#this is child's play. squeeze the soul out of him. at least knock the gun away.' goading him. you know

[quietwingsinthesky]

anyway episodes that sam's psychic powers should have come back during. imagine him arguing with this 'i'm a real psychic' guy and then yanking his gun out his hand with his own powers. fully on accident but it happens.

now see there's some drama for him and dean! that would work! sam tried to hide his hallucinations but couldnt. but theoretically he could hide this. and he should! because his brother literally just went and killed a woman for being a little too on the monster side for his liking. for being so evil that she couldn't possibly change. and so if sam's powers came back now? sam's powers? that he has because he has demon blood? he would be so fucking sick with stress trying to hide that from dean.

because. you know. if dean's already jumping for a reason to 'deal with' sam because he's hallucinating, a thing he can't even control. then what else is sam supposed to assume will happen once dean knows about this?

[imaginenola]

Young and Beautiful

Dwayne Pride x reader

Words: 2,154

Warnings: angst, pure sadness

Notes: loosely based on the song Young and Beautiful by Lana Del Rey. this is the first imagine I’ve ever written so it might not be the best. also big thank you to @dwaynepride for helping me make this account & story a reality! thanks for believing in me (: also the spaces might be a little wonky, sorry! I worked really hard on this so please don’t steal it, all work is my own. enjoy!!

I’ve seen the world, done it all

Had my cake now

Diamonds, brilliant, in Bel-Air now

When you interviewed for a job at NCIS in New Orleans, you were a young and eager cop. Only a few years out of the academy, you had made more cases than most could make in their entire career. Your boss and partner both pushed you to apply after you expressed interest in NCIS. A few days after your interview, you received a call from none other than Dwayne Pride. You had been chosen for his team.

Hot summer nights, mid July

When you and I were forever wild

The crazy days, city lights

The way you’d play with me like a child

It began with slight flirting, just for fun. You never meant to get involved with your boss, but things soon escalated. You were both experts at keeping your work and personal lives separate. You two weren’t partners anyway, so for the most part, it was easy to not let feelings get in the way of doing your jobs.

A few months in, Pride asked you out for drinks after work. The two of you made your way to a jazz club, where you drank and danced and drank some more. Pride twirled you around and around until you had no memories of what happened that night. The next morning, you woke up naked in your boss’s bed.

Will you still love me

When I’m no longer young and beautiful?

Will you still love me

When I’ve got nothing but my aching soul?

I know you will, I know you will

I know that you will

Will you still love me when I’m no longer beautiful?

Six months after that night, and you were still going steady with Pride. He was the perfect gentleman, and working together had only brought the two of you closer. You were only a few years older than his daughter, but he always made sure you knew that age wasn’t a problem between the two of you.

Your partner, Tammy Gregorio, kept telling you she ‘sensed’ that Pride was going to propose soon, but you weren’t so sure. Of course you had a strong bond and everyone believed you were a match made in heaven, but it made you nervous to think that you might have to leave the team. Sure, two co-workers dating could be overlooked, but married co-workers? Especially between an agent and their superior? You didn’t think so.

I’ve seen the world, lit it up

As my stage now

Channeling angels in a new age now

Hot summer days, rock and roll

The way you play for me at your show

And all the ways, I got to know

Your pretty face and electric soul

It was a rainy Sunday afternoon, and you were out on a walk around New Orleans. You barely ever got a day off, but you made sure to enjoy it while you could. All of a sudden, you were being pushed into a black SUV, door locking behind you. You pulled your gun out of your holster until you recognized your captor: FBI Agent Isler.

“What do you want, Isler?” You asked, remaining calm and collected. You knew this man well, and you knew whatever it was he needed help with had to be important. Isler never dropped by just to say hello.

“Hello, Agent (y/l/n). The FBI needs your help on an undercover mission in Los Angeles. Once we get to the motel, I’ll give you the case file. It’s a highly classified operation involving corrupt Naval officers and a drug trafficking ring.” Isler said, shifting the car into drive. “Wait! Isler, I didn’t agree to this. Stop the car, now,” you demanded.

“I’m sorry, Agent (y/l/n), but you don’t really have a choice. This is a joint investigation between the FBI and NCIS, and you were picked by the big boys. I’m the only person in Louisiana who knows about this, and we’re keeping it that way.” You rode the rest of the drive in silence, until Isler parked in front of a decrepit motel on the outskirts of the city. The motel room was stale and unwashed, the air thick with swamp water.

“We’ll be staying here for a couple of days to prepare you for your mission. Once you step off that plane in Los Angeles, your undercover identity will be all you know. You will eat, sleep, and breathe this mission from start to finish, Agent (y/l/n).”

“How long do you think I’ll be gone?” You asked, afraid of the answer. Isler looked at the ground for a moment, then passed you a box of hair dye. Black. The girl on the picture seemed happy with her hair color, but you weren’t so sure.

Will you still love me

When I’m no longer young and beautiful?

Will you still love me

When I’ve got nothing but my aching soul?

I know you will, I know you will

I know that you will

Will you still love me when I’m no longer beautiful?

“Hard to tell. Could just be a few months. Eight, maybe. Possibly a few years. Hopefully nothing more than five, six.” Five years? Six? You would be in your thirties by then. How different would things be? Pride might find someone else. Forget about you. The whole team would probably forget about you, by then.

“There’s one other thing,” Isler trails, “by now, your family and friends will be receiving the news of your gruesome death.”

-

Today was your last day in New Orleans, and you didn’t know for how long. After three days stuck in a hotel room with Raymond Isler, memorizing your new persona (Heather Watson from Montana, by the way), you were going stir-crazy. That was how you convinced him to let you attend your funeral. He thought you were crazy, you knew you were crazy, but Isler did feel bad. He knew about you and Pride’s relationship, and since he couldn’t give you Pride, the least he could do was give you closure.

The balcony of St. Patrick’s had been closed off due to unstable ground, but you arrived early in order to slip up to the balcony, lay on your stomach, and peer through the small slit under the bench. To your surprise, everyone you had ever worked with at NOPD and more had arrived. Friends from the academy flew in, and family members you hadn’t seen in years were there. You felt so, so horrible for tricking them like this. For this hole you had gotten into and you probably wouldn’t ever get out of. Six years undercover, living and breathing the life of someone you weren’t? You’d rather die, maybe. Rather die as yourself than live as Heather Watson. You only wished you could’ve said goodbye.

Dear lord, when I get to heaven

Please let me bring my man

When he comes tell me that you’ll let him in

Father tell me if you can

All that grace, all that body

All that face, makes me wanna party

He’s my sun, he makes me shine like diamonds

You knew it was all over for you when Pride arose from his seat, wearing his black suit. You could see the tissue peeking out from his pocket, full of tears he cried for you. “(y/n) (y/l/n) was the strongest, most determined, an’ most loving human I have ever known. I knew she was the one from the day I laid eyes on her. I hope she knew how much I loved ‘er, and how much all of us at NCIS appreciated her. She’s always been a light-” Dwayne’s voice broke. The occasional tear spilled down his cheek. You could hear the desperation caught in his throat, the need to wrap his arms around you and tell you everything was going to be okay. But as far as he knew, you would be six feet under in a few hours. A closed casket for the horrific boating accident you died in. Your limp body caught in the blades. They could barely piece your limbs back together.

“-I was plannin’ on proposing to her at dinner Sunday night. I had this diamond ring picked out, and now it’s just sittin’ in the box. I wished I could’ve said somethin’, wished I coulda saved her. She- she was tha love of my life, and I know she’d want us to remember her as a dedicated cop and a-a beautiful young woman who was gone- gone too-” Pride choked out, sobs overtaking his body. You could feel your heart breaking into microscopic pieces as Chris got up from his seat and assisted Dwayne. They sat down and Chris gave Pride’s shoulder a quick squeeze in solidarity. The rest of your team respectfully placed a hand on Dwayne’s back for his courage in facing your memory, your mourners. Your family, his future family. If only it hadn’t been for this goddamn mission.

Tears rolled down your face. Oh, how you missed the comfort of Dwayne’s arms wrapped around you when things got tough, when you became sad and he was the only one who could help. Now, even less than a hundred feet apart, it felt like there were planets between you. He was going to propose? Tammy had been right all along.

-

Your silent sobs combined with your uncomfortably warm outfit and position in the hot balcony suddenly prompted your exit. It was easy to slip out of the church unnoticed as your sibling gave a heartwarming speech about your childhood. Isler was sitting in his car in the parking lot, working on his computer, when you knocked on the window. He unlocked the door and let you in. “How was it?” He asked without looking up. “I shouldn’t have gone. Big mistake. Pride was supposed to propose to me that night. This is sick, Isler. Everyone thinks I’m dead. I might as well be, for what it’s worth,” you fumed, tears clouding your vision. You weren’t thinking straight.

“We’re going to have to drive to a more concealed position. I just have to get a few more papers emailed from HQ and we’ll be all set to head back to the motel. From there, I’ll drive you to MSY and you’ll get on your flight. Then, it’ll be out of my hands and into the hands of your new FBI case agent.”

-

You sat in the parking lot of an abandoned building. You knew it was near NCIS, which made it near Pride’s bar, which was where your reception was going to be held. The place you once dreamed of marrying Pride in, dancing to the jazz music as newlyweds. Now, it would never happen. You weren’t dumb; you knew with an undercover operation this long, it was likely someone would find out your secret and brutally murder you. As long as you got intel, that was all that mattered. No one cared if you were collateral damage.

Before either of you knew it, you were reaching across Isler at the speed of light and unlocking the passenger door. “(Y/n), wait!” Isler yelled, chasing you as you ran away from his car. Something told him where you would be heading.

Will you still love me

When I’m no longer young and beautiful?

Will you still love me

When I’ve got nothing but my aching soul?

I know you will, I know you will

You knew the song, one of your favorites. It reminded you of your and Pride’s whirlwind relationship, of the appeal and the secrecy, the pure love and affection. Percy was singing, the only flaw in her beautiful voice being the rawness in her throat from crying. Pride was next to her on the piano, playing along what he knew from when you would sing with him. When you didn’t have a care in the world, when it was you and Dwayne and no one else. Nothing standing between your love for each other.

