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the-i-can-dig-destiel · 2 years ago

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Dream a Little Dream of Me

Inspired by Aceriee’s Art

My name is Dean Winchester. I'm an Aquarius, I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach and I have always believed, firmly, that I will meet my end staring down the barrel of a gun.

And, well, not that I haven’t. I’ve had my fair share of death by a gun. Dare I say, more than the average Joe. But those never seem to stick in our family. Anyways, I digress.

If not a gunshot, then I was absolutely sure that it was gonna be a heart attack! My very unhealthy eating habits aside, I figured there’s only so much stress a heart can take before it gives up. I mean, how many apocalypses would I get to prevent, and/or stop before the sheer terror got too much?

And then of course, there was the obvious choice. Death at the hands of a monster. This one I always tried to avoid thinking about. First, because it was bad juju, and second, because I thought myself better than that.

But, here we are! At the age of 41, I have finally met a foe strong enough to defeat me.

Heart, meet rebar. And just when I had found the perfect dog!

I mean, really, I blame it on the poor judgment of whoever thought this would make for a good interior design. Who goes around leaving rebars out of walls? I have worked construction before, I know the safety codes, and if it isn’t obvious by my state right now, this is so against most of them.

SAM: Alright. Let's go find those kids, get them outta here.

Oh boy! Sam doesn’t know yet. As Donna would say, hooftah! Hmm. How to break this to him?

DEAN: Sam...I don't... Mm.I don't think I'm going anywhere buddy.

I should tell him to remember to take Miracle for a walk when he’s done here. Preferably before burning my body to ashes. That takes too long and my boy is too tiny. I just cleaned the bunker.

SAM: What? What are you talking about?

Dammit Sam. Must you choose this moment to go dumb?

DEAN: There's something in my...Something in my back. It feels like it's right through my heart man.

Finally! That gets Sam to stand directly in front of me, still a few inches away and he reaches around to my back. Don’t know about him, but I’m not surprised to see his hand come back bloody. Too much blood. He better not get blood on the bunker floor either.

DEAN:Oh, God.

SAM: Alright. Um… Hold on. Okay. Uh, I got you.

The fuck does this fool think he’s doing?

DEAN: No, no, no, no, no. Don't... Don't... Don't move me.

Ugh, how many times do I have to repeat myself before he hears me? I’m literally at my deathbed and the kid still hasn’t learned to listen to me.

Figures.

DEAN: Don't move me.It feels like this thing's holding me together right now. Just give me… Just give me a minute.

SAM: Yeah. Um... alright. I'll call for help. I'll get the first-aid kit.

Might be the bloodloss, but time starts to stretch as I watch Sam take out his phone and move to walk away. I do remember what I said to him earlier today.

The whole “I think about 'em, too. You know what? That pain's not gonna go away.Right? But if we don't keep living, then all that sacrifice is gonna be for nothing.”

The thing is, I lied. I do that. And honestly, if Sam believed that bullshit, it’s on him. Anyways, yeah, I lied and though I always hoped for more dignity in my death, truth is, I don't want him to get help. Not gonna do anyone any good, even if by some miracle they get me to survive this.

DEAN: Sam, Sam! Sam… Stay wi… Stay with me… Can you stay with me, please?

SAM: Okay. Yeah.

Huh! Can’t believe that actually worked. Maybe he is learning to listen to me. Better put it to use. First thing’s first.

DEAN: Okay. Okay. Uh... right. Alright. Listen to me. Um… You get those boys and you get them someplace safe, alright?

SAM: Dean...We are gonna get them somewhere safe.

Bless his heart. My little brother.

DEAN: No. We knew it was always gonna end like this for me. I mean, maybe not exactly like this, not the kinda penetration I’m into really, but It was supposed to end like this, right? I mean, look at us. Saving people, hunting things… It's what we do. What we’ve always done.

SAM: No, no. Stop, okay? Just... Just stop.

But I’m tired. How do I tell him that I’m so tired? How do I make him understand this is happening because of the sleepless nights I’ve had these past few weeks, escaping images of nothingness taking away all the light in my world?

DEAN: It's okay. It's good. We had one hell of a ride, man. But I’m done…

SAM: I will find a way, okay? I-I will find another way.

DEAN: No, man. No. No. No, no, no, no. You’re not hearing me! No bringing me back, okay? You know... You know that always ends badly.

SAM: Dean...

DEAN: Sammy I’m done.. I can’t do this anymore.. Not without him…

God, please let this be enough for him. Please let this get him to let me go.

SAM: P-Please… what about the beach? Our feet in the sand, drinks with tiny umbrellas, Dean, you… you said it yourself! You said if Jack… you PROMISED ME!

Oh Jesus, here come the fireworks… how do I make him understand, if I can’t have matching hawaiian shirts with Cas… What the hell am I supposed to do without his pretty ass there? How am I expected to just go on, when I know Cas is surrounded by darkness? By nothingness? By the empty…

DEAN: I'm fading pretty… I'm fading pretty quickly, so... there's a few things that I need you to hear… Come here. Let me look at you. Yeah, there he is.

Ok, Winchester. Take a deep breath. You can do this. You can make this ok for your little brother.

DEAN: I'm so proud of you, Sam. You know that? I've always looked up to you. Man, when we were kids, you were so damn smar... smart. You never… You never took any of dad's crap. I never knew how you did that… And you're stronger than me…

Yeah kid. You lived your life unafraid of what he would say. You dared to love and you … not like me. You never let it get too late to say… I wish I had told him Sammy… I wish I could tell you what really happened that night in the dungeon… I wish I could tell you how Cas was brave, and selfless and the best goddamned thing that ever happened to me and I was a coward, I was scared and selfish and to nobody’s surprise I let both of us down…

DEAN: Hey, did I ever tell you... Did I ever tell you that night that, uh... that I ca... That I came for you when you were at school? You know, when dad hadn't come back from his hunting trip? I must have stood outside your dorm for hours... because I didn't... I didn't know what... What you would say… I thought you'd tell me to... to get lost or get dead…

I know I could never bring myself to tell you about him Sammy. Even if I wasn’t choking on my own blood, I still would never have enough time to tell you about how he made me wanna stay alive… He was it for me, and I can’t tell you that… But I can tell you about you!

DEAN: And I don't know what I would've done... if I didn't have you. 'Cause I was so scared. I was scared, 'cause when it all came down to it, it was always you and me…

Sam is crying now, and well, what’s one more thing for me to hate myself for, right?

SAM: Then don't leave me. Don't leave me. I can't do this alone.

DEAN: Yes, you can.

Because I need you to…

SAM: Well, I don't want to.

Well, ain’t that a bitch? Kids feeding me my own words from all those years ago. Well, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s bullshitting. Hunting used to take the first place but after this colossal mess, I can’t really give myself that.

DEAN: Hey. I'm not leaving you. I'm gonna be with you… Right here... every day. Every day you're out there and you're Li... And you're living and you're fighting, 'cause you… You always keep fighting. You hear me? I'll be there every step. I love you so much. My baby brother.

Oh, man. I can’t believe I’m crying too. Shit. I used to think at least when I die, I’d get to spend the rest of it with Cas… Not that I would ever be caught dead admitting it… Oh, well, doesn’t seem to matter now anyways.

DEAN: Well, I did not think this would be the day. But it is. It is, and that's… Man... that's okay. I need you to... I need you to promise me. I need you to… To... to tell me... that it's okay. I need you to tell me that it's okay…

SAM: No!

Sam don’t look away from me. Please brother, I need you to let me go. Shit, what if I become a ghost? I mean, does never getting to say I love you to Cas count as unfinished business? Sure as hell sounds like it to me! Shit, Sam better burn all my stuff just to be sure.

DEAN: Look at me. Look at me. I need... I need to go Sammy… and I need you to tell me that it's okay. I need you to tell me… Tell me it's okay.

SAM: No, goddammit Dean! No. I will never!

Uh-oh! Sammy’s letting go of me and I just don’t think that’s such a good idea. Should I tell him I can’t really feel my legs? Would be nice if I could be spared the embarrassment of a faceplant pre-death.

SAM: JACK! Jack, you better get down here and help me or so help me, I will make a way up there and… JACK! You fucking promised this wouldn’t happen! You said you would be a better god!

Ok, this might be a good time to tell Sammy to stop yelling and get moving, but the light behind him is pretty distracting and shit, man, I used to be able to focus before…

“Sam! Sam, I am here. There is no need for you to yell. What’s goin…” Jack finds himself in the middle of a barn, dead bodies of what seemed to be vampires littering the floor, and it’s not until Sam moves towards him that he spots the reason behind his calls.

“Oh Dean…” Just as he moves towards the older Winchester, Sam gets a hold of his shoulders and Jack feels his heart break for him. His eyes look hollow, as if it was him who was on the edge of death.

“Please… you have to do something! You have to save him! He’s not… please Jack!”

“Hey, Sam, Sam! If you let me take a look at Dean, I can try and help.”

Sam takes a few deep breaths, trying to compose himself, then nods once before stepping aside and Jack finally gets to look at Dean. It hasn’t been long since he left the brothers on earth and went to sort out the universe, but Dean seems to have aged decades.

“Dean?” He calls out once, but just as he thought, Dean’s out of his reach. At least, physically. He tries not to imagine all the self-deprecating jokes Dean must have come up with over being impaled by a rebar in a bar.

He tries and fails. Winchesters.

“Sam, help me pull him off the rod.” He knows just as well as Sam, that he does not need any help moving Dean’s body. They’re both aware of the pity he takes on Sam, letting him do something before he loses his mind for good.

“Ok, yeah, gently on the ground.” And before Dean’s body hits the ground, he is healed. He ignores the voice in his head, metaphorically speaking, accusing him of ignoring his own rules. What happened to being a hands off God? Well, this is DEAN!

“Jack, what are you waiting for? Heal him! Bring him back!”

“I have healed him, Sam.”

“Then why isn’t he waking up?”

Yeah, Jack was never a fan of the on brand Winchester’s lack of anger management. He pushes his annoyance aside and reaches for Dean’s soul.

Huh. Interesting. He’s fairly new to being God, but he’s got a good track record with resurrections and he’s pretty sure no soul has ever resisted being pulled back so hard.

Typical. Leave it to Dean fucking Winchester.

“It’s like he’s resisting his body’s pull. Sam, what happened here? What am I missing?”

“I… shit, Jack, I dunno. We were on a hunt, and we just rescued these kids and, he just wouldn’t let me get help, and he kept saying this is good, and he wants to go, and I … I didn’t know what else to do Jack…”

“Ok, ok, Sam, look at me. I need you to go and take care of the kids. I am going to try and find out where Dean is.”

He leaves the second part of that sentence unsaid. Why does he not want to live?

The sky is a beautiful blue/green, as Dean and Cas watch the sun set. Dean pushes his sunglasses up on his head, then holds Cas’ hand in his, and relishes in the sensation of their arms touching. Cas’ hot skin against his, contrasting with the ice cold drink in his other hand, makes him feel dizzy. Or is it the blood loss?

“What?” He asks, not really sure who he’s talking to.

“I didn’t say anything.” Cas replies. Taking a sip from his martini. The blue shirt brings out the ocean blue in his eyes, breathtakingly infinite.

“You know, you really do look good in floral patterns…” Dean’s not really sure why his heart aches at the exclamation. This has been the most flawless day, a long overdue vacation for just the two of them. Then why does it feel cold?

