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desertofsnowflakes · 3 years

Text

Incorrect Order Chapter 6 (Nessian AU)

A/N: I'm sooo sorry I haven't been updated in more than two weeks. I had exams :/ Also, do inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!

Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.

Trigger Warnings: Language

1572 words | Incorrect Order Masterlist | Read on AO3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The smile Cassian plastered on his face didn’t reach his eyes. His brothers saw that. Feyre and Elain saw that. Mor and Amren knew that. He himself did. But they didn’t say anything. If it weren’t Feyre’s anniversary, he would’ve even gone home. He couldn’t though. He wouldn’t do anything that would hurt his family. So he stayed. Smiled. Joked. Laughed. Did everything he could to keep his mind from straying to a grey-eyed masterpiece.

Az and Rhys saw, he knew. They always seemed to realise everything about each other. Even if one of them had a minor headache, the other two would know. Tonight, however, none of them pushed him. They probably thought he wanted to be alone. But did he? Truly?

He wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to be alone. That would make memories of their lunch rise. Of her shirt splattered with coffee on one day and blood on another. Of her pale form laying on his bed. Of her, enjoying his food. Of their shared jokes. He didn’t think he could take that.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to be around people either. He didn’t know if he could stay around people who laughed and teased. He didn’t know if he could laugh with them and actually mean it. He didn’t know if he could anytime soon.

Cass glanced at the clock. 3.00 a.m. He smiled. Whenever they gathered around in the living room, retiring early was totally off the table. The earliest they dispersed was four in the morning.

To his right, Rhys sighed. “It’s late,” he said, tucking Feyre close to his side. “Gotta go to bed.”

He smirked, but held back the joke on the tip of his tongue. After a chorus of goodnights, Rhys and Feyre told them they could stay here tonight if they wanted to and rose to go upstairs. Feyre laughed at something Rhys said and Cass felt a pang of sadness hit him.

Sadness… and something else. He knew he shouldn’t, but he envied the both of them. How easily they bantered and teased. How smooth their relationship was. He remembered how Feyre locked herself in the cabin after Rhys proposed. He remembered how she asked Mor not to let anyone in, especially Rhys. He sighed. He felt an amount of the jealousy dissipate. Probably Nesta would get together with him after their slight misunderstanding passed. If it did.

He got up to leave when Az stopped him. “You sure you’re going back?” Cass didn’t remember telling Az that he was going back. Then again he didn't need to. Az always saw everything. “You're not that… somber.”

Ah. Cass smiled. “I'll be fine, ” he reassured. Az still didn't let him go. “I'll send you a text once I'm home,” he tried. Az sighed.

“I'll be waiting for it.”

Cass looked at Mor, drunk and blabbering before stepping out of the house. He kept replaying that memory till he reached home, keeping his mind occupied. He was scared of what would happen if he kept his thoughts idle.

He informed Az that he reached home. He didn't know why going back home felt like preparing for a battle. It probably was a battle. Between her and his self-restraint. What was at stake here was his sanity. Cass sighed. He stepped in through the threshold and welcomed the darkness that enveloped him.

***

Stop crying like a baby, Nesta repeatedly reminded herself. Why should she cry? Nothing here was her fault. Nothing.

Not the fact that she let his charmed smiles bring her guards down. Not the fact that she felt alive when he said something stupidly funny. Certainly not the fact that she was slowly falling for him.

None of it was her fault. So why should she cry? Why should she stop herself from attending her own sister's anniversary? When it was all his fault.

She shouldn't be crying. She should be thinking about ways of exploiting his weaknesses. She should think about how she would portray him as the weak one. She should think about how she was going to make him regret everything.

But how could she make him regret it when she never regretted a second of it? She hated that this was where her thoughts went first. To scheming and plotting. She thought she changed. Did she regret her wish to be good? No. She reveled in it. No, she vowed herself, I would not scheme to make him beg. I'm not that Nesta anymore. I'll never be.

She was proud of herself. She never realised her self restraint was this good.

But apparently not good enough. Her thoughts drifted back to him. No, not him. Cassian. Cauldron, it'll take some time to get used to calling him Cassian. Or maybe Cass. Feyre and Rhysand called him that. Probably she would too. She thought about what he called her. Nes. She flushed. That stupid name did stupid things to her. She pretended she didn't like it. In fact, she loved it. Somehow, she wasn't ready to tell him that yet.

***

Nesta blinked open her eyes against the morning light. Her eyes were closed? It was morning already? Huh.

It took her some time for her eyes to adjust. She screamed at what she saw. Nesta scrambled back from the looming figure of Tomas, leering at her face.

“Nesta, Nesta, ” he said in his eerie voice. It became scarier with his sing-song tone. “My Nesta.” He paused. “Though I suppose you aren't mine anymore. You were still mine last time, you know. When you handed me over to the police. ”

She bared her teeth, opened her mouth to say something when his hand closed around her throat.

“But now, I suppose I can't call you mine anymore, can I? That reminds me. Where is your bodyguard? Or is that brute your boyfriend?” He spat the last word. His hand tightened around her neck.

“Do you know what he did to me? Your bastard. Did you know how he threatened me? Did you know that he smashed my bones, that it took me this long to heal?”

Some sort of savage satisfaction filled her. The fact that Cassian did all this… she smirked. It didn't go unnoticed by Tomas. He growled, the sound sending icy fingers ghosting down her spine. She hoped she didn't have to hear it again.

His hand around her throat pushed her farther back on the bed. He drew back, she let loose a relieved breath. A mistake.

His hand cracked on her cheek. He came infinitely closer to her, his hot, rancid breath glancing off her cheeks. His hand kept tightening around her throat and she wondered how she wasn’t dead yet. It was certainly bruised now.

“Look at you. So vulnerable. So killable. I’ve imagined how I would slit your throat. So many ideas. If only I could kill you in all the ways I imagined. But do you know what is the best way I could kill you?”

Nesta let him talk. He loved to hear himself talk. She subtly looked around her room, searching for anything she could use as a weapon. She looked back at Tomas. He wasn’t talking. Did he ask her a question?

“Tell me, Nesta. Do you know what is the best way to kill you?” Nesta shook her head, his hand pressed around her throat. Tomas smiled. She cringed mentally.

“I think the best way to kill you and make it hurt is to kill you slowly. You know what makes it better? Having that bastard watch you die. Let him watch the life seep out of you. And then I’ll kill him too.” he said and she felt the room closing in. Panic was slowly rising in her.

“Now, now,” he said. She supposed he meant to be cajoling but the effect his voice gave was the exact opposite. “There’s no need to panic. I told you I’ll kill you only when your bodyguard is there.”

He pulled out a knife. She gasped and pain erupted around her throat. Her lungs were burning.

“But darling,” he said. She whimpered. She hated this. She hated that she was vulnerable here. She hated that she couldn’t do anything when her death was slowly nearing. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Then his knife struck. Nothing hurt at first. Then, fiery pain whipped through her, beginning at her arm. She screamed. Pain. There was so much pain. She screamed so loud she pondered how the whole neighborhood didn’t hear anything.

***

Nesta gasped. Her eyes darted through her room. Nothing. No one. She looked at her arm. No pain. No scars. No blood. She touched her throat. It wasn’t sore. It wasn’t swollen. She got out of bed and looked at her mirror. No bruises. She let out a frustrated sound. It was a dream. A fucking dream. Or she supposed it was a nightmare. Still. It wasn’t real.