Suddenly, the music stops and people crowd around Pride’s piano. Laurel, your co-workers new and old, and your family stood behind Dwayne as he picked up his glass from the top of the piano, raising it as far as his arm could extend. You couldn’t see him, but you heard his voice ring out, “a toast to (y/n), tha best cop I’ve ever known. wherever you are, babe, I hope you’re raisin’ some hell.” to which everyone joined in, “cheers!” Tears fell down your face as you watched as Pride began your favorite song once again, reminding you how you fell in love with the man with an electric soul.

Will you still love me when I’m no longer beautiful?

Will you still love me when I’m no longer beautiful?

Will you still love me when I’m not young and beautiful?

[themoonandotherslikeit]

The Look in Her Eyes- Chapter 28

***While on a case, Dean and Sam meet a beautiful woman, Ava. She makes a large impression on the brothers, and ends up convincing them to take her on the road with them. It isn’t long before the shared experience, car rides, motel rooms, and risky cases pushes Ava and Dean together in an unlikely story of love, family, fate, and friendship. ***

Chapter Twenty-Eight, I Can’t Promise Forever

Dean

I woke up with a groan. The night was a blur, at best, but I was in bed alone when I woke up. I stretched out yearning for Ava's healing touch when it occurred to me. I'm getting married today. What the fuck? How did I trick her into that?

I stood up with a slight stumble. My head was pounding. Shit I need to get it together. Don't fuck this up, man. I told myself as I walked slowly to the bathroom.

The door was closed, and I could hear the sound of vomiting. "Sam?"

"No." Ava groaned.

"Baby? Are you okay?" I tried the door knob, but it was locked.

"Just... morning sickness."

"Not cold feet?" I asked lowering myself to the floor. I leaned against the door, wishing I was next to her.

"Of course not, idiot." She vomited again.

"Let me in. I'll hold your hair."

"It's bad luck, Dean." She whispered.

I put my palm against the door, and I swore she did the same.

"Nothing with you could be bad." I whispered.

"How're you feeling?"

"Better now that I'm talking to you."

"Shut up." I could hear her laugh. "Seriously. Still want to do this?"

"More than anything."

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Ave?"

The door cracked open a bit, and I just saw her hand slowly creep out. I took it in mine. "I love you." She whispered.

This was what joy felt like. Happiness. I squeezed her hand, and pressed my forehead to the door. "I love you, too."

"See you at the altar."

"See you then."

She let go of my hand, and I watched it disappear back into the bathroom. It was the most sobering experience I've ever had. I wasn't ready to lose her. It didn't feel like enough time.

You already did lose her. I reminded myself, as I saw her dead body in my arms. You're doing this for her.

I stood up and walked to the kitchen to get some coffee.

"Morning." Sam said with a raised eyebrow. He handed me a coffee.

"Eyy." I said with a nod, happily taking the coffee.

"Son." Dad said, stepping out of the back room. "Today's the day."

"Yup."

"Are you ready?" Sam asked.

"To have a wedding? Not sure. To be with Ava for the rest of my time? Definitely."

Sam grinned. "Let's do this, then."

Ava

I wished my Mom was with me. I missed her all the time, but especially now. Especially today. I looked at myself in the mirror and applied some blush to my cheeks. All the vomiting earlier made me flushed. I was still nauseas, but I didn't think it was from morning sickness. It was nerves.

I wasn't nervous for marrying Dean. I was more nervous about what it meant. To death to us part was only a few months away. It felt like we were playing pretend.

I looked down at my stomach, and I touched it. I wasn't showing yet. I had an appointment in a few weeks to check on things. To tell us the gender. I swallowed hard. I was worried that things weren't going to work out. It all seemed too good to be true. Well, at least for us.

I put my red lipstick on and braided the last piece of my hair. It was natural and down, but with a braided crown around my head.

"Hey." Sam said, knocking gently at the door.

I turned to look at him as he opened it. "Hey." I said quietly.

"Wow, you look amazing."

"Thank you."

"Are you okay?" He asked, slowly sitting down in front of me. He was wearing a suit, and his hair was brushed. He looked handsome.

I reached forward and touched his cheek. "I'm okay. Just nervous. Does he really want this, Sam?"

"He does." Sam grinned. "He's happy."

"That's all I want from him." I exhaled with a smile. He was happy. He deserved to be happy.

We deserved to be. I sucked in my breath.

"Hey." Sam said, pulling me into a hug. "It's okay."

I buried my face in Sams neck and tried to get it together. I didn't want to cry and ruin my makeup. "I just love him, Sam. I'm not ready to lose him."

"Neither am I." He said squeezing me. "Don't worry. We will figure it out." He rubbed my back. "Besides," he whispered. "It's your wedding day."

I pulled back and wiped my tears. "Did I fuck up my makeup?"

He wiped under my eyes. "Good as new."

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you really think we can save him?"

"I have to. I have to believe it or I don't think I can make it." He squeezed my hand. "I better check on your groom."

"Hopefully he won't run." I laughed a bit, trying to get myself out of the hole I was digging.

"I wouldn't worry about that." Sam laughed. He reached forward and kissed my forehead. "He loves you. Nothing else matters. Not today."

Dean

"Is she okay?" I asked, anxiously wringing my hands as Sam walked back into my room.

"She's fine." Sam laughed shaking his head. "Now I know how Bobby feels."

"How I feel about what?" Bobby asked, popping his head in the door.

"They're all worried about each other."

"Yeah, you boys do that." Bobby laughed and tossed me a beer.

"Thanks." I said opening it and taking a swig.

"Sam, give us a minute?" Bobby asked eyeing me.

Sam shrugged. "I'll go check on Dad."

I swallowed another drink of my beer nervously.

"I know I don't need to say it." Bobby began, sitting across from me. "But I'm the only one here to say it." He met my eyes. "Don't you hurt her. I'm forever in your debt for what you've done for her, but I'll end ya if I find out you did something to ruin her honor."

I smiled and shook my head. "Bobby I could never do anything that would hurt her. Never. I will take care of her as long as I can."

Bobby reached forward and pulled me into a hug. "I know, Son. I just had to say it since her Dad isn't here to say it."

I put an arm around Bobby. "Thank you for everything."

"I am so proud of you."

"Alright." I said letting out a puff of air, shaking my head with a smile. "Let's get me married."

"One more thing." Dad said, stepping in with Sam. "Can we talk?"

"Sure." I said, rising to meet him.

We walked out of the house and along the side of the house. He took out a cigar and lit it, handing it to me. I took a few puffs and we leaned against the house. "I have something for you." He said.

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhm." He reached into his pocket and took out a small wooden box.

He handed it to me, and I opened it slowly. Inside there were two cuff links that looked like small guns. "They were from my wedding with your mom." He said softly.

"Dad, this is too much."

He waved me off. "Let me show you how to do them." He said, taking my wrists. He clasped the pieces in place. "The day I married your mom was the happiest day of my life, apart from you and Sammy being born."

I'd seen the pictures. Dad grinning from ear to ear wearing a tux. He looked so different from the way he looked now. He was my age, strong and young. Now he was graying, and his face was wilting from the years of pain and killing monsters. Losing Mom took its toll on him. I wondered how Ava would look once she lost me.

"I need you to know," he began, meeting my eyes. "I need you to know that I tried to save you. I tried to sell my soul for yours. A trade."

I stood up straighter. "No. No way." I shook my head quickly. "The demon said if I tried to get out of it they'd ice Ava and the baby... I..."

"Son, they wouldn't do it. They wouldn't make a deal with me. Whoever has your contract scares them. Hell, I've never seen a demon afraid before."

My chest felt tight. It wasn't me not to fight. I wanted to with everything I had. I didn't make deals with demons. I didn't stand in cross roads and beg. I thought about Ava walking towards me in a white dress, carrying our child inside of her.

It is me now. I will back down to save her. I'm still fighting, but now I'm fighting for something that matters. That's honorable. For once I feel like I'm making the right choices. I'm being a good man.

"You and Sammy need to stop trying to save me. If there's a risk that it'll hurt Ava and my kid then I don't want it. End of discussion." I put out the cigar that had been burning away between my fingers, and I handed it back to Dad. "Thanks for the cuff links. It was a pretty normal father move. Shame you had to bring up the demons and fuck it all up."

Ava

"Ready, kid?" Bobby asked, popping his head in my room. I stood up slowly, and turned toward him. His hand was placed above his heart and he had tears brimming on his eyes. "You look just like your mom."

I sucked in my breath.

"I have something for you." He said digging in the pocket of his button up. He handed me an envelope. I raised an eyebrow at him and tore it open. Inside was a folded piece of stationary. Immediately I got a whiff of floral perfume and my heart sunk.

Moms perfume.

"Bobby, what is this?"

"Just open it, kid. I'll meet you out front when you're ready." He backed out of the room and clicked the door shut behind him.

I slowly lowered myself to the seat by the window and unfolded the page.

Dear Ava,

Today is your wedding day. It is the day I've dreamed about since long before you were born. I'm sure you have a lot of questions for me, and baby girl all I want is to be there next to you. I know your Dad is taking care of you, though. You will always have him to watch over you.

As I write this you are still a little girl, playing dress up and causing mischief wherever you go. You're so happy. That's all a mother wants for her child. I wish I could see the happiness you will feel today as you marry the love of your life.

I hope that he is loving, with beautiful kind eyes. I hope that he will protect you, and that you will care for each other. Marriage is wonderful, but it isn't easy. Always remember to not go to bed angry, and to never take each other for granted. Life is so short, sweet Ava. Cherish every moment you have with the ones you love.

I love you so much. I can't stand it. I hope one day you will have children so you can feel the joy that I feel when I look at you, but don't feel the need to rush. You have plenty of time.

Have a beautiful wedding, sweetie. Know that no matter what I am always with you. You are a part of me, and I will always be a part of you.

I love you.

Love,

Mom

I held the paper in my hands. The tears wouldn't come. I felt them bubbling up inside me, but I couldn't let them go. She knew that she would die. She knew she wouldn't be there. She sold her soul for me. Just like Dean. Now he won't be there for our baby.

I touched my stomach. Nothing could compare to the pain I felt. It touched my soul. My very being was tainted. I pinched the inside of my arm to bring me back to reality. Today was supposed to be happy. I could be happy for a little, right? I folded up the paper and tucked it into my top to keep her close to me.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I did look like her. We had the same eyes, mouth, face shape. I wore her black curls. I closed my eyes. One more second to be sad. That's all I would allow.

