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vostara · 4 years

Text

love me like you hurt me - p.2

we make mistakes, we leave them by the door

pairing: Rafe Adler x Original Female Character x Samuel Drake

blurb: “But once, I think I loved you.”

word count: 14.9k+

title inspiration: I Run to You - MISSIO

The second (and final) part of the series. I’ve very much loved the process of writing this story and I adore Sabina and her interactions with Rafe and Sam. You can expect to see more of her in the future, since I have spin-off/sequel one-shots planned. I don’t know when they’ll be released, but they’re coming.

This work is cross-posted on Ao3.

01 | 02 ... series masterlist

February 2001

A month ago, Sabina packed her duffle bag and left Scotland on the first flight that she could book. She flew to England, then took a train to France. Swung her way through Switzerland, Italy, and Austria, before finding herself here.

Germany.

Sitting on a bench inside of a tiny museum, Sabina stares at the painting displayed on the wall. Before her is a sea of lavender. Plants are angled towards the right, leaning with an invisible breeze. In the center is a young woman, dressed in a high-collared white dress. And in her lap is a toddler, waving around a bundle of flowers.

From her peripheral vision, she watches as a man joins her on the bench. His hand twitches, and he reaches out for her, tempted to brush his fingers against her own. Instead, he drops his hands into his lap and turns to look at the painting.

“You found me,” Sabina says.

The man remains silent.

“How?”

“It’s not important,” he says.

Finally, she turns her head to look at him, turns to look at Rafe. “You paid someone.”

“Actually,” he shakes his head. “I asked Nate.”

“I didn’t tell him where I was going.”

“No, but he made a startlingly educated guess.”

Sabina hums. “I don’t suppose he came here with you, did he?”

“Nate left,” he sighs.

“Can’t say I’m surprised. I’m pretty sure he hates you.” She reaches for the ring on her finger, fiddling with the sapphire gemstone. “When did he leave?”

“About a week after you did.”

“So,” Sabina says, “there really is nothing at the cathedral, then?”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Rafe responds.

“We’ve spent weeks looking. Weeks digging holes, turning over every single pebble. There’s nothing there,” she says. “No clue. No treasure. No sign that anything associated with Avery has ever existed there.”

“There has to be something there.”

“But there isn’t,” Sabina directs her attention back to the painting. “Maybe it’s time to let it go. Let the treasure disappear into obscurity.”

“Why are you giving up?”

“Why would you care?” Sabina counters. “You’ve got the cathedral, all of the clues. If you find the treasure on your own, you get all of the profit. A hefty sum to add on top of your hefty inheritance.”

Rafe clenches a fist.

“Sam was the Avery expert,” she continues. “Without him and without Nate… I just don’t see the point in continuing. Their knowledge about this is leagues above my own. The truth is that I was probably just tagging along for the ride.”

“I am sorry, you know,” Rafe says, “about Sam. His… it wasn’t part of the plan.”

“It all feels surreal,” Sabina admits. “Like I’m wandering through a terrible dream. I feel like I’m going to wake up, any minute now, and he’ll be there to greet me with a horrible cup of coffee and stale croissants.”

“Were you two…”

“Together?”

Rafe averts his gaze to the tile floor.

“No,” she says. “Not quite. We were… complicated. He was never really good at commitment—neither of us were, really.” Sabina sighs, “Maybe it’s due to our similar upbringings. We both grew up without our parents. Stability is a luxury that we haven’t quite experienced yet.”

“What happened to them? Your parents?”

With a slight tilt of her head, Sabina mulls over her response. “When you spoke to Nate,” she says, “did he specify exactly where I would be in the museum?”

Rafe takes a moment to think. “He did, yeah.”

“The first time I came here, I was with Sam,” she says. “It was raining outside, so we popped in to escape from the cold. And when I saw it,” she nods her head towards the painting, “I couldn’t pull my eyes away. Sam joked that he would steal it for me one day. Though, knowing Sam, he was probably being serious.”

She stands and takes a few steps closer to the painting, her face glowing from the faintest hint of a smile. “Mother and Daughter Pick Flowers, such an original title. Artist: Jean-Jacques Pierre de la Sablonnière, a French painter. It was quite well-known that he hated men. In fact, he refused to paint them. Claimed that they were vile creatures. It is believed that when the Duke, Prince Louis Amilcar François d’Orléans, attempted to commission him for a painting, he laughed his face and danced on his way out of the villa. Of course, the Duke was upset, embarrassed. He stormed into his garden and shouted for his guards. And poor Monsieur de la Sablonnière was found dead, stabbed through the heart, just three days later.”

She turns around to look at Rafe, whom is still sitting on the bench. “I don’t remember my parents,” she says, walking back towards him. “I was a child when they died. Old enough to remember them, sure, but I can’t remember people if they barely had a presence in my life. What I do remember is this painting. A replica was hung in the living room, above a neglected fireplace full of dust. I wanted to be the little girl in the painting, to also have the joy of sitting in a sunny field, picking flowers with my mother. It’s a bit said, you know, that I don’t remember my mother’s face, but I remember my nanny.”

Sabina sits down on the bench, inches away from Rafe. “My parents were murdered,” she says. “After months of being away, they had finally come home. I was so happy. Even though I had grown out of bedtime stories, my father read one to me. And when he was finished, I begged him to read another and another. I think I was afraid that he would never read me one again. We stayed awake, long after my bedtime, but neither of us cared.

“My mother died first. We heard her screams, her pleas for help. Heard her begging the the intruders to stop. My father picked me up, carried me into his study, and hid me in a secret space beneath the floorboards.” Sabina unclasps the gold chain around her neck and places the medallion in Rafe’s hands. “He gave that to me. Told me to keep it safe, hidden. I don’t really remember what happened after that. Sometimes, in my nightmares, I recall the sound of a gunshot. Of papers being pushed, scattered. Cabinets crashing against the floor. I see blood seeping through the cracks in the floor. I feel it dripping down onto my face, onto my hands.”

Sabina exhales, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I don’t know who, specifically, killed them; they were never caught. But since then, I’ve spent an alarming amount of time running away from people who wish to murder me. Whatever my parents found, whatever that medallion is, it’s worth something. The boys and I speculate that it’s related to Avery’s treasure, but we’ve been unsuccessful with our attempts to solve the puzzle.”

“Sabina,” Rafe says, “let’s work together.”

“I don’t know,” she says, shrugging. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

“Tell me,” Rafe looks down at the medallion, brushing his thumb over the etched symbols. “Do you still want to find Avery’s treasure?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then come with me.”

“I can’t—not without Sam—”

He reaches out towards Sabina and wraps his fingers around her hand. “You don’t need the Drakes, Sabina. You’re more intelligent than you think you are.”

“Why are you looking for this?” She asks. “What could you possibly gain? It can’t be the money, you already have that.”

“Curiosity,” he says. “Boredom, maybe.”

“Treasure hunting: an unusual cure for boredom.”

Rafe chuckles.

“I want to be equals,” Sabina says. “We split the treasure, fifty-fifty.”

“Hey, I’m the one footing the bill for—”

“Fifty-fifty. Take it, or I walk.”

“Deal,” Rafe says.

December 2015

A few years ago, Sabina figured out that life with Rafe is easier if she avoids the topic of Nathan Drake. Though her husband would never admit it, it was clear that feelings of rage, frustration, and jealousy were building up inside of him. He hated what Nate had accomplished on his own, hated what he had accomplished without him. And Nate’s current involvement with Avery’s treasure hasn’t helped. In fact, spending the past few weeks chasing after him had skyrocketed Rafe’s anger, making her husband almost unbearable to be around.

After Scotland, they followed Nate here, to Madagascar.

Drowning beneath the burning sunlight and stifling humidity, Sabina does her best to keep herself calm, composed. So far she has been successful in convincing Rafe and Nadine not to murder Nate at first sight, but as the promise of finding treasure draws closer, their patience is beginning to wan. Currently, the trio are driving in a jeep through one of the cities, providing a much appreciated gust of wind to cool down their sweaty bodies.

Rafe pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials a number. A few moments later, he laughs. “Here I am, I’m calling what I thought was Sullivan’s phone… and look who picks up,” he says. “How you been, Nate?”

Her ears perk up at the name.

“I wish,” Rafe chuckles. “That only would’ve cost me a few shots of rum, right? No, no, I had to pay top dollar to find you guys.”

Sabina frowns. Just how much money has Rafe invested into this not-so-friendly competition? He must be more on edge than she had assumed.

“…you pulled off some clever moves there,” he says. “But in the end, all that matters is who gets to Avery’s treasure first.”

A brief pause.

“Hey, Nate, you know I’m always game,” Rafe responds. “But my partner,” he turns his head slightly, to glance over at Nadine, “well, she prefers to… mitigate unnecessary risks.”

Sabina tenses and her eyes flicker over to Nadine, but she ignores her gaze.

“Look, Nate. I’m gonna make you a one-time offer here,” he continues. “You drop everything. Go home, live your life… and I’m willing to forgive and forget. For old time’s sake.”

Nadine looks over at the man, as he listens to Nate’s response.

“Okay,” Rafe shrugs. “‘Pro Deus quod licentia.’ For God and liberty.” He smiles, “These are nice pictures, Nate. Good composition.”

A feeling of dread punches Sabina in the stomach. She leans forward in her seat and grabs onto her husband’s shoulder.

“You stole my cross!” Rafe says. “Listen, Nate, if you’re half as smart as you think you are, you’ll accept my offer. What’s it going to be?”

“Rafe,” Sabina says, jostling his arm.

He ignores her.

“Well, Nate, one more thing—Nate!”

A pause.

“You… you do realize that your phones are equipped with GPS, right?” He asks. “I’ll see you soon, buddy.” He ends the call, finally turning to look at her. “What?”

“What did you do?” She asks.

“Honey, don’t worry about it.”

“Rafe—”

“This doesn’t concern you.”

“What is wrong with you?” Sabina yells. “This is—this is absolutely crazy!”

“Sabina,” Rafe says. “I need you to calm down.”

“Me?” She laughs. “You need me to calm down? Have you listened to yourself once in the past few weeks? Hell, the past few years? Everything is Drake this! Drake that! God, maybe you should’ve married him, huh? He’s all you ever talk about. Too bad you’re sending people to go fucking murder him!”

“I am not going to do this with you right now.”

“Is this why you hired Shoreline?” Sabina says. “So you could get rid of anyone that stands between you and that treasure?”

Rafe doesn’t respond.

“When this is over, I’m done.”

“Sabina—”

“No, I am sick of this. You aren’t the person I married. You aren’t even the person from five years ago.”

“Sabina—”

“Shut up,” she says. “Just… shut up.”

September 2001

Sabina fiddles with her emerald green satin dress. It was something that would have cost her a small fortune, more than triple the rent of her tiny overpriced apartment, but Rafe had insisted on getting it for her.

This is ridiculous, she had said. It’s just a dress.

Really, it’s nothing. Rafe said, waving away her protests. If you want to blend in, you’re going to need to dress the part.

I can’t ask you to pay for this.

You don’t need to ask, he chuckles. I’m telling you that I’ll pay.

But I’ll only ever wear this dress like once, maybe twice.

That would be a real shame. You look really beautiful in it.

The comment had shut Sabina up, bringing forth a light blush to stain her cheeks.

I know that this doesn’t seem like pocket change to you, Rafe said, but it is. And even if it wasn’t, this dress would be worth the price.

“Sabina,” a voice calls. A hand reaches out for her own, intertwining their fingers between hers. “Relax,” they say, “the more you twitch, the more attention you’ll bring to us.”

She sighs, looking at Rafe. She squeezes Rafe’s hand, as she glances around the room.

The pair were at an exclusive, membership-only bar. A hotspot for filthy rich assholes, those that are usually linked to shady business deals and other questionable methods of income. Sabina felt out of place, standing amongst the elite of wealthy society. While these people sweetened a cup of tea with liquid gold, she was one to ration a bottle of honey.

“Maybe I should go,” she says. “I feel like everyone can tell that I don’t belong here.”

“Nonsense,” Rafe says. “Everyone knows that you’re here with me; they all watched us walk in together.”

“Every time I exhale, someone looks at me like I’m tainting the air.”

“Ignore them.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she huffs. “Nobody is looking at you like you’re trash that someone dragged in from the street.”

Rafe chuckles. “They’re curious about you.”

“I’m pretty sure everyone believes I’m a gold digger that’s playing you.”

“Come on,” he says, tugging at her hand. He begins to lead her out of the bar.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“But the seller—Rafe—he could be here any moment.”

“He can wait five minutes,” he says. “You look like you’re about to suffocate.”

“But—”

“Trust me, Sabina.”

She sighs, but stops her struggle.

Rafe leads her up a short flight of stairs and then outside, onto a balcony. The late night air of Germany chills her arms, triggering a layer of fresh goosebumps. But she ignores the cold when her mind becomes focused on the view in front of her. The balcony overlooks a vast forest of pine trees, illuminated by the silver-blue haze of moonlight.

Sabina takes in a deep inhale of the crisp air.

“What’s bothering you?” Rafe asks.

“What?” She turns to look at him. “Nothing. Nothing, really.”

“Wow,” he takes a step closer to her, placing his hands on the iron railing. “You didn’t even try to sound convincing with that response.”

“I’m fine.”

“The key to a good partnership is communication,” Rafe says. “So, communicate. Talk to me, huh?”

“I feel like I’m wasting your time,” Sabina admits.

“What? Why would you think that?”

“And your money,” she continues.

“What are you talking about?”

“What if I can’t solve the medallion?” Sabina grips onto the railing in front of her. “Can’t solve the puzzle or figure out whatever piece I need in order to even attempt solving it. Or what if it’s broken? What if it was part of something else and that something is long gone? Rafe, I’ve barely contributed anything in the past year.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but Sabina interrupts him.

“We’ve hardly made any progress,” she says. “Maybe I’m holding us back, leading us in the wrong directions. God, I keep turning those fucking rings. As if it’s going to make a difference and one day I’ll magically line it up correctly and everything with click into place. But it hasn’t happened… and I’m not sure if it will.”

“You’re not wrong,” Rafe says. “We’ve been circling the same set of clues for longer than either of us would like to. But that doesn’t mean we should give up altogether.”

