#the same bed trope but instead of a bed it’s a prison cell

[technoartist]

My very first ever KND fic! It was only my second ever time writing a fic, & it’s kinda dumb & self indulgent, but I had a lot of fun making it!

[madasthesea]

Trope: Peter calling Tony “Dad”

Peter wakes up to being roughly dropped on a cold, concrete floor.

He lays still, listening. There are five heartbeats in the room, one person breathing fast.

“Touch my son again and I’ll kill you.”

Tony. Tony’s here and... he just called Peter his son. Which is confusing.

Someone scoffs. “You’re tied up. What can you do?”

“That’s my son,” Tony growls, voice dangerous. A shiver goes up Peter’s spine, but not out of fear. Awe, maybe. Tony is every inch the superhero Peter has always wanted to be. “Touch him again and I’ll kill you.”

Another voice chuckles, low and gravelly. There are steps, and the scent of old cigarette smoke wafting toward Peter.

There’s a brief silence, and Peter wants to open his eyes and see what’s happening but he doesn’t want to give himself away.

“Alright, Stark,” someone says. It’s the smoker, Peter can tell from his voice, and probably the leader of this little kidnapping. “We won’t hurt him. As long as you promise not to try to escape.”

Voice calm, as if negotiating a simple business transaction, Tony clarifies, “You don’t touch him, and I promise nothing but good behavior. Though I don’t suppose I’ll get time off for that.”

“No,” the same man agrees, sounding eager for whatever he has in store for Tony. “You won’t.”

A key scrapes, chains clatter to the floor.

“Go get the kid,” an even crueler voice instructs.

Peter forces himself not to jump when he feels warm hands turn him over.

“Peter. Up and at ‘em, buddy,” Tony murmurs near his ear. Peter makes a bit of a show of blinking himself into consciousness, squinting around at the gathered men in alarm.

“Dad?” he asks, pitching his voice to sound scared. If they’re playing the ‘ordinary kid’ angle, Peter’s going to do his part.

Tony’s hand squeezes his shoulder once in relief at Peter following his lead.

“Wha’ happened?”

“Come on, kiddo. On your feet.” Tony hauls him up without answering, keeping an anchoring hand on Peter’s arm as they get led out of the small room.  

They jostle Tony along, but no one lays a hand on Peter, as promised. The hall they walk down is narrow, a single high window showing a glimpse of night sky.

They’re shoved into a room with a single cot, metal toilet and sink, and a bare lightbulb in the corner. It looks like a prison cell.

The door slams behind them and they’re alone. Neither speaks for a moment, looking around at their surroundings. There was one thing Peter had missed: a security camera, the red light blinking steadily at them.

Tony sends Peter a look, letting him know he saw it too.

“You ok, Pete?” he asks, and immediately the camera pivots toward them, following the direction of Tony’s voice. It had sound as well, then. Good to know. They’ll have to keep up the charade even when alone.

“I’m fine, Dad,” Peter mutters. Tony’s hand slips up to Peter’s neck, gently squeezing the back. Then he walks over to the cot and sits down, leaning against the wall. He sends a sideways glance at the camera, then Peter, then pats the spot next to him. Peter sits as well, pulling his knees up to his chest. Tony slings an arm over his shoulders, gathering Peter into his side.

“That camera has night vision,” he observes mildly. “You can tell by the lens color.”

Peter hums. They sit for a few minutes in silence, Peter’s head on Tony’s shoulder as he contemplates their situation, before Tony stands again, walking to the other side of the cell.

“It’s probably late,” he says, and the camera pans over to him. Peter raises an eyebrow and gets a small smile in return. Test the mic, Tony is telling him without words.

“We should probably get some sleep,” Peter replies, quieter. The camera turns to him.

“There’s only one bed.” Even lower. The camera still turns.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Peter offers, whispering. Nothing.

“You’re going to have to speak up, Pete,” Tony says, winking. They found the threshold for the microphone. As long as their conversation is quieter than a whisper, they can talk normally, without hiding their plans and without the complication of pretending to be father and son.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Peter says again, standing. It is late, and they do need sleep for whatever is going to happen tomorrow.

“Don’t pretend you’re too old to share a bed with your dad,” Tony teases. “I remember what happened when we watched Woman in Black on Halloween.”

Peter scoffs. Falling asleep in Tony’s room that night had been unintentional, thank you very much. Rolling his eyes, Peter steps back over to the narrow cot.

“You take by the wall.”

Peter wrinkles his nose, but does as he’s told. He knows Tony wants to be between him and the door, should someone come in while they’re sleeping.

The bunk is so narrow they can’t lay on their backs at the same time, so Peter turns onto his side and faces Tony.

With the light off, it’s pitch black. Peter’s heightened eyesight can barely make out the shape of Tony’s face, turned towards him.

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispers after a moment. “They only grabbed you cause you were with me.”

“I don’t care,” Peter responds, barely breathing the words. “I only care that they’re going to torture you, Tony. And I’m just supposed to sit here and play the scared kid?”

“If I break my side of the deal, they’ll torture you, too. I can’t live with that.”

The cot squeaks as Tony shifts, his hand tracing Peter’s throat in the darkness until he finds his cheek.

“And I can?”

“You’ll have to.”

“No,” Peter hisses. “Screw that.”

“Kid, if they find out I tried to trick them, they will kill you. Probably slowly and definitely in front of me.” Tony’s voice shakes.

Peter squeezes his eyes closed, then turns his back to Tony. He’s angry. Really angry. And scared.

“Peter,” Tony breathes. He puts the hand Peter had shaken off onto his back, rubbing his thumb against Peter’s shoulder blade.

“How’d you even know that would work?” Peter asks the wall.

“The leader had a picture of a little boy as his phone background,” Tony explains. “I could tell... he knows what a father would do to protect his child.”

There’s a lump in Peter’s throat. He’s been trying to avoid thinking too much about the implications of acting like Tony’s son. About Tony claiming him as his son.

What a father would do to protect his child. What Tony would do—did—for him.

Swallowing down the tears, Peter turns over again and pulls himself closer to Tony, burying his face in Tony’s shoulder.

Tony wraps his arms around Peter, one hand cradling Peter’s head. When he sighs, it ruffles Peter’s hair.

“I’ll be ok as long as you’re ok,” Tony whispers.

  They come for Tony early the next morning, according to Peter’s probably-not-very-accurate internal clock. Peter’s spider sense wakes him up and he wakes Tony with a quick nudge before the door flies open.

Tony stands, cooperating.

“Where are you taking him?” Peter asks. One of the men looks down at him and laughs. “What are you going to do?”

“Don’t worry, little Stark. He’ll get the best care available,” another man jeers, shoving Tony between the shoulder blades.

“Dad!” Peter shouts, standing, his hands balled into fists. Tony looks over his shoulder and meets his eye.

“It’s ok, Petey. I’ll see you soon, ok?”

And then they’re gone, leaving Peter in silence, his heartbeat ringing in his ears.

That night, when they bring Tony back, after Peter had spent hours upon hours pacing the cell—measuring it, looking for weaknesses, and alternating between trying desperately to hear anything from outside and praying he didn’t—Peter carefully walks him to the cot and sits him down. He’s bloody and bruised, but he’s conscious and moving and talking and that’s more than Peter had hoped for.

“Dad,” Peter says, kneeling in front of him. It’s surprisingly easy, having that word come out of his mouth instead of ‘Mr. Stark.’

Tony offers him a tired smile, but it makes his split lip start bleeding again and he stops. “Hey, Pete. Have fun while I was gone?”

Peter growls, shaking his head, and concentrates on feeding Tony the half of the dinner he’d saved—canned soup and a rather stale roll.

That night, when they lay down to go to sleep, Peter is once again next to the wall.

“Do you have a plan on how to get us out of here? I measured the cell and based on the layout of the hallway that I remember—” Peter starts rambling in a breathy whisper.

“Pete,” Tony interrupts. He turns onto his side and winces slightly. “We just have to wait it out.”

“Why? To protect me?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Tony breathes, tugging Peter closer. He sounds like he wants to sleep rather than argue, but this is the only time they can really talk and Peter has a whole day’s worth of words built up in his head.

“It is a bad thing if protecting me is hurting you.”

“We’re not doing this again, Peter,” Tony sighs. His voice is a little above a whisper, and the camera whirs as it turns toward them.

“Dad,” Peter grits out.

Tony cuts him off by twisting Peter’s chin towards him and kissing his cheek.

“Go to sleep.”

Peter, very aware of the camera trained on them and Tony’s chest pressing against his back with each breath, lays awake for a long time.

  They take Tony again. Peter yells and curses and Tony just smiles at him and says with false confidence, “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll be fine.”

Again, Peter is left with nothing to do, nothing to think about except half-formed plans that Tony won’t try anyway and the way Tony had called him baby.

When they bring him back, Tony crumples to his knees and looks at Peter through two black eyes. His nose has been at least dislocated, if not broken, and dried blood coats his goatee.

Peter helps him to his feet and cleans him off with the hem of his shirt and lays him down. Then he crawls over him so he’s next to the wall like Tony insists on.

There’s quiet for a long time. He thinks Tony might have fallen asleep when the man turns his head and whispers into his ear.

“I gave you the harder part, huh? Easier to be tortured.”

Peter sighs. “Maybe. But being tortured and watching you be tortured would be worse.”

“Is that gratitude I hear?” Tony wheezes, his lungs crackling.

Peter flinches. “Barely. Waning every minute.”

Tony chuckles. He’s laying flat on his back to help keep pressure off his ribs, so Peter curls into him.

He’s almost asleep when Tony speaks again.

“I knew we could pull it off,” he murmurs. “Playing father and son. No one would even question.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

  Starvation and dehydration make Peter’s spider sense slower. They don’t wake up the next morning until someone is dragging Tony by the ankle off the cot.

It takes Peter a second to remember himself and shout “Dad!” instead of Tony.

He jumps up as fast as he can and someone grabs his arm, twisting it behind him.

Tony’s still trying to get to his feet, hands fisting cruelly in his shirt, his hair.

“Don’t you—” Tony gasps, then cuts off as someone kicks his knee when he tries to stand.

“Dad!”

In a flash, Tony grabs someone’s ankle, bringing him crashing to the ground, then he’s on his feet, swaying only slightly as he grabs the other man in a choke hold.