I stood up and flattened my dress. I opened the door and greeted Bobby. He wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug. "She would've been so proud of you."

I squeezed him back. "I hope so."

"Love you, kid."

"You too, Uncle Bobby."

I took his arm and we walked out the front door together.

I would've never pegged Sam as a wedding planner, but fuck did he plan a beautiful ceremony. I kicked off my sandals when we got to the sand and Bobby's grip on me intensified. I looked towards the water to find Sam, John, and Dean standing in front of an altar covered in flowers. There were petals littering the sand.

My heart squeezed as I saw him, and everything else melted away.

Dean

I couldn't have pictured her any more beautiful than she was in that moment. She took my breath away. Her dress hugged her curves, and her hair fell down her shoulders in effortless curls. I felt my eyes give way to the emotion that was bubbling up inside of me.

She met my eyes and smiled. Her perfect red lips curling to expose a perfect line of white teeth. I could see the wrinkle on her nose from even this far away.

She was everything. The breeze caught her hair sending it dancing behind her in a veil of black. I hoped our child looked just like her. I just wished I could find out.

Bobby smiled at me and I nodded to him. If it weren't for him answering the phone our meeting would've been so different. I would've never talked to her for long. I wouldn't have fell in love with her.

She wouldn't have died.

I shook the thought away. She is alive. That's all that mattered.

She made it to me and Bobby handed her to me. I took her hands in mine and she squeezed them. All my worries disappeared when I felt her hand touch mine. That familiar electricity rolled through me, restarting my heart.

Sam smiled and us. "We are gathered here to celebrate the union of Ava and Dean."

I winked at Ava and watched pink heat up her cheek bones.

"My whole life it's just been my brother and I. We were fine with that. We didn't have anything or anyone else. We are Winchester's, we don't believe in love. We never have, but just because you don't believe in it doesn't mean it isn't real. It doesn't mean it isn't meant for you, and I can say with confidence that Ava is made for you. You were made for each other. In our lives that's more than we could've ever dreamed." He put his hand on my shoulder and I grinned at him. My baby brother. "We are here to celebrate two lives being joined together. Love is a light in the darkness, and our life is full of it. Ava, all I've wanted my whole life is to see my brother as happy as you make him. I'm so happy I get to have you as my sister. Would you like to say your vows?"

She nodded and squeezed my hands. "I didn't write anything down." She admitted. "I couldn't really form into words how I feel. I love you, Dean. More than anything. I never knew that I could love someone like I love you. Hell, I barely like people." She laughed, and I grinned back at her.

"I was alone before we met. I thought my life was enough, but you cracked me open and showed me another world. It scared me, but not because of the monsters. I was afraid of how you made me feel. I didn't know then, but I want to feel that way for my whole life." She touches her flat stomach. "I can make you three promises, in light of our lives and how they tend to go. I vow to love you as long as I live. I vow to take care of our child and love him or her with all that I have. Lastly I vow to never forget the sacrifice you've made for us." She was crying now and I touched her face, to wipe away the tears. "It won't be in vain. I promise that."

I closed my eyes and got my composure, because it was my turn to talk. "Ave. There's nothing I can say to you that will be enough. Nothing is enough." I swallowed trying to gather my thoughts. "I fucked up, baby. I did. The worst mistake I ever made was talking to you, because before I thought I was happy. Killing monsters, beer for breakfast, and the occasional strip club were enough. The moment that I met you, though, everything changed. I never wanted a life or a family, but when I met you I was finally showed what I could have. I saw that maybe this son of a bitch could be worth more. Maybe I could have a real life. I've gotten a little taste of it. All I want is to be with you. I don't have a lot of time left, so I can't make any promises. All I can tell you is that I will love you until I stop breathing. As long as I'm here, I'm yours, forever. End of story." I leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "I'm sorry I have to leave you. It's my one big regret. That I won't be able to watch our baby grow up." I sighed and pressed my lip to the place behind her ear. "I know it'll be okay, though, because you will be there. You're the best person I've ever met. I love you."

"I love you too."

Sam smiled at us. "Dean, do you take Ava to be your wife? For better, for worse, sickness, and health, until death do you part?"

I grinned at her. "Hell yeah."

"Ava? You can still run." Sam grinned at her.

"Nah. I think I'll take him. Better or worse, but I'll take him for longer than death. I've got him forever."

"Deal." I said to her under my breath.

"I now pronounce you, from the state of California, and the internet, as man and wife! You may kiss your bride"

I pulled her forward and grinned before dipping her. I could feel her weight in my hand, as I balanced her with my hand in between her shoulder blades. I leaned down and pressed my lips to hers. I smiled against her mouth. I have a wife. What the fuck?

I pulled her back up and watched her grin as the color came back to her complexion from me whipping her around back up to me.

"I now pronounce Mr and Mrs Dean Winchester!" Sam said with a grin.

I looked at Ava. She was grinning from ear to ear. If I didn't already love her, the look in her eyes then would've done it.

—————

Chapter Twenty-Nine, Home

Get caught up!

Forever Tag List:

@foreverwayward

@xjamiedennettx

[odderancyart]

Retribution

Chapter 8

First

Last

On AO3

Summary: A late night, after yet another unfruitful day with no work, Detective Edge Serif receives a phonecall from the countryside. There seems to have been a murder.

Warnings: Murder, Violence, Swearing, Past Abuse, Past Rape (of a character not in the story)

His head aches as he slowly regains consciousness, blinking against the blinding light. As he tries to lean forward, he finds he can’t. He jerks at his hands, finding he can’t move them either. There’s something keeping them stuck to the arms of the chair he’s in. What happened...?

Images. They flash before his eyes. A bedroom, letters with the British royal crest, Papyrus with a fire poker. He’d been knocked unconscious. Edge twitches as it all comes back to him and he throws his eyes open, even as his head throbs at the sudden assault of light. He’s still in the bedroom. By the writing desk, Papyrus stands, stirring a cup of tea as he watches him. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have allowed himself to get so distracted that he didn’t notice Papyrus coming into the room? His eyes catch on the gun lying next to Papyrus on the desk. His gun.

“You’re awake,” Papyrus notes. “Good.” The spoon chinks as it hits the walls of the porcelain cup, painted with roses. The cook smiles, almost apologetically. “I am terribly sorry I had to tie you up, but you really shouldn’t have come and ferreted around my room. It’s terribly rude.”

Edge tries to speak, but as he does, only muffled noises comes out. His eyes widen. In his stupor, he hadn’t realized he had a cloth stuffed into his mouth. When he glares at the other, Papyrus only tsks. “Don’t look so mad. I can’t have you yelling, you surely must understand that? I’ve reached my goal – getting revenge on the bastard who destroyed my brother’s – my entire family’s – life for many years because of something as stupid as racism. You Americans should know something about that, shouldn’t you? But it works somewhat differently home in Europe.” Disgust covers his face as he sips his tea. “I’ve lived my entire life in Wales. I was born there, and so was my brother. And our parents. But because our grandfather came from Bulgaria, from Eastern Europe, apparently we cannot be trusted. Lazy, they call us. Thieves. Not that you’re different here. Had I attempted to enter with my own name, I am certain I would’ve met a lot more resistance.”

There’s so much bitterness in his voice. Edge stares at him, and Papyrus stares back. “What do you say? Do you think they would’ve been as happy to let in Nikolay Todorov as they were to let in Papyrus Safont, Doctor Gaster’s personal cook? Would your Immigration Act have let me? Even though I’m two generations British?” When Edge remains quiet, he grinned humourlessly. “I didn’t think so.”

And he was right. Maybe his British citizenship would’ve been enough, but Edge has seen the distrust for Southern and Eastern Europeans first-hand. They are seen as threats – competition for jobs and housing, and people fear they’ll undermine American values and cause Bolshevik revolution similar to the one in Russia during the War. Stupidity, Edge would’ve said if anyone had ever bothered to ask for his opinion. If they came to America, he can only imagine it is because they wanted to live in America, not in Russia.

After putting his cup down on the desk, Papyrus saunters over to him, smiling sweetly. “Never mind all that. You look like you want to ask something.” He holds up a vial with powder. “If you make any unnecessary noises, I will shove this down your throat, and you’ll die an incredibly painful death. So better not do anything stupid, alright?” Edge nods slowly. Papyrus – Nikolay – beams. “Wonderful! See how simple things are when you cooperate?”

He pulls the gag out of Edge’s mouth, and Edge coughs, opening and closing it a couple times. Oh God, his mouth feels like a desert. Concern glimmers in Nikolay’s eyes, and he takes a few steps over to the bedtable, where a water pitcher stands, together with a glass. After pouring some into the glass, he offers it to Edge. Edge eyes it suspiciously, and he rolls his eyes, taking a sip himself. “See? It’s not poisoned. Drink, friend.”

As he puts it to Edge’s mouth, Edge does as told. Both because he does not wish to make him mad and because he genuinely needs it. When it’s empty, and his throat feels less rough, he sighs in relief before looking up at Pa- Nikolay. He looks genuinely sorry for what the situation has come to. But why would he? If he didn’t mind framing Stretch, why would he be care about Edge? That’s his first question.

Nikolay shrugs. “In all honesty, I wanted Blue to be the one. His loyalty to the Gasters is sickening. Can’t seem to see any of their faults, even when his own brother is being abused. But since anyone who knew him would know how he poured his soul into serving them until the point that’s what his life is about, and they would’ve realized he never would have, Stretch was the second best. Doing it to Sir Razz would’ve simply been stupid: his family is incredibly powerful. At least this way, I get to Blue somehow. He adored that family nearly as much as I hate them. In all honesty, I almost feel bad for him. Almost. Plus, I haven’t missed how he speaks about my heritage. He’s just like everyone else. Up on his high horses thinking he’s better than me because he’s a pure-blooded Englishman. And now his own brother is getting sentenced for the last Gaster’s murder.” He hums, the bitterness gone as fast as it came. “You get two more questions, and then I’m afraid I’ll have to get rid of you before it’s too late. I am not an unkind monster, I’d feel awful to kill you when you’re so close to solving the mystery.”

“How did you do all of this? Why wait so long?” Edge’s head spins with all the new information, but he forces himself to focus. The longer he can keep Papy- Nikolay rambling, the more time he has to get out of here. Dying is not in this week’s schedule, especially not by a cook.

