#something I realized when taking him into cas to bang him up: this boy is still a teen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nicka-nell · 3 years ago

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≡ Masterlist | ∇ prev | chapter 9 | next ∆

Pairing: Osamu x reader (main route), Atsumu x reader

Genre: Social Media-AU (SMAU), text

Warning: mention of alcohol, mdni

Cheers: 2021/06/11 - Friday (message + text)

"Let's toast to a good match!" Say all of you in unison as your glasses clink and you fall backwards in the fine fabric seats. Akaashi and Kuroo are sitting on the bar stools, Osamu and you’re standing behind the counter, too excited to sit.

"So, should we make bets when Bokuto’s first depressive episode comes?" Teases Kuroo Akaashi and you. But Akaashi is just typing on his water glass, trying to suppress his nervousness.

"Bokuto can do it without a bad mood. He, too, has greatly improved and will perform well today. I just know that." He says completely rational, looking only at the TV. Sulking about the fact that he could not tease Akaashi, Kuroo turns back to you, so that your eyes met.

"And you? Do you think Atsumu will do his best today? Even the best ace can’t shine without a good setter."

"Kuroo, stop being so mean! Tsumu will do it! He is the best and he will show us how good he is." You say determined and put your fist in front of your chest, your cheeks puffed up.

Osamus’s corner of his mouth pulls up inconspicuously as he watches you. He finds it kind of sweet how open and honest you show your emotions. And even if he doesn’t like to admit it, it makes him happy how much you stand behind his brother, and that you are so proud of him.

"Am I not right, Osamu?"

Only now does he realize that you are looking at him with your sparkling eyes, waiting for an answer. An answer… to what question? He has only partially heard your words, trying to give you an answer that is neutral and does not show that he was inattentive.

"Yeah… right." He smiles, raises his hand and flushes through your hair. But he stops in his movement, takes his hand away quickly as he realizes what he is doing and murmurs only a little "I'm sorry".

Kuroo and Akaashi both look at each other with big eyes, and you know what question is going on in their heads. Just a business relationship? But you’re surprised yourself, as you try to straighten your messy hair and sip on your cocktail.

"It's all fine. Tsumu can handle it and that’s the main thing!" You try to change the subject.

The game remains exciting, MSBY wins the first set, the second the Schweiden Adlers. They play the last set and your team just needs one last point.

You all hold your breath, look at the ball as the rabbit stands in front of the snake, how the ball touches Atsumu’s fingertips just for a blink of an eye before it lands in Bokuto’s hand and with a deafening bang hits the ground of the opponent.

Everything is silent for a few seconds, no one moves before you all shout out loud, as Akaashi lays his head relieved to the back, while Kuroo pats his shoulder. And Osamu and you… find yourself in each other’s arms.

Full of joy he lifts you up, presses you against his broad chest before he sets you down, his eyes widened. It felt so normal to rejoice with you. As if he would act with his friends. Except you’re just his employee. It is far too easy for him to relax in your presence, to be loose and completely himself. But that’s not how it should be.

"Sorry, there must have been something going over with me."

"It’s okay, it’s normal to be happy." You answer him, and a strange silence fills the space between the two of you. For some inexplicable reason, your heart beats faster and you hope that someone will break the silent soon.

"They made it…" Says Akaashi suddenly, as if he heared your mind. You take the opportunity to go to him and almost throw him off the chair with your embrace. To do something which distracts your fast beating heart from deafening your ears.

"Of course! They are our boys!" You laugh happily, somewhat awkward. But it was what you needed. Because you feel calm again, think that you can look Psamu in the eyes without turning red.

All of you try to calm down a bit, still watch the interviews, while you have a few drinks before you decide to finish the evening. After all it's dark outside, just a few people drive bacl home from work. You all already have your jackets on, want to step out the door when Osamu stops you and puts his hand behind his neck. With his words you turn around, study him, as he looks for the right words to say.

"Do you want a ride home? You shouldn’t go through the town alone when it’s dark."

Your cheeks are warm, but you are sure that no one will notice it in the dark. A ride home... It's not like you would need half an hour to walk back home. You actually only need a few minutes. Also a ride? With his car? "But you had some drinks! Besides, you live right above the store, which would be an unnecessary detour." You say, would slap yourself right now for telling him to just go back in his own apartment.

"Well… to get to our hotel we have to drive past Atsumu’s apartment. We’ll take her with us and drop her off." Akaashi adds to your sentence before looking at the dark-haired man in front of you who nods relieved.

"All right, then come home safe and see you Monday Y/n."

Still with happy faces you say goodbye to Osamu before getting in the car and heading home with mixed feelings.

•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•

Note: I'm sorry but again nothing happened here in this chapter between both of them. 🤭

Taglist: @xmyshya @boosyboo9206 @alienvarmint @namyari

#haikyuu x reader #osamu x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu smau #osamu smau #atsumu smau #smau: ride of love

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charlie-minion · 4 years ago

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Could the same SPN finale make a little more sense with some additions/changes?

I’ve had the idea for this post stuck in my head for days now, but with every new conspiracy theory and every new eventuality in the fandom, it became difficult to cool down enough to write something less ship-related and more narrative-focused.

What Supernatural and non-SPN fans have to understand is that a lot of us have expressed disappointment and frustration after 15x20, not because of Destiel (that’s just one part of the whole problem), but because the finale doesn’t make sense. Everything was leading up to something beautifully crafted until the end of 15x19. Beyond that, it’s hard to understand what happened. The story rendered all the character growth irrelevant, invalidated the themes of free will and “family don’t end in blood”, regressed to the original brother codependency they spent 15 years trying to overcome, made a queer non-binary character in a male vessel and a deaf female character basically disposable, and kept the show’s reputation of queerbaiting and misogyny until its very last breath.

That’s not going out with a bang! At least not a positive one. We all were ready to mourn Supernatural, but we wanted to feel proud of its legacy, and somehow TPTB managed to tarnish that legacy in less than 45 minutes. What a way to ruin the other more than 13,600 minutes of story!

It doesn’t matter who is to blame (The CW, Robert Singer, Andrew Dabb). It doesn’t matter why it happened (homophobia, censorship, marketing for Walker, bad writing). What matters is that at the end of the day, the finale that aired is what we got and that’s going to hurt for a long time. It hurts even more when we realize that the same finale could have easily made more sense, even without being perfect.

That’s what I want to do in this post. I want to show you how things would have been less jarring (for the fandom), while still keeping the goal to please the general audience.

Before I begin rewriting 15x20, I have to mention that I talked to my conservative boomer sister about the finale. She hasn’t watched the second half of season 15 yet (she’s waiting for Netflix to have it), but she’s been watching the show for a long time (she introduced me to it 8 years ago). She’s the perfect example of a viewer from the general audience. Loves the show but doesn’t give a second thought to it and definitely isn’t paying attention to character development or themes. Doesn’t engage with fandom, actors, or any of the show’s social media. Pure GA! When I told her the series finale had aired, she asked me about it and I refused to give her spoilers. Because of that, she told me the ending SHE wanted. She said she would be happy with either of two possibilities: the boys retiring and finally living a normal life OR they going to heaven and finding peace at last. She saw Sam and Dean as a unit, which means: both retiring or both going to heaven. AND she saw Cas as part of that, too. She wasn’t so sure about Jack. And for her, we could use the “Eileen who?” and it wouldn’t be a joke. She didn’t remember her.

NOW IT’S TIME TO WRITE A NEW VERSION OF 15X20 (KEEPING 15X18 AND 15X19 EXACTLY THE SAME AS THEY AIRED). This will be a very long post:

The opening remains almost the same. No “Carry on my wayward son” to induce feels. Too soon and too predictable! (Reasoning: Everyone was expecting it to play right there, so it would bring more tears at the end)

In the opening, after the scene where Jack says “People won’t need to pray to me or sacrifice to me”, we also see the scene from 15x19 where he says “I won’t be hands on”. Then we see the rest of the opening as it was. (Reasoning: People needed to be reminded that Jack would NOT intervene and that’s why later on, he would NOT save Dean).

We get the same montage, but when Sam takes a break from his morning run, we see him reading a message on his phone. A simple: “Hey Sam, what’s new?” from Eileen. Sam smiles fondly and begins to type a response we don’t get to see. The next scene continues the same, Sam making breakfast. (Reasoning: A text was a very simple way to show that Eileen was alive and still in communication with Sam).

The montage slowly ends as Sam enters the library (not after he sits down). He seems to be talking on the phone but we only hear an “I’ll tell him. Bye”. As he walks towards the table, he tells Dean: “Charlie says hi. Mentioned something about Stevie’s perfect scrambled eggs we have to try.” Dean’s answer is “Awesome!” (Reasoning: Just ONE line was needed to unbury Charlie and her girlfriend. ONE LINE).

Sam sits down, opens his laptop and everything continues the same. The title card shows for the last time.

YOU SEE? In the first 4 minutes they could have acknowledged that THREE WOMEN were alive and safe: Eileen, Charlie and Stevie. It wasn’t hard! Don’t blame bad writing on Covid! Now let’s continue.

Sam and Dean arrive at the Pie Fest just the same. Dean goes to get some “damn pie” and Sam takes out his phone. He dials and when someone picks up, he says “Hey, Jody, how are ya?” We don’t hear the rest of the conversation. The scene moves to Dean coming with his 6 portions of pie. Dean sits down and Sam tells him, “Talked to Jody. The other hunters haven’t had much work lately.” “That’s good, isn’t it?”, Dean says. All we get from Sam is “Yeah.” So, Dean looks at him and asks “what’s wrong?” like it happened in the episode. (Reasoning: Again, a couple of lines to make sure the people that were killed in 15x18 are safe and remembered by the boys in 15x20. Why is this important? Because they’re family!)

The conversation about Sam’s sad face happens the same. Sam is the one that mentions Cas and Jack. (Reasoning: Because this episode was so Sam-centered, it’s obvious he was the protagonist in the finale. If we see him communicating with Eileen, Charlie, and Jody, then it’s NORMAL, even expected of him to be the one to bring up Cas and Jack). Without these additions, it’s harder for people to understand that most of the finale was NOT from Dean’s POV but from Sam’s.

Dean’s “if we don’t keep living, then all that sacrifice is gonna be for nothing” stays the same. (Reasoning: I believe it’s necessary that the show sticks to the importance of “letting go” and “what is dead should stay dead” for the first time ever because the message is “even when you lose someone you love, you can still find some form of happiness and keep living, for you and for them, because that’s what they would have wanted”. Bringing someone back means “I can’t live without you”, and that’s just more codependency. It’s how the demon deals began in the Winchester family –Mary being the first one to do it. This would explain why Dean didn’t ask Jack to bring Cas back, as he asked Chuck. He understood Jack was NOT going to interfere anymore and accepted it. Besides, when Cas saved Dean from hell, Dean thought he didn’t deserve to be saved. This time that Cas saved him, Dean finally feels worthy enough to accept that YES, HE DESERVED TO BE SAVED ALL ALONG, just as much as he deserved to be loved by that angel of the Lord. In this scene, Dean also says that the pain is not gonna go away, which means that from HIS PERPECTIVE, it still hurts that Cas is not there. The problem is that the finale is not showing his POV but Sam’s.

Sam pies Dean on the face just the same. (Reasoning: That part was just to avoid ending the scene on a sad note).

Everything related to the case happens exactly the same. (Reasoning: At this point, people don’t really care about the MoTW, they care about Sam and Dean).

NOTE 1: The case is important to show that even when the Winchesters are finally free of Chuck’s influence, they CHOOSE to keep hunting. It isn’t something they do out of revenge or because it is their destiny anymore. Maybe they were forced into the life at first, but they’ve learned to find joy in saving people. Being hunters is who they are. However, the fact that a job application was shown on Dean’s desk is also important because it means he was willing to explore what else was there for him besides hunting. Maybe he could find a balance? Maybe he was thinking it was time to quit? We will never know! The thing is that Sam only finds out about it when he goes into Dean’s room after his brother is dead, so maybe that’s when it hits him that Dean wanted to explore his options, and Sam starts to think it’s time for him to do the same.

NOTE 2: I believe the masks the vampires are wearing is something we can blame on covid. If they had their faces covered, it was easier to use people from the SPN crew for some scenes, instead of using more actors unnecessarily.

NOTE 3: When Sam and Dean arrive at the barn, we get 3 visuals to remember Cas in the same scene (those are for the fandom, not for the general audience): a) the barn, obviously; b) the bag that resembles Cas’ trenchcoat so much that many people thought that’s what it was; and c) two feathers hanging on Dean’s right when he opens the trunk.

The scene with the throwing star happens the same. (Reasoning: The episode is still told from Sam’s point of view, so it makes sense that he fondly sees his brother as a man child).

Jenny the vampire? Uhhh… I mean, it’s not the best piece of writing I’ve ever seen, but it’s not the worst, so okay. That stays the same. (Reasoning: There is none, but she’s not what really ruined the finale, so whatever!)

Dean still dies impaled on a rebar. (Reasoning: OK. HERE ME OUT!!! I hate as much as everyone else that Dean is killed. I think it’s lazy writing, but that’s what we got and I can’t change that in this re-write, so if killing Dean is what we have to work around, then, memes aside, death by rebar is better and here’s why. There’s no one to blame for Dean’s death: no Chuck (the boys were willingly hunting even after Chuck was defeated), no vampires (they were all killed and were no real threat, so it was impossible for Sam to begin a quest for revenge against all vampires. What was Sam going to blame? A rebar? Can you kill it? Hunt it? NO. It was an ordinary death, a stupid accident. Just like any person can die at any moment by slipping on a banana peel. Is it a good death? No, but it’s good to know he doesn’t die trying to save Sam or Cas, because Dean Winchester is NOT willing to give up his life in exchange for anyone else’s anymore.

Sam takes out his phone and says he’ll call for help, but his phone is more visible to the audience. He dials and it’s almost to his ear when Dean stops him and Sam hesitantly hangs up. (Reasoning: People have complained that Sam didn’t call an ambulance, but actually he tried to. It’s just that people missed that part, maybe?)

After Sam puts his phone back in his pocket and says “OK” to Dean, he adds, “I’ll pray to Jack”. Dean’s immediate answer is: “No hands on, remember?” “But Dean”, Sam says, and Dean interrupts him with “OK listen to me” and tells Sam what to do with the kids they rescued. (Reasoning: Jack is God now and how come Sam didn’t remember? The viewers remembered, so it was necessary to include a line that ruled the option out and that showed Dean didn’t want Jack to intervene. The rest was fine).

The lines “You knew it was always gonna end like this for me. It was supposed to end like this, right?” disappear completely from Dean’s monologue. (Reasoning: This is the most problematic part of Dean’s dying speech. He fought God and earned free will, he is no longer controlled by fate or destiny. Accepting that he is supposed to die on a hunt regresses his character development and denies his desire to keep living. This was a total mistake and should be removed).

Instead, if going to heaven is the ending TPTB wanted to give Dean, at least he should say something more empowering. Sam tells him that both of them are going to take the kids somewhere safe. Dean answers and the scene follows like this: “No. Sammy, we made our choice, didn’t we?”, he smiles with difficulty. “We were free to write our own story and we did. We decided to keep saving people, hunting things. Because it’s what we love despite the risks.” (Reasoning: If Dean’s going to die it doesn’t have to feel like it was always meant to be that way. He should die knowing that he exerted his free will until his last breath).

The rest of the dialogue between Sam and Dean happens almost the same. Except that instead of Dean saying “‘cause when it all came down to it, it was always you and me. It’s always been you and me”, he says “’cause when it all came down to it, we’ve always had each other’s backs. Always.” And instead of Sam saying “Don’t leave me”, he says “I still can try to save you.” (Reasoning: It sounds way less codependent without diminishing the importance of their love and support for each other).

Besides, let’s change Dean’s “I’m not leaving you” for “You don’t have to be alone. You’ve still got family.” The rest stays the same word by word. (Reasoning: Dean reminds Sam that “family don’t end in blood” and there are still lots of people out there who love Sam and will be with him).

“I love you so much, my baby brother” stays exactly the same. (Reasoning: Dean always had trouble to express the big L word. I always believed and said many times that before Dean could say “I love you” to Cas or any other character, he had to say it to Sam. So, this is important as part of Dean speaking his truth).

The last part when Dean insists Sam tell him that it’s okay stays the same. (Reasoning: It’s the final moment when the codependency cycle breaks. No more running in circles).

The forehead touch between them stays the same. (Reasoning: I think I would do something similar if my sister were dying. I know there are w*ncest shippers out there, but it shouldn’t matter because the moment feels appropriate for that kind of goodbye).

See? There are changes but not too many. That’s why I’ve been saying that it was easier to get it right, yet they still managed to screw it up.

The second montage stays the same. (Reasoning: Life goes on, but of course Sam has to mourn).

The call about a case in Austin remains the same. (Reasoning: It’s the only part of the episode where someone from the found family is mentioned, so I think that Donna’s name is perfect in that moment. However, without the other additions I’ve made in this re-write, that off-hand mention feels too little. Its purpose was to tell the viewers that if Donna was alive, so were the others, but the way the episode was executed gave us an isolated Sam, incapable of having friends and a family without Dean).

After 30 minutes of Sam’s POV, let’s finally see the last bit of Dean’s POV that we’ll ever get.

Dean arrives in Heaven and Bobby receives him. All their conversation stays almost the same, except that after mentioning Rufus and before saying “and your mom and dad…”, Bobby adds an “Ellen and Jo let me borrow their place”. (Reasoning: If you’re gonna put the man outside the Harvelle’s place, at least mention them for Jack’s sake!).

Besides, after Bobby tells Dean that Sam will be along and that time in heaven is different, Dean gives a small smile and says, “Well, there’s no rush. I want him to have a long, happy life.” Bobby answers with: “I would expect nothing less from you, boy” and tells him he got everything he could ever want, etc., just like it happened in the episode, and finishes by asking “What are you gonna do now, Dean?” (Reasoning: It’s important we know for sure that Dean is NOT codependent anymore and that he doesn’t expect to have a miserable afterlife just because his brother is not there yet).

Instead of saying “I think I’ll go for a drive” Dean says, “I think I know what I want” and walks towards baby. Bobby still tells him to have fun. (Reasoning: “Know what I want” is ambiguous enough to help us introduce the last piece of the puzzle, the one thing Dean’s wanted for many seasons and has never been able to express).

The biggest change is coming:

Dean gets on the Impala and has a moment of silence while he contemplates the wheel. He begins to pray: “Hey, Cas, you got your ears on? I hear you’ve been busy working on this updated Heaven with Jack. You were right about him, Cas. You had faith in him and he saved us all. You could always see the best in everyone, even when they couldn’t see it themselves. Even when I couldn’t see it myself. There’s so much I want to tell you. Maybe you can visit sometime. I hope prayer’s still a thing up here.” (Reasoning: Dean’s side of the confession was unaddressed and that was terrible writing. If there was no way to get him to speak his truth textually, at least take him as close to it as possible).

We listen to a flutter of wings and a “Hello, Dean” from the back seat. We don’t see Cas, but the camera shows us Dean’s cocky smile and he says “Took you long enough.” He turns around slowly. End of scene. (Reasoning: The flutter of wings confirms that angels have their wings back and ties that loose end. The final “hello, Dean” was highly anticipated and it made sense. If Misha couldn’t be there to film, for whatever reason, or if the problem was the kind of conversation Dean and Cas would have, then don’t show it, but leave the door open. Let us know that the two characters were reunited and will talk, but whatever Dean has to say is so private that it’s not for us to hear, only for Cas.

We finally hear “Carry on my wayward son” and get a montage that begins with Sam playing with his kid. Then we see Dean driving, super happy, and Sam living his life to the fullest. We still get Sam’s Blurry Wife, BUT… we see pictures of Eileen in the living room (not just of John, Mary, Sam, and Dean). We also see photos of Jody, Donna, Charlie, and AU!Bobby. (Reasoning: FAMILY DON’T END IN BLOOD).

The scene where Sam is wearing the party wig and looks miserable inside the Impala is cut and nobody talks about it ever again because it never existed. We get a scene of Sam teaching his son how to fix the car instead. (Reasoning: First of all, don’t give Sam a life where years later he’s still in pain. Second of all, the fucking wig was a crime).

Sam’s dying scene stays the same. The only thing is that his son signs a couple of phrases to him before actually speaking. (Reasoning: More confirmation that Dean Jr. is Eileen’s son).

We hear the final “Evanescence-like Carry on my wayward son”. Again we see the photos and there’s family other than the Winchesters there. (Reasoning: Obvious at this point).

The rest is exactly the same. The show began with two brothers and it’s okay if the last scene is with the two brothers reunited in Heaven. At this point, the other parts of the story are acceptable enough for us to feel happy that they get to see each other again after years of a happy (after)life.

Now look me in the eye and tell me this was too hard to execute. I still think that bad writing is a thing we can’t deny here, adding to the possible meddling of the Network. Maybe Dabb wanted us to hate the finale because he couldn’t get away with what he truly wanted. If that was his intention, then kudos to him. He and The CW really gave us a finale that only 30% of the fandom liked.

I hope you guys have enjoyed this and it helps to give you some peace of mind. In my heart, this was the finale we got. It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t drop the ball either.

#supernatural #15x20 #spn 15x20 #spn finale #rewrite #dean winchester #dean deserved better #cas deserved better #destiel #the characters deserved better #we deserved better #it was easier to get it right #yet they screwed up big time #alternate ending

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expectingtofly · 4 years ago

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Not-So-Easy-Bake Oven, 2k

Established Dean/Cas, Toddler Jack, Fluff without Plot

day 3 of @thiscastielhasflown and i's follower celebration

prompt: baking

“Petzel, petzel, petzel!” Jack chanted, banging a tiny plastic whisk on the table. He wore a kid's apron decorated with bumblebees, dotted black lines twisting and curving to show the bees' crisscrossing flights.

“Alright, buddy, give me a sec,” Dean said, pouring a bag of dry pretzel mix into a bowl. Charlie had bought Jack an Easy-Bake Oven for his fourth birthday, and this was their first time using it and its soft pretzel making kit—much to Jack’s excitement.

Cas came over from the sink with the kit’s measuring cup filled with water. “Wanna pour?” he asked Jack. He steadied Jack’s hand as he took the cup and poured it into the bowl. “Now it’s time to mix.”

He lifted Jack up to kneel on the table, and, gripping his whisk in one fist, Jack began stirring the mix and water together—if jabbing the bowl could be called stirring.

Dean opened the oven, checking to see if it was working. Already pretty warm for a squat bright pink appliance. “Woulda killed for something like this when I was younger.” He looked at the inside of his wrist. “Used to have a pretty nasty scar from when I tried making Sam brownies in some janky motel oven.”

“You should’ve never been left unattended in the kitchen at such a young age,” Cas griped, grabbing the bowl before it careened over the table's edge from Jack’s vigorous stirring. “You could’ve seriously hurt yourself. If I ever meet John…”

Dean grinned. “He’s lucky he never met you.”

“Exactly.”

"Done," Jack announced, dropping the whisk. Dean raised an eyebrow at the bowl where the mix was only half-combined, dry powder still clinging to the bowl.

"Looks good, kid," he told him, and picked up the flimsy pink whisk to finish stirring.

Jack protested, though, grabbing his hand. "Done!"

"It just needs a little more," Dean told him. "Look, it's not totally mixed."

"Hey, Jack," Cas said. "Help me pick out stuff to put in our pretzels." Successfully distracted, Jack clambered over to him and Cas carried him to the pantry.

Dean finished stirring the mix quickly. "Good choice," he heard Cas say and looked over to see him grabbing a bottle of soy sauce. Oh boy.

The oven chimed, announcing it was pre-heated, and Dean stared at the lumpy excuse for dough in the bowl. Maybe it’d look more appetizing when cooked.

"Chocolate chips, pepper, raisins, oregano," Cas listed, coming over and setting various items down on the table.

"Uhh." Dean stared at the box of corn flakes Jack carried over to the table, nearly as big as his torso. He couldn't figure out which items were Cas’ choice and which were Jack's suggestions. "Not really sure all this goes together."

"You never know," Cas said, picking Jack up and standing him on a chair.

He might not've known for sure, but he was pretty sure he could guess. "Alright, well." He dumped the dough onto the table and divided it into small sections. "Time to experiment, I guess."

Cas sprinkled flour on the table so they could roll out the dough, but before he could even close the bag, Jack smacked his hand down on the table, sending a cloud of flour into the air.

Cas coughed, waving flour away from his face and Jack cackled, one palm dusted white. Dean laughed at Cas, until Jack leaned over and swiped at his t-shirt.

"Dude, seriously?" Dean asked him, brushing his shirt off. Jack only laughed, clapping his hands to send more flour floating in the air. "How ‘bout you put the flour to good use?" Placing a small ball of dough in front of Jack, he propped up the box that the mix had come in and studied the instructions for forming a pretzel shape.