“Well, you don’t look too bad yourself, Dean.” Castiel studies him, and Dean immediately feels warmer. “I like your tan. And your sunglasses on your head. It makes it easier for me to see your eyes.”

The sheer openness with which Cas talks to him is enough to make Dean want to run away. But not here. It’s safe here. Why?

It’s almost easy for the words to fall out. “Yeah? What about my eyes?”

“They never lie to me… never have, never will…” Dean resists the urge to shy away.

“And what are they telling you now?”

“I’m sorry Dean, I will not make it that easy for you… If you want to tell me something, you have to say it yourself.” Cas says in a cheeky tone before looking away again.

“I know, I know that! I just... Ca–” Dean is interrupted by a sudden shock of pain. He drops to the floor, clutching his chest, crying out in pain. No, this wasn’t supposed to happen here… not here…

Castiel is staring at a figure behind him.

“Billie.”

“What? That’s impossible Cas!” But even as Dean’s fighting to get the words out through his pain, the world around them gets eerily darker, and all of a sudden they’re back at the bunker.

Cas grabs Dean by the shoulders and tries to guide him away. But Dean’s legs are cemented into the floor. He knows exactly where this leads, and he is not about to relive it.

“My heart... I can feel her.” He hears himself say. No, no no no. Go back to the beach. Please.

“Come on, Dean. We gotta go. Come on.”

Castiel pulls Dean away, almost carrying him through the bunker as Dean gasps and grunts in pain. Hold on to his arm.

At the bottom of the stairs now, Billie’s following them slowly.

“It's you, Dean. It's always been you. Death-defying. Rule-breaking. You are everything I lived to set right. To put down. To tame.”

Dean collapses beside the bookshelves just out of view, gripping his chest. Castiel looks over his shoulder where Billie still approaches.

“You are human disorder incarnate.”

No. I was ok to go this time. Please, I wanted to go… I was…

In the downstairs hallway now, Castiel's supporting Dean's weight with Dean's arm over his shoulders as he hurries him through the bunker, away from Billie. Dean clutches his heart, groaning in pain. Please, Cas, I don’t want to do this again… I can’t… Please, just let me go with her…

But nothing comes out of Dean’s mouth.

“I've got you Dean.”

They round another hallway corner, but not far behind them is Billie, still holding her scythe.

“Come on, Dean. You can't escape me.”

Dean wants to say he’s not trying to. He wants to scream and ask her to just take him. Anything to stop them from entering the dungeon. But Cas keeps dragging him, and Dean is not in control here.

Billie drags the blade of her scythe against the tile wall.

“Don't you think it's finally time? Time for the sweet release of death?”

Yes, I do…

Around another corner, Castiel guides Dean into basement storage room 7B and closes the door behind them. Dean coughs, still holding his chest as he doubles over. No no no no no.

Castiel finds a pocket knife in Dean's back pants pocket and uses it to cut his own palm. He uses the blood to paint warding onto the door. Dean wants to die.

Castiel turns towards him.

“It blocked her grip on you.”

Billie pounds her fist against the door. It shudders. The warding crackles, but holds. The slow pounding continues.

“Dean, she said that wound was killing her. Maybe we can wait her out.”

Yes, please, that’s a fantastic idea, let’s just wait her out.

“Yeah, and if we can't?”

“Then we fight.”

Yes, I will fight till my dying breath for you, just don’t go…

“We'll lose. I just led us into another trap, all because I couldn't hurt Chuck. Because I was angry and because I just needed something to kill, and because that's all I know how to do…”

“Dean…”

“It was Chuck all along. We shouldn't have left Sam and Jack. We should be there with them right now. Everybody's gonna die, Cas. Everybody.” You’re going to die… and “I can't stop it. She's gonna get through that door.”

“I know.”

“And she's gonna kill you, and then she's gonna kill me.”

Dean wishes he was already dead. He wishes he’d never said those words… He wishes…

They share a look. Castiel agrees, their situation is hopeless, but he can't bring himself to say it.

“I'm sorry.” and Dean’s never said any truer words.

“Wait, there is... There's one thing she's afraid of. There's one thing strong enough to stop her. When Jack was dying, I made a deal to save him.”

Dean wants to be mad at him, he really does, but he would make any deal, in a heartbeat, just to stop Cas from doing this. Who’s Dean to blame him?

“You what?”

“The price was my life. When I experienced a moment of true happiness, The Empty would be summoned, and it would take me forever.”

Dean Can’t breathe.

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“I always wondered, ever since I took that burden, that curse, I wondered what it could be? What my true happiness could even look like. I never found an answer because the one thing I want... It's something I know I can't have. But I think I know... I think I know now. Happiness isn't in the having, it's in just being. It's in just saying it.”

Then just stay and be goddamnit! Dean should have just hit him in the head hard, should have knocked him out cold. He should have stopped Cas, right there and then.

“What are you talking about, man?”

“I know. I know how you see yourself, Dean. You see yourself the same way our enemies see you. You're destructive, and you're angry, and you're broken. You're daddy's blunt instrument. And you think that hate and anger, that's... That's what drives you, that's who you are. It's not. And everyone who knows you sees it. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love. You raised your little brother for love. You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are. You're the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.”

Cas is crying and Dean is paralyzed. He’s as paralyzed as he was the first time around. And as paralyzed as every night ever since, lying in bed, reliving this moment over and over and over again.

“You know, ever since we met, ever since I pulled you out of Hell... Knowing you has changed me. Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you. I cared about Sam, I cared about Jack... I cared about the whole world because of you.”

Yeah, and look where that got you…

“You changed me, Dean.”

Fuck you for doing this to me Cas…

“Why does this sound like a goodbye?” Please don’t say goodbye like this… Don’t say it…

“Because it is.”

It still lands like a punch to his guts, and Dean inhales, ready to argue, but Castiel confesses before he can.

“I love you.”

“Don't do this, Cas.” I love you too.

There's a wet noise from behind Dean and he turns to see black goo from The Empty squeezing through the bricks in the bunker's wall as a portal begins to open. They both know what this means. No more matching hawaiian shirts, no more tiny umbrella drinks, no more mix tapes, no more cowboy dressups, no more running away from their profound bond.

There are tears in Dean's eyes as he turns back to Castiel. Castiel is still smiling tearfully. I wish I could hate you… The warded door busts open. Billie stands behind it with her scythe. There's no more time.

“Cas…” don’t go… please just don’t go… I can’t go on without you…

Castiel puts his hand, bloodied from when he'd cut it for the warding, on Dean's shoulder. Right where he had laid hands on him for the first time all those years back in hell, and he might as well be throwing Dean back in hell with this.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Castiel shoves Dean aside. He hits the floor beneath the portal. A handprint of Castiel's blood remains on the shoulder of his jacket. Billie enters the room. Castiel looks at Dean one last time, smiling, and inhales as the black liquid tendrils of The Empty wrap around him. The Empty crashes against Billie, pulling her in along with them. Dean wants to get up, wants to run over and hold on to Cas’ hand, keep him here, or go with him dammit, but instead he watches in shock as the portal to The Empty closes, and he's left alone, panting, stunned, gutted, heartbroken, empty.

Dean, who is still alone in the basement of the bunker, still sitting against the wall where Cas had pushed him. He’s impaled on the wall. He holds his cellphone in his hand as it vibrates, ringing again, and again, and again, he looks at it. "Incoming Call: Jack" He stares at it, then looks around, tears in his eyes. He drops the phone, leaving it to ring on the stone ground as he buries his face in his hands and begins to cry.

“DEAN!” Jack tries to break the memory again, reaching for Dean, but his father seems to be lost to his sorrows. He seems to be stuck in this horrible loop, and Jack had no idea what had really happened the night that Cas was taken. None of them did. Dean refused to talk about it, and Jack knows why now.

But if Dean just opens up to him, if he just picks up the phone and answers, Jack can reach him, and then he can tell Dean about where he’s been. He could tell Dean where he was when Sam called for him.

He could tell Dean that Castiel was back. That it had taken them weeks to help him get through the worst part of his trauma, but he was back, and he was safe, and he was recharging his batteries as Dean would say, and that he would soon be ready to come back to Dean.

But Jack needs Dean to make that choice, to take that leap, and to answer his fucking phone.

He’s not sure how many times he’s watched Dean go through his loop, sunset at the beach, then The Empty, how many times has he cried and felt his heart break for his dads, before he folds and accepts that Dean’s just not going to open up to him.

It’s not Jack that he wants.

And it’s not Sam. and it’s not Mary, or John, or Bobby, or anyone else.

It’s Castiel.

And when it comes down to it, it has always been Castiel.

And maybe, just like the first time around, it would take saving Dean from this hell, for Cas to find himself again.

“Hold on just a little longer Dean…” He says as he leaves for heaven. He has the perfect plan.

Dean holds his cellphone in his hand as it vibrates, ringing again, and again, and again, he looks at it. "Incoming Call: Castiel". He stares at it

The hell? Didn’t he just watch Cas be swallowed by The Empty? Doesn’t that mean he’s now in Gay Super Hell? Don’t be weird about the name ok? His brain’s been through a blender.

This has never happened before. Dean’s been through this loop a million times over, his own personal hell, and it’s always either Sam or Jack, calling and calling and …

But it says Castiel on the phone now. Dean puts the phone down, tries to take a deep breath, and pickles it up again.

"Incoming Call: Castiel"

He pinches himself. His tears have dried up, he feels the pinch, stares at the screen, still says Castiel’s name, he takes another deep breath.

Well, he’s been wanting a chance to change how it happened right?

Guess this is his brain taking pity on him. God(huh) knows he doesn’t deserve it, but fuck if he cares.

He’ll be damned before letting this chance go.

So he slides his finger on the phone, and puts the phone to his ear.

“C… Cas?”

Lights explode in his eyes, and he opens them to a familiar scene.

Well, mostly familiar.

He’s lying down on the barn floor, close to where the rebar is poking out of the pole, and right in front of him is Casfuckingtiel in his stupid trench coat, with his stupid perfect hair and his fucking blue eyes and he’s staring at Dean with all the worry in the world, as if it wasn’t him that was just swallowed by the fucking empty right in front of Dean’s very own fucking eyes.

Fuck.

“Dean?” Castiel barely gets the word out, and just like that, Dean’s zapped into movement. He feels wired, live electricity running through him, and he pointedly ignores Sam and, is that Jack, AKA God?

“Dean? Really? DEAN? That’s all you have to say to me? After putting me through… through that?” He’s only faintly aware of the fact that he’s on his legs, wobbly, he was literally stabbed in the back give him a break, and he steps forward, standing dangerously close to Castiel.

“Dean…”

“No! You’ve said all you had to say! It’s my turn you sadistic bastard!”

“Uh, Dean…” Sam tries to cut in.

“Shut up Sammy!” Back to Cas. “How DARE you! You don’t get to pull that shit with a human being Cas! You don’t get to wait ten whole fucking years, put them through the slowest burn of history, drag them along the whole god damned earth, in multiple universes, and declare your love in a selfless act of bravery and fuck off to the empty before said human gets a chance to reply! You hear me?”

“Dean, I understand you’re upset…”

“Upset? You selfish son of a bitch, you… I …”

“You do NOT get to call me selfish Dean! I sacrificed EVERYTHING for you! For YOU! And what do you do with it? You go around and get yourself killed on a hunt! A fucking vampire hunt Dean? Really? It hasn’t even been a year! Couldn't you have given my memory that little bit of respect and kept your sorry ass alive at least a year?”