It was still five in the morning. Still quite early. She released a breath. She wouldn’t find a cab now but she could walk. It wasn’t that far. She fixed her hair and changed her clothes. She wasn’t going because she missed him. She just didn’t want to be vulnerable again. That’s all. She just wanted to know how to defend herself. Nothing else. So Nesta went to Cassian’s house, hoping that she’s making the right choice.

taglist: @shadowsinger07 @im-someone-i-guess @saltyfortunes @cressjacquine @champanheandluxxury @zemiraa @nehemikkele @angelic-voice-1997 @heartless--aromantic @sv0430 @irenethaleia @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @sjm-things @dontgetsalmonella @ganseys-jane

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deaneverafter · 3 years

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Just want to add that according to the cast (I think it was Jensen?), they didn't add the scar in season 6 because everyone forgot about it and then decided that Cas healed it along with the other injuries in the Swan Song. This is pretty excusable: the scar was important in two episodes in season 4 and never shown otherwise, I think. It fits thematically that Cas symbolically removed Deans connection to angels with this scar since, in season 6, it was revealed Cas wasn't going to interact with Dean after stopping the Apocalypse. And tbh I'm not sure something in the show points towards Cas even knowing he left a mark like this.

Also, the sight of the scar was definitely disturbing to Dean, at least at first, because he didn't remember what pulled him out of Hell. He was, in fact, sure that it was a demon! Not to mention that the handprint was used as a horror element, along with Cas burning out Pamela's eyes or the freaky sounds of his true voice, to heighten the tension before the reveal. And even the sex scene with Anna (when she puts her hand over it) is preceded by her comforting Dean about the Hell memories. So again, not the best emotional connotations for the scar.

Sorry for the long ask; I guess this discourse stuck a nerve! The funny thing is that I like Destiel, but I actually like it for its dramatic and messed up dynamics. So turning one of its element into, uh, a token of romantic love is a bit weird for me.

Oh, I don't know, maybe the question was whether it was gone in a dream because Dean doesn't want it and I mixed it up. Which, dream or not, I think they made it pretty obvious that it was not something that was associated with amazing memories. It was a reminder of his whole hell ordeal, and if I'm not remembering it wrong, the hell flashbacks definitely showed up when he felt it and saw it. And just physically speaking, that could not have been a good feeling, no matter who would've done it to him. I mean, when you get a teeny tiny blister, it hurts. A lot. Now let's imagine one the size of a whole hand. And considering how hard Pam's eyes got burnt out by Cass, I imagine the burn on Dean's arm hurt pretty bad too. I don't think he enjoyed that.

As for Anna, it's so weird to me when people are like "she put her hand on it and it included Cass into the moment." No, actually, she was attempting to erase, override, so to speak, it, and the associated trauma, memories and feelings 🤦🏻‍♀️🙄

Also, I mean, I assume Cass knows, what with the Pamela ritual, and the whole "gripped you tight" thing. But you're right, that was all supposed to be horror. Even IF we're saying it was an accident/side-effect on Cass' part (although, I won't lie, in light of the "confession" and what happened in the finale, I am certainly having to re-examine all of Cass' actions and motives, and it's not pretty, because the story was not written with Cass having super secret feelings, and when you try to bend and break it to fit that narrative, it makes a lot of his actions look very disturbing), it still hurt and it was still traumatic and it was a reminder of the horrifying things Dean had to endure. Why would you WANT it to be on purpose and why would you want him to have to deal with that AGAIN? It's just another reminder that to most shippers, Dean, his safety and happiness are totally inconsequential.

And, I understand being like "this dynamic is weird and scary, but interesting as a story and not romantic or healthy", but it's a whole different thing to be like "yes, I approve of Cass beating up Dean FOR HIS OWN GOOD, super romantic, he also should on purpose be branded by Cass and Jack as property, because he's not allowed to be his own person, and that's sexy." The latter is super problematic.

You don't have to apologize, I and several friends were also horrified by this, the thought that not only Dean deserves to be abused and scarred like this, but also that this is cute and romantic. I almost think that maybe I should've kept it to myself, but truth be told, I'm not sure my brain was capable of handling that level of trauma on my own 😔

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rocksandrobots · 4 years

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Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 20 - Therapy

Varian sat on the leather couch inside the doctor’s office nervously bouncing his knee up and down. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to run, but he knew that would upset Aunt Cass who was seated on the chair next to the door.

This was meant to be his first therapy session and he didn’t know what to expect, or to say, or what to do. Both Hiro and Wasabi had told him that all he had to do was talk to the doctor about his problems, but Varian didn’t really feel like talking. He didn’t feel like delving into his past and reliving those painful memories. Moreover, he didn’t want anyone in this world to know of his mistakes, even if they were just a stranger.

Just then the door opened and a tall woman with short bobbed hair and glasses walked in. She wore a white lab coat and held in her hand a clipboard and pen.

“Hello, Miss Templeton. Are we here to see Hiro today?” The woman asked Aunt Cass.

“Oh hi, Dr. Mcguire.” Aunt Cass stood up to shake her hand. “No, I called earlier and told the secretary this, but I’d like you to meet Varian. Varian this is Dr. Mcguire. She’s our family therapist.”The woman smiled and shook his hand as well, as Aunt Cass contunited. “Varian is from Europe and I’m fostering him while he’s here in the states.”

“Oh exciting!” The woman enthused. “Is this your first therapy session, Varian?”

Varian nodded his head numbly, still too unsure of himself to speak.

“Well there’s many different types of therapy. I’m a grief counselor. I use different techniques to help people deal with loss or trauma, such as, listening to people talk about their feelings and problems, helping people develop healthy coping mechanisms for anxiety or depression, helping people pinpoint or understand where their underlying issues are and what might cause them to react the way they do to certain situations, and basically anything else that helps the patient cope with their grief.”

Varian listened to the woman intently but none of what she said made any sense to him. He knew what all those words individually meant on their own but all together it just sounded like a word salad to him. He had no idea what any of that actually entailed in practice.

"Well, now Varian, tell me a little about yourself?" The doctor asked as she sat at her desk.

Varian only stared blankly at her, unsure what she wanted to hear.

Dr. Mcguire expounded "Do you have any interests or hobbies?"

Varian looked back to Aunt Cass questionly and she gave him an encouraging smile and a go on motion with her hands.

"Ummm...I like alchemy."

"Alchemy? Like the history of it, or is that some new video game I haven't heard of yet?" Dr. Mcguire gently laughed at herself. "My kids are always trying to get me into the lastest gaming craze and I can never seem to get the hang of it."

Varian once again could only stare. He'd played a few video games with Hiro and Fred, but he had no idea what was deemed popular or not. Nor did he know how to explain to this woman that he was a practitioner of a long dead science.

When this didn't elect a response from him the doctor tried a new line of questioning.

"Do you have a favorite video game?"

Varian shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't played many of them. We didn't have video games back in Old Corona."

"That's the city he came from." Aunt Cass explained. "Varian is from a Russia territory."

"Oh. Well, what did you play in Old Corona?" Dr. Mcguire asked.

"Not much." Varian racked his brain for a childhood game, but there had been no other kids to play with and his dad was not much for chess.

"My cellmate and I would play 'Noughts and Crosses' to pass the time. It's a little like Gomoku, but you try to get three in a row instead of five, and you just draw an X or O on to a grid you drew in the sand instead of having a board and colored pieces.'

"Oh we call that tic-tac-toe here." Aunt Cass cheerfully said, not immediately picking up on his mention of being in jail.

The doctor however did notice. "Cellmate?" She asked with concern.

Varian clamped his mouth shut at that. He didn't want to go into why he had been in prison, certainly not with Aunt Cass there.

Sensing the Varian's discomfort and seeing Dr. Mcguire's confusion, Aunt Cass spoke up. "I'm guessing the secretary didn't give you the forms we filled out?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I saw your name on the appointment and just assumed it was time again for Hiro's session. I'm sorry, that was unprofessional of me to assume and not come prepared. Would you like to reschedule?"

Aunt Cass looked to Varian. "It's up to you, sweetie."

Varian really didn't want to go through all this again. "No. I'm good."

"Well do you feel like talking about what's wrong then?" Asked Mcguire.

Varian tightened his jaw, unsure how to say no to the woman. But Dr. Mcguire knew her business and understood what Varian meant even without words.