"So first you roll the dough out into a rope," he said, following along with the pictures. "Then you form it into a u-shape." He glanced at Jack to see if he was paying any attention, but Jack seemed more interested in rolling the dough around the table and through the flour. Then he yelped, staring at his hands in bewilderment.

"I'm messy," he said, staring at the dough sticking to his fingers. He held them up to Cas, who told him.

"You have to get your hands dirty." Taking one of the balls of dough, he poured some chocolate chips on it and began rolling them into the dough. "Look at Daddy."

Jack looked over at Dean, just as his dough rope tore in two. "Dammit." He balled the dough back together. “Let’s try that again.”

Before he could try, though, Jack started clamoring for the corn flakes, so Dean set a handful of the cereal on the table. "I think this is gonna mess up the baking times," he said, skimming the back of the box. "Recipe doesn't say anything about adding extra shit."

"This is a child's baking oven. It's supposed to foster fun and creativity." Cas nodded at the box.

Dean turned the box around. Fun for the whole family! it read along with a photo of perfectly formed pretzels. At the bottom, it also read, "Ages 8 and up." Ah. So maybe a little advanced for a four year old.

Corn flakes went flying and Dean dodged one shooting towards his eye. Oblivious, Jack continued crushing the cereal with the flat of his hand, a gleeful smile on his face.

"Yup, uh, good enough," Dean said quickly, grabbing Jack's hands.

"No!" Jack yelled, trying to get out of his grip.

"Take the oregano," Dean said quickly, hoping for a distraction. It worked, except now he had to hand over the container and watch Jack sprinkle the herb all over the near vicinity. Maybe he could pass off clean-up duty to Cas, who was making his own mess, adding food dye to his dough to make a swirl of purple and pink.

He helped Jack combine the corn flakes and oregano into the dough, then roll it out into a rope. Cupping Jack's hands, he guided him through curving the rope of dough into a U-shape, crossing the two ends twice, then pulling them over to make a rough pretzel shape.

“Hey, not too bad.” Pulling out his phone, he took a photo. "Smile for Charlie, Jack."

Jack held up the pretzel, effectively warping the shape, and grinned at the camera. "I make one for Auntie," he declared when Dean lowered the phone, and grabbed more dough to form his own pretzel.

“How did you do that?” Cas asked, studying the box. Going to him, Dean did the same thing he’d did with Jack, standing behind him and holding his hands to help him form a pretzel shape. Cas' fingers were dusted with flour, and Dean got a bit distracted by the way Cas leaned back against him, letting him guide him into creating a pretty decent pretzel. Not as perfect as the ones on the box, but close enough.

“I think I’ve got it,” Cas said, grabbing more dough and forming another pretzel in two easy swoops. Okay, way better than the one before.

“Did you just trick me into helping you?” Dean asked, pulling away from him slightly.

Cas tilted his head into him. “Mhm.”

Dean rolled his eyes but kissed his neck anyway.

Several tries and several more mishaps later, and they had a few semi-recognizable pretzels. Some they dipped into a cinnamon sugar glaze that came with the kit, others they placed as is into small, pink, round dishes.

“They go in here and cook for ten minutes,” Cas instructed, helping Jack push the dishes inside the oven. Jack peered into the opening, then back at Cas and Dean.

“Done now?”

“Gonna be a long ten minutes,” Dean said, setting the timer.

They tried to clean up as the pretzels cooked, though Jack was covered in so much flour, food dye, and dough that he left a trail wherever he moved. And he would not stop moving. As Dean tried to wipe down the table, Jack ran loops around the island, and when Cas tried sweeping, Jack decided to start spinning around in the middle of the kitchen until he fell over. Then do it all over again.

“If he has this much energy now, what the hell’s he gonna be like when you give him a chocolate chip pretzel?” Dean asked Cas, putting the oregano and soy sauce back. He had no idea which pretzel Cas had slipped the sauce into and was not eager to find out.

“That may have been an oversight on my part,” Cas admitted. The oven beeped and Jack rushed to the table.

“Petzel!” he began chanting again.

"Don't touch," Dean warned, using a tool from the kit to pull the dishes out of the oven and place them on the table.

“Which one do you want to try first?” Cas asked Jack, who took a moment to study the pretzels before pointing to the purple and pink one—or what was once those colors but had now taken on a more bloody appearance.

"It's pretty," he said.

“Yes, it is,” Cas agreed, transferring the pretzels onto a plate. Dean turned off the oven, then startled when Jack began crying.

“Hot!” Jack cried, pointing at the dish Dean had told him not to touch. In hindsight, he should’ve realized the temptation would’ve been too much to resist.

“Let me see,” Cas said, taking Jack’s hand.

“No, it hurt,” Jack cried, trying to pull his hand away.

“Alright, alright.” Scooping Jack up, Dean carried him over to the sink and turned on the cold water. When he held Jack’s hand under the stream, Jack squirmed, trying to get away.

“Cold!” he yelled.

“I’m trying to help, dude,” Dean told him. “This’ll make it feel better.” More startled than hurt, it seemed, Jack calmed down after a few seconds. Turning off the water, Dean studied his finger. Not even a blister, but he nodded at Cas. “Think Dada can help?”

Jack nodded and held out his finger to Cas. "Booboo.” Cas took his tiny hand and kissed his finger.

“Are you too injured to eat a pretzel?” he asked.

“No!” Jack yelled, suddenly all energy again, squirming out of Dean’s grasp. Dean set him down and he ran to the table, clambering on a chair to grab the purple/pink monstrosity of a pretzel.

“Try one,” Cas told Dean, joining Jack and pushing over the plate.

Dean grimaced, but chose the cinnamon sugar and corn flake one. Why that was even a combination was beyond him. Bracing himself, he took a bite. Okay. Dry. Pretty bland. Crunchy which was just wrong, but not horrible—wait. He took that back. Oregano and cinnamon sugar did not go well together.

"Um. Well.” He choked down the rest of the bite and set the pretzel back on the plate. “These are, uh..."

"Not good," Cas finished. He squinted at his own pretzel, then took another hesitant bite. Instantly, his face screwed up, and he shook his head, dropping the pretzel onto the plate. “It seems you were right. Soy sauce, pepper, and raisins do not mix."

“Who would’ve thought?” Dean deadpanned. Jack munched happily on his pretzel, cinnamon sugar covering his chubby cheeks. “Someone’s enjoying them, at least.”

“For Charlie,” Jack announced, pointing at one of the pretzels on the plate.

“She’ll love a day-old pretzel,” Dean told him.

“Yes, she will,” Cas said, giving Dean a look. He pushed Jack’s hair back from his face. “It’s the thought that counts.”

Jack abandoned the colorful pretzel for the chocolate chip one, then the corn flake one. True to his word, he left one untouched on the plate for Charlie. She would get a kick out of it when she visited. I knew he'd love it!! she'd responded to the photo Dean had sent her of Jack holding up a pretzel.

“This was fun,” Cas said, a smile on his face, watching Jack.

“Yeah.” Dean looked over at the mess of bowls and dishes in the sink and back at the flour streaked table. Making a fist over his open palm, he said, “Loser has to clean.”

Cas straightened, a competitive gleam in his eye. “Agreed.”

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.” Cas threw scissors and Dean threw paper.

“Dammit,” he exclaimed. “You always do rock.”

Cas grinned. “And so I conditioned you to think I’d do it now.��

“Christ, when’d you get so conniving?” He got up and asked Jack, “You wanna help your old man clean?”

“No, tank you,” Jack replied.

“‘Least he was polite,” Cas said.

“Good luck getting him down for a nap later.”

“Why’s that my job now?”

“Sorry,” Dean turned on the water to start scrubbing the bowls. “Can’t hear you over all the cleaning I’m doing.”

Cas rolled his eyes. Dean grinned when Jack offered him a bite of his pretzel and Cas had to act like he enjoyed it. Turning back to the sink, he grabbed the sponge. This was a lot of fun.

#shameless fluff #baby jack #destiel fic #spncreatorsdaily #dean/cas #fluff without plot #domestic deancas #dadstiel #inspired by trixie mattel's easy bake oven series on youtube #and a job i had a few years ago working in a pretzel truck #good times #j&kcreatorfest #expectingtofly writes

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allen-desu · 4 years ago

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Intrigue: A Canute and Thorfinn Character Study

Canute had learned to do one thing above all else- discern men. It was simple. Either he should be wary of a man or not, and of those he was wary of, who should he make face with.

But then there was Thorfinn..

Very mild Thornute | Vulgar Language | Canon Compliant (Volume 3 specifically) | Spoiler Free

Brushing off my Tumblr to post this somewhere, best read on mobile.

Canute often found himself studying Thorfinn. In fact he was now, stealing glances of him while riding in a wagon through Wales. His nerves were getting the best of him and not wanting to think of signing a treaty without his father present, Canute instead tried to place Thorfinn to keep his mind occupied. The Prince found him to be a most intriguing character, and one that often eluded any solid characterization. It was egregiously annoying; for you see, growing up in the bloodbath of regal politics, Canute had learned to do one thing above all else- discern men. It was simple. Either he should be wary of a man or not, and of those he was wary of, who should he make face with. Granted, Canute had Ragnar, and therefore he never had to put this skill to a real test for his vassal always fought on his behalf, keeping the young Prince’s best interests in mind. Nevertheless, his cautious observation skills were more often than not proven correct as the time revealed untrustworthy men to Canute.

But then there was Thorfinn. There are always exceptions to any and every rule, but even that logic still couldn’t stick Thorfinn under a neat label inside the Prince’s mind. The boy was not like the men he traveled with. Yes, he did the dirty killing, but he did it in a way that oozed indifference. Thorfinn killed swiftly and acted as if each man was a simple stepping stone to the fight being over, for the killing to be over. While the others he traveled with had a sick enjoyment for the act. Thorfinn did not socialize with the Askeladd’s band. He did not share in their spoils, including that of food and drink. Instead the blond hunted his own food, collected his own water. Only rarely did he ever get what he needed from what was plundered. Those rare instances were either when it was offered to him while marching, or on late and loud evenings, while the rest of Askeladd’s band made themselves merry, Thorfinn would slip some goods from tables abandoned for the night.

So, no, Canute would not label him as part of the band. This conclusion was frustrating, for if Thorfinn was not one of Askeladd’s men, why was he one of Askeladd’s most trusted pawns? Perhaps part of the answer was in the word “pawn” itself, but Askeladd was a cautious man as well. So much so that Canute knew it would bode well for him to try and keep tabs on what the man was thinking. So what was his reasoning to keep Thorfinn- who literally wanted him dead for some unknown reason to the Prince- under his thumb. The young blond was skilled and dangerous to have around. How did Askeladd tame-

Ah.. perhaps that was it.

Thorfinn was like something wild, pacing in its cage and waiting for its chance to do something about its keeper and free itself from its confines. Tamed to compliance, but would still happily bite the hand. Something akin to a wolf perhaps.

Canute looked up from his thoughts over to Thorfinn who was leaning on the opposite side of the wagon, his gaze far off and his eyes hard. Feeling that the Prince was looking at him Thorfinn shot daggers at Canute . Seeing the dirty teen do this with the image of a wolf in his mind nearly tempted Canute to chuckle and he swiftly hid his face from the other in case the temptation won him over. He could hear Thorfinn scoff and that was the end of the whole exchange. A lone wolf in an unfamiliar pack. The young Prince was satisfied with the description for the young warrior.

Canute was no longer satisfied. Thorfinn was his guard and, surprisingly, was taking the job seriously. He seemed not to care, was quick with sharp words at either Canute, Ragnar or Father Willibald. But on more than one occasion, the Prince would catch a small glimpse of Thorfinn nearby, seemingly disinterested, but close enough to come to aid or rescue. Any time he was not lurking and couldn’t be seen or found, a few hours or less after the fact, the shorter blond could be seen emerging from the tree line, a rabbit or more hanging over his shoulder.

In fact, this had just happened and Ragnar had convinced Thorfinn to add the rabbit to the meal he and the Prince were making.

“Highness!” Ragnar had announced upon entry. “We have beans, cabbage and a hare!” As he listed the items, Thorfinn had walked in behind him and closed the door to the cold. Canute was surprised to see him, tensed and annoyed, looking very out of place in the little home they had… procured.

“ A hare?” The Prince asked, ignoring how his own bout of tension was threatening to rise in his shoulders.

“Thorfinn caught it.” Obviously. “We’ll put it in the soup.”

“Well done.” As if Thorfinn needed or wanted praise for a deed he probably found to be child’s play. “Bleed it and skin it so we can wash the meat.” Truth be told, Canute wasn’t expecting for Thorfinn to just comply without some remark, and he surely wasn’t expecting Ragnar to take the rabbit from Thorfinn to do the task instead. It was jarring seeing his caretaker grab the rabbit from him, as if he had just seen Ragnar take a kill from a wild animal. At least that’s what flashed through his mind when the moment started. However, as it happened in real time, Thorfinn let his catch be taken and he was left to simply stand, awkward and unsure.

Canute, stirring the broth in progress mindlessly as he watched on, couldn’t help but consider Thorfinn for a long moment. This boy in front of him was no lone and wild wolf. The moment his gaze was felt, however, the creature came back and Thorfinn found a spot off to the side against the wall that he could sit at and brood.

Once the soup was done and the table was set, Canute and Ragnar somehow coaxed Thorfinn to join them at the table. The tension in the boy’s shoulders was palpable and Canute couldn’t help but take notice of it, trying to further categorize it. When Thorfinn actually acknowledged the meal in front of him, however, his demeanor changed. It was quick, merely a fraction of a second, but the Prince saw it- tried to burn the image into his brain to try and decipher later.

Ragnar’s compliments of the meal they prepared took Canute’s attention and he took this as an opportunity. Agreeing with Ragnar, “The rabbit made it work.” He looked to Thorfinn, “I’m tired of salted meat. You have my thanks.” There was no answer from the shorter blond, he just continued to look at their spread on the table and look lost. Almost as if he didn’t think it was real. The thought threatened to furrow the Prince’s brow. It made him realize yet again, Thorfinn was not amicable with the men he traveled with. When was the last time anyone showed this young man any kindness? When was the last time Thorfinn had the simple pleasure to share a meal with someone at all?

“What’s wrong?” Canute spoke, aiming to pull Thorfinn out of his stupor. “Eat up, you caught the rabbit.”

It seemed to do the trick, for Thorfinn picked up his bowl and spoon and tentatively took a bite. The look on his face, before it was hidden behind matted bangs, was one Canute would very much like to see again. Anger and/or indifference seemed to have a constant monopoly on Thorfinn’s features, but that one, quick moment of.. surprise? Or maybe he was just pleased with the taste of his meal. Either way, the emotion fit his face better, let the ridges between his brows smooth out for a second. Genuine, that was the word. Thorfinn seemed more genuine in that one instant than he did the entirety of the time that Canute had known him thus far.

“Pretty good isn’t it?” Ragnar mused, though the Prince couldn’t quite tell if he had also caught the glimpse of surprise from Thorfinn, or if he was just rearing up to dote and brag on Canute’s cooking talents. “Catch us a deer next, and we’ll really have a meal!”

“...” Not a real reply, but the young guard had acknowledged Ragnar. Thorfinn continued to eat, and almost absentmindedly, “I thought you noble types had everything cooked for you.” It wasn’t a question, a simple statement of thought, but Canute thought he would answer it anyways.

“I enjoy doing it.” The Prince began, “I don’t normally get the chance. Only Ragnar knows that I can cook.” A pause and Canute laid his spoon down in his bowl for a moment. “Do not tell anyone of this.” Thorfinns reply was instant and disinterested.

“Why not?” Followed by, “Who cares?”

Not sure what persuaded him to do so, but Canute began to tell Thorfinn of his father’s, the King, displeasure in the fact that he liked to cook- that it was a frivolous and useless skill to have. Though the shorter blond’s face was as neutral as ever, he did slow in his eating to listen, that alone made Canute feel as he wasn’t wasting his breath, that it was worth having someone other than Ragnar know of how intensely inadequate his father found him to be. Ragnar seemed to be confused at his tellings though. He was obviously not expecting his Highness to share. Giving his Highness an odd look he decided to try and lighten the Prince’s mood, though Canute wasn’t in need of it.

The two of them held their own conversation from there on out, speaking about different dishes Canute could prepare, or what Ragnar could teach him about new dishes he had yet to prepare. The mood in their little borrowed house was light. It was familial in its own way. The young Prince would glance over to Thorfinn every once in a while and was pleased to see that the ever present knot of tension in his shoulders was slowly becoming unraveled. The guard ate and listened.

Something in Thorfinn snapped and Canute shuddered because of it.

What happened in the next instant was too fast for Canute to follow in real time. Thorfinn had gotten up, more like sprung up, and was immediately at the door one of his signature knives pointed at someone’s throat. Had the man had worse reflexes, he would have impaled himself on Thorfinn’s steel. Ragnar was next in the initiative, questioning both Thorfinn and the man on what was going on.

“Agh- I’m on your side Thorfinn!” So it was one of Askeladd’s men. “I’m just bringing a message…” Despite this, it still took a long moment for Thorfinn to remove his knife from the man’s throat. Ragnar took the lead from there and was questioning the newcomer on Canute’s behalf, but Canute himself was still trained on his short bodyguard.

Thorfinn was still tense, still alert and ready to strike, but his initial instinct was slowly recoiling back into its original state. It was interesting to watch the slow movement of his shoulders and back muscles through threadbare clothing. However, Canute’s gaze was felt and Thorfinn shot him a look that could kill. Oddly enough the look from the dirtied blond softened a little, as if he was reminded that Canute was still there and his presence wasn’t something he should be afraid of. The thought struck the Prince as oddly satisfying. He wasn’t able to really dive further into that train of thought, however, for the man brought news of the English advancing on the hideout they had procured. Canute’s shock couldn’t beat out Ragnar’s rage. Heated words about Askeladd and his poor decisions were spoken, and then, just as suddenly as they had come, the man was gone, Ragnar following after him.

The little house was now too still and too quiet until it was broken by Thorfinn huffing through his nose.

“Can’t even manage to close the damn door on their way out.” He muttered, moving to do just that so the winter’s day wouldn’t try and suck any more of the hard earned heat out of the house. With the door closed Thorfinn relocated to his new post beside the door, leaning against the wall. The Prince watched him do this and suddenly Thorfinn was glaring at him again. “Have I fucking done something?” The shorter teen hissed.

“What?” Such an elegant reply, good job Canute. Not that Thorfinn gave two shits about that kind of thing.

“You’ve been staring. Like a lot.” Thorfinn turned to fully face Canute, leaning only one shoulder on the wall. “Still mad, Princess?” A smirk. Of course that’s what he would call him, but Canute realized he was talking about their squabble in the wagons the other day. “I don’t give a rat’s ass who your father is or who’s womb you crawled out of.”

“Still have the vulgar audacity to speak to me like that, but no.” Thorfinn raised a brow at him. “It was more of a shock than anything else. I don’t particularly mind that you speak so blatantly.” No matter how sharp the words, unfortunately. It seemed that the shorter blond did not have a reply for that and instead just refocused his attention to the fire instead. Canute also took this moment to recollect his thoughts. He knew Ragnar was angry, he warned Askeladd about the very problem at hand. Askeladd had paid him no mind at all. Still, the Prince was worried. Ragnar had left in the heat of the moment to a battlefield only to argue with the man leading the defensive charge. Not to mention, his soup would be cold by the time he came back. What a waste.

Perhaps the moments before Ragnar’s return wouldn’t entirely be a waste, though. Not if Canute played his cards right. He wanted to understand Thorfinn. Never before had he met someone that has proven themselves to be so complicated, especially since at first Canute thought him to be a simple brute among other simple brutes. Why was Thorfinn here, why was he in, but yet not considered, part of Askeladd’s band? What happened to him? The short blond hates the man, yet follows him around the country and overseas. He even follows some insane orders with the promise of some kind of reward.

Thorfinn let out an aggravated noise and was suddenly leaning over Canute, hands flat on the table with a bang.

“You’re doing it again. Quit.” The shorter teen growled. Canute blinked owlishly at him. What? Oh, had he been staring again? Nevertheless he continued to study Thorfinn, which was quickly making his guard’s blood boil. Then Canute stood forcing the other teen to stand back a bit and look up at him. He knew that Thorfinn was shorter than him, but it was still amusing to actually see it. Thorfinn carried himself to be larger, more intimidating. Said young guard was now glaring up at Canute through his dirtied bangs. “What?” He hissed.

“You confuse me, Thorfinn.” The Prince replied. Thorfinn also had a fair amount of confusion mixed in with his usual anger, and that fact pleased Canute a bit- at least the feeling was mutual. “I’ve just been trying to figure you out.”

“Well stop.”

“No, I shan’t” Canute replied swiftly. Thorfinn was prone to argue, but nothing came out. The Prince could take a guess as to what he was thinking. That the person in front of him was the same as the shy and bumbling Prince that was showcased and dragged around all of England these past few weeks? Yes and no. There was nothing political in this task, Canute had nothing to fear if he took a misstep. No repercussions. This was a purely selfish motive in which he had no problems pursuing as long as it was kept private. “Also it’s not that I can not, it’s that I will not”

“You…” Thorfinn struggled. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“To you, perhaps not.” This reply really made Thorfinn angry, Canute could see it in the way his whole body tensed, gearing up to fight. Part of him wanted to see if his guard would actually hit him. However, before either of them could think through what they wanted to do next, for some odd reason, Canute had moved and held Thorfinn’s face in his hands. Both teens were now wide eyed and tense. Why did he do that? When did he do that? Just now? A moment ago?

Canute was the first to settle down from the shock of his own actions, and instead of pulling away like he thought he would, the Prince settled into the position. He let his hands feel the warmth of Thorfinn’s jaw and slid down to where his thumbs were still on the other blond’s face, but the rest of his fingers curled delicately around his neck. He knew his hands must have been cold, he was prone to be, but the proof lies in the fact that Thorfinn’s skin puckered into bumps right before he shuddered just slightly.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Thorfinn asked, his voice surprisingly tame. He was definitely still angry and on edge, but thus far it seemed as if Canute was not in danger of being bitten by the wolf that accompanied Thorfinn’s anger.

“Indulging, just let me for a moment.” Canute replied softly, as if trying not to spook Thorfinn away.

“...the hell does that even mean?” The guard muttered in reply. Canute laughed lightly, amused.

“Don’t think on it too hard,Thorfinn.” No reply to that, but the dirtied teen in his hands didn’t pull away either. Good, that was good.

Now that Canute had somehow managed to get them into this situation, he took as much time as he damn well pleased to study the other boy. Not that he was naive enough to believe that staring at Thorfinn would somehow unlock his secrets, but he did think it would help. Thorfinn was a recluse. No one ever got too close to him and he would never let them, so the fact that Canute was quite literally in his personal space seemed like a major victory.

Thorfinn had hard light brown eyes, but if the fire flickered right they were more like unearthed amber or sweet honey. They were nothing like the Prince’s own eyes, a sky blue. The sky may be vast, but Thorfinn’s eyes were deep. What was that saying? The eyes were a window into the soul? Canute could readily believe that looking into Thorfinn’s.

Next Canute took note that, under all the dirt, Thorfinn was tired. He had coloration and lines on his skin that a boy of their age shouldn’t have. Did he ever sleep through the night? His guard was always up late and always up early, always seen at odd hours thinking about something far away... or a time long gone, perhaps? Beyond what dirt and sleepless bruising lay on his skin, was what lacked beneath it. Thorfinn was a genuine threat on the battlefield, how could someone so strong have such gaunt in his cheeks? He knew Thorfinn fended for himself, but from what he has seen, he does a rather good job at it. Granted, he doesn’t eat square meals. Canute thinks that just earlier was the first time he’s seen Thorfinn eat anything green, or not meat related. Still, a soldier's diet of salted meat and wine wouldn’t result in malnutrition. Was malnutrition why he was short? Just… Just how long had Thorfinn been taking care of himself? The men didn’t bat an eye at Thorfinn’s presence. In fact, while marching and the men told old stories, Thorfinn was in a good many of them. Years? Had it been years since Thorfinn had a meal like the one he had today?

“I don’t need your fucking pity.” Thorfinn’s voice startled the Prince. Was he making a face of some kind?

“I didn’t mean..”

“Save your breath, I don’t care.”

Canute thought it was best to not reply, so instead he wiped some dirt off of Thorfinn’s face with one of his thumbs. With a fresh bath, a sturdy brush, and some new clothes, Thorfinn could be considered handsome.

He wondered what Thorfinn was thinking. Was he actually trying to decipher Canute in turn or was he just waiting for the Prince to be done? Canute also wondered, truly, when was the last time Thorfinn was shown kindness? Affection? Perhaps he wasn’t a lone wolf at all, but something lost instead. When one finds themselves abandoned in one way or another, in an unfamiliar place, one must adapt. Did Thorfinn just adapt to killing? Fights because he has to? It was frustrating going through all these thoughts himself, but Canute knew for a fact that Thorfinn would not simply answer any questions that he asked.