The other’s smile widens. “It wasn’t hard. When your brother is a former MI6-spy, falsifying papers and learning about poisons is a child’s play. We simply made up a reasonable backstory, fixed some papers, and then I went to search employment at the Gasters. As for why so long? I’m a patient man. I very much did not wish to be new as I did it – my foreign ancestry already made me suspicious enough, since everyone’s bigoted. And your third question?”

His last.

There were multiple things he wants to know. Why, exactly, he is doing this. How he’s managed to keep this act up for such a long time. If he hasn’t grown fond of the brothers during the time he’s worked with them, even a little? How he can do such a thing to Stretch of all people. But in all honesty, there is one thing that’s more pressing to him than anything else.

Edge’s soul pounds in his chest as he stares into Nikolay’s eyes. His eyelights are soft as he meets his gaze, almost remorseful. Nonetheless, they’re determined, and Edge has no delusions about him changing his mind and letting him go. “What are you going to do with me?”

Nikolay’s smile softens. “Oh that’s easy. I’m going to give you some Cerbera odollam-seeds. The former owner of the manor had a poison greenhouse and I’ve been caring for it. I’m very sorry to tell you it won’t be painless. Then, once you fall into a coma, I’ll shove you off the west wing. It’ll look like you fell.” He crouches down so he can reach into the secret compartment. Picking up a vial holding several brown seeds, he shakes it gently. “I doubt you’ll get the sort of investigation he got – you’re a nobody, aren’t you? No family to speak of, no money?”

Edge remains quiet, face paling. He’s right. There’s a much too big risk that he’ll simply get written off as an accident or a suicide. Especially in these times. After the Crash, so many committed suicides, and he was born into a short life-expectancy group.

“Thought so.”

The house creaks around them as Nikolay steps forward. Edge feels his palms start to sweat as he leans backwards in the chair, as far away as he can. He squeezes his teeth shut as his breathing shallows. Something moves behind Nikolay, silently, slowly. A hand grips his jaw tight, starting to pry it open. Edge fights him, eyes trained at the other’s face. Nikolay’s expression is determined as he digs the tip of a phalange in between Edge’s teeth.

Edge struggles, throwing his head to the side and rocking the chair, which makes the other’s expression harden. The chair legs scrape against the floor. The finger slides in deeper, and Edge lets out a squawk as his mouth is bended open. Triumph shines in Nikolay’s eyes as he plops the cork of the vial with his thumb. It falls to the floor with a quiet thump. The seeds rustles inside the vial. A dark shape appears behind Nikolay, making his soul skip a beat as he attempts to throw away with his head again, to no avail. The cook has an iron grip on his jaw, his fingers hooked into it, keeping his mouth open.

His eyes flicker to the shape behind, widening. Apparently, Nikolay notices.

“Wha-” he says, turning to look over his shoulder. Thuck.

Edge gapes as his eyelights roll back in his eyes and he sinks to the floor with a groan. Behind him, holding a broomstick raised in the air, stands Blue. His face is still red from tears and his suit is crumpled, but fury is written on his face as he lowers the broomstick, glaring down at Nikolay in disgust. Edge can’t help but stare at the right-hand man in shock. Without a word, Blue drives the end of the broomstick into Nikolay’s head once more before shoving him to the side, facing Edge.

“Are you alright, sir?” he asks. Edge nods mutely. “I was looking for you. Inspector Fuente wanted to speak with you.” He picks up a handkerchief from his pocket, rubbing his red cheeks. “Let me untie you.”

“Yeah,” Edge says loftily. Holy shit. His mind spins as he tries to process the last few moments, now when the adrenaline is sinking away. “Please.”

Nimble fingers soon loosen the ropes keeping him stuck to the chair around his waist, arms, and legs. “I can’t believe-” Blue stops to stare at the body of the murderer he’s just knocked out. “Yes, he’s-” He shakes his head. “I know I said I suspected him, but I can’t believe he’d frame my brother.” New tears welled up, which he was quick to wipe away with his handkerchief. He smiles wetly. “But that means my brother is innocent. I knew it. I knew Stretch wasn’t a murderer.”

“So did I,” Edge murmurs, and Blue’s smile widens.

Once Edge is free, standing up and stretching his stiff limbs, they stare at the body.

“So what are we doing with him, sir?”

Edge smiles faintly. He’s shivering – almost getting murdered will do that to you. “We bring him to Inspector Fuente and get your brother back.”

Soon, he carries the unconscious Nikolay like a potato sack over his shoulder upstairs while Blue brings the evidence. The vials and the letters, and some of the ropes Edge had been tied up with. They use the others to tie up Nikolay.

Inspector Fuente and Sir Razz are standing in the main hall, conversing, as they show up. Both of them stare as Edge drops the unconscious cook on the ground.

“Here’s your murderer,” he says.

For a few beats, the room is completely silent.

“He nearly killed me too,” he adds, “but Blue knocked him out.”

Another couple seconds of silence follow. Blue holds up the poisons and hands over the letters to Inspector Fuente.

“The murder weapon, the attempted murder weapon, and his motivation.” Edge rolls his shoulders. God, Pa- Nikolay is heavy. But he is, of course, a grown man so nothing else was to be expected, really. He looks at Sir Razz. “It seems as though your husband, sir, destroyed his brother’s career within MI6 because of their Bulgarian descent. Because of racism, clear and simple.” He gives them a brief summary of the last hour.

“May I have my brother back now?” Blue demands, stepping forward and actually glaring at the inspector. Sir Razz blinks in surprise. “He’s innocent. As I said.”

Inspector Fuente huffs, shock, amazement, and amusement all playing on his face as he looks between Edge and Blue. He nods. “Yes, we’ll go into Deadford and get him out of the arrest. This case took an unexpected turn.”

If he’s worried someone will say anything to the Police about him being wrong, or if he even cares, he doesn’t show it. Nonetheless, Edge puts a hand on Blue’s shoulder, receiving a questioning gaze, before he nods back. “I do believe we have solved this case,” he says.

The inspector raises an eyebrow, but nods, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. “Yes… It seems we have.” He dips his hat to Sir Razz. “Well, sir, we better get going.”

Sir Razz nods as well before turning to his right-hand man. “Blue, you go with the inspector and get your brother. I’m sure he’ll appreciate that the most.” Blue nodded quickly. “And Detective Serif, come with me and I’ll pay you what I owe. And a bonus for almost getting murdered.”

Edge can’t help but grin. “I appreciate it, sir.”

…

And then he is back where it all began.

He regards his reflection in his office window before looking outside at the dark street. A beggar sits bundled up in some stairs, a wild dog wanders by. The rain is, as always, pouring down over Deadford, smattering against asphalt and windows. It’s in the middle of the day, so the occasional car comes by and some pedestrians walk by, too used to the rain to bother with trying to escape it. It’s still dark: the clouds are black as coal as they spit heaven’s fury down over the town, as lightning and thunder flashes and booms.

For the first time in his life, he’d opened a bank account. Sir Razz had paid him seven hundred dollars for his services, and he’s never had that much money in his entire life. And since he does not feel safe keeping that money in his office or his shared apartment, the bank seems like the most logical choice. For once, he does not worry about ending up on the street eventually. He’s not about to buy any frivolities, though, like some others may have. In times like these, that money is best kept as backup in case he’ll lack food or be unable to pay the rent one day.

A purring comes from the side and he smiles as a white cat steps on the hand he has planted on the windowsill, demanding attention. He scratches her ear before stroking his hand down her back. Luckily, being away hadn’t destroyed his relationship with that beautiful cat on the street: in fact, once he came back, she’d been willing to move in with him. Her name is Doomfanger now. A beautiful, hairy cat with a scar running down along her right eye and torn ears that has seen better days. He loves her already.

His fingertips slide over the cold glass as he pets her, making him shiver, and she licks them, looking pleased with herself. Taking her into his arms, he walks over to the desk. Details from a new case already covers his desk: with Sir Razz’s commendations on his resumé, he suddenly turned into a highly sought for private detective. For now, he does not need to worry about money at all, for the first time in his life.

It feels good.

It knocks on the door, thrice, and he raises an eyebrow as he opens his arms so Doomfanger will jump. She lands on the floor with a quiet thump, staring at him in offence. The corner of his mouth tugs upwards. Apparently he isn’t allowed to put her down already. She lounges in the back of the room as he steps over to the door. Who would visit him at this time of day, in this weather?

The door creaks as he opens it, and a dark shape is revealed in the dark hallway. Once his eyes get used to the dim light, he hums in surprise. Dressed in a huge coat with its collar pulled up halfway over his face, stands Stretch. Edge steps to the side, gesturing for him to come in, and he does, waterdrops sliding off his coat and down on the floorboards.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you?” Stretch asks, folding down his collar to reveal his face. His teeth chatters, and his smile is nervous.

Edge shakes his head, smiling. “Not at all. I am very sorry I didn’t say goodbye, but I was worried about overstaying my welcome.” He gestures toward the coat-hanger before stepping back a few steps so he can pull out a bottle whisky from his desk drawer. Alcohol may be illegal but literally who the fuck cares? He places two glasses on the table. “Whisky? You look cold.”

“Thank you,” he says as he pulls of his coat, hanging it up next to Edge’s. Doomfanger stares at him from behind the desk, distrustful.

Once Edge has poured up two glasses with honey-brown liquid, he hands one of the glasses to Stretch before sitting down in one of the two old leather armchairs by the wall, gesturing for the other to do the same, which he does. The armchair squeaks and sways as Stretch sits down, and for a moment worry flashes over his face, as though he’s wondering if the armchair is going to break beneath him.

“And I understand.” Stretch smuts at his whisky, sighing in relief as he drinks. “Sir Razz can be intimidating. I came to say thank you. You know. For not stopping investigating.”

Taking a gulp of his own whisky, feeling it burn pleasantly in his throat, Edge shakes his head. “Of course. I- There was something about it that didn’t feel right. I didn’t think you were capable of doing such a thing… And you weren’t.”