“You just fucking left me there Cas! On the ground! With NOTHING! I had nothing! You didn’t even give me a chance to say it back, you asshole! WHat did you expect to happen? The fucker I’m in love with says the big I love you and then immediately is sent to Gay Super Hell and I’m left to pick up the pieces! How was I supposed to live with that? Did you even consider how that affected me Cas? When you made that deal, did you even for a second stop to ask yourself, what about that poor son of a bitch who’s been head over heels in love with me for the past decade?”

See, Dean has this bad habit of running his mouth when he’s angry. And it always gets the best of him. And it’s only when the silence falls that he realizes what he’s said. Well, shouted.

You know what they say, when in Rome…

“I love you, you stupid son of a bitch!” He clarifies, just in case Castiel missed it in all the shouting.

“What?” Castiel looks pale. Yeah, take that! Not so nice when you’re on the receiving end, is it?

“I love you! And I don’t want to be alive without you! You’re it for me Cas!” Dean’s not even sure at this point if this is life, or death, purgatory, heaven or hell, or the fucking empty. He just knows for some reason, somehow, Cas is standing in front of him, and it’s not a memory or a wish.

All of a sudden, Castiel launches towards him and before Dean knows it, his lips are pushed into Cas’ and oh my GOD, this is absolutely heaven.

He kisses Cas, for all the times he didn’t, all the times he wished he had the guts, and he kisses Cas with a vengeance. It takes a while, drunk in the feel and taste of Cas’ mouth, in between the sorrys, and the I love yous, and the I thought I’d never see you agains, before he decides that he needs to know.

“Cas… Is this real? Are you… are you real?”

“Yes, Dean. I don’t think I have ever been more real than I am at this moment…” Of course he has to make this sound romantic. Big doofus.

“But how?”

“Jack got me out… I, I wanted to come to you sooner but I wasn’t sure if you… Dean I didn’t know how you’d feel about me after what I said…”

“Well, I will be yelling at you some more for that later, but for now all I need you to know is I love you… and I need you to always come back to me Cas… Always!”

“I think I’d really rather stick around for good instead…”

“Well, that’s fine by me…”

*the end*

#I know #fix it #finale #supernatural #fuck gay super hell #fuck the empty #give dean his angel back #hawaiian shirts #matching obviously

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malgal7777 · 4 years ago

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Hiking with Tracy 2021: Weekend 3, the Lost Weekend

As I went back to re-read my blog I noticed I had cut off my WHOLE weekend of 4/17!! This is my 20 mile walk from the Emeryville Marina to the Richmond Marina and back via the Bay Trail along the water & Hwy 80. So let me try to reenact my journey!

The theme of this hike was “Don't tell me this town ain't got no heart, you just gotta poke around” - Once again I tip my hat to the great Jerry Garcia. Not sure if you all figured it out, but I love Jerry. I came to the Bay Area to follow the Grateful Dead’s music and I never left.

This particular hike was absolutely beautiful. I wish it wasn’t so I can mix this blog up, but sorry folks, you live in a beautiful area. Even along a dirty highway, there are things of beauty all around you. Take for example this hike, wildflowers everywhere. Even popping out of the sidewalk. I'm reminded of Jeff Goldblum’s character in Jurassic Park...”Life refuses to be contained...it just finds a way”. And sure enough, Sunflowers out of the sidewalk!

Since I was next to a highway, I went with headphones this time around. One of my positives during this pandemic is my rekindled love for music radio stations. I love listening to a radio station and I definitely have my favorite DJ’s. My personal favorites this past year were: WWOZ - a local New Orleans station; KCSM - a Bay Area jazz station and KXT - out of Dallas, TX. These stations literally kept me sane during the lockdowns. I highly recommend them, especially if you’re cooking, doing chores or working in the garden.

This particular morning I went with WWOZ. And what a good decision that was. Ron Phillips was spinning his favorite Saturday morning tunes and I was going down the road feeling BAD (as in good)! Irma Thomas, Anders Osborne, The Subdudes and a little known singer/songwriter out of New Orleans, Chris Smithers. If you get overwhelmed and about to burst...stream Chris Smithers “Let it Go”. So funny. Anders Osborne is a name my friends have been trying to get me into for a long time. And I’m a bozo, definitely missed the boat on this one! From his new album, try this song: Welcome to Earth.

Ok, so I digress! Back to the walk. In one of my last posts, I mentioned the people I meet. Well this am was a doozy! As I was grooving to the sweet sounds of the Crescent City I was approached by a group of ladies. They had a question for me: What’s more important in a relationship: Love or Economics? My first response was “Wow, you ladies don’t mess around for a Saturday morning! Going deep on me”. But, because I’m me, I had an answer. Now usually I would have said Love, Love, Love. Hands down right? But they caught me at a weird time. I have been obsessively thinking of a comment I overheard from another group of ladies while doing my Diablo hike. One of them had commented “I have no desire to marry just for love. Forget that, I need to be economically stable”. My reaction was pity for this poor girl. I literally felt sorry for her. The more I thought about it (obsessively for two weeks) I came to realize, she didn’t necessarily say she wasn’t going to work, she just wanted someone with their shit together and would contribute to their family being comfortable. What’s wrong with that? Is being comfortable taboo now? So when my Bay Trail friends asked me, that’s how I answered. Love was great but there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be comfortable, isn’t that love after all? I obviously made one of the women very happy. She loved it. The other two nodded and smiled, they were on Love’s side. So we said our goodbyes and I felt like I had gotten a weight off my shoulders. As I was walking away though...I asked myself...But didn’t YOU marry for love? And sure enough, I did. Bob & I didn’t have a pot to piss in. And while we’re not the Rockefeller's, we’re comfortable enough for us. I love him dearly and love has to be the basis that you build your financial future upon. If you don’t have that, it get’s ugly when $$ is involved. The best part of this moment was that song “Welcome to Earth” was playing as I was coming to this realization and the last line is literally “Love is always the answer”. The Universe works in mysterious ways! But, where were the ladies...I wanted to change my answer??!! No where to be found. Man, I blew it. I would now obsessively think about this for the next 20 miles. Told you I was a bozo.

By this time I had reached The Albany bulb. A Bay Area gem to the north of Golden Gate Fields. There’s a great beach and then it jets out into a peninsula which is covered with art installations all over. I’ll talk more about that later, since I came back on Sunday to finish my 25 miles. This morning though I watched a group of swimmers about to enter the freezing bay waters, no wet suit mind you! CRAZY and No Thank You! Brrr. Next Stop, Point Isabel, dog heaven. A large open spaced off-leach dog park. I go there all the time. If you have a dog, you should take them. They will love you even more than they already do.

Now past Point Isabel is where the trail gets interesting. You start to wander away from the highway and are now among the prettiest beaches and marshes. It’s an interesting view of the Bay Bridge and you can no longer see the Golden Gate Bridge as you veer north of it. You now start to come upon single family homes along the trail. You’re instantly reminded of Cape Cod. A ocean view from Richmond, CA. The best part is once you see this neighborhood you know you’re close to the marina. And sure enough, I turned the bend and there in front of me was the Ford Assembly plant, my 1/2 way point. But, it’s a very cruel joke. You see the plant across the opening of the marina, it’s literally right there!! Then the realization hits you in order to get to it you need to go around the WHOLE marina. And as you continue to walk and go around another bend, the sidewalk gets longer and longer and longer. The Richmond Marina is HUGE. Lovely though. Large green spaces with people doing yoga; a ladies bootcamp class along the water; boats coming and going from the marina and two pretty cute restaurants also along the water.

I finally made it to the Ford Assembly Plant and now Richmond Ferry Terminal. The assembly plant hosts seasonal events, we’ve been to the women’s roller derby ones. Nothing like watching tough chicks bully each other on roller skates. Then there are a few businesses strewn throughout the building. Dolls Kill, which I believe is a clothing business for those on the freakier side of the spectrum. And Mountain Hardware! Quality clothing for the outdoorsy types. I should have gone in and gotten a windbreaker. The wind was pretty brutal.

The best part was of course the Rosie The Riveter museum. A museum dedicated to the women that left the kids at home and joined the workforce to help build ships during WWII. This whole area was built for the war effort. Richmond grew from 25,000 to over 100,000 within three years!!! Can you imagine? How does any town build the infrastructure needed to maintain that population? Grocery stores? Clothing? Schools? Highly recommended. It’s a suggested donation, so don’t be cheap, donate. You won’t be disappointed. I once brought Charlotte and a couple of her Girl Scout troop there to meet a real life “Rosie”. She told the girls her story and it was of course about LOVE! The trials and tribulations of her and her partner as he was fighting in the war and she was here making the ships that would keep him safe. Man, where were those 3 ladies!!

The way back was pretty much the same. I made it! Now onto Sunday, 4/18. The Albany Bulb! A Bay Area gem. Bob & I have been coming here for years. Way back when it was a landfill full of broken concrete slabs and rebar. Some artist types took it upon themselves to start living there. They kept the concrete slabs and rebar and started to make installations out of them. Giant sized figures; rows of wooden paintings; mazes and one guy even built a concrete castle along the water facing the Golden Gate Bridge. Best real estate in the Bay. They exemplified the phrase “one mans trash is another man’s treasure”. Of course the stuffed shirts got wind and kicked them out. But gave the stuffed shirts an idea...Hey, why not make a park out of this dirty unused lot? Duh. So before you harass your kid for taking art classes, remember it’s usually the artists who push the rest of society in the right direction.

It’s also a great place to bird watch and now the wildflowers are a blooming, so it’s quite serene. If you’re looking for some inspiration, this is the place for you.

So my posts/weeks are a bit out of order. Oh well! It’s my blog and I’ll create chaos if I want to!

I’ll end on this note: Love is ALWAYS the answer.

So sponsor me (hehehe): https://runsignup.com/tracyalbert/Donate

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writeanapocalae · 6 years ago

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Sight for Sore Eyes Chapter 2

Part 2 of my Iris fic for @chibi--raiden. Part 1 can be read here. Warnings for gross eye stuff

The hallway was a twisted corridor of flesh, red and dripping, pulsing like an artery. If it weren’t so dry on the inside he would have believed that they were inside of one. They still could have been. There were only a few things that made it seem like it was traversable at all, the black and white tiles, and a series of photos on the walls. They didn’t look like Stefano’s usual work, they weren’t composed as such, they weren’t as surreal, they looked more like they were just candid shots in cheap frames.

Sebastian didn’t have enough time to look at them, to study them seriously. Iris was in his arms and he was terribly heavy, far heavier than he had any right to be. He was curled up, his chest still healing, and his constantly dripping face was buried into Sebastian’s chest. He was shaking, trembling, slightly, and Sebastian wasn’t sure if that was from pain, sorrow, or if it was just something that Iris did.

He had to take a break though and he slid to the floor, holding Iris close to him. Iris shifted against his chest, grumbling something, but Sebastian couldn’t catch what it was. It was just that Iris was so heavy. He wasn’t in the best of shape, even though he’d quite smoking he was still drinking, heavily, and he wasn’t running around that much after criminals when he was fired from the force. He just wasn’t in shape.

Sitting there though, with Iris against him, he was able to see the photograph on the opposite wall. It was of a man, bound to a table, screaming, his back arched. He could see the shadow of another over him, a knife in hand, a terrible and wicked curved blade. The man’s chest had been cut open and, while there were organs spilling from it, dyed in bile and blood, they were being replaced with rebar and clay. There was no way that someone could survive that. There was no way someone would want to.

“What the fuck is wrong with this guy?” Sebastian growled.