“I think we should part ways,” Sabina says.

His eyes widen.

“We started off as business partners, but let’s be honest. We’re hardly fifty-fifty. You’re footing the bill for everything,” she says. “Our trips. Our purchases. Our bribes. You’ve even started paying my bills, covering my living expenses. We can’t be equals if the contributions aren’t equal. You give everything, but I have nothing to give in return.”

“If you think I’m mad about the money, you’re mistaken. I’ve told you before, money isn’t a problem.”

“You keep saying that!” Sabina runs a hand through her hair, ruining the perfect curls. “I appreciate the help, I really do, but I feel like I’ve become far too indebted to you. If we don’t find Avery’s treasure, I’ll never be able to pay you back for everything.”

“You don’t need to pay me back,” he says.

“Rafe—”

“I don’t financially support you because I want you to feel like you’re in my debt,” he says. He reaches out for her hand, but freezes, unsure. “I do it because I believe in you.”

“You’re sucking up to me,” she smiles.

“I do it because I need you,” Rafe gently wraps his fingers around her arm, turning her to face him. “I want you to be in this with me.”

Sabina blinks, confused by the hint of longing in his voice.

“I care for you, Sabina. I’m in love with you,” he says.

She freezes, processing his words.

“You’re not a burden to me. You’re brilliant, one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever met. And despite every terrible that that has happened to you, you still manage to show kindness. You are caring, protective of those close to you.” Rafe pauses, taking a breath. “When we were in Columbia, when you almost—”

Died.

The pair had gone to the country just a couple of months prior to investigate a cave with a potential lead. While examining the markings carved into the stone, Sabina had set off a trap, triggering an explosion. Rubble had fallen down near the exit, blocking her inside and separating her from Rafe. Moments later the cave was flooding. Desperate, Rafe and Sabina pushed and pulled at the debris, trying to make a big enough hole for her to slip through. As her lungs began to fill up with the water, she started to lose consciousness. Rafe had managed to pull her through a gap, just before she had blacked out completely.

“I realized how much you mean to me,” Rafe continues. “I want a life with you.”

Without a moment to waste, Sabina grips onto Rafe’s tie and pulls him closer. She presses her lips against his, overwhelmed, but attempting to convey all of her emotions in the act. Sabina moves her hands to rest one against his neck. The other travels to the back of his head, allowing her fingers to clutch onto the short strands of his hair.

He wanted her.

He loved her.

And in this moment, he needed her, with or without the treasure.

Rafe pulls her into his arms, flush against his body. His nails dig into the satin, longing to instead feel the bare flesh beneath the fabric. His kiss is eager, desperate, intense, yet too gentle at the same time. Sabina can sense that he wants to feel more of her and it’s something that she’ll happily give.

December 2015

The sound of splitting wood and crashing debris echoes in the rainforest, originating from Nadine’s last known location. Rafe and a couple of the Shoreline mercenaries were hot on her heels, rushing to get to the Nate before he could slip away again. Trailing behind, Sabina struggles to keep up with the men, but her short legs can only do so much.

“…forget about her! We gotta get out of here before they—”

The man’s voice comes to abrupt stop when Rafe runs out of the ruined buildings of Libertalia and into the open. Rafe raises a gun, pointing it at the men in front of him. The two mercenaries follow suite, also aiming their weapons at the targets.

“Shit. Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the man says, alarmed. “Everybody just… just calm down, okay?”

Nearly gasping for air, Sabina approaches the exit.

“Well, this is interesting,” Rafe says. “Nate. Samuel.”

Sabina halts, frozen by the name. Samuel? Who the hell is—

“Put your guns down!” A new voice yells. “All of you.”

Samuel?

The old sapphire ring on her right hand feels heavy on her finger. For years she hadn’t noticed the jewelry, burying away its significance in her life. Now it was the only thing her buzzing brain could focus on.

“No,” her husband responds.

“Rafe, this guy’s on edge,” Nadine says.

“Oh, don’t worry about him, Nadine.” Rafe takes a small step forward. “These guys don’t kill anyone in cold blood. It’s just not their style.”

“You willing to bet her life on that?” One of the men says.

With shaky steps, Sabina steps into the clearing. Her eyes focused on Shoreline’s targets. There, she sees Nate, looking exhausted and worried. He’s covered in dirt, dust, and droplets of sweat. To his left is Nadine: held hostage, gun to her head. And there, holding the gun, is a familiar, but aged, face. The face of a dead man, of a man that she hasn’t seen in fifteen years. A man that she had shed countless tears for, before she had forced herself to lock away her memories of him, to bury him deep, deep in the back of her mind.

“Sam?” The name is whispered through her lips, ignored by everyone.

“Go ahead then,” Rafe says. “Shoot her.”

“Sam,” Nate warns.

“I die, you both die,” Nadine says.

“So be it,” Sam hisses into her ear. “Not another step!”

“You mean… like this?” Rafe takes another step forward.

“Sam, put the gun down!” Nate says.

“I warned you.”

“Do it!” Rafe taunts.

Nadine shouts, “Rafe!”

Just as Sam’s finger begins to press down on the trigger, Nate rushes towards him. He shoves the gun upwards, away from Nadine.

The sound of a gunshot rings in the air.

And Nadine uses the opportunity to slam her elbow back into Sam’s stomach, allowing her to slip away from his hold.

“Wait!” Sabina screams, running towards the Drakes.

Nate holds the gun up in the air. “It’s done!”

“Hold your fire!” Rafe turns to yell at the mercenaries, holding up his arms. “Don’t shoot!”

Sabina rushes to Sam’s side. He’s hunched over, stunned from Nadine’s blow. “Oh, my god,” she says. “Sam?”

The man lifts his head to look at her. “Bina? What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” She asks. “What are you doing here?”

“Nate, put the gun down,” Rafe says. “Sabina, what are you doing?”

She ignores him.

Nadine picks up the gun. “Don’t worry, Nadine. It’s not their style,” she quotes, walking passed Rafe.

“What can I say?” Rafe replies. “I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“I don’t understand—I thought—Sam—”

“It’s complicated, but I’m here,” he responds. He lifts his right hand to brush the back of his fingertips against her cheek. “I missed you.”

“Sam—”

“Jesus, will somebody go get her?” Rafe addresses the mercenaries.

The man to Rafe’s right approaches Sabina, gun still trained on Sam. He grabs onto her arm, attempting to pull her away from the older Drake.

“Don’t touch her!” Sam yells. But when the mercenary points the barrel of the gun directly into his face, Sam stops protesting.

Rafe steps forward, approaching the Drakes. “Samuel. You okay?” He reaches forward to brush off some of the dust on the man’s shoulders. “I guess you knew this moment was coming, huh?” Rafe slams his handgun across Sam’s face, knocking him down onto the ground.

“Hey!” Nate says. “C’mon, man. You got us. Take it easy.”

Rafe reaches for Sabina, pulling her away from the mercenary. With a firm grip on her arm, he positions her to stand slightly behind himself.

“C’mon now,” Nate says. “You’re a businessman. Let’s just… work out a deal.”

“Oh, a deal,” Rafe says. “Oh, yeah, I’d love to hear what you have in mind.” He takes a step forward, pulling Sabina with him, and then kicks Sam in the face.

“Rafe!” Sabina snaps.

“Oh, you can go ahead,” Rafe says to Nate. “I’m listening.”

“Alright, just… alright,” Nate leans down to help Sam stand back up. “Look, you wanna find Avery’s treasure? We’ll help you find it.”

“And in exchange, I let you live?”

“Yeah,” Nate hesitates. “That and a small cut.”

Rafe laughs. “The gauchos on this guy.”

“Just enough to get him freedom, okay?”

“His freedom?”

“Nathan—” Sam says.

“Yeah,” Nate interrupts. “He did hard time. Our time. And the guy who broke him out, Hector Alcazar, he owes him a lot of money.”

“Whoa, what the hell are you talking about, Nate?” Rafe says. “Hector Alcazar died in a shootout in Argentina like six months ago. I’m the one that got Samuel out.”

Sabina frowns, confused, and turns her head to look at her husband.

Nate looks over at Sam, before turning his attention back to Rafe. “What?”

“Oh,” a look of realization shines on Rafe’s features. “Wow. What did he tell you? Sam, what kind of story did you cook up? Alcazar? Really? You lied? You lied to your baby brother?”

“We’re wasting time,” Nadine says.

“Just a second,” Rafe responds. “Thing is, Nate, I never stopped looking for Avery’s treasure. I just kept running into these dead ends,” he chuckles, “you know? And then I heard that our dear ol’ Samuel Drake, an authority on Avery—is alive and somewhat well. There was no breakout. I bribed the prison warden and your brother waltzed right out the front gate. He spent the last two years tracking down the second Saint Dismas cross. And you know what? He did it all with me.”

Sabina opens her mouth to speak, “Two years—”

“No,” Nate says.

“Oh, yeah.”

“No, that’s bullshit!”

“Oh, Sam?” Rafe turns his direction towards the man. “Care to refute?”

He sighs. “Nate…”

“Aw, Sam… Ah, Jesus, no, no…”

Sam takes a step closer to his brother. “Listen, Avery’s treasure was ours,” he says. “It was always ours.”

“No!” Nate yells. “I left my life for you!”

“Hey, look, look, Nate,” Rafe says, laughing. “If it’s any consolation, he duped me, too. He pulled a Houdini on me. He brought you and that old man back into the mix. And I cannot lie, Sam, that really pissed me off. But you know… all behind us now.”

“You don’t deserve it,” Sam says.

“You do? Last I checked we’re all a bunch of thieves, digging around where we shouldn’t.”

Nadine approaches the bickering men, “Rafe.”

“What?”

“One way or another, end it,” she says. “Or I will.”

Rafe nods. “Well, you heard the lady,” he says, aiming his gun at Sam.

“Wait,” Sabina says. “Don’t—”

“Hey,” Nate says. “You miss one clue and you can kiss that treasure goodbye. You said it yourself: you keep running into dead ends. Why don’t you face it, Rafe. You need us.”

“Rafe, put the gun down,” Sabina says.

He ignores her, eyes focused on the Drake brothers. “Yeah, you’re right,” Rafe says, lowering the gun. He pauses for a moment, before continuing, “You’re half right. I just need Sam.” Rafe raises the gun again, pointing it at Nate.

Sabina pulls her arm out of Rafe’s grip and rushes forward to stand in front of the Drakes. “Don’t,” she yells.

“Honey,” Rafe sighs. “I need you to step out of the way.”

Sabina shakes her head. She holds her arms out to her sides, as if her small frame could shield the two men. “I can’t do that,” she says.

“Bina,” Sam reaches for her shoulder.

“Don’t even think about touching my wife,” Rafe says, aiming the gun at him.

“Put the gun down!” Sabina says.

“You’re really going to defend them,” her husband scoffs. “You’re picking these two assholes over me, your husband?”

“It’s not about picking sides,” Sabina says. “And why should I side with you anyway? You’ve known Sam has been alive, all of this time? And you didn’t think to tell me? Why? Why would you do that?”

“It’s complicated,” he says.

“Then explain it to me.”

“You talk in your sleep,” Rafe sighs and lowers the gun.

“Okay? So?”

“You say all sorts of things, you know,” Rafe takes a cautious step forward. “You reenact your memories, your nightmares. You relive all of those traumatic moments that you keep buried. You’ve screamed about your parents, screamed about the night of their murder. And you cry about… him,” he says, glancing at Sam. “You regret Panama, regret not pushing harder at looking for an alternative plan. You regret not telling me what he meant to you.”

“I—”

“But one day you stopped,” Rafe says. “I didn’t tell you about Sam because I thought that you had finally finished grieving his death. I didn’t want you to go through that all over again.”

Sabina relaxes her arms. “How dare you make that choice for me,” she says.

“It’s not like he ever bothered to search for you. He didn’t even tell his own brother he was alive,” Rafe says. “What makes you think that he would’ve bothered to see you, Sabina? If he had never betrayed me, we wouldn’t all be here right now. Not like this. You might have gone the rest of your life believing that Sam had died in that prison.”

Sabina swallows a lump in her throat. Her heartbeat is racing, pounding against her chest. She angles her body to look at Sam.

He avoids her gaze, turning his eyes down towards the ground.

An admission of guilt?

Rafe takes another step forward. “I lied to you, I’ll admit that.” He extends a hand in her direction. “But I didn’t do it out of malice. Step away from them, honey. We can find the treasure. We will find the treasure.”

“I don’t care about that,” she says. “You lied to me.”

“I never did it with the intention of hurting you,” Rafe says. “But I promise you that I won’t make that mistake again.”

“How can I trust you?”

"We’re partners, remember? Not just for this treasure, but in life.”

“Please,” Sabina says. “Don’t hurt them.”

“Everything is going to be okay, honey.”

Hesitant, Sabina reaches forward, placing her hand on top of Rafe’s open palm.

“Bina, don’t,” Sam says.

Rafe steps closer to his wife, pulling her into a tight hug. “That’s my girl,” he says, eyes focused on Sam.

Sabina digs her nails into the back of his shirt and buries her face into his chest.

With one arm wrapped around his wife, Rafe aims his gun at Nate. “Back to business then.”

“Wait,” Sabina tries to pull herself out of his hold, but Rafe’s grip is firm. “You promised—”

“Wait now,” Nate says. “You’re making a mistake, you got—”

“Rafe, don’t!” Sam steps forward, partially blocking Nate. “Rafe, don’t, don’t, listen I—”

Ignoring their pleas, Rafe fires the gun. The shot misses Nate, but hits Sam in his left arm. The impact of the bullet sends him stumbling backwards, causing him to bump into Nate. Less than a moment later, Nate disappears, falling off the edge of the cliff.

“Nathan!” Sam yells.

Rafe turns to look at Nadine and the mercenaries. “Take him,” he orders.

February 2002

A morning glow peaks in through the curtains, illuminating the couple tangled beneath the bedsheets. Sabina whines at the touch of light and hides her face beneath the covers. Beside her, Rafe shifts, awoken by the movement. His hand brushes against Sabina’s naked back, fingers trailing along the curve of her spine.

“Good morning,” he says.

“No,” Sabina mumbles, “go back to sleep.” She buries her face into his chest.

Rafe chuckles. “You know that I’d love to do that.”