Perhaps… Perhaps Canute could be the one to show him kindness? Maybe he could properly tame the wolf that was Thorfinn’s anger, and find the lost person it was protecting. Thorfinn was so hard to get close to though, even today he had been reluctant to simply share his rabbit and then a meal. So what could the Prince do? He thought of this and that, feeling Thorfinn’s pulse through the fingers on his neck. Absentmindedly he rubbed his thumbs in time with it, studying him. Again Thorfinn couldn’t suppress a shiver and again Canute was moving without thinking at all.

He had pressed their lips together. Why? Not even God above would know. Thorfinn’s lips were chapped, still and shocked against the Prince’s own, but he was warm. Unfairly warm and it seeped into Canute. He could stay this way for a long while if he was completely honest with himself, but one kiss was enough. A gesture of both kindness and affection that Thorfinn could seek out from him if he chose to do so if he ever needed to feel wanted. So Canute pulled away, but instead of the awkward moment he was expecting, strong hands pulled him back in at the hips. Thorfinn had leaned back up and continued the kiss.

The taller blond was not expecting this, but then again he was also not expecting to have kissed Thorfinn in the first place either. His pale hands slipped from Thorfinn’s face and neck and instead slid so Canute could rest his arms on his guard’s shoulders. The hands on his hips were most likely bruising him with how tight they held him, but that was part of what he liked about this moment. Thorfinn was holding him and kissing him like this was something he desperately needed. Canute returned its ferocity and leaned in, making Thorfinn crane his neck at an odd angle, and then ran his tongue over the shorter’s lips. Again this was something neither of them were expecting, not experienced enough to really know what they were doing at all to be honest.

However, surprisingly enough, Thorfinn had again let it happen, letting Canute test the waters. So he did. Canute pushed his tongue into the other blond’s mouth. He felt Thorfinn’s tongue with his own, the roof of his mouth and back of his teeth. It was oddly exhilarating, even more so when Thorfinn mimicked Canute and did the same to him.

As Thorfinn kissed him Canute moved them, pivoting them so Thorfinn was between him and the table. The shorter blond grunted when it happened and turned his head out of the kiss to look at their new position, to which the taller blond took as a chance to place kisses to Thorfinn’s jaw and neck.

“Don’t think that I’m just going to bend over like some paid whore.” Thorfinn muttered, his voice was a little deeper, thicker, Canute couldn’t help but like it, but also couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up from him.

“I wasn’t really planning on it.” He mused, resting his head in the crook of Thorfinn’s neck. Canute watched as Thorfinn reached for his low ponytail and played with the strands tentatively. It almost seemed as if he had been wanting to do so for a while but never had gotten the chance to do so until now. Canute kept that nice little thought in mind as he placed more kisses up Thorfinn’s neck, trailing back up to his mouth.

The two of them kissed some more, each exploring at their own paces. Canute also let his hands wander; Thorfinn was all muscle and bone and very thin. The prince knew that one day, if Thorfinn’s disinterest in his own health didn’t kill him first, that he would be properly strong, with healthy muscle, and a fuller face. At least that’s what he hoped for. Thorfinn did not explore the way Canute did, but his grip remained tight and would squeeze him whenever Canute did something he liked. At some point their hands inched a little higher.

The heat between them slowly, so very slowly, faded and they were back where they started, Canute cupping his face. After a few moments that stopped too.

“Did this ever happen?” Thorfinn asked, voice quiet. Canute blinked at him, it wouldn’t bode well for him if Thorfinn ever told anyone of their little venture, but he was honestly surprised that the other cared at all. But more than that, Canute was surprised to see that the anger that was seemingly permanent on Thorfinn’s features was gone. In its place was something the Prince could not identify, but he would burn the image in his brain. Hard eyes were gone, in its place was only honey and a fair amount of color in his cheeks.

Canute decided he would be the one to give Thorfinn the kindness he deserved. Even if it was just in small doses, seemingly meaningless gestures.

“No.” He replied, leaning down to press a kiss to Thorfinn’s cheek. “But it could happen again if you want.”

The shorter blond huffed and made a gesture for Canute to move. He did and Thorfinn moved towards the door. Canute had expected him to leave, but instead he had taken his previous makeshift post at the door. “Whatever, your Highness”

The Prince took his place back at the table, smiling to himself. That response certainly wasn’t a no. He had more thinking to do.

#vinland saga #thorfinn #canute #prince canute #thornute #character study #vinland saga fanfiction #anime #manga

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sbtlns · 4 years ago

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Tiny Dancer

Warnings: smut (!) kind of a crack fic

A/N: so uh we all agree that the finale was trash right? aight just checkin. anyways i reality shifted when i had a high fever and lived a version of this so i figured i would make yall live it too. part two?

Castiel’s cheeks flushed as you moved to straddle the naked angel. His hand moved instinctively to your waist, holding you close as you leaned down to nip at his ear. He groaned at your action, sending a new wave of heat to your core. You continued your ministrations, nipping and sucking at the tender parts of his neck while the debauched angel squirmed beneath you. “y/n,” he said in a strained voice. You stopped your actions to look down at him, meeting his desperate look. You cocked an eyebrow, prompting him to spit it out. “Please,” he strained, raising his hips to meet yours. Deciding you had tortured him enough, you raised your hips slightly and reached beneath you to align him with your entrance. Before you sunk down on him, you gave him one more ‘are-you-sure?’ type of look. He nodded vehemently and you smiled to yourself, returning your focus to his hardened member slightly probing your entrance. You lowered yourself onto him slowly, savoring the way he stretched you out. He moaned a string of your name, each seeming more urgent. “Cas,” you gasped. “y/n.....Y/N.....Y/N!”

You shot up in bed, the sound of Dean yelling your name and pounding on your door startling you to say the least. “Yeah?” you croaked, trying to regain your composure. Dean sighed from the other side of the door, finally, he thought, only took five minutes. “We’ve got a case. Map Room in 5,” he said gruffly. Sensing your annoyance, he added, “Sam made coffee.”

With the promise of coffee, you begrudgingly got out of your bed, shoving the remnants of your dream to the back corner of your mind. You had known Cas for quite some time now, long enough to know that he doesn’t understand human feelings well, let alone romantic feelings. That’s why you decided to try and bury the small crush you had developed for him, which was becoming increasingly harder with the dreams you had been having recently.

Sighing, you got dressed and made your way to the Map Room where you were met with a grumpy looking Dean and a smiling Sam. “Coffee,” Sam said, reaching from his seat to hand you a fresh mug. You were about to thank him when Dean cut you off, “I said 5, not 7.” You threw him a bitch face before turning back to Sam and mouthing thank you, and he smiled in response. You sat down across from Sam as Cas walked in, looking a bit flustered.

“Sorry I’m late, I was caught up in another matter,” he rushed, making his way through the room to join you at the table. “ ‘S alright, Cas, no sweat,” Dean replied, sitting down with a grunt, across from you and Castiel. “Hold up, I got here before Cas why does he get a ‘no worries Cas,’” you mocked in a high pitched voice, “while I get a ‘how dare you be two minutes late,’” you said in you best gruff Dean voice. Sam almost spit out his coffee, earning a huff of annoyance from Dean. “Maybe because Cas didn’t make me bang on his door for five minutes while he was off in dreamland” he countered. Your face blushed at the mention of dreaming, trying not to think of the hot sex scene you had just dreamt about the angel next to you. “Whatever” you huffed, “let’s just get on to the case, yeah?”

Sam nodded, pulling up his laptop. “So get this, reports of cattle mutilations, power outages, and now three missing persons reports all in y/h/t. I’m thinking demons. What about you guys?” Dean nodded, sipping at his coffee. “Sounds like our kinda thing” he replied. Castiel nodded silently in agreement. Sam turned to face you, “y/n, thoughts?” Your heart was beating fast and you were sure your cheeks were red. Sam looked at you with furrowed brows. “Hey, you good?” he asked concerned. You forced a smile and nodded, realizing now that the three men were all staring at you. You cleared your throat before saying, “Yeah, it’s just...that’s my hometown is all.” You sighed, “You’re right, sounds like demons though,” you added quickly before taking another sip of coffee. The three men shared a quick glance.

“Um,” Sam started uneasily, “You gonna be okay taking this case?” he asked genuinely. You hadn’t shared much about your past with the boys, nodding and laughing at the stories about their past they told you and quickly changing the subject before anyone could ask about yours. You nodded curtly, raising the mug to your lips again. Memories of your past filled your mind, not totally unpleasant, but enough to make you uneasy about returning to your hometown. You were silently hoping that you could get in kill whatever douchebag demons were causing havoc, and get out without having to deal with anything dealing with your old job.

Sam didn’t seem convinced. “You sure? I mean we could always call Garth and see-” “I’m sure,” you cut him off. You stood from your chair abruptly, causing the legs to squeak unpleasantly. “I’ll get packed and meet you guys in the garage,” you said before turning on your heel and making your way to your room. You grabbed a bag and filled it with the essentials, glancing at the pair of cowboy boots sitting long ignored in your closet. You sighed to yourself, remembering happier moments from your old job, before management became a shit show. Feeling nostalgic, you decided to throw the boots in your bag before zipping it and heading to the garage.

The boys were already chatting by the car when you made your way to the garage. You threw your bag in the trunk, closed it, and climbed in the back of Baby, the boys following suit. On the drive to your hometown, Dean sheepishly handed you a stack of cassettes, his way of apologizing for earlier. You beamed back at him and picked out your favorites, handing them to Sam to queue up. Not before long, your eyelids grew heavy and you drifted off to sleep in the backseat.

Dean must’ve hit a bump, because you woke up with a start, disoriented for a moment. It took a second for you to realize that in your sleep, you had laid your head on Castiel’s shoulder, close enough to him so that you were practically draped along his side. You quickly scrambled back to your side of the car, not missing the soft smile and forlorn look Cas had given you. “Oh look, sleeping beauty’s awake,” Dean joked. You stuck your tongue out at him, settling back into your seat. “So y/n, we found out that all three vics have something in common, they’re all regulars at some place called The Saloon” Sam filled you in, placing a Southern drawl on the name of your past employer.

Your blood ran ice cold and you stared back at him with wide eyes. He was still smiling, pleased with himself for his accent, when he realized you were panicking. The smile dropped from his face. “What’s wrong?” he asked, drawing Dean and Castiel’s attention. Dean shot you a confused glance from the rearview. “What’s wrong princess? Don’t like linedancing?” he joked. You gulped. “Um,” you started. “I uh...” you cleared your throat. “I used to work there,” you mumbled. Sam raised his eyebrows in amusement and Dean fought back a laugh. “Wha-you,” he wheezed, struggling not to burst out laughing. “Our very own tiny dancer, huh?” he mused. You huffed and crossed your arms across your chest, cheeks burning red. Sam turned back around in his seat, holding his laughter in with a smile. Castiel broke the silence, “I don’t understand, is it shameful to dance in a line?” With that, the boys couldn’t hold it in any longer and burst out into fits of laughter.

The rest of the drive wasn’t too bad, besides Dean’s off-tune humming of Elton John’s Tiny Dancer. You pulled into town and checked into the nearest motel, silently thanking the universe that Dean had booked two separate rooms. You might have offed yourself then and there if you had to spend another night listening to Sam’s snores. After settling in, you got dressed in your FBI best and met back by the car. The four of you drove to The Saloon, you becoming more and more anxious the closer you got. Dean pulled up to the gravel lot and took in the building with an amazed look. He kept his eyes on the building as he got out of the car, “Oh ho ho, get look at this,” he said incredulously. Before you stood a massive red barn with a huge blinking neon sign of a half naked woman riding a bull with a lasso spinning in her hand.

“Yeah yeah, let’s just get this over with,” you huffed, pushing past him and walking into the bar. The familiar scent of beer and cigarettes hit you the second you walked in, taking in the sight of the huge stage in front of you along. A few girls were dancing on stage, with a handful of customers sitting and watching. You heard the door open behind you as the boys stepped in and sighed before turning to face them. Dean looked like a kid on Christmas smiling widely and looking around the bar, while Sam scanned the room looking for the owners. Cas stood in place, staring perplexed at the women dancing. You followed his gaze to the stage where one of the girls was swinging her hips slowly and deliberately to the beat of the song. You turned back to him, his head cocked to the side as he mumbled, “Well that’s inappropriate.”

Trying to hide the blush creeping to your cheeks, you quickly turned back around, just in time to see your old manager strutting towards you. You took a deep breath, ready for the coming bullshit. “Well well well,” he said with a smug smirk on his face. “If it isn’t Miss Daisy Duke herself.” You felt your cheeks get hot and heard Dean snort. “I’m sorry,” Dean said, looking at you like this was too good to be true. “Daisy Duke?” he repeated. Your cheeks were burning by this point, praying that the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

“That’s right,” your old manager said in his chill inducing Southern drawl. “You know how it goes, ‘nice legs...daisy dukes...makes a man go-’” he whistled, finishing the line and turning your cheeks an even deeper red. “Miss Daisy here was our pride and joy,” he said, turning to Dean. “Best dance this bar has ever seen,” he finished, turning back to you. He smiled devilishly at you, humming in contentment. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Daisy?” he asked sickeningly sweetly. Fighting to hold on to whatever shred of dignity you had left, you pulled out your fake badge and held it up. “It’s Agent Jett now, thanks,” you spat, flashing it in his face before putting it back in your jacket pocket. He squinted back at you. Sam cleared his throat in attempt to break the tension before telling him about the missing persons reports. Your old boss soaked in the information Sam was giving him, but stayed silent, still squinting at you.

Sam looked uncomfortably between the two of you before clearing his throat again and asking, “Do you have any security cameras that might have caught anything? Any possible witnesses?” Your old boss shifted his glance to Sam and replied, “Maybe.” Sam stared back, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, Dean cut in. “Maybe?” he asked gruffly with an eyebrow cocked. Your old boss nodded, pursing his lips together. “Depends,” he stated simply, crossing his arms. You could tell Dean was losing his patience quickly because he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “On what?” he asked, voice tight. Your old boss simply shrugged. “On if Miss Daisy will give us another show tonight.”

Your jaw dropped open. Did he say what you thought he said? Sam, Dean, and Cas all turned to stare at you, trying to gauge your reaction. Dean looking more amused than anything, and Sam trying to see whether or not he had to step in between you. “I’m sorry, what?” you croaked. Your old boss gave you the same devilish smile that sent chills down your spine. “I said,” he took another step closer to you, “I’ll talk...if you would grace The Saloon with one last dance. For old time’s sake.” The three boys looked at you expectingly. You looked incredulously among them. “You can’t be serious,” you protested.

He was. You found yourself back in your motel room, changing out of your FBI clothes and into your shortest denim shorts and your most revealing tanktop. You silently cursed yourself for packing your boots, as it seemingly jinxed you into your current situation. After you were changed, you fell back into your old routine of hair and makeup, becoming almost unrecognizable in the mirror. As you were applying the last bit of hairspray, you heard a knock at your door. “Y/n, we gotta go!” you heard Dean yell. Sighing, you slipped into your boots, took one last look in the mirror, and summoned the courage to open the door.

When you opened the door, it took them a second to react, all three reacting differently. Sam looked at you with raised brows and an amused smile, Dean whistled, and Castiel’s eyes widened before slowly trailing down your body. You felt yourself blush under his scrutiny, until it became unbearable and you snapped your fingers in his face. “My eyes are up here buddy,” you feigned anger, startling him from his trance. “I-uh m-my apologies, y/n” he stumbled over his words, looking down at his feet. Dean laughed and clapped his shoulder before walking towards Baby.

The drive over was silent, with the occasional ‘heh’ from Dean, as he thought about the ridiculousness of this day. You dreaded every mile he drove closer to the bar, wondering why Castiel couldn’t have just used his angel powers to make your old boss cough up whatever info he had. You sighed as Dean pulled up to the bar once again and begrudgingly opened your car door. “Did you guys really have to come?” you whined, trying to stall. “Of course we did princess. What if the demons are here tonight?” Dean said with a smirk. You rolled your eyes at the excuse. Sam turned to you with a look of pity. “Seriously though, y/n, if you’re uncomfortable at any point just say the word. We’ll leave and we can find another way to get the information,” he said and smiled softly. You nodded and sighed before making your way into the barn.

You opened the door and to your dismay, the place was packed. You groaned as you stepped further in before you made eye contact with one of your old coworkers. “Y/n?” she said shocked, a huge smile forming on her face. “Jimmy said you were coming but I didn’t believe him, no one did,” she said before pulling you into a huge hug. You relaxed into the hug, her being one of the very few people in town that you still kept in contact with. “Yeah well,” you said pulling back. “One night only kinda thing,” you finished, choosing to ignore the way her and Dean were eye-fucking next to you. She turned her attention back to you and took your hand. “Well, we better get you stage ready, Jimmy’s queuing up your signature!” she said excitedly, pulling you away. You threw a quick glance behind you at the boys before realization dawned on you. “Hey!” you yelled back to them, getting their attention. “Do NOT sit in this section!” you tried to point to the front left, but your friend was pulling you too fast and they just gave you confused looks.

Before you knew it, you were back stage, pacing with anxiety. You heard the current song stop and you dreaded what was coming. “Ladies and gentlemen,” you heard Jimmy’s chilling voice draw out. “Please give a big Saloon welcome...returning back to the stage... Miss Daisy Duke!” You shoved your nerves down and forced a smile before strutting out on stage. You quickly fell back into your old routine, strutting around the stage and swaying your hips to your opening music. One dance and that’s all you said to yourself. You knew that from the song Jimmy had chosen, your signature, that in the middle of the routine you would have to go down to the audience and dance for whoever the spotlight shown on. You continued your dance, praying that the boys had listened to you and had chosen anywhere else to sit. As the part of the song drew closer, you scanned the audience to gauge about who you would be giving a lapdance to. Dean raised his hand to catch your scanning eyes, with the biggest smile you’d ever seen on him. You rolled your eyes before realizing that they hadn’t taken your warning and had sat in that section.

You shot him a death glare before turning back to your dance, hoping that the spotlight would shine on anyone but them. The drunken cheers and whistles from the crowd were just about the only thing keeping you from running off stage and straight to the motel. You heard the cue in the music, prompting you to saunter down the main steps and into the audience. Sighing to yourself, you grabbed the mic and made your way to the steps. The music stopped, prompting your lines. “Gentlemen,” you said with your best honeyed Southern accent. “It’s one of your lucky nights” you finished, and the music started back up. You felt all eyes on you and tried to keep yourself from freaking out as you continued your routine. You heard the third cue in the music as the spotlight came down. You held your breath, praying that it would land anywhere but where it did. To your horror, it landed on Castiel.

Fuck you thought. The angel looked utterly confused, looking up and around him, completely thrown off by the sudden wash of light encompassing him. If it was possible, Dean’s smile grew even wider as he excitedly looked to Cas and clapped him on the shoulder. Castiel looked at him through furrowed brows, before following his gaze to you. You locked eyes with the bewildered angel, walking over to him as sexy as you could. A surge of confidence filled you when you saw his Adam’s apple bob and his jaw clench. In accordance with your routine, you walked right up to Castiel and kneeled in front of him, gently nudging his knees apart so you could settle between them. Castiel looked down at you with wide eyes, throat bobbing once more.

“And what might your name be, handsome?” you said into the mic, part of the routine. You held the mic out to Cas, which made him even more confused as he stared into your eyes, searching for any clue as to why you were asking for his name. The music was stopped again, waiting for his reply. Dean elbowed him, prompting him to answer. “Uh... Cas-Castiel,” he finally spat out. You mouthed a quick I’m so sorry and gave him an apologetic look before standing up and saying “Well, Castiel, I’ve got a special treat for you.” The music came back on and you handed the mic off to a stagehand, before turning back to Cas.

With the spotlight still on him, you sauntered over to Castiel, swaying your hips to the music along the way. He sat unnaturally still, legs still apart from when you spread them, just barely exposing the small bulge beginning to form in his pants. You felt heat pool in your core at the sight, struggling to keep your focus on the routine. You made your way back in front of him, before turning away from him to swing your hips to the music. Turning back around, you saw him watching your movements closely, his once bright blue eyes now dark, pupils blown out from lust. You swallowed before placing your hands on his shoulders and climbing onto his lap. This surprised him, as his breath caught in his throat and his hands flew instinctively to your hips. You leaned in to whisper “don’t touch, the bodyguards won’t allow it.” He ripped hands off of you as if your skin burned him and he looked up at you with wide eyes.

You began grinding against him, moving your hips to the music and gaining more drunken cheers, one distinctively from Dean, earning him a smack on the back of his head from his younger brother. Castiel couldn’t care less about the audience, you had his undivided attention. He couldn’t help the noises coming from the back of his throat, nor could he seem to keep his vessel under control. His hands twitched at his sides, desperate to touch you. You felt him becoming harder and harder, making it more difficult for you to stay focused on your routine. You climbed off his lap, danced in front of him some more, and then sat back down, this time facing away from him. You ground you ass against his hardened member, earning a low moan from the angel. You felt your panties dampening, enjoying this just as much as he was. You continued grinding against him to the music, the crowd continuing to cheer, and Castiel continuing to squirm beneath you.

Once more, you stood up from him, danced more of your routine, and straddled the utterly debauched angel. You worked hard to avoid eye contact, but slipped up and locked eyes with Castiel. To your delight, he donned the same desperate look from the dream you had earlier that morning. You shifted your hips to grind against him, causing his head to fall back to his shoulders and his mouth to part slightly. More heat pooled in your core the more you ground against him, a coil starting to form in your belly. Fuck you thought to yourself. Luckily, the fourth and final cue came in the music, signaling your return to the stage. You breathed a sigh of relief, climbed off of him, and pecked his cheek before sauntering back to the stage to finish the song. From the stage, you watched Castiel shift uncomfortably in his seat, trying and failing to conceal his tented slacks.

Finally, the song ended and you blew a kiss to the crowd before skipping off stage, thankful to be done. While you were chatting with some of the girls, Dean came to get you, trying to hide his amusement as he told you Sam had gotten the tapes from Jimmy. You breathed a sigh of relief, glad that this night was over. Dean walked you back out to the car, where Sam and Cas were waiting. Cas looked up hearing footsteps, and his eyes widened when they met yours. He quickly looked down and avoided your stare until you got back to the car. The four of you got in silently and sat for a moment before you heard Dean breathe in as if he was about to say something.

“Don’t,” you said quickly. “I don’t want to hear anything about tonight ever again. Capiche?” Dean muttered something under his breath and Sam gave you a tight nod, eager to also forget the events of the night. You took a deep breath and turned to Cas. “Castiel,” you began, and you could’ve sworn you saw him flinch at your words. “I really am sorry. I wasn’t expecting it to land on you, I told you three not to sit there..” you trailed off. He couldn’t meet your gaze. Instead he nodded and replied, “Our apologies for not realizing your meaning.” His eyes momentarily flicked up to yours before landing back down into his lap. You followed his gaze, and he seemingly noticed, as he once again shifted in his seat, trying to conceal the still obvious bulge.

This was going to be a fun ride back.

#castiel #cas #castiel x reader #cas x reader #castiel x reader smut #castiel fanfiction #supernatural fic #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural crack

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dcforts · 4 years ago

Text

[day 11: sharing is caring]

That’s just what they need.

It’s not enough that they’ve been digging up graves in the snow and that they’re dirty and tired and aching – the weather had to play its part and send them a storm.

From where they’re stuck in the middle of nowhere in Wisconsin, home seems far, far away.

“Do we know anyone around here?” asks Cas from the passenger seat and Dean closes his eyes and sighs.

“Yeah,” he says disheartened, “We know Garth.”

It’s not that Dean doesn’t like Garth. In fact, he likes him very much. And he’d be happy to see him. It’s been a while and his warm smile it’s never a bad sight.

It’s just that – he’s a lot. And he brings up some stuff.

He may pretend like it never happened but Dean remembers how he first reacted when he’d found out that he’d been bitten and how he acted around his family. And then there’s the fact that Dean doesn’t like bothering hunters who got out of the life. He feels that who he is and what he carries with him, it’s something that they’ve put behind them and don’t wish to see again.

Not to count the bitter feeling that surges in him everytime he’s reminded that Garth not only managed to retire and have a normal life, but he double did it. There are not many hunters, or werewolves, or hunter-werewolves for the matter, that can say that. Dean certainly can’t say that.

Still, when they call him and Garth says he’ll be happy to have them, Dean feels relief flooding over him, if not for the prospect of a warm and dry place to rest for a few hours, just enough to wait for the storm to calm down.

He can manage.

Or at least that’s what he thinks until he and Cas are huddled together on Garth’s front porch and even above the wind Dean hears Christmas songs blasting from the inside.

His eyes find Cas, who’s looking back at him, alarmed, but the doorbell has already been rung and it’s too late to back out. Garth opens the door with his patented smile.