Iris shifted in his hold. “We… we’re not… m-movng...”

“Just a little break,” Sebastian soothed, running his hand through Iris’ hair. As long as he stayed toward the back of his head, away from his face, Iris seemed to enjoy it, it seemed to calm him. “You’re heavier than you look.”

---

It was so good, to have someone touching him. He almost didn’t mind that they weren’t moving, that the man was just sitting there and touching him. He couldn’t remember anyone holding him like this, touching him like this. Even Stefano, regardless of what activity they had been participating in, would just hold him. It was usually that they would go through with something and then Stefano would relish in what they had created and forget about him soon after. He didn’t mind. He got to see a genius at work.

He got to see everything that Stefano could make, whatever he could think of. He was a part of something amazing.

He could feel the man shift beneath him, could feel it in the rippling holes in his chest, the ones that were still healing. He was looking around, was trying to see something. Iris knew where they were, even though the place didn’t have a name. He knew what the stranger was looking at. He hated it, he hated knowing. He didn’t him to know, didn’t want him to judge. He didn’t want to have to explain.

He didn’t want to remember.

---

Iris sighed, “Yr look-ing...”

Sebastian slowed slightly. “What?”

“...Pishurs...”

Sebastian glanced back up at the picture across from them. He didn’t really want to look at it though. There was too much happening, too much gore, too much damage. “Yeah, I guess. You know what’s happening in them?”

Iris nodded but wouldn’t say.

“Stefano’s sick, you know that, right? What he’s done to people, what he’s doing to people, it’s wrong, it’s abhorrent.” He could feel rage starting to build in him, hardening his voice. He could feel Iris stiffen in his arms. He didn’t deserve Sebastian’s anger. Sebastian didn’t know what he deserved, but he was so broken, so fragile, even though he wasn’t human anymore, that Sebastian felt a horrible need to protect him. “He needs to be destroyed.”

---

No. No, he didn’t understand. He was assuming things from those images. He was trying to put things together but his information was all wrong, his perspective was skewed. Stefano had mentioned that this man didn’t appreciate his art and now Iris knew that was true. It was more than not appreciating, it was a complete denial at the beauty of Stefano’s ideas and a disgust at the good that he was doing.

He wasn’t sick. He was intelligent and awe inspiring and most magnificent being that Iris had ever met. He had been obsessed with the concept of seeing, of being a part of Stefano’s art. He couldn’t have been wrong in that desire, could he? He didn’t want to think so. He had suffered so much, just for a chance. The man could see his suffering, knew exactly what he had gone through for such a chance. But he didn’t understand it.

He had to explain, he had to get him to know what the point of it all was. This was why Stefano had wanted him dead. Not only had he not approved, he had destroyed some of Stefano’s work. Iris couldn’t explain it, his mouth wouldn’t work with him. He had to make the stranger appreciate it. He had to remove the agony from the images, had to get him to see that it wasn’t monstrous, that it wasn’t as much pain as he assumed that it was. It had been agony, but it had been worth it. It had to be worth it.

He couldn’t stand the idea of it not being worth it.

---

“Ast… fr it...” Iris whimpered.

“No, no one would ask for that, no one could want to ask for that,” Sebastian could feel the tension in Iris’ shoulders, could feel him trying to bury himself further into Sebastian’s chest, trying to hide more. There was no where to go though, not when he was still cradled in Sebastian’s arms, in which Sebastian wouldn’t find him. Then he realized why Iris was trying to hide and he held on tighter, feeling the rage shift but still rise as he tightened his grip on Iris. “You did. That’s you, before. Why would you ask for that? Why did you let him do that to you?”

---

He could feel an anger burning inside of him, starting to lash out. The man was treating him like a child, just like so many others had. He knew that he was delicate, he knew that there were many things that he couldn’t do one his own, but Stefano had fixed that. Stefano had made him better. He wouldn’t have taken it back, the procedure, not for anything. Even though it had been agony, it had given him the ability to see and that was the one thing that people had treated him like he was a defenseless mewling babe for.

He was tired of people holding his hand, of people deciding things for him. He was tired of being treated as lesser. He could do just as much as anyone else.

And he hadn’t just let Stefano do that to him, he had done more than asked for it. He had begged him for it. He had demanded it. There was no where in this in which he was a victim. He was stronger than this man could even imagine.

---

Iris was changing, those long tendrils peeling off of him once more, splitting off of him, not just his arms, but his back and legs as well. For a long while he didn’t say anything, he just clung to Sebastian and fell apart, the tendrils getting thicker and more menacing. Sebastian didn’t know what they were, nor what they represented, but they couldn’t have been good.

He forced himself to calm down, to speak slowly, speak kindly. “I’m not blaming you, not for anything. I’m just trying to understand. Could you help me understand?” He ran his hand down Iris’ arm, smoothing some of the wet tendrils back against his arm, where it wriggled before lying flat against his skin.

---

He couldn’t, he couldn’t let it out. The man just didn’t know, didn’t understand. He was treating him like this because he was hurting, not because he was weak. He didn’t know what Iris had gone through to get to this point. He didn’t know that Stefano had saved him.

He just had to come up with the words. There were so many of them. His throat wasn’t good at making sound, his mouth wasn’t good at forming words. He’d screamed himself too raw, had damaged himself too much.

Perhaps he was fragile after all.

---

“Hard… hard to... say...” Iris admitted. “No… eyes. Blind… fr so… long… he said… he-he cud… hlp me… gf me… eyes…”

Sebastian shushed him with soft lips against his filthy scalp. It didn’t explain why he was dressed like Stefano, why he looked and held himself so much like him, but it explained some things.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sebastian wanted to tell him that it was okay to be blind, that no one thought him any less for it, that there was no reason for him to change himself for sight, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know Iris’ reasons. He could tell that seeing was something very important for Iris, even if he couldn’t understand it, and because of that, he couldn’t say what was too far to go for it.

---

The man sounded like he was mourning something he didn’t even know about and Iris could feel himself sliding into it, into that grief. He wanted to express himself, wanted to make art like Stefano did, but all he held inside of him was anger and sorrow. The sorrow was winning though, at the moment. He had to be careful. If he let it take over too much, he wouldn’t be able to hold onto himself.

He could hear something. He could feel his body changing, but the sound in the distance triggered him to respond, for his body to start to shift and change. There was no pain in this change, in his body shifted and forming what he needed. And he needed to see.

And then he saw her.

---

Iris was stiff though, still, and there was a large bulge growing from his shoulder. Most of the tendrils had settled back down but not here. It was like a large bubble of black tar, tendrils growing around it and then the bubble popped, slipping open in a slow and gooey way to reveal a bright blue eye, flashing as it looked around the hall.

“Shit,” Sebastian hissed.

“Go...” Iris was rasping, clutching at Sebastian’s shirt as he pulled himself up against his chest, to make sure that Sebastian could hear him. “Jst. Just… run...”

Sebastian didn’t know why Iris was commanding him so until he was half way to his feet once more, finding it hard to pull himself up while carrying someone so heavy. He grunted and groaned, feeling his back protest, the muscles as well as the deep gash. Then he heard he laughing.

“Shit!” Sebastian repeated, louder this time, and he started to move, ignoring Iris’ complaints. They were rushed and breathy and he could hardly hear them anyway and he didn’t care what they were, the first one was right. They had to move, they had to go. He had to run.

---

Guardian. That was what Stefano had named her. Iris had been there when the first of them was made, and she was such a sight to behold. She didn’t have any of his set backs, had no reason to hesitate or wait. This was not her though. This was one of the copies, just a secondary print of the first one. She had learned, had come to understand her place in the world, and had begun to make copies. Stefano had been so pleased by her power, her joy, he excitement. And they were needed. They had to protect him.

That meant Stefano was nearby.

She had no qualms about chasing them, she had ne fears and no weaknesses, she didn’t have the vulnerabilities that Iris had. She terrified him.

---

The woman was after them and he didn’t know how she’d found them but this must have been a place where she had free range to roam, because she had come from behind them and now she was chasing them, happy as could be. She was going to catch them too, what with Sebastian’s injuries and Iris’ weight.

Iris pointed though and Sebastian would have missed the turn if he hadn’t. The forking hallway was more narrow than the main one and it twisted and turned. They were still moving too slowly, and it wasn’t so narrow that she couldn’t follow them, but they were doing better.

---

He was losing himself. He could feel it, the fear growing louder and more distant at the same time. It was like all of his emotions were taking over and he, feeling them, was getting swept aside. He tried to cling on, tried to stay there, to not get swallowed up by the darkness of his own emotions, but they were so strong. He could feel his body start to betray him.

---

Iris grabbed onto Sebastian suddenly, onto his neck, distracting him from their running, and wrenched his head down so that he’d have better access to his ear, so that Sebastian could hear him.

“Leaf… leaf me… Sl… slu you… dn...”

Sebastian grit his teeth and pivoted his weight. He couldn’t keep running like this. He could feel his lungs burning, too many years of smoking making them sticky and tough. He could feel his legs aching. Iris was heavy. He was slowing Sebastian down. He wouldn’t let that stop him though.

---

He wasn’t listening. Why wasn’t he listening? He was slowing the man down. He was going to get them caught. If he was left behind he could change, all the way, he could fight back. He could bide the man time.

Why wasn’t he being left behind?

---

There was a door down the way, double doors. He situated himself to take them on with his shoulder. There were no handles at least, so he was sure that the doors would swing both ways. He shoved his way through and they were somewhere else.

They were in a dark room, and Iris was falling apart in his arms. He was a mass of tendrils and tar, barely holding onto himself. “Cnt… cant… cnt rl it… pleesse… leaf me…”

“Just a little further,” Sebastian lied, not knowing how far they had to go. “Just, please, stay with me!”

---

He knew where they were. He’d been here so many times. He’d been here for so many hours. There was no way to his room without going through here. It hurt, it made his skin crawl. He could remember the pain. He could remember the screams in his own ears.

He remembered the pain, so much pain, and then he had been left. He had cried out, had fought against the bindings, but no one had responded. He had been alone for hours. He’d been left behind. It had hurt so much.

He could feel himself dripping away.

---

It wasn’t quite a darkroom for, while there were the red lights and the tubs of chemicals, clotheslines of photographs and negatives drying, there were also a few tables of clay and sculpting tools. One table, under a large dental light, was hardly more than a gurney with leather cuffs. There was dried blood on it that had pooled onto the floor underneath. Sebastian put a hand around Iris’ head, making sure that he didn’t turn, didn’t see it. He was sure that he knew exactly what that table was.

He could hear that cackling behind him. He could hardly feel Iris in his arms, it was more like holding a skeleton of metal with a dripping oozing octopus, trying to maintain human form around it, dribbling away. “Just a bit more,” he repeated. He didn’t know what was happening, what he was supposed to be doing, and he had no idea if the women behind him were more of a threat than what he carried.

---

He was a monster. He was going to hurt this man. This man was trying to protect him, was doing what he could to keep him safe. He didn’t want to, but he was afraid that he already trusted him. He didn’t want to do that. He held on to him as best he could. He could feel himself seeping through his own fingers.

He had to bottle the emotions. The man’s hand was on his hand, trying to keep him from seeing. He knew where they were though, he knew what he was being shielded from. Still, he was sure that it helped. He didn’t want to see it.

He focused on the heat of the man’s body, on his heartbeat, on the speed of his breaths. He tried not to feel. He had to keep from feeling.