“Don’t argue. Just sleep.”

He places a hand on top of the one Sabina is laying on his chest. Rubs his thumb across the tops of her fingers. “But I have business meetings I can’t postpone any further,” he says.

“Give me the handcuffs,” she says. “I’ll chain you to the bed.”

“Are you sure?” Rafe pushes the cover away from her face. “You seem to enjoy wearing them more than I do.”

“I’m not the one who plans on leaving.”

He cups her cheek and pulls her into a kiss. “If I keep postponing, they’ll walk away completely.”

“Fine,” Sabina pouts.

Rafe recaptures her lips. He grabs onto her hips and coerces her to lay down on her back. When he moves to hover above her, Sabina wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him against her body.

“You know that I love you, right?” Rafe says.

Sabina nods, pulling him in for another kiss.

But he pulls away, choosing instead to look at her flushed cheeks. Rafe smiles and brushes the loose strands of hair away from her face. He rolls off of her and opens the drawer in the beside table.

Sabina sits up in the bed, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

Rafe turns back towards her. “Marry me,” he says, holding up a small black velvet box.

She blinks up at him, processing the words that are swimming around in her discombobulated head. “What did you say?”

As he takes a nervous breath, he pulls back the lid of the box. “Will you marry me?”

Sabina’s eyes focus on the object inside, a ring.

A pear-shaped diamond, set on a sleek white gold band.

“You want… to marry me?”

“I do,” Rafe frowns. He’s hurt, confused by her response. “I love you. There’s no one in the world I would rather be with.”

Sabina reaches for the box, pulling it out of Rafe’s hand. “But the treasure,” she says, “we haven’t found Avery’s treasure yet. What if we never find it? Would you still want to be with me?”

“Yes,” he responds. “I don’t want to marry the treasure. I want to marry you.”

“Okay,” she whispers. Sabina sniffles, overwhelmed by emotion. But there’s a twinkle in her watering eyes and a small smile on her swollen lips. “Yes,” she says. “Yes!” She throws herself onto Rafe, knocking him down onto the bed, and peppers him with feverish, giddy kisses.

December 2015

The moment Sam had revealed where the treasure was, still on Avery’s ship, Rafe gathered together some of the Shoreline men. Using the distraction, Sabina approaches the mercenary that has been assigned to keep an eye on the Drake brother.

“Jonas, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says.

She tilts her head in Sam’s direction. “If you let me speak with him alone, I’ll wire five thousand dollars into your bank account.”

He pauses, mulling over the offer. “Gotta be honest with ya, I’m not sure if dealing with your husband’s temper is worth that price.”

“Ten thousand.”

“Fifteen.”

“Sure,” Sabina shrugs. “It’s his money anyway.”

“Try to be quick about it, yeah?” Jonas steps out of the way, allowing her to slip inside of the small alcove.

Hearing the approaching footsteps, Sam looks up at his guest. His hands are bound, tied tightly with rope. The gunshot wound in his arm is bandaged, but splotches of blood have seeped through the gauze. He sighs, leaning back against the stone wall. “Bina,” he greets.

“Hey, Sam,” she says. She sits down on the floor, away from his reach. “So… I’m not sure on how to go about this discussion. My kind-of-ex-boyfriend coming back from the dead isn’t a scenario that I was ever prepared for.”

“Listen, I—”

“Were you going to tell me?” She interrupts. “Were you ever going to let me know that you were still alive?”

He sighs. “I thought about you, all the time. But I didn’t think that I was ever gonna get out of there. And then, when I did, well, Rafe was the one pulling those strings. Thirteen years had gone by. I figured that you had already moved on.”

“Well, you weren’t wrong,” Sabina admits. “I did get married—”

Sam laughs, a cynical chuckle. “You sure did, huh? Married Rafe. Could’ve picked anyone in the whole world, but you picked him.”

“I don’t have to justify my actions to you,” she says. “What was I supposed to do? Dwell on you for the rest of my life? Stay single, alone forever? I thought you were dead. How could you have expected me to wait for someone who wasn’t coming back?”

“You didn’t have to pick him,” Sam mutters.

“I didn’t have to, but I did! I wanted him. And I knew that he wanted me.” Sabina pauses, using the moment to calm herself down. “‘After we find the treasure, run away with me.’ That was your pseudo-proposal, word for word.”

“I remember,” he says.

“When Rafe asked me to marry him, there was no caveat,” she says. “He simply wanted me. It wasn’t all or nothing. I wasn’t part of a package deal.”

Sam frowns. “I wasn’t trying to imply that you were.”

“Sam,” Sabina shakes her head. “If you had never gotten trapped in that prison, if you had made it out of Panama with Rafe and Nate, do you really think that we would still be together?”

“I—I don’t know,” he says. “I’d like to think that we would be.”

“I think you would’ve left me,” Sabina says.

“What? Why would you think that?”

“For two decades, all you’ve thought about is that treasure. You didn’t even tell Nate that you were alive. You kept him in the dark, then you lied to him. If tracking down your brother isn’t one of the first things you do once you’ve gained your freedom, then where am I on that list?”

“Things were complicated.”

“Not nearly as complicated as you pretend them to be,” she says. “You’re just a selfish asshole. You don’t care that you’ve hurt people, betrayed them, let them down.” Sabina sits up on her knees and reaches for the back pocket of her pants. She pulls out a pocket knife and flips it open.

“Hey,” Sam says, doing his best to inch away from her. “Bina, I know you’re upset. But you don’t need to do this.”

She wraps her fingers around his bound hands and pulls him towards her. “I’m such an idiot,” she mutters. Sabina saws her knife through the rope, breaking the binds.

“What—”

“I love Rafe, I do,” she says. “But once, I think I loved you. I cared about you, at least. I might be a bit pissed off at you right now, but I won’t stand by while Rafe holds you captive. Just get out of here.”

Sam holds onto her hands and leans towards her. “Come with me,” he says.

“I can’t,” she whispers.

“You know what kind of man he is,” he says. “You deserve better.”

Sabina shakes her head, frowning. “I’m not sure if you’re much better.” She pulls herself away from him. “None of us are who we used to be. Rafe and I have our problems, but when we work, we work. I won’t deny that things have been a bit strained, lately. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t fix our marriage. I won’t throw all of this away for you. Not anymore.”

Sam nods his head, a grimace on his lips.

“Just so you, I’m glad you’re alive,” Sabina says.

“I’m sorry. For everything.”

“I know,” she says. “Okay,” Sabina stands up. “Right. I need you to punch me or something.”

“What?” Sam says, also moving to stand up.

“Well, we need to stage your escape,” she says.

“Can’t I just walk out of here?”

“I paid off the guard. It’ll look suspicious if you disappear after I leave.”

“I’m not going to punch you,” Sam says.

“Just punch me! Then take out the guard.”

“Bina—”

“Sam,” she hisses. “For once in your life, just listen to me. We don’t need to argue about everything.”

“Oh, my god,” he groans. “Why does your plan involve me punching you in the face?”

“What—I never told you to punch my face.”

“Jesus Christ—”

“Is that where you wanted to punch me?”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Maybe I should punch you in the fucking face,” Sabina says, taking a step towards him.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on,” Sam says, holding his hands up in front of him. “I’m just saying that—”

“Oi,” a voice interrupts.

Sam and Sabina turn to look at the entrance.

Jonas the Mercenary stands there, gun pointed in Sam’s direction. “What’s going on here? You untie him?”

“Jonas,” Sabina says. Her eyes flicker over to Sam, before focusing again on the mercenary. “Thank god you’re here! Samuel was… threatening me. Said that he would kill me if I didn’t cut the rope.”

“That so?” He takes a few steps forward. “Guess we should tie him back up.”

“Right,” she agrees.

“Go stand by the door,” he says. “I’ll bind him.”

Sabina throws one last glance at Sam, before heading towards the exit. Just as she walks passed the mercenary, she slams her foot into the back of his knee, knocking him off-balance. Sam rushes forward and pulls the assault rifle out of Jonas’ hands. Using the grip of the gun, he slams it across the man’s face, leaving him dazed and gasping on the ground. For good measure, Sam hits the mercenary again, breaking his nose.

“Go,” Sabina says.

Sam looks at her, opens his mouth to tell her something.

“Go! Get out of here.”

“Thank you,” he says. Without another moment to spare, Sam sprints out of the alcove.

Sabina gives him a head start. She waits for thirty seconds, before making her move. Clutching a fake bruise on her side, she stumbles out of the alcove, yelling at the top of her lungs. “Help! I need help! Rafe!”

A couple of mercenaries run towards her. “What’s going on?”

“I—I don’t know,” she says, gasping for air. “It all happened so fast—oh, my god, Jonas—Jonas is in there.”

“Sabina?” Rafe says, running towards her. “Honey, what happened?”

“Sam! He—he escaped!”

He directs his gaze to the mercenaries. “Find him,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Sabina says. “I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t and he—he had a gun. I didn’t know what to do.”

Holding the sides of her face in his hands, Rafe leans down to press a kiss on her forehead. “It’s okay, honey. Are you okay? Did he hit you?”

“I got tangled up in the fight,” she says. “But I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, good,” he says, nodding. “He’s probably heading for the treasure. We need to go catch up.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“We are so close. We’re practically right there. Just need to beat him to it.” Rafe grabs onto her hand, pulling her along with him.

They rush down the tunnel, heading for where the boats are docked. As they enter the area, Sam is driving away with one of the boats. Rafe drags Sabina towards Nadine, whom is loading up a boat with treasure.

“Sam just stole our goddamn boat,” Rafe says. “He’s headed for Avery’s ship. Come on.”

“Let him,” she says. “We’re done.”

Rafe looks at her, confused. “We’re done?”

“Most of my men are dead, Rafe. And those who aren’t have already left.”

“Can you see that?” Rafe asks, pointing in the direction of Avery’s ship. “The end is literally in sight.”

“That maniac pirate of yours has rigged this entire cave. I’m not setting foot on his ship.”

“Nadine, if you cut and run right now, the loss of all your men—everything that we’ve done—is for nothing.”

Nadine points to the raft on her left. “We have millions in gold, right here. I’d say that, plus our lives, is something.” She steps around Rafe, moving to finish getting the raft ready for departure.

“No wonder so many of your men abandoned you,” Rafe says.

Nadine turns to look at him. “Excuse me?”

Sabina glances at the mercenary standing behind her, alerted by the sound of him adjusting his grip on his gun.

Rafe steps away from her, approaching Nadine. “We’re on the verge of making history here, and you’re willing to just walk off with a pittance, a fraction what Sam’s gonna get from that boat.”

“If he can walk away from that ship alive, he can have it,” Nadine says. “Hell, I’d say he’s earned it. God knows you didn’t.”

A moment of stillness, and then—

Rafe slaps Nadine across her face. “Now look,” he says, following another brief pause. “We can stand here and insult each other all day, or we can finish what it is that we—”

Nadine interrupts him, slamming her fist into his stomach. She shoves Rafe onto the ground and then aims her pistol at him.

“Rafe!” Sabina rushes to his side.

“Oh,” Nadine yells, “we’re finishing it all right—” The sound of a gun being cocked pulls her attention away from the man.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the mercenary says, with his gun aimed at her.

Sabina helps Rafe onto his feet, double checking him for any other injuries.

“Yeah… the thing about mercenaries, Nadine,” he says. “Their loyalty, it’s bought. It’s not earned. Now, come on. Either we finish this thing together, or we can just end it right here.”

Sabina lifts her eyes, meeting her gaze with the other woman. “Just get in the boat, Ms. Ross,” she says. “Please, nobody else needs to die right now.”

Nadine glances down at her weapon, before slowly lowering it. “Let’s go make history,” she says, tucking the gun away.

“Atta girl,” Rafe says, gesturing towards the boat.

When Sabina and Nadine make eye contact once again, Sabina mouths, “I’m so sorry.”

Nadine holds her gaze for a moment, before climbing into the boat.

September 2002

Growing up, she had never imagined what her wedding might look like. She had never pictured her dress, the venue. She had never thought about who would be waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Getting married had always seemed like an event that would be too extravagant and… depressing. She had no one to walk her down the aisle. No family to invite. Her friendships had always been rather brief, dependent on where she was traveling and if they could help her get what she was looking for.

People kept telling her that her wedding would be one of the happiest days of her life.

Yet, she had never felt so isolated from everyone.

Standing on a raised platform, Sabina stares at her reflection in the large trifold mirror. Her head feels heavy, stuffed full with curled extensions that are pulled up into an intricate bun. Her lace cathedral veil is pinned into place, once again. In her nerves, Sabina has already tugged it out of position five times. The strings of her corset are pulled tight, constricting her ability to breathe. She wants to tear them out, wants a breath of fresh unrestrained air, but it’s too late for that now. Fiddling with her diamond ring, Sabina resists the urge to smooth down the organza fabric of her dress.

When she had first put on the ivory off-the-shoulder ball gown, she had felt like a fool, like she was undeserving of the dress. The fabric was covered in thousands of crystals, each of which were carefully positioned by hand. The crystals were arranged in complex floral designs and placed beneath a layer of organza. This dulled their shine, creating the softer, ethereal sparkling effect that Sabina had wanted. But still, she had felt that this dress was too glamorous.

Upon seeing her, Rafe’s mother had surprised her with tears. Telling her that the dress was perfect, made for her. And in that moment, Sabina had also cried. Was this how her own mother would have reacted? Would she be in agreement with Mrs. Adler? Or would she have longed to see Sabina in a different silhouette? Marrying a different man?

“Miss Hewitt,” the wedding planner’s voice captures her attention. “I don’t want to rush you, but we are behind schedule. Your groom is starting to get a bit nervous.”

“Ten more minutes,” Sabina says.

“Miss Hewitt,” she sighs. “Your guests have already been waiting for an hour.”

Sabina shakes her head. Subconsciously, her fingers grasp onto the edge of her veil. “Just give him ten more minutes,” she says. “He’ll be here.” And once again, the material is pulled out of place.

The woman frowns, giving Sabina a pitying look. “I understand that you want him to walk you down the aisle, Miss Hewitt.” She snaps her fingers at the hair stylist, prompting them to get up and work on resecuring the veil. “However, Mr. Drake didn’t show up for the rehearsal yesterday.”