“I said don’t touch him,” Tony snarls.

There’s a beat, Tony staring hard at the man holding Peter, while Peter pants, his adrenaline kicking up.

Peter’s arm is let go and Tony immediately releases his hostage, holding up his hands to show that he’s sticking to his bargain.

“You good, Pete?” Tony asks tersely.

“I-I’m fine,” he assures Tony.

Then he’s being dragged away. To another day of torture that Tony won’t even hint at, even when Peter asks.

“Stop!” Peter screams. “Dad! Don’t hurt him!”

“Peter,” Tony calls, though his teeth are gritted in pain. “It’s ok.”

“No!” Peter follows him to the doorway, though one of the men stays behind and makes sure he doesn’t leave.

“I love you, Pete,” Tony says. And then he’s gone.

  Peter paces. And paces and paces and paces. And eyes the pipes lining the cement ceiling above him.

When they bring Tony back, he isn’t walking. Peter catches him on his knees.

“Dad? Dad, come on, look at me.”

Peter ducks his head and presses his cheek to Tony’s forehead. He’s clammy and shaking.

“Dad.”  

“Pete,” Tony pants. Then he goes limp.

It takes Peter a long time to drag Tony over to the cot. He probably makes himself seem even weaker than a normal teenage boy, but he’d rather that than seem too strong.

He levers Tony onto the bed carefully, slowly. Then he gently pushes him over toward the wall and lays down next to him, between Tony and the door.

The things they say at night, whispered between them, are just for them. Not a pretense, not for their captors, just them.

“Dad,” Peter breathes.

 The next morning, when they come to take Tony, Peter’s waiting for them.

[writing-essence]

Sleepless - 12th Doctor

Pairing: 12th Doctor x Reader

Warnings: language

Summary: If you like the cheesy “only one bed” trope, you're in the right place.

Author’s Note: Currently ignoring my other responsibilities to write this for absolutely no reason because nobody wanted it but you’re getting it anyway :) -Kelsie

Word Count: 1631

The TARDIS was asleep. The usual humming of the engines were silent, the only noise was coming from your shuffling socks on the metal floor. It was pitch black but you navigated the winding hallways of the huge spaceship by using the flashlight on your cell phone.

Sleep couldn’t quite take you as it’s prisoner yet as you were kept awake by the thoughts of your last mission with The Doctor. It seemed like every other one to him, but not to you. It left a yucky taste in your mouth and un unsettling feeling in your stomach. With the amount of adventures you’ve been on with The Doctor you’d think that you’d be used to this by now, but you weren’t. You’ve seen people die before but this time was different. You naively let your mind wander afterward. What would your family think if something happened to you on one of these adventures? You knew damn well that The Doctor wouldn’t tell them shit unless you specifically asked him to. He probably wouldn’t deliver the news very kindly either.

Your intrusive thoughts had drove you out of bed with frustration and led you wandering through the sleeping TARDIS. You could only assume that The Doctor was also asleep, but you couldn’t quite picture it. The Doctor? Taking time for himself? Even for just a few hours? Completely unrealistic.

The silence surrounding you implied he was under sleep’s control though, so you continued wandering without worry. You stepped cautiously onto the metal steps of the dark bridge and shone your flashlight around the large room. It was eerie at night. It felt almost like it was dead instead of asleep.

You made your way past the console and to the wooden doors to the outside world. The Doctor claimed that he had let the TARDIS choose where to sleep that night but you swore you saw him peek at the monitor and press a few buttons before retreating for bed.

Throwing open the front doors of the TARDIS confirmed your suspicions. Either the TARDIS had a very similar taste in location as The Doctor, or he chose it himself.

The TARDIS was drifting slowly through empty space. You turned your phone flashlight off and sat at the edge of the doors, letting your legs dangle off into space. You saw no galaxies, no planets, no scary blackholes, just stars. The Doctor loves stars.

You laughed quietly to yourself as you analyzed the surrounding stars. Maybe he wasn’t crazy for liking stars so much. Without the colorful distractions of surrounding galaxies, they shone brighter.

Your heart pulled in your chest as you thought of The Doctor. How nice would it be to fall asleep with him. You probably wouldn't have to be worried about intrusive thoughts if your mind was focused on other things. His arms... his hands… You blushed to yourself, shaking out the thoughts before letting your mind wander further.

Suddenly feeling rather sleepy, you stood up and closed the wooden doors before retreating back to your bedroom.

When the TARDIS was awake she would often swap around the rooms, helping you access which ones you needed. She was sleeping now, and you had to find your room yourself. You traced your footsteps back down the winding hallway perfectly and made it back quickly. The only problem was, your door had been swapped. Or, that’s what appeared to have happened. In fact, it now had the same door as The Doctor’s bedroom. You spun on your heel quickly trying to figure out if you had gone back to the right way. You had, but the location of your room seemed to have been swapped with The Doctor’s.

The TARDIS must’ve done it in her sleep…

You ran quickly down the hallway figuring where The Doctor’s room used to be must be where your room is now. Once you got there, you realized that was not the case. The Doctor’s bedroom door was there, just like it had been before.

You began to grow frustrated, you just wanted to sleep. You angrily started to wander the hallways, attempting to search for your room but The Doctor’s just kept popping up. This wasn’t a coincidence. The TARDIS was doing it on purpose.

“Knock it off!” You whispered angrily at the ‘sleeping’ ship.

After a few more minutes of wandering you gave up with a frustrated “humf!” and sat against the wall across from The Doctor’s door.

Maybe you’d just sleep there. It seemed like you didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

Your frustration must’ve been louder than you thought. The door across from you swung open revealing a very much awake Doctor.

“What are you doing?” He asked, eyeing your seat on the metal floor.

“The TARDIS hid my bedroom,” You mumbled, crossing your arms angrily.

The Doctor sighed and mumbled something under his breath, probably to the naughty ship.

“You can sleep in my bed tonight,” He said, stepping out of his room and ushering you in.

You stood up cautiously and let him push you into the dark bedroom.

“Doctor, I can’t do that,” You said, spinning around to face him, “Where will you sleep?”

“I don’t need sleep,” He smiled at you and pat your arm reassuringly, “Goodnight,”

The door closed quickly and you slowly walked over to the large bed against the back wall. This was forbidden territory. The Doctor was feared among millions and worshiped among millions more. And there you were, invited to sleep in his bed.

A ‘thump’ came from outside the door and was quickly followed by some angry whispering. You opened the door to find The Doctor kicking at the wall of the TARDIS out of frustration.

“Doctor?” You inquired, raising an eyebrow, “Everything okay?”

“No,” He sighed, running a hand over his tired features, “The TARDIS won’t let me leave,”

Your heart soared in your chest when you realized what she was doing. The beating in your chest increased. This was the perfect chance! Shoot your shot!

“Maybe...” You mumbled as you rubbed your sweaty palms on your pants, “we could both sleep in here,”

The Doctor stared at you with his usual intense glare and you immediately regretted saying anything. He spoke before you could take it back.

“I suppose it’s our only option,” He said, avoiding eye contact as he slipped past you into the bedroom.

“As long as you’re comfortable,” You said, quickly rushing to his side.

“Of course,” He said (all too quickly), “Will you be?”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you looked up at him, “More than,”

A smile reached the edge of his mouth then he quickly spun around and climbed into the bed. You cautiously followed, slipping into the other side. You made sure to keep as much distance between the two of you as possible. An awkward tension settled in the air.

“Doctor…” You cringed as your voice filled the empty silence, “If I died, what would you tell my family?”

He glanced over at you with a confused expression.

“Maybe I should rephrase that,” You giggled, “When I die, tell my family the truth,”

“Why would I do that?”

“They deserve to know,”

“I won’t let you die,” He said, his voice far lower than before.

“Promise?” You joked, reaching over and poking his arm playfully.

His hand grabbed your wrist, turning it over and exposing your empty palm. Your heart felt like it had stopped. Had you overstepped your boundaries?

“I promise you,” He said, making direct eye contact with you, “I won’t let you die,”

“I feel as if that’s a promise you make most people,” You whispered, letting him rub your open palm with his thumb, “A promise you can’t keep,”

His thumb stopped and he looked back up at you again.

“I try my best,”

You could tell that you had hit a sensitive nerve and you quickly pull your hand away.

“I know you do,” You said, scooching closer to him, “Promise me you’ll try your best, then,”

He watched you for a moment in the dark before glancing down.

“I promise you I’ll try my best,”

It was you who grabbed his hand now, entangling your fingers with his. Something you had done before, but this time it felt different.

“I can’t let you die,” He said suddenly, looking back up at you, “I love you,”

“I love you too, silly,” You laughed awkwardly but his expression faltered.

“No,” His voice got low again and he pulled his hand away, “No, no, no, no,”

“No what?”

His hand ran tiredly over his face again as he shook his head. He sighed deeply.

“I love you,”

Your mouth dropped open in to a small “o” and you looked away from his piercing gaze. You stayed silent, not knowing what to say. You felt the same, obviously, but you were too caught off guard to think correctly.

“If I overstepped my boundaries-” He started.

You quickly cut in, “I love you too.”

It was his turn to be surprised. The two of you sat in silence awkwardly now only a few inches apart.

“Is it like this with all your companions?” You mumbled, needing to know the answer.

“No,” He said quickly, “I don’t normally… let myself,”

“Let yourself what?”

He glanced up at you as you both started to lean closer.

“Fall in love,” He said quietly.

You brought your hand up quickly to cup his face, pulling it down to meet yours in a soft kiss. It was quick, but long-awaited.

“Was that alright then?” You blushed, second-guessing yourself.

“That was more than alright,” He laughed before kissing you again, “I suppose we can’t be mad at the TARDIS anymore,”

“I suppose,”

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2019 Day 21: Hurt/Comfort (and Whump) 

Lie To Me | @castielslostwings Rating: Explicit Word Count: 27476 Main Tags and Warnings: Alternate season 14, canon divergent at s13e23 “let the good times roll”, angst with a happy ending, Michael!Dean, fix-it, pining, temporary MCD, human castiel, casturbation, top Cas/bottom Dean, Sam & Cas brother moments, alcohol as a coping mechanism, Chuck Ex Machina, hurt/comfort, Castiel whump, Dean whump Summary: Castiel and Sam's plan to expel Michael from Dean's body backfires in a big way, leaving them with an unexpectedly human archangel and the horrifying possibility that Dean's soul is gone forever. Can they bring Dean home from wherever he's gone? What will become of a human Michael trapped in Dean's body? How will Castiel survive losing the love of his life, just when things were starting to fall together?