---

He shoved through another set of doors, almost blinded by the bright light on the other side. He kept moving though, kept trying to find his way. He couldn’t stop now. He had to get them out of there. This corridor was the most narrow so far and there was debris in the center of it, making it hard to get through. At the end of it was a door, made of cast iron bars. He was going to have to get past all of those obstacles, had to climb over or shove them out of the way and he didn’t have time for that, didn’t have the mobility.

---

So close. They were so close. If only they could rest for a moment, he was sure that he could get a hold of himself. He didn’t want to lose himself. He didn’t want to hurt this man.

---

“Th… thrd… dur...” Iris’ voice was even quieter than before, his face so wet that it was almost impossible to find his mouth. It was only then though that Sebastian realized that there were doors and there were many of them. They were white against white in all of that brightness.

“Left or right?” Sebastian asked, finding his own voice weak from how winded he was.

---

Too hard, talking was too hard. Everything was too hard. He was hardly human now, at all. He could feel it, the numbness, taking him over. He had to fight it, had to fight what lead to it. If they could just get there he could calm down, he could ground himself. Everything would be alright.

He couldn’t tell him though, he couldn’t say a word.

---

A tendril wrapped its way around Sebastian’s right hand, leading him. There was a crash as the women destroyed part of the wall with her large saw, showering them with plaster. She laughed, enjoying herself, right behind them. Sebastian had no ammunition. He had nothing. He ran.

The third door on the right was the only one that wasn’t completely white, it had a smear of red on it, blood, a hand print dragged to the right before dribbling down. It was a pike. He couldn’t believe it.

He kicked the door open and hauled Iris inside, kicking it closed again behind him before leaning against it. There was a scream of frustration and then she was was throwing herself against it and he could hear her saw scrape and cut through the wall around the door, but she wasn’t getting in. She couldn’t get in. This was a real safe room, all of the way within Stefano’s own realm, and there were no threats here.

No threats except for the one that was wriggling out of his arms. He tried to hold on but Iris threw himself out of Sebastian’s arms, trying to hold onto a form that was dark gray, that was tar and blood and eyes, so many pulsating and lolling blue eyes, that was thick tentacles and over-sized hands with horrible veins. It all looked as if it were spilling, sliding off of his bones, and, before Sebastian could react, he was dragging himself away, curling in on himself under a table.

---

His room. His safe space. The only place that he had to himself. It was here that he had retreated after hurting himself, after ruining the face that Stefano had been so kind to give him. It was here that no one else could enter. It was here that he could sleep, think, be himself, and not have to worry about the world. It was his refuge and now he had let a stranger inside of it.

He dragged himself away, tried to get away so that the man wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t respond to him or demand anything from him. He couldn’t be looked at in this state. He couldn’t do anything in this state. He had to hide. He had to burrow. It was so hard to old on.

He couldn’t hear Guardian outside anymore. That helped. The man wasn’t speaking either. There was the sound of music, a song that he knew but couldn’t focus on enough to remember, playing somewhere and that wasn’t normal, that wasn’t something that normally existed in this place, but it was fine. It was soothing. Soothing was good.

He went under the table. If he’d allowed himself to fall apart, if he had become the monster, he wouldn’t have fit. As he was, he felt even smaller than he usually was, and he was able to squeeze beneath it.

He lay there, curled in on himself, and waited.

---

Sebastian just fell, allowed himself to fall, into a sitting position, and rest. He didn’t know what Iris was doing, what he even was, if there was anything that he could do. He didn’t know if there was a point to it.

He wasn’t sure if he was safe, but he was safer, and he took a moment to look around the room. There was a bench with deep red cushions and a few mismatched pillows on it, a desk with a computer, although the screen was shattered and the machinery pulled out of it like intestines, a small table with a coffee maker and a mug on it, and a workbench. There was another door in there, in which he could hear music playing from the other side. The main difference between this safe room and the rest was that the walls, all the way up to the ceiling, had deep black claw marks in them, and there was sticky black ooze splattered upon them, as if something had burst, over and over again. That and the table that Iris was currently hidden under, which had a few rolls of film on it, a pencil, some dead flowers, a rotten human hand, and a series of oddities, all of which looked like they were parts of other things before they’d been broken apart and brought here.

“Iris?” Sebastian asked, lying down to look under the table. “Are you okay down there?”

Iris shrunk away, all of those eyes blinking at him. He didn’t answer.

---

No. No, he wasn’t okay. No, he didn’t want this man to look at him, to ask him anything. He didn’t want anything to do with him. He should have left Iris behind. He would have had a chance then, at finding his daughter, if there was any chance of that at all. They weren’t in the Theatre, but they were closer now. Iris knew the way.

He pulled away further. He didn’t want to be seen like this. Like this he was disgusting. Like this he wasn’t art. He was something terrible. He was a mistake.

He was always making mistakes, it made sense for him to become one.

---

Sebastian got to his feet, stumbled, and put a hand out on the wall. He would do better on the bench but, first things first, he needed a cup of coffee. It was hot, steaming, and the mug was clean, pristine, as if it had never been used. He was certain that it hadn’t. Looking at the walls around the workbench and coffee maker, there was as much ooze and damage as everywhere else. These had arrived here later, these had arrived because he needed them. He was sure that the other safe rooms didn’t even have mirrors until he’d arrived.

He took a long drag before sighing in satisfaction, feeling the wound in his back heal over.

“I never introduced myself, did I? I don’t think I did,” Sebastian started, unsure if Iris could hear him, if he could understand him. There was something terribly wrong with him, more than before. “My name is Sebastian; Sebastian Castellanos. I’m… I was, a detective with the Krimson City Police Department. It’s my job to help people. I want to help you. Would you allow me to do that?”

---

Help? Iris didn’t deserve that. He didn’t need it either. He’d had enough help. The only person who could help him was Stefano and he’d ruined that. This man couldn’t help him, wouldn’t even know where to start. Iris didn’t want it, anyway. He needed it. He needed it so badly. He needed someone to make him whole again, to fix him. He didn’t need anyone else. He had to fight that weakness inside of him.

But this man, this Sebastian, he was supposed to help. It was what he did. Iris didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if he could even speak. He didn’t want to try. He was too tired. He didn’t understand.

He didn’t know why Sebastian was introducing himself. It wasn’t like they would be traveling together after this. Sebastian had seen what he was, what he could become. He would be afraid of Iris now. He would probably try to kill him. That was fine, Iris could destroy him easily. But it was strange that he’d introduce himself, that he would speak so kindly. Iris wanted that kindness. He wanted to feel it, not only in his head but in his skin. He wanted to feel it on him.

---

Iris didn’t respond. Iris didn’t do much of anything. He just stayed, hidden away, under the table.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” Sebastian said, kneeling beside the table. There was a monster underneath, but that monster was shaking and cowering and he didn’t feel like they were any closer to Lily. “Can you tell me?”

---

He didn’t know how to explain it. He didn’t know what to ask. He couldn’t have anything wrong with him, other than what he’d ruined on his own. Stefano had made him perfect. That wasn’t something that Sebastian could help him with.

He needed to feel. He needed to touch.

He hated it but he needed Sebastian.

---

Iris still didn’t speak, did nothing really, beside extend a hand out from under the table, palm out. The hand was almost the right size, almost human in shape, but it was still mottled and wet, gray and blue and pink. It didn’t look like the hand of a man. It looked like the hand of a monster. Sebastian was slow to reach out, to lay his hand among it, but then the fingers curled and Iris was grabbing hold of him, not to drag him under, not to hurt him, though for a solid moment Sebastian thought he was, but to cling to him. Sebastian had been a life raft, many times, and he knew immediately that that’s what Iris was using him as in this moment. He was holding on, trying not to drown. Trying not to lose himself.

---

Warm. Sebastian was so warm. Even when he was only touching Sebastian’s hand, he could feel that warmth. There was a ring on one of his fingers, a simple gold band, and Iris shivered. He felt like this man shouldn’t be touched, shouldn’t be dirtied. There was someone out there, someone who loved him and that he loved and Iris had no business sullying him. It was an odd thought, unfounded, because Iris didn’t feel anything sexual or romantic towards Sebastian, but it was there. He felt like he wasn’t supposed to be holding his hand, like that much touch alone was trespassing.

Sebastian had offered it willingly though and all he had done was asked for it. He decided not to question it, not to fight it. He was so tired of fighting.

---

Sebastian twisted and sat, getting more comfortable. Iris wasn’t giving anything for him to go by, so he had to assume that talking was alright. So he talked. He asked Iris questions, questions about Union, questions about himself, but never questions about what happened or about Stefano. He didn’t expect an answer, not at any point, and Iris did not give any. He kept his voice low and calm, trying to be supportive, patient. He could feel his patience wearing thin though.

Iris’ hand was going back to normal though, and it was almost completely red and leathery, the gloves taking their place as if they had just seeped under the rest, when there was a knock on the door. It was different from the knocking earlier, the violent women trying to break their way inside. This was just a gentle knock, three reps on the door. Still, it was enough for Iris to pull his hand back under the table, and Sebastian wondered how much of their progress had been lost in those three sounds.

---

Stefano! He had to go, he had to open the door. He had to let Stefano in. He’d never let Stefano in before but then, Stefano had never knocked on the door before. He was all better, aside from his face. He wasn’t too much of a disappointment if he was whole.

He started to pull himself out from under the table. Stefano would be proud of him, having Sebastian here. He doubted he had made enough of an impression, that he hadn’t taught Sebastian how to appreciate the art, but Stefano could take over from here.

He had to let him know that he was alive, he had to let him know that he had Sebastian. He was being good. He had done so well. Perhaps he wouldn’t be punished for this. He had to hope.

---

Iris was pulling himself out from under the table though and he looked as normal as he could, dusting himself off before heading towards the door. He did so in a daze, a practiced motion. He was going to let whatever was out there in.

Sebastian grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him back.

“Don’t.” he ordered.

Iris wouldn’t look at him. Sebastian had no idea how Iris could see, if Iris could see, with all of that ooze in place of his eyes. “Stf…. no...”

Sebastian brought them closer to one another, sweeping some of Iris’ hair behind his ear. He shook and let the hair fall back in place. “Could be, but we don’t want him finding us, do we? He’s the one who took my daughter, who hurt you, who made us fight. I don’t want him hurting you again. And I need to find Lily.”

---

Iris didn’t understand. There were two different things in his mind, battling, and there was no way that he could keep them straight, that he could do something in between. They wouldn’t mesh. He had to help Stefano, he had to make him proud. But he had to help Sebastian, he had to keep him safe. He didn’t know what to do.

Iris nodded. “Bu… But he’s… he’...s… M his...” He couldn’t explain it. He hated his mouth, but he knew that his brain couldn’t explain it either. He wanted to help Sebastian. He liked Lily, he wanted them to be together again.

Stefano would punish him though. Stefano would hurt him so terribly. He was so frightened by that, even though he knew that he would have deserved it.

---

“You’re not his anything,” Sebastian argued, before Iris could even get the rest of the sentence out. “You’re your own person. You owe him nothing. In fact, I’d say he owes you.”

Iris reached out and took the strap of Sebastian’s holster, using it to tug Sebastian into a more intimate position. He lay his goopy head against Sebastian’s chest and just breathed for a moment, tried to collect himself. He didn’t seem to be doing a very good job.

“What was that, before?” Sebastian asked, “When you were under the table?”

