone. Cat lady from…Min-ah-so-tah.” She’d pronounced carefully.

Muldoon was then wide awake. Why in God’s name was Baker calling him at this ungodly hour? Who had died?

By the time he’d made it to the phone, she had been sobbing down the line, borderline hysterical. When he’d finally gotten some sense out of her, if you could call it sense, she told him she’d had the most terrifying nightmare. That the dinosaurs had all escaped and were roaming free, Lizzy was in danger, she was sure of it.

At first, he was sceptical. Just a dream, nothing to it.

Then she had uttered the magic word raptor, and Muldoon knew that made two of them that wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon.

What had he been thinking? What had InGen been playing at? Leaving Armstrong alone to man the island, all for the sake of someone keeping an eye on the place.

Were they really that paranoid that a rival would try and steal from them? With all the security systems they had in place? It was virtually impossible.

Although he wouldn’t put it past the ethologist to send intruders packing, to be honest. Sub-par depth perception aside, she was still pretty handy with a shotgun.

”Please.” Baker’s voice had steadied, suddenly clear and direct. “I need to know Lizzy’s okay. I can’t bear to call her, in case…But if you won’t do it either, I’m leaving for that island tonight-“

”I’ll phone her now. You do realise she’s probably fine?” Muldoon became aware he was trying to convince himself of that fact as much as he was Baker.

”And what will you do if she doesn’t pick up, hm? What will you do if she’s fine now, but you arrive back in a few days and something has happened?” Her voice rose in pitch. “Why did we leave her? On a dinosaur island?”

And then Muldoon did something very out of character. He hung up, waited a few minutes, and called Baker back to tell her Armstrong was fine, not to worry, have a Happy New Year.

Then he quietly made his way to the airport in Nairobi. Only when he was on the first of several flights had it started to sink in, exactly what he was doing. What it all came down to.

He needed to see her. It’s for safety. This automation business is nonsense. Shouldn’t have left her.

He reflected that his Team Leader and partner in sobriety wasn’t exactly making life easy for him.

How it had taken every ounce of willpower he had not to answer Scotch, please when the heavily made-up air hostess had come around with the drinks trolley.

And then came the worst, and most time-consuming part, finding someone on the Costa Rican mainland who fit the Venn diagram intersection of having a boat and being willing to sail to Isla Nublar at short notice. Turned out not many of the locals fit both criteria. Not for cheap, anyway.

“Baker made a very strong case.”

”Right…” Lizzy was still baffled, and a little put out that the reason for him standing in front of her in her towel wasn't for anything other than safety.

It was only because Kathy’d had another of her stupid dreams, that she was always convinced meant something more. Lizzy had lost track of the number of times she had reassured her that they were not. She wasn’t a prophet. She was just a worrier with an active imagination.

After the ferry, Muldoon hadn’t stopped to drop off his backpack. He couldn’t find Armstrong at first, anywhere in the staff quarters. She wasn’t answering his calls to her radio, and for a second he had feared Baker was right.

Maybe something had happened.

Then he’d heard the God-awful “singing” coming from the women’s showers and it was the most beautiful sound Muldoon had ever heard because it meant Armstrong was alive and well.

Now, it wasn’t gratifying at all, it was just awkward, she was angry at him. And explaining he was back on Nublar ahead of schedule because of a dream, and not even his own, just sounded more and more absurd.

“Well…I’m okay. You can stop worrying.” Lizzy looked down at herself. “If I were dressed I would probably be okay-er.”

She became conscious Muldoon was looking past her, instead of at her, avoiding eye contact. As if he was nervous to look anywhere else.

She was still dripping all over the floor, hair in wet ringlets slicked to her forehead.

By then, Lizzy just wanted to get back to her room and dry off. She smiled sweetly. ”Gonna make me walk past you like this, huh?”

“Er, no-“ He went back to opening his door, as he had been before she had rounded the corridor and nearly expired from fright. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Oh, thanks so much!” She replied sarcastically as he made himself scarce.