Worlds Away | @hefellfordean Rating: Mature Word Count: 4240 Main Tags and Warnings: Multiple Universes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Interdimensional Travel, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: "In all the infinite, incalculable number of worlds, you don’t love me. But what’s worse, is that I didn’t need to ask to know that I love you in any world, unconditionally – and unrequited.”, Cas says, pulling away from Dean. Castiel is sent to a place between worlds, with infinite doorways through which he must travel to return home. All of the worlds he visits have something in common: Dean doesn't love him. His world is the same - or is it?

Angel Whisperer | @noiproksa Rating: General Word Count: 2767 Main Tags and Warnings: Hurt Castiel, Concussions Summary: Taking care of a concussed angel is a lot harder than anticipated. Dean might be out of his depth, but that doesn’t mean he won’t do everything he can to make his angel feel better. (Intended as gen, but can be read as Destiel pre-slash.)

Anti-Cuddle Curse | @noiproksa Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 5155 Main Tags and Warnings: Hurt Castiel, Cuddling & Snuggling, Witch Curses, Hurt/Comfort Summary: When a witch curses Team Free Will, Dean realizes how much being able to touch Cas really means to him. (Intended as gen, but can be read as Destiel pre-slash.)

Touch Deprived | @noiproksa Rating: General Word Count: 4132 Main Tags and Warnings: Hurt Castiel, Angel Healing, Hurt/Comfort Summary: Confused by all the human rules for personal space and touching, Cas has to come up with excuses in order to be able to touch Dean and Sam. Or is it the other way around? (Intended as gen, but can be read as Destiel pre-slash.)

longing for grapefruit | @reallyelegantsharkfish Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1686 Main Tags and Warnings: Friends to Lovers, Recreational Drug Use, Marijuana, Oral Sex, Mental Health Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Shotgunning, Demisexual Castiel Summary: Dean lights up and takes the first hit, but instead of exhaling, he leans over towards Cas. It’s not a proper kiss, breathing in Dean’s air, but it’s intimate, and they take turns sharing hits in between kisses. Cas is flying. Cas can feel everything, Cas is out of his body. “Baby,” Dean says, soft in between them. “Let me make you feel good.”

Green Corners | @rustling-pages Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 72533 Main Tags and Warnings: Elemental Magic AU, (Threat of) Main Character Death, (Past) Child Death, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn Summary: After the death of his son, there is nothing left for Dean other than his garden market. His days are tough, the nights are tougher, but at least there's a reason to get up in the morning. And with the new boom on do-it-yourself garden magic, his business is going okay. Amidst the passing of time, there is only one thing that distracts him from functioning like a normal human being: Diagonally across the street, in the display window of that traditional Herb and Potion shop, plants are dying in masses. Storming in to confront the owner goes differently than he imagined, though. Castiel Novak may be the kind of guy who wears old-fashioned mage robes and keeps his shop in sweltering heat, but he's also a talented herbalist, the kindest soul Dean has ever met, and utterly beautiful. Not that Dean is ready for anything other than friendship. (Not that Cas doesn’t get sick a bit too often.)

The Bone Eater (WIP) | @rachelhaimowitz Rating: Explicit Word Count: 111259 Main Tags and Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Original Male Character(s), Castiel/Original Male Character(s), Hurt/Comfort, Prisoner Dean, Monsters, Dean Whump, Season/Series 09, Set somewhere between Bad Boys and Holy Terror, Size Kink, Non-Consensual Bondage, Violent Sex, Manhandling, Torture, Castiel Whump, Forced Orgasm, Prisoner Castiel, Possessive Behavior Summary: When Dean wakes in a strange prison cell, he quickly realizes he's become another victim of the mystery monster he and Sam have been hunting: a creature who sucks the marrow right out of people's bones. There are years--sometimes decades--between the killings, and no connection between them but men who were big, strong, and healthy when they disappeared. Dean learns right up close and personal why the monster picks who he picks. Unfortunately, stuck behind bars, consistently outmatched, and growing weaker by the day, he's having a tough time putting that information to good use. But Cas can't hear his prayers anymore (and doesn't owe him shit anyway, the way he left the guy), and Zeke might or might not have his ears on (and might or might not let Sam do anything about it even if he did), and Dean ain't no damsel in distress besides. He's gonna get out of there no matter what it takes, and he's damn well gonna make sure this monster never hurts anyone again--especially not the guy he finally finds the courage to admit he loves.

Fighting My Way Back | @deans-jiggly-pudding Rating: Explicit Word Count: 81740 Main Tags and Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, major character death, canon compliant up to S13, Slow Burn, PTSD Summary: Sam, Cas, and Mary are trying and failing to break Dean out of Michael’s stronghold. Jack is exploring his potential while slowly recovering his power. He has the ability to create, but until his grace is at full strength, his creation must be made out of something already existing. Our favorite nephilim has a plan to use his newfound power to snap Dean out of Michael's control, but what will become of Dean after the ejection? And can Team Free Will 2.0 stop Michael before he destroys the world?

don't leave me | @breathingdestiel Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1016 Main Tags and Warnings: au, established relationship, angst with a happy ending Summary: Dean is a mess after Cas leaves him. And it's all his fault.

Angeleech | @noiproksa Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 14457 Main Tags and Warnings: hurt/comfort, hurt castiel, case fic, platonic cuddling, sharing a bed, team free will Summary: It was supposed to be an easy hunt, but then everything goes sideways. Dean and Sam have to take care of an injured Cas and find out what is going on with the angel before it is too late.

Keeper of the Garden | @pherryt Rating: Mature Word Count: 5672 Main Tags and Warnings: Perceived MCD but not really, Season 13 Finale Coda, possessed!dean, Michael!Dean, Hurt/Comfort, Saving Dean, Recovering Dean, Angst, Hope, Hopeful Ending, Caretakers Sam and Cas (but mostly Cas), Gardening Dean, Canon, until next season starts anyway, broken!dean, Crazy!Dean, Hurt!Cas, Confessions Summary: Michael backed out of their deal and now Dean's stuck, trapped in his own mind with a crazy Archangel who keeps showing him Cas's death over and over again, keeps making Dean kill Cas over and over again... till he really does and Dean snaps... Finally free of Michael but not of his own sins, Dean is slow to recover from the possession, and is convinced Cas is dead at his own hands. Dean has done a lot of things, both good and bad, but there's nothing that will ever make up for that.

Any Other Day (WIP) | @peanutbutterjelly-pie Rating: Mature Word Count: 21679  Main Tags and Warnings: Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers Summary: Victor just wants to finally enjoy his weekend. But when weird reports of a man in a trench coat having been arrested for murder in some small town in Colorado are coming in and the names of the Winchester brothers are all of a sudden mentioned for the very first time in almost a decade inside the FBI building, Victor needs to kiss his free time goodbye. So instead of spending his days on the couch, eating all the takeout he can find and watching crappy movies, he all at once sees himself confronted with an unstable angel, incapable of controlling his powers, a hunter missing from the scene, nowhere to be found, and the other one worried out of his mind about his family. Yeah, that's not the quiet weekend Victor had been hoping for. At all.

You are my home | @DesiraeLovesDestiel Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4774 Main Tags and Warnings: canon verse, bunker fic, post season 11, Castiel whump, love confessions, profound bond, smut, angst Summary: “Cas? Hey buddy, wake up.” Castiel blinked his eyes open slowly, looking up at Dean owlishly before jolting up, nearly clipping Dean’s jaw on the way. “Hey, hey,” Dean said, concern lacing his tone. “You okay, man?” Castiel cleared his throat. “Yes. My apologies, Dean.” “S’okay. You wanna tell me why you’re sleeping in Baby?” Things have settled down since rescuing Sam. Mary is bonding with her sons, and Castiel is nearly back to full capacity, just needing a little sleep here and there. When Dean discovers Cas' unusual resting spot, what starts as a series confessions leads to the emotional healing they both needed.

If This Is To End In Fire | @reaperlove77 Rating: Explicit Word Count: 16279 Main Tags and Warnings: Alternate Universe, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Dean Winchester Whump, Supernatural Elements, Smut, Anal Sex, Temporary Character Death, Happy Ending, Past Abuse, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Dean-Centric, Haunted Houses, Domestic Violence (not Dean/Cas), BAMF Castiel, Panic Attacks, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Slurs, Bottom Dean, Top Castiel, Gothic Elements Summary: Dean Winchester doesn't trust easy, not after everything he's been through. When he finds a new home and a new job in Kelvin's Point, he's almost ready to believe he also found happiness for the first time in his life. But what does he really know about this Castiel and is their love enough to keep the ghosts from the past away for good?

When Angels Cry | @sweetdaydreamsblog Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1068 Main Tags and Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, Mentions of Suicide, Happy Ending, Hurt Dean Winchester, Emotionally Hurt Castiel Summary: Castiel remembers the events that transpired during Dean's last night on Earth, as well as what happened after.

Eyes Shut | @galaxystiel Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1493 Main Tags and Warnings: AU, Human!Castiel, alcoholism, drunk driving, supernatural elements, angst with a happy ending Summary: Dean learns a lesson about the dangers of drink-driving, and in the process learns a few things about his future.

And I swear | @notfunnydean Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4413 Main Tags and Warnings: abusive relationship, Dean dates Arthur Ketch at first, hurt!Dean, break up between Arthur and Dean, first time, first kiss, bottom!Dean, top!Cas, crying Dean, Cas saves Dean Summary: Dean knows that Arthur is treating him badly, but he had worse in his life and besides, it’s not like the person he really loves wants him back.

I'm a sucker for you | @notfunnydean Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 3148 Main Tags and Warnings: Drunk!Dean, hurt!Cas Summary: Dean knows he and Castiel are a good team, but he only talks about his feelings for Castiel when he’s drunk and doesn’t remember their kisses in the morning. Someday Castiel has enough.

Event Horizon | @cas-lost-grace Rating: Mature Word Count: 6442 Main Tags and Warnings: Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Dean, Depression, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Past Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst,Texting, Sharing a Bed, Happy Ending, Veteran Dean, Doctor Dean, Writer Castiel Summary: Castiel couldn't have helped his sister. That's why being offered a chance to help somebody else dealing with suicidal thoughts he took it without hesitation. When he gets the first text from someone who needs his help, nothing goes as he expected.