---

Another thing that he couldn’t understand. He didn’t know where the monster had come from, why it took him over. It seemed to come out when he felt too much, when the emotions got to be too strong. He didn’t know if it was something of Stefano’s design or his own. He had always felt like a monster though, too clumsy, hands bashing into everything that he stumbled into. He didn’t know what to do. He never knew what to do.

---

“Too much… too much...” Iris tried to explain, tripping over the words. “Cud fil… too much. M mons ter.”

“You’re not a monster,” Sebastian lied, because he had seen monsters, he had fought monsters, and Iris matched the physical description of one, but he was still sentient and he was still trying to do good, and that didn’t match his definition at all. “What was to much?”

“Sad… an ry… scurd. Too much... moshun… cudn.. hld… on...”

---

He felt vulnerable. He was vulnerable. He didn’t want to give that to Sebastian. Sebastian was supposed to be his enemy. He was sure that doing this, explaining, it would hurt him at some point.

He didn’t want to disappoint Sebastian. He didn’t know why. He just didn’t want to push him away. He didn’t want to frighten him. He wanted Sebastian to stay with him.

He wanted Sebastian to be safe.

---

So that’s all that was. Sebastian couldn’t pretend that he understood, he didn’t know anyone else, hadn’t seen anyone else, change due to their emotions. Seemed that waiting it out and just talking had been the right thing to do.

“Do you think he’s gone?” Sebastian asked.

Iris looked to the door, peering at it. Slowly though, he nodded.

“We should go.”

“The tre?” Iris confirmed.

“Right.”

Sebastian went to the door, taking Iris with him. His suit and skin and scarf all seemed to be whole now, no sign that Sebastian had ever shot him. He was still clinging to Sebastian’s holster though and his footing wasn’t quite right and Sebastian knew that he had been blind but he wondered, then if Iris could see much at all. He didn’t seem to have much coordination.

---

It was too bright. It hurt his eyes. It was like everything was too dark, that everything had gone black, but it hurt and it made him wish he were blind once more. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know how to explain it. Stefano had said that he saw everything in negatives, like a photograph that wasn’t quite ready. He could fix it, but it took so much work. The brightness was painful anyway, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to see in it.

---

He opened it and peered out, one way and then the next. There was no one in the hall. Sebastian exhaled and led the way. The hall hadn’t changed but, as they walked it grew brighter with every door they passed, and Iris scooted behind Sebastian to hide his face against his back, as if the brightness hurt him. Sebastian wouldn’t be surprised if it did. Everything that Stefano had done to him was so fucked up, he was almost surprised that just plain kindness didn’t backfire.

---

Sebastian could see. Sebastian could lead him. He was getting through all of the obstacles, moving wheelchairs and gurneys out of their way. It was hard to move, difficult to get through, but they were doing it.

The brightness felt warm on Iris’ back. He stayed close to Sebastian. He could hear something though, a hum of disappointment. And it was too late for him to say anything when he realized that it wasn’t Sebastian humming.

---

It was getting so bright that Sebastian was having a hard time seeing when a door opened up behind them.

“Ah, so you are alive, how fascinating,” came the deep voice of the artist.

---

Stefano. Oh, he didn’t know what to do. Of course it was Stefano. The battle was alive inside of him. He wanted to go to him, he wanted to prove his worth. Sebastian though. He couldn’t raise a hand against him.

---

Sebastian spun, keeping Iris behind him, drawing one of his guns. He really should have made use of that workbench. Iris and Lily had been too much of a distraction though. He just had to hope that Stefano wouldn’t call his bluff.

---

Sebastian was protecting him. He was protecting him from Stefano. He knew what Iris was, he knew what their relationship was. Still, he was protecting Iris. He didn’t have to do that.

---

Stefano was standing there, with a small smile, fiddling with his camera. The lens had been replaced and the horrible dark veins in his skin had been smoothed over. He looked as healthy as he had before the fight. “And you’re together. Tell me, is this your way of learning to appreciate my work? Are you starting to understand my vision? Or are you attempting to corrupt it?”

Sebastian took a step back, almost tripping over Iris. He had one arm extended, trying to keep him shielded. “You’re not going to hurt him again,” Sebastian snarled. “I won’t let you.”

---

Hurt him? Sebastian didn’t have a way of keeping Stefano from hurting him. Stefano was like a god, in this place and in Iris’ mind. A cruel god, certainly, but a god all the same. There was nothing that Sebastian could do. The fact that he was trying though, that was so terribly endearing. He didn’t want to see Sebastian killed for it, he realized, and that was something that he could do something about.

---

“You won’t let me?” Stefano laughed, “But you see, this is just a rough draft, he is nowhere near complete! I lost so much progress with the face, but that is no matter. It can be fixed, made better. You have not answered my question though, do you understand?”

“There’s nothing to understand! You’re insane!”

Stefano just rolled his eye and then he stepped forward into a flash of blue. He reappeared in front of Sebastian, his knife out and at his throat. “This is quite boring, don’t you think? You acting all tough, me cutting you down in a single stroke. Tell me, what’s interesting in this? You aren’t even using your gun.”

---

He wasn’t. Iris didn’t know why he wasn’t. He had used it well enough when they were fighting one another. He didn’t know why he wasn’t using it now. He wondered if it was for his own sake, or if Sebastian was out of ammunition. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

---

Sebastian felt a harsh tug and then he was falling back, Iris taking his place as he dragged him down the hall. “All th… way.. then ri-ri-rite… git to… the par men an… don….”

“What are you doing?” Sebastian turned, trying to get back into the fight, but Iris had his arms out, wouldn’t let Sebastian through, tentacles peeling off of his body to make more of a wall. He was buying Sebastian time.

---

It was hard to use both, both his human form and the monster one, but Sebastian needed to go. He had to get out of there. There was nothing that Iris could do against Stefano, but he could at least bide him some time. Time and his own body.

Stefano looked him over and he didn’t seem impressed, not in the least. He was disappointing him. He knew that he would be. He was standing against him. Stefano would tear him apart for this.

He didn’t care. Sebastian was too important.

---

He could hear Stefano sigh and then there was a flash of blue and he was in front of Sebastian again. “You dare to corrupt my vision? You dare to twist my work against me? You, who have no inspiration, you have no skill, you have no imagination? How dare you make such a parody?” the anger was obvious in Stefano’s face and his knife was quick and sharp. He brought it down into Sebastian’s shoulder.

Or he would have, if a thick black tendril hadn’t wrapped around his wrist, if Iris hadn’t been tugging on him, trying to pull him away from Sebastian.

---

No. No, he wasn’t going to hurt Sebastian. He didn’t want Stefano to hurt Sebastian. It was strange, how long he’d gone since allowing himself to want something for himself and right now, what he wanted, was Sebastian safe and secure, far away from there.

He couldn’t sweat. He was made of flesh and clay and metal. There was no way to show that he was exerting himself. He felt like he was at his limit though. He could feel himself losing to his body, to his instincts.

Stefano was going to make him into something new.

---

“Go!” Iris cried out, the sound of it raspy and cracked and broken, and not much of a scream at all.

This time, Sebastian did as he was told. He ran. He knew the way. He wanted to save Iris, but he couldn’t, not like this, not now.

---

Stefano turned to him and yanked, forcing Iris to lose his balance. He fell forward, onto his knees, panting in a mockery of breathing, as he sucked all of the tendrils back into himself, as he tried to be human once more. He didn’t think he’d been human in a long time.

Stefano was furious, stalking up to him, standing over him. “What a disappointment you have become!” he growled.

Iris bowed his head. He understood. He had been expecting this.

“Never mind all that, it looks like we’re going to have to start again, won’t we?” Stefano snarled and he was on his knees as well, right in front of Iris. “First, I’ll have to remove these, it seems you haven’t learned to appreciate what I’ve given you yet.”

Only then did Iris fight him but that was weak and halfhearted. He raised his hands to protect himself, but there was no monster, there was nothing. He just felt Stefano press the knife to his eyelids, to slide it between the tissues and the ooze, and pop the eyes from their sockets.

He screamed, of course he did, as the pain took over, snaking through him like lightning bolts, but Sebastian was gone, he was safe, he was away. There was no one coming for him now.

@angelicsociopath @detectivesebcas @lokis-queen-hepta-the-destroyer @sebcastellanyes @ill-write-when-im-dead

#the evil within 2 #iris #Sebastian Castellanos #Stefano Valentini #my writing #fanfiction

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jamieroxxartist · 2 years ago

Video

youtube

One of my hobbies is our backyard. Not just the gardens, it's a big part of it, but overall. I have done various outdoor paintings and we have some sculptures. We just got a new one, a 7 foot neo-primitive sculpture called 'Happy Man' which is made of welded rebar on a big stone base. A Friend of Dani's parents who had walked on had originally made him, and we love it. He is overseeing our Cherokee Marble course.

Now we have a lot of Cherokee inspired art and design in our backyard. Nothing I am interested in selling or anything like that, I have made this for our enjoyment and it is personal to me and Dani. However I do dig so many other Tribes style of artwork as well. And I am a big fan of not only Animal & Native American Mythological Art but also Tribal Human inspired Art.

The other side of the Marble course was just asking me for something there. I have been a really big fan of the Canadian, First-Nations, Inuit, Inuksuk statues for a long time. They are SO COOL! And I have this space and an idea. But where to get the rock material to get to work on my idea.

Oh Man I am still sore, in fact last night I could barly walk. I had pushed it too much during the day and I paid for it last night. So our going-out night, turned into a Jamie staying in night and reflecting in my head everyone who had been telling me to take it easy...

So a couple of weeks ago our neighbors had their driveway jackhammered and ripped up and had pavers installed. It looks real nice. They couldn't get a dumpster for the all the rock (Thanks hurricane Ian, all the dumpsters are working on clean up) and I decided that I could use all that material for various projects I had in mind (I've been wanting to redo our big firepit etc. ) So tarps went down and a big 25 foot by 4 foot high rock pile was then on our side yard.

For over 10 years my doctors, friends, family.. and My Wife .. have told me that I can't lift heavy things due to my past surgeries etc. But the rock pile needed to be moved to the area in our backyard that I had picked out. So every morning I would put on my brace etc and get my wheelbarrow and move a few loads of rock to the backyard. I felt like a Leaf Cutter Ant. But with only one Ant and whole lotta rocks lol. These rocks are not super big, not super-heavy individually but man repetition was a killer. Anyhow I got it done, and I am still feeling it. Not in the surgery areas (I had been wearing my brace, like I'm supposed to) but like everywhere else. Being old can suck. lol

Anyhow I am having to do a little, day by day, but my Inuksuk Inspired statue is up his thighs. It's a slow go but man am I excited about it. He's coming right along.

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lsmithart · 5 years ago

Text

Sculpture: Clay Forms & Imprints

I started drawing and experimenting with a foetal form shape that I took inspiration from the shape made in the imprint in my scale work. I then started drawing up some ideas for sculptures.

Due to lockdown, I had to rethink my ideas. I had managed to get some clay from ceramics just before College shut so started making some clay versions of these drawn foetal forms.

I experimented with a mini version of this sculpture using clay and a needle as a substitute for the rebar. The clay unfortunately slide down the needle due to the lack of grip so I took a photograph of what it would like if it stayed. I am really happy with how this sculpture came out in physical form and would like to try and make it properly when we are able to access the facilities.

In terms of measurements, I wanted the rebar to be 1.7 metres high so that it was the same height as me; a subtle reference to its autobiographical properties.

I scaled down the larger foetal forms I had been making an experimented with how small these could do. The larger forms were still handheld size, but making them even smaller meant I could consider incorporating them into my nests (details of which are in a separate post).