“Maybe he mixed up the times,” Sabina says. “Or… Or he’s stuck in traffic.” She winces when the stylist stabs her scalp with one of the pins.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think he’s coming.”

The door to the dressing room opens and an older woman steps into the room. With her red lips pulled into the slightest hint of a frown, she asks, “Is something wrong?”

“Mrs. Adler,” the wedding planner greets. “Miss Hewitt has been insisting that we wait for Nathan Drake’s arrival, even though I have told her several times that it is extremely unlikely that he will be in attendance.”

Sabina sighs, closing her eyes. “Just ten more minutes,” she says, before taking a deep breath. “I just want ten more minutes.”

“Miss Hewitt—”

“Give her the ten minutes,” Mrs. Adler says. When her eyes settle on Sabina’s reflection, the sharp contours of her face soften. “I would like a moment of privacy with Sabina.”

Without further instruction, the wedding planner, the hair stylist, and the makeup artist all hurry out of the room. The bridesmaids, dressed in mauve colored chiffon gowns, are quick to follow.

“Are you okay?” Mrs. Adler approaches the bride, taking great care to avoid stepping on the much-too-long train of her dress.

Sabina opens her mouth to speak, but the words are caught in her throat. Instead, she rests her hands against her stomach, hoping to appease the stabbing sensations coming from inside.

“A wedding can feel overwhelming,” the woman says. “I was a mess for my own day. In my heart, I knew that I was marrying the right person, but I still had my doubts. I had a bit of a freakout, myself. Locked myself in a bathroom, for half an hour, and debated about the pros and cons of marriage. It’s okay to be nervous, Sabina. Most brides are. But I wonder if there is something else bothering you, something beyond nerves.”

Sabina swallows a lump in her throat.

“Your life has been deprived of a mother figure,” Mrs. Adler continues. “If it’s alright with you, I can be that figure for you. You are family now, my dear. You can talk to me. I will listen.”

“God, there’s just so many people here,” Sabina gasps.

“Rafe was a bit generous with the guest list,” Mrs. Adler agrees. “Is that why you’re upset?”

“To be honest,” Sabina says. “I’ve never put much thought into a wedding. I never imagined that I would be walking into a room full of hundreds of strangers. Everyone is here for Rafe, aren’t they? They’re not here for me. I’m just a show.”

“Tell me why you are here.”

The bride frowns, confused. “To get married.”

“Then you are here for Rafe,” Mrs. Adler says. “Not for your guests. And Rafe, Rafe is here for you. He is waiting at the end of the aisle,” she smiles, “for you. Forget about the people who have come to watch. The truth is that most of them are not really here for Rafe. They are here to keep up appearances, to maintain a good impression. When you reach the end of the aisle, you will forget all about those strangers.”

Sabina turns to look at the woman and gives her a small smile. “Thank you,” she says.

“I have a gift for you,” Mrs. Adler says. She reaches for wrist, unclasping a gold bracelet lined with rubies. “I was planning to give it to you after the ceremony, as a little ‘welcome to the family’ gift, but I think that it would be better for you to have it now.” The woman reaches out for Sabina’s left hand, pulling it towards her, and then secures the jewelry around the wrist.

“It was my mother’s,” Mrs. Adler continues. “She gave it to me on my wedding day. And now I continue that tradition and give it to you.”

“Mrs. Adler—”

“Gemma. Call me Gemma.”

“Thank you, Gemma.”

“I will give you a few minutes to compose yourself,” Gemma says. “Wipe away those tears, yes?”

Sabina nods.

Just moments after Rafe’s mother exits the dressing room, the door reopens.

“Holy shit,” a man says. “Look at you.”

Through the reflection in the mirror, Sabina sees him. She gasps and turns to look at the man, “Sully?”

“Hey, there, kiddo,” he says, approaching her. “You know, I had a feeling you would be a stunning bride, but you’ve exceeded my expectations.”

“It’s the dress,” she replies. “A forty-seven thousand dollar custom made gown.”

“That’s some serious cash,” Sully whistles.

“This is just the ceremony gown. The reception dress is even more.” Sabina shakes her head. “I can’t even believe I’m wearing something so expensive.”

“You are marrying Rafe. Did you expect anything less?”

“I’m glad you’re here, Sully,” Sabina smiles. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it. I know that you and Rafe are… far from friends.”

“I wouldn’t miss your wedding, kid,” he says. “But what are you still doing back here? Not that I don’t enjoy the sight, but you’re starting to make Rafe sweat out there.”

“I invited Nate,” she says. “God, I even asked him to walk me down the aisle.”

Sully nods, beginning to figure out the problem. “Nate’s not here, is he?”

“I think I always knew that he wouldn’t show,” the bride sighs. “I just wanted to be wrong. I know that he hates Rafe, but I thought that maybe—just maybe—he would show up for me.”

“He’s still coping,” Sully says. “Won’t even mention… Sam… nowadays.”

Sabina hums. “Me, too,” she admits. “Sully, am I crazy? Just two years ago, I was willing to drop everything and run off with Sam. And now I’m here, getting married to somebody else. What if I’m making a mistake? Maybe that’s why Nate’s not here? Maybe he thinks that I’ve forgotten about Sam or that I’m closing off that part of my life.”

“Hey,” Sully steps forward and holds onto Sabina’s hands. “No one blames you for moving on with your life. There’s nothing we can do to change what happened.”

“I know, but—”

“Do you love Rafe?”

“Yes.”

“And does he make you happy?”

Sabina nods.

Sully gives her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay to let go of Sam,” he says. “You deserve a life of happiness, especially after everything that you’ve been through.”

Before she can stop herself, the question spills through her lips. “Will you walk me down the aisle?”

“Of course,” Sully says.

“Thank you,” Sabina wraps her arms around the man’s neck, pulling him in for a tight hug.

December 2015

Heat tingles against her skin.

Prickling.

Stinging.

As she breathes, she coughs. Her lungs are stuffed, filled with ashes. When Sabina is finally able to open her eyes, she sees a world of red. She blinks, trying to clear the blurriness of her vision. Sabina groans, rolling onto her back.

She hears a voice yelling for someone… yelling for… Sam?

“Hey, Nate,” a different voice says.

She turns her head to look for the source of the sound. Through the haze, she can see the outline of a man, her husband. In Rafe’s hand is a gun, raised and pointed in front of him.

The first voice replies, “Where is Sam?”

Sabina tilts her head, releases a gasp in pain, and looks at the other man. Nate has his own gunned pointed back at Rafe.

“Oh, he’s right there.” Her husband looks over to his left, where Sam is trapped and unconscious beneath a wooden beam.

“Sam!” Nate calls.

“Relax, he’s alive,” Rafe says. “You know, this idiot nearly got us all killed.”

Oh.

That’s right.

The explosion.

Sam… Sam had caused it, had—

“I’m getting him outta here,” Nate says.

“No, you’re not.”

“Rafe, you can have the treasure, alright? Just let me save my brother.”

Her husband laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “After everything he’s done? How noble of you, but no.”

“We stay here any longer and we’re all dead,” Nate says. “Is that what you want?”

“That’s not what I said. What do you think, Nadine?”

The Shoreline leader steps in through the doorway and descends the short staircase. Her gun is pointed in Nate’s direction.

Sabina pushes her back off of the uneven wooden floor, moving into a sitting position. The back of her head is burning, throbbing. Pressing her fingertips into her hair, she winces when they make contact with an open wound that’s soaked in some sort of liquid. “Fuck,” she whispers. Sabina brings her hand in front of her face, stares at the warm blood coating her finger tips.

“Good to see you up and about,” Rafe says. “Be a dear and relieve Nate there of his gun.”

“Hand it over,” Nadine says, approaching Nate.

“You really think you can trust him? Huh?” Nate says.

“Not your concern.”

Ignoring the trio, Sabina crawls towards the unconscious Drake brother. “Sam,” she calls, shaking his shoulder. She tries to lift up the wooden beam that has him pinned down, but it doesn’t move. “Sam, wake up. Sam?”

“Now, why are you trying to instigate? Nate—” Rafe says, stepping closer to the mercenary. “Nadine and I are partners, I don’t screw over my partners.”

Nadine takes the gun out of Nate’s hand. Slowly, she starts to back away.

“Get over there,” Rafe orders, pointing his gun towards the other end of the room. “You and your brother though… Right from the start, you took advantage of my generosity. You tried to cut me out and it’s high time you learned—”

Nadine presses the barrel of her gun against the back of Rafe’s head.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“Now you give me your gun,” she says.

“Sam,” Sabina whispers again. “C’mon, wake up.” She shakes him once more, more aggressive, more insistent. “I need your help.”

Sam’s eyelids twitch, but nothing else moves.

Rafe scoffs, “Nadine.”

She interrupts him with the cock of her gun. “I won’t ask you again.”

The man sighs, then surrenders the gun. “You are being profoundly stupid right now,” Rafe says. He steps away from Nadine and rubs the back of his neck.

“Look over there,” she says, indicating to her right.

“Nadine,” Rafe says, stepping closer to her. “Stop screwing around—”

The mercenary angles her gun down towards the floor, shooting a bullet between his feet.

Sabina screams at the noise, startled.

“Jesus!” Rafe yells.

“I said look!”

“Okay,” he says. Rafe glances over. “It’s a couple of skeletons. So what?”

“I don’t know as much about history as you boys,” Nadine says, “but I’ve got a pretty good idea who those two are.”

“Well,” Rafe says, “enlighten us.”

“It’s Avery and Tew,” Nate explains. “They killed each other.”

Rafe glances over at Nate. “Good for them. What’s the point?”

“Everyone obsessed with this treasure gets what they deserve,” Nadine says. She takes a step back, working her way back up the stairs.

“So what,” Nate calls. “You’re just leaving us here to die?”

“Oh, I’m just leaving,” she responds. “Whether you die or not, I don’t really care.”

“Nadine,” Rafe says. “Don’t.”

The mercenary ignores him, turning her gaze to focus on the other woman. “Sabina,” she says. “If you want to get out of here, come with me.”

“What?” Sabina lifts her head to look at Nadine.

“You don’t need to burn alive with all of these dickheads,” she explains.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Rafe chuckles. “You two have been fighting for weeks—”

“Shut up, Rafe,” Nadine says.

“—and now you wanna be best friends?”

Sabina shakes her head, unsure of what to do. “Nadine, I—”

“Make your choice. Now. I’m going to leave, with or without you.”

“I can’t—I can’t just leave them here,” Sabina says.

“You deserve better than this,” Nadine sighs. “Goodbye, Sabina.”

“Nadine,” Rafe says, moving towards her. “Wait—”

“So long, Rafe,” she says, before pulling the door shut and locking it.

“Nadine! Nadine!” He yells. Rafe slams his fists against the wood. “You open this goddamn door right now!”

“Rafe,” Nate shouts. “She’s gone!” He crouches down next to Sabina, eyes focused on the same wooden beam that she has been struggling to lift. “C’mon, give me a hand. We’ll all get out of here.”

“Oh, no,” Rafe says, pacing around in the corner of the room. “No, that won’t work.”

“I’ve been trying to wake him up,” Sabina looks over at Nate. “But he just hasn’t been responsive.”

“It’s okay,” Nate says, placing a comforting hand on Sabina’s forearm. “C’mon,” he calls to Rafe. “Help me with Sam and I’ll help you open the door.”

Together, Sabina and Nate attempt to life the beam, but struggle with the weight.

“No,” Rafe says.

“Rafe,” Sabina lifts her head to look at her husband. “For god’s sake, just help us.”

He reaches for a sword lodged into one of the skeletons and pulls it out. “I’m not going to be able to enjoy one of these coins, knowing that you and your worthless brother are still sucking air.”

Seeing the sword in Rafe’s hand, Nate stands up and starts to back away. “Alright,” he says. “Just… Just calm down. You can practice your fencing when we get outside.”

“Nate, just shut up,” Rafe says.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sabina says, standing up.

“Seriously, Rafe,” Nate says. “This is insane, even for you.”

“You want to hear insane? Nathan Drake raced a madman and his entire army to the steps of Shambhala.” Rafe takes a step forward and swings his sword at Nate.

“Jesus!” Nate curses, dodging the weapon.

“Nathan Drake found a lost city in the middle of the Rub’ al Khali desert.” Rafe swings the sword again. This time the blade slices through Nate’s shirt, breaking the skin of his chest.

Sabina takes a cautious step forward. “Rafe, please. Put the sword down.”

But the man ignores her, opting to attack Nate once again.

Nate leaps back, barely avoiding the blade. “God damn it—come on, we can get out of here together.”

“Nathan Drake discovered the fabled El Dorado.” Rafe lunges at Nate, swiping the blade twice at the man. With the second swing, the edge of the sword slices across Nate’s chest, leaving behind a new, shallow wound. Again, Rafe attempts to cut into the other man’s skin.

“C’mon Rafe, stop,” Nate says.

“Nathan Drake is a legend,” Rafe laughs. “You know, I shot the man who told me that.”

“Look, I get it. You don’t like me very much.”

“You know, for all your ‘greatness,’ Nate, you have nothing. You are nothing. And I warned you to get out of my way.”

“Stop it!” Sabina screams. She charges into Rafe, shoving him away from Nate. “Rafe, babe, I need you to calm down.”

Rafe hardly spares her a glance, instead moving to step around her.

“Please,” Sabina clutches onto his arm, a poor attempt to hold him back. “Don’t do this.”

He pulls his arm out of her grasp and pushes his wife away from him.

Losing her balance, Sabina stumbles and crashes into a pile of debris near Sam’s body. A jagged piece of metal pierces into the skin of her left arm, leaving her with long gashes. Blood spews out of the wounds, sliding down her flesh and onto the floor. She whimpers, pain pulsating throughout her body.

Eyes focused solely on Nate, Rafe is unaware of what he has caused. He swings the blade at Nate, leaving several more cuts on his chest and arms.

Dodging the sword, Nate grabs onto Rafe’s arm and punches him in the face with his free hand. With both hands firmly gripped onto the arm, Nate struggles to maintain control in the fight. He forces Rafe up against a wall, but Rafe slams his forehead into Nate’s, sending him stumbling backwards.