Finding You, in Pieces of Me | @lunastories Rating: Mature Word Count: 21263 Main Tags and Warnings: Trueform Castiel, Angst with a happy ending, Post Sam's fall into the pit Summary: Dean is jaded after the loss of his brother and left with little to no hope in humanity. Castiel decides to show the world and humanity from his perspective so that Dean can regain the spark that he’s lost. They visit seven locations that have significance to Castiel. From the Cave of Crystals inhabited by an ancient eel spirit, to the Atacama Desert haunted by a heartbroken woman, Dean goes through a journey of self discovery. Slowly, Dean falls for Castiel and the world the angel sees.

Love me to Death | @lunastories Rating: Mature Word Count: 9219 Main Tags and Warnings: Death!Dean, Temporary Character Death, Reincarnation, Angst, Self harm Summary: There once was a man who feared Death. He feared him so much he tried to seek immortality, but his efforts were in vain. Eventually, he learned to love Death and everything he represented. This is the story of a mortal and a god and their love for one another.

Mixtapes (WIP) | silverstar2419 (Wattpad) Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 8407 Main Tags and Warnings: Depression, dealing with depression, mentions of attempted suicide Summary: Two years ago Dean tried to kill himself but Bobby stepped in and saved his life. Now he deals with his unwanted life the same he used to, strippers and beer. What happens when he finds out the person he loves as more than a friend (or brother for that matter) has the same feelings? Let's find out.

What We Ache For | @almaasi Rating: Explicit Word Count: 93115 Main Tags and Warnings: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Sex Work, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Fluff, Consent, Sex Worker Castiel, Demisexual Castiel, Police Officer Dean, Affectionate Dean, Dean bottoms for the first time, Making Love, Cuddling and Snuggling, Injury Recovery, Temporary Amnesia, Supportive Sam, Castiel loves dogs, Domestic Fluff Summary: Working as a prostitute (that’s ‘sex worker’ to the decent folks), Castiel has heard more than his fair share of odd requests. When he’s paid to spend a night with Dean Winchester (handsome, dork of all dorks, has a nice car... secretly a cop), the last thing Castiel expects to hear are the words “I wanna make love.” That's the one thing he’s never done before – so Dean is going to show him how to do it. But then, barely a month after that night is over, Castiel finds himself in a difficult situation, and Dean is mistakenly summoned to help. They begin to share again: Dean’s apartment, the spare bed, their deepest secrets. Over time, with the support of Dean’s brother Sam, a mystery dog, and lots of cuddles, kisses, comfort, and tea, maybe Cas can finally be loved the way he deserves.

Lost Night | @almaasi Rating: General Word Count: 2608 Main Tags and Warnings: Canon Universe, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Brief Angst, Pre-Slash, Best Friends, Holding Hands, Dreams, Dreamwalking, Lucid Dreaming, Angel Castiel, Sad Dean, Mutual Pining Summary: Dean is so afraid of losing his best friend that he dreams Cas is floating away. His longing is great enough that the real-life Castiel is summoned, dreamwalking into Dean's subconscious – and, as The Beatles once said: "the minute you let him under your skin... then you begin to make it better..."

Unconditional | @almaasi Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2676 Main Tags and Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Unconditional Love, Human Castiel, Injured Castiel, Caring Dean, Abused Dean, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Abusive John Winchester Summary: Over the years, Dean's learned a lot about himself, and the way he loves those around him. Now Cas is back from the dead, and he came back human - and hurt. As Dean soothes Cas' wounds in the front seat of the Impala, an ache in his heart drives him to find words to explain.

Mostly in Silence | @almaasi Rating: General Word Count: 4216 Main Tags and Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Romance, Depression, Executive Dysfunction, Mental Health Issues, Self Care, Fallen Angel Castiel, Human Castiel, Castiel in the Bunker, Depressed Castiel, Sick Castiel, Caring Dean, Stargazing, Stars, Holding Hands, First Kiss, Poetic, No Spoilers, Always Keep Fighting, You are not alone Summary: Dean returns home to the bunker, only to find Castiel is lost in a deep depression. Taking their cues from the night sky (perhaps holding hands, perhaps sharing their first kiss), Dean helps Castiel rediscover a small but shining sense of hope.

Delirium and Doctor Sexy | @almaasi Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 9388 Main Tags and Warnings: Crack, Comfort, Fluff, Pre-Slash, Doctor Sexy M.D., Hunt Gone Wrong, Dean Hallucinates, Age Regression/De-Aging (mentally only), Bisexual Dean, Closeted Dean, Innocent Dean, Character Analysis, Dean Projects His Insecurities, Dean in Panties, Magic Made Them Do It, Sexual References, No Sex, Unresolved Romantic Tension Summary: Dean got hit by a wave of magical gas while protecting Sam, and now he's curled up in a motel bed, watching comfort TV on his laptop and hallucinating. Cas hangs around to look after him. But Dean thinks the friendly angel at his bedside is actually his favourite fictional beefcake, Dr. Sexy, M.D.. With all inhibitions on standby, Dean might admit a few things about himself he never dared to tell anyone before.

Dean, 2 pm | @sternchencas Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1464 Main Tags and Warnings: suicidal thoughts, emotional hurt/comfort Summary: Cas is done with his life. He's ready to end it all. The only thing that might be able to change his mind is one little note in his calendar that says 'Dean, 2 pm'.

Patch Me Up | @babybluecas Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1426 Main Tags and Warnings: canon universe, fallen!Cas, minor injury Summary: When Dean gets injured on a hunt, it's Cas's turn to take care of him.

Oh Death, Bring Him Back | @envydean Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 3984 Main Tags and Warnings: Modern AU, accountant!Cas, mechanic!Dean, hurt!Dean, Temporary Character Death, two-sided unrequited love, Pining, Major Character Injury, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Fluff, First Kiss, Supernatural but Dean and Cas don't know about it, So much begging Summary: Dean is badly hurt after a bar fight and Castiel goes to see him only to find out that the news isn't good. However, supernatural forces are on their side. Castiel follows the doctor quickly, barely a pace behind him. It's as bad as he feared. What if he doesn't get the chance to tell Dean that he loves him. Even if Dean doesn't love him back. The room is reminiscent of a war zone. Several people are crowded around Dean's body. There's blood everywhere, machines going haywire and doctors barking orders. Castiel is frozen to the spot.

Don't Let Go | @envydean Rating: Mature Word Count: 28578 Main Tags and Warnings: EMT!Castiel, mechanic!Dean, alcoholic!Dean, Alcoholism, Car Accidents ,Hospitals, Recovery, PTSD, Descriptions of Injury, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Trying to fall in love Summary: Dean Winchester’s life is a mess. Ever since his father’s death, a downward spiral has seen his occasional beer become something of a crutch. Then, a revelation has him going to see his brother in California—except he doesn’t make it and ends up in a nasty accident, destroying the Impala. Air rescue paramedic, Castiel, and his partner Benny are the ones to pull him out of the wreck and that’s just the start of it. He forms a tentative friendship with Dean and manages to convince him he needs help and that he can be there for Dean. It should have been all uphill from there—because getting sober is easy, right?—except it isn’t and their relationship is thrown into turmoil at the wrong time. Slowly, they learn to accept each other once again.

Like Sands Through The Hourglass | BiP (AO3) Rating: General Word Count: 1643 Main Tags and Warnings: illness Summary: It's always Florida, and it's always witches.

Battle of Mind and Body | @light-in-my-darkness Rating: Explicit Word Count: 164466 Main Tags and Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Sexual Content, PTSD, Whump, Slow Build, Additional Warnings in Notes Summary: A confession. A car accident. A coma. The results of which lead Castiel and Dean on a destructive path. Their family and friends fight to alter that path, but without knowing the truth of that fateful night, they fear their efforts will fail. Determined to box up the pain and humiliation, Castiel falls into depression and self-harm. In the aftermath of that night, Dean confronts his own demons. Both the angel and the hunter struggle to repair the broken pieces of themselves. As they try, will the dark nature of their world stay at bay long enough for them to heal or will it shatter any progress they made?

Taker of Souls | jscribbles (AO3) Rating: Explicit Word Count: 128664 Main Tags and Warnings: temporary major character death, Minor Character Death, Pining, Slow Burn, non-con, dub-con, Blood, Gore, Body mutilation, Self Harm, zombie-type characters, Hallucinations, Nightmares, horror-imagery, shameless use of horror movie tropes, offensive language/insults, spoilers for The Witch ,the boys cry, Sickness, Sweat ,Mud, Possession, canon-calibre discussions of religion, the evil dead 2013 Crossover, Inspired By, Smut, minor prescription drug use, Vomiting, Summary: The angels have fallen. Castiel is human, Sam is recovering from the trials, and Dean doesn’t want to expose them to the world as it’s crumbling outside the bunker doors. To pass time in their solitude, Dean discovers a hidden room in the bunker full of dangerous magical artifacts and accidentally exposes his friends and family to an ancient horror. If Castiel thought adjusting to humanity was already a terror in itself, he experiences a world of pain when the ancient spirit Dean released chooses him as a vessel to fulfill its evil prophecy. Castiel begins to change as voices call out to him in the night and take the form of the one righteous man he desires, temptation drawing him to complete a ritual that will allow one of Hell’s most feared ancient entities to occupy his vessel. Before Sam, Dean, Kevin and Crowley know what is happening, they are thrown into a lockdown, unable to escape the bunker as the cruel, twisted monster inside of Castiel prowls the hallways, hunting them, thirsty for their blood, hungry for their souls.

[crossbows-and-moonshine]

Into My Web (Chapter 1)

New story, who dis? :')

Most of you knew this was coming, but I’ll explain anyway for those that don’t. My one-shot Princess has been one of my most popular requests and I really wanted to do more with it. But instead of continuing it, I wanted to use it as inspiration to make a new multichapter fic. Now if you’ve read the one-shot, the flashback of this one might seem familiar to you, but please don't skip it because I’ve changed a lot and it’s the only that part that seems similar.