“Guys!” he shouts above the music, “You made it!” he hurries them in the tiny entrance and closes the door.

Dean finds himself enveloped in a cocoon of warmth and lovely aroma of pine wood and cinnamon. His cheeks and hands tingle and he lets out a sigh.

Garth comes back into his view; Dean opens his mouth to speak but he has already wrapped his arms around him. “It’s so good to see you,” he says in his usual cheerful tone. He moves on to squeeze Cas into a similar hug and Cas stiffens and tentatively pats his back. Garth gives out a little laugh, “That’s it, buddy,” he encourages.

“Hello, Garth.”

Alright, Dean thinks, maybe it’s gonna be a little funny.

But then he notices the two-feet-tall inflatable Santa that’s bumping against his shins and when he looks up he’s stunned into silence. It actually takes his eyes a moment or two to register what’s surrounding them: the garlands on the doors, the tinsels around the banister, the baubles hanging from the ceiling all above them. Judging from the giant Christmas tree he can spot in the living room, he’s pretty sure the rest of the house isn’t in much better condition.

Garth himself is wearing an bulky red knitted cardigan with reindeers all over it. Seeing that, combined with the songs and the decorations, Dean feels the need to ask, “Uh – Garth? Are you guys celebrating something?”

Garth slaps him on the shoulder and laughs like he’s made a great joke. “It’s December, Dean-o! Every day is a celebration. The most magical time of the year, right?” he says beaming “You’ll have to wait for the carols but you’re right on time for hot cocoa!”

Dean feels dread creeping in. He takes a step back, “Wha- Garth, no – we don’t mean to -”

Apparently Cas is on the same page as him because he also starts saying, “This is your family time,” and steps back with him. “We don’t want to intrudr –“

Garth shakes his head vigorously, “Guys, guys, guys,” He holds up his hands to shut them up, “It makes Bess and I very happy to have you here to share it with us. Sharing is caring. And we happen to care a lot about you two,” he says making a silly voice and pointing a finger at them.

Yeah, nevermind, this was a terrible idea.

Cas throws him another freaked out look Dean can’t help but reciprocate, but Garth pays no mind to their lack of enthusiasm and shepherds them cheerfully into the living room. Dean feels even more out of place among the pastel walls and the embroidered pillows, the toys and the dolls. He tries to make himself weight less so that he doesn’t leave traces of dirt on the carpet. Everything seems soft and cozy, which is a real change from the hard leather seats and the icy wind.

“So, how was the journey?” Garth is asking Cas, as if they’re coming back from a cruise. “It’s been so long, man. Just the other day I was thinking ‘When I’m ever going to see them again?’ and then - ”

Dean gets distracted as he feels something tugging at the duffel bag he’s carrying and when he lowers his gaze there’s a blond head and two little hands trying to hold on to the fabric. “H-hey,” he says, shifting back a little to get out of his reach. He doesn’t think it’s a good idea to have clean, innocent baby hands near a bag that was in a graveyard an hour ago. But the kid takes an unsteady step forward and grabs it anyway. “This is – no, no – uh, G-Garth?” he calls, horrified.

Garth stops drowning Cas in questions and shifts his attention to the ground. He laughs and picks up his kid, totally unbothered, “Sammy, these are not toys for you,” he shakes his head, “He’s such a curious kid.”

Bess comes down the stairs right in that moment, wearing a green cardigan that matches Garth’s. “I thought I heard you two!” she says, even if Dean is pretty sure they’ve barely said a word since they’ve come in. “Garth, why don’t you bring their bag in the guests’ room? I’ll be right out with the drinks.”

There’s another round or “No need -,” and “This is really not necessary -,” and “We don’t want -“ before Garth yanks the bag from Dean’s hold with one hand.

He always forgets how strong he is.

“Of course you’re gonna stay. There’s no way I’m letting you leave in the cold and the dark. Come on! You know me,” he disappears down the hallway shaking his head and saying, “We’re gonna have so much fun.”

Bess gives them an encouraging smile, “Relax guys, take off your jackets, sit on the couch.”

So they do. Sit on the couch.

They both let out a sigh when they sink into the cushions and Dean would call Cas “old” if he hadn’t made the exact same sound.

“This was a bad idea,” whispers Dean.

“You think?”

In the sudden emptiness of the room, with It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year in the background, and the giant Christmas tree twinkling in the corner, it’s weird to just - sit there.

Dean is dirty and smelly and feels marginally better only when he looks over at Cas who seems so much out of his comfort zone that he might as well be a tropical bird.

He takes a hopeful look out of the windows behind the couch but the weather seems to be even worse than it was five minutes ago.

“Are you still cold?” asks Cas.

“No.”

“Good.”

They look away from each other again.

In the last few weeks they’ve settled in a pretty hectic routine. Find the case, drive to the case, work the case, drive home, rinse and repeat.

It’s a well-oiled machine, but that doesn’t leave much time for – well, anything else. Definitely not sitting around and relaxing – and it’s just awkward all of the sudden to be alone in a place that is not a sticky diner, or a dusty motel, or a morgue.

It sounds depressing but that’s the hunter life for you. Without even noticing you become your job and it gets easier to just put your head down and work.

After three hunts in a row, Dean realizes this is the first time they’re actually taking a break. He looks over at Cas, his messy hair and the hands folded in his lap, and he feels the need to say something conversational.

What comes out is, “Last time I was here, Garth fixed my teeth.”

Cas’ face scrunches up in confusion but then Garth comes back.

“Have you seen Cas?”

Dean blinks at him and then slowly and dubiously points at his right.

“No, I mean,” Garth laughs, “The little one. I’m so excited for you to meet him,” he says, leaving the room again.

“How do you lose a kid?” Dean asks under his breath, looking around. His attention is drawn to a group of pictures on the little table beside the couch. There’s a bunch of the family on holidays, and then a bunch of the kids. One of the frames says Castiel and, on the bottom, Always our little boy.

“Hey, Cas,” he picks it up to show it to him, “Want me to get you one of these?”

Cas glares at him and doesn’t dignifies him with an answer.

Dean smirks and shrugs, “Fine, we’ll get the one that says Sammy. Can’t wait to see his face on Christmas morning.”

Cas doesn’t look at him again but Dean sees the corner of his mouth stretch a little so he calls it a victory.

Then Garth comes back and finally sits down in the armchair across from them. “He’s asleep. I forgot he was asleep!” he rolls his eyes at himself, “Cas,” he says, clicking his tongue, “he’s the best. He’s got this look, you know?”

“Wait, who are we talking about now?”

“Him. No, uh -” Garth laughs and bangs a hand on his forehead. “Sorry, I keep getting confused. Alright, alright, lets call our Cas 'Little Cas' and we’ll call you, 'Big Cas'.”

Dean stifles a laugh.

"I don’t think-" starts Cas, but it gets drown out by Bess coming back with a tray.

From the steaming mugs comes the rich smell of chocolate and on the surface Dean can see mini marshmallows shaped like little trees. He watches as Bess and Garth pick up their mugs and toast before taking a sip and notices with a smile that even their mugs are matching. Bess’ says “Mine” and Garth’s says “Yours”. He thinks it’s cute, whatever.

But then he looks down at his own mug and realizes that there’s something written across it too. It says “Perfect” and when he dares to look in Cas’ way his whole body blushes when he reads “Together” on his.

He takes a sip of chocolate and tries very hard to avoid Cas’ eyes and stop blushing. He fails on both fronts and burns his tongue.

At least it tastes great and the sugar warms him up and makes him feel much more comfortable.

Cas drinks it too without making a fuss over molecules and Dean wonders if it’s because he’s very polite or if he’s a pain in the ass just when they’re alone.

Finally Cas meets Little Cas and Garth keeps telling them how smart he is, because apparently he’s learned how to use the remote.

Dean snorts, “That’s already more than Big Cas can do,” and Cas shoots him a deadly “Stop calling me that,” that shuts him up for five minutes. Dean agrees it was a bad idea anyway.

Kids love Cas, for some reason. Little Cas stretches his arms towards him the whole time he’s in the room and Cas just pretends he can’t see him, as if avoiding eye contact is enough to make him stop. It amuses Dean greatly.

Even Gertie, when she comes in with a gingerbread cookie, looks between them and chooses to give it to Cas.

“I only have one,” she tells Dean, who is totally not offended.

But then Cas says, “It’s okay,” with his soft voice, “We’ll share it.”

And for some reason that makes Dean’s heart flutter. It’s something in the way he casually snaps the cookie in half and hands him a piece.

Somehow it’s different than sharing a car, a motel room, a bed, all kinds of weapons and bags and just space, in general.

Dean doesn’t know what it is, but somehow there’s a difference.

Garth is fairly disappointed when he finds out that angels don’t know Christmas carol by heart just because they’re angels.

At some point he just starts playing the piano and expects Cas to start singing along.

Dean says it was a hard blow for him as well, knowing that he couldn’t play the harp, just to enjoy the way Cas rolls his eyes with his whole head.

“What about Holy Night?”

“I- I don’t know that one,” says Cas, for the thirteen time in a row and Dean would love to stay on the couch and watch him awkwardly handle the situation if he wasn’t afraid Garth would eventually try and bring him into it.

So he jumps up at the first occasion to follow Bess into the kitchen right under Cas’ betrayed look.

“What songs do you know?” Garth’s voice carries through the walls.

“Uh, I know Led Zeppelin?” says Cas and Dean almost drops the mugs as his heart expands.

Now he kind of regrets having left the room but then Garth is saying, “Oh no, silly, I mean Christmas songs,” and Bess is asking him, “Do you play any instrument?” so he focuses back on her.

Dean puts down the mugs in the sink and opens up the tab, “Uh - just the guitar – a little bit. Never had much chance to practise.”

“Oh, you should. Then you can bring it up here sometime and play for us at the church.”

Dean scoffs, “You sure they’d want to see me again, after last time?” he asks and can’t hide the genuine uncertainty from his voice.

Bess rests a hand on his arm, reassuring, “Well, it’ll be different. Last time we said, ‘This is Dean, he’s a hunter’. This time, we’ll be saying, ‘This is Dean, he plays the guitar’.”

It’s such a simple concept but it hits him like a brick. He needs a moment to try and see himself from another point of view and he really doesn’t know what to say. Bess doesn’t seem to mind. They dry the mugs in silence and when Dean looks up to smile at her, she smiles back.

Dean, he plays the guitar. It could work.

They go back to the living room and Bess and Garth duet over Silent Night and it’s only a little embarrassing.

It gets dark pretty soon after that.

Before they bring their kids upstairs they all take part in the traditional – apparently daily – lightning of the tree. They turn off the lights and when Garth says “Ready?”, Gertie says “Yes!” and he lights it up.

Only, in the dark Cas gets really close to him and when Garth says “Ready?” Dean can hear him too say “Yes,” and so he turns towards him just as Garth plugs it in and his breath catches in his throat as he sees his face light up with the colours dancing on his skin.

Bess turns on the lights again and Garth puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder and it startles him.

“Amazing, right?” he says, “Gets me everytime,” and only then Dean realizes that he’s missed the whole thing.

“Yeah,” he says.

Watching them at the table is always a jarring experience.

But just a "How’s the – dental practice going?" is enough to kick off the longest most absurd recount of Garth’s last few years and Dean finds himself laughing heartily with a hand on his chest, having forgotten all about the raw cow hearts on their plates.

They talk about things to do in Winsconsin and Dean tells them about that one time when he was a kid and got sick on cream puffs at a fair. Even Cas talks about Claire non-stop for a solid minute an a half, which is honestly impressive.

Bess and Garth want to know all about Sam and Eileen. When Dean says they’re splitting up more these days, Bess nods and says, “Yeah, I imagine you all enjoy a bit of privacy.”

Dean hears loud and clear the implication that him and Cas are like Sam and Eileen but doesn’t really know how to correct her, so he doesn’t.

He knows he can’t blame her. He’s not totally oblivious to the way they look from the outside. Working together, living together - just that would be enough to assume. But Dean hasn’t looked at anyone else in years either so – yeah. He knows how it looks.

Cas doesn’t say anything either, and doesn’t show any signs as to whether he’s picked up the implication but Dean can never really be sure with him.

That’s about around the time Dean realizes he’s shifted towards him and has an arm draped on the back of his chair.

Cas hasn’t said anything about that either. Dean doesn’t remove it.

Garth proposes a toast to Bobby and Dean loves him a little bit more and then Bess asks them what they’re doing for the holidays and looks shocked when he says that they haven’t really thought about it yet.

“But Christmas is in two weeks!”

Dean is about to say that they never really did holidays and they’re always on the road anyway, so it doesn’t matter and they don’t care, but for some reasons he settles for, “I guess – if we’re not working – then we’ll get Sam and Eileen and just -”

He doesn’t know what they’ll do.

Garth makes that face he makes when he finds him adorable.

It makes his skin crawl.

“What would you like to do?” he says and Dean feels hot all of the sudden as Cas looks his way as well.

“Nothing,” he blurts out, feeling his face reddening, “I mean, just stay at home, relax. That’d be great.”

Bess smiles, “That doesn’t sound like such an impossible plan now, does it?”

Cas softly says, “No, it doesn’t,” and Dean’s heart starts pounding.

“Next year we could get the families together,” jumps in Garth and that makes him laugh again.

From the fact that he doesn’t think right away that it’s the most horrible idea that Garth could possibly have, he realizes he’s having a good night.

And even later when he brings to the kitchen the last of the plates and sees Garth and Bess share a kiss and a laugh over the sink, he smiles. He’s careful not to make any sounds as he puts the plates down on the counter and tiptoes back to the dark living room.

Cas is standing near the tree, looking at the decorations and Dean silently joins him.

They smile at each other briefly and go back to watch the tree.

Considering how they’ve started the day, Dean thinks it’s not a bad way to end it.

The guest room is – well, like the rest of the house, colourful wallpaper, soft carpets, floral-scented bedsheets. And a Santa on the nightstands with cheeks that light up. Dean puts it under the bed first thing cause it creeps him out.

Garth says, “Are you gonna be alright in here?”

“I don’t sleep,” reassures him Cas and Dean wants to retort that for someone who claims he “just lays down” he sure knows how to steal the covers.

“Yeah, Garth,” he says instead, “We’ll be up early and leave through the backdoor.”

“Well, guys,” Garth says on the door, his eyes swelling up, “It’s been so good to have you here.”

“Yeah, thank you for everything, Garth,” Dean says and he really means it. “We had a good time.”

Garth shakes his head. “You guys make me cry.”

He pulls him into a hug and then moves to do the same with Cas.

“Come back, whenever you want. And have a very merry Christmas.”

Dean closes the door behind him and leans his back against it with a deep sigh. “If I’d walked home instead of coming here I’d be less tired, I think.”

Cas huffs a laugh as he unties his shoes.

They undress in silence and slips under the covers.

Dean turns off the lights and looks up at the ceiling.

"It’s nice,” Cas says unexpectedly in the dark, “what they have."

A weight drops on Dean’s chest.

"Yeah,” he agrees in the end, “it's nice."

After a moment, Cas speaks again.

“Dean?”

“Mh?”

“We don’t have to – go home straight away,” there’s a pause. The familiar shape of Cas shifts next to him, “We could find some cream puffs for you to get sick on.”

“That’s sweet,” Dean huffs a laugh. “I appreciate it, Cas.”

He settles more comfortably against his pillow.

“I mean it,” Cas keeps going, and his whisper is a lullaby, “We don’t have to find another case. We could just go meet Sam and Eileen in Illinois. Drive home together.”

Dean likes the idea very much.

“Yeah, we could do that.”

He feels his eyes falling shut.

“We could make it home in time for Christmas,” Cas’ voice is saying.

Dean’s lips stretch into a smile.

“Yeah, let’s do that, Cas.”

He falls asleep.

joining @bend-me-shape-me in doing this!

#SPNAdventCalendar2020 #deancas #destiel #deancas ficlet #destiel fanfic #3.6k #garth fitzgerald iv #holiday time at garth's house #fluff #this one exploded on me #but i had a lot of fun #i love these prompts !!!!#they light up my brain #domesticity is my vocation #my writing

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years ago

Text

EUPHORIA - Chapter 29

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: He’s Dean Winchester, owner of a shady night club. She’s a journalist who has been asked to write an article to expose the indecency and debauchery that’s going on behind closed doors. But he’s also Dean Winchester, the boy who sat next to her in class. The boy who was too cocky for his own good.

Chapter Warning: Angst

WC: 2008

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons <3

This series is complete on Patreon!

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Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

Dean knows that he should have run after her, but he couldn’t get his body to move. Knows that the moment the door shut that he had made a fucking big mistake. It’s all on fucking him , but no matter how many signals his brain is sending his limbs to move, no matter how much he wants to just shout out for her to wait, it’s not happening. He is a prisoner of his own fucking body. Prisoner of his own fucking mind.

His senses are flooded with dread, guilt nags at his conscience, and there’s the nauseous feeling again.

She loved him? She said she loved him. It’s the first time they said that they loved each other and the circumstances couldn’t be any fucking worse. That’s certainly not how he imagined her telling him that she felt that way. The way he’s been feeling for fucking weeks.

He runs to the kitchen, throws up into the sink.

Dean retches and coughs. There’s not much coming out, he hasn’t eaten in days. He retches and retches more, and his throat starts to hurt. He runs the tap and throws ice cold water into his face before he turns around and slides his body down to the floor. He’s sitting there in his fucking kitchen, crying like a fucking whimp.

Christ, Y/N’s right and he hates that she is. He didn’t even look at the clip for too long. Couldn’t make it past twenty fucking seconds without the feeling of wanting to punch his fucking screen.

Is that why she was always so cautious about cameras in the rooms? Is that why she delivered him the speech about blackmailing? Jesus , he’s such a fucking dumb piece of shit. Dean closes his eyes and bangs the back of his head against the kitchen cabinet while he hugs his knees to his chest, hands balled into fists, his knuckles showing white.

Maybe he would start to fucking feel something!

After a while of numbness, he sniffs, rubs his hands over his face and brushes the tears stains from his cheeks. He stands up and walks over to his laptop on the couch, stepping over empty bottles. He starts his laptop. His hands are shaking but he wills himself to go over his emails, clicking on the dreadful message again.

The clip starts right away, fills his fucking screen, and Dean wills himself to watch, squinting as he does because the sense of nausea kicks in again.

He watches past the twenty seconds he first managed, and then he notices it. Notices her hair, notices that she tries to cover her face when the camera zooms in. He hears someone talking — fucking Cole . He’d notice the sneer of the guy's voice anywhere. You like this too, don’t you, Y/N? Tell me you like this, tell me you like being filmed. And then there’s her voice, small, a soft mumble, it almost gets lost in the wet sound of bodies slapping together. No, no no no.

Dean’s blood freezes and there’s the fucking sick feeling in his gut again.

Fuck.

He closes the laptop forcefully, throws it off his fucking couch and it lands with a loud thudding sound. Dean lays his head in his hands.

Fuck.

Guess the award for the most fucking idiotic dumb boyfriend has been handed out to him, huh?

There’s nothing he can do anymore is there? The things he said to her, the accusations he threw in her face. The final word of him telling her it’s fucking over. It really is, isn’t it? There’s nothing to be fixed, right?

His phone rings and he looks up from his palms, sniffs before he walks to his bedside table where it’s plugged in. His heart’s racing, because he thought that it was her. Thought that maybe she’d changed her mind, thought she wanted to talk it out and he would, even though he’s never been a talker, but he fucking would sit down and talk it the fuck out with her — but it’s only Sam.

“‘Lo,” He says, and sits down on his still made bed. Hasn’t slept in it since the day he saw the video.

“Dean, you okay?”

Dean sighs, “Let me guess, Cas?”

Sam chuckles, “Yeah,”

“I’d be lying when I said that I would be okay, Sammy.” He’s being truthful. It’s rare that it happens. Dean’s not the one to spill his heart out. Not to Sam either. Not to anybody for that matter. He would to her now, but she’s fucking gone.

His brother sighs, “What happened?”

Dean snorts and chuckles darkly, “I’ve been a fucking idiot, Sammy. But what else is new, right?”

“Y/N?” Sam asks.

“I’m too dumb for my own good, Sam. And now she’s gone and I was the one who said I wanted her gone.” The words spill out of him, and then he adds, “She walked out.”

Sam sighs, “And you let her?”

“What should I do?” Dean scoffs.

“You changed, Dean. I don’t think the old Dean would let her go without a fight. At least not when he realizes what a fucking idiot he’s been.”

“Sammy,”

“Don’t Sammy me, Dean! How many times have you told me stories about your English classes, huh? How many times did you tell me that it’s your fave fucking class? So, tell me something Dean, if I would ask for you to tell me about your favorite moments in your life, what will you tell me, huh? You and I both know it. You will say her. You will always say her, isn’t that so?”

Dean hates that Sam’s right.

“I don’t know, so maybe you should go get her?” Sam says, and adds, “But, uh, maybe get the bottles out of the way, open up some windows to get the stink out of your loft and for god’s sake, take a fucking shower!”

“Cas?”

“Yeah.”

Dean rolls his eyes, “Bye, Sam.”

After an ice cold shower, Dean sobered up enough to think straight. Not enough to drive, though, so he takes a cab to her apartment.

Once there, he takes two steps at once and stops to breath in front of her door. He feels nauseous again, it’s a constant now and slowly he gets used to it. His heart is pumping fast, he’s fucking nervous. Lifting his hand, he knocks.

Nothing.

He knocks again, this time with his whole hand, palm hitting the wooden door, “Y/N open up, please. I need to talk to you.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. I’ve been an idiot.”

There’s shuffling behind the door and it comes to a halt just short before it, Dean can hear it clear as day.

“Baby, please?” Dean leans his forehead on the door, his hands balled into fist as he knocks again.

“Dean, it’s over. I have nothing else to say to you. Please leave.”

He closes his eyes and his heart takes a leap when he hears her voice. God, he hates that she uses his words against him.

“‘M not going anywhere.” Dean says and it’s like he once promised her, he’s not going anywhere. He’s fucking here to stay. A promise he fucking broke because he’s a goddamn idiot. He’s here no matter what, he said, and he fucking broke that promise too.

There’s no answer and Dean turns around, rests his back against the door and lets himself slide down it. He’s going to wait.

He spends four hours in front of her door but when she wouldn’t come out and Cas called if he’s going to be in for work, he gets up from his position, knocks at her door again, “I have to go in to work. I’ll be back alright? I’ll come every day until you talk to me again, I swear.”

The first day he came to her apartment straight after work, camped outside, hoping she’d go in to work and would open up to meet him but she never left her apartment. He went back to change into new clothes and came back around to wait it out until he had to go into work again.

The same repeated for the next two days.

Cas didn’t really ask where he’s going and Dean thinks he knows. He hasn’t really talked to anyone since, to be honest. He didn’t even try to send her a text or call, knowing that she wouldn’t want to answer his calls or text anyway. There’s really nothing else he can do than waiting out in front of her door.

And now, Dean’s been doing that for three fucking long days. He came and went, brought her food and water but it stayed untouched in front of her apartment.

On his fourth day, Dean’s late because he fell asleep in his office before the club even closed and now it’s already 10am when he arrives at her door.

He knocks, and as usual, there’s no answer, so Dean sits down again, braces his arms on his knees and buries his face in it. He tries not to fall asleep, because if he does, he’d miss her and judging from the lack of sleep he’s getting, he’s sure that if he does, he’ll be dead to the world and won’t hear a fucking thing.

Dean’s fighting with himself right now, fighting to keep his heavy lids open when he hears a creaking of a door. It isn’t her door, though. No, the sound comes from a little further away.

“Young man?” Dean hears a voice and an old woman peaks her head around the corner of her door frame. It’s Y/N’s neighbor.

“Yeah,” Dean looks up and clears his throat, pinches at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

“She left this morning. I saw her in the stairwell, she had a heavy bag with her so I don’t think she’ll be back.”

Dean’s heart sinks to his balls and he gets up, tries to not to just grab the woman and shake more information out of her, “Okay,” He says instead, “Thanks.”

His car stops with a screech at the curb in front of her office building and Dean hurries out, runs up to the entrance. Fortunately, the security guy knew Dean, so he waved him through.

Up on her office floor, he can see that her desk is empty but Rufus stares at him, killing him with a glare. Dean lifts his eyebrow, but he stays rigid because Rufus stands up to walk over to him.

The man pushes him out into the hall, his hand firm but gentle on Dean’s shoulder.

“I just need to talk to her,” Dean says and he might sound desperate, but he just can’t bring himself to care.

“She’s not here, Dean.”

“What do you mean?” Dean turns his head and cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of the open office. Maybe she’s just in one of the meeting rooms?

“Just what I said,” Rufus says and continues to walk Dean back to the elevator, “She took time off. She’s not going to come in anytime soon.”

Dean turns around to stare at the man, “Do you know where she is, please?” His hands fists in Rufus' shirt. Yeah, Dean knows that he gives the impression of being desperate, but that’s only because he fucking is.