***

A couple of hours later, Muldoon reluctantly pushed open the door of the staff kitchen to a sight he never thought he’d witness: Armstrong standing over a stove, cooking.

“Hi!” She turned and waved at him. Instead of her company-issued shorts and polo shirt that she usually lived in, she’d opted for jeans and a loose sweater. Her hair was still wet. She looked very different. Not in a bad way, either.

“Sorry about earlier. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay. Ran into far more people wearing far less.” She brushed it off.

“Excuse me?”

”Joking!” She claimed hastily. “I was joking!”

So awkward.

Lizzy’s heart dropped.

Oh no, was this when she found out they only got on so well because they were both mad at the world? Because they liked complaining about the same things? Take that away and what did they have to talk about?

"Got your note."

"I can see, else you wouldn’t be here, would you?” She said bluntly. This was going nowhere. Lizzy couldn't take it. "Look, it’s fine. It’s honestly fine. I don’t care and you shouldn’t either. Thank you for coming back to check on me.”

She turned her attention away from the stove and cocked an eyebrow. “Though a phone call would have sufficed.”

”I realise that.”

“It’s a good thing.” She pointed the spoon at him. “You’re staying. I've been so bored without anyone around. Don't make me spend another evening talking to myself."

“Hm.” He agreed. “Can you even get a word in edgeways?"

"Nice to have an intelligent conversation around here, actually." Lizzy hid a smile. And we’re back.

“What’s that you’re making?”

“Stew?” She continued stirring.

”Why does that sound like a question?”

“I think.”

”You…think?” He seemed to finally be relaxing. “It either is or it isn't."

“I was making bolognese, but…something went wrong.” Lizzy explained, sounding deflated. She looked him dead in the eyes and admitted: “I actually haven’t cooked dinner in a very long time.”

"In that case, I’m pleased I went to so much trouble to get back here.”

”Give it a minute. It’s getting there.” Lizzy clamped the lid on the pot. Out of sight, out of might. If it burns, just call it Cajun. Gonna be great. So good.

“Getting where, exactly? Why are you going to all this bother anyway?”

“I thought-… you’ve had a really long journey?”

“And you’re trying to finish me off in my weakened state, is that what you’re saying?” Muldoon deadpanned. “You want my job that badly?”

She threw her wooden spoon down on the worktop in a huff and folded her arms. “Please. I wouldn’t stoop to poisoning. Pitfall trap, maybe. Alright?”

The park warden peered over her shoulder at the wisps of black smoke starting to rise from the stove. “Armstrong, I think your-…whatever it is, is burning.”

“Completely intentional.” She wrinkled her nose. “I can manage.”

“Try it.” He dared her.

“It’s too hot-“

”Try it now.”

She caved, but couldn’t stop her face from screwing up like she’d just taken a hefty bite from a lemon. Lizzy knew there was no way it would be her best cooking effort, but it was bad.

“Oh, Christ!” She passed him the spoon, admitting defeat. “I give up. All yours.”

“Take a seat. I can salvage it.”

Quietly, from the battered cassette player in the corner Jimmy Page’s guitar riffs chugged along, Robert Plant wailing something about a flaming heart, every now and then the high notes swelling over the noise of the pots bubbling on the stove as they swapped places. Led Zeppelin IV. Lizzy had found a tape in Gennaro’s office while she was poking around. Didn’t know old Donald got the Led out, she’d thought. But imagining the lawyer with long hair and flared jeans, in the front row at Madison Square Garden was a thought that now frequently made her smile when she was bored.

“Ugh. Salvage.” She groaned, resting her head on a propped up arm. “That’s such an unfortunate word. I’m so sorry.”

“S’alright. Like a challenge.”

”I’m better at breakfast.” She defended herself. “I can do a decent fry-up.”

“And how does a man get you to sort out breakfast for them?”

She shrugged. “Be the one to wake me up in the morning.”

Muldoon almost dropped a knife but caught it before it could make a noise on the worktop.