“No.” He stares into his glass as he swirls the liquid around it. “I hated Dr Gaster. Hated him, with all my soul. I would’ve resigned the day I turned eighteen and taken employment in the factories, if Blue hadn’t- Yeah. I couldn’t leave my brother. He would’ve been heartbroken, and mother and father would’ve broken all contact with me, and made him do so too, just like they later did with Clara – our older sister-”

Edge nods. The sister who ran away to run a Scottish tavern in Minnesota with her partner. He can only assume that meant she isn’t married. In all honesty, he can’t help but admire her guts.

“-but no, I couldn’t hurt the doctor. Not that I didn’t occasionally want to throw wine in his face, damn the consequences, but no. Never.”

“You’re a better person than me,” Edge murmurs. “If my foreman is still alive, and I met him, he’d be lucky if I only punched him.”

Flashing him a quick smile, Stretch downs the rest of his whisky. “Well. You’d be justified. At least I was never physically hurt.” He sighs. “But now when I know how disgustingly he acted during the War – I didn’t even know he was in the War, we all got to hear he spent a year at Université Paris-Sorbonne – I feel even more that he truly did deserve what he got.”

“He did.”

Even if what Nikolay did was truly abhorrent as well. But the trial was coming up, and with the evidence against him, Edge didn’t doubt he’d spend a lot of time paying for his crimes.

By now, also Stretch has finished his whisky. He glances at the clock, and then at Edge. There’s something wishful on his face as he moves to stand. “Maybe I should go back before it gets too late. I just wanted to thank you.”

“You can-” Edge says before he can stop himself before cutting himself off. Stretch’s eyes flicker to him, something almost hopeful shining in there, and Edge relaxes. “One of my roommates is out of town. If you’d like, you can borrow his bed. It’s not as fancy as a manor, but it’s warm and dry. That was you don’t have to travel back in this weather.”

The smile that lits up Stretch’s face makes it impossible for him not to return it, smiling just as warmly.

“I’d like that, thank you.”

The End

[strainingfororiginality]

4.5 - Knowledge

He knocked once and waited, leaning up against the frame as he placed his head close to the wood surface of the door, listening to the movements ensuing within. He could have just put himself directly within the apartment, but that would have been pretty rude and he didn’t want to interrupt what they had been doing when he first looked in on them. Considering what he was about to ask of his old friend, he needed to approach this delicately, to say the very least.

If it hadn’t been for his preternatural hearing, he wouldn’t have heard the hushed whispers inside the apartment’s bedroom and he wouldn’t have heard the shuffling of two pairs of hurried feet across the concrete floor. He most definitely wouldn’t have heard someone open the closet and step within. As he tapped his spotted fingers on the door, he patiently waited for the woman to crack the entrance open, leaving the chain on as she squinted at him through the sliver of an opening.

He could see the salt and pepper of her long raven black hair covering half of her dark-skinned face as she looked at him with her dark brown, investigative eyes.

"Yes? Can I help you?" She asked and Michael smiled at her. He had already heard her cocking the gun as she walked towards the door and he’d even heard her gently push the nuzzle of the barrel quietly against the wood on the other side a second before she opened the door to greet him.

"Hi, Barb." He smirked at her, trying his hardest to be pleasant. “I’m here to see Frank.” That was the name his old friend was going by right now and she looked at him accusingly, with growing concern.

"Sorry." She lied. “Frank’s not here right now. What can I do ya for?”

"Hmmm." Michael shifted his stance, staring down to the older woman as he tilted his head to the left. “How about Barqan then? Is he here?” When her eyes widened, he placed a hand on the frame, squeezing it, the wood creaked and began to buckle under his grip. His hand was not far from the chain and her eyes fluttered to it, understanding his threat easily. He could just push it through, but there was no need for any violence. These were friends.

"That is … if you can coax him out of the closet." He chuckled lowly and then tapped the spot on the door, exactly where she held the gun on the other side as he grinned wider. “And I’d really prefer it if you didn’t try to shoot me. That wouldn’t end very well for you, child.”

This statement shocked her and she paused for a brief moment as she sized him up before he heard her lower the weapon on the other side, conceding to his request as his words sunk in. "Alright then. Who should I say is calling?"

Michael grinned even wider, showing her his overdeveloped canines and he raised an eyebrow, answering with a name that caused the women to hold her breath for a moment as her mouth dropped agape.

“Tell him it’s Hinon."

Dutch’s phone chirped and as she fumbled it out of her pocket, she looked at the text message on the screen, even though from the chime alone, she already knew what it would say. As she leapt up from the dinner table, Fet furrowed his brows as he watched his wife bolt from the room in a full sprint.

"Dutch?!?" He called, swinging around to see that she was completely gone and her meal only half eaten. “What is it?!?” He screamed out to her, receiving no response. Assuming it to be some lady issue, he went back to shoveling the cheesy taco into his mouth before she reappeared at the door, her face painted with awe.

"Come on, love! Come! Have a look!" She waved at him aggressively to follow her and he begrudgingly left his plate as he wadded up his napkin, dropping it onto the table next to his plate.

"But da food’s gonna get cold! And … I love Taco Tuesday." He complained as he turned to face her, but the large grin on her face won the argument and she pulled him down the hallway and into her office, pushing him in front of her to sit down in her desk chair.

"You see that! SEE!" Pointing frantically to the map on the screen, she nodded to herself as she gripped his large shoulder in her hand. “I knew it! I bloody KNEW IT!”

"Yup. Look at dat." Fet shrugged. “It’s a circle.”

"No … um … actually, it’s an ellipse … but, check it out ..." Reaching over him, she jiggled the mouse, maximizing a window behind the digital map and he stared, confused at the bouncing lines across the screen as she clicked on a ‘play’ icon.

"Ok." He stared at the lines in silence for a few seconds. “Uh … Neat?”

"Ugh. Don’t you recognize it?!" She spun the chair around so that he was facing her and his wide eyes answered her question without words. “It’s her, love. That’s Dawn.”

Fet’s mouth fell open as he twisted back around and clicked on the map again. "Are you sure? I mean, dat’s--"

"It’s the exact same signal. Same peaks, same content, same fucking frequencies." She clapped her hands loudly, very pleased with her own findings. “Hot damn. It’s the same damn signal. It’s just … um …” She clicked back to the waterfall graph and her smile faded a little bit. “It’s just … well … ten times stronger than it was before, but … nonetheless … I’m positive it was her.”

"Was?" Fet asked, squinting at the graph. “What do you mean was?”

"Well … I’ve been continuously scanning for it for a while. It was never constant, but something big happened and it popped up." She slapped him on the shoulder as she leaned over, tapping the screen on the white ellipse. “It’s her. I’m sure of it. But … ” Dutch cleared her throat carefully and Fet turned to look at his concerned wife’s face.

"But what?" He pressed.

"Well …" She sighed. “This particular signal only occurred when …” There was a pause as she considered her words carefully. “When she was near the Master, love.”

Turning back to the screen, Fet cleared his own throat carefully as the reality of what she was trying to imply sunk in. "But … what does dat even mean? You sayin’ da Master’s still alive? No, I don’t believ--"

"No. I don’t think he could have survived the hell that Q wrought down on him on that day but …" She bit her lip as she took a sharp breath in. “Do you remember what Q said? That last morning?” She waited for Fet to remember and answer, and when he didn’t immediately, she spoke quickly, concern mounting in her tone. “That there were other Ancients coming … More like his father?” As the words escaped her lips, goosebumps riddled their arms and she heard Fet breathe out dramatically as he recalled and recited Q’s words exactly.

"Yeah … Except far more powerful and far more ruthless …"

"Exactly." They both stared in silence at the screen, struggling to internalize what it might actually mean.

"We shouldn’t jump ta any conclusions, yeah?" He shook his head, denying her words. “One thing at a time, k?” Dutch nodded meekly. “So, right now … Where is she?” He asked as he attempted to move the mouse to zoom out and get a better idea of where the map was centered.

"Downtown Philadelphia."

Giving herself up to EL was very different than surrendering to Hathų. When the native woman had stepped forward, she had only taken control of her voice and her arms. It was not intrusive, but rather timid and careful. If she would have described it succinctly using a single word, it had been polite.

Hathų had kept her own mind distant from Dawn and because of that she had retained control. When EL stepped forward, it was as if their minds had interlaced and he was in absolute control of her. As disturbing as it was, it felt like putting on an old glove and she realized that everything he had said to her, about always being around, about speaking with her, about being Mrs. Weaver … was truth.

But, because of this mental interlacing, it worked both directions. She could immediately read his most open thoughts clearly and the obvious intentions that rippled along his conscious mind as he began to pummel the Nazi savagely. His intention was to kill him.

What are you doing?!? She had asked and he had ignored her, just hitting him again instead.

No. This wasn’t the plan … was it? He was going to just kill him?! What about the Lumen? What about Heaven?!

"Hello Thomas." He purred through her delicate vocal cords and another strike landed on the Shiny Man’s jaw sending him crumpling to the ground as his bone cracked under the force of their shared might. She could hear a menacing and low vibration carried along with her voice as he controlled it. It was almost an electrical crackle.

Stop.

She commanded and she tried to reach out for control.

Don’t do that.

She demanded and he ignored again, reaching down for the man and she felt the thought arc cross the archangel’s mind. He was going to rip the strigoi’s head completely off. She tried to push EL out of the way but he remained in place. Solid.

"We’re actually hoping we can all be useful to each other."

"How so, My Lord?" The Shiny Man had asked desperately and she felt her own desperation climaxing. He would be dead in seconds and suddenly, instead of pushing EL away, she forced herself into him farther, burrowing beyond just the surface of his mind. It was an uncomfortable thing and she felt as if it was a vicious violation, but she heard whispers of voices echoing everywhere. Some were his voice but most were others and then entire memories started to leak through.

Someone else, she had never heard before, calm and gentle. Delicate and soothing.

"You don’t need to do this, Brother. I can still help you. Please, little one … “ The voice pled, laced with more need and sadness than she had ever heard before. Even after all of her own nights of sorrow and grief, this man’s melancholy surpassed all that she’d ever heard. “You aren’t alone. You’ve never been alone."

Those words … those fucking words. How often had she heard those words?

Underneath her soul, she felt EL tense at the memory as it reverberated through their shared subconscious. Something about this instant caused him discomfort and she felt him shove the recollection away and as it faded quickly, she reached out for the very next instance lingering in his mind. Another voice came forward, its tone was heavy, angry, frantic, and riddled with its own special agony.