“No, I’m sorry. She didn’t tell me.”

“What did she tell you?” Dean can’t help but ask.

“That you’ve hurt her, Dean. You’ve hurt her bad.”

Shit.

Rufus goes on, “I’ve known her for a while, Dean. I was there when she ended things with Cole. And from the way she talks, she’s even more upset about this break up.”

Break up . The word hits Dean like a fucking freight train.

Rufus ignores Dean’s dumb stare, “What I know about her is that when she gets hurt, she’ll shut herself out from everything and everyone. It’s her coping mechanism. Now, please leave. She’ll come back when she’s ready.”

Chapter 30

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

#euphoria #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #nathalie writes

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castiel-left-his-mark-on-me · 4 years ago

Text

The In-Between

I have become enamored with the time in between-- after they drove off into the sunset in 15x19, but before they awoke in the bunker at the start of 15x20; because there were some days there, and in those days, something changed in Dean. So it got me thinking ... what if ...

“Finally free.”

Dean had said the words— and he had meant them, but they didn’t bring the joy he thought they would. They didn’t leave him feeling as free as he wanted to be; because for the last ten years, he never dreamed of a freedom without Castiel.

It was supposed to be him, Sammy and Cas in the end.

They were Team Free-Will.

The three of them.

But now, it’s just him and Sam and a whole world that looks all too much the same for all they’ve lost... for what’s been sacrificed to save it.

Dean presses the gas pedal, and Baby roars down the road, eating up the miles like the beautiful monster she is. He looks over, and Sam is smiling, but there’s an emptiness to it—and Dean knows that his baby brother is hurting too. He still hasn’t heard from Eileen, so he still doesn’t know if Jack brought her back with everyone else; or … if he just took her to Heaven because, she technically should have been there all along.

And it seems like some kind of sick joke. Some punchline Chuck had built into the universe, and Dean and Sam were always destined to be the ones getting punched.

They were free, yes; but they aren’t happy.

The Winchesters saved the world but they lost so much more.

They stop for gas somewhere outside of Sante Fe, where the fields stretch out forever and Dean thinks that if he just tracks the horizon long enough with his eyes, he can maybe fall right off the edge of the earth.

The pump clicks, and he caps Baby back up, giving her a pat on the trunk—knowing that both her and Sam would suffer if he was gone, so he blinks goodbye to the sun’s bed and climbs back behind the wheel, ready to continue on to nowhere, or somewhere. Right now, they’re just driving because they can and not because they have something to kill or someone to save, and that’s perhaps the nicest part about their new life so far.

“Holy crap” Sam says, looking wide eyed out the windshield.

“What?” Dean asks, following his brother’s gaze through the glass and out to the gravel driveway of the station.

And there, all shaggy and panting—is Miracle.

“No way!” Dean gasps, immediately jumping out of the car again to crouch and side step towards the mangy dog as quick as he can. “Hey—hey, boy! Is that really you?” He says, laughing and smiling, and the dog wags his tail a little, sitting still as Dean kneels down in front of him. “I thought we lost you, buddy” Dean says, looking into those brown eyes as they look into his. “I thought we lost you like we lost—” he starts to choke up, “like … we lost …” he leans over and pats Miracle on the head, “like I lost—” he bends down and hugs the dog close, crying into his fur; and Miracle whines, scoots in closer, nestles his chin onto Dean’s shoulder—and let’s the man hold him as he completely breaks.

“Dean …” Sam says softly, touching Dean’s arm as he squats beside his older brother and the dog. “C’mon … I’ll drive.”

Deans nods, wiping at his eyes before he stands back up, picking up Miracle with him and carrying him to the car. “We’re going home, buddy” he whispers, kissing the top of the dog’s head, breathing him in, breathing in the life of him, clutching his fur and losing himself in the solidity of him.

The dog is here, he is present.

He’s come back to Dean.

Some things can come back.

Miracle settles quickly, and Dean settles into having something to take care of, because Sam is too grown and too stubborn to let Dean take care of him anymore; and lord know—Dean won’t take care of himself, so the dog will have to do.

Plus, he’s cute … and he follows Dean everywhere, and when he’s confused, he tilts his head to the side … just like —

Dean cries in the shower, knowing it’s the only place where he won’t be heard.

He cries with the memories, wishing that he could make them stop—stop the silence of them.

The loud memories— the memories where Billie is still banging on the door in his mind, the memories where he’s still begging Castiel not to go, not to do this, and even the memories of the Empty ripping through that wall, he’d take every one of those as trade over the gut-wrenching silence that followed.

The loneliness that followed.

The dog that follows him around like a four-legged cork in the powder keg that he’s become.

Dean cries as the shower’s hot water runs out; but when he turns it off—he knows he’s still not out of tears. He will just have to turn those off too, because he can be heard now.

The sun passes overheard without him knowing, and it’s not until Sam says he’s going to bed that Dean realizes how late it’s gotten. He’s just been sitting here, cleaning his weapons over and over again, trying to wash away even the smallest molecule of blood, because it was something to do. Something he could do without thinking; because thinking is more dangerous than any gun in his hand.

Miracle follows him into his room and curls up onto the pile of old blankets that Dean put down for him.

Dean shuts the door, locks it, and then looks around—noting the mess, noting the disarray. He never used to let his room get like this, but he can’t bare to move anything now, because it all is as it was when Cas was alive.

He might’ve touched something in here.

He might have left a small trace of himself on a book, or on one of Dean’s shirts, and if Dean can just hold in it in the right way, maybe, just maybe—he’ll unlock a memory, something he’s forgotten that won’t make the angel feel so far off, so permanently gone.

But—he knows that’s not how these things work. He’s lost enough people in his life to understand … that’s not how any of this works; yet, the books stay half open on the table. The clothes stay piled on the chair.

And Dean stays, buried alive in the middle of his mess of hope and discarded despair.

He sits down at his desk to finish the paperwork he got from the auto shop in town. They were looking for a part-time mechanic, and Dean was inside the manager’s office and shaking the man’s hand before he even knew what he was doing.

He just needed something, anything that didn’t remind him of the hell he’s been living in all his life, and a normal 9-5 job seemed just crazy enough to work.

Dean’s eyes scan down the page—social security number, birthday, last employer … and he doesn’t know what to write. He doesn’t know if he can even put down the truth anymore. The world might still think Dean Winchester is dead, or a mass-murder, or a psycho or whatever.

Can he even be himself anymore?

Was he ever himself to begin with?

“Just be honest, Dean.”

Dean lifts his head slow but turns quick, looking up at Castiel as he smiles down at him. “Cas?”

The angel’s smile brightens. “More or less.”

Dean’s heart stops. “Wh-what does that mean?” He stands up from his chair cautiously, and he begins to notice how the light from the lamp in the corner of the room is shining through Castiel’s skin, as if he’s not fully whole … as if he’s not fully here. “Am … am I dreaming?” Dean asks, breathless, already starting to cry, because it doesn’t even matter what the answer is, he’s just so happy to see his friend again.

“That is how you’ll remember this, yes. However, Jack has assured me that you’ll know this was real.” Castiel looks down at Miracle, sleeping by his feet. “I see you’ve adopted a dog. That’s good. I always felt this place was one species short.”

Dean’s breaks into a teary laugh, reaching out to hug Castiel—and to his surprise, he can. He holds him. He holds him tighter than he’s ever held anyone, and shuts his eyes tight, wanting to put all of this away in his mind, every inch of feeling, every breath, every smell, every single second that passes so that when he wakes up and Castiel is gone again, he’ll remember.

He needs to remember.

Castiel’s arms come up to hug Dean back, and they stay there for as long as Dean stays—and it feels like hours before they finally pull apart again.

“How are you here?” Dean asks, shaky and quiet, once he can no longer simply stare at his friend in silence anymore.

“Jack” Castiel says, and Dean raises his eyebrows—gesturing for Cas to elaborate. The angel smiles, and he looks over Dean’s face the way he always used to, only, now … Dean knows exactly what that look means. “Jack saved me from the Empty and he brought me to heaven; however, my vessel … it was lost when the Empty took me. So, Jack fashioned this body; but since it was never of the earth, it cannot stand upon it and be known.”

Dean furrows his brow, opening his mouth to say something—closing it again once he realizes...he has no clue what he could say to that.

Castiel’s smile softens. “I wanted to come back to you, Dean … but I wanted to come back as myself. The me that you’ve always known, because you—you knowing me, that’s the only way I discovered who I truly was.”

“So … why didn’t you? Why didn’t you come back?”

“Like I said before, Dean … my vessel was destroyed, and Jack couldn’t recreate it exactly, not without disrupting the forces of nature. This was the best he could do, therefore … this dream is the best I can do at reaching out to you again. I am here, although—not really. I am solid, although, not really. I am as present as you wish me to be, and the very fact that we can touch …” Castiel reaches out and touches Dean’s hand, closing his eyes a moment as he loses himself in the feel of it, “means that you have been wishing for this almost as much as I have.”

Dean laughs in spite of the new wave of tears that has washed over him. “Almost?”

Castiel’s face sterns. “I’m in love with you, Dean. Obviously, my feelings are stronger.”

“Cas …” Dean scoffs, stepping closer to hold the angel’s hand fully, “if you can live for thousands of years—”

“Millions” Cas corrects.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Whatever. If you can live for millions of years, die a dozen times, become a God, become human, become—whatever the hell else you’ve morphed into, if you can still do all that, see all that … know as much as you know, but still not know how I feel about you standing in front of me right here, right now, then—I hate it break it to you, buddy … but you don’t know half as much as you think you do.”

“Dean, what are you—”

Dean shuts him up the only way he knows how … or more, the only way he wants to.

Miracle’s head perks up as the two beings kiss above him.

And they kiss, and they kiss—and they hold each other until the sun laps the world again and begins to breach the other ends of those fields; but Dean no longer wants to fall off their edge. He just wants to stay in his room, stuck between his two miracles, holding onto this happiness, holding on to this life.

“I want you to be happy, Dean” Castiel whispers, face buried into the collar of Dean’s shirt.

“Then stay” Dean says back, breathing in the smell of the angel’s hair – and it smells like clouds. He knows that’s the smell, even though he’s never been high enough to experience it.

“Dean …” Castiel pulls away again. “I need to go soon. I need to go back to Heaven—I need to go back to Jack and the other angels; and I need you to live your life. Start that job, start a family of your own, and be happy … your happiness is what I died for.”

“No” Dean is shaking his head hard, gripping onto the angel’s side and digging in his nails. “No, you couldn’t have died for that … because the second you were gone,my happiness was gone too. Don’t you get it, man? I’m no good without you.”

“You’re everything good, Dean. When will you learn that?”

“Cas, stop — I’m saying that I don’t want to do this without you!”

“Dean” Castiel whispers, kissing Dean’s red, wet eyes, “you will never be without me. That’s what my being here is supposed to prove to you. As long as you exist … wherever you exist, I will be right there with you.”

Dean nods against Castiel’s cheek, pulling him closer, holding on for dear life, because it is dear … he sees that now. He knows it to be true. “You promise?”

“Of course, Dean.”

“But ... when will I be able to see you again?”

Castiel kisses his temple, his lips, blessing every freckle, praying to every tear that falls from Dean’s eyes. “When your time on earth is done.”

“That long?”

Blue eyes hold him steady, hold him to the earth, ground Dean in a way that’s never failed him … not since Castiel first pulled him from Hell. “It won’t be long enough. The world deserves your gifts, Dean Winchester; and I will be ready and waiting—as long as it takes. Just promise me you’ll be happy, you’ll live and love the world you’ve saved. The world that I save for you. And when you do finally make it up to heaven, know that I’ll be there waiting for you and loving you still.”

Dean’s eyes open. The room is quiet—the faint scent of clouds and rain, and promise still hang in the air.

Miracle hops onto the bed to greet him, and Dean welcomes him with open arms.

And when Sam says he’s been thinking about Cas—about Jack, Dean knows that the only thing he can say is what Castiel told him as they held one another the night before; whether it had been a dream, or something more, it was all still real, and it all settled Dean’s heart to a steady pace—one that it would beat to until its very last.

“If we don’t keep living, then all that sacrifice is gonna be for nothing.”

And when he sits beside Bobby in Heaven and hears him say Castiel’s name—Dean knows that the angel will kick his ass for coming by so soon, but he quickly smiles to himself, because... he told the guy before:

He didn’t want to do this without him.

#Destiel #dean winchester #castiel #15x19 #15x20 #the in between #supernatural #spn #fix it fic #inherit the earth #Carry On #Season 15 #sam winchester #Ary Writes #meta #coda #I never remember the difference

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winchesterwords · 4 years ago

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“Why Not Me?” Dean Winchester x GN!Reader

Summary: The reader is a hunter who has been living with the Winchesters for some time and is quite flirtatious with everyone...except for Dean. What happens when Dean confronts them about it?

Word Count: 2716

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “Something I Need” by One Republic

Note: This one is something I thought of one night as I was falling asleep. This one is GN!

--------

In the tense quiet of the Men of Letters Bunker, an Angel and a hunter were engaged in a serious battle.

“I do not understand the purpose of this game,” Castiel said as he sat across from you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“It’s a staring contest, Cas. The purpose is to not look away,” you explained. His brow furrowed as he continued to stare at you, but you could tell that he wasn’t really getting it. Also, it was then that you realized Angels didn’t actually need to blink. “This is futile, isn’t it?” you asked Sam who sat to your left.

“Absolutely,” he answered with a small smile. With a huff, you broke off the stare and slumped in your seat. Cas still looked just as confused.

“Remind me to challenge Donna the next time we see her,” you grumbled and Sam nodded, trying not to laugh.

It was just another day with the Winchesters and their Angel best friend. You had been tagging alongside the trio for a while now. After meeting Dean on a hunt in Alabama, you had joined them periodically on their missions and then eventually visited their secret hideout and just never left.

Currently, you and the boys were at a crossroads with an angry spirit not far from the Bunker. You and Dean had trekked through a nearby graveyard but still couldn’t find the bones of one David Boss. By the time you had returned home, Sam had announced that he was going to call in the big guns.

Also known as Rowena MacLeod.

You had never met the witch but had heard many things about her from Sam, Dean, and Castiel. Some good, some bad, but it seemed to be a general census that the woman was as powerful as it gets.

“Sam, where’s your witch?” Dean asked as he walked into the library.

“She’s not my witch,” Sam grumbled, but Dean just grinned sending a wink towards you and Cas. The latter just rolled his eyes, already annoyed with Dean poking fun at his brother. You sat back and watch the three of them interact, incredibly entertained.

Not long after, a loud banging echoed through the Bunker, and Sam jogged up the stairs to pull open the door. “Samuel!” a lovely Scottish voice said as light filtered down the stairs from outside.

“Hey, Rowena, thanks for coming,” Sam said, shutting the door behind the witch. You stood up as a petite and fiery woman entered the room.

“And who is this?” Rowena asked as she looked at you, her eyes scanning you from head to toe. You leaned back against the table, taking in your fill of the woman before you as well.

“Rowena,” Sam said, “this is (Y/N). (Y/N), Rowena.” The witch strutted forward and offered her hand to you, you took it in your own with a smile.

“Well, if I knew that you were this hot, I would have asked Sam to call you sooner,” you flirted with a wink. Rowena looked at Sam with her brows raised.

“Oh, Samuel, I think I like this one!” Rowena said as you let go of her hand. Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. Castiel watched the interaction with exasperation as usual, but Dean wasn’t as amused.

He never understood how you were so...open with everyone you met. You were a very flirtatious person and he had figured that out quite soon after working a case with you in Louisiana. However, while you tended to flirt with everyone, Sam and Cas included, you never aimed your winks and cheeky grins at him and he’d be lying if that fact didn’t keep him up at night.

It didn’t take long for Sam to catch Rowena up on what was going on. Rowena was very familiar with the kind of spirit that you all were dealing with and knew just what to do to vanquish the rest of the spook that was still hanging around causing issues.

“I am going to need to make a run into town,” Rowena said as she examined the pantry of spices and spell ingredients the Bunker had. Rowena then turned to you with a glint in her eyes. “Care to accompany me, Darling?” she asked and you were surprised by her offer, but then offered her your arm with a slight bow.

“It’d be my honor,” you joked and she took it.

“Ah! See boys,” she addressed Sam, Dean, and Cas, “this is how a woman should be treated.”

“Just go get your spell stuff,” Dean said curtly and Rowena waved him off and the two of you floated from the room. Dean watched after you, his jaw clenched. As soon as the door shut behind you, Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Anyone else catch that?” Dean asked.

“Catch what?” Cas asked, sinking into a chair next to his best friend.

“Rowena and (Y/N),” he said. “They were getting a bit...chummy.”

“Chummy?” Sam asked and Dean narrowed his eyes at his little brother.

“You know what I mean,” Dean said.

“Dean, you know (Y/N), they’re like that with everyone. I don’t think it ever means anything,” Sam reminded him.

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean grumbled. Over Dean’s shoulder, Cas and Sam shared a look that didn’t go unnoticed by the older Winchester. “Stop it, you two.”

----------

When you and Rowena returned, you both were laughing.

Sam, Dean, and Cas all looked up from their spots at the war table as the two of you skipped down the stairs. “Quite the witch in training you have here, boys,” Rowena complimented. You knocked her shoulder gently with a smile of your own.

“No, not me,” you said with a shake of your head. “I prefer the more physical side of hunting. Isn’t that right, handsome?” you asked Castiel who coughed awkwardly. Next to him, Dean just blinked, trying not to look at you.

“Well, I can’t argue that this one doesn’t have taste,” Rowena said as she walked by Cas, not being shy at all as she checked him out. Cas, who was used to it, just sighed and then followed after the witch to help her prepare for the spell.

Once Rowena had everything she needed, the spell went perfectly. You weren’t the biggest fan of magic. Any time you were around it, it never ended well. You knew that it was a part of being in the supernatural world and understanding it, but still, as soon as the chanting started, you took a step back.

Observing, you noticed how Sam watched Rowena very intently, making sure he understood everything she did. While out with her, Rowena had told you that Sam had a gift for the magical arts. She figured that out of any hunter she had ever met, he was the closest thing to a witch there was.

You hadn’t seen Sam work many spells, but with a mind like his, you knew she had to be right. Dean and Cas helped with the spell, handing Sam and Rowena whatever they needed, and soon enough, purple smoke rose from the pot Rowena was stirring, and then she was smiling.

“Well, there you go,” Rowena said with her signature smirk.

“That’s it?” Dean asked.

“Oh, Dean,” Rowena said gently, “this spirit was not a spirit at all, it was more of a remnant of an evil one long ago. Happens occasionally even if the bones are charred. However with a little bit of magic and the help of my lovely assistant,” she looked at Sam, “we are able to put poor Mr. Boss to rest.”

“It was that easy?” Dean asked.

“When you’re me, it is,” Rowena said with a wink and you chuckled from your spot by the bookcases.

“Well,” you announced, “I say we deserve a drink.”

“I second that,” Sam said. Soon everyone began relaxing. Rowena was going to head out in the morning so the Winchesters offered her a bed for the night.

Just as the witch finished telling a story about a young Crowley, you got up to go to the kitchen in search of another beer. Entering the kitchen, you ran into Dean who was leaning against the stainless steel counter.

“Want another one?” You asked, holding up your empty bottle as you tossed it into the bin. Dean glanced up from his phone that he had been scrolling on and then shook his head.

“No,” he said curtly and then walked from the room without another word. You looked after him in confusion. Dean had been weird around you lately and you weren’t exactly sure why. Although, you knew that he was working through a lot since he got the Mark.

The Mark of Cain had become more of a problem as the days went on. Everyone was trying to find a solution for removing the infernal thing, but so far everyone had nothing. Brushing off his cold shoulder, you grabbed another beer and left to rejoin the group.

When you returned to the Library, Dean was nowhere to be found. “Where’s Dean?” Sam asked.

“No idea,” you said, reclaiming your seat across from Rowena. “He just walked away when I asked him if he wanted another beer.”

“He’s probably in the garage,” Castiel said with a sigh as he stood up and headed out of the library, his trench coat swishing behind him. You turned your attention back to your drink as Sam and Rowena gave each other a knowing look.

—————

“(Y/N) knows that something is wrong,” Castiel said as he walked up to Dean who was leaning over Baby’s hood.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Dean said with a one-shouldered shrug.

“Right,” Cas said, leaning against the car. “Dean, look at me.” When the hunter finally relented and looked at the Angel, he crossed his arms.

“What?” He asked.

“You know,” Cas continued, “for someone who has always told me to embrace human emotions, you are quite horrible at it.”

“Wow, thank you,” Dean deadpanned with a roll of his eyes, but Cas was not done yet.

“You know that they care about you, Dean.”

“Do I?”

“Do you think that (Y/N) would still be around if they didn’t?” Cas asked. Dean furrowed his brow.

“Are you saying that I am difficult to be around, buddy?” Dean asked, a bit of humor lighting up his eyes.

“At times, yes,” Castiel admitted and Dean shook his head with a chuckle. He should have known Cas was one to always tell the truth.

“So, what kind of wise advice do you have for me this time, Cas?” Dean asked.

“I think I’m all out of wisdom, Dean, but I do know that you’ll figure it out,” Cas said as he headed back inside, “you always do.”

-----------

Later that night, you sat alone in the library flipping through an ancient text. After a while, the words started to blur together, but you forced yourself to stay awake. You had to.

For him.

There wasn’t much literature on the Mark of Cain, but you had to try. Even though you all had combed through every book in the Men of Letters’ libraries, you felt the need to go through it all again just in case any of you missed something.

Reaching for the cup of coffee that now sat empty, you sighed. “You don’t have to do that, you know,” a voice came from behind you. Sitting up straighter, you saw Dean approaching you. He sat down next to you at the table, a tired look on his face.

“It can’t hurt,” you said with a shrug. You flipped another page and then his hand came across yours, stopping you. He then closed the book, gaining your full attention. It was silent for a moment before Dean finally clasped his hands together and looked at you in the eyes.

“I’m sorry for being a dick earlier,” Dean said and you frowned slightly.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I mean, I get it.” Dean shook his head, running a hand over his jaw.

“No, you don’t,” he argued. Dean looked at you with almost a pleading look in his eyes as if he was nearly begging you to see the honesty and truth that he was feeling.

“Dean, you don’t have to explain how that thing makes you feel. Besides, Cas and Claire, they already gave me the rundown. Sam, too, so don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not the Mark,” Dean said softly and you froze for just a second before looking at him in confusion. You prided yourself on knowing what the Winchesters were always thinking. They were a lot easier to read than they thought, but at that moment, Dean was a solid wall that you couldn’t break through.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s just... You’re just always so flirty with people,” Dean finally admitted and you had to bite your tongue from laughing out loud. Instead, you opted for a slight chuckle. Dean looked slightly embarrassed, but you grabbed his hand to reassure him.

“Is that bad?” you asked, still trying to hide your smile.

“No!” Dean exclaimed and then lowered his voice a bit. “No, not at all. I mean, look at me, who am I to judge, right?”

“And yet?” you asked.

“You never do it with me. The flirting,” he said and you let go of his hand awkwardly. Dean noticed immediately and looked away.

“Oh,” you said, unsure of what else to say.

“Yeah,” Dean said, his voice lower than usual. You noticed that he did that when he was either embarrassed or nervous. Looking at him, you felt emotions swell in your chest that you hadn’t acknowledged in some time. It was easier to not think about Dean when in reality, he was all you thought about.

“I guess,” you began and Dean looked back at you, surprised to hear you actually answering him. “I guess it’s because I get nervous.”

“About what?” Dean asked. His green eyes drilled into yours and you figured now was as good a time as any to be honest.

“With the others, with Cas or Sam, it’s just fun and lighthearted jokes. However, when it comes to you, it’s different.”

“Why?”

“Dean…” you said softly, trailing off. You looked at him, urging him to understand everything you were feeling just through a look. It took him longer than usual to pick up on what you were trying to say and then his face softened.

“Oh,” he whispered and then very carefully took your hand in his. Dean lifted your hand and placed it under his chin, holding it tight as he looked at you. “I never realized.”

“I’m sorry if you thought that I didn’t…” you said.

“Don’t apologize, (Y/N),” he said, shaking his head, his stubble scratching along your knuckles. “I was being an ass and stupid as usual. I guess we both weren’t seeing clearly.” You moved your hand from under his chin to the side of his face. Dean leaned into your palm and it was oddly intimate, but it felt nice.

“Let me help you fight this,” you whispered, your other hand ghosting over the Mark that was branded on his right arm. “Please don’t make me lose you.”

“You won’t,” Dean promised, moving closer to you. “Especially not now. Hell, it’s going to take a lot more than this damn Mark to make me leave you.” Dean then reached forward and cupped his hands around the back of your neck and pulled you into him. Your lips met and you completely forgot about the book that lay in front of you. As you kissed Dean Winchester, the only word that came to mind was, Finally.