The one-shot was obviously fast-paced since it had to be done in one chapter, and this one will be slower paced. They won't fuck in the first chapter, it's not very realistic in context with Daryl if you think about it, but when you write one-shots, sometimes you gotta push things along loool.

So I used Princess for inspiration to make a new OC. The way she and Daryl are with each other is heavily influenced by my own one-shot. I hope you enjoy this, if you're like me and you love the whole ‘they hate each other first’ trope, then take a fucking seat and enjoy the ride lolololol.

Won't be canon, just so you guys know.

The name of this fic was inspired by a song (surprise surprise), its; Into my Web by The Used.

Maybe I will be the only one who could leave her.

Should I lie and just pretend that I couldn't kill her?

Maybe I can just pretend,

As she flies into my web.

--------------------------------------------------

Arabella’s eyes rolled around behind her closed eyelids as she slept. Just as she always did when she was asleep, she dreamt of better times. Moments in her life that were full of laughter and fun. She had wanted for nothing in her younger years, her family well off and spoiling her rotten. She never took for granted the life she had lead and she certainly fucking missed it now. When she slept she could immerse herself back into that world. The one full of people who cared, full of lavish parties and dinners. A time when things were simpler and there most certainly wasn't any dead people roaming the earth.

She groaned to herself when she felt someone shaking her shoulder and her blue eyes fluttered open, landing on Daryl fucking Dixon of all people as he stood over her with his trademark scowl. When he saw her wake, he retracted his hand like she had burnt him with a simple touch and she squinted at him. Rubbing her sleepy eyes as her brain tried to catch back up with her and remember where she was. In a prison.

“The fuck you want Dixon?” she asked harshly, glaring up at his form that she could just make out with the darkness of the cell.

“Ya got five minutes to get yer ass outta bed and downstairs, ‘fore I leave ya behind princess,” he spat before turning on his heel and leaving swiftly. She sneered after his retreating form as she sat up with a yawn and stretched her sore limbs out. The 22-year-old felt like she was about 75 with the way her body ached.

She really didn't know why Daryl hated her so much other than the fact she used to have money. Ever since his group, now her group, stumbled onto the farm after Carl had been shot, the gruff redneck just hated her on sight. She had joined the farm just before Rick and his band of misfits. She was in the area for business, tagging along with her dad to keep up his image of a southern family man, despite the fact the two barely ever spoke. The world went to shit and she was the only one to get out of there alive. After walking around, somehow surviving the wilderness for who knows how long, she had found herself at Hershel's farm. Dehydrated, starved, and a gnarly cut on her arm she didn’t even remember doing.

She would always be indebted to the man she considered her adoptive father, the man that took her in and cared for her more than her own real father had ever done. When Rick's group arrived, she had helped tend to Carl, and she had tried to get to know the rest of the group as much as she could since they seemed intent on sticking around. Apart from Shane, she knew right off the bat the man had a few screws loose and she didn't believe his bullshit about Otis either. She couldn't say she was too surprised when Rick had announced he had to kill him because Shane was going to kill him first. She couldn't say she cared much either.

But Daryl fucking Dixon, what a fucking dick. The moment he first laid eyes on her, she had smiled politely, but he scowled at her like he wished she would burst into flames. She paid no mind at first, mainly because he looked at everyone that way, including his own group which was a strange thing indeed. She figured he couldn't be a bad man, not with how he was out looking for Carols daughter and even injured himself in the process. But with each passing day on the farm, she seemed to be the only one he couldn't stand to be around. She tried to change it at first, wondering if he actually took the time to talk to her he would realise she wasn't some asshole. But when she did try talking to him he would promptly tell her to leave him the fuck alone, and in the end, she gave up.

She couldn't remember just when the nickname princess appeared, but it was there just the same. It wasn't said sweetly like he thought she was a beautiful Disney princess. He spat the word like venom, making it clear he thought she was some prissy bitch. Things only got worse after Beth, in all her innocent sweetness, had sat around the campfire and gushed about her to the rest of the group. How they had the heiress to Jack Daniels living at the farm with them. She went on to tell them all the stories she had told her about fancy parties and dinners she had to attend. Sure she had embellished them a little to sound fancier, because she had told them only to Beth, and when she looked at her with her big hopeful eyes, she wanted to tell her whatever she wanted to hear to make her happy. She hoped her innocence would never fade from this world, it was needed in the darkness.

She had no clue Beth had told everyone else until the next day when Andrea said something to her. She had been mortified, she didn't really want anyone else to know. Yes, she was the heiress to the whiskey company, it had been in her family for generations. Yes, she did have a lot of money, money that in her wild teen years was spent on booze and drugs as she tried to cope with her life. From the outside people thought she had the perfect life, and in some respects she did. She wasn't going hungry, she had a huge roof over her head and if she wanted something, all she had to do was buy it. But all she ever wanted was to feel cared about by her parents, not dumped off on nannies every day and to be left to fend for herself. They hadn't even noticed her spiralling as a teenager until she got arrested at 18. And instead of her parents wondering why their seemingly perfect southern baby girl had done this, they had made her feel like a failure for letting the family down and embarrassing them. Her father had even threatened not to give her the company when it was time unless she cleaned up her act, and they shipped her off to a rehab facility.

After Beth's wonderful stories, Daryl seemed to hate her even more. Instead of not talking to her at all, he would give her cheap digs here and there about her being an uppity bitch who would die on her own. She never felt the need to argue with him about the fact she spent a lot of the time after the world fell apart on her own, how she hadn't been with the Greene’s long. Hershel had made out like she had been there from the start and Arabella couldn't find it in her to say otherwise. It wasn't until the prison when she actually started arguing back with the redneck asshole. He had been shocked at first when she told him to go fuck himself with one of his bolts, actually speechless that the girl who always just seemed to lay there and take his bullshit had the cheek to say something like that to him. The look on his face was the best thing she had ever witnessed and ever since that day, she had no issue with arguing with him whenever he opened his stupid fucking mouth. She liked to say shit just to get under his skin, like the day before when Rick had asked the pair to go on a run together. She loathed that stupid redneck and his stupid attitude. He assumed she was a preppy princess who had rich parents and a horse that shit rainbows, but he knew nothing about her at all. He was just a judgemental dickface in her opinion and if he wanted a war, she would damn well give him one.

Mostly the group seemed to try and keep them apart, knowing the animosity was there even if they didn't fully understand it. But when it came to runs, Rick needed them to pair up and do it together because they were two of the strongest they had, they never came back empty-handed. He just hated breaking it to them every time they were supposed to go out there together, knowing what was about to happen when he did.

~~

She glared at Daryl from across the table and he glared right back. If looks could kill they’d both be walkers by now. She wasn’t even paying attention to what Rick was saying as she was too busy trying to send telepathic insults to the asshole sat opposite her, and she was quite certain he was doing the same. They were both staring at each other, too stubborn to look away first, until Rick slammed his hands down onto the table. Arabella and Daryl jumped and snapped their heads towards Rick.

“What the fuck Rick?!” Daryl barked.

“You’re like a pair of school kids. I’ve been talking to you both for about ten minutes and I bet you didn’t hear a damn thing I said!” Rick scolded. She bit her lip and felt a little bad, she knew this between her and Daryl was getting on Ricks last nerve, and he was right, she had no clue what the fuck he was talking about.

“I’m sorry Rick. Whatever you need, we’ll do it,” she smiled at him, always one to help out no matter what it was.

“I want you to both go on a run for some clothes, it's getting warmer now and we need stuff for everyone,” he sighed, he just knew what was coming, it happened every time.

“Hell nah! I ain’t goin’ with this dumb bitch. She’ll just get me killed!” Daryl yelled, earning a dirty look from her.

“Shut your mouth asshole, you can’t even take one for the fucking team? Selfish prick,” she spat, knowing how to push his buttons, she had learnt in her time of standing up for herself just what to say that really got under his skin and would cause a reaction. He stood up that fast that his chair fell over.

“What d’ya just say to me, ya fuckin’ whore?!” he roared. She just sat there smirking smugly at him, knowing she worked him up.

“That’s enough!” Rick bellowed, causing them both to look at him sheepishly.

“You better deal with these issues and put them aside. We’re in the middle of a damn apocalypse for crying out loud, grow up!” with that he stood up and left the room, she and Daryl feeling like naughty children after a telling off. They’d be going, they always did, and around in circles they went.

~

Daryl sat in the driver's seat of the truck near the gates waiting on miss fucking uppity. If he had it his way he would be out there already and would have left her prissy ass in the dust, but he knew Rick would kill him. The only good thing about these runs was the fact Rick would put him in charge every time, it was the only chance he got to order her around and she had no choice but to listen. She could take care of herself, that he could reluctantly admit. Not to her though, just to himself. At first, he had thought she was a spoilt little princess who had never lifted a finger in her fucking life. But after the farm, she quickly proved to be pretty competent in the new world and it had shocked him a little. Beth had told him at one point how she had been out there on her own for a while and he hadn't believed it at first, not until he saw her actually taking out walkers like she’d done it a million times before. Still, she was a stuck up bitch and he fucking hated her.

He watched as she walked casually across the yard to the truck, taking her sweet time like he wasn't waiting on her and he knew she was doing it on purpose. His hands clenched around the steering wheel as he glared at her through the window of the truck, gritting his teeth. She had that look about her, one that screamed stupid dumb blonde, and before the world went to shit he probably would have taken her home and gave her a good fuck until she couldn't walk. Unless Merle got to her first. She was hardly a model, she wasn't stick thin, she had some curves in all the right places. But it was her face that always got to him. With her wide doe-like eyes and her plump lips, it just pissed him off more. The pretty rich girl. She wouldn't have given him the time of day before all of this and he knew that. She would have looked at him the way the rest of the rich folk did, with disgust and judgement in their stupid eyes.

When Arabella hopped into the truck, she shot him a glance, perturbed by the fact he hadn't shouted at her for taking her time. She just settled down in the seat though as he started the truck. He got like this sometimes and it always weirded her out. Most of the time he would spend his time shouting at her, berating her for every little thing she did wrong or just being a prick about her past at every chance he got. But other times he would remain silent, not talking to her or even looking her way at all. And although she should have enjoyed that silence, it bothered her even more than him calling her a stuck up bitch.