"It's ok." She soothed. "You don't have to talk about anything you don't want to. We're not here to make you feel uncomfortable. Therapy is supposed to help, not hurt."

This relaxed Varian a little, but only a little. He didn't know what either adult wanted from him then.

"Varian, would it help if I left?" Aunt Cass offered. "Or would you prefer that I stay? Either one is fine. It's your choice."

Varian looked back and forth between both women trying to decide. He honestly didn't know which would be more stressful; dealing with the doctor alone or risking slipping up again and having Aunt Cass find out about his past crimes.

"I...maybe?" He eventually answered.

"Alright then. I'll be just right outside the door if you need me." She stood up, walked over to Varian, gave him a peck on the forehead and an encouraging smile before closing the door and leaving.

Varian had to admit, he could breath more easily now that she'd left the room.

"Well," Dr. Mcguire spoke back up, "if you rather not talk about your issues right now, would you like to write about them instead?"

Varian gave her a confused look and in response she dug into a drawer in her desk and pulled out a notebook.

"Sometimes people find it easier to write about things than to talk about them. I often give my patiences journals, so that they can get out their feelings about stuff, make goals and plans, or to help keep track of their triggers and their responses."

She handed the notebook to Varian. It was thin and curiously printed on the front were images of lizards with hats and sunglasses riding upon skateboards. Varian might have thought it absurd looking but he was distracted by something that the doctor had said.

"Triggers?" He asked.

"A 'trigger' is anything that might make someone remember their trauma. It can be anything from a familiar sound or object, to an action or situation that is similar to an event that the person went through. When someone who's been through trauma comes across one of their triggers they might experience a panic attack, flashbacks, get angry or upset, or even completely shut down so to speak."

Varian studied the woman thoughtfully. Wasabi had described what a panic attack felt like and it sounded eerily similar to what he had felt when he ran away that day. The way he felt after having a nightmare. The way he'd felt when he had come home to find his dad unmoving in the amber.

“Do..do nightmares count?” He asked hesitantly.

“Well, yes, in a way. Nightmares are often associated with PTSD. They are a way for your mind to process what has happened to you. But they can also be caused by other things, like stress, anxiety, or just a lack of sleep. You’d have to dream about something multiple times and analyze those dreams in order to figure out their cause.”

She paused and studied Varian intently before continuing. "Some people write dream diaries to track the patterns of what they dream and when. You write what you've dreamed, good or bad, when you wake up. You also may write things like what time you went to bed, how long did you sleep, or what you may have eaten that day as those can affect how well you sleep."

"You could use your journal for that." She gently suggested.

"Then...then I show it to you?" He asked in kind.

"If you want to. Though, once again, you don't have to do anything that you don't want to."

"But, if I did, would it help?" Varian pressed, "Would it get rid of them?"

"It might help." The woman said measuredly. "Though it might not. Or you may need to do that along with a combination of things. The only way to find out is to try it."

Dr. Mcguire gave him a soft smile and Varian turned her words over in his mind. He would love for the nightmares to stop. They had only become more frequent since he moved in with the Hamada's. As if deep down he feared this new change in his life would become permanent and his subconscious was warning him to return home before it was too late. But, even still, while the doctor was right about not knowing till you tried, he worried over his past and what she or others might think of him once known. Then again, no reason to take a dream literally, right?

"I've..I...I've been having nightmares lately." He finally admitted. Dr. Mcguire only nodded along. She most likely had already guessed as much, but she didn't interrupt.

"They're always different. Like they're about different things. Sometimes they're about my home or my dad, sometimes about my friends, both old and new, and sometimes about, ummm, being in jail." He muttered this last part but then quickly contunited on, "They all end the same way though. With me being alone."

He met the doctor's eyes questioningly, wondering how she might respond. She looked to be contemplating over what he'd just confessed.

"Hmmm…Well dreams are rarely the same each time. It's usually just the repeated elements that we look for when analyzing. That's how the journal would help. But it looks like you figured out one of those elements on your own. Does being alone scare you?"

Varian looked at her wide eyed. He didn't know how to feel about having one of his greatest fears pointed out to him. It was true of course, but he didn't like to admit it.

"A, little." He admitted sheepishly.

"A lot of people fear being alone. We're social creatures. Humans need other humans and so we seek out relationships. It's nothing to be embarrassed about." Mcguire tried to ease his fear.

"Were you on your own in jail? Did you feel alone there?" She pressed.

"No, well sometimes, but like I said I at least had a cellmate. That's better than when I was completely on my own before then."

Dr. Mcguire face grew more concerned but she didn't pursue anything else about his time alone. Instead she asked, "Were you friends with your cellmate?"

"No." Varian scoffed, complaining about Andrew was easier than talking about his time spent on the run. "Dude was a creep."

"Oh, did you fight with him often?"

"Not usually. In fact we got along fine, but that's only because he'd pretend to be nice to get what he wanted. I always knew that's what he was doing, but I, guess I just went along with it because….because it was better than not talking to anybody at all."

Dr. Mcguire furrowed her brow, "What did he want from you then?"

Varian wiggled in his seat at that. He didn't want to go into the prison break and what followed thereafter. "Just….stuff."

This did not ease the doctor's fear. "How old were you when you went to jail?"

"I had just turned fifteen." He didn't know where this was going.

"And your cellmate was what, also fifteen, sixteen?" She guessed.

"Oh no. Corona doesn't have, what did the policeman call it, 'juvenile detention center.' Anyways, uh, I'm not sure what age Andrew was. He never said, but I would guess, like, late twenties?" Varian shrugged but he only became even more confused when he noted the look of horror on Dr Mcguire's face.

"And where were the guards when he was making you do… stuff?" She tried to hide it but Varian could still hear the way her voice shook.

"Ummm...well the guards make their rounds of the cells every ten minutes and stand guard at the door between then. Or they're supposed to, anyways. Sometimes they're late or they're switching shifts, or even sometimes asleep." He broke from his matter of fact statement with a little laugh. "I once saw Pete the guard fall asleep while standing up and Stan, the other guard, had to prop him up with his spear to keep the Captain from noticing." He whispered conspiratorially as if imparting some juicy bit of gossip.

But the doctor wasn't amused.

"It would appear that your home country has a very different legal system than ours." She stated as if trying to find a way to navigate Varian's revelations.

"I'll say." He snorted. Complaining about the conditions of the dungeon itself didn't bother him as much as admitting how he'd got there. He supposed it was because everyone suffered the same indignity as he did while there. So he didn't feel singled out.

"I saw what those cells down at the police station here looked like last week. Let me tell you. They were pristine." He began to number the differences on his fingers." Clean, not drafty, there were toilets, electric lights. I was on the bottom floor of the dungeon and all we had was a grate on the ceiling that let the tiniest bit of light and air in from the cell above us. Of course that wasn't much cause that cell only had a small window to begin with."

The doctor interrupted his ramble. "But what about when you were aloud outside?"

"Outside?" He echoed in confusion. "We never went outside. Who'd let criminals out of their cells willingly?"

Dr. Mcguire darted her eyes back and forth as if equally flabbergasted. "But, but what about for exercise!? Showers!? Mealtimes!?"

Varian looked at her unsure how to answer, now only realising just how vastly different the two realities really were.

"We ate in the cells." He said flatly in lieu of anything else. "Is the food better here too?"

"I don't know? What did they serve you?"

"Usually gruel, or bread and water. Sometimes we'd get scraps from the castle's kitchen. Like leftover bone broth before it went bad. I guess not to starve us completely."

"Castle?" She echoed hollowly.

"The jail is underneath the government's palace." He explained.

"And is that the only prison? Wouldn't that get over full?"

"Yeah, it does. That's why they only keep people there until they ship them off on the prison barge or…. til they hang them." He quietly admitted.

This seemed to be the last straw for the doctor.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to compose herself.