In the other room, Sam and Rowena leaned around the corner, eavesdropping on the conversation.

“I told you, Samuel, that friend of yours has good taste,” Rowena said with a grin.

“I hate when you’re right,” Sam said with a mocking smile.

“No, you don’t,” Rowena said and then reached up and patted his cheek with a wink before strutting back towards her room.

Sam rolled his eyes, took one more glance at his brother and you who were finally taking that leap, and then ran after his witch.

TAGS: @akshi8278 @havesaltwilltravel

#dean winchester #spn imagine #spn fic #supernatural imagine #supernatural fic #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x gn reader #winchesterwords #apolloloki97 #reader insert #spn imagines #supernatural

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foolscapper · 4 years ago

Text

Someplace Warmer, Someplace Safer - (How the Wild Things Start Universe)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is not edited/beta'd, so please forgive any rough spots! I'll be cleaning it up and posting it on ao3 at a later time! This also takes place after How the Wild Things Start, and is based on a request sent in by @saintedjack -- thank you!

WARNINGS: PTSD responses, MENTION OF CHILD ABUSE (SEXUAL), please tread carefully if that's hard for you!

In the year of our Lord 2020, Sam Winchester didn't think that Christmas would feel so much less... sore of a spot. Maybe that's because he's practiced a handful of Christmases with Leia and Lilly now and has realized with some clarity that holidays can sometimes be about as good as the number of kids who get excited over it. When it was just him and Dean, it was a coupla beers and memories of little kids who sat in hotel rooms waiting for their parent — singular. Now Lilly is coloring pictures of reindeer and eagerly reminding Dean of what she wants for the hundredth time. ("Yeah, yeah, I got it," Dean grumbles, without even the smallest bit of heat to it, "How could I forget when you drew it on my bedroom wall?") Meanwhile, Leia's fourteen, so the appeal of a 'Santa Claus' isn't really there for her; she and Sam are too alike on that front, having lost whatever magic Christmas would've had when they were very little. But she loves that Lilly loves it. She helps her hang up tinsel and all those basic holiday ornaments around the bunker. When Sam and Dean are out to get the kitsune her dietary needs, she prays to Castiel, makes him trek all the way to Lebanon — just so she can ask him to drive her to the rental box in front of the liquor store for holiday films. Anyway, uh. Sam feels... good. He feels good about it. About Christmas.

First time in forever, he knows, but things evolve over time, right?

Whatever makes them happy makes him happy, and it doesn't help that Dean's starting to get into a bit of a frantic holiday mood himself when he realizes Cas and Leia rented National Lampoon's Holiday Vacation. With one girl on either side of him, his brother chatters on and on about classics, movies like A Christmas Story and the Grinch, and Sam can only roll his eyes in good humor and sound fondness. It's a good day. He hasn't had a nightmare in days — hasn't slept-walked in almost as long (not that it stops Dean from keeping the front door locked, so Sam can't wander out again and scare the shit out of them). It's the day before Christmas, though, and there's plenty of cereal, boxed mac 'n cheese and canned Chef Boyardee, but absolutely nothing that rightfully belongs on a dinner table for the holidays. "I'll be back; just gonna pick up some stuff," he says, while the three are in the middle of Mr. Grinch, you're a bad banana, Mr. Grinch, with the greasy black peel-. Dean snaps out of the trance that had made him 10-years-old for a moment and looks critically at Sam; Lilly doesn't look away from the television, but Leia's sharp gaze shoots to Sam at the same time as Dean's. Dean says, "You sure you don't want us to go, too?" And Sam waves it off. Waves both of them off, since Leia's trying so hard to judge him under her bangs "I'll be fine. Just hitting the grocery for something that works for tomorrow. Please try not to feed them straight sugar while I'm gone?" "Yes, honey," Dean huffs, but there's some hesitance in the way he turns to look back at the TV. He couldn't really blame him, considering what shitty lucky they had apart. Or, well... considering the guilt that still festers in Dean like old, greenish wounds. Sam knows it's there every time his brother glances at pale scars intersecting on his arms, or when he manages to rouse him from a bad dream, or when Sam spaces out at the dinner table until something startles him to attention. Sam's screwed up, and Dean's still gnawing at his own leg for letting it happen. ... Shit happens. Sam tries not to think about it anymore than he has to, because it's not like the muscle memory ever goes away, nor those phantom smells or those reels of the monster rings. No, no, he's not going to think about it. Because today's a good day. It's a good week. He takes the keys to the truck he's kept to himself, makes a mental note to call Castiel and see if he'll stop by for visiting. The air outside is cold and bitterly unfair to the lungs, but he tugs his jacket tighter around himself and wills the old truck AC to start heating him back up. The drive isn't far, and the people at the place he's driving to know him well enough. He's not sure if that's a good or bad thing, especially now that they see him changed so drastically; he's pretty sure Dean just tells them all he'd gotten deployed somewhere and ended up hurt, or something. Sam doesn't bother figuring out the cover story, because he's not ever going to be in the mood to talk about it with Joey Behind the Counter or Leticia Stocking the Shelves, no matter how much he likes them. The bell to the store rings, they wave him in, ask him about his plans for the holidays, tell him all about their kids — he surprises himself by talking about his own, albeit vaguely, because you never know who is truly safe. And even though he has little to no skill in hearty, holiday feasts, he knows the basics from television: cranberry sauce, turkey, stuffing, eggnog, so on and so on. Despite his complaint to Dean not to overfeed the kids on sweets, he ends up grabbing two boxes of themed cookies, too. It's not until he walks out the front door that he feels something's off. He'd never claim to still have the powers he did at age 22, but — the hairs on his neck stand up, goosebumps running along his arms beneath his thick coat. It's hard to say what even caused it; there's nobody around. He glances uneasily left and right, and then makes a slow, cautious walk toward the parking around the corner. His heart thumps in his chest and his mind plays cruel games with him: what if it's a hunter coming for him? Looking for him and his family, after what happened at their old cabin? It hasn't been that long. "Hello," a little, polite voice chirps from seemingly out of nowhere. Sam nearly leaps out of his skin, teeth snapping together as he turns in a fraction of a second — ready to fight, dropping his grocery bags as his hand reaches around the back of him. (Bright lights, feral howls of pain, blood on dirt and black eyed spectators-) His breath catches at the startled teenager with sandy-blonde hair standing in front of him. He's dressed in clothes he's clearly worn for a long time, the knitting on his gloves and cap frayed. The smell of an alleyway greets Sam belatedly, and shame creeps into his face when he realizes just what he's actually looking at here: some homeless kid whose smile has faded into a look of uncertainty. Wanted a buck, but ended up with some over-sized freak having an episode at him. "S—sorry," Sam chokes out. He's trying not to let himself get pulled under, but the lights have... always been so bright. The kid seems appeased by the way Sam steps back, though, and moves to rather calmly start collecting the fallen goods from the ground; for a moment, Sam wonders if he's just gonna take them for the trouble, but the boy starts putting them back into the brown paper bags they'd come in. "It's fine. I must be scarier than I thought." It's said in such an easy way, and he looks up with a kind, gap-toothed smile. "I was going to ask if you could spare some money, but I can see now that I should have made my presence more obvious." ... That's a way for a teenaged boy to put it. It reminds Sam of a particular angel of Thursday and his straightforward, over-complicated way of talk. With a somewhat forced smile, he bends down to quickly collect what the kid hasn't. "No, no, I'm — I'm good at being on edge. It wasn't you. Sorry for... that." He's not sure how to put it. He has a hard time remembering how to talk to people, sometimes. There's something particularly distracting about this one, though. Maybe it's the fact that he's so youthful, covered in dirt and red in the nose. Looks at him like how Leia had — with the hope that Sam can help him. Or is he just projecting? He pinches the bridge of his nose, smiling tiredly. "What's your name, kid?" The boy says, almost proudly, "Jack." "... Um, well. Jack. I'm Sam. It's good to meet you. I think you deserve something nice for not thinking I'm a total weirdo, so... if you wanna carry a bag to the truck for me, I've got some cookies and dollars to offer you?" It feels kind of demeaning in a way, like he's giving the poor kid some basic task to 'earn' what Sam'll give him. But Jack just nods and walks along side him. "Thanks, Sam," Jack says. He says Sam's name like he's testing out the weight of it, forming it carefully in his mouth. Despite Jack's appearance, he radiates something... well, something. It's warmer than the weather. "Where are you from, Jack?" Sam asks, tilting his chin forward to look down. His voice is softer, more careful. "From everywhere," Jack says, and looks over at Sam. "I honestly don't know. I've just always been... like this." "... Homeless?" Sam offers. Jack cocks his head to the side, gazing ahead of them. "Homeless. Yes." It's not a long walk, so it's not like there's much more to talk about before they reach the old truck. They load up the groceries, and Sam provides one box of cookies (in this case, the box that is less crushed from falling on the asphalt). It feels like a meager kind of offering, all things considered. "Here — I mean, if you like sweets. I bought way too many, so... Um. And — " "I like cookies," Jack says as a matter-of-factly. "Thank you, Sam." Doesn't feel good enough, though. Sam gnaws his lip and feels... some sort of way about all this. Like he's doing something the wrong way, here. Leia and Lilly have ruined him for life. "Where are you heading, anyway? Do you live in town? I've never seen you here before." Jack's already got the box of cookies wrenched open, and he's eating them too fast, a lot like how Sam used to eat his rations when he lived in a cage, in the dark. Sam's already predicting that he's gonna get sick, and he can't really hide the wince as the crumbs start to collect on Jack's old jacket. Jack looks like he's unsure how to answer, not for the first time. "I'm just moving around. I have nowhere to be, as long as it's — " He struggles for the right word. "Safe." "Safe," Sam says. Jack nods with a mouthful. "Shafe," he says. Sams hands twitch nervously at the thought of sending the boy away with his 'rewards'. Whatever the hell cookies constitute as, anyway. It's not safe out there, that's for sure. It's gonna be below freezing for a while in Lebanon, and — He sighs softly. No... No, it's not smart. Not smart to being a stray into a house full of supernatural lore books, weapons, monster children. He would freak out. He'd panic and he'd know where they live, and he could tell anyone with an ear open about where a guy named Sam lives with his odd little family. But... "You want me to drive you somewhere? I mean, there should be a homeless shelter around here somewhere, if you need somewhere a little less... this." He gestures to the world around them, swathed in a fine layer of snow. Jack seems mildly uncertain, a crooked line of uncertainty to his lips. Sam recognizes maybe he looks like he's one-half a serial killer in his plaid, with his weird flinching and nervousness. "You don't have to, but... I don't want you to freeze out here." After a moment, Jack does seem to relent; nobody likes to be cold, and Sam could tell even if he was handling it well, it was not a pleasant experience he wants to endure any longer than he has to. So he nods at last, and Sam nods to the passenger seat. "Climb aboard, then. I think I remember the street and everything; you'll be warm in no time. And, uh. We can get you something better than cookies, actually." "I don't know what can be better than cookies," Jack replies, sliding into the passenger seat, "But I'm willing to consider it." The truck stutters to life, and Sam makes a beeline for the nearest Taco Bell there is. Cheap, but you get a hell of a lot with a little; he and Dean were no stranger to that particular drive-thru back in the day, when Dean was too tired to eat expired food and Sam was too tired to go buy himself a decent salad and sandwich. The Helping Hands Homeless Shelter is a good distance, so Sam learns a few things in-between Jack scarfing down burritos and soft tacos: he's fourteen or fifteen (he thinks?; Sam's mortified by the thought of him being on his own all this time), his mother died when he was born, he's not sure where his father is, and he's always been moving. No grandparents, no uncles or aunts, nobody that he's familiar with. Once the last wrapper is thrown on the floorboard as designated, though, Jack looks uneasy. "... Is this 'a trade'?" Sam glances over, brow furrowed. "A what?" "A trade," Jack reaffirms, and his eyes — glance down, towards Sam's crotch. Sam feels like he's going to puke, his stomach twisting and heart lurching. He almost slams on the brakes then and there, in the middle of the street, but he manages to avoid doing anything so fucking stupid as to scare the kid. Sam and Dean have both had their fair share of close calls growing up — Sam's had to scream at peeping toms through hotel windows, or weird men at gas stations who keep sizing them up while they read magazines, or — But. But they both had rules, and Dean always had an extra eye out on him. The thought of — the implication of it, it makes his blood boil, rushing in his ears. He thinks of Lilly and Leia and — Sam's been quiet too long. So Jack speaks up again. "It's alright. I don't do anything if they don't ask first. If they don't have something to give me," Jack says, confidently, and Sam wants to scream. "No," Sam manages, voice tight. "No, that's not okay. Anyone who asks something like that, they're monsters, do you understand me? They're evil, and you shouldn't trust them. Not for a second." Jack leans back more comfortably in his seat, confused — but glad. Sam's hands are itching for a blade and someone to hunt. A monster in a ring to rip into. He breathes out instead and looks at the road. It doesn't take long before Jack finds himself tired of the quiet, though, and his gaze moves to Sam's wrists, instead. His hands. The sliver of arm that peaks out under his sleeve. "What happened to your hands?" he asks, innocently. Concerned. Sam's shoulders sag, like the kid has gone and popped that balloon full of rage. "... Monsters hurt me, too," he says weakly, because he figures the kid deserves the truth. "A different kind of monster, but monsters all the same." Jack reaches over, and Sam startles at the hand cupping over his damaged knuckles. "I'm sorry," Jack says. "About the monsters." Sam kind of wants to cry, honestly. "Me, too." He was supposed to get a Christmas dinner, in and out of the store, nothing more to it. He was supposed to just give the kid some money and maybe a snack. He's supposed to just drop him off somewhere a little warmer and safer. (Leia looked at him like a hero, once, like he was going to swoop in and save her; Jack isn't looking at him like that, though; he's just a guy giving him a ride and cookies). Sam's phone rings. He doesn't need to look to know it'll say DEAN in white letters on the screen. Just a minute 'til they get to the shelter. (You're not a hero, you barely managed to protect your girls, he reminds himself.) "Sam?" Jack asks. Ring, ring. Ring, ring. (But Leia looks at him like he’s a superhero. A shaking, high, rabid superhero, hopped up on demon blood, with hands so tense and locked, they look like claws in the darkness. And beside her — a crying boy, a few years younger than her. There’s a burn on his leg, a shake of his shoulders. Worst of all, there’s skin sloughed off around him, and it’s only then that Sam realizes the boy looks different than he had an hour before. A shifter? A small, scared shifter. Like Glenda had been.) He pulls over on the side of the road. Reaches into his jacket pocket, retrieves the phone with a shaking hand. When he answers Dean and hears his brother asking nervously what's taking him so long, he can't help but look at Jack. Jack, who is looking at him with an uneasy amount of trust. How he has it, Sam's not fucking sure, but he feels like he has to do this. (He thinks of two little girls, holding hands as they watch Christmas cartoons.) "I — I'm bringing someone back with me," he manages. "His name is Jack, and he — needs a place to stay, for a little while." He does a u-turn, driving toward the bunker as snow begins to fall once again, soft, delicate. Jack looked awed, still looks awed. He looks at Sam like this was destiny. Fate. Something. "I thought so." "... You thought what?" Jack smiles slowly with that warm, gap-toothed smile. "That something about you, it felt like an angel."

#spn #supernatural #spn fanfiction #sam winchester #jack kline #dean winchester #cw child abuse mention #cw csa mention #cw ptsd descriptions #how the wild things start #myspnfanfic

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dumbbitchenergy17 · 4 years ago

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Sign of the Beast Part 3

Series Masterlist

CROSSOVER - MARVEL X SUPERNATURAL

Summary- You wanted it to stop, you thought it was just a bad dream your brain created to mess with you. But how wrong you were, with this disease in you, can you get this beast out of you or let this darkness take over.

Pairing- Steve x Reader, Sam and Dean x Sister!Reader, Avengers x Winchester!Reader, Lucifer x Reader (Forced)

Chapter Warnings: Blood, violence, angst, hallucinations, attempted suicide (TW)

A/N: There is somethings that are triggering and you can skip if you are uncomfortable it will be label

Previously

“I’m sure you know me quite well let me give you a hint Sammy was a great vessel.” he hummed standing up and began pacing the room, your heart stopped when you realized who was in front of you.

“Lucifer..” you whispered.

He clapped his hands together “Bingo oh Y/n we are going to have so much fun.” he smirks making you shrink in on yourself. You had the Devil with you. You were as good as dead.

Steve had to turn around when the window turned back to a one-way he had to focus on his breathing as he heard your cries and bangs on the glass. A single tear went down his face and a hand on his shoulder caused him to tense.

“I know you don’t like this Steve neither do I but It’s what needs to be done to protect Y/n,” Dean said trying to comfort him as he seems to be making it worse. The cries stop causing Steve to turn and see her sitting on the ground and it seemed like she was talking to someone.

“What is happening?” Steve asked as Tony switched the audio on to hear what was happening.

“Stop it,” You whimpered, and a few seconds after you talked again, “Lucifer..” You whispered. Both your brothers and Cas froze hearing the devil’s name

“Can she see him?” Tony asked typing stuff down of everything that was happening.

“He has part of her soul; he is able to see and communicate with her anywhere and anytime,” Castiel explained watching you focus on empty space and then you keep talking.

“The only thing we can do now is wait until she goes all She-Devil or until we find some sort of cure, so Bruce and I will be done in the lab trying to find anything about this Angel boy could be a huge help” Tony pointed at Castiel who nodded.

“Tony, are you sure we can just leave her there without anyone watching?” Steve asked looking over to you and see you laying on the bed your back to the glass. He had no idea what was going through your head and just wanted to open the door and pull you into your arms.

“Friday is hooked up and is constantly monitoring her vitals and will alert me if anything happens.” Tony console your lover and then Tony turned over to look at your brothers “All we can do is wait and I’m sure you would want to be close so Steve you wanna set up a room for them.” Steve nodded and then Tony walked out and Cas followed him.

“I know Y/n was really excited for us to meet but then all this happened,” Dean said and Sam nodded.

Steve smiles “Yeah she would constantly talk about you guys and all the stuff that happened when you guys were younger.” Both your brother smiled and glanced over to you through the glass.

“Y/n is a Winchester she’s a fighter. The best thing we can do is look for anything about this sign.” Sam reassured both his brother and Steve. Dean nodded and with one last glance they all gave you one last look before leaving the cellar leaving alone with the devil.

It had been a few days since you had been in the cell all you had were the daily food brought in and your thoughts but even then you weren’t alone. Lucifer had been a constant, pacing around the room and was now leaning against a wall, and bouncing a ball the repeating ping was slowly taking over the only sound in your head.

“Please stop it.” You sigh sitting up from your bed and looking over to the Devil as he caught the ball and smirked in your direction

“I wouldn’t be so bored if we weren’t in here.” He threw the ball again and you grabbed it before it could hit the wall again.

“And whose fault is it exactly?” You grunted throwing the ball back to him and it vanished before it hit his chest. Lucifer stood up and stretched his bones cracking and popping back into place.

“Yours. You’re the one that said yes,” he taunted you looked down at your shoes and shook your head, “No you tricked me.”

“You saw how they look at you, you tried to kill their little captain, look where you are,” He waved his arms around the room making you wrap your arms around yourself trying to make yourself smaller, “They fear you. And they should you can kill them in one snap of your finger. They see you as what you are.” his hand grabbed your shoulder behind you making you jump “You are nothing but a cold-blooded killer, a monster.” he pushed you and you stumbled into the middle of the room.

“Stop it.” You yelled and around you, the avengers appear in front of you as well as your brothers.

“Killer, Murder, Disgrace!” They yell pushing you into one another until you fall to the ground.

“I said STOP!” You threw your hands out and all the visions flew back and faded to shadow.

“There it is! That fire that power, you wanna stop you know what do.” He smirked seating himself on the bed as you felt this red hot fire flood through your veins. You look back up at the mirror and stare back at Lucifer in the reflection. Those red eyes glowing the reflection changes and you are staring back at yourself red only red

“Do It.” He whispers next to your ear, you twitch your head, and the cameras and lights spark before the entire tower shakes and the tower goes dark alarms blaring red emergency lights flash. Red it was filled in red.

“More..” he smirked. You raise your hand and throw your hand into the mirror and it cracks as it begins to splinter from your first punch the tower shakes again. You throw your fist again and the one-way window shatters glass shards falling into both room as the alarms blare through the tower and every once in awhile a tremor would go through the tower.

“You know what to do give them a warning.” He grins

TRIGGER WARNING START

You kneel down and grab a sharp shard gripping it in your hand not feeling it pierce your hand blood pouring from your hand. Rising up you make your way to the opposite wall from the window and bring the glass down to your wrist and turn back and stare back at the devil, both your eyes glow red and he grins sadistically.

“Go on.” He said leaning the glass to your wrist and a flash of pain go through you but you don’t react pressing hard as blood streams from your wrist. Making an identical slash on your other wrist letting the bloody glass fall from your hand and begin to write. The devil stepping back and watch everything with a grin on his face.

TRIGGER WARNING END

Most of the avengers and your brothers sat in the common room it had been fixed after everything happens, no one had really moved surrounded by books and computers opened trying to find anything to help you. Steve had bags under his eyes sleep had never reached him he was constantly up not being able to sleep when you were locked up.

“Anyone got anything.” Natasha asks only getting grunts and sighs there was any lore or information of the Sign of Beast on how to is got there and how to get it off.

“We’ve looked almost all the books and articles on the internet and in the bunker, the only people who know about this is Lucifer and God. With God m.i.a. and Lucifer not going to say anything we have nothing.” Dean sighed placing his book down rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“We need sleep and food and we and we can look at this again with fresh eyes.” Sam suggested the other avengers nodded and began to stand up when Bruce, Tony, and Castiel walked in all three looking just as tired as they were

“Anything?” Dean asked only to get frowns Tony runs his hands down his face yawning

“We have looked through every historical text and angel boy went up to heaven and asked around and found nothing, so we are back at square one.” he sighed walking over to the bar and making himself a drink. Steve clenched his jaw and closed his eyes and try to keep his cool.

“Same here, there is nothing on this sign.” Bucky said as Natasha tried to comfort his best friend who still hasn’t move on the couch.

Friday voices cut through the silence making everyone straighten up “Sir I’m sorry to interrupt but there se-” her voice cuts off as the tower shakes making everyone grab onto something.

“What the hell!” Dean yells

“Friday! What’s going on.” Tony yelled trying to contact his AI

“I-I’..ry..-ere..is powegri- destro-” The AI tries to speak but static fills the speakers making everyone freeze another shake goes through the building and all the lights explode causing sparks to rain down onto them the emergency lights turned on flashing red.

”Y/n..” Dean whispers making Steve stand up

“Clint, Natasha get everyone out from the upper levels. Wanda, Sam, and Thor create a perimeter around the tower and make sure everyone around the tower gets as far away from it. If this goes down we don’t want any injuries,” Steve goes into Captain mode immediately creating a plan, “Winchesters you, Tony, and I are going to Y/n. Everyone else get as many people out as you can of the tower.” Everyone nods rushing off to their assignments and Steve your brothers and Tony rush down the stairs to get the cells. “Please me ok Y/n.” Steve mumbled to himself by the time they made it stopping once or twice to help get people out of the building as the tower shook

“Tony where are these tremors coming from.” Sam yelled as the tower shook again. Tony tapped on the glasses scanning through the Tony and he stiffens.

“It’s from the cellar.” He watched as your brothers and Steve froze as well. You were doing this “I guess the She-Devil is out.” Tony said as part of his suit attached to him. They passed by the weapons room and Steve grabbed his Shield and tossed both Sam and Dean each a gun as they made their way closer to the cellar. The door was locked and with no power, Tony shot down the door causing it to blast off the wall and they rushed in ready for a fight.

“What the hell.” Tony gasped when he saw the broken glass the computers destroyed sparks flying off.

“Y/n?” Steve called out as the emergency lights flashed every so often

“Oh my god.” Dean choked out looking into your cell. When the lights flashed again the red lights you turned around and stared back at them covered in blood a smirk on your face, your eyes glowing red like before.

“Y/n..” Steve croaked out tears filling his eyes you turned your focus onto him a smile growing on your face, and then the red disappeared from your eyes and you looked disoriented and you felt pain in your wrist and saw blood, looking back up at Steve you saw he had fear in his eyes.

“Steve…” You mumbled and a wave of dizziness went through you and you felt your body go cold as you heard your name being called out as you fell darkness taking over.

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bijoharvelle · 5 years ago

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Deancas high school au, cas sees dean giving sam a wedgie and thinks he's a bully so he picks a fight and the two end up alone in detention together

okay so i ended up doing something different with how they got detention because that’s what my brain made happen but hopefully you’re still cool with it!!!! cw: for mentions of bullying/fighting that’s implied to be based around queer issues

Dean stops short a foot into the classroom serving as detention that afternoon, just staring. Aside from their chaperone, the only other person there is Cas and Cas is the whole reason he’s even in detention to begin with. “Aw, c’mon, you gotta be kidding me,” he whines at Miss Milton, his Latin teacher and apparently the detention monitor on Thursdays. “Shouldn’t we get, like, separate detentions or something?”