"I won’t do it! Do not make me do this! BROTHER!"

Another light and feminine tone screamed back and the volume of it was deafening and she felt EL cringe again at the resurfacing of another memory.

"There is no choice!" It begged in the darkness … she begged. “The Nexus must be preserved … at any cost ...”

A second longer and the Shiny Man would be missing his head. She could sense her arms beginning to flex as she reached for the Nazi’s temple and she pushed further one more time as she felt EL’s discomfort increase substantially. She was intruding into him the same as he did to her and the next words that leaked out were his.

"She wasn’t made for you, you little shit." He hissed with an anger so loud it flooded everything around her. “She was made for me.”

"How so, My Lord?" The Nazi asked, staring up as EL stepped back instantly, thrusting her completely out of his mind as quickly as he could and she was back in full control.

"Well, that was rude." The archangel said from the side, standing beside the broken strigoi as he shook his head at her. “I wasn’t going to hurt him … much.”

Barb opened the door and he stepped through, resting his staff on the wall next to the exit. It made him nervous to have it so close when he needed to discuss more sensitive matters. Raphael’s exact control over the item had always been confusing.

Though his purple-eyed younger brother claimed he’d given up all claim of it, Michael would often still feel The Traveler’s divinity surging through the thing each and every time he used it. Where Michael’s divinity was golden and smelled of angelica, Raphael’s had a distinctive blue hue and it carried the scent and taste of eucalyptus.

Cringing at the taste left in his mouth from traveling just this far with it, he opted to leave it there as he entered the living area, taking a seat on the couch as he listened to the Iroquoian woman talking to her Djinn, coaxing him out of his hiding place.

"Hinon? Don’t be ridiculous, woman. There is no way he would be--" As Barqan rounded the corner of the bedroom, locking eyes with the archangel, his sentence fell short. “Michael.” The Black King stopped in his tracks as Barb came up behind him and he waved her off. “Leave us. Take a walk, please.” He asked of the woman and though she seemed nervous about it.

"I need a smoke anyways. It was nice to meet you, Thunderer." She nodded towards the archangel as she complied without argument, grabbing her coat. Before she made it out, she turned back to look at Michael carefully before she left. "You know. I always thought you'd be taller."

"What is it?" Barqan queried. “Why are you here? What has happened?”

"I come with a request, old friend." Michael leaned forward. “I ...” His words trailed off as his eyes floated down to the ground, attempting to discern and isolate the feeling that had just begun to well within the pit of his stomach as nausea swept across him. It had been a number of years since he’d felt anything like this and his skin flushed with color as he felt something … pulling from him.

Though it was not nearly as intense, it was the same overall sensation, just as it had been that night nearly thirty years ago, when he’d felt the agony of Dawn’s divinity being sucked away from her … while he pulled it from her.

Barqan tilted his head to the right and looked at the strange expression gracing Michael’s frozen face. It was one he’d never seen on any archangel’s face before and he immediately pressed. "What is wrong?"

The Governor had no words as he flinched at the gravity of the feeling. He felt as if he was being torn in half, nearly incapable of taking a full breath before the vertigo of the feeling ceased all at once. Taking a deep breath in, he looked up into the worried Djinn’s face and shook his head. "It’s nothing."

"That was most definitely not nothing, Michael." Barqan told him.

"Regardless … I am here to discuss something ..." He looked back towards the staff and considered checking on his progeny, but when the Black King pressed again, the archangel decided to keep to the task at hand.

"Michael, what was tha--"

"I need a child from your fallen brethren." Quickly and succinctly, he demanded as he locked eyes with the horrified Djinn.

"What?" Barqan coughed. “What do you mean you need a child?” The Black King gulped. “For what purpose?”

"I’m sorry, old friend. But, there must be a reckoning." He said simply. “Gabriel demands the right to extinguish the … newly sparked abomination.”

"Newly sparked Abomination? No, that is not possible. None of our children have sparked. We prevent that." Barqan’s eyes grew wide. “Wait … it was your child, wasn’t it? The little woman from--”

"It makes no difference who’s child it was, Black King." Michael sighed dramatically. “This is sadly not up for debate--”

Barqan interrupted. "And what … kind of reckoning?! Extinguish?! Why do you--"

Michael halted his companion’s desperate argument, repeating his last sentence again with more force. "This is not up for debate. Either you provide a child to me, or I will find one. Now that I know they are here, do you think you can stop me?"

Barqan stared at him in silent horror.

EL trailed behind both of them closely. Thomas walked ahead and she kept no less than five feet between them as he guided her through Downtown Philadelphia quickly, away from the deserted commercial real estate and into the industrial area. While he could try to run again, the archangel was certain he wouldn’t. From all the stories that he’d heard from hell. From all the people that he’d sent EL’s way, he knew this man had always been a coward and it was very clear that he wouldn’t get far.

"You hid it out here?" She questioned and he nodded his head.

"Do you think I should have kept it in my hotel room safe, little one?" EL knew how much she hated Thomas calling her that and he could feel as her body tensed with growing annoyance, but she said nothing, as usual. She had always been too quiet, in his opinion. If it was him, he would have demanded respect from this pathetic creature through pain.

If he was in a better mood, he might have even urged her to force the bastard not to use the nickname anymore, but he walked silently, considering everything that had just happened very carefully.

He had control and for the first time since he fell, he was here, in physical form … on Earth. Through her body, he felt humanity and life all around him again. Through her body, he felt connected again. Through her body, he felt whole. He could have tried to hold on, fought her for command over the powerful shell, but he pulled back for three reasons and he mulled these over while they walked, because all three were all equally concerning to him.

First.

If he had held on, he would have lost her trust entirely and this frightened him. Not that it would happen, but that he somehow cared how she would feel about it. Satan’s previous statements resonated in his mind now and he sneered at the thought of the demon’s words having volition.

He knew what his goal was, right? Yes. Of course he did … the goal was to get out of his self-imposed prison. But if that was the truth, had he not just had the opportunity? No, he told himself, there was no way of knowing if she could have ousted him or not given enough motivation. No, he urged himself, he needed to play it safe. He had no idea how much power she could actually draw upon and he needed her to relinquish control to him indefinitely.

Second.

He drew himself back after he heard those words ricochet within his mind. She had pulled memories out of him, and as painful as those were to revisit, he had shrugged it off. But the next words that she played in his inquisitive mind concerned him the most. Yes, it was his voice, but he was quite certain he’d never uttered those words before.

"She wasn’t made for you, you little shit. She was made for me."

The day she was born, he knew she was quite different than all of her predecessors. Beyond just her disease, he knew she was different in a very, very important way. She was Demiarc, as all of her forefathers had been. But she was also a prophet. She could also see the future and he knew he’d never uttered those words before and now he also knew that one day he would.

"This way, my dear." Thomas ushered them into an empty factory.

And, most importantly, third.

While he was at the helm, he felt the Nexus again … all around him. Surging and chittering and humming and … he was home. It was intoxicating and she hadn’t learned how to hear it quite yet.

At the same time, this confused him because he knew his brother had closed it off from Earth as well as Hell as much as he could and in that fragile and tender moment when he was reaching down to rip the Nazi’s head off, he felt the subtlest of changes begin. He felt that fucking purple bastard opening up again and he ripped himself back as quickly as he could, nearly stumbling all the way back into Hell. This would complicate things greatly and he spoke for the first time in several minutes.

"We need to hurry up." He rushed. Something was changing and it was now more important than ever to get to the Lumen.

She was obviously displeased with him but the nervousness in his voice was clear and rather than afford him any kind of attention, she questioned Thomas instead. "How much further?"

"We are almost there, my dear." He assured her in his thick german accent. “Patience, mein kleiner stern.”

She noticed Fet standing idly at the door while she threw clothes into her bag. When he made no movement, she eventually swung around to see what the hell he was doing and she saw the guiltiest look she’d ever seen on her husband’s face to date.

"What is it, love?" She swung back around and went for her underwear drawer next. “We don’t have time for this. You should be packing already. We don’t know how long she’ll be there.” She looked down at her folded undies and grabbed a handful without counting, shrugging in her mind. Yup, I’m sure that’ll be enough.

"Uh …Dutch?" He hesitated from the door again and she turned to face him, his hands fiddling with a stack of papers as he gave her the most fake smile as puppy-like innocent washed over him. “I gotta confession ta make.”

The seriousness of the moment sunk in and she turned to face him fully, stopping all movement. Terrible scenarios raced through her mind as her subconscious lurched forward, grasping at straws over what he might suddenly confess to her. Her heart sank with regret.

"What?" This was the only word that she could manage and he shuffled forward carefully, waving the papers towards her but she found herself unable to move. “What … what is that?”

"Uh …" He looked down and the guilt spread even further. “I kept dis from you. I …” He sighed heavily. “I kept dis from her too. At first, I just … I thought it was crazy, ya know?”

"What are they, Vasily?" She rarely used his first name and he finally walked over and shoved the papers into her hands. As she looked down, she recognized the scribbles on the pages as the Professor’s handwriting. “These are the Professor’s notes?”

"Yeah." He stroked his beard nervously. “Dey were in Q’s bag. I … I kept them from you. I’m sorry.”

Dutch smiled as relief washed over her. She was very nearly certain he was about to confess some love between him and the maid, but this was fine. This was no big deal, right? "No worries, eh? It’s just Abe’s old notes, yeah? It doesn’t matter."

"Uh …" Fet struggled again as he looked down at the worn papers. “Yeah, but … you should read dem.”

"Why bother?" Her eyebrows raised significantly. “It's just pointless shit from the Lumen, right? There wasn’t a damn thing in that bloody book that helped us out in the end.”

"But da Professor’s notes …" He pointed again at the pages she wrestled within her grasp. “He believed it. And he was usually right ...”

"Believed what, love?" My god, this was like pulling teeth. The big man usually wasn’t this hesitant with anything. He was normally extremely straightforward. “Come on, we really gotta get going.”

"How familiar are you with da Bible?"

The area was deserted and it reminded her distinctly of her factory, having been left in a rush as well. She could smell death emanating from all around them and as he led her into the bowels of the building, it was only getting stronger. Eventually, the smell of the decaying flesh overwhelmed his repugnant stench of ammonia that had almost made her gag blocks earlier.

"Don’t try anything with me." She warned and he giggled, dismissing her threatening tone.