"Well, that..uh..we seem to be reaching near the end of our session. How about we bring Miss. Templeton back in?" She flashed him a strained grin, but Varian knew she was rattled and he feared he'd said too much or had done the wrong thing.

"You mean Aunt Cass?" He asked.

"Yes. So you call her 'aunt' too?" He nodded. " Well let's get your aunt in here and we'll talk about how best to continue your therapy."

Dr. Mcguire walked out and Varian could hear her and Aunt Cass having a hushed and hurried conversion. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but he knew it was about him. Soon after, they both reentered the room and Aunt Cass took a seat next to him on the couch.

Dr. Mcguire sat at her desk again and proceeded to make an announcement.

"So Varian and I have talked a little and he's decided that he's going to keep a dream diary, which he can share with me during our next few sessions if he would like. However, I feel that Varian might benefit from seeing a specialist."

Varian heart dropped. He was being turned away? He'd somehow managed to screw up his first therapy session so bad the doctor was pawning him off to someone else.

"But, aren't you a specialist?" Aunt Cass asked, equally confused.

"Yes, but I deal with post trauma, sudden events, like a car accident or the recent death of a family member. After talking to Varian, it appears he's been through prolonged trauma. It'll take a few more sessions to confirm this but, he may have Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It's related to regular PTSD, there is some overlap in symptoms, but ultimately it requires different treatment."

Varian's stomach began to churn and he felt his heartbeat quicken. All he heard, behind the doctor's unfamiliar terminology, was that he was somehow, wrong or broken, more so than even the troubled patients she normally worked with. He wanted to cry, but instead he blinked back tears as Dr. Mcguire contunited.

"I have the name of a psychiatrist that I can recommend. I've worked with him before alongside other patients."

She handed a business card to Aunt Cass who leaned forward to take from her. As she read it the doctor went on.

"Dr. Brown deals with former soldiers, war refugees, abuse victims, and others who've had to endure extremely harsh conditions. He's better experienced in such cases and as a psychiatrist he can also prescribe any medicine that Varian might need."

"Medicine!?" Varian exploded and both women looked at him with concern. "But, but I'm not sick." He whined in protest.

Dr. Mcguire stood up and walked over to him. She knelt down to his level and looked him in the eye.

"I don't know if you are or aren't, diagnoses of mental illnesses take time, but you might still need prescribed medication even if you don't have an illness. You mentioned not sleeping well, something as simple as a herbal tea with added melatonin could help with that. However as a psychologist, and not a psychiatrist, I can legally write you a prescription for that, nor should I."

Varian darted his eyes about the room in confusion. Logically what the woman said made sense, he supposed, but that didn't stop his anxiety from raising. He felt cornered. He wanted to run again, but the gentle hand of Aunt Cass upon his shoulder rooted him to the couch.

"Look, you're still welcome to come see me." Dr. Mcguire reassured him. "I'll gladly help you in any way that I can. I just think Dr. Brown could do even more to help you."

"We just want what's best for you." Aunt Cass interjected. "Thank you, Dr. Mcguire. I'll give this Dr. Brown a call today when we get home."

And that was the end of it. They said their goodbyes and left.

On the whole way home, Varian sulked in the passenger seat as he stared dispondingly out the window. He could feel Aunt Cass nervously stealing glances of him, probably afraid he may jump out of the car again and try to run away.

She attempted to say something a few times, but thought better of it and kept quiet. The uncomfortable silence weighing upon them both until they arrived back at the Luck Cat.

Varian tore out of the car, pounded up the stairs, and was just about to run towards his new room, when he heard Aunt Cass say. "We need to talk."

Varian found himself sitting on a couch for the second time that day. This one in Hamada living room. He eyed Aunt Cass pensively and waited for yet another lecture.

"Sooo, I know that didn't go as well as we hoped today, but hey, we made some progress!" She gave him a plastered grin as she tried to find the silver lining. Varian only gave her a look as if she was crazy and rolled his eyes.

She heaved a heavy sigh.

"Varian, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. Lots of people see special psychiatrists. That's what they're for. They wouldn't exist if people didn't need them."

Varian still refused to meet her gaze.

"Also, not everyone finds the right therapist on their first try. It took me a whole year and three different doctors before I found Dr. Mcguire."

Varian did look at her upon that revelation, this time with surprise on his face.

Aunt Cass gave him a small smile.

"Did you think you were the only one who needed therapy?" She gently teased, before admitting, "I was only 24 when I took in Tadashi and Hiro. I didn't know how to be a parent. I didn't know how to handle two grieving little boys nor the emotional roller coaster I was on as well. I had to get help. I had to try out different doctors, different types of therapy, even took medication for a little while, and it took time but in the end it did make things better for all of us. I just want you to get better as well."

Varian processed this confession as he wrestled with his growing sense of shame and despair.

"But...but…you never did anything to deserve that. It was just a bad thing that happened to you.. I… I on the other hand…I wasn't in that jail for no reason." He confessed before bursting into tears.

"I don't care." Aunt Cass quietly said.

Varian looked back in surprise again. She stood before him with worry etched onto her face.

"I don't care what you did." She reiterated. "It doesn't matter."

She bent down and cupped Varian's face into her hand, just as she did when he returned after running away.

"Varian, no one deserves to be treated the way you were. Especially a child. That..that was just cruel." Her voice broke. "Cruel, and inhumane, and oh god, what ever did they do to you to make you think you deserved it?" It was her turn to cry as she scooped Varian into a hug.

Varian blinked rapidly, both because of the tears and because he hadn't been expecting this reaction. He knew he was at fault. Everyone in the kingdom knew it. They all blamed him for what happened and threw nothing but scorn his way. The only reason that Aunt Cass and everyone else didn't hate him too was because they didn't know, surely. But the sincerity in her voice, the tender loving embrace, the way she put up with him and his stupid mistakes around the house, all made him desperate to believe her. So he hugged her tightly back.

"But.. But.. I'm not 'no one'" The tears flowed freely now. "I'm...I'm…I'm not like anyone. The doctor said so herself, today."

"No!" She pulled away from the embrace to look him dead in the eye. "No. She said you needed help that she couldn't give. Dr. Brown, though, can. He deals with people who've been through what you've been through. You're not alone. You're not broken. You're not weird. And you are most certainly not deserving of being thrown in a dungeon."

She wiped her fingers through his bangs, a sign of affection he'd come to recognize from her, and blinking back tears said, "Oh how I wish I could have been there for you sooner. But I'm here now. And so is Hiro, all your friends, Chief Cruz, Professor Granville, and Dr. Mcguire. Ok? We are all here for you now, and we love you, and nothing is going to change that. And now Dr. Brown will be there for you too. So please, let us help you."

Varian searched her eyes. These were words he had longed to hear for who knew how long, but when faced with them for real he had trouble giving into them; to believing them. The nagging voice in his head was screaming at him, warning him that it wasn't true, that they would all abandon his as soon as he screwed up or they found out the truth of his past, the same as how everyone else had given up on him, told him how he didn't deserve such kindness, ect.,but he didn't care. He wanted it to be true.

He nodded yes and flung his arms around Aunt Cass again. They remained that way, just holding each other for several minutes. While Aunt Cass stroked his hair and cooed reassuring words. How she loved him, how she wasn't going anywhere, how he was her child now and nothing would change that. He wasn't sure if he was ready to accept her as a parent yet, to him his dad was the only parent he needed, but he deeply appreciated all that she had done, all that she promised to do, and it felt good to finally be accepted somewhere, to be wanted .

When they finally stopped hugging Aunt Cass said she was going to call Dr. Brown and set up an appointment. She then stroked the top of his head again and asked if he wanted to help her bake something special for dinner. He nodded yes and they both put the unfortunate incident at the therapist behind them.