Rafe seizes the opportunity, pushing his opponent down onto the ground. Fighting against Nate’s resistance, Rafe attempts to shove the blade down into the man’s neck. “I have sacrificed everything to find Avery,” Rafe says. “And I’m not gonna let a couple of two-bit thieves, a senile con man, and a washed-up journalist take that away from me!”

“Enough!” Nate pushes back against Rafe, shoving the man off of him. He reaches to the right and wraps his fingers around the handle of another sword.

“You care about that parade of losers so much,” Rafe says, circling Nate. “I’m going to make sure they join you.”

Sabina presses her hand against the fresh wound, unsure of how to slow the bleeding. “Oh, fuck,” she mutters, “shit.” The liquid seeps through her fingers, mingling with the once drying blood of her head injury.

“En garde, dickhead,” Nate says.

“That’s the spirit,” Rafe smiles.

Nate lunges at him, slamming his sword at the man. The two blades clash against each other and Rafe jumps out of Nate’s reach. When Rafe swings his sword at Nate, the Drake brother rams his elbow into Rafe’s nose and then kicks him in the chest. Rafe stumbles back, hitting the wall behind him. Nate swings again, but this time Rafe kicks the man away from him. He takes a step forward, aiming to slice through Nate’s throat, but Nate blocks him just in time.

Starting to get dizzy, Sabina lays down on the floor. She lifts her wounded arm, forcing herself to take a better look at the cuts. Droplets of blood splatter against her cheeks.

Sabina closes her eyes.

Daddy!

She’s a little girl again, running into the outstretched arms of her father.

Daddy, you’re home!

She wraps her arms around his neck, nearly tackling him down into the ground.

Hey, sweetheart, he says. You should be asleep. He secures his arms around Sabina and lifts her up into the air.

No, she shakes her head. No, I missed you.

I missed you, too. He presses a kiss against her cheek. But you know that Daddy has a lot of work to do.

No, no more work.

Sweetheart—

Why do you always leave? I don’t want you to leave anymore.

Her father sighs. My work is important. I’m going to find something amazing, sweetheart. And when I do, I promise that I won’t ever have to leave you again.

Daddy, please—

Richard Hewitt collapses.

Becomes a bleeding corpse, staining the hardwood floors.

And young Sabina hides beneath the planks, her tiny hands covering her mouth. Eyes are wide, staring at the blood leaking through the cracks, the crevices.

It splatters against her cheeks.

Why couldn’t you pick me?

“—Bina!”

Somebody is shaking her.

“Bina, open your eyes.”

When they press a hand against her cheek, Sabina leans into the warmth.

“C’mon, baby, wake up.”

She opens her eyes and smiles at the sight of a familiar face. “Sam?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m right here, but I need you to get up, okay? Nathan and Rafe are about to kill each other and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“Nate… Rafe?” Sabina blinks at him, unable to fully comprehend the words. “What?”

“Bina—”

She tunes out his voice, focusing her attention to the burning warmth surrounding her. When she turns her head to the left, her eyes grow wide. The muddied thoughts in her head dissipate, cleared by the view in front of her.

Rafe swipes his sword against Nate’s stomach and cuts through the fabric of his shirt. He strikes him in the chest with his foot, knocking him down onto his back. Sword pointed at Nate’s throat, Rafe takes a step forward.

“You know what, Nate? Underneath all the bravado, you’re just a sad little boy with delusions—of grandeur… who, by the way, can’t fence for shit,” he says.

Sabina rolls onto her knees, then stumbles up onto her feet. “Wait—”

Rafe raises his sword, ready to end the fight. “So long, Nathan Drake.”

“Nathan!” Sam yells, attracting the attention of both men. He grabs the handle of the sword laying near him and tosses it in Nate’s direction.

Nate grabs it and strikes the blade across Rafe’s own.

“You don’t know when to give up, do you? That’s good,” Rafe says, between each swing of his sword. “Don’t hand it to me. I’ve had everything handed to me on a goddamn silver platter. Everything except this!”

Nate whips his sword in front of him to block another powerful strike, but Rafe’s blade breaks the metal.

“I earned this,” Rafe says. “All of it.”

September 2012

If you ask Sabina to picture her idea of romantic vacation, this is what she would tell you. A candlelit dinner at a truly exquisite, but probably overpriced, restaurant. Walking through the Paris streets, long after dusk. Sharing bottles of wine between giggling, messy kisses. Falling into a comfortable, happy slumber with the love of her life.

But getting everything that you want is impossible.

And for her tenth wedding anniversary, Sabina spends it without her partner. Drunk in her Parisian hotel room, staring at the blurry lights outside of her windows. Her cheeks are swollen. Eyes are puffy and dirty from smeared mascara and navy blue eyeliner. Brunette hair tangled and pulled up into a lopsided bun.

Rafe was supposed to be here. Was supposed to meet her in Paris over a day ago. But her husband had canceled, saying that an issue at work would require his immediate attention. Saying that he would make it up to her, whisk her away to a private island where no one could bother them.

She almost believes him.

When somebody knocks on the door to the suite, Sabina jumps off of the armchair and stumbles across the room. She throws open the door, and without a moment to pause, wraps her arms around the woman standing there.

Chloe Frazer. A fellow treasure hunter that she had met a couple of years ago. The two had become fast friends, bonding over a discussion about whether the treasure described in The Copper Scroll even existed. And if so, where it could possibly be.

“Oh,” the Australian woman says. “I’m happy to see you, too, love.”

Sabina’s words are slurred. “Chloe, I’m so… so happy you’re here.”

“C’mon, let’s get out of the hallway.” Careful, Chloe urges Sabina back through the door. Glancing around the hotel room, she sees shards of broken glass and puddles of red wine. Several partially consumed bottles lay flat on their sides, a source for many of the wine stains.

Sabina grabs onto one of Chloe’s hands and drags her to the dining table. “You must try this Caber… net Sau… Sauvig… non—Cabernet Sauvignon!” She picks up a bottle of wine and hands the whole thing to Chloe. “I must warn you, it’s very… very heavy on the cherry, but it is so good and… six hundred dollars?” Sabina laughs, “Wine is so expensive.”

Chloe grabs the bottle, notices that it is almost empty, and takes a sip. “Not bad,” she hums. “And how many bottles did you buy?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “A few. Maybe… ten.”

Mid-sip, Chloe chokes.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sabina continues. “It’s all Rafe’s fucking money anyway. He won’t even notice.”

“Can’t say I wouldn’t do the same, if I were you.”

Sabina picks up another bottle of wine and collapses onto the sofa. “I think he’s going to leave me,” she says.

Chloe frowns. “Why would you think that?”

“I think I’ve done something terrible.”

“Alright,” Chloe joins the woman on the couch. “Tell me what’s going on in that brain of yours.”

Sabina unclasps the chain around her neck and hands her medallion over to Chloe. “I solved it,” she says.

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “You… solved this?”

“Yes.”

“The mystery puzzle that you’ve been trying to solve for decades?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Chloe takes another sip of wine. “I’m not sure how this is bad news, but we can come back to that. First, I wanna know how you solved it.”

“Right,” Sabina nods. She takes back the medallion and stands up.

The two women enter the bathroom, where Sabina tosses the medallion into the sink and then closes the drain. She downs a large gulp of wine, before pouring the rest of the contents into the sink.

After a couple of minutes, a dim light appears, glowing from the object. The wine in the sink moves in gentle waves, the liquid disturbed by something beneath the surface. Once the wine settles, Sabina reaches into the sink, retrieves the medallion, and sets it on the counter.

The object looks distorted, with portions of the gold metal jutting out of place. Many, but not all, of the symbols glow in a faint yellow color. The marking in the center, Avery’s sigil, is popped up and pushed away, revealing an inscription.

The treasure you seek will only bring death.

“How the hell did you figure that out?”

“I don’t… I don’t think it’s a clue,” Sabina says.

Chloe picks up on the woman’s train of thought. “You think it’s a warning.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you told Rafe?”

Sabina leans against the bathroom wall and slides down to sit on the ground. “No,” she says, with a sigh.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Chloe says. She grabs the medallion, before joining Sabina. “Why not?”

“I think he’ll leave me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because I want him to stop looking for it. I want him to let go of Avery’s treasure,” Sabina says. “If the warning is true, then I don’t want him to find it.”

“Have you tried telling him that?”

Sabina chuckles. “How do you tell someone to give up on the one goal that drives them to keep going every day? How do you tell them that you’re selfish and you need them to sacrifice their dream?”

Chloe sighs. “I don’t know,” she says.

“You know, I think I was in love with someone,” Sabina admits. “Before Rafe.”

“Oh?” Chloe turns to look at her.

“It was complicated,” Sabina pauses. She pushes strands of hair away from her face and blinks away the forming tears. “And I never really figured out my feelings.”

“Do you miss them?”

Sabina leans over to rest her head on Chloe’s shoulder. “He was also looking for Avery’s treasure,” she says. She takes the bottle of wine away from Chloe and drinks the remaining liquid. “It killed him. All he wanted wanted to do was find that treasure. Would’ve done anything for it. It’s strange, isn’t it? How all of the men in my life are obsessed with this stupid thing. I don’t think the question is if Rafe will die for this treasure. I think the question is when. When will Rafe join Sam and my father?”

“Tell him how you feel,” Chloe reaches forward, laying a comforting hand on Sabina’s knee. “He can’t read your mind.”

“What if he doesn’t want to listen?”

“Trying to force a man like Rafe to listen is probably impossible,” Chloe admits. “But if he really does love you, he will do so.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Sabina lifts her head to meet Chloe’s gaze. “If doesn’t love me?”

“Then maybe it’s time for you to move on, love.”

December 2015

Sabina slams her body into Rafe’s back. She wraps her arms around him, digging her nails into his chest. “No more,” she says, “let it go.” Rafe tries to pry one of her arms off of him, but Sabina tightens her grip. “I said stop!”

“No,” Rafe says. “I’m ending this. I’m taking what’s mine.”

“If you kill him,” Sabina takes a shallow breath. She still feels the wounds throbbing on her arm. Can still feel the blood oozing from the split skin, staining Rafe’s already dirtied shirt. “I will never forgive you.”

It’s subtle, but Rafe tenses at her words.

“If you kill him for this treasure,” Sabina continues, “then I will leave and you will never see me again.”

“Sabina—”

She buries her face into his back. “All of my life, I have never been enough. My father… Sam… they both picked the treasure. They both chose to leave me, no matter how much I begged them not to. And now you’re doing the same thing. But this time you found the treasure. It’s here—it’s in your grasp—and it’s still not enough for you. No, you can’t just have the treasure, can you? You want it all to yourself. All of the credit, the glory.”

“What are you talking about?” Rafe says. “This is ours. We worked for this."

“No,” Sabina shakes her head. “This is your moment, not ours. It stopped being ours years ago. You can’t have it all, Rafe. You can’t have me and the treasure, not like this. I love you, I do, but I can’t do this. I can’t stand by and watch you be consumed by your hatred and jealousy.”

Slowly, he lowers the blade.

“I want you to pick me,” she says. “For once in my life, I want somebody to choose me. Only me. Please, I don’t want to lose you. Don’t make me lose you. Don’t let me lose somebody else I love.”

Rafe releases his grip on the sword, dropping the blade. He reaches for her injured arm and, gently, pulls it away from his chest. A frown on his face, he examines the wound before turning around to look at her.

Sabina blinks up at him, relieved.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

Slightly dizzy, Sabina leans into his body, pressing her forehead into the croak of his neck. “I know,” she says. “I know.” Too weak to stand any longer, she fully collapses into Rafe.

“Hey,” Rafe says, grabbing onto her. “Hey, honey? Honey, you okay?”

“I—”

Her words are interrupted by an explosion.

And within moments, the burning room is flooded with water.

…

The world is warm, comfortable. A light breeze tickles her nose and cheeks. In the distance, a woman laughs and children giggle. Sabina opens her eyes to the view of sunlight beaming at her through an open window. Her eyes shift, just a sliver, over to the left.

Sam is sitting there, slightly hunched over in his chair. His eyes are focused down towards his hands, down at a ring held between his fingers.

The ring he had given her.

“Hey,” Sabina says. It barely comes out as a whisper.

Sam jerks his head up. “Bina?”

She blinks, beginning the process of waking up. And that’s when she realizes that this environment is unfamiliar to her. She’s surrounded by plain, white walls. And the smell of sanitizer fills her nostrils. “Where… where am I? Where’s Rafe?”

When she tries to sit up in the bed, Sam jumps out of his chair and places his hands on her stomach and shoulder. “You’re in the hospital,” he says. “Rafe had to step out, handle some of your paperwork, but he’ll be back soon.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Don’t worry.”

“Wait,” Sabina says. “Are you okay? Is Nate okay? The—the explosion—oh, my god—”

“Everyone is fine, Bina. Just lay down.”

“But—”

“Lay down,” Sam says.

Sabina nods and relaxes back into the bed.

After taking a few deep breathes to calm her racing heart, she turns to look at Sam. “My ring,” she points at the object that’s still in his hands. “What…”

Sam sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t think you would still have it,” he says. He leans forward, placing the ring on the bedside table. “Not after all of these years.”

“It was all I had left of you,” Sabina confesses. “I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it.”

Sam gives her a small smile.

“Besides,” she says, “it looks like you stole my birds."

He squints his eyes, confused. “What?”

The woman lifts her hand off the bed, pointing a finger at the birds tattooed on the left side of Sam’s neck.

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckles. A faint blush sprouts across his cheeks. “Yeah… Got it in prison. I didn’t know if I was ever going to see you again—I just—I thought it would be nice to have.”

“Nice to have, huh?”

“Your husband wasn’t too thrilled when he put the dots together.” Sam leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “You know, matching tats and all. Wouldn’t shut up about how he’s married to you.”

“That sounds like Rafe,” Sabina laughs.

“Still can’t believe you’re an Adler now,” Sam says.

“Hewitt-Adler, actually. I hyphenated. Couldn’t quite let go of the family name, I suppose.”

Sam hums. “A lot changed when I was away.”

“Yeah,” Sabina agrees. “Things are different now.”

“Did you mean what you said at Libertalia?” Sam asks. “About us only being together because of Avery’s treasure?”

“Sam,” she whispers.

“Do you really believe that I would’ve just left you if we never found that treasure? Did you think that I didn’t love you?”