Cas doesn’t say anything, just glares harder at the desktop.

“Apparently not,” Miss Milton says brightly. She does everything brightly and normally that would piss Dean off on principle but, well, he likes her. “Have a seat, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean slouches to the last row and slings himself into the desk in the farthest corner. All he can see of Cas now is the disaster of their hair and their tense shoulders.

It’s not long into the forty-five minutes of their sentence that the statistics teacher, Miss Masters, raps on the door jamb. Dean can see from his angle that she sends a pointed look with raised eyebrows to Miss Milton, who promptly blushes and then tells the two boys that she’ll be right back and they better be quiet and well-behaved in the meantime. And then she ducks out of the room and it’s just Dean and Cas.

“Hey,” Dean half-whispers. “D’you think Milton and Masters are banging?”

Cas doesn’t answer, but Dean can see that their hand clenches on the desk.

“Oh, that’s rich,” Dean says, leaning back in his chair and rolling his eyes. “They’re mad at me.”

“Yes! I am!” Cas says, seemingly unable to help themself. They whip around to set their eyes on Dean, face murderous. “You had no right to do what you did!”

“I was defending you!” Dean counters, arms spread wide. “Al woulda kicked your ass and you know it. You should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you,” Cas repeats sarcastically. “Yes, Dean. Thank you. Thank you for making everyone think that I can’t stand up for myself. That I need someone like you to fight my battles.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Someone like me?”

“Some over-compensating, uber-masculine closet-case!”

Dean laughs at that and he means for it to be sharp and mean but it just comes out a little punchy. Because, yeah, he never expected Cas Novak to have that kind of fight in them. They’re intense, sure, but they’re so quiet and always digging around in books like Sam. Though, considering how Sam could fight, maybe Dean should have figured after all.

“Okay, first, that’s a pretty fucked up assumption to make about someone,” Dean says calmly, still smiling a little. Maybe because something in Cas’s tirade reminds him of... Well, of himself. Of him chasing after his dad, always wanting to be seen as enough, as capable. “Second, I can see, I guess, why you were pissed off, so I’m sorry. I just didn’t wanna see Alistair drag your ass to hell. And third, just because I don’t wear a pin on my bookbag about it, doesn’t mean I’m straight, or pretending to be.”

Cas is taken aback threefold, eyes widening by degrees as Dean went on. They look at their backpack, where there is a cluster of colorful pins, rainbows of pride in different shapes. “That’s two things I didn’t expect,” Cas says quietly, head tilting a little. After a soft moment, they look up to Dean. There’s a deep mottled ring of purple and green around his one eye, where Alistair got off a shot. “You’re right. I’m sorry for...making that assumption. And. And thank you. For apologizing.”

Dean definitely does not ignore the bubbles of light that burst in his chest because there is definitely nothing like that happening. Sighing, he rises from his seat, kicks his bookbag forward and slides into the chair next to Cas. Pointing at the buttons, he asks, “Is one of those stupid things for, like, bisexual?” And maybe Cas is a little right about the over-compensating thing because it’s not like Dean doesn’t know what the bisexual pride flag looks like and it’s not like he doesn’t know it’s the one right next to the one declaring “they/them -- grammatically sound & best around.”

Cas just blinks at him for a minute. And then they reach down and unpin the pink, blue and purple button. “You can... I mean. If you want...” They’re offering the button out to Dean.

And Dean realizes he’s absolutely fucked because he takes the thing and fastens it to the strap of his backpack. “Thanks,” he says and he smiles a little even though it makes his split lip ache and when Cas looks at him, they’re smiling a little too.

And then Miss Milton lopes back in through the door, blushing even worse than before with a dreamy look on her face. Dean grins pointedly at Cas but doesn’t say anything.

“Well. It looks like you two are getting along better,” she says (brightly) and claps her hands.

“Yeah, we’re a regular Breakfast Club,” Dean replies, kicking his feet up onto the chair in front of him.

“I don’t understand that reference,” Cas says quietly, head already tipping back down to look at their desk. But just beneath the swell of their injured eye is the hint of a blush.

#destiel fanfic #destiel #deancas #deancas fanfic #high school destiel #my stuff #prompts #Anonymous

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the-messedup-priorities-so-far · 4 years ago

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sticker fic:

brought to you by the sticker ficcers, @xojo and @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover.

the narrated version:

"Morning, Sunshine." Says Dean. "Some coffee?"

"SCREW YOU." Says Sam. His glorious hair is wet.

"How dare you!" Says Dean. His mouth's the O-shape of offense. He's also putting on the dead guy robe for some reason.

"BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH!" Sam bitchfaces. In his eyes, is a glint which says, as he does - blah, blah, blah, blah. Then, he casts down his gaze. "Well, you are kinda butch."

Dean's eyes widen. His eyebrows don't rise. Instead of surprised, he looks shocked. Then he smirks, and quickly grows a stubble. With completely black eyes, he says. "I'm a demon."

Crowley appears, smirking. "Hello, boys."

"ASSBUTT." Castiel bellows.

No one had known he was there.

"What's wrong with you?" Says Crowley, after quickly growing a stubble as well.

Castiel folds his arms. It makes the trenchcoat look fitted. You know, like a liar.

"Are you okay?" Sam asks, tucking his hair behind his ear at supersonic speed. No one knows when it happened. But he's Sam Fucking Winchester, so they know it did.

"I don't know!" Dean scratches his ear. He does not know the question was for Castiel. He makes his eyes as sad as they can be - and they can be impressively sad. One eyebrow strays up, floating on a cloud of misery. "I never was."

Sam looks alarmed in a V-neck.

This is important information. Absolutely integral.

"Cat's out." Says Cas. He's rude, because his lips do a rude thing. And because of what he said. His eyes mock tragedy.

"Shut your face." Dean points. Pointing is rude. He does it anyway. While he does it, Sam grows bangs. "Oh god."

He lies down on the floor.

"Don't say that to me." Says Sam, with dimples of depression. He buries his face in his hands. Must feel pretty, the author conjectures.

"Come on." Dean says. He's frowning, and on a park bench. He looks closer with concentration and develops a double chin. Then he gels his hair really quickly and adds. "You look like a baby."

"SCREW YOU." Says Sam. His hair is wetter. His head is wet as well. Then he dries it with a whoosh no one notices, and looks away in disdain. He is in an open collared shirt. The author hopes you take note of these plot points carefully.

Dean shrieks.

Dean cries at a mirror.

Dean scowls, unimpressed. Ironically, his scowl is impressive. Moreover, it deages him.

Cas shrieks too. His eyes scream horrifiedness. His nostrils flare. You could see his molars, if you tried. The author tries.

Dean looks at a corner. "I don't even care anymore."

Charlie pokes her head out of a yellow car. Not enough is visible to be ugly, but readers are advised to assume it's ugly. "What's up bitches?" She's wearing a seatbelt. Gays are awesome.

"Kind of in the middle of something." Says Dean. His forehead has creases which have no right being pretty. They're pretty.

"I know. I was surprised too." Says Cas.

No one knows what he means.

Sam, suddenly lit in a green light, shows that he doesn't know what he means. He doesn't wait for an explanation, and raises his hand. "That's enough, uh yeah, thanks."

Sam is rude, beautifully.

The author is very helpful with pointing out plot points, as ever.

"You done?" Says Claire and her french braid.

Chuck is there now. He has an extremely white mug. It could have coffee inside. It could also have poison. The author does not identify as a journalist, and is not required to be unbiased.

"Do you have any bacon?" Says Chuck. He has curls. They hide the evil under.

"No." Jack says, blank faced for some reason. "You back off. Old man."

"Back off." Says Sam, in a slightly greater font size. One (1) lock of hair strays from his perfect mane, and falls on his face. It's still perfect, the author assures. Then Sam quickly gets shot, and his forehead pierced with metal rods. It's clearly for the vibe. Because Sam says, "I will destroy you." He does not say it periodlessly.

"Yeah. That's right." Says Jack. He pouts, because he's right. He can, because he's Jack.

Sam looks proud of him with a spotted blue tie and shiny, conditioned hair.

The author loves him very much.

part two, if you're the kind of person who wants it:

Rowena purses her lips, ending up with dimples of discontent.

"Balls!" Bobby cries out. Then he takes off his cap for some reason before adding, "Were you ever nice?"

"Shut up!" Dean yells over his shoulder. He fixes her with an offended stare - as if not shutting up would be offensive on her part.

"I hate to interrupt." Says Rowena, interrupting. "What the hell is this?" She looks appalled. Perhaps she's realized she just interrupted.

He's excellent at delivering backhanded insults like that. The author is proud of his newfound subtlety.

"Gun. Mouth. Now." Dean simply reaffirms Bobby's accusation - because he's awesome like that. "Shut your face." He also says, pointing at them all, to further illustrate his paternal figure's point.

Crowley plants his chin in his palm, and looks at the floor with an unreadable (the author swears she tried) glint in his eyes. "Kill me." Perhaps they're tears.

"Oh, they don't miss me." Cas lets out, matter-of-factly, as he sips from his teacup of coffee.

"I think this was just a minor misunderstanding." Sam steps in, and brings puppy bangs with him to solidify his statement.

The author tries and fails to survive staring at them.

Dean clicks his tongue, and manages to resemble a squirrel to a T. Or an S. Everyone's entitled to spell words differently, English is a weird language.

Sam looks at Dean, irritated. "Make it stop." He grits out, clenching his jaw. He's replaced the bangs with sideburns. They have more potential to seem irritated.

"Maybe." Cas pouts, inexplicably.

"What?" Dean sounds positively aghast - but it's toned down from the years of practise from being in the poetic kind of love with the only angel in the world for him - and thus, only shows up in his eyes.

"You don't understand." Cas picks up a salesboy by his collar. He's so whimsical, the author completely gets why Dean's head over heels for him. Cas keeps everyone - especially salesboys who don't get him pie - on their toes.

"You look like a baby." Dean informs him, all laugh-lines and dimples. "Okay, all right." He says next, gruff, trying to smoothen out the curve of seeming like a goner for Cas.

Cas shoots him a discouraging look. "Ouch." He bites his bottom lip, and closes his eyes - and everyone in a seven mile radius ends up pregnant.

True story.

Also, Narendra Modi shows up, namaste-ing the phenomena that is Cas.

"Shhhhit!" Cas squints. He knows a thing or two about horrible, prejudiced political leaders, from an alternate universe Cas's experiences.

"Oh god." Sam adds, regrowing bangs really quickly.

Modi whispers into his phone, eyes trepidly on everyone in the room, and a hand covering his mouth.

Dean stares, unimpressed. Or so it seems until he says, "You gotta teach me how to do that."

Modi shoots the universal gesture for OK at him.

"I will stab you in your face." Dean declares, with parted hair and an office tie. "I'm gonna get my gun." Now he's got sleep-floofed hair and the dead guy robe. Threatening Dean Winchester sure is impressive like that.

(Maybe he'd wanted to learn right away, and took Modi's OK as dismissal.)

(Meh.)

"Maybe you could be a little less... Lord-ly?" Sam cuts in, with his best lawyer impression. Nobody's sure who it's directed to - Dean, the Indian PM, Cas even? - but it doesn't matter because his eyebrows curve like parentheses of reasonability, hair tucked completely behind his ears - and everyone listens to this Sam.

"OKAY." Dean mumbles, sticking a needle in a doll. Or so, the author assumes he's doing.

Sam stares at him blankly for a beat, and then sighs into a smile. His hair's now long enough to curl magnificently at his neck. "You're too precious for the world." He strangles out, basically choking on the sentiment as he grabs Dean, and smushes him into a hug.

Cas smirks, smug.

"Oh, you." Sam pulls back enough to suddenly be in a maroon cardigan as he gazes at his brother through spectacled eyes of adoration.

Dean pulls him in then, bringing Sam down to his height - and Sam's hair escapes the ponytail grandly enough to fall over his face in perfect, messy locks.

The author's already weak heart stutters in her chest, and proceeds to give up entirely.

"Oh. No." Cas exclaims. Probably not for the author, but it's a sweet, borderline necromance-y coincidence. And then, unexplanably, he tilts his head and furrows his brow. "The whore."

Dean sighs, and facepalms. Sam changes into a grey button-up, and looks away into the distance.

The author daydreams too hard about being looked at like that, and loses it entirely.

Fin.

#crack #sticker fic #im afraid of tagging further

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noladyme · 4 years ago

Text

The Crown Princess of Charming - part 8

Welcome to Charming - its name says it all. Cat needed a fresh start; and though she hadn’t planned on that being in the arms of the crown prince of this little town’s bikerclub - that was what happened. Charming CA would either be the death of her - or a whole new life.

Rated M

Tags (let me know if you want on the list) @wonderlandfandomkingdom

My heart felt like it literally broke in my chest. I fell onto the couch, and heaved for breath. Was this even my home anymore? Was Jax mine? What am I doing here? My car was parked outside. I could just get in; drive far away from here. But I had nowhere to go anymore. All my things where at the clubhouse. All I had was one suitcase with a few clothes. My job, my belongings, dancing – all that had made me, me… none of it was in my hands anymore.

Joshua had done his best to rip away from me all that was mine; and now that I was supposed to be free of him – free to build the life I wanted – it seemed like there was nothing to build on.

Jax texted me around noon.

- Held up. Back tomorrow morning. - Ok. Breakfast then? - No thanks. See you. - When can we talk? - We talked. Get some rest.

I sat and looked at the tv for a while before I realized I hadn’t turned it on. I laughed quietly to myself. You’re going stir crazy, Cat. I decided to ignore what Jax had said about not driving; and left the house. I just needed to get out.

I made my way to the diner, and ordered waffles; but changed my mind last minute. “Mac’n’cheese”, I smiled at the waitress. That always made me feel better. I was enjoying my meal, when Chibs and Tig came in, ordering lunch for an army. Tig noticed me in my booth. “Hey, pumpkin. I thought you were on lockdown at home”, he said. “No lockdown”, I smiled. “At least I haven’t seen any prospects around”. He smiled back at me. “I’m sorry about what happened to you”, he muttered. “Thanks. I’m ok. I got my faithful crutches with me”, I said. “And the chevy is purring like a cat. Thanks for fixing her up”. He grinned. “No problem. But you’re driving?”. Chibs came over. “You should be resting that knee, luv’”. “It’s fine, Chibs”, I said. “If you say so”, he muttered.

I shrugged of their worried expressions. “Lunch for church?”. “No church today”, Tig said. “Just business later on. Gotta fuel up”, he grinned, and patted his belly. “Remember extra chocolate syrup for Jax”, I said, trying to smile. “Will do”, Chibs said. Their order came out; and Tig went over to get it. “Go home, Cat”, Chibs said meaningfully. “I will. Just gotta hit the library first. Return a book I don’t need”. He nodded, and smiled.

They left soon after.

I drove myself to the library, and returned my book. When I came outside again, Jax was leaning against my car. I sighed; and hobbled over to him on my crutches. “Hi”, I muttered. His face was cold. “Get in the car”, he muttered. I rolled my eyes; and went for the driver’s seat. “No. Other side. I’m driving”. “Jackson…”. He walk up close to me; suddenly towering over me much further than his height should make possible. Ha grabbed my arm; and held me still in front of him. “Get in the goddamn car, Cat”, he snarled.

I hobbled over to the other side; and he took my crutches from me; throwing them into the back seat. I opened the door, and got in the car; and Jax closed the door after me with a bang. He drove me home; not speaking a word the whole way there.

Once inside the house; he slammed the door shut behind us – making me jump from the sound.

“I thought I told you to stay here”, he yelled. “When are you going to learn to do as you’re told?” I was flabbergasted. “What the hell, Jax?”, I said. “You were just beat to shit – and now you’re running around town like nothing happened”. “I needed some air. I can’t stay cooped up in here”, I tried.

He stepped towards me with a menacing look on his face – pointing a finger at me. “You need to learn…”. “What?”, I snarled. “To be a good old lady? To do as you say; clean your house; wash your clothes and spread my legs whenever you want?”. He huffed; and shook his head. “Right… we don’t do that these days”, I hissed.

He spread out his arms with a resigned expression. “What do you want from me, Cat?”, he said. “Your ex is dead. You have a nice house to live in; food on your plate; and I’m paying for a lawyer to keep you out of jail”. I threw one of my crutches at him. “I want you, you asshole!”, I yelled. He shook his head. “I can’t do this right now…”, he said; and began to move for the door. “Don’t walk away from me. Talk to me!”. “Not now. I have shit to take care of”, he sneered. “I’m your shit, Jackson!”, I said. “Take care of me!”. “I am”, he snarled. “I’m making sure you’re staying here, and healing up. Now, go sit down”. I shook my head. “I won’t”, I croaked.

He walked up to me, picked me up; and carried me to the couch – planting me there. “You keep your ass on this couch!”, he roared. “You can’t control me like this, Jax!”, I yelled. “Watch me”, he said.

He took my crutches, and left the house, with a slam of the door. I heard him start up my car and drive away.

I screamed out in rage; before calling him up on the phone

“What?”, he answered. “Bring back my car”, I said. “No”. “Bring back my car, Jackson. I swear to God…”. I was grinding my teeth in rage. “You’ll get the car, when you start behaving like you’re supposed to”, he said. “I’m not a child!”, I yelled. “Then stop behaving like one. Stop running away; and stop getting hurt, and putting yourself in danger”. “Jax…”. “I have business at Cara Cara. I’ll see you tomorrow. Either you’re on that couch or in bed when I get there; or I’m crashing this piece of shit chevy into a tree; and making sure you never drive it again”. “Jackson…!”. He’d hung up.

He didn’t call or text the rest of the day. I tried reaching out. - Please come home. Talk to me. No answer. An hour later I tried again. - I’m sorry I pissed you off. I just needed air. Nothing.

At 10 pm; I tried one last time. - I’m naked in bed. I miss you, and I want you here. Either come yourself, or send Juice. Someone should be getting some action. I thought the joke would lighten the mood. A message popped up. - Go to sleep. Will come by tomorrow. I smiled. - Should I be naked then? The answer came quickly. - Don’t have time for this. Go to sleep. It was like a slap to the face.

I went to bed; quietly sobbing.

---

After a night of restless sleeping; I woke to my phone ringing. “Jax?”, I said. “Nah, it’s Opie”. I sighed. “Hey… what’s up?”. “Jax wanted me to check in on you”, he muttered. “I’m… fine. Why isn’t he calling me himself”, I asked. “He had to take care of something”. “You at the clubhouse?”. “No… We’re still at Cara Cara”, he said. They’d spent the whole night there. “Opie?”, I croaked. “Yeah?”. “Is he… ok?”, I asked. “He’s better”, Opie said. “I’m sorry; I gotta run. We’re going back to the clubhouse now. Do you want Lyla to come by?”. “She’s… No. It’s ok. Tell her I said hi”. “I will”, he muttered. “Bye”. “Bye”. I hung up.

Jax had spent the whole night at Cara Cara. I felt sick. I had to see him. Now.

I threw on a button up dress; and called a cab. The driver smelled like old sweat, and I rushed out of the car as fast as my knee would allow – paying him while holding my breath.

The TM lot was almost empty. It was only 10; so I figured the rush hadn’t started yet. There was only one bike parked – not Jax’s. I’d made it to the lot before he had. Limping towards Gemma’s office; she met me in the door; holding Abel on her arm. His little face made me smile. “Hey, sweetheart”, Gemma grinned. “Jax said you were on bedrest”. “Yeah, I wish”, I muttered. “That bad, huh?”, Gemma said. I shook my head. “It’s nothing”.

Abel grabbed for me; and I sat down in Gemma’s chair; putting my foot up on the couch. She handed me the baby; and I held him to my chest; kissing the top of his head. “I missed you, baby boy”, I whispered. “He missed you too”, Gemma said. “Coffee?”. “No thanks”, I said. “I’m too amped already”. She nodded.

There was a roar of engines on the lot; and I got to my feet gingerly – Abel still in my arms. I limped towards the door; and saw Jax drive up with Opie, Chibs, Juice and Tig. Lyla was riding with Opie; leaning against her old man with pure love in her eyes.

I noticed a set of arms around Jax’s torso as well. It was Ima. I limped out the door; and towards the group. Jackson gestured for Ima to get off; and parked his bike – getting off it himself. She stepped over to him again; and kissed his cheek. He seemed indifferent; but smiled at her. Ima got back on his bike; putting her hands on the gas tank; as if she was straddling his own body; and smirked at him. She said something I couldn’t hear. “Not today, Ima”, he smiled back at her.

Juice patted Jax’s shoulder, and gestured towards me. When he saw me; Jackson’s face dropped. I turned to Gemma. “Can you take the baby? I don’t want him to see this”. She nodded; and brought Abel into the office; putting him in his car seat.

I limped closer to Jax. “I was just giving her a ride”, he muttered. “Yeah, I can see that. Seems like she enjoyed it”, I said. “Cat…”, he tried. “Not now”.

I stepped up in front of Jax’s bike; and looked Ima square in her smirking face. “Get your rancid pussy off my old man’s bike”, I said calmly. She looked at me in mock surprise. “Excuse me?”, she said.

Opie stepped towards us; but Lyla held him back. “Don’t, Ope”, she muttered. He stood down.

“I said; get of the bike, before I drag you off it”, I snarled. Ima slowly slid of the bike; and stepped towards me. “Jax, you better tell your babysitter to back off. I don’t want to break my nails on her face”. I smiled, and shook my head.

I could feel Jax’s eyes on my back. He didn’t come closer.

I didn’t move. Ima looked at me incredulously, before pouting. “What? Nothing to say?... Why don’t you run along, now, hmm?”.

Before she knew what had happened; I raised my fist; and punched her hard in the chest. She bent over; and held a hand to her left breast – screaming in pain. I looked at her calmly; as she heaved for breath “He is mine”, I said. “If you so much as look in his direction again; I’ll go Jack the Ripper on your diseased cunt”.

Jax came running over. “Cat!”, he yelled. “What the hell?”. I turned to face him. “You better wipe that seat with a gallon of disinfectant; before you so much as think I’ll ride with you again”.

I limped away from the crying porn-star. Passing Lyla; I looked at her, and mouthed an I’m sorry. She shrugged uncomfortably; and walked over to Ima; to help her upright.

Jax followed me in to the clubhouse. It was mostly empty; save for Rat – who’d been watching the exchange on the CCTV. “Get Ima to the hospital”, Jax muttered. The prospect nodded, and scurried of quickly.

I walked down the hall to the room with my boxes. Jax followed me. “Babe”, he tried. “Kiss my ass”, I snarled. His chin dropped. “Woah, what the hell, Cat?”. I looked at him; rage streaming through my body. “You haven’t touched me since they let me out of that police station”, I growled. “Now I see her grinding all over you?” He shook his head. “I’ve been trying to give you space…”. “Bullshit, Jax. You’ve been avoiding me”. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I was grinding my teeth in anger. “You hardly look at me… It’s like the thought of being in a room with me makes you sick to your stomach”. He stepped towards me; reaching out for me. “I was gonna come home when I could…”, he said; and put a hand on my shoulder. I slapped it away. “You left me in that house; alone! I wanted you there; practically begged you to come home – and you ignored me. Why?”.

He sighed. “I didn’t know how to face you, after what happened – what I said…”. “So you just decided not to?”, I said. “You were safe. That was all I cared about”.

I nodded; and scoffed a laugh. “Yeah. Safe… that’s the key word; isn’t it?”, I said. “You got rid of the competition; and realized you were bored with me”. “Cat…”, he said warningly. “I’m a necessary evil at this point”, I chuckled. “You need me in that house, to keep up the façade of the strong guy who has his shit together, and his family in order”. “That’s not what you are to me; you know that Cat!”, he yelled. “Why do you treat me like that, then?” “I don’t!”. “Yes you do. It’s like I somehow became less to you the second I took that gun from your hand!”.

He shook his head. “You weren’t supposed to take that fall. That was on me”. “Why?”. “Because you’re my responsibility!”. I nodded. “Right. The toxic masculine bro code. Touch my girl; and I kill you”, I smirked. “Did it make you feel like less of a man, to have your old lady go down for something you did?”.

Jax clenched his jaw. “You’re stepping on thin ice, darlin’”, he growled. I spread my arms; inviting him in. “Why don’t you smack me around a little. Might make you feel better”. His lips furled back in a snarl. “Like he did? Look where that got you!”. He gestured to my knee. “I’m trying to protect you”. “From what? The amount of porn-stars on your dick?”

He stepped towards me slowly; his body tense. “Now you’re just spewing venom”. “Yeah? Why don’t you put my mouth to better use, then?”. I pushed him towards the wall; and slammed the door closed. It took him by surprise; and for a second, he didn’t seem to know what to do. I took advantage of it; and dropped down on my good knee; letting my other knee touch the floor more gingerly.