#Varian #Tangled #BH6 #aunt cass #cass hamada #big hero six #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #BH6 the series

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ain-t-bovvered · 5 years

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Epiphany 9

read first ACT 1

EDIT: @waywardbaby

Summary: Less than two years later, you finally passed the men of letters’ initiation and, finally, you now set foot in America eager to be reunited with the Winchesters. But if Dean thought that you spent your days only with your nose in books and hands in monster’s guts, he was dead wrong. Your mission? Something that the British branch tried and failed miserably, or at least that’s what they told you anyway.

Pairing: Dean X Reader

Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel and Jack

Warnings: slow burn guys…slow burn. Also, some fluff, humor, feels and angst.

You woke up startled, air deprived and bathed in cold sweat. 'Not again' you groaned internally, a pair of arms tightening around you.

“Y/N?...” Dean's sleepy, confused voice.

“…sorry I woke you…” you sat up at the edge of the bed, gathering your hair into a quick, messy bun to cool off. Dean’s hand rubbed your back, shifting closer.

“Talk to me.”

You turned to him, smiling bitterly. “Just a nightmare, I’m okay.”

“About?”

“I don’t know…”

“Y/N…”

“I really don’t, Dean. I can’t know. Cass made it so that I wouldn’t remember nightmares or dreams about that time. It’s okay, I’m okay.”

Dean’s jaw clenched and you kissed it softly, “Stop thinking that it’s your fault.”

Your eyes fell on the rest of him. Bed hair, after sex glow, some of your marks still on him, angry and red and just a blanket, barely covering his lower half.

He caught you staring and smirked. Of course, he did.

“Like what you see?”

You smirked back, turning to him completely, your hand sliding to his chest, pushing him back down, you follow. Both sighed when your lips met in a chaste kiss that lasted probably less than Dean’s purity pledge.

“Yeah…” you said breathlessly, “... as a matter of fact, I do like it.”

His hand pulled you down again, you fell on him and ...GROOOWL…

“…”

“Was that me or you?” he asked, surprised.

“…that…was me ...I didn’t really eat a proper meal yesterday. What time is it anyway? you asked, propping your chin on his chest. In the bunker’s quarters, there was no natural light so it was impossible to know if it was night or day.

“Uhhmm, barely 7.”

“Should ...should we make breakfast? Sam’s probably already up.”

“Actually…” his hand grabbed your ass hard, and you yelped. “I was thinking of something else for breakfast, that didn't include my little brother!” You giggled and kissed him softly as if you just gave him the good to go. He flipped you over and kissed you hard. He was going to repeat the great performance of the night before when your stomach protested again. You started giggling, turning red at the effort to control yourself and pulling the pillow over your face.

His head fell on your shaking with laughter chest and he snorted.

“Breakfast.”

“Breakfast.” came your muffled voice.

With one of his plaid shirts on, and swimming in it, you picked up your clothes and he watched you smugly from the bed.

“...you are certainly enjoying the show Dean! Thanks for the help…! Where the hell did you throw my shirt?” you huffed, bending down, Dean’s head following your movement as his lips smacked.

“Stop looking at my ass!” you said as you opened the door to peak outside. “Okay, the road is clear…” you turned to him, only to find him walking to you in all his naked glory. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish which was trying to breathe out of the water. Your brain struggling to form words.

“…”

“What?”

“I’m trying real hard not to look down right now ...soooo hard!”

You bit your lips trying not to smile and keeping your eyes locked on his. He smirked and pulled you to him to kiss you, grabbing your ass again. Before you could reciprocate, he slapped it, pushing you out of his room.

“I’ll wake up Sam if he’s still sleeping and call Jack. We’ll wait for you in the kitchen,” he said winking, before closing the door in your face.

“…assbutt!” you muttered.

“I heard that!”

Fresh out of the shower and in new clothes, you trotted down the hallway to the kitchen. You mourned the loss of that cozy, plaid shirt that smelled of Dean but better avoid getting Sam choked on his breakfast. Or even worse, having to endure the teasing, at least for the time being. As you entered the kitchen, you were greeted by a very domestic view. Dean, with a grey t-shirt and washed out denim, fumbling at the stove with a kitchen rag draped over his shoulder. Sam in sports gear, sitting and pouring coffee into the mugs, with an apple in his mouth. Jack was sitting patiently and when he saw you, he smiled and, bless his soul, got up to give you his seat.

“Good morning Y/N!”

“‘Morning Jack! Please sit down. I need to stretch my aching, old bones.”

“Why? You had a workout session last night or somethin’ ?”

Your head snapped to Dean who was filling plates with eggs and bacon trying not to laugh.

“…No …Dean…I think I PULLED a muscle while sleeping!” you said between your teeth, welcoming the hot cup of coffee Sam handed you.

“So…Y/N…” Sam started, grabbing your attention. “I didn’t hear you come back yesterday. How did it go?”

“I got suspicious looks, skeptical looks, lecherous looks. I got names, I got sales and I got drunk. I guess it went well!”

“…Okay…I’m glad, I guess.” he snorted, “When’s the next trip?”

“Soon. A day or two. This time, if Dad lets me…” you said, giving Dean the stink eye who choked on his eggs.

“I’ll start with the new one near New Orleans and then those two in Florida. It’s still not too hot around here. I’ll cross out those first so I don’t fry myself this summer.”

“I guess you have it under control then. Let us know if you need anything.”

Sam got up and placed his plate in the sink. “Well, I’m out. Later guys!”

“Jack do you have anything to do this morning?” you asked, taking Sam’s seat.

“I don’t think so.”

“Driving lesson? I don’t have anyth-OUCH!” something bumped into your shin and you looked at Dean, “What!?”

“You want to give the kid driving lessons?!” he hissed between his teeth as if Jack couldn't hear him.

“I promised him, and this afternoon I have to work on the samples.”

“But –”

“I’d like that.” Jack smiled and you looked at Dean triumphantly, biting the strip of bacon.

“Anyway, where’s Cass?”

“Angel radio went online again.”

“Case?”

“We still don’t know.”

“Umm ok. Jack, you done?” you asked and he nodded handing you his plate. “Great! Let’s go!” you said chirping. Dean’s hand caught your wrist.

“Jack, go ahead, I need to speak to Y/N.”

The boy nodded and exited the room.

You rolled your eyes and turned to face Dean.

“I’m not gonna fight you on-mmmpf…” he suddenly trapped you against the table, kissing you deeply, your hands fisting his shirt as his got lost in your damp hair.

He tugged gently at it to guide your head back and you looked at him with hazy eyes and labored hot breath, “Jesus! You are infuriating!”

You snorted softly and, closing the distance to graze his lips, you whispered: “…workout session, really?”

“Where is Jack and Y/N?”

“Driving lesson,” Dean answered grumpily while scanning the police bulletin. Sam’s eyebrows shot up looking at the mess on the desk.

“Case?” he asked walking up to Dean, rubbing his shower, wet hair with a towel.

“Maybe…”

Sam peeked at the scattered papers, browsing through them. “Dude..” he snorted and Dean lifted his eyes puzzled, “Why are you specifically looking into Louisiana news?”

Dean snatched the paper from his brother's hands, “I’m not.”

“Do I need to remind you that I perfectly recognized your I-got-laid face?” he said, plopping down onto the chair across Dean, picking up another sheet of paper.

“…you want to help or not?”

“Sure.” Sam chuckled.

Pressing your fingers on the bridge of your nose, you called out: “Guys? We are back!”

“Library!”

“Here!” the brothers answered back.

“Before we come in, I need to ask you not to freak out. Especially you Dean.”

They looked at each other confused, then they saw you with Jack right behind you, coming in. Dean’s eyes widened in shock

“What the hell!?”

He was in your face in a flash, quick hands tilting your head up.

“It’s nothing…” his gaze fell on Jack behind you, his mortified face smeared with some dried blood, holding a bloody tissue against his hairline. “Jack?”