"But why would I try a thing? I find your offer most enticing." They came to a door and he produced a key from a chain around his neck. As the lock clicked, he opened it wide to reveal a staircase within. Stepping back, he waved a hand downwards, offering her entrance first but she stared at him with squinted eyes.

"You first." She spat.

"Very well. Here." He handed her the key on the chain. “Please lock the door behind you.” At first she hesitated as old fear began to brew within her chest, her heart beginning to race as she remembered all those cold nights in the German’s “company”. It wasn’t until she heard EL’s voice from behind that she snapped back into reality.

"He can’t hurt you anymore." He assured her. “Even without my help, you’re more than he can manage now.” His voice was calming. “You’re more than most can manage.”

Shuffling down the steps ahead of her, she heard Thomas call out from below and she finally complied, stepping through and pulling the door shut, locking it and putting the chain around her own neck before proceeding downwards. At least this way, he wasn’t going to be able to run or lock her in.

As she breached the room below, she could see that he had been living there for quite some time and it was not entirely unlike her own safe room, in her factory.

He was messing with the bricks in the far wall, pulling them out and stacking them into a careful pile on the ground. Working quickly, he edged them out one at a time and she stood behind him, waiting and watching.

"Why didn’t you die with it?" She finally asked as she crossed her arms over her breasts. “How did you survive the bomb?”

"I could ask you the same." He chuckled as he turned around, seeing that his joke was ill-timed, he went back to dislodging the stones from the wall. “It was very fortuitous. I was …” He paused briefly. “Away at the time …”

"I thought you never left your precious Master’s side …" She might have pressed the issue further as it was obvious Thomas was keeping something to himself, but EL walked into view, passing her on the right as he looked into the hole that the Shiny Man was creating in the thick wall.

"It was not my choice to be away." He stated as he worked diligently.

"He tasted you." EL sneered towards the minion as he explained, never moving his eyes from the dark vacant space as he was eager to see what was within. “He was forsaken by his Master. Your blood freed him from its control.” The archangel chuckled, as this gave him some degree of pleasure. “Quite simply … He fell from strigoi grace.”

"What do you mean? He isn’t like the others anymore?" She asked, finally acknowledging EL again and Thomas spun around, seemingly confused for a moment as he assumed she was speaking to him.

"How could you know that ..." He questioned, but his words trailed off as she answered with a simple raised eyebrow. “He has told you this, hasn’t he?” Thomas looked around the room quickly, becoming nervous before returning to his act of tearing down the wall. “He is here, isn’t he?”

"Tell him to hurry." EL pressed again. She had never seen him so nervous. “You should have let me kill him. This would have been much faster if--”

"Faster?!" She questioned swiftly, interrupting his sentence mid-flow as her arms dramatically fell to her sides with anger and she stepped forward toward the archangel. “Kill him?! How would that have helped anything?! I’m not physic! We would have never found this place!”

Thomas spun around, concerned by the content of her words, but he returned to the task at hand without uttering anything in reply while the single-sided argument ensued behind him.

EL smiled wickedly and she felt the goosebump rise across her spotted flesh as he stepped forward to her, closing all gap between them while he looked down, tilting her chin up towards him so that she could see directly into his rainbow irises.

"You still need to learn to trust me. Think about it carefully, Aurora." She hated when he talked down to her. “If that monstrosity died.” He purred. “Where exactly do you think his soul would go?”

As the clever realization spread across her face, her furrowed brows relaxed fully and her mouth opened slightly causing his smile to widen further.

"I could have ripped the answer out of his soul with my bare hands." She tried to step back, but his grip flew to her shoulders, holding her in place as he continued. “And I would have been able to pay him back for every … single … ounce of blood he whipped out of you.”

"I would offer you to join me, but there really isn’t much room, my dear." Thomas chortled as he crawled and wiggled his way into the hole that he had made in the wall, just big enough for a body. “I will be back. One moment, please.”

Staring up into his rainbow eyes, she shook her head. "You should have told me your plan."

"I didn’t think--"

"And here it is!" Thomas screamed from behind the wall, shoving a burlap sack out and waving it at her dramatically to retrieve it from his grasp. “Please.”

As she took the sack, she stood back and allowed the strigoi to crawl out while she pulled the material away to undercover the silver book within. It was just as she remembered it. The look, the smell, and the feeling. Even now, in her hands, she could feel the vibrations that pulsed through it. All those times, the Professor sitting on the table, with it cracked open and Quintus sitting next to him as they peered within and she had kept her distance. She began to crack open the book and EL spoke abruptly.

"There’s no time for that yet. Get to the roof." He rushed again. “Now.”

"What?" She looked up as Thomas finished pulling himself out of the wall, standing beside her as he brushed the debris from his suit. “No time for what?”

EL cocked his head to the right in annoyance and sighed, tapping his watchless right wrist to express the need for growing urgency.

Fuck it. Fine. She wasn’t sure what exactly the point was. It wasn’t daytime, and there was no way she could see the Sun Pages right now. That was the point of all of this, wasn’t it? Something was hidden in the text which was somehow important to EL. He’d been less than forthcoming with the specifics.

As she demanded roof access, she allowed Thomas to lead the way and as soon as they hit the rooftop, she could see the archangel standing near the far ledge with his back to her, looking out at the distant horizon as the moon loomed close to it.

"Here." He patted the roof side and she set the Lumen down on the lip of the building, collapsing onto her knees in front of it. “Come on. Open it. The first third are the Sun Pages.”

"I don’t know why you’re in such a hurry all the sudden." She questioned as the book creaked open and Thomas watched silently from behind. “There isn’t any sun.”

"I know … We’ve only got minutes left. The back third. Hurry."

He rushed, pointing to the pages and as she turned the book to somewhere in the last third of it, she watched with wide eyes as the page within started to illuminate with silver arabic letterings, completely overcoming the inked words, as the light from the moon absorbed into it.

"What is that?!" Thomas asked from behind, peering over her shoulder and she looked up at EL, who was now smiling.

"The Moon Pages. The story of the Fallen Djinn." He waved his hand over the book quickly, urging her to flick the page to the next. “Next.” She flicked. “Next.” She flicked again. “Keep going.”

When he saw the page he wanted, he nodded and laughed, looking back to the horizon quickly before pointing to a symbol in the middle of it. Most of the other pages had been covered with lengthy text, but this one was just riddled with ten symbols and a chill ran over her skin as the swirls and delicate curves of them reminded her of her own mark.

"That one." He pointed down to her boot. “Your knife. Get it. Quickly.”

"My knife?" She questioned as she retrieved the bowie knife from its leather cradle, hidden in the ankle holster underneath her pant leg. “What the fuck for?”

EL turned to Thomas, who was still staring down wide-eyed at the discovery and he smiled.

"I guess he’ll be useful after all."

Standing, she turned to face Thomas with the knife drawn in her hand and the German’s eyes only grew larger as he took a step back, interpreting her action as possibly hostile. "I already told you I’m not going to kill him." She said towards the angel and she heard EL laugh. He was clearly in a better mood now.

"No, silly bean. Give him the knife. You need carve that into your skin. And hurry. The text will gone when the moon sets. And we can’t wait another day."

"Wait what?" Dawn gasped as she turned to her raven-haired companion. “Into my … my skin?”

"Yup. Unfortunately, it's only temporary. You’ll heal very quickly. We’ll have to get you a more … permanent solution, but for now …" He pointed to the knife. “Hurry.”

"Why?" She questioned. “Why all the rush now?”

"Because … they can see you."

"What is it?" Looking down at the symbol, she was desperate to know, but EL grew frustrated at the hesitation as he tried to rush her along. “What does it do?”

"It is Obfuscation. It will keep you hidden from all prying eyes. Please. I promise all answers to any questions, but right now, my Golden Dawn. Time’s short."

"Ok." She thrust the knife’s handle toward Thomas as she lifted up her sleeve, exposing the top of her arm to him. “Cut it into me.” As she turned back to the book, pointed.

"Cut it into you?" Thomas gulped at the command, “Are you certain, Fräulein?”

"Yes. Do it." She sighed at his hesitation. “You didn’t have a problem with hurting me before.” As he brought the knife up, she closed her eyes and the metal cut into her skin. Fuck, she hated knives. She felt herself flinch at the sensation but she calmed her body as she heard her dhampir’s voice cut through and dull the increasing pain:

"I was drawn to the warrior that you so obviously are."

"No. You cannot ask this of me." Barqan stood and walked to the window as anger overcame him. “Why did you not just burn the divinity from her when she was born like all the others?!” Barqan spat. “How could you have allowed her to spark to begin with?!”

"If you wish to blame anyone, then blame the Prince of Snakes, of whom you are so very fond." Michael sneered.

"It is unlike you, Golden One to deflect blame? It is unlike you to be so cowar--"

"Careful, Djinn. Don’t assume that mine and my children haven’t suffered and don’t continue to suffer … everyday." Michael stood slowly as he warned. “I don’t do this out of cowardice or love. I’m offering you this choice out of practicality.”

Barqan laughed as he spun to face the golden-haired angel. "Practicality, brother? Is that what you tell yourself so that you can sleep at night?" Michael smirked at the statement, as they both knew neither of them slept.

"If we do not provide one to my brother … if my progeny is found out, then I fall. If I fall, Black King …" He watched as Barqan’s defensive stance began to relax. “Then there will be no one protecting your kind here.”

"They have survived for millenia without your great protection, My Governor." The Djinn returned to the couch and Michael could already see that practicality was prevailing in the Black King’s mind, even if his words had yet to convey it fully.

"Perhaps so." Michael agreed. “But if I fall, there’s no doubt in my mind that The Traveler and The Messenger will rip all of the secrets from my mind.” Michael looked down on the seated man as the Black King put his hand up to his head in defeat. “And with the Staff and Trumpet back in their employ, there’s no where on Earth or Heaven for you and your kind to hide.”

Barqan stared quietly at the table as he considered this most impossible decision, sighing as sadness overcame him. "You cannot ask me to do this …" He looked up into the powerful green irises as tears welled up in his black eyes. “After what I told you about Sathariel … how can you ask this of me?”

"It’s because of Sathariel that I know I must." Michael said coldly before he turned and started to walk back towards the door to retrieve the staff. “Chose, Barqan. A single child or all of your children.”