“I mean-“ Lizzy realised what she’d said without thinking. “Uhhh…”

He’d caught her succumbing to nostalgia, remembering grey dawns in New York, when Simon had offered to go out in the rain for bagels, and instead of leaving the apartment, she’d whacked some eggs on the stove.

Looking back, there had been happy times. But perhaps it had only seemed happy because it was everything she’d never had before.

Although she’d kill for a hot chocolate and a doughnut that always smelled better than it tasted from the cart they went looking for every winter in Times Square. That was one of their traditions.

Simon had been one of the people she'd considered calling over Christmas. He’d be spending a few days at his parent’s house upstate, no doubt. Same as always. But she’d ultimately decided no good could come from contacting him, even though she still knew the number off by heart. No scrap of paper or speed dial required. It had ended for a reason. She had to remember that. Even though he’d never been brave enough to insult her attempts at cooking.

Unlike some.

Her gaze fell on Muldoon again.

”I’ll be conveniently absent then. State of it.” He grumbled. “Won’t be risking it even if we’re still alive tomorrow.”

”You’re so rude.”

“Could have tortured prisoners at Alcatraz with whatever that was.”

Lizzy cackled.

“Hey-…I‘m really glad you came back, you know?” She told him honestly. “My sense of humour isn’t wasted.”

Oh, who was she kidding? She’d missed him. Really missed him.

“You didn’t phone.” It sounded accusatory when he said it. “Two weeks is a very long time to not hear from someone like you.”

I thought about it.

”I wanted to.” She answered quietly.

I thought about you.

Muldoon had an idea.

Now he was back she could go out into the park again. They could both go out into the park, in fact. And with nobody else around, who would question them going out at night?

Was it a daft thing to suggest? Probably.

Armstrong had been distant the past few weeks before winter break. Giving herself space. Giving him space.

But he had been trying. Succeeding so far thanks to Baker’s efforts. That girl really was something else, putting up with him in his worst moods. And Armstrong was the one who’d asked him to spend time with her that evening. They could have quite easily existed without running into each other again for days. The place was big enough. But they were in this tiny kitchen together, her struggling to find enough space to set out plates and cutlery without bumping into him.

The other staff would be arriving back in the next few days.

Who knew when he’d have her all to himself again?

Didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous as Hell. It might not have been enough time for her to feel safe around him out in the jungle. She might still say no.

But it was worth a try.

“Armstrong, would you-“

She dropped a bowl on the worktop with a clank at the critical moment. “Sorry, what?”

“Would you like to come for a drive with me later?”

“Why?” The frown lines appeared between her eyebrows. “Is something wrong, out in the park?”

“No-“

”I wrote everything up while you were gone. All the errors.”

”I know-“

”And I haven’t been near the baby raptor!” She added, a little too insistently. “Armstrong-“. A touch sharply, to get her to stop talking so damn fast. Ask me properly. ”Lizzy. Would you like to see in the New Year with me? Somewhere more scenic?”

”Ohh…” Realisation dawned on her face, then a revolving door of emotions. Excitement, then uncertainty, then indecision. “If it’s a no, then-“

”I didn’t say no.” Lizzy interrupted.

She wasn't sure if she was ready. Finding that bottle at the back of the staff lodge had knocked her sideways, upended her world.

But she wanted to go with him, she wanted to so badly.

Really good. That was what Kathy had said.

That was enough for her to smile and nod.

”Yes, please. I’d love that.”

***

Thanks for reading!

Is this going to count as a date? I think it’s going to count as a date! (Finally…) At the museum I used to work in the sauropod skeleton did indeed wear a party hat at Christmas. Also in Glasgow they put a traffic cone on the head of the Duke of Wellington’s statue on the regular…so it may or may not have been Lizzy.

#jurassic park oc #living dangerously #welcome to jurassic park #oc: dr lizzy armstrong #jurassic park female oc #jurassic park #robert muldoon #robert muldoon x female oc #kathy #jurassic park fanfiction #jurassic park fanfic #long fic #slow burn #ray arnold #gerry harding #oc: lizzy armstrong #oc creator

8 notes · View notes