She was always quiet though when he was like this, like she somehow understood he needed space and for some reason, she allowed him that. It often confused Daryl why she didn't run her mouth off like usual when he was quiet. Why she would just sit there and leave him to it. He presumed it was because she didn’t want to fucking deal with him unless they were fighting. The ride there was thick with tension as the silence drowned them both but neither made the move to speak, and before long they had arrived. Daryl was agitated as always when he was around her and Arabella was just plain fed up by this point. She hopped out of the truck, knife in hand and a gun strapped to her side. She knew better than to use it unless it was an emergency though, so she hoped it would stay there.

They moved to the shop front by the door and Daryl knocked on the glass, his bow at the ready as they listened. There were the telltale signs of groans and they glanced to each other.

“Sounds like only a few,” she muttered, earning a grunt and nod in response. Despite how much they fought and disliked each other, they worked well as a team on these runs. With only each other to have their backs, for a brief moment they would shove their issues aside to make sure they were both safe. Daryl opened the door and it didn't take long for the pair to dispatch the walkers. Then they made quick work of packing up the empty duffels they had brought with them full of summer clothes for the group.

Arabella picked up a pretty black sundress and looked at it forlornly. When was the last time she had been able to wear something pretty? Instead of mud-stained jeans and an ill-fitting tank that felt like it was 2 sizes too small. She sighed to herself, hoping she would be the one to keep this. Maybe she would just stuff it in her own backpack and no one would be any wiser.

“S’wrong princess? Sad ‘cause it ain’t Gucci?” she heard Daryl sneer from behind her. She should have known his pensive silence wouldn’t last long, it never did.

“Surprised you know what Gucci is Dixon, didn't think they had that where you were from,” she spat back, shooting him a glare. He squinted, his right eye twitching in annoyance as he looked at her, resisting the urge to throttle her tiny little neck. She just stomped past him, giving him a little shove that didn't move him an inch as she made her way back outside.

They got all that they could so they made their way back to the prison, the silence once again uncomfortable. But this time she welcomed it. It was easy to forget how much he irritated her when he opened his stupid fucking mouth and she was growing tired of it. She was sick of the day to day battle of just being around him. She just wanted a day with no fighting. When they got back, Rick was waiting for them as she hopped out of the truck, grabbing the duffels full of women's clothes that she had packed. Ricks face lit up seeing the bags stuffed full as Daryl joined her.

“That's great you guys, I knew you would come through, you always do,” Rick grinned at them.

“No problem boss man, anything to help the fam out,” she snorted, grabbing her bags and tossing them over her shoulders carelessly. She was about to head inside when Rick started talking again.

“Before you go, I wanted to talk to you both about something,” he said, making the pair eye him warily. They didn't know what it would be but they had a feeling they wouldn't like it. He went over to near one of the tables outside and grabbed a bag, tossing it with a thud near Daryl's feet.

Daryl looked at it before looking back to Rick who just gestured to it. Daryl huffed, crouching as he unzipped the bag, getting out a small crossbow. He stood up, inspecting it as Arabella looked at it, unsure why she had to be here for this if Rick was giving Daryl a gift.

“It’s in good condition, damn near new. Too small for me though,” Daryl said gruffly, glancing to Rick.

“I know, that's why I thought that you wouldn't be the one to use it,” he said giving him a pointed look. Arabella blinked as the pieces clicked into place but before she could speak up, Daryl beat her to it.

“Fuck no!! Like hell I’m teachin’ her to use a damn bow!” he yelled, looking thoroughly offended at the mere notion of it. Arabella glared at him and rolled her eyes and Rick heaved a sigh.

“Look Daryl, I know you two have your issues, but we could use another hunter. We need more food. You told me yourself before now how light on her feet she is,” Rick protested, making Arabella’s eyes widen a fraction in shock as she looked to the hunter. She was shocked that something akin to a compliment had ever left his mouth about her.

“I don't give a damn if the bitch can fly, I ain't teachin’ her how to use the damn thing,” Daryl sneered, his anger flaring that Rick had just fucking said that right in front of her. She saw Ricks face fall and she hated it, Rick was a good man and he was trying his best here to keep shit together.

“It’s fine Rick, I’ll teach myself,” she smiled wearily at him. He looked relieved yet somewhat guilty, no doubt over Daryl being such a dick about the whole thing. Daryl stuffed the bow back in the bag and tossed it to her harshly, making her stumble as she caught it with how heavy it was. He didn't look sorry in the least though. She just shot Rick one last look before heading off inside.

“The hell was that about Daryl? She's a nice girl. Don't you think it's about time you got your head outta your ass about her past?” Rick frowned, looking at him like he was scolding a child. The whole thing set a fire inside Daryl as he fought to keep himself in check.

“Ya don't know shit, so how about ya keep ya damn nose out,” he snapped, harsher than he meant to but Rick didn't act surprised.

“This is for the group Daryl, we need this,” Rick sighed, looking at him imploringly.

“Fuck the group, I don't owe ya shit. Ya left Merle on that roof to rot, so I’ll be damned if I start bowin’ down to ya now,” Daryl sneered before storming off. Rick shook his head with a sigh. This Daryl wasn't who he had grown to love like a brother, this was the old Daryl, the one he hadn't seen in a very long time. He hadn't even mentioned the whole Merle incident in so long. He didn't know why he was behaving this way all of a sudden but he didn't like it.

Daryl fumed as he made his way inside. Like fuck he was teaching that uppity bitch to use a bow so she could come with him. Deep down he knew Rick was right, they could use another hunter in the group. But the thought of her in his space like that, out in the woods there with him, it got under his skin way too much. When he was out hunting, that was his time and his alone. A chance to escape from the family he had grown to care about without wanting to. Time to just be himself. He always felt at peace out there and he wasn't about to let that bitch ruin that for him, to take the only fucking thing he had left. Over my cold dead fuckin’ body...

---------------

This one’s so weird for me now already. I miss Flames. 

:( Anyone else miss Merle? looooool

Taglist; @risingphoenix761 @daryldixonandfrogs @arlaina28 @divadinag @keeperofwonderlandus @jodiereedus22 @easnuppa @fand0m-fiend @txladyj-blog @walkingdead-dixon

[pallasperilous]

Morning Glory

Rating: Gen/Teen Word Count: 1795, complete Pairing: Dean/Castiel Tags: Temporarily Human Castiel, Canon universe, anxiety, insomnia, sleep disorders, angel vessels, references to the Empty, references to alcohol abuse AO3 version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18163709 Prompt: Written as a lil clapback to the fanon trope that Human!Castiel Is Not A Morning Person. (For @cr-noble-writes and @chuckwinchester)

Dean couldn’t really explain why he’d assumed Cas would suck at mornings. Maybe the 24/7 bedhead and the “it’s always 5 o’clock somewhere” shadow; maybe the fact he never really seemed convinced that “taking a shower” and “eating breakfast” weren’t just some elaborate long con they’ve been pulling on him for the last half a goddamn decade. Maybe just the way he veers into grouchy asshole territory whenever the world takes a dump on his shoes, which is kind of the definition of mornings. 

Whatever: Cas just seems like the kind of guy who’d need forty minutes of silence and three cups of coffee before he’d count as human.

Hey, well, joke’s on Dean, ‘cuz the guy definitely (currently) counts as human, and he’s awake at five fucking thirty in the morning, every morning, bright-tailed and bushy-eyed and talking a mile a minute. A mile a second. He’s breaking the sound barrier and exerting serious G-forces. 

Dean would tear his own face off if he thought it’d make the dude shut up until the Pop-Tarts came up. Instead he just kinda lets the Cas Chatter wash over him, like really phlegmy birdsong, or the world’s weirdest morning chit chat show.  

Cas has at least taught himself to make coffee –– apparently all on his own, since Sam isn’t taking credit for it, and Sam loves taking credit for shit. It’s not the worst coffee, either. I mean, it’s bad coffee, nobody here is drinking Good Coffee, it’s a weapon, not an experience –– but it’s not watery or full of grounds or made with orange juice or some other weird dumbass goof. 

Sam’s take is that maybe Jimmy Novak was a Morning Person and now that Cas isn’t using the guy’s body as a kind of celestial thermos, some of the dude’s original behaviors or genetics or whatever are sort of…coming back online, reasserting themselves. “Like the burger thing,” Sam says, shrugging.

“Well, that’s ten kinds of fucked up,” Dean answers, but then the goddamn ghoul turns out to be a whole Leave It To Beaver nuclear ghoul family and the conversation gets extremely tabled.

There’s a morning awhile after where Dean wakes up still drunk and can’t handle the thought of two more hours riding the motel bed over the rolling seas of FuckUpistan, so he gets up and showers off the townie bar fug as best he can without waking Sam – only Sam, because it’s dawn and so Cas is already up and probably singing Disney princess songs to the seagulls haunting the trashcans in the parking lot. 

Dean reaches to scoop his keys and does a bleary double take when they’re not on the nightstand. He takes a moment to freak out at the possibility of Cas doing his clutch-smiting routine on the Impala, but something twigs and he peels open the door and yep, the car’s still in the lot, outlined in scribbly motel neon and highway dawn pink. There’s a faint warble of bass rolling off it in time tooooo…Dean’s gonna say Hole in the Sky? So he kinda queases his way over the lumpy asphalt and knuckles on the driver side window and Cas jumps a fucking foot, or he would if he weren’t wearing the goddamn lap belt in a perfectly stationary car.

Dean thumbs at the other side and Cas shakes himself off enough to lean over and pop it for him. Dean slides in and the car smells like three hour-old motel check-in desk coffee – his stomach immediately tries to file a lawsuit but the sanctity of the leather interior wins over his bodily need to evacuate poisons every time. Cas’s hands are back on the steering wheel, gripping it at 10 and 2 like a good boy but with his knuckles the color of popcorn, an abused-looking paper cup empty on the seat besides him, and Sabbath is still living on the profits of pride at top volume. Dean rolls it down to conversational levels so he doesn’t have to scream when he says “What’s the story, morning glory?”

Reminder: Dean is definitely still drunk.

Thankfully Cas doesn’t really know from Oasis or Sunday morning BJs so Dean just gets two blue eyeballs full of blank terror. 

Dean tries again, picks the cup up off the seat. There’s a rind of dried coffee juice inside. “What’s up? Sunrise three minutes off? Songbirds outta order? Thought you’d be out here braiding your hair and frolicking in the dew or some shit.” 