As he reached for the silver instrument, preparing himself to for the journey back to Heaven, he reached out to check on Dawn, knowing there was only a single person in existence who could possibly have made him feel as he did on the couch. Extending himself, Michael gasped, loud enough for Barqan to take note, looking up from his sadness.

"What is it now?" He stood as he saw another surprised look encompass Michael’s face.

"I …" The archangel trailed off as he reach out again and still, it was the same result. Nothing.

"What is it, Michael?!" Barqan stammered again and the Governor looked up, finally meeting his friends eyes as his desperation was beginning to boil.

"I can’t see her … Barqan. I can’t … " Michael was nearly at a loss for breath as he choked the words out. “She’s … gone.”

Oh fuck.

[thickasthievesrpg-hidden]

WELCOME TO THE HEIST, SAM!

YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF TOMMASO CAPECCHI

A note from Admin Risa: This week has truly been the week of the Capecchis - and I’m glad of it! It’s such a joy to have the eldest Capecchi child among us again, and having seen all that you can do, I’m certain that you’ll bring Tommaso to great heights, Sam. Your request to change Tommaso’s faceclaim to Michiel Huisman has been granted, and I’m very excited to see another Capecchi join us! Congratulations on your acceptance! You’ve been to the museums, the banks, the isolated manors with their black dogs and gilded keys. You’ve stolen their necklaces, their jewels, the prized heirlooms in their vaults and their safes. They’ll watch out for you. Please visit the after acceptance page and submit your account within the next 24 hours – we’re excited to have you with us!

OOC

Name/Alias + Pronouns: Sam She/her

Age: 23

Timezone + Activity CET/GMT+1. You guys know how my activity is; I go back to university in April, too (after taking a break for two years rip me) so it might drop down to a 6-7 by then. Between lectures and on the weekends I’d def have more time though. I love TaT and rping with y'all so I’d never abandon you if I could help it <3

IC

Desired Role: Tommaso Ettore Capecchi

Analysis:

sexuality/romantic preference – Tommaso Capecchi falls, first and foremost, for people. If someone is able to catch and hold his attention, to make him muse and wonder, lost in his own head to his own wishing thoughts, he’ll be intrigued. While it was Juliet’s beauty and elegance that drew him to her, it was who she was as a person whom he fell in love with in the end. Aware of the ‘traditional’ relationships that are expected from him, Tommaso keeps quiet about possible attractions to the same sex.

birthdate – September 16th, 1983. A son of late summer, he is just as lovely. The warm chill on your skin once the sun started to disappear behind the treetops and still, the sun lingered in your bones.

birthplace/hometown – Palermo. Palermo, oh Palermo, his heart and soul clings to this city, intertwined with it, two entities lost in an eternal dance. Despite the painful memories of his mother leaving them, Palermo is the one city Tommaso will always return to. His one true home. When he left he needed to, and when he returned it was for the same reason. But he doesn’t see it as forced. Family is his duty, before anything else. When they call, he answers.

occupation – He could be the new face of the Capecchi name, could be the legacy his father dreamed him to be. He could be, and when once, that notion twisted his stomach in a way that made it hard to breathe, it is now an opportunity. A chance to shape his own future, that of his siblings and his family name…perhaps to something better.

criminal occupation – Partner-in-crime – a right hand man, the one with ideas, the head behind the strings his father pulled. Sometimes, Tommaso wonders if he’d understand the world around him better if he had killed Salvatore all those years back, but he knows that murder doesn’t have to define him in the way it does his father. He has nothing but respect for Lorenzo, the two are simply two sides of the simple coin. His father’s side just happened to be splattered in blood.

Eleanor – From all his siblings, Tommaso believes he remembers her best, had the most time to spend with her, and that is exactly what hurts most. Every day, he misses his mother, wishes her back, yearns for the safety of her embraces, wonders what it was that drove her away from them. What cruelty did she see? What horrors couldn’t Lorenzo hide from her? Should Tommaso ever marry Juliet, he knows he’d try to do it differently. Try being the word – he'd tried with Talia, and lost her.

Migraines – He gets them, from time to time, and they’re a dully pounding pain in the confines of his skull. Managable. Other times, he gets them and it feels like they’re splitting open his head and spine, the tiniest ray of light hurting his eyes in ways unimaginable. When the bad ones hit, Tommaso retreats in his room, blinds closed and in his bed, waiting it out, enduring.

Four Characteristics:

+ Caring:

Before he left, he was that kind of brother who’d gather all his siblings during a thunderstorm to hide away with them in a blanket fort, who’d read them bedtime stories if they asked him to, and who’d, sometimes, for his own entertainment, scare them in dark hallways. He remembers playing with Alessia in the backyard, braiding Violetta’s hair while she told him a made up story, or even accompanying Santino to kindergarten at occasion. To this day, his siblings are the most important thing in Tommaso’s life, but he is aware he needs to earn their trust again, knowing that the gaping chasm between them is his fault and his fault only.

+ Good-willed:

Perhaps something of Eleanor’s rubbed off on Tommaso after all, but unlike some of his siblings, he doesn’t have a mean streak in his body. Of course, if pressed, or if the situation calls for it, he can change into something unknown and snarling. But he prefers solving his problems in a civilized fashion and approaching people with a gentle smile on his face.

- Naïve:

Tommaso, despite knowing better, despite coming from a family that has trained him to know better, believes that there is something good in everyone. Sometimes he wonders if that makes him a fool, if he’s stupid for thinking that people are gentler, kinder, softer than the world makes them out to be. He wants to believe it. If Tommaso knew better, he would have seen just how much Ciro has changed his demeanor towards the eldest Capecchi child from the very start. It’s this naïveté that makes him hope he can get through his life without ever having to kill someone, even if he knows better…

- Cautious:

Caution isn’t inherently a bad thing. But sometimes, caution hinders you from acting in a situation that needs quick acting. Tommaso isn’t brash like his father – he likes to think before he dives in head first, not as hot-blooded as Lorenzo…not yet, anyways. It can make him seem cold when he’s talking to new people, too, especially when it’s someone like Charles Villiers.

Expansion:

Santino Capecchi: The relationship with his baby brother might be the only one Tommaso can actually fix. Things have been just…different, ever since he came back; entirely his fault, and he is aware of that. Ciro is not the boy he remembers, and there’s a distance between Alessia and him, too. Violetta’s plagued by her own demons, but Santino? He was just a boy when Tommaso left and he wonders if his brother even remembers him well. But he wants to try to at least be close to him again, to save something.

Lorenzo Capecchi: ‘Daddy issues’ would be the words to use here. Tommaso has nothing but respect for his old man, don’t get him wrong – and the trust Lorenzo puts in him is not misplaced. They share the scars of heartbreak but a part of Tommaso can’t forgive his father for thrusting that gun into his hand and ordering him to kill Salvatore. They, too, need to mend what Tommaso has broken down, and he’s willing to try.

Para Sample(s):

“You should probably ring the bell, you know. Or knock. Knocking’s also an option.”

The chuckle that draws out of Tommaso is dry, and yet, he squeezes Juliet’s hand in silent appreciation. Her hand is warm in his, always is, soft, gentle. It’s what tethers him to this realm, what makes him think clear; what grounds him, what gives him the courage to face what is to come. He’s the cowardly lion, then, on his old home’s doorsteps. Isn’t that why he had run in first place? Not enough heart, not enough confidence, to face what his life actually is. He sought for a new one in hopes to be reborn, and for a time, it seemed like it had actually worked. It seemed like he could rebuild himself, set himself together bone for bone. But the past never really stays in the past, does it?

So he’s back in Palermo, back where it all began, back where he started, this tiny boy with hopes and dreams and the beating pulse of life in his heart’s ventricles. When he was soft kindness, and cheeky grins, when he ran the streets with his best friend and later lover, uncaring of all the dark things that would eventually catch up to them both. When they did, Tommaso was hardly prepared for it. He should have, he knew what was coming, and yet, he’d let it wreck him in every possible way. To be consumed by a simple scratch was weakness, wasn’t it?

Juliets gives his shoulder a light nudge with her own, and Tommaso looks over to her. She’s beautiful – of course she is, radiant and brilliant, her eyes so familair by now that Tommaso finds comfort in them with just one glance, like now. He takes a deep breath through his nose, looks back at the door, then Juliet again. “They can be…much,” he tells her, his voice soft. “Especially my father.”

Juliet shrugs. She leans into him, and Tommaso feels his own gravitation shift, meeting her halfway. “I think I can handle.”

“So take everything they say with a grain of salt.”

“Okay.”

“They’re good people, you know.”

“Tommy.” The old nickname almost feels wrong leaving her lips, the cold whisper from a life past, but Tommaso’ll take it. He cracks a grin; lazy, not genuine, not with the image of Violetta half-dead in a hospital bed, not with thoughts assaulting him, making him wonder if he could have protected her from this if only he stayed. He lets go of Juliets and takes a step forward, rings the bell, an unpleasant chill settling in the pit of his stomach.

He waits. One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three.

The door opens.

Starter Example:

His skills had become rusty in the time he was gone, to say the least.

Or perhaps he had just aged badly. Wine that was rotten, that should have been beautiful to the taste and colour and yet, Tommaso believed that along the way, during the ten years he spent travelling the world and seeing more of life than he ever could have dreamed off, a drop of vinegar found its way into his bloodstream and ruined it all. He sat there, next to Lorenzo, head propped up in a hand: thumb against his jaw, index and middle finger pressed against his temple. It looked like he was simply resting, listening carefully, but if you looked closely, Tommaso was rubbing soothing cirlces into his temple. A feeble attempt to chase away the headache that’d began to pound dully about an hour ago. Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

They were under attack. They were on high alert. This, Tommaso understood. What he didn’t was why everyone thought this could be fixed by loudly yelling at each other about whose fault this exactly was (the name ‘Lohovary’ was dropped quite often).

“I think we need a different approach to this.” Finally, Tommaso spoke up, the hand on his face dropping to the table slowly. His palm pressed against the cool surface, appreciating the change of temperature against his heated skin. “We have to be smart about this or all we’ll accomplish is draw more attention towards us. We can’t put our family, and the Society, in even more jeopardy.”

Freestyle/Extra:

You can find a Tommaso mockblog (also the blog I’ll eventually use should I be accepted) here!