Experimental piece with two foetal forms and long needles titled ‘the lovers’. The intertwining of two being a comment on the separate entities that exist within two contradictory states; whilst also symbolising the pain of love.

‘Feel’ a sculpture that I had in mind for a while. Physicalising the hidden.

Imprints:

Inspired by my research into casting and in relation to my scale work, I started experimenting with imprinting objects into handmade clay slabs. These are personal objects and objects I have collected with symbolic relevance to the project.

This is an imprint into clay of my thumb. A trace of a trace.

Experiments with different clay slab shapes. I found that the thinner the clay, the more likely it was to break once the object had been imprinted. I also preferred a more square shape as I felt that it aesthetically appeared better.

“The separation is ‘synaptic’, a charged gap between the object and its cast, ‘a space of release’ and a space that is ‘heavily impregnated with memory’ through which interiority and exteriority form a two-way traffic and one which, due to the traces of lived experience captured in the casting, is as much redolent with somatic memories as with emotional associations.” – Neville Wakefield, ‘Separation Anxiety and the Art of Release’; cited in ‘Contemporary Art and Memory: Images of Recollection and Remembrance’.

Some drawn up ideas for sculptures that I would have made if we had access to the facilities at College:

#202

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zazamatic · 7 years ago

Photo

Foundations of Los Angeles Modernism: Richard Neutra's Mod Squad

The population of Los Angeles doubled during the 1920s fueled by a balmy climate, relentless boosterism and an economy based on the oil, movie and real estate development industries. Waves of immigrants descended upon Los Angeles from all over the country as well as overseas. Among the newcomers were also much of the artistic community seeking a clean slate and inspiration from a brand new city to break away from the hidebound styles in existence at the time such as the Beaux Arts and revivalist idioms in architecture and industrial design, to pictorialism in photography and representationalism in art.

The iconic photo above of Richard Neutra and his 12 disciples in his Academy of Modern Art class "A Practical Course in Modern Building Art" at his Lovell Health House construction site symbolized an avant-garde group of artists, architects and designers who were struggling to gain a foothold for their beliefs in the context of the rapidly metropolizing Los Angeles of the 1920s. Neutra pointing to the warp and weft of rebar and conduit in the floor slab of the Lovell Health House portrays the intertwined lives of the students in this class as they began to weave the very foundations of modernism in Los Angeles.

"Schindler and Neutra came to Los Angeles to work with Frank Lloyd Wright, and I was privileged to know them right away within the first year after they came here. It seems the architects, designers, painters, sculptors got together. The city was so much smaller. ... We met in a Frank Lloyd Wright house — that is, the Freeman House in Hollywood. It was tremendous to have this get-together with people who were creating. And that's how I got interested. - Annita Delano, to Neutra's right in the above photo and long-time UCLA Art Professor and a founding member of the UCLA Art Department in the 1920s.

One student came enthusiastically to me after a lecture and asked whether I wanted to live in her house. I turned down her offer, since I was only in L.A. for a few days. She looked at me very sadly and said: "But its a Frank Lloyd Wright [Freeman] house! Treat it as if it were your own." I accepted, moved later that night after a party into the F.L.W. house, where I [was given] the most beautiful room, with glass walls and doors that led to grass lawns, and a scintillating view of Hollywood, the oil wells sparkling like Jacob's ladders. It. was a dream filled with the perfume of flowers, light, and nightlife." - Galka Scheyer and Archipenko stayed in Los Angeles for 10 days before continuing on to San Francisco where Scheyer began her West Coast quest to market a group of expressionist artists she coined "The Blue Four," which included Lyonel Feininger, Wassily Kandinsky, Paul Klee and Alexej Jawlensky.

https://socalarchhistory.blogspot.com/2010/08/foundations-of-los-angeles-modernism.html

#los angeles #modernism #neutra #annita delano #galka scheyer

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maniibear · 8 years ago

Text

Code Name: Commander Title: Feel | On AO3 Universe: MCU, Ambiguous Rating: G Summary: “Mr. Stark is on the tenth floor,” JARVIS says. The terse reply makes Steve more anxious, because he’s never had to drag good news out of Tony’s AI.

Notes: For @capim-tinybang, inspired by art from @shaliara. And for STONY Bingo square ‘Major Injuries’.

Nobody expects the explosion when they hear it.

Steve bolts out of the hovering Quinjet, barely noticing the 15 foot drop, and his heart nearly stops when he sees the smoking crater blown in one of the higher floors of the building before him. It’s an office space still under construction and in any case, civilians have been cleared out of it hours ago, however...

“Iron Man, report!” Steve barks into the comms, running for the entrance without a thought for its stability. When there’s not answer, he tries again, “Tony! Where are you?”

For a hopeful moment, his comm crackles to life. Instead of Tony quick and assuring voice, it’s JARVIS who answers. “Two agents of SHIELD are located on the eighth floor and two more on the ninth floor, Captain. I have already asked for emergency evacuation.”

“Acknowledged,” Sam says grimly over the comms. Steve spots the reassuring glint of Falcon’s wings under the sunset as he enters the building from air and continues to sprint up the stairs, heart pounding.

“Tony?” he asks breathlessly.

“Mr. Stark is on the tenth floor,” JARVIS says. The terse reply makes Steve more anxious, because he’s never had to drag good news out of Tony’s AI.

“Relay status,” he commands. “The armor, injuries, anything I need to know.”

“Multiple major safety hazards on this floor,” JARVIS says. “Injuries are extensive and significant. Please hurry, Captain.”

Twelve hours ago, they’d been in bed. Twelve hours ago, Tony’s head was in his lap, and Steve was admiring how the dappled light streamed in through the window and stained his lover’s skin in bright little patches. Tony was expounding on the merits of breakfast in bed, mainly how he found it benefitted his health to just lie back on his supersoldier boyfriend while Steve fed him fruit and brioche toast.

“Sounds a bit like I’m doing all the work,” Steve had said.

Tony tutted casually. “Not for no reward, my sweet,” he said and flung his arm out to scratch lightly at Steve’s cheek. To the naked eye, he was the picture of indolence, but they’d been together long enough for Steve to know this was as overt as Tony was going to get to asking for affection.

Steve had just been about to kiss his hand when JARVIS interrupted, “Sir, there’s a matter of concern on the news.”

Their phones and identicards had gone off at the same time, which meant serious trouble, so while Steve reached for his tablet, Tony was already watching the video feed.

The national news had been hacked and some Mandarin copycat wannabe was informing everyone from coast to coast that he’d rigged several New York city high rises to blow for every hour his demands weren’t met--his demands being the delivery of Tony Stark and the Iron Man.

Oh, like hell.

To say the following hours were tense was an understatement. Since the message was broadcast, Steve had everything thrown at him, from sharp words to actual garbage because some people saw his refusal to negotiate with a terrorist as reckless favoritism. They were wrong, however; Steve certainly acknowledged his bias for Tony, but giving up a teammate or any caliber of Starktech to a madman was certainly out of the question.

Not to mention, the nation was better off with Tony overseeing operations than playing a bargaining chip. Indeed, while the rest of the team handled groundwork and evac, Tony and a handpicked contingent of SHIELD agents had located and disabled all of the explosives over the longest twelve hours anyone cared to remember.

After Iron Man and his little helpers finished their final sweep of the office building in Midtown, Steve had decided, he was going to haul his boyfriend home and right back into bed.

“Recheck for more active IEDs!” Steve shouts over the comms. He can hear SHIELD copters and the whine of the Quinjet as Natasha pilots it back around, but what’s the point of backup when the worst already happened?

The higher he climbs, the more hazardous things get. Steve holds his shield up over his head and the sound of pelting concrete and metal becomes a grim soundtrack. He is greeted by piles of rubble and the smell of hot steel when he enters the tenth floor. Wretchedly, he notices how the explosion’s torn the builders’ progress apart-- unfixed concrete lies in huge chunks, spiked through with twisted rebar. The steel rods jut out like teeth behind a thick curtain of gray dust.

Steve homes in on a smear of red behind the gritty haze. The distinct shape of Tony’s armor is hard to miss, yet disquiet paws at tentative relief, then stifles it completely upon getting up close.

Steve skids to a halt in front of Iron Man, mouth dry. Tony doesn’t have his helmet on and there are large gaps in the suit, like each piece has been arrested mid-undress. Between these gaps, Tony’s undersuit is dark, but there’s enough light to catch on the blood pouring out of his shoulder and pinpoint exactly where he ended up impaled on the steel bar.

Steve can’t help it, he’s a tactician. His eyes observe, his brain catalogs it all with indelible precision; Iron Man is impaled in three places: right shoulder, right gauntlet (there’s no evidence the flesh is wounded), and the left side of his abdomen. Steve doesn’t even have the time to think about all that can go wrong before the medics arrive. He just drops the shield and tries to say Tony’s name.

Steve thinks it might not have been loud enough after forcing its way through the lump in his throat, but Tony stirs. His expression is pinched in pain and his eyes are wet with tear tracks clearing a path down his right cheek, but he recognizes Steve.

“The agents…?”

“They’ll be fine,” Steve replies crisply. “Sam has them.”

Tony seems to relax at that, very minutely. Agonizingly enough, Steve notes how careful he is not to lean on the very rods lancing through his flesh. He works quickly and carefully to clear bits of rubble from the cracks in the suit.

“Should have known something was up,” Tony says. “He’s too smart...to just keep a fuckin’ list of bombs on his hard drive.”

“We’re dealing with that,” Steve replies. “You just worry about this. You stay with me, Stark.”

His hands shake when he approaches the ARC reactor. The clear, cyan glow ignites a surge of protective anger in his chest, the likes of which Steve has felt only a handful of times in his life. He can deal with general villainy all day, but for someone to have the audacity to reach for his family--

Steve savagely bends rebar out of the way, pretends they’re bones.

Tony sighs, flecks of blood on his breath. “I must be a sight, huh?” he slurs. “Very...St. Sebastian.”

Steve must look exactly as pained as he feels because Tony immediately winces. “S’ry, that was offensive.”

Steve hardly cares. “I’ll be more offended if you don’t save your strength,” he says. “Please, Tony, I need you to stay with me. Help’s on the way.”

An ETA is relayed to his comm. It’s quick, but not quick enough for Steve’s taste. It would never be quick enough, and Steve wishes it were him in Tony’s place. He’s survived worse, but Tony is much too human under the armor.

Steve examines the red and gold sheath, identifying what might be dead weight. He asks JARVIS if some extra paneling is safe to take off, so Tony might feel a little lighter...

“Don’t worry ‘bout that,” Tony rasps. Instead, he lifts the arm that’s not impaled at the shoulder. “This.”

Steve undoes the manual catch immediately and the glove barely falls away before Tony beckons him close enough to touch his face. Steve holds the bloody, unseasonably warm palm to his cheek. He barely has to turn his head to press little kisses on Tony’s wrist. It’s supposed to be reassuring, a solid reminder of his presence by his lover, but somehow, it feels a lot like he’s trying to comfort himself.

“You’re warm,” Tony comments. When Steve just replies with a sniffle, he says, “This is--mnh--actually unlikely to kill me. Y’know.”

Steve doesn’t dignify that with a response. He meets Tony’s eyes, kisses his palm one more time and informs him, “ETA 1 minute. We’ll get you out of here, then I’m going after this bastard myself.”

Tony grins, or rather, he does a grotesque impression of one. “Love it when you go full Cap, babe, but real quick…”

“What is it? What can I do, Tony?”