I pulled his belt open; and pulled down his pants a little – giving me access to his dick. “Cat…”, he hissed. “Shut up”, snarled; and grabbed his member; sliding it into my mouth. I sucked at it; feeling it harden in my mouth. With one hand, I stroked the inches I couldn’t take – and with the other; I cradled his balls – massaging them. I heard Jax groan above me; and his hands went to my head. I released his testicles; and slapped his hands away. This was my project.

I massaged the underside of his penis with my tongue – sucking him to a full erection. I pulled back. “You like this?”, I purred. “Yeah…”, he breathed. I returned my lips to his cock.

I licked over the tip; tasting the precum coming from it. I slid my tongue down the side of his hardness – and then put him back in my mouth; bobbing my head up and down; drawing him closer to his end. Jax’s breath became erratic; and I could feel him tensing up. “Baby, I’m…”, he panted.

I released him from my mouth and grasp; and stood up – wiping my mouth. I stepped backwards. “What are you…?”, he croaked. I smiled. “Don’t like being left hanging?” He shook his head; and gestured towards his penis. “Could you maybe…”. “What? Finish the job?”. I narrowed my eyes. “Why don’t you make me?... Tell me you want me, Jax. Show me!”.

Jax growled; and grabbed my arm; pulling me towards him. Within a second; I was locked in his arms; and his mouth was on me – kissing me with a fervor.

I pulled down my panties; getting one foot out of them; but didn’t get any further, before Jackson lifted me up to straddle his waist. With a hand sliding under my bottom; he felt for my wetness; and held his member to my entrance – sliding me down over it. We moaned simultaneously. Jackson grabbed a firm hold of my left ass cheek; squeezing it hard, and making me yelp in pleasure. “I want you”, he growled into my ear; sending shivers down my back.

He pressed me against the wall and began thrusting into me hard; without mercy. Jax wasn’t making love to me; he was screwing me – letting out his frustration – and I was in that same boat with him.

I put my hand in his hair; pulling his head back hard; and attacked his lips and tongue with my own. He groaned almost angrily; and slammed into me harder – bottoming out. Jax put his hand around my throat; squeezing gently – but when he noticed the bruising from Josh’s attack to it – he frowned; and moved his hand back down under my bottom.

It wasn’t long before I began unfurling; clenching my muscles around him – and drawing him with me into extasy. My orgasm came like and explosion; and I screamed out – feeling Jax bottoming out in me one last time. With a raspy groan; he came inside me – and held me against the wall for a few seconds more, before pulling himself out of me; and lowering me to the floor.

I stumbled for a second; and Jackson held me upright. “Your knee…?”, he muttered. “It’s fine”, I breathed – still panting.

Jax adjusted himself; and put his pants back on properly – before leaving the room for a minute – coming back with a wet paper towel; for me to clean myself up. I was suddenly embarrassed, and couldn’t meet his eyes. I put my panties back on without a word.

“Cat…”, Jackson said quietly. “I’ll go home… let you finish up”, I whispered.

He walked over to me; and wrapped me in his arms – holding me impossibly close. “I love you”, he said into my hair; and kissed the top of my head. “When Bobby called and said you’d split… it was like you ripped my heart from my chest”. “I had to…”, I said quietly. “I had to protect you. I was afraid…”. He sighed. “I know, baby”, he breathed. “I know”.

I pulled back. His face was pained. “I can’t be a…”, I tried. “I have to be my own person. Make my own decisions”. He blinked and let out a short breath. “You want to leave…”, he whispered. I shook my head. “No! No, Jax… Never”. “Then what?”, he croaked. “I want us… But I’m not going to fit in to your idea of the perfect old lady”, I said. “I have to have a life that’s not just… this. But I want you in it”.

He sighed. “So what do we do?”, he said. I shrugged. “I think… we move on”, I said. “Together… without you controlling my every move”. He nodded. “I want that”, he said. “But… you asked me not to make decisions that involved you with out us discussing them first… You need to make me that promise as well. Leaving like that…”. I shook my head. “I made a call”, I said. “A shitty one”, he smiled softly. I stifled a smile. “I know you think that… but I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t see a way out that wouldn’t hurt you. Either prison or death”.

He sighed. “Leaving me hurt more than either of those…”, he breathed. I pulled him towards me again; putting my cheek to his. “I’m sorry…”, I croaked; beginning to weep silently. “Me too”, he said. I felt tears – his and mine – running down my cheek “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there”. “I didn’t tell you I was going…”, I tried. “No… after”, he said. “You needed me. You needed to heal more than just your body – and I just split… I should have been there for you”.

I began sobbing. “He hurt me… I thought it was over…”, I wept. “Everything I… we were; and had… gone”. Jackson was rubbing soothing circles on my back. “First; he ripped it away… then you…”. “I’m sorry”, he sniveled. “Now… I’m going to prison, Jax!... She’s sending me away… I can’t…”. I began heaving for breath.

Jax pulled my head back so he could look at me. “That’s not happening, Cat”, he said pointedly. “I’m not gonna let that happen!”. “But I don’t want you to go away!”, I heaved. He shook his head. “We will fix this. Together”, he said; and kissed my forehead. “Breathe, baby…”.

I tried to control myself. I took a deep breath. “Ok”, I said. He smiled softly at me; and wiped the tears away – first from my face; then his own. “This storage room smells like old socks. Can we get out of here?”, he said. I chuckled; and nodded.

Jax supported my weight; and we walked into the main area of the clubhouse. I winced from the pain in my knee and ribs. ��You need to go to the hospital”, he muttered. “Nah, that’s not a good idea”, I said. “Putting me within reach of Ima; might end in another murder. Hers”, I snarled. He chuckled. “I was just giving her a ride”, he said. “She could have ridden with one of the others”, I grumbled. “Yeah…”, he muttered. “She just climbed on… I won’t let it happen again”. “Good”, I said.

We stepped outside. Chibs came over to us. “We all good here?”, he asked. “Yeah”, Jax said. “Good”, Chibs said. He looked at me. “You’ve got a fine lass here; Jackie. You mess this up; I’ll kick your ass myself”. I blushed.

Lyla and Ima were gone from the lot; along with the tow-truck. “They’re up at St. Thomas… Ima needed to get her tit checked out”, Juice said. Chibs chuckled. “That gash should be used to that by now…”, he snorted.

Jax transported me gently onto the picnic-table; and offered me a cigarette – which I gratefully accepted. He sat down next to me; and slipped his arm behind me – squeezing my hip for a second; and sending me his trademark Teller smirk.

Opie was on his phone; talking quietly into it. “… yeah, baby. I’ll call you back”. He hung up and came over to us. “Ima has a burst implant”, he muttered. Juice stifled a laugh. I shook my head. “Great…”, I said. “I’ve already got potential murder charges hanging over my head – and now I’ve committed assault”. Jax bit his lip. “Call Lyla”, he said to Opie. “Tell her, if Ima so much as thinks about pressing charges; I’ll come over there and burst the other one myself”. Opie sighed. “Yeah… I’m not doing that”, he chuckled. “Not exactly the conversation I want to have with my fiancée, the day after I just proposed…”.

All of our faces dropped. “What?”, Jax gasped. He sprang at his friend; and embraced him. “You son of a bitch! Congrats, man!”. All the guys embraced Opie; before I gave him a tight hug. “Congratulations, Opie. Lyla’s amazing”. “Yeah, I know”, he muttered. “Drinks!”, Chibs called out.

A roar of bikes entered the lot; and soon all of the members of Samcro where gathered around us. “What’s with the gang-hug?”, Tig said. We all looked at Opie. “I’m… getting married”, he muttered. A roar of congratulations began again.

Celebrations soon commenced; with all that involved. I found myself carried to one of the couches in the clubhouse; with my leg raised on the table; and an ice-pack on my knee. Jax was like glue to me; only getting up to get me fresh drinks; and helping me to the toilet – waiting outside the bathroom for me to finish. “I’m not running”, I smirked at him. “I know”, he smiled embarrassedly. “Just give me back my crutches”, I said. He looked down. “I, uhm… kind of threw them in to an incinerator with a dead Nord…”, he muttered. I gasped. “Jax!”, I breathed. “It wasn’t Ollie!”, he said. “We had a situation… it’s unrelated to you”. I nodded solemnly.

He stroked my cheek. “Do you want to know?”, he asked. “Later… let’s just go back out there and celebrate Opie”. He nodded; and turned around. “Come on, peg-leg. Piggy-back time”. I laughed; and climbed onto his back.

Juice passed us in the hallway; and looked at my dress - which was riding up. “I see London; I see France. I see Cat’s…”. “Finish that sentence; and I’ll kill you, brother”, Jax snarled. Juice chuckled; and went into the bathroom.

“Don’t ever joke about screwing Juice again…”, he said over his shoulder to me. I laughed. “Ok… can I screw Tig? I hear he’s hung”, I joked. “Careful, darlin’”, Jax chuckled.

He got me back on the couch; and took Abel from Gemma – handing the baby to me. We sat there together – like a little family. We were a family.

Lyla arrived with Rat about an hour later. The tiny woman was lifted into the air to a roar of applause. She looked flabbergasted; as she was carried over to Opie; who received her in his arms; and whispered something in her ear. Lyla instantly flushed red; and kissed him deeply. The pair were attacked with hugs and well wishes. I was grinning from ear to ear; and pulled Abel tighter to my chest. Jax stepped over to greet Lyla.

Bobbie came and sat by me. “You ran”, he said. “I had to”, I muttered. He sighed. “I know…”, he said; and smiled at me earnestly. “Thank you, sweetheart”. He kissed my cheek; and joined Tig and Piney at the bar.

Gemma and Clay sat down in the couch next to mine. Clay took my hand. “What you did for our son… our club”, he said. “We owe you. You were family before, but this… If you ever need anything, sweetheart…”. “Thanks”, I smiled. “For now, I just need to get over this… Kohn situation”. Clay nodded. “We’ll take care of Stahl”, he said.

Opie, Lyla and Jax came to join us. Jax took Abel from me; and put him to his chest. The baby was yawning. Gemma looked at me solemnly. “How’s the knee?”, she asked. “Numb”, I said; gesturing at the icepack. “My ribs are hurting though”. “And your hand?”, she said. I looked down at the bruising on my knuckles, from my incident with Ima. “I washed the silicone off”, I smirked; and looked towards Lyla. “Sorry…” “Ima’s a bitch”, she said. “I only eat her out; because it pays well”. Opie winced.

Jax chuckled. “All right. I don’t think this is baby-friendly talk”, he smiled. “I need to get my boy, and my girl home and into bed”. “No, Jax”, Lyla said. “Stay… celebrate with us”. Gemma smiled. “I said I’d take him for a few days. One more night won’t hurt”. “You sure, ma’?”, Jax said.

Gemma stepped over to him; and took Abel. “I got him, baby”, she smiled. Clay looked at her. “I’m gonna stick around for a while. Pour one out for Ope”, he said. Gemma smirked at him. “Don’t be to late. I’ve got something cooking…”, she said. Jax winced. “I didn’t need to hear that”, he muttered. I squeezed his hand.

Gemma left the clubhouse with Abel; and we spent the next few hours enjoying the perfect bliss on Lyla’s and Opie’s faces; as they cuddled up next to each other. Jax pulled me close. “I love you”, he breathed into my ear. “Yeah?”, I whispered. “Enough to get me a new air freshener for my car?”. He put his hand on my thigh; and stroked it gently with his fingertips. “I’ll get you two”, he smiled. I put my hand around his neck; and kissed him deeply. His hand travelled up my thigh; and under my dress.

“Do you wanna…?”, he breathed. “Yes, sir”, I smirked. He frowned slightly. “You don’t have to do that… I don’t want you to feel like I’m controlling you”, he said softly. “I don’t mind it if you’re a bit bossy”, I smirked. “It’s kind of hot…”. Jax raised a brow at me; and grinned. “Then get your ass into that dorm”, he snarled in mock menace. I pouted. “I’m hurt… I can’t walk; and a very mean man burnt my crutches”. He chuckled; and stood up. “Come on, doll-face”, he said; and pulled me up – letting me climb onto his back again.

He carried me down the hall; leaving behind the partying crowd. I had him back.

#jax teller x oc #jax teller #jax teller fic #jackson teller #jackson teller fic #soa #sons of anarchy fic #sons of anarchy

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a-table-of-fics · 3 years ago

Text

Oddworld: Conar's Ambition, Chapter 5, Draft 1

Conar woke up to the sound of a Mudokon banging against the metal floor with a grunt. He instinctively rolled himself up to a standing position, grabbing his gun and preparing to shout out.

He could see Slim lying on the ground, groaning and rubbing his head. Above, he could spot Mark, reaching down to try to help Slim up.

“Hey!” Conar barked. “Where do ya think you’re goin’?!”

“I-it was Slim’s idea!” Mark called out, frantically.

Slim only spent a moment glaring at Mark for that, knowing that an angry Slig was looking right at him.

“Y-yeah,” he said, backing up slowly. “We were gonna look into that hideout that’s right over there. Figure it’d be safer than being out here with an open roof, ‘specially with those hanging around.”

He pointed to the side, where Conar could see a Suppressor. Its red eye wasn’t turned to either of them; instead, the floating red sensor was floating in a corner, looking at another corner.

“What’re you talkin’ about? Those things are just there to watch you guys for wrong…doing…”

Conar realized what he just said, and started to circle around Slim, slowly making his way under the Suppressor. Once he made it out of its view, he moved his Blunderbuss from Slim to the mechanical eye. A few shots later and it started to fall, the light fading from it. He tried to duck out of the way, but the bots fall twisted and spun as it landed square on his back.

“Hey!” he called out, after his cry of pain. “Gimme a hand, wouldya?”

Slim took a couple steps towards him, but stopped. Conar got the feeling it wasn’t just the alarm that started blaring in the air.

“What’re you waitin’ for, Slim?!” he demanded. “Get this thing offa me!”

“You know,” Slim said, “I’ve been waiting for a moment like this for all my life. No more Sligs watchin’ us. No more taking orders. Mark and I, we’ll be free!”

“And who freed you, chump?” Conar retorted. “You couldn’t have gotten out of there without me! You won’t last two minutes without me!”

“I’ll take my chances. You can get someone else to push your ride.”

“You idiot!” Conar shouted. “I couldn’t blow our cover there!”

“Oh, sure,” Slim said, rolling his eyes. “It was the cover.”

He turned around, taking Mark’s hand and climbing up out of the train.

“Well, sayanora!” Slim said, before the two of them disappeared from Conar’s view.

“You traitorous lil’…” Conar started, before trying to pull himself out of the wreck.

He grunted and wheezed before suddenly popping out of his Pants. He was just able to crawl out from under the Suppressor and grab his bag, but there was no chance of him getting his Pants again. Not only was he alone, but he was helpless without his legs. He crawled around in the vain hope of finding a different pair or maybe even a flying harness, but the train car was as empty as before.

The alarms in the distance were soon punctuated with the conflicted chatter of Slim and Mark. Conar couldn’t hear all of it, but he hear things like “No, this marking means…” and “B-better hurry, I think I hear…” and “where is it?!”

The talk changed to more frantic gibbering as all three could hear Slogs barking, getting ever closer. Louder and louder, until they were snarling and snapping, and he could hear the Mudokons whimpering, the sound of metal scraping and falling as they presumably scrambled to higher ground.

“Serves ‘em right,” Conar muttered. “I gave ‘em a chance out, and what do they do? Ugh.”

He paced around on his hands for a moment, before spotting something. Some kind of bird graffiti etched into a darker corner of the train. Crawling over, he could see a crack in the panel, and he could see a full tunnel through there. Those Scrubs would have appreciated that; he figured what Slim was talking about was some kind of marking to this location.

Not that he needed Slim or Mark anymore. They fulfilled their purposes; who cared if they became Slog food now? He’d find another way to get to Zeb, once he got some Pants again. And besides, without his Pants, he’d be completely useless to help those two out, even if he wanted to.

He groaned, before giving a sharp whistle. The ravenous barking stopped for a moment.

“Here, boy,” he called out.

Three Slogs came into view, looking down at him. One of them was an older Slog, judging by her massive size, but the other two… well, they were just pups, really. Must have been born here, and were probably the offspring of the larger one. They were thinner than most Slogs he’d seen, and it was clear the mother was the only one of them raised or trained properly. Poor things probably just wanted a decent meal. Conar could sympathize, but he hoped he could dissuade them from trying Mudokon Mulch.

“Stay,” he said, keeping his eyes focused on the Slogs while he felt to search for his bag of supplies. It was a miracle he hadn’t brought it with him when he walked under the Suppressor. Reaching into it, past the ammunition, drinks, and cigarettes, he found that he was looking for: a whole package of Meep Jerky.

“You want some food? Huh?”

The mother Slog panted excitedly, her pups soon to follow.

Conar opened the food, and started to throw some of the largest pieces of jerky out of the train. After a few morsels were thrown out, the Slogs ran off to enjoy their treats, and Conar sighed, relieved he could do something still.

It was hard to hear anything over the Sloggies devouring the tough jerky, but he thought he could hear hushed chatter between the two Mudokon deserters. Sure enough, they were looking down on him a few minutes later.

“What was that?” Slim asked, smiling a little. “I mean, not that I’m not grateful, but you got bored of the Slogs attackin’ us that fast?”

“Yeah,” Conar replied, grinning under his tentacled visage, “you guys’re pretty boring screamers.”

He dragged himself over to the panel he saw before, lifting it slightly.

“This the place you were lookin’ for?”

“Maybe,” Slim said, hopping down. Mark followed suit as soon as Slim was with Conar. “Can’t say for sure, though; the graffiti was all wrong at the fridges, but did you see anything down…”

He looked at the wall, and saw the bird drawing.

“…here…”

It wasn’t a fat bird like the ones on the refrigerators, and it was a lot cleaner than the scratchings he saw back at the Slugbite Motel. He found himself drawn to it, his fingertips circling around it.

“HEY!” Conar shouted, snapping him from these thoughts. “We can’t focus on the pretty pictures; we got us a hideout to hide in!”

“R-right,” Slim nodded, feeling weirdly off-balance. “Lemme just get the door…”

He and Mark easily swung the panel open, and he grabbed Conar by the wrist.

“Hey!” Conar demanded, trying in vain to wrest his hand back. “Get offa me!”

“You think any Mudokons there’ll take kindly to some Slig going in?” Slim asked. “Come on, we gotta be dragging you in! Besides…”

Conar couldn’t help but feel an air of smugness.

“…you said it; a Slig without Pants ain’t worth the powder in his gun.”

The pantsless Slig sighed, trying to keep his bag close to his chest as they pulled him through.

The tunnel walls were lined with all sorts of trash, from old tires to old rails to piles of Slog chew toys. Conar picked up a rubber facsimile of a Glukkon that was relatively intact. The purple-suited toy had very few bite marks. After all, the Glukkon-shaped ones were designed to discourage Slogs from attacking the real deal with a bad taste. Of course, anyone who worked with Slogs personally knew that wouldn’t stop them from taste-testing their bosses.

He squeezed the Gluk in his hand as he was carried along. It served as a great reminder of why he left, and why he was putting up with this nonsense; so he could press a real Glukkon under his thumb.

He tucked the squeaky toy into his bag, and dropped the bag from his tentacles to his hand.

“Would it kill ya to get a better grip?” he asked, looking up at Slim. “My arm’s gettin’ tired.”

He could see Slim look at him, look at Mark, and then stop, giving a smile.

“Sure,” he said. “I don’t think this is working for me either, really.”

With that, he violently pulled Conar up. Conar, for his part, was shocked that he yelped in a very un-Slig-like way, dropping his bag to cover his mouth with his hand. Before he could reach for it again, his arm was grabbed, and he was tucked under Slim’s arm, his own arms pinned. Reaching with his tentacles was no good; as long as they were, he could not reach the ground from here. He scowled as Mark picked the bag up, handing it to Slim and looking on in awe.

“Yeah, what are you lookin’ at?”

“It-it’s that easy to p-pick you guys up?” Mark managed. He was somewhere between shock and amusement, and he made no effort to hide it on his face.

“Enjoy it while you can, twerp. Once I get Pants again, you’re gonna live to regr—Mmmph! Mmmph?!”

He struggled, but Slim had his hand clamped over Conar’s mouth.

“Shut up!” Slim hissed. “You don’t wanna scare ‘em off, do ya?”

“Mm,” Conar grumbled.

The three of them walked forward and turned the corner to see several Mudokons lounging in the orange glow of a rusty heater. A couple of them were lazily drinking from dirty bottles, while others snacked on crushed Paramite Pies. One with light-green skin looked up at Slim and Mark.

“Heya!” he called out, waving. “Welcome to the club!”

“What is this place?” Slim asked, looking around. A lot of the junk here looked like it was more deliberately placed than in the tunnel. Some of the half-melted bottles on one wall were even the same color as each other.

“You don’t know?” another asked, a shorter Mud with somewhat longer feathers almost covering his entire scalp. “We quit, just like you guys! Layin’ low, maxing and relaxing…”

He moved some feathers out of his eyes, and they widened as they focused on Conar.

“Oh wow, you took one of those guys out?” he nodded appreciatively. “Nice!”

“Mmph!” Conar protested as the rest came over to look at him. Being surrounded by six Mudokons total, some holding makeshift weapons just in case, in his state wasn’t ideal.

“How’d you get ‘im out of those legs?”

“Did he give you any trouble?”

“What should we do with him?”

“You think we could use him for something?”

“Can’t let him rat us out…”

Slim swatted hands and metal points away.

“Watch it,” he said, stepping back. “He’s been helpin’ us get here!”

He watched as everyone else’s jaws gaped in stunned silence. His eyes darted between them, and he finally relaxed as they all burst into laughter.

“Aw, man,” the light-green one said, grabbing Slim’s shoulder, “You really had me going there! A Slig helpin’ one of us?!”

“You know what a Slig is, right?” asked a Mudokon covered in soot. “They don’t help anyone. They don’t even think about helping their own!”

“They can’tthink,” the mop-topped one said. “Just got a tiny brain in their trigger fingers!”

The others started laughing again, while Conar sneered.

“A lot of big talk comin’ from a buncha layabouts!” he protested.

“Oh, we’re the bums? Who did the work for you guys while you napped and smoked?”

“I oughta throw you to the Slogs!”

“You guys don’t do nothin’!”

Conar realized he should have kept his mouth shut as they began to get closer, some of them preparing their weapons once more. Slim was slowly stepping back, but it wasn’t enough to avoid the crowd. He braced himself for a world of pain, looking at their faces of righteous anger, but Mark had stepped forward.

“Hang on,” he said. “It s-sounds crazy, but th-that guy did help us get here… S-sure, he’s a Slig, b-but he c-covered for me with Clunk and distracted some Sloggies for us…”

The encroaching Mudokons stopped, stepping back to consider this.

“He’s mean as any one of ‘em,” Slim added, “but he busted me out of the Motel, and made damn sure we escaped.”

Finally, after a moment of whispering, the light-green Mudokon stepped forward, keeping his sharpened pipe relaxed, but ready.

“All right then, Slig,” he asked, kneeling to be eye-level with Conar, “Why’d you help ‘em out?”

“That’s none of your—”

“He thinks he can just walk in and take a Glukkon’s Moolah,” Slim said.

Even Mark joined in the laughter that ensued.

“You… you reallythink…” managed the multifeathered Mud, before gasping for air again.

“Well, why not?” Conar asked. “I got a gun, and he doesn’t. Once I get to ‘im, that should be that.”

“Oh, yeah,” Slim said, rolling his eyes, “Getting to ‘im will be a cakewalk, huh? We both know Glukkons’ve got security tighter than a Resolver’s Knot. You’ll be in pieces before you make it to the front desk!”

“You got a gun,” the light-green one added, “but he’s got, like, eight hundred of them! And you just brought a coupla Mudokons? How d’ya expect to outgun ‘em?”

“That Abe guy did something,” Conar said. “I’m hopin’ to find out what.”

The laughing died into an abrupt and long silence. They were all staring at him, jaws agape, paralyzed for a few moments. The look of shock turned into a snarl on a few of them, while the rest shuffled their feet.

“What?” Conar asked. “That guy could take down RuptureFarms, and last I hear he’s goin’ after the FeeCo Depot. Must be somethin’ to you guys if one of ya can do that!”

The Mudokon with many feathers opened his mouth to speak, but it took a couple of moments to get the words out: “…You… understand Abe’s significance? You know he’s the…”

“Of course he doesn’t,” the Mudokon with an eyepatch said, raising his lead pipe in preparation to strike. “He just thinks he can talk about Abe and we’ll all do what he wants. No way is that happenin’!”

“Wait, I can—”

The pipe came down, Conar felt a brief heavy pain, and everything went black.

#oddworld fic #oddworld conar's ambition #Oddworld #draft 1 #Chapter 5 #oddworld conars ambition full chapter

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