“Our relationship was… Everything happened so fast. It really was a bit of whirl-wind romance, wasn’t it?” Sabina says. “One day, I’m following a strange man into the dirtiest hotel room that I have ever seen. And then, with the blink of an eye, I’m having secret rendezvous with him whenever we can find an excuse to ditch his brother. Between chasing clues and traveling the world, where was the time for me to realize your feelings? How could I have known that you loved me? When you never told me those words? When it was clear that your priority would always be the treasure? I couldn’t compete with that, Sam.”

“Bina—”

“The answer,” she interrupts, “it was going to be yes. Yes, I would run away with you.”

Sam reaches out to hold Sabina’s hand. “I’ve never stopped thinking about you, Bina.”

“Answer me honestly, Sam,” she says. “Back on Avery’s ship, if you had been in Rafe’s place, would you have picked me?”

“Of course,” he responds, without hesitation. “Of course I would choose you.”

Sabina smiles at him, but her eyes are sad.

Longing to know what life would have looked like, had she been able to spend the past fifteen years with Sam.

“You have to let go,” she says. “The girl you love, it’s not the same person that I am now. You care about Sabina from fifteen years ago. The Sabina that… loved a life of adventure, with you. I think, if you had asked, she would have done anything for you. But the person you’re looking at now, she’s already let you go. I don’t know if I could love you again, not the way I used to, not the way you want me to.”

Sam sighs, “I know.”

“Hey,” she squeezes his hand. “We found the treasure, though. At least we accomplished something, even if it took a decade and a half.” Sabina turns her head to look at the beside table, focusing her gaze on the medallion. “I solved it, you know.”

“Really?” Sam raises an eyebrow and picks up the necklace. “When?”

“A few years ago.”

“What did it tell you?”

“Why don’t you keep it,” Sabina says. “Keep it and figure it out for yourself.”

“Are you sure? You parents—”

“Probably never even found it, if we’re being honest. I bet they stole it from someone. We’re all thieves, aren’t we?” She chuckles. “I’ve carried it around for so long, clutching onto terrible memories. I need to move on with my life. I don’t care what you end up doing with it, but please, just take it. I don’t want it, not anymore.”

Sam nods and slips the object into his pocket. “You gonna give me a hint on how to solve it?”

“You’re going to want a lot of red wine."

The door to the room slides open, startling them.

“Get away from her,” a voice growls.

Sam jumps away from Sabina, hands held up in the air. “Okay, okay,” he says. “Jesus, we were just having a conversation.”

“Rafe,” Sabina smiles and attempts to sit up.

“Hey there, honey,” he walks up to the side of her bed and reaches for her hand. Rafe turns his head to look at Sam. “You can go now.”

“Are you kidding me? She just woke up.”

“Yeah,” Rafe says, “and now that she’s awake, we don’t need you here.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Get out,” Rafe snaps.

“Alright,” Sam responds. “I’ll just… go outside for a smoke.”

When Sam exits the room, Rafe directs his attention back to Sabina. “You feeling okay? Does anything hurt?”

“You picked me,” she says, ignoring his questions. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“I told you that I wanted to be with you, didn’t I?” Rafe says. “That hasn’t changed. I realize now that I’ve neglected you, but I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t enough for me.”

“You’re not entirely to blame. I should’ve just told you how I felt.” Her breath hitches, and she whispers, “Maybe all of this could have been avoided.”

Rafe shakes his head. “I’m not sure if I would have listened to you at any other moment.”

“But in the end, you listened. And right now, that’s all that matters,” Sabina smiles.

Her husband sits down on the edge of the hospital bed. “Where do we go from here?” Rafe asks, pushing strands of hair away from Sabina’s face.

She hums, enjoying his touch. “Do you remember our wedding day? How we hid in the dressing room’s bathroom during the reception?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “You said you were so tired of talking to an endless parade of strangers.”

“They were all so boring,” she says. “And all they did was congratulate us, before trying to impress you with some bullshit story about their life. I remember being so desperate to get out of that dress.”

“God, I remember all the damn buttons on the back.”

“It took you forever to undo them! I thought I was going to be stuck in that thing for the rest of my life,” Sabina laughs. “It was a very pretty dress, though. A mermaid style. Lots of lace. Oh! And the detachable train. I think I liked it more than the dress I wore for the actual ceremony.”

“I was too busy looking at you,” Rafe admits. “I can’t really remember what the dresses look like anymore.”

“Oh, my god. And your mother!” Sabina exclaims, remembering the night. “Do you remember how we were in the bathroom for so long that she ran around trying to track us down?”

Rafe laughs, “And she almost walked in, right as I got the dress off.”

“I had to throw my body against the door to keep it shut. Told her that I just needed a few minutes to myself. And then she asked if I had seen you—”

“—And you told her that I was probably out in the gardens.”

“We escaped through a window, didn’t we?”

“Did we?”

“I think so,” she says. “When your mother left, we walked out of the bathroom. I told you that I wanted to leave, start the honeymoon a little early, so you pulled a robe off of one of the chairs.”

“And then we climbed through the window,” Rafe says, nodding his head. “And we sprinted to the car.”

“I don’t think your mother ever really forgave me for that.”

“I think she was more upset with me, to be honest.”

“We need to work on our marriage,” Sabina says. “No more lying. No more secrets. We need to be open, to communicate, like we used it. We used to have so much fun, didn’t we, babe? I think we can be those people again.”

“I think so, too,” he agrees.

“But first,” Sabina grabs the front of his shirt, pulling him towards her. Brushing her lips against his, she says, “Let’s go back to Copenhagen. Relive those honeymoon memories.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Rafe whispers.

a/n: thank you so much for reading this! if you enjoyed this work, please consider reblogging this story. i am a very small fanfic author and every reblog really does help in giving me exposure to potential new readers. however, i do also appreciate any likes or comments you’re willing to give.

again, this is not the end of the road for sabina, rafe, or sam! i have one-shots planned in the future, but currently there is no timeframe for when any of them will be posted. you may want to consider bookmarking the masterlist (linked near the beginning of this post), so you can check back in the future.

Twitter: VostaraFics

Ao3: Vostara

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kyber-kisses · 4 years

Text

Hung The Moon (1/2)

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings; violence, gore, character death (maybe), cursing, nooses and everything that entails, some sketchy surgery, Sam playing doctor, cricothyrotomy. (Please consider this a DARK FIC)

Bad Things Happen Bingo

Square filled: bound and gagged (kind of)

Summary: after a hunting accident that takes one of the things Dean holds most dear, he is desperate to put the pieces back together (Takes place in s12)

It happened so fast.

It was like the moment they took you woke up from your drugged state your senses increased tenfold. You felt the rough canvas material of the sack being pulled over your head, your hands and ankles had been bound with cloth as you now teetered on the edge of what could only be a chair. The old wood creaking under your weight as you tried to shift.

But it was the rope around your neck that really had you scared. It was like every cell in your body was vibrating as your mind tried to hatch an escape plan. But in all truth, how were you supposed to get out of this mess? Sam and Dean were probably out looking for you- but the chance of them getting here before whoever had taken you decided to kick the chair out from under you was slim to none.

“You can give up the thought that they’ll actually save you.” A sudden voice spoke up from behind you, her accent immediately informing you on who exactly had captured you. “We have the Winchesters running in circles as we speak. They’re miles away.”

Fucking British men of Letters. Could you ever catch a break from them?

“Toni. I wish I could say it’s good to see you.” You swallowed, attempting to wriggle your wrist out of its binding. “But seeing as you put a damn bag over my head-“

“Goodness, I can see why the Winchesters like you so much. You’re a sarcastic chatter box just like the older one.”

“You wanna tell me why you got a noose around my neck? I thought you assholes were trying to recruit us, not kill us.”

The crack of her heels against the pavement gave way to where she walked, her shadow passing over the fabric of the bag over your head. If you could just keep her talking, you could buy yourself some more time.

“That was the original plan, yes. But you American hunters are too stubborn and reckless. It’s better to just wipe you off the playing field all together.”

Even with the canvas pulled over your eyes, you couldn’t help but roll them. It was like she loved hearing herself talk. “Well alright, Bonnie. Where’s Clyde in this whole situation? I thought for sure he’d be here too.”

“Ketch is busy with those flannel clad idiots of yours. Leaving them false breadcrumbs leading far, far away from here.” She quipped, the constant clack of her heels telling you she was somewhat occupied, giving you a chance to continue working on weaseling your hand out of its binding.

“So it’s just us girls? We should make a girls night of it. Order pizzas, paint each others nails-“

“Oh do shut up.” The sound of her heels quickly drew closer as she suddenly picked up her pace, your hand came loose and she struck the chair with her foot, kicking it out from beneath you and leaving you hanging. . . Literally.

It just happened so fast.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

“I’m telling you man, she has to be around here somewhere!”

“Dean, this is the fourth farmhouse we’ve checked tonight. She’s not here. Plus, Cas is searching for anything suspicious. He’ll give us a call if he finds anything.”

“She could be dying for all we know, Sam! Now we ain’t stopping until we find her!”

Dean spun around, throwing his fist into the rotting wood of the old abandon house. They had spent the last few hours searching for any clues to your whereabouts but it was like everything they found was steering them further away.

“So whats your plan? tear apart every abandon building in Georgia until we find her?”

“If that’s what it takes, yeah!”

He knew something was off the minute he and Sam had stepped back into the motel room earlier. Not a single thing was out of place and you were nowhere in sight. Everything about it screamed unusual. If you were to leave you would have texted him, informed him that you were going out.

“You know, this has those British bastards written all over it.” he growled, pulling the keys to the impala from his pocket, the older Winchester stormed back out the door. “Now c’mon, we gotta keep looking.”

Sam watched his brother go, letting out a deep sigh. As each minute ticked by Dean was growing more impulsive in his behavior. The second they realized something had happened to you he could see the fear cover him like a blanket. He knew how much his brother cared for you. You were like the sun and moon to Dean Winchester. . .and yet you had no fricken clue about it at all.

“Sam! You coming or what?! We don’t got all day!” Deans voice echoing through the threshold and pulling him forward, his phone also deciding it was the perfect time to go off right then and there.

Fishing the device out of his pocket, Sam quickly answered, ignoring the impatient look Dean was giving him from over the hood of the impala.

“Cas, you got anything?”

“I might. But I’m not sure. The place is heavily warded against angels.” His voice loud enough through the speaker to gain the jade eyed hunters attention, resulting in him throwing open the drivers side door and sliding in, the engine roaring to life in a matter of seconds.

“Where is he?” His voice heavy with urgency as Sam slid into the car, almost hitting his head on the window when Dean threw the car into drive at a record speed, peeling off onto the two lane road. “Sam! Where the hell is he?!”

“Cas, where are you?”

There was a muffled answer, drowned out by the thunder of the impalas engine, the older Winchester taking his eyes off the road to look wide eyed at his brother. “Well?”

“He said he’s just outside of Barnwell.”

“Barnwell? That’s the opposite direction in which we’ve been traveling!”

With another click, Sam put the angel on speaker, holding it up for better sound. “I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe the clues that you have found were deliberately placed? Put there to send you in the wrong direction?”

Sam watched as his brothers head fell foreword in defeat, eyes closing momentarily as he rested his forehead against the steering wheel. “God. I’m so stupid! I’m so damn stupid.”

“Dean, no you’re not. We just couldn’t see things clearly in the panic. It happens.”

“I swear I’m gonna slit the throats of whoever took her.”

Shifting slightly in his seat, Dean pressed down harder on the gas, the world beyond the windows becoming a dark blur as he cut across the state. If anything happened to you, he would never forgive himself. He need you safe. He needed you.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Adrenaline flooded through Deans system as he slammed against the front door, splintering the door frame in one go as he tumbled into the dark.

“Check every room. She has to be here somewhere.”

Flashlight beams danced across the dusted surfaces of the vacant homestead as the brothers searched for any signs of life. The drive would have normally been around an hour long but Dean had managed to narrow it down to a clean twenty five. The house that Cas had found had long since been abandon, so overgrown with honeysuckle and kudzu that the building looked like a cocoon of greenery. The only signs that anyone had been there were the tire tracks in the driveway.

“Y/N, you in here?” Dean whispered, taking light footsteps through the house, Sam splitting of to check the basement. Cas was still out of commission due to the warding, resulting in him hanging back on the front porch.

Eventually the hunter fell back after finding no evidence of you,instead opting to follow the direction in which his brother had gone. The old stairs creaking under his weight as he descended into the dark of the basement.

“Sam, you find anything?”

His feet had barely touched down on the cement floor before the mass that could only be Sam barricaded him from going anywhere, his younger brother taking his shoulders in a vice grip and pushing him.

“Dude what the hell? You scared of the dark now?”

“Dean-“ Sam struggled, the words sticking like cotton in his throat. “go back upstairs.”

“Sam, just let me through. I’ll be fine.”

“No, I’m telling you, You don’t want to see this. Just get out of the house.”

The tone and words hit like an icy shock to Deans system, the hunter drawing his eyebrows together as he pushed against the hold Sam had on him. Alarms going off in his head as every muscle in his body felt like it had been bound tightly with wire. Maybe if his flashlight hadn’t illuminated his brothers face he wouldn’t have been so scared all of a sudden- but his face was pale and his eyes were wide and glassy.

And then his flashlight beam fell across the silhouette just beyond his shoulders and Dean felt his heart stop in his chest. The paralyzing fear spread through his body like icy liquid metal, jade eyes widening in dread as the flashlight slipped from his palm, clattering down the last two steps.

“No-no.” The word came out of his mouth shaky, his voice cracking. If it weren’t for the rotting banister and his brothers quick reflexes his buckling knees would have sent him to the ground.

The fallen flashlights beam now acted as some morbid spotlight to your fate. If it weren’t for the pair of bright yellow converse on the set of feet, neither brother would have guessed it was you. Your feet dangling a good foot above the floor, your body suspended like a puppet from the rafters.

No.no. this wasn't right. this was just some nightmarish landscape that his mind had cooked up. You weren't dead. You couldn't be. Not here. Not now. Not this way. You were supposed to always be there. The one thing that he would never lose. You were supposed to stay and he was supposed to find the courage to tell you he loved you.

You end wasn't supposed to be met with your neck in a noose.