Tony jaw clenches briefly under another wave of pain. “Don’ mean t’be cheesy,” he says, each word strained. “But, mmm, kiss me?”

Steve obeys without a thought. He gingerly steps over the concrete and carefully leans over until their lips touch. Unsurprisingly, Tony is not as eager as usual, but he doesn’t stand for a chaste peck either. He makes small, needy noises until Steve brings both hands up to cup Tony’s jaw and dips his tongue into his mouth.

Tony tastes bloody, yet he gives no indication to stop. Steve only pulls away when something starts beeping and JARVIS says, “Sir, I must insist--”

“Ok ok!” Tony groans, features openly wrecked with agony. “You win, push anesthetic. Fuck...”

Steve steps back and watches in disbelief as a small needle emerges from Tony’s open gauntlet and docks in his vein. Seconds later, Tony’s eyes flutter open again. This time, they’re just a little cloudy, a little absent.

“You had that all this time and didn’t use it?” he asks sharply.

Tony shakes his head. “Don’ be mad.”

“I’m not mad!” Steve counters, fully aware that he isn’t helping his case. “I’m just--you could have used the morphine five minutes ago!”

Tony blinks at that, comically slow, like Steve’s behavior is irrational. “Then, I wouldn’t have...” he tries to raise his arm again and fails. “...wouldn’t’ve felt you.”

Steve feels the wind go right out of him. The sounds of the medical team arriving just then feels distant; he can hear them pick their way through the rubble while stands there, stunned and strangely humbled. They swarm around Tony’s slumped body, and unlike Steve, they’re efficient and knowledgeable and somehow, they’re pretty sure that everything’s going to be ok. Inevitably, someone yells at him to get out of the way.

“Come on, Cap,” Natasha tugs on his arm and Steve allows himself to be led out of the wreckage. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he goes to wipe blood off his face, but there’s no red.

#stony #superhusbands #Steve Rogers #tony stark #capimtrb2017 #my writing #bymani #stony bingo 2017 #stony bingo

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vulgarityy · 5 years ago

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jackthebard · 8 years ago

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Ultimate Opera Singer

Name: Kaneshiro Marié

Age: 24

Height: 5’6”

Weight: 133

Blood Type: A+

Hair: Black

Eyes: White

Likes: Good acoustics, laughter, commentary

Dislikes: People being too quiet when they approach, losing her cane

Before Tragedy: Blind from birth, Kaneshiro Marié seemed to be a lost cause to her French father and Japanese mother. However, she quickly showed that she had ears that made up for what her eyes lacked. Because her sense of hearing was so well-developed, she could discern even the subtlest differences in sounds (though not to Daredevil extents of using it for echolocation), and replicate them perfectly. This caused her to become one of the premier sopranos in the Japanese Opera by age thirteen, as well as allowing her to become fluent not only in French and Japanese, but also in Spanish, Italian, English, Russian, and German. Her skill in multiple languages and her amazing memory allowed her to memorize almost all of the operatic canon by the age of fifteen. In truth, Hope’s Peak had been scouting her despite her young age, only waiting for a chance to give her an acceptance letter.

During Tragedy: One of the first things that Marié lost was her cane. Her father went not long after. Stumbling around in the ruins of Tokyo, she had to forage for food using a half-bent piece of rebar, not knowing how long she would survive. Eventually, she was discovered by the Future Foundation, where one of the scouts that had been monitoring her recognized her and the clear tone of her voice. They took her in, nursed her back to health, and eventually convinced her to sing again, allowing her to raise her voice in operas of hope, encouraging her saviors and their soldiers with songs of joy and justice. After Tragedy: Incredibly grateful to attend Hope’s Peak, Marié felt a little out of place, spending a few days pacing around the entirety of the massive school until her instructor requested that a GPS be placed in her E-Handbook, allowing her to navigate the school with ease, using the familiar measurement of “Steps” in order to help her get around. Even so, she prefers to keep her cane around for old time’s sake, and because it feels better in her hands than nothing. Naturally, she associates more with the more talkative members of her class, being comfortable around sound, and isn’t afraid to join them for a night of hanging out and karaoke.

Notable Features: Marié always carries a cane with her, for obvious reasons, and also wears a hoop skirt for a similar issue, generally in a solid, bright pastel color. If someone/something bumps the skirt, she can move out of the way. She almost always has one of her E-Handbook’s headphones plugged in because it keeps track of her steps.

Interview 79.01 – Open

Interviewer: Yamada Jiro, Psy.D

Subject: Kaneshiro Marié – “The Ultimate Opera Singer”

Interview Date: April 30th, 8 AT (after Tragedy)

Observation

[The individual in question is a young lady in a pale green dress, almost the color of mint toothpaste. Her black hair is curly, and bound tightly back in a ponytail at the base of her skull. Her skin is pale, belying her French heritage, and her eyes are a milky white, which gives away her blindness, if the cane in her hand did not. She takes her seat cautiously, sweeping the cushion in order to ensure that there is nothing on it that she could potentially sit on. Her gaze is unseeing, vacant, yet directed in the interviewer’s general direction, and she offers a polite smile.]

Discussion

Interviewer: Please state your name and age for the record.

Marié: My name is Kaneshiro Marié, and I’m going to be turning 24 on May 2nd.

Interviewer: That’s only two days off. Happy birthday in advance.

Marié: [She gives a broad smile, one that causes her eyes to close. It’s genuine.] Thank you so much! It’s been a long time since I could celebrate it properly.

Interviewer: Thank you for coming in today, Marié. So, before the terrorist event known as “The Tragedy” occurred, you were being scouted by Hope’s Peak Academy. Do you know why?

Marié: I assume that it’s because of my voice. I managed to become the first soprano in the Tokyo Opera by the age of thirteen, and I know that Hope’s Peak representatives had approached me long before that.

Interviewer: Your memory serves you well. So the purpose of this interview is that we would like to extend that opportunity to you once again. We are opening up Hope’s Peak Academy once again, and we would like to offer our previous prospects the opportunity to study and improve their skills around people of their same level of ability once again. Before we begin, should we find your answers satisfactory, would you accept the offer?

Marié: [She pauses for a moment, her hands wringing slightly against one another. Her head bows, and she speaks clearly though her nose is pointed at her knees.] I would take the chance, but I don’t know if it’s appropriate. Is it truly safe to put “hope” out there once again?

Interviewer: We’re opening up Hope’s Peak again in order to show the world that there is still hope to be found among the ashes of despair. We would like you to be part of that hope.

Marié: Then I accept.

Interviewer: Very good. Now, we’ll stay away from the things that occurred during the tragedy, since I know that was a difficult time for you more than any of our other potential students.

Marié: Thank you.

Interviewer: What can you tell us about your hobbies?

Marié: Odd. I was half expecting you to ask me about my voice, and how I came to develop it.

Interviewer: We will ask those questions in due time, particularly during your annual assessments, when we are in a much more formal setting. This is mainly meant to be a bit of a more relaxed interview. Just getting to know you and see if you would be an appropriate addition to the 79th class of Hope’s Peak.

Marié: Oh! [She suddenly straightens up, a bit more attentive. Despite the fact that this is an informal interview, she seems to be taking it rather seriously] With regards to my interests, I like to read in my spare time. It’s very difficult to find books in Braille, but I love each and every one of them. I’ve also taken to listening to books on tape.

Interviewer: I see. Do you have any favorites that you enjoy listening to?

Marié: Oh yes! I particularly enjoy the Harry Potter series, especially the versions read by Stephen Fry. Another one that I like to read is Sun Tzu’s The Art of War.

Interviewer: Those two are on very different ends of the spectrum. Any particular reason why the discrepancy?

Marié: I like how Sun Tzu’s work on war can be translated into philosophy that can be used in everyday life, and how J.K. Rowling’s work can be shown to induce love and compassion in even the bleakest of souls, and how a life without either is devoid of any worth. In the end, Voldemort, who only cared about power, died hopeless and final, surrounded by nobody that cared for him.

Interviewer: That’s very deep. Do you often seek the broader meanings of works in such a way?

Marié: I feel that I have to. Singing opera requires an implicit understanding of the text, not only of the action and emotion that goes into it, but also the story. It’s one thing to have a story described to you, but another to actually read it for yourself.

Interviewer: If memory serves, you have performed operas such as Stravinsky’s take on Oedipus Rex, as well as Weber’s Der Freischütz. Are you saying that you are fluent in languages other than Japanese?

Marié: Yes.

Interviewer: Which ones?

Marié: In addition to Japanese and my father’s native French, I am also fluent in English, Italian, Spanish, German, and Russian.

Interviewer: That’s a rather impressive résumé. And you did that just to learn the stories of the various operas?

Marié: More or less, yes. It also allowed me to communicate more effectively with my fans.

Interviewer: I take it that you had a few fans outside the country?

Marié: Oh, absolutely! They were mostly young girls, much as I was, some of them disabled. They saw me as an inspiration, and my success as a reason for them to strive to be better. If I had to be true with myself, I don’t enjoy the roses being thrown on the stage as much as I enjoy finding letters with foreign postage in my mail

Interviewer: That’s a very positive way to look at it. Do you see your blindness as a disability?

Marié: I feel like… [She pauses, idly tucking a strand of her hair back behind her ear and tilts her head up once again, face set in grim determination. She’s looking a little to the left of the interviewer, but the intent is the same.] Being able to see would be nice. But I also think that not being able to see is a huge part of who I am. I have learned to experience the world in such a way without sight from birth, and I don’t want to muddle my perception and my art by literally altering the way I view the world.

Interviewer: That’s a very nice way to look at it. I only have one other question for you, if you’re alright with that?

Marié: Of course. Ask away.

Interviewer: What was the most embarrassing moment you ever had on the stage?

Marié: Oh goodness… [Her face is dusted with blush, presumably from the memory, and she speaks slowly when she opens her mouth again] I have to say… the most embarrassing moment was either when I inhaled too deeply and the stitches on my costume came undone as I breathed in, resulting in a wardrobe malfunction later in the scene… or when I forgot the words during Rossini’s The Barber of Seville.

Interviewer: [It should be noted that the interviewer is trying to contain a laugh and almost failing] I see. And how did you overcome each of those?

Marié: The wardrobe malfunction was easy. I was lucky in that I was wearing a shift underneath it, instead of just underwear, and it was at a moment when the character was supposed to be vulnerable, so I felt the dress fall to the ground around me, stepped out of it, and kept singing. The director of the opera said it was overwhelmingly powerful, and that he’s ashamed he didn’t think of it himself.

Interviewer: Good improvisation on your part. And the time when you forgot the words?

Marié: That was a little bit more difficult to recover from. I forgot the words, and I just started singing the names of every kind of pasta that I could remember in place of the words. “Barilla, Linguini, Tortellini”, etc. Even afterwards, the critics claimed that I “had a wonderful understanding of the text and excellent diction”.

Interviewer: [He can’t contain his laugh anymore. He just bursts out laughing] Right. Right… So, thank you, Kaneshiro Marié. It is my pleasure to admit you to Hope’s Peak Academy.

Marié: Thank you! [She’s bouncing in her chair and fumbling with her cane] I can’t wait to tell my mother! Thank you so much!

[She leaves, tapping her cane excitedly along the floor until she leaves the room, then skips down the hallway, clicking her heels together as she jumps up in excitement.]

End Transcript

#79th class #dangan ronpa #dangit ronbur #i do the thing with the words #my writing

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