Cas blinks, which is something he’s been doing a lot more lately and frankly is a weird look for him. “No,” he says, voice cracking. “I haven’t done any of those things this morning.” He frowns, which is a little better. “Or any morning, to my knowledge.”

“So, what then? Bad dreams?” 

Cas scrunches his face up in his left hand, pulls it back through his already frankly insane hair, sighs out a gust of Eau de Flopsweat. “No. I didn’t dream at all.”

“Congrats.”

Cas goggles back at him. “As much as I dislike dreaming as a…subject, instead of an observer. I find its absence.” He hesitates. “Much worse.”

Dean rubs his eyes because this has that angsty metaphysical angel pong to it and that’s really more of a Sam Specialty. “How’s it worse? I drink for those nights, man. It’s a few hours off of. You know.” He gestures at The Universe, Generally. “All this shit.”

Cas scoffs and leans back in the seat, although he doesn’t release the wheel from the iron grip. “Dean, in almost four billion years of existence –”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Dean mutters, because this is the traditional overture to an absolute diarrhea of angelsplaining.

Cas ignores him, or maybe Sabbath covers his tracks – “I have never been rendered…unconscious.”

Dean gives him a look, because bullshit. “C’mon. I’ve seen you knocked out before. Down for the count.”

Cas shakes his head. “I’ve been forced to cede control over my vessel. I’ve withdrawn into it to preserve myelf. I’ve experienced a fugue state, or been made to retroactively forget details of my experience. But I have never.” He breathes in through his nose, the edges of his nostrils going white to match his knuckles. “I’ve never been insensate and unaware at the same time.”

Some asshat pulling his rig out of the diner across the way opens up his jake brake and Cas flinches at the crack. 

“Huh,” is about what Dean’s got to serve up. “You worried somebody’s gonna snuff you while you’re down? We can take shifts when we’re on the road, if that’s what’s freakin’ you out.”

Another shake of the head. “Anyone truly invested in eliminating me specifically in this…state would be too powerful or competent to be defended against through normal means. Angels can be killed, Dean. My experience of a mortal death would be – ” he cuts himself off. “Less worrisome than the alternative, in many ways.”

“Cool, so, being murdered in your sleep, not a concern.”

“I’m more concerned,” Cas huffs, “that I am unable to defend you.” His forehead droops down towards the steering wheel, like a houseplant somebody forgot to water before a Disneyland vacation.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Dean says.

“I am not,” Cas answers, “fucking kidding you.”

Dean snorts. “I made it thirty years without your feathery ass watching over me. Now you’ve just got a normal-ass…ass, you think I’m suddenly shaking in my boots? C’mon, man.”

Cas shrugs, which looks even weirder on him than the blinking.

Dean twiddles the paper cup, rolls it between his palms. “You haven’t been, like, watching me and Sam sleep, have you? Because you know I can stand that Twilight shit.”

“No,” Cas says, in a tone of infinite offense, like Dean has suggested he sleeps in girls underwear or something. “But, Dean. The experience of sleep. Dreamless sleep. It’s not. It’s not dissimilar to what we are told to expect, as angels, after death.”

(The music slides over into Symptom of the Universe and Dean desperately wishes he’d left something peppier in the deck when they pulled in last night.)

 “Only I’m given to understand that we are at least…in company with each other. Though silent and unaware. We share the same sleep. In a way it’s a return to our origin as an undifferentiated host. But in human sleep.” He looks over at Dean, face slack. “You’re alone. Prisoner in a corporeal cell. Did you know,” he goes on, practically stepping on himself, warming up the verbal jet engines, “that some individuals experience a phenomenon where, upon waking, they suffer a period of total bodily paralysis?” 

Dean frowns. “Yeah. Sounds shitty.”

Cas nods. “Jimmy experienced it semi-regularly.” Then he looks out and up, squints at the motel sign. Maybe he needs glasses.

“So you inherited it, huh?” Dean says, softly. Cas doesn’t respond. “So, sleeping’s shit. And waking up’s shit.”

Cas’s squint turns into a wince. “In the Bunker, I’ll get up and make coffee.”

Dean waggles the mutilated cup. “Yeah, noticed that. Thinking of buying stock in Folger’s.”

“I’ll visit the archives, or. Write letters.” (Who the fuck is he writing letters to, Dean idly wonders? Dear Angel Abby?) “Go up to the roof to,” he glances at Dean, anticipating the eyeroll, “watch the dawn. On the road, it’s…more difficult to keep myself occupied. Keep my mind off of the fact that I can no longer hear the rest of the host. That I am,” he stretches his palms out over the wheel, tenses his clenched fingers, “quite nearly useless,”

“Cas,” Dean says, even more softly.

“And that, in a mere matter of hours,” Castiel closes his eyes, or the eyes he is currently doing business under. “The cycle will repeat.”

“Cas,” Dean says. And he reaches out what he suspects is the memory of Mom’s hand and sets his palm on the back of the guy’s neck, against the damp skin and unwashed hair. The muscles there relax but the blue eyes stay closed and Dean drops the cup on the floor and sets the other hand that’s just his on the side of Cas’s face, and slowly sweeps the side of his thumb over the sandpaper jaw and waxy cheekbone. 

And he pulls Cas’s head towards him, then down against his own shoulder and chest. Cas’s hands peel off the steering wheel and drift to lie, palms open, up, across their undistinguished assortment of kneecaps and thighs.

After awhile, a few more tracks in the tape, Cas’s breathing goes smoothe and deep. Dean feels eyelashes flicker against his collarbone – guy’s already dreaming.

Dean watches the dawn, reflected on motel windows.  

[justanotherwannabeclassic]

First chapter of Roses in December

Roses in December - Chapter 1 - “Director’s” Commentary

“God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.” – J.M. Barrie

Fun Fact: I was looking for quotes about memory, and it was only by chance I stumbled across this one by J.M. Barrie, and it felt perfect. I hadn’t intentionally looked for anything by him.

It’s a cool October morning when she receives the call that her apartment in Boston had caught fire, destroying everything she and Henry owned. They’re in Maine when they get the call, and Emma is immensely thankful that she had made the decision to show Henry her beginnings, if only because it saved them the danger.

Emma doesn’t know why, but instead of finding a new place in Boston, she decides to start over with Henry in New York. She’s never lived in New York, nor does she have friends there. But moving seems right, and nothing is really holding them to Boston. She can work in bail bonds anywhere, and the school Henry attends is hardly the best. Besides, she’s been feeling restless lately. Maybe it is time for a profound change.

A month after she signs a new lease, and the landlord hands over the key, another profound change comes – a positive pregnancy test.

-/-

She doesn’t remember the father very much – just dark hair, blue eyes, and a lilting accent. Embarrassing as it is, she can’t even recall his name. The most vivid memory she has of him isn’t really about him at all – it’s the feeling of finally finding someone who understands her.

-/-

She doesn’t consider abortion.

She’s always been a strong proponent of a woman’s right to choose, and wouldn’t never judge another for making that decision. Her reasoning lies with the fact that she kept Henry when she was in a more dire position, and despite the humiliation of accidentally falling pregnant twice by two absentee men, she doesn’t think it would be fair to get rid of this one when her life is more than alright.

Besides, most importantly, she wants this, wants it.

Emma considers herself lucky. A single mother of two is hardly an enviable position, but over the years she’s made a few smart investments that have created quite the nest egg.

It seems magical, really, her luck since getting out of prison, but she won’t question it, not since it allows her to provide a stable life for her and Henry, and now the newest addition to their family.

I felt like Emma mulling over an abortion here was important, because a near thirty-year-old woman who had an unplanned pregnancy with the father not in the picture would certainly consider it.

-/-

Emma waits until the start of the second trimester to tell Henry that he is going to be a big brother. She tells herself it is because she doesn’t want to get his hopes up in case she miscarries, but no small part of her delay is because she’s dreading explaining not just the inevitable mechanics of “where babies come from”, but also that she has random sex with men whose names she doesn’t remember.

Her son continues to amaze her, though, and he takes it all in stride, asking just a few entirely embarrassing questions.

What gets her is when he hugs her and says, “I love you, Mom. This is going to be so awesome.”

-/-

Henry takes it upon himself to create a list of baby names. He checks out books from the library, and explains the meaning of each one. In typical ten-year-old fashion, the names Henry picks also correspond with his favorite fictional heroes.

“We are not naming it Peter,” Emma says, her nose wrinkling in disgust. The name doesn’t sit right with her, even though her son insists that being named after Spider-Man is ‘totally cool’. “Besides, what if it’s a girl?”

Henry rolls his eyes, and hands her the list of girl names. It doesn’t escape her notices that the top names on the list are those of Disney princesses.

-/-

The day Henry comes home and announces that his class is starting a unit on Peter Pan is the day that Emma discovers that she is having a girl. They watch the movie that night, a giant bowl of popcorn between them.

“What about Wendy?” Henry asks midway through the film.

“What about her?”

“For my sister,” Henry answers, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. “Wendy Swan.”

And it is.

Wendy’s name is the second thing I came up with regarding this story. I wanted something that would be a connection to either Hook or the fairytale characters back home. One day, I remembered that in the play, Hook and Mr. Darling’s character are cast as the same person. Thus, I settled on the name Wendy. (This joke gets explained later.)

-/-

She notices a furniture store just a few blocks from her apartment called The Wizard of Oak. She’s passed it a few times, but has never gone in due to not having the need. But as her stomach swells and due date quickly approaches, she finds herself wandering into the store, its bells chiming as she crosses the threshold from the outside.

The storeowner greets her, but there is something unsettling about his smile and the way his eyes linger down to her burgeoning stomach that puts Emma on edge. Trusting her gut, she leaves almost immediately.

Instead, Emma settles on purchasing a crib at Ikea.

Honestly, I didn’t think it was exactly in-character for Emma to want to get into a relationship with Walsh (or anyone) while carrying another man’s baby. But since this is a canon divergence, I wanted to explain why he wasn’t there. Fun fact: Walsh almost made a reappearance in a later chapter thanking Emma from freeing him from Zelena’s hold.

-/-

“Did you know that in the play, the guys who plays Wendy’s dad also plays Captain Hook?”

See? The joke gets explained.