“We gotta- we gotta cut her down.” he stuttered, finding that his tongue had practically gone limp in his mouth. They couldn’t just leave you there. “She---she-”

And then it was like a sudden adrenaline rush went through the hunter and he was pushing past the man blocking him from you. Maybe a part of him still didn’t believe what he was seeing, or that he could allow himself to really believe you were dead.

And He didn’t know what made him reach out for your wrist, but when he did- he found something he didn't expect to actually find. he found a pulse.

Eyes widening, he took a step back. “Sam, she’s still alive!” Letting go of your wrist, Dean whipped around, eyes finding the knocked over chair in the dark and racing to stand it up, jumping onto the base of it as he pulled out the knife tucked into his waistband. Sam was beside him in matter of seconds, ready to hold your body the second the rope was cut. As he did you dropped like an unstrung marionette into the hunters arms, the younger Winchester sinking to the floor. The sack was pulled away from your face and the noose was quickly loosened.

“How is she even still alive?”

“Her hand-“ Sam breathed, lifting up your left hand to show the bruises around your fingers. “She managed to wedge it between the rope and her neck before it could fully choke her.”

“We need to get her to Cas then!” Deans voice thundered around the otherwise empty room as panic overrode his system.

“If we move her I don’t know what will happen. I need you to go and grab Y/Ns emergency kit from the car. Along with the straw from your drink earlier.” Being as gentle as he could, Sam lifted the noose from around your neck, his hands shaking as he did. Meanwhile Dean was paralyzed with fear, also slightly confused as to why his brother wanted the fucking straw.” Now, Dean! Go!”

Another switch was flicked in his brain and the speed at which he took the stairs probably would have impressed most people. He ignored the shouts from Cas as he blew past, throwing open the trunk of the impala and rummaging around until he found your kit. And then he was flinging open the passenger door and ripping the straw from his cup, deciding it was better to not ask questions at this point and just grab what Sam told him. He didn’t bother closing the doors to the vehicle as he sprinted back into the house once more, almost falling down the stairs in the process.

Breathlessly, he fell to his knees and ripped open the kit, his hands shaking worse than his brothers. “Sam, what do you need?” His words falling out of his mouth rapidly. He didn’t know how to help you or what to hand his brother and he was on the verge of passing out from fear alone. “Sam!”

“I need you to cut off about a two inch piece of the straw. I also need your pocket knife.” His words earning a panicked look from Dean, but he did as he was told, handing over the objects quickly.

“What the hell are you going to do?!”

“We need to puncture her airway. Get air into her lungs.”

“And you know how to do that?!”

There was a pause. “Kinda. Read about it in a book once.”

“Kinda? What if it doesn’t work?!”

“Then she dies. Now I need you to shut up and trust me because this is the only chance we got at saving her. Now hold her head steady for me.”

Despite his whole uneasiness with the entire situation, Dean complied, moving to hold your head in place as Sam brought the pocket knife to your throat, being as steady as he could when making the incision. Everything in the older Winchester wanted to tear his eyes away, but they seemed glued to what was happening. There wasn’t exactly a gentleness either as he put the small piece of straw into the incision, having to of course make sure it reached your windpipe.

Suspense blanketed the three until there was a stuttered breath from your unconscious form and your chest ever so slightly rose as your lungs wheezed with lost air.

“Was that it? Did it work?”

“Yeah, yeah I think it did. But we need to get her up to Cas. Hopefully he still has some juice left to help fix her.”

Dean let out a sigh of partial relief, shifting so he could get a better look at you, his calloused hands moving to cup your face, still shaking from the whole ordeal. Through the blurriness of the tears in his eyes he could still make out the rope marks on your neck. He wanted you to wake up, tell him who did this to you. He wanted you to really confirm that you were still with him. But he knew it was better for you to stay unconscious.

“We’re gonna get you to Cas, okay Sweetheart? You’re gonna be fine. You're gonna be Just fine.”

Read part 2 Here

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#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester angst #dean winchester #spn x reader #supernatural #bi-danvers writing #bi-danvers0 #bad things happen bingo

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fandom-gt · 4 years

Text

Claiming: Second Heat

If you guys enjoy this work, please consider swinging by my ko-fi to support or commission me to fill whatever prompt your heart desires.

See tags for warnings.

Request Summary

Incubucky, and how they handle his next heat. Bonus points if he no longer bothers using his glamour.

A year passes between the faeries discovering their mate’s hidden features and the time of his next heat. Through it, Bucky still seems shy about his features. Although he appreciates how sweet they are, how reassuring, he still doesn’t like to display himself. He thinks of himself as terrifying, particularly around such delicate and precious cargo.

But he opens up a little. Allows them to come to the hot spring with him where he bathes, wings and horns and tail on display. Allows Natasha to pet and rub the joints of his wings on days they feel sore. Reveals his tail to playfully poke Sam when he isn’t expecting it.

Rare treats, but no longer completely hidden.

It gets progressively more frequent on the days leading up to Bucky’s heat. It’s like a dam has burst, like Bucky finds relief in not spending energy on the glamor.

They prepare this time better than they did the previous year. Now that they know what they’re in for, they spend months getting into shape for it. They focus their magic, they rest and eat and save their strength in preparation for the onslaught.

But they still aren’t quite ready for how things go.

It’s not the middle of the night this time. It’s broad daylight, mid afternoon, with Bucky in the kitchen cooking alongside Natasha and Sam. He’s holding a glass bowl in his hands when he freezes rather abruptly, a far-away look in his eyes. Sam notices first, strolling up to the edge of the counter -- about waist height on Bucky.

“Hey man, you okay?”

He gets his answer not through words, but through a sudden and very intense look. Bucky’s eyes fixate on him, pupils blown out so wide they overtake almost all of his iris, making them look black. More strikingly than that, Bucky’s wings burst suddenly from the glamor with a sudden dramatic flair, arching wide and high, stretched out to either attract or intimidate -- or both.

From where Sam stands with his neck craned back, it is truly an awe-inspiring sight. This enormous man towering over him, suddenly framed by wings, horns twisting out from above either ear, a sway in his lean body as he stares down. Oppressive in size and gravitas simultaneously.

Sam is rendered speechless.

Natasha’s attention is flagged by the wings as well, the sudden burst of inky black in her peripheral vision dragging her attention away from the kitchen island.

Bucky drops the bowl, and it shatters into shards on the floor.

“Sam, I think it’s time,” she calls out, a single quiver of trepidation in her voice. Bucky zeroes in on the sound without looking -- from nowhere, a sudden shape darts into her vision. The thick appendage of Bucky’s tail wraps a look around her waist in a split second, yanking her up into the air.

“Mine,” he declares of the two of them, voice firm and unfaltering and loud. “Mine to use.”

Talons as sharp as razors descend toward Sam so fast he momentarily forgets he doesn’t have to be afraid of the person wielding them. A massive palm presses him flat onto his back on the counter, sharp nails landing on either side of his head, and he stares up through the gap between Bucky’s index and middle fingers for a long series of seconds.

And then they slowly drag him toward the edge of the counter, wrapping around his body and lifting him into the air.

Those sharp nails slip dangerously through his limbs, spreading his arms wide open with a ring finger and his thumb so that Sam’s wide open and exposed. Stuck in an implacable grip as Bucky brings him down a little lower.

The appendage around Natasha slackens a little, but she quickly realizes it’s only so it can smash her up against Bucky’s cock and then wrap around them both simultaneously. It grips her tight like chord, like a boa constrictor, binding her against his cock as he strokes himself off with her body and his tail.

Sam can see her hair hanging down, her face pressed into skin, he can see her squirm against that column of flesh and he can see Bucky’s cock pulse every time she does.

“You okay?” he calls out hoarsely, just before the tip of a penis is pressed against his mouth and dragged over his face.

“Y-yeah-- doing great--” she calls back dryly, breathless and strained.

“Mine,” Bucky informs them, jerking harder, breathless and urgent and consumed with a need to mark the little man in his hand.

“Yeah, big guy, we got that,” he answers, and is met again with the head of Bucky’s dick circling his face.

“....Bucky?” Steve’s voice causes a falter in Bucky’s rhythm, a new and unexpected element that he focuses on immediately.

“Steve! Plan C! Plan C!” Sam calls, and Steve curses, quickly darting across the room. After what happened last time, after where he spent his days, they came up with a pretty important solution. A toy made mostly of glass, transparent enough for Bucky to see and feel satisfied by who he has in his grip. Something for Steve to slip into before Bucky could grab him and shove him exactly where he wants him.

He barely gets into it in time before that massive hand slams down and snatches him, the thick glass protecting him from the strength of his grip as the world soars past him. He isn’t surprised by the location, by that tail lifting and those two massive legs parting, nor by the fact that Bucky shoes him unceremoniously into his hole. Muscle clamps down around him, light disappears, and Steve’s greeted with his night-vision view of Bucky’s insides desperately clenching around him, drawing pleasure and milking him for all he’s worth.

He’ll be spending the next two days trapped in here, only occasionally glimpsing light when Bucky shifts his legs open and uses his tail to drag the toy in and out, in and out.

Sam learns why Bucky considers himself terrifying. He spends his days at waist height staring up at dark eyes and dark wings and dark horns as Bucky breathes heavy and domineers the area above him, stroking himself roughly off, dragging his cock over Sam’s body, and grinding out a forceful, “Mine,” whenever he thinks Sam needs the reminder.

By the time it’s over, that thought doesn’t leave his mind. It lingers every time he looks at Bucky, this sense of possession. This feeling that he does, in fact, belong to Bucky.

His.

As for Natasha, well, Natasha’s the smartest of the three of them. She’s learned to pleasure rather than let herself be used for pleasure; Steve isn’t the only one to have had the idea for a toy. Natasha’s brilliant invention was a little bit like a cut-off fleshlight, round and open ended, that she pulled out the first time Bucky paused long enough for it.

As it turns out, as long as she spent every bit of her energy dragging it back and forth along Bucky’s cock, he was content to let her jack him off of her own volition.

The only caveat? She couldn’t stop. Not even for a minute. The second she faltered he’d reach for her, and she’d have to frantically resume exhausting herself between his legs underneath his dick.

It could be worse.

“Sorry, Sam,” she calls for the fifteenth time as she feels the flesh above her twitch, about to finish on him again.

“I hate you,” he answers back in deadpan.

She smirks.

#claimed #commission #stucky #winterwidow #winterfalcon #sam/bucky/steve/nat #inccubus #supernatural creatures #animal parts #insertion #rough handling

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thephantomofthe-internet · 5 years

Text

Charming Man

Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 5, 618

Warnings: Cursing, Unwanted Male Advances

Author’s Note: I hit 2K!!! I had no idea I would ever get to such a milestone, much less in such a short amount of time! Thank you to everyone whose joined me on this tour of an ocean of flavor!

Tag List: @hotstuffhargrove @moonstruckhargrove @carolimedanvers @alex--awesome--22 @thechickvic @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @so-not-hotmess @agentsinstorybrooke @sunflowercandie @kaliforniacoastalteens @songforhema @spidey-pal @mickmoon

Steve Harrington was a nuisance. He didn’t know when to quit. If he asked you one more question about the stupid Wham! album, you were going to scream. But there you, with your big, fake smile that made the corners of your mouth hurt, nodding along to whatever Harrington was droning on about. You thought he was still contemplating the choice between the single and the whole record. He had made some comment about only needing the song Careless Whisper off the record and the salesgirl in you had tried to up sell him, suggesting buying the cassette and the single, to ensure that he didn’t need both. It was a terrible idea-singles were in essence, an awful to buy, but so was buying both the full cassette and the single, since it would cost twice as much than just buying the record. But you believed Harrington was just dumb enough to fall for the scheme. You’d gotten smarter boys to buy more than they needed. Last week, you’d been able to convince Keith to buy singles of a bunch of your favourite songs, purely because he was shamelessly trying to impress you. He failed to do so, but you might be getting a mix tape out of it, which wouldn’t be terrible. You collected mix tapes, especially mix tapes about broken hearts or first love. You planned to make an art installation with them, but for now they sat in a shoe box under your passenger seat.

“So, you think I should get the cassette and the single on record?” Steve asked, drawing you out of your thoughts. Your smile dropped slightly, trying to piece together what he was talking about.

You found it fast, nodding too enthusiastically “Yeah! I mean, between you and me, it’s a better deal...” you said, keeping your voice low as if it was a big secret what you were telling him.

“Is it?” Steve asked, crossing his arms over his chest, the record and tape still in hand, each poking out on either side of him. You stifled a yawn, nodding again. You’d been there since seven that morning and the mall was closing in an hour. You were beyond exhausted, but Tiffany Michaels called in sick, again, and so you had to cover again.

“Yeah!” you let your cheery tone fall away a bit, hoping the irritation slipping through would give him the hint to clear off. This interaction had been going on for a half hour now. It had started with him asking for record suggestions, which you took to mean ‘tell me the albums the popular hits on the radio are coming from’ and pattered off the top selling records from memory. You’d sold more copies of Madonna’s Like a Virgin in the past week than you could possibly keep track of, purely because people wanted the album with Material Girl or Like a Virgin or Into the Groove on it. Steve had gotten unsurprisingly interested in the album with Careless Whisper on it, as did most horn dog, wannabe players who came strutting into your store. You were more than happy to sell him the record and get on with your shift, but he wasn’t letting that happen.

“Cause, the full record’s like eight bucks.” He held up the tape “But the tape’s like six, plus three bucks for the single that’s like nine bucks, that’s more than the record.” He grinned, placing the tape on top of the single, handing them back to you as if they were yours.

You felt your face colour, in part because he’d taught you in your lie, but in part because he seemed genuinely proud of that mental math. “You’re...you’re right. I wasn’t thinking, sorry ‘bout that.” You said easily, shrugging as you placed the single back on the shelf and the tape into the plastic shopping basket on your arm. He’d caught you shelving tapes in the easy listening section half an hour ago and you weren’t allowed to shelf while talking to a customer, meaning you were forced to lug them around with you as Steve wandered, asking questions. And those things were heavy all lumped together! There had to be at least a hundred copies of Kate Bush’s Running Uphill and Whitney Houston’s Whitney Houston in your stupid basket!

“It’s cool, no biggie...I think I’ll just get the single, come back for the record if I like the song enough.” He decided with a small nod.