Gently removing his hands from your own face, you tugged at them and his eyes were on yours again, “It’s not his fault, don’t freak out!”

“What happened, Y/N ?” Sam asked, handing you a tissue. You used it to dab your nose.

“Jack got scared when some animal crossed the road and he slammed the brakes. Nephilim strength and all ...my face hit the dashboard and his head hit the steering wheel. My nose is still bleeding because, you know…” you gestured yourself, “ … human!. It’s fine, it doesn’t even hurt anymo-UGH…”

Dean had pressed the tip of your nose with his finger and the sudden, sharp pain made your eyes tear up.

“It’s not broken at least,” he said clenching his jaw. You grabbed his arm again, looking at him with pleading eyes. He exhaled softly and looked behind you at Jack who was nervously avoiding his gaze. “Kid, you alright?”

“Yes…it doesn’t hurt anymore…Y/N I’m so sorry.”

“Pfff, it’s nothing! …look…” you said, bumping your shoulder with his. “It’s dangerous to stop like that, and we were lucky the road was deserted. But you did it to avoid an animal.” You winked at him, “I do that too…when I can…” You smiled reassuringly, pried the blood-soaked tissue from his hands and turned to the boys, “I’m gonna go wash this mess off."

Dean made a move to come with you but you nodded to Jack and Sam who was patting him on his shoulder, “HE needs you right now. Go be papa.” you said grinning and walked to your room. Dean watched as you lifted your head up again and quickly put Jack’s tissue in your pocket, but didn’t think much of it as the task of reassuring the most powerful being in the universe fell on him and his brother now.

Confused, you looked down at your hands, sweaty under the blue, neoprene gloves.

“What the…”

Without noticing, you had put the tissue with Jack’s blood, in a sterile envelope. In front of you, several labeled falcon test tubes on a rack, each with a piece of bloodied tissue inside. Wobbling you stepped back.

What …what happened?

You heard a buzzing behind you, the centrifuge had finished its cycle.

“When did I ..?”

Something wasn’t right. You remembered saying to Dean to look after Jack and then…nothing. You made an effort to recollect the rest and felt a sharp pain. You grabbed your head and at that moment you heard a knock.

“Yes?” you shrugged off the lab coat and the gloves.

“Y/N? You alright?”

“Sam !” your body bolted to the door, opening it a bit. You squeezed through the tight space and closed it quickly behind you. “Yeah, the bleeding has already stopped. What’s up?”

“It’s been almost an hour since you disappeared. Dean didn’t find you in your room so we were looking for you”

“Ah yes, I thought I'd put in some hours in the lab, so this afternoon I’ll have more time to be lazy and do nothing.”

“…Oh okay…well, there are some sandwiches, if you are hungry.”

“Famished!”

“Found her in the lab.”

Sam announced, entering the library, you trotting behind him trying to match his pace.

“I should have known you were nerding.” Dean scoffed, throwing a wrapped sandwich at you. You weren’t ready and you juggled it between your hands trying to not to let it fall, and failing miserably. Clearing your throat you quickly scooped it up off the floor, huffing your hair out of the way and straightening up, so very quickly.

“Wow…!” both brothers said together.

“Where’s Jack?” you asked, sitting down.

“Moping in his room,” Dean said, chewing.

You made an unhappy sound and Sam scoffed. “He’s okay Y/N. He wasn’t hungry and wanted to finish a series he started last night”

“What time do you want to leave for Louisiana?”

“…I haven't thought of it yet. Why?”

Dean squirmed in his seat, casually balancing the beer bottle on his knee, “Oh…nothing just…you know… asking.”

Sam hid a knowing smile. “Dean’s found a case in New Orleans!” he blurted out, taking a bite from his sandwich, very pleased with himself and watching Dean scowl at him in panic.

“Oh…?”

“…Yeah, some vamps…nothing fancy. Probably just some poor bastards who got turned during Mardi Gras.” He looked nervously at you, “So, I was thinking…I don’t know …maybe…”

“He’ll give you a ride.” Sam finished for him.

“Yeah well …it’s the same direction”

“…Such coincidence, right?” you snorted smiling, “Alright, alright. Can I ride shotgun for the first few hours, at least?” you asked Sam.

“Oh, I’m not coming,” he grinned. “I’ll stay here in case Cass comes back from heaven with some news.”

“Right… cool…”you scowled at Dean who just winked at you over his beer and you had to hide your smile behind your food.

“God…! You two are embarrassing!” Sam whispered but neither of you heard.

The afternoon passed with you closed up into the lab and Sam and Dean teaching Jack how to care for firearms and sharpen the machetes for the vampire job. After dinner Cass came back without news, for now, saying he’ll try again the next day.

“Y/N …! Your nose…” he squinted at you, face closing in. You had developed a bruise and it started to hurt more during the day. He touched your forehead with two fingers and suddenly, energy tingled through your body to your face, the pain a long gone memory.

You widened your eyes, touching your nose and looking at the boys open-mouthed. But they dismissed your surprise with a smirk.

“Soooo, drinking night?” you asked patting the boys on their shoulders “Can we bring Jack out to enjoy life instead of keeping secluded in this hole?”

“I’m not sure it’s a –” Dean started.

“Great, I’ll go get him!” you cut him off and you were already down the corridor, completely missing a baffled, mouth left open, Dean.

You knocked on Jack’s door and opened it. He was laying on his stomach in front of the computer, completely absorbed. Perfect visual of you during college.

You shook his arm and he looked at you startled. “Y/N …your nose…is better!”

“Cassie’s angelic fingers… that came out wrong. Anyway, change clothes. We are going out to drink.”

“Why do I have to change?”

“Because you are wearing a star wars T-shirt, which is great… but here,” you said, picking up a white t-shirt and the camel jacket laying on the chair, “Put these on and go join the others.”

Moments later you found them waiting for you. You had opted for a simple, casual skater dress, a cropped denim jacket, biker boots and your perfect shade of matte red lipstick. The one that you'd need holy water to rub off. Your hair was kept in a side braid with some strands framing your face. What you were most pleased with, though, in your outfit, was a thin, velvet choker adorning your neck. It was an accessory you loved and wore whenever you could.

“Did you even change?” you asked, looking at them. Apart from Cass, who had his own thing going on with the trench coat and Jack, the brothers were...well, they looked like always did.

“Of course! I changed shirt, see?” Dean said pointing at his red shirt, which was actually …pretty hot. “Sam even brushed his hair. He’ll scare the ladies away with that luscious mane” he joked, Sam’s bitchface, a precious reaction.

“Sure ...or maybe they'll come on to you and you won’t know which one to choose!”

Dean’s smile dropped and he looked at you nervously.

“What’s up with that anyway?” he said, pointing at your neck. “Missing the 90s?”

“...I want it that waaaay!” you chanted, skipping past them and up the stairs.

“...Gross!”

“Wow…this is busy!” you shouted over the noise of talking people, clicking billiard balls and music. You saw an empty table in a corner and dragged Jack there with you, the others following. Sam and Dean took your orders and went to the counter.

“So…everything’s ok so far?” you asked Jack.

“It’s noisy, but I like it. There are a lot of people.”

“It’s gonna be ok Jack. You’ve made a lot of progress. It’s unlikely you’ll hurt someone.”

“Geez, thanks, Cass!”

Later into the night, Dean went to hustle at the pool tables to gain some money dragging Cass with him. It was because of his poker face, he'd said. Sam had vanished somewhere and you hoped he was with that brunette you'd seen before, making eye contact with him. You and Jack stayed at the table watching the scene.

“Having fun?” you mused, slouching on your seat and looking at him.

“Yes, this is fun!” he smiled sweetly, taking a sip out of his, now, warm beer.

The alcohol had started to have its effects half an hour before and you still had to finish the third round but you were growing weak at drinking.

“Dean’s made a friend!” Jack said.