-/-

Her labor is an eight-hour affair full of screaming and nurses encouraging her to push. As with Henry’s birth, she is alone. The realization alone hurts more than it should, but she does her best to tamp it down. She tells herself this is not the time to think of such thing when her heart is so full, because though both Henry and Wendy’s fathers are gone, she still has her children.

They are more than enough.

Finally, finally, her daughter is born. When the doctor hands her over, swaddled and screaming, Emma reaches out to count her ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes. Tears in her eyes, she leans down to place a kiss on the top of her head, already covered with a soft smattering of dark hair.

In a flash of rainbow light, Emma remembers.

This final line right here is the first line I ever wrote in this story. Because a “missing year baby” is a popular trope in the CS fandom, it was my goal with this one-shot (because at the time it was a one-shot), to find something unique. Thus, Emma remembering became my twist. (When you all read the plot summary I had on AO3, you guys totally thought it was Hook making her remember, didn’t you?)

-/-

BirthdaycandlesHenryknockingonherdoorReginaMaryMargaretGrahamTheDarkCurseOnceUponaTimeParentsherparentsherparentsloveherandTheEnchantedForestyouneedmealivebeantstalksloveandleavingandNealandRumplestiltskinTamaraGregNeverlandPeterPanand…

Hook.

-/-

Emma is ashamed to admit that she spends the hours after Wendy’s birth in the daze, the combination of both it and the return of her memories too overwhelming. At some point, Avery’s mother drops off Henry at the hospital. Her son is ecstatic to meet his younger sister, and tears spring to her eyes as she watches him delicately cradle Wendy in his arms.

That night she doesn’t sleep, but instead lies in the hospital bed staring up at the ceiling. Henry is sprawled on the couch asleep, and Wendy is wherever they keep newborn babies. She loves her children. Truly loves them, so much so that a brush of her lips against their skin can break even the most powerful of curses.

She reasons that the only reason kissing Wendy restored her memories was because no one knew of her existence when Regina took away both her and Henry’s memories. Wendy had been nothing more than a clump of cells at the point, barely developing in her womb. The magic must not have taken with her. It had only been a memory curse, after all, and Wendy had no memories of which to alter.

Emma spends an unreasonable time pondering if she should change her daughter’s name. She’s spent so long referring to her daughter as Wendy that it would feel almost unfair to change it, but it feels strange now knowing that the real Wendy Darling is out there somewhere. Besides, the name now feels a little too on the nose, considering the infant’s father is literally Captain Hook.

She decides to keep it, however, unwilling to allow a world that may or may not exist dictate her daughter’s life.

Her daughter is Wendy Margaret Swan, born on the Fourth of July, weighing six pounds and eight ounces – her other True Love.

I wanted to pick a birthdate for her, so why not choose a holiday? It shows up again in the holiday special!

-/-

Instead of going home like most new parents do, Emma piles Henry into the back of the bug, securely fastens Wendy into her car seat, and she drives. She drives and she drives – across state lines, through the afternoon and into the night, and finally, into the state of Maine.

The stop a few times along the way, mostly for sustenance and bathroom breaks. She changes Wendy’s diaper in a truck stop bathroom, and feeds her in the parking lot of a McDonald’s as Henry devours a large order of French Fries. It hurts a bit, the way Wendy latches onto her breast. This part of motherhood is still so foreign to her. She bottle-fed Henry, though more out of necessity more than desire.

Only she didn’t bottle-feed Henry, did she?

The realization that the entirety of her memories of Henry’s life are fabricated is a painful one, and she feels bile rise in her throat that she does her best to tamp down. She’s spent so much time thinking of who was left behind in Storybrooke to focus on the fact that she’s been living a lie for the nine month. Unable to stop herself, tears begin to track down her cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” Henry asks. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet this whole trip, for which Emma has been thankful.

“Breastfeeding just sucks, kid,” she tells him. It’s a partial lie, and Emma wonders how many more she will have tell him since he has not regained his memories. It’s an uncomfortable reality they’ve found themselves in, and Emma doesn’t know how long she will need to keep up the charade. Hours? Days? Weeks? Forever?

She needs to get to Storybrooke, if not for her own peace of mind, but for Henry.

Only Storybrooke doesn’t exist.

She drives the familiar routes to where the town should be. White-knuckled, she grips the steering wheel as she nears what should be the town line. Only she never reaches it, or she does, there is no way to know. She drives and she drives, and all she passes are the dense trees of the forest.

Eventually, she gives up.

There is no going home.

-/-

She thinks of Hook often.

Wendy has inherited his hair and his eyes, as well as his ability to be equal parts maddening and charming. She doesn’t believe in sleeping during nighttime hours, which drives both Emma and Henry crazy. After a particularly awful night, Henry had grumbled that he should sell her off to Captain Hook, and Emma felt her heart seize at her son’s unknowing reference.

She wonders how Hook would have reacted if there hadn’t been the curse, if Pan had somehow been defeated at an earlier hour, and everyone had been allowed to stay within the confines of the town line. Would he have wanted to be a fixture in Wendy’s life? In Neverland, he had told her that he intended to win her heart, but another child had not been an explicit part of the deal.

Emma reasons that it is best that she does not know the answer to that question. It’s much easier to pretend that he might have wanted to be in her life, than face the reality of him choosing to walk away. She’d already faced that reality with Neal once, she doesn’t want to do so again.

Besides, this way, Wendy will never know the pain of being rejected. She will have enough love from one parent for her miss having two.

-/-

She begins a journal – two, actually – one for Henry and the other for Wendy.

She marks down their accomplishments on each page, detailing what is going on in their lives. For Henry, she writes about the subjects he is studying in school, the games he is playing, and the friends he’s made. For Wendy, she describes the tiny things: her smile, her laugh, and the tiny noises she makes.

It’s silly, really, because she’s writing down all of these things in the hope that she will one day be able to hand them over to Regina, Neal, and Hook to fill them in on what they’ve missed.

It’s all a futile effort, though. They aren’t coming back.

-/-

Emma looks forward to the end of her self-imposed maternity leave. Catching skips was near impossible in her third trimester, and her body needed a recovery period after giving birth. Still, she misses working. It provides her a sense of fulfillment at doing something good and right. She also finds strength in serving as a role model for her children.

Every now and then, Emma checks her bank account, partially out of fear that her regained memories also broke whatever magic Regina bestowed upon her finances.

To a degree, Emma feels uncomfortable relying on the magical charity created by the Evil Queen that allows her, Henry, and Wendy to live stable and comfortable lives. It’s all unearned and unreal, but Emma can’t fault Henry’s other mother for wanting to ensure her son had his best chance.

After all, it’s what she did.

This is me headcanoning how Emma could afford a fancy apartment in Manhattan on a bailbonds salary. Because magic is the only thing that could pull that off, and Regina strikes me as someone who would ensure everything safe for Henry.

-/-

Emma dresses Wendy in pink frills and cute headbands. It’s not her style, and the feminist in her loathes the obvious gendering, but it’s something Mary Margaret would do. So Emma puts Wendy in dresses and bows to give her a piece of the grandmother she will never meet.

She thinks Mary Margaret would love being a grandmother again. Emma remembers her mother’s confession in Echo Cave, and though Wendy isn’t her own child, she’s still a new addition to the family. Wendy would be doted on endlessly, had they lived in Storybrooke. Not just by Mary Margaret, but by David, as well.

She wonders how they are doing in the Enchanted Forest. Are they ruling the kingdom? Are they happy? Do they miss her?  Is Hook with them?

It stings that she may never know.

-/-

She once said that the worst thing to give someone is false hope. She wishes she had taken her own advice. Every time her phone rings, she feels a swoop in her stomach a voice in her head thinks it could be Regina or David calling to let her know that somehow they had found a way back into her world.

That call never comes.

-/-

There’s this tree in the park that Henry absolutely loves. Emma now knows that it is his subconscious drawing him there, that the tree somehow reminds him of Regina. The selfish part of her longs for it to trigger his memories into returning, so she always brings him over whenever he requests it. It never does, however, and she is surprised whenever she feels a slight wave of relief.

It’s easier this way, his lack of memory. He’s a happy kid, and Emma knows the knowledge that his family is out there unable to find them would destroy him. As much as she wishes she had someone to share the burden of memory with, it’s for the best that is isn’t him.

She does tell Wendy, in the dark of the night, everything about her family – David and Mary Margaret, Hook, even Neal and Regina. She tells her daughter of beanstalks and giants, and of pirate ships that can fly. Emma will stop when Wendy grows older and can retain memories, but for now the infant is her only confidante.

It’s enough for now.

If you notice in past few sections, Emma spends a lot of time not just thinking about Hook, but others as well. This is intentional. Emma, in short, lost everything. Her family and friends, not just someone she was starting to see as a partner. Through much of this chapter, she is grieving. She dresses Emma how her mother would, wishes her father would call, etc. And honestly, there’s something just so tragic to me about the idea of Emma telling all of this to Wendy knowing that she won’t remember, but trying so hard to keep her family’s meaning alive.

-/-

It shocks her how little she thinks of Neal. She spent so many years hating him, only to find him again, that it’s a surprise how little he occupies her thoughts whenever they stray to Storybrooke and the Enchanted Forest.

It also shocks her how much she thinks of Hook. Along with her parents, it is him whom she misses the most. She tells herself that it is because of Wendy, and maybe if she says it enough time, she will believe it.

-/-

Some nights, she dreams of Neverland.

Some nights, Henry is once again taken, and other times, it is Wendy.

In these dreams, no matter how hard she tries to get them back, she fails, always fails, and when she wakes, she is drenched in a cold sweat.

As much as she misses her family, these dreams remind her that New York City is far safer than Storybrooke.

-/-

She finally begins to accept that it is best that she, Henry, and Wendy are where they are – the Land Without Magic – and that she will never be reunited with her family again. She wills herself to believe that things are better this way, safer this way, and that her children will be happier here.

And, of course, this is when everything changes.

-/-

It’s early Friday morning when someone knocks at the door.

Henry is watering the plants, Wendy is asleep in her swing, and Emma is still clad in her pajamas. It’s an idyllic morning, a normal morning, so when she hears the insistent knocking, she knows something is not right.

But she goes to the door anyway, and when she sees who is on the other side, her world shatters and suddenly it feels as if she cannot breathe. She is full of confusion, joy, fear, apprehension and oh my god, he came for us, because –

“Hook.”

And then a bunch of people yelled at me to continue the story, so I did.