Your ears perked and your eyes searched for him. They landed on this cute, blonde girl who was clearly flirting the fuck out of him. You were not the jealous type and you knew Dean was also a nice person so chatting was nothing to worry about and he clearly wasn’t affected but damn … you bit your inner cheek.

“That he did…” you said bitterly, shifting your eyes to the people who were dancing to some folk song.

“Hey, Jack.. ever danced?”

Without waiting for an answer you dragged him by his arm into the crowd.

“I don’t know how!” he shouted over the music.

“I don’t know either!” you laughed back. “Let’s just copy the others!”

You grabbed his hands and watching other couples you started to get the hang of it. It looked like something you often saw. Fast, jumpy and fun. Jack was stiff as a pole and it hadn't been easy for you to make him unwind a bit, but half an hour in and you were now both dancing.

Horribly, yes but Jack was having fun.

You called a break when he stepped on your toe for the fifth time and moved to the edge of the dance floor.

“ ’s that your girl?” you heard some guy question Jack who looked at you, confused.

“…She's my friend.” he said.

“ Great! Wanna dance?” he asked, turning to you this time.

“Umm…actually …n-” but before you could say something else he grabbed your wrist and dragged you into the crowd. You tried to resist and strained your neck, searching for Jack but people blocked your eyesight and calling after him was impossible over the loud music. Irritated you switched your attention to the stranger.

“I didn’t say I wanted to dance with you. Please, let go. I can’t leave my friend alone.” he started to sway you to the music, still dragging you around. You played along, trying to get out of it the easy way.

“Aww come on, he’s old enough and there are plenty of girls who can keep him company. None of them lookin’ as good as you, though.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ok…thank you, that’s sweet. But I’m here with someone, actually.”

“Yeah! I saw you entering with the village people but they are all busy, right now. Tall fella disappeared with a nice piece of ass, uncle blue eyes is cashing money and red shirt is busy with blondie.” Your heart skipped a bit at that, and you tried to look where you had seen Dean last but you couldn’t see over all those tall people.

“Honestly… his loss!” he forced an arm around your waist, keeping you tightly against him. Your arms tried to push on his chest.

“Listen ...I'm flattered, really. But I’m here with my friends, I just wanna have fun.”

“That’s what we are having now, no?”

He twirled you around from one side of the dance floor to the other, moving you further away from Jack. If you could barely see him before, now he was nowhere to be seen.

This was starting to irritate you. “Look, you seem like a nice guy…a nice, forceful one. Maybe you didn’t hear me well enough. Let. Me. Go. I don’t wanna dance with you now.”

He laughed, twirled you around again, and embraced you tightly. This guy had a steel grip and you couldn’t wriggle your hands out of his.

“I like your accent!”

“I like my hands free!” you retorted. You tried again to squirm out of his arms but he was squeezing too tight, almost hurting you. Now, you were starting to panic. What if Jack read the situation badly and snapped?

Oh shit!

“Ok, listen! It was nice but I really have to go look for my friends, now,” you said, turning your head to him. You jumped, startled as you found his face mere inches from yours.

Uuuuh, nope!

You stretched your head back, your back curving away from him, but he followed you and you felt his breath on your skin. Turning your head to the side, you had time to see a very angry, stone-faced Dean coming your way.

Fuck.

Before you could warn the poor bastard, Dean grabbed him by his shirt collar, hauling him off you with too much ease, and he landed on his ass. Dean’s icy gaze stared down at him, literally warning him to stay down. A couple of people stopped to stare at the scene, probably looking for something to record and laugh about later. The guy stood up and you could see he was now pissed.

“I was giving your main bitch some fun! No need to be possessive…” he blurted out.

Oh’ no!

You hurried to grab Dean’s arm, right before he made a move to punch the moron. “Dean! Dean, stop it! I don’t care”

He turned to look at you, his fist still raised. “Come on! Let's go! You can teach me how to play pool, yeah?”

He gave another dirty look to the guy and lowering his arm, let you lead him away.

“That’s a nice leash you have around your neck!” the guy called out, loud enough for both of you to hear. You felt his arm muscles clench under your fingers.

“Son of a-” he turned, with every intention of slamming the idiot but he had run somewhere, the instinct of self-preservation probably having kicked in. “That coward!” you heard him growl, then his attention fell on you. “He didn’t touch you in weird places, right?”

“Nope! I think he was going for forced kisses before forced touches ...thanks,” you said, the last word almost whispered.

“You are more than capable of looking after yourself. Why didn’t you flip the guy?” his tone stern.

What the hell?

“I didn’t want to make a scene. Me and Jack …? We were having fun…”

You saw his disapproving, sulking face before he resumed walking to the table, dragging you by the arm and the irritation rose again.

“…And from what I’ve seen… you too ...were having fun.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, dropping your arm and turning slowly to you. You groaned at his smug smile. “My, my, my …is that…?” his smile only growing bigger. “Are you jealous…?”

“What?!...’Course not!! ” you scoffed, crossing your arms.

“Son of a bitch… you are! Look at that pout! Adorable!” he joked.

“I really want to smack your face right now” you spat through gritted teeth. Shaking your head, you avoided his gaze. “Let’s just go back to the table,” you said covering your blushing face with your hand and marching by him, ignoring his little laugh.

Before you could surpass him, he grabbed your forearm, twirling you around and into his arms. He kissed you deeply and quickly and whispered in your ear, “Don’t be. I don’t have the energy to put up with another. You’re already a handful!”

You smacked his chest playfully, “Good to know!”

You walked to the table trying to squeeze between the crowd, having Dean right behind you with a hand on your nape to guide you through it. Suddenly, you felt really really hot. Better save this idea for later, too.

“Well, that was fun!”

You jumped onto the kitchen counter and opened the plastic bottle that Dean had tossed your way, taking a few, long gulps of fresh water. “God I’m glad this place is underground,” you said, shrugging off your jacket.

“Sooo…leaving after tomorrow is cool with you?” he said leaning on the table across from you.

“Yep….you know ...I'm not sure if you are being considerate or wished really, really hard for some case to be on the same direction I'm going.” you smiled, smugly.

He smiled back and crossed the space that separated you two, his hands grazing your thighs, face inches from yours.

“Y/N, how dare you…! Vamps are a serious threat…” he said lowering his face to kiss your jaw, your head moving to give him better access. “Sitting this one out goes against my morals!”

He pulled you closer and you opened your legs to welcome him.

“Oh yes! I know but... I saw the ‘case’” your hands smoothing the crease on his red shirt right above his chest. “... And that’s a poor excuse of one!” you looked up at him from under your eyelashes. He opened and closed his mouth in embarrassment.

“…well…” he chuckled, scratching the back of his head and looking like an adorable, little shit.

You lifted your legs and locked them behind him, bringing him forward, as he lowered to your lips.

“Can I drive?” you asked, grinning.

He smiled into the kiss and picked you up, “It’s cute that you still ask me that”

“One day, Winchester… One day!”

Your muffled giggles faded away behind door number 11.

#Epiphany 9 #Epiphany #reader insert #reader #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester

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hero-of-burning-courage-blog · 7 years

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Some personal shit to be ranted about below. This is just me venting into the void.

So for those of you who don’t know, I was physically abused and psychologically tortured by my older half brother within my memory span from ages 3 to 16 (which was when he was kicked out of the house). This happened behind closed doors when we were supposed to be playing when dad (our shared parent) was off to work, and my mom was busy doing things around the house. He would vent his anger and frustrations out on me. He’d hit me in places that would be covered by my clothes until it bruised and I was crying, but I wouldn’t be allowed to make a noise. I quickly learned to adapt to pain and pretend everything was okay, otherwise, he’d kill everyone I loved before he would kill me. Now, he was only 2 years older than me, but as a child, I couldn’t rationalise that he couldn’t do that to my parents just yet. How could I? I was 3 when it started.

I hated summer time because it meant he’d be living with us instead of his mother.

When he turned 8, my parents gained full custody over him, and I cried myself to sleep every night, silently... but I had already been trained to not show it outside of my locked room at night, and I was only 6. A 6-year-old shouldn’t have to worry about their parents knowing they are in pain or scared for their own life. A 6-year-old should be playing, and be okay with telling their parents anything... but how could I? He’d kill everyone I loved before he’d finally kill me.

By no means were my parents perfect. They had their flaws. They could be emotionally and mentally abusive at times. It definitely got worse as I developed my own sense of self. Now I’m an adult, and I’m no longer their little girl... I’m a grown man, and they seem to hate that, but won’t say it anymore.

To them, family must always be forgiven, no matter how egregious the actions of a member... even if said actions were directed at another family member. You must do all you can to paint the picture of a happy family, despite how broken you are on the inside... despite how broken another family member made you.

I kept my mouth shut until November of 2015. I had just turned 21 the month prior to finally telling my parents why I hated my older half brother so much. It took me 5 years to summon the courage to say something about all the horrible things that had happened. To be brave enough to go against what I had been tortured into believing for so long... to know that he couldn’t kill everyone I loved before he’d finally kill me.

As I write this, I’m biting back tears. I shake with fear that somehow he’d know it was me writing this, that he’d make good on his promise, but I need this to be known... because after this horrible secret being spilled to my parents (and he most certainly knows because they confronted him)... not even 2 years after the truth being known, my dad invites him over to my younger brother’s graduation party, and he sneaks up behind me to say hello. I knew he was coming and was already orchestrating how to leave with Kara and Tyler before he showed up, but he was early. I fled to my room and locked the door. I was having an anxiety attack.

My other younger brother (have 3 of them), was the first to notice I wasn’t upstairs for the party. He was sent to ask me if the peach cobbler I was making was finished, or if the collard greens were done. I had finished both just as my abuser had surprised me. I regrettably snapped at Kevin (the one who noticed I wasn’t around) when he couldn’t hear me and knocked hard on my door and tried to open it and found it to be locked. I apologised later for that...

My mother was next. She called my phone to ask me where I was and if all the food was done. I told her I was in my room, trying not to panic (despite already panicking), and that my friend Tyler was on his was to pick me up and take me somewhere safe. She didn’t protest this, accepted it, but informed my dad... who was not okay with this.

My father came down and didn't’ say anything before trying to force my door open, causing me to panic more. How could I not know that it was my abuser? I cleared my throat to make myself sound okay and tentatively responded, asking who was there. Dad said it was him and demanded I open my door. I did as I was asked and he forced his way into my room... only to yell at and reprimand me for wanting to leave and for panicking. He berated me and tried to humiliate me for being scared. He tried to invalidate my gender identity, because years of torture left me frightened and crying... and real men wouldn’t let something like that get to them. Mind you, my father has been to war and also has PTSD. He can’t get in his vehicle without checking under it to make sure no bombs were planted there. Guess he’s not a real man either, based on his shitty definition of a real man -queue eye roll here-

After seeing that he “couldn’t get through to me” by yelling and humiliating me and making me panic more, after an awkward silence for a good 5 to 10 minutes, he quietly asked me what I would like him to do, I responded barely above a whisper, “I’d like for you to get out of my room please.” And this pissed him off further. He called me a selfish asshole and “That’s what you’re going to say to me?!” Then got up and slammed my bedroom door on his way out. I cried and waited for all to go quiet before I fled. My shoes had been hidden, but I found my flip flops, ignoring my strict rule of no socks and sandals, put those on, and proceeded to leave. My mom saw me head out and caught me just as I got to the sidewalk in front of our yard. She asked me where I was going, I told her I was going to the park and Tyler would be picking me up soon. She asked if I’d be home that night, and I said I wasn’t sure, but dad was pissed off and probably didn’t want me home anyways, and I definitely wouldn’t return until my abuser was gone. She let me go without further protest.

My calves burned as I rushed to the park, only to then decide to go further, walking all the way to the high school in my neighbourhood. The walk helped my nerves, but only enough to calm me from my anxiety attack. I was still a paranoid wreck, trying hard to not dissociate. Tyler texted that he was 5 minutes away. That was the longest 5 minutes of my life. I jumped at every sound that wasn’t a bird, kept scanning around and stayed hidden until Tyler’s car showed up. I was safe.

The car ride was mostly silence, with the dull hum of the radio. Tyler kept changing the station, but I mostly couldn’t pay attention to what was on. I could barely focus on his words whenever he spoke. I was safe, but I was still scared. There were several times where I wanted to grab his hand as an anchor, but he was driving, and I dunno if that’d be awkward or give the wrong idea, so I kept my hands to myself.

We made it to a mutual friend’s house, spent the evening with a handful of friends who were aware of the situation, they helped me calm down and get my mind off things. I tried hard to focus on what we were doing, my mind drifting every so often, but someone always managed to pull my attention back to reality and away from all the what ifs and paranoid thoughts of the future when I’d have to return home.

I then received a text towards the later hours of the evening that my abuser might be staying the night in my home. Cass, Adam, and Derek offered to let me stay at their house for the evening, and I definitely stayed. My abuser didn’t leave my house until almost 1 in the morning. Mom asked me if I was coming home, and I told her that everyone already left or went to bed, so I’d be back in the morning.

I did return the next morning, having barely slept and was plagued with night terrors, only to receive a cold shoulder from my dad... which I suppose was better than him deciding to yell at me more. I have been bouncing between apathetic and on the verge of tears since that happened... which was just this past Memorial Day weekend. Dad has barely spoken more than a couple sentences to me since it happened.

I’ve been depressed since then... nerves on edge because now my abuser knows exactly where to find me. I’m hoping to be gone to finish school by next spring, but that feels ages away and it makes me sick thinking about having to wait that long. I feel like I won’t be able to truly get better until I have my own place away from here, a place that my abuser has no knowledge of. Rent is too expensive in Colorado to find my own place now, especially since I’m trying to save my money to move up to Minnesota to finish school.

I have had the impulsive thought to shave my head, change my glasses, put a rush on my top surgery, pick a different name despite how much I love my name now, and move to a different state now... but I don’t have enough to do that. I like my hair and glass and name... I don’t even know where I’d go right now... so I’m stuck. I work 45~ hours a week as a baker, and I’m stuck right now. I’d pick up on commissions for extra cash, but I don’t even have enough of a following for anyone to care enough to pay me. I’m shit at advertising myself on social media. I’m barely capable of running an RP blog. I’m hardly active on Facebook. I go generally unnoticed. Sometimes I prefer to be that anonymous despite my wildly coloured hair and spunky personality (when I’m not feeling like utter shit)... I dunno... I’m working hard now, and I’ll get there. I gotta work on my portfolio to get into the school I’m planning on anyways. I may open up commissions when I’m feeling less frazzled and ready to bolt at the mildest sign of danger.

I’d like to thank my friends Kara, Tyler, Cass, Adam, Derek, and Nate (who was the only unmentioned friend in this, lmao, despite his humour helping me along too) for being there. I’d probably be in a lot worse of a state of mind if y’all didn’t kidnap me. I’d also like to thank my online friends Yuki, Psyco, and Inu for keeping me calm through that anxiety attack while I waited for Tyler to come get me.

I will be okay, I just need time to recover. It’s been one thing after another lately, but I feel like things will get better soon, at least for now.

He can’t kill everyone I love and then me, because he doesn’t live in this town, and my family now knows, and so do you, dear readers. I have survived this long, and will continue to do so for many years, because his threats were probably empty. I am stronger than my mental illness. I am stronger than the torture he put me through. I may hate him for all the horrible things he did to me and my family, he may terrify me still, but I am stronger than him.

I am stronger than him.

#personal #tw: abuse #tw: abusive situations #tw: abusive family #tw: mental illness #a whisper on the wind {ooc}

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