You grit your teeth. You wanted to scream about how singles were a waste of money and how you’d make no money on commission for that. Instead, you nodded “Great! If you just head to the counter, Michelle can check you. Enjoy your record!” you said, turning on your heel and practically rushing out of the stereo accessory section he’d dragged you to. You only had forty minutes to shelf all the tapes on your arm, or else you’d have to stay passed close to do it, which both your closing manager and you would hate.

“Hey, uh wait!” he called, chasing after you. You let out a small sigh, turning back with a painful smile. “I was sort of wondering, well maybe if you’d wanna maybe go out this weekend? They’re showing Dawn of the Dead at the theatre, I’ve heard it pretty good...” he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, eyes drifting to the ceiling instead to yours.

Your brows furrowed. You weren’t expecting this from him. But, of course, he was not the first boy to ask you out while you were at work. It was a distressingly common theme. You assumed that guys liked that you had to be nice to them, or that they didn’t realize that you had to be nice and assumed that you were flirting. “Oh...um I’m working this weekend...” you said, shuffling on your feet. Most of the time, when guys ask you out at work, they seemed so confident and cocky, it was easy to reject them. But Steve looked genuinely nervous and you couldn’t place why.

Steve’s smirk only grew, he leaned in closer, trapping you against a rack of blank tapes “Aw come on, have a little fun, come out with me instead.” He said. You’d heard this shtick before, Billy Hargrove had tried it on you just a couple weeks prior. Having it come from Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, made you want to puke. Because you knew exactly where he’d been. With Billy, it was unclear; lots of girls lied about what they did and didn’t do with that boy. But everyone knew who did what with Harrington. You weren’t too interested in being put on a list.

“Yeah, I actually need the money so…no.” you replied, pushing out from under his arm and away from him. Steve stumbled back, shocked and a little mortified by how you’d reacted to his flirting.

Steve’s head dropped, his gaze focusing on his scuffed converse before he looked at you again “Yeah...yeah no that’s cool, no biggie. Some other time then...” he said awkwardly, brushing the singular strand of brown hair from his face. You didn’t say anything, what were you supposed to say? That you thought he was a douche and had zero interest in doing anything with him? That kind of language could get you fired. And you needed this job, you desperately needed a car for next year.

“I’ll see you around?” Steve tried awkwardly, his smile turning into a frown fast as you didn’t respond.

“Yeah sure.” You nodded “I gotta go shelf this stuff before the mall closes.” You headed back towards the easy listening section, trying not to cringe at the awkward interaction you’d just experienced. It was so very awkward! It was more fun to reject assholes who treated you like a well dressed object to leer and gawk at. Sam Goody didn’t have uniforms per say, simply a dress code to uphold; it was encouraged to look cool, hip, and young. As long as your shoes were black sneakers, your hair wasn’t fully in your face, and you could see your bottoms under your tiny apron, you were good. Which meant you chose your clothes carefully. Generally, you went with a patterned button down, which you could pop as many or as few buttons on as you want. That meant that you could be remembered by your male and female customers alike could either remember you by your name or as the chick with the great tits. It worked well.

But it also meant that guys like Steve Harrington talked to your chest.

And it was weird for Steve to talk to your chest! Especially since you and Steve had never had a conversation. Like ever. If you weren’t wearing a nametag, you’d be utterly shocked that he knew your name. Because he was the proverbial king of Hawkins and you were a nobody. Well, a nobody until someone wanted to use your employee discount. Then, suddenly you were the most popular girl in school. Hell, you should’ve gotten a job sooner, maybe you would’ve had a date to the spring formal last year.

Steve did buy the single. Even though he hated singles. Who wanted to listen to one song over and over again? Even if it had a B-side, it wasn’t worth the price. He bought it, he made sure to say that you helped him, and then he left. The mall was closing down, save the movie theatre, and he wanted to get home as soon as possible. That was so embarrassing. He didn’t even know why he tried, it wasn’t as if she had any pretence to him. All the other girls he’d been hitting on that summer were his age, they knew him and his style. They also knew about the most humiliating moment in his life, a lot of them were even there to experience it second hand. But you had only the rumours of his dickish tendencies to go off of. That wasn’t enough for anyone to work with.

But stupid Dustin had gotten it in his head that he had to get a girl, that Robin was the right girl. But Robin wasn’t the right girl, no way in hell. So he went in harder on trying to get a date. Every girl his age got hit on, he’d nearly got his ass beat by Justin Gardner after hitting on his girlfriend in front of him, but how was he supposed to know Justin was dating? Justin was a benchwarmer who couldn’t get a date if he paid them in school. Now suddenly he could get a hottie? Unbelievable.

It didn’t help that Dustin had a girlfriend now. And yes, it was embarrassing that Steve was jealous of a thirteen year old for having a girlfriend, he would never admit it out loud. But even though he didn’t believe that Suzie actually existed, it was slightly annoying that his dorky little friend could get a girlfriend and he couldn’t. He used to be able to get any girl he wanted! What happened? Did Nancy spread a rumour about him that he hadn’t heard yet? Was it because he lost a fight to both Billy Hargrove and Jonathan Byers? Or was it because he wasn’t going to college in the fall?

He was almost certain it was because he wasn’t going to school in the fall.

That and the dorky sailor outfit he had to wear at Scoops Ahoy!

The dumb Dixie cup hat and sailor shirt were totally throwing off his game. That’s why he was looking forward to going to the mall that day, out of uniform, to scope babes. He didn’t have much success, but he was a little bit excited to see you out of uniform. He’d seen you about a dozen times, all while you were at work, leaned over the counter, sometimes chewing on the end of a pen, sometimes laughing with coworkers or customers. You always looked so...well beautiful. He had to see it up close. And you just a beautiful up close, but it was obvious that you were uncomfortable too. Still, you were cute. He wished that you were a year older, that you already had all the context to his life. But what could he do? He wasn’t going back in there, not with you wandering around with your judgy eyes. It would be humiliating.

And he was already humiliating himself enough that summer.

You finished shelving the tapes in record time, mostly because the shop was empty and Michelle was thoroughly annoyed by your usual slow closes. You wanted to do a good job with your work and not rush the job, whereas Michelle just wanted to leave as fast as possible. After Sean, your least threatening manager, locked up the shop, the three of you all headed towards the exit. You rode your bike to work, since your mother almost never lent you the family car, but at night you felt less and less comfortable riding home. Sometimes Sean would offer you a ride, but ever since he and Michelle started hooking up, the rides got less and less frequent and when they did happen, Sean would spend the whole time complaining about the ambiguity of his relationship with Michelle. You didn’t take the rides home too often anymore. Not that one would be offered tonight, Michelle had latched herself onto his arm and had nuzzled so deep into his neck that you wondered if she could even see where she was going.

“You want a ride, Y/N?” Sean called as you exited into the parking lot. Sean’s burgundy pickup truck was parked so close to the doors and your legs were so tired. But taking the ride home meant that you’d either have to sit next to them on the front seat or in the trunk part with your bike. And neither option sounded too much better than peddling home.

“Nah, thanks though, I’d rather ride home.” You said with a smile, heading over to the bike racks and pulling the key out from around your neck and off your head, jabbing it into the padlock and clicking the lock open, wrapping the chain around the neck of your bike.

“You sure? It’s pretty dark already...” Sean replied, looking around the desolate parking lot, more concerned than he really needed to be.

“Baby, she said she’s fine.” Michelle said, resting a hand on his chest. Sean didn’t argue passed that and you turned on your bright bike light, swinging your leg over the seat and propped your foot on the peddle, pushing off.

You sped home, making it back to your house in record time. Your mother had left you a note by the door, explaining that she’d taken your younger sister to ballet class and she’d be home late. You crumpled up the note paper, tossing it into the waste paper bin by the powder room door, climbing the stairs and heading into the bathroom, turning on the hot water in your tub and letting it start to fill up. You were rifling through the pile of magazines next to your bed, trying to find the latest issue of cosmo you’d nicked from the corner store just a couple days ago.

Across town, Steve was hiding in his room. His father had ripped him a new one. Again. Turns out, his sailor suit was still laughable a month in to him having to wear it. He still wasn’t over the fact that Steve hadn’t gotten into college and he couldn’t get a better job than ice cream scooper part time. His standards of jobs in Hawkins was a bit too high, in Steve’s opinion. Still, his degrading of him at every turn was getting exhausting. He flopped on his mattress pitifully.

“This whole summer has been a nightmare…” you both muttered, you as you slipped into the steamy water, Steve as he kicked off his thick white socks.

Working at Sam Goody had many perks, like not having a stupid uniform and not smelling like spoiled food all the time, but you spent your time surrounded by assholes. You wanted to meet one nice guy. One guy who didn’t leer down your top and talk to your tits, who didn’t smirk at you or call you ‘baby’, ‘sugar’, or ‘honey’. Just one descent guy who’d treat you like a person instead of a sex doll. God, you would’ve said yes to Harrington if you weren’t working, at least at first. Once he pulled the macho, ‘I know you want me baby’ shit you were out completely. But for a second, when he was rambling on about Dawn of the Dead, you felt like you could stomach a night out or two with him

Meanwhile, Steve just wanted to feel like himself again. His whole last year of high school had been hell on his confidence. First, Nancy dumps him, then Billy Hargrove takes over his team and steals all his friends, then he didn’t get into college, and then Scoops Ahoy? It was all too much. He’d never felt like a loser in his life. He used to be liked, he used to be popular. And yeah, being popular didn’t really matter anymore, but for one last summer before everything changed on him, he wanted to be someone again. Just for a minute. And maybe that’s why he was acting like such an asshole. Because he needed some control over his life. He wished he could’ve gotten in under control when he was talking to the pretty girl in the record store, he made himself into such a douche. That wasn’t who he was, but she didn’t know that. God, he wanted to curl up into a ball and die.

You turned your head up to the ceiling, letting your sweaty neck stick to the cold tile behind your head. You didn’t want to go to work the next day, at least you had the morning shift. Tracey Lords would hopefully make into her shift that day. She hated opening shifts, so the pair of you often traded. You’d still have to stay behind if you got a bit of a rush, which you were expecting. Tomorrow was Friday, when the buses filled with the townies from the neighbouring towns and cities, all coming to bask in the free A/C and glorious shopping experiences. You hated Fridays, they always brought in the worst types of people, mostly shoplifters, who totally ruined your sales for the week. You vowed to stop stealing magazines from the Pick n’ Save after you saw your commission rates plummet after last Friday and a terrible group of greedy kids stole up your section.

Steve really didn’t want to go to the mall at all the next day, if only because he didn’t want to see you in his stupid sailor and hat, walking around like the geek of the week. He just wanted to hide away every shift. But the malls back hallways didn’t lead to any bathrooms, so he was forced to wander the mall like an idiot every time he needed to alleviate himself. He didn’t want you to see him like that. His confidence was already so low, he didn’t need to crumble up what was left of it.

Steve fell asleep that night with dreams of a face, undefined beyond a set of eyes, a nose, and a wide smile. No matter what he said in the dream, the person, a girl his dream decided for him, just smiled and laughed. The eyes were so deep and wide, they took up most of his memory of the dream, although he couldn’t even really place the colour of them, just that they looked at him so lovingly. The way he longed for someone to look at him. He woke up the next morning still in his sailor suit, with the eyes following him to work.

Across town, you woke up from a deep, dreamless sleep. You woke up well rested for the first time in weeks, it was as though someone slipped a sleeping pill in your bath water the night before and it sent you crashing into the pillow with your whole body ready and willing to sleep. You went into work happier than ever, high on the endorphins a good night’s sleep gave you.

Both you and Steve left for work at the exact same time that morning, unaware of your paths even crossing. You headed upstairs to meet Toby, who had the keys to unlock the store, and set to work straightening up the shop and opening your register for the day. Kim Rein sauntered in twenty minutes late, fifteen minutes before the mall opened and you tried not to give her too much side eye. Steve started his own open a level below, restocking cones and cups and filling his soap and sanitizer buckets under the counter.

Once the mall opened, you suffered through four hours of stupid people with stupid questions about terrible albums. You sold three copies of Kate Bush’s Running Uphill, which was an accomplishment for you, since her last album was the only popular due to the hilariously weird Wuthering Heights. You were bored by two in the afternoon, when Toby finally sent you on break. All you wanted was a damn Orange Julius and you’d pay any amount for one.

Likewise, Steve was very much over his shift around the same time when Robin finally agreed to let him go on his damn break. He just needed to get out of the stupid shop. He was going to go to the cheap vending machine, the one by the cafeteria bathrooms, to get a can of Coke. Both of you headed into the shopping mall, trying to avoid anyone you knew.

Unfortunately, you ran directly into Tommy Hanson.

Tommy Hanson was an asshole and a bully. He didn’t know how to treat anyone decently. He stepped all over people. Was it any wonder that Carol broke up with him at least twice a year? It just so happened that Carol dumped him during the summer.

And now he was standing in front of you, blocking your way to the sweet, sweet Orange Julius.

“Y/N, baby, looking foxy as always.” He said, running his tongue over his upper lip. He’d stolen that look from Billy Hargrove and it didn’t work for either of them.

“Tommy.” You replied, skirting passed him and into the short line, keeping your eyes on the board above the shop.

“Why you rushing off, baby?” he asked, following behind you “I just wanna talk for a second…” you didn’t reply, ignoring him as best you could. ”You’re stunning, you know that? Absolutely gorgeous…” his eyes ran over your body like a tongue; his gaze was thick and hot, it made you want to cringe and pull away.

“Thank you.” You said shortly, getting to the front of the line and ordering quickly.

“What’d you say we go into the back, fool around for a bit?” he asked in your ear. You grimaced, glaring at him before moving out of the way for the next person.

“Don’t make me puke, Hanson.” You snapped, grabbing your blended drink from the poor server having to watch the scene going on between you and Tommy.

“Aw come on, don’t be such a bitch, Y/N.” Tommy whined, grabbing your drink from your hands “You know you want to...”

You reached for your drink, but Tommy just pulled it away. God, he was such a damn child. “Tommy, give me back my drink.” You said sternly.

“Come with me, I’ll give it back when we’re done, you’ll need it more then anyway.” He replied cheekily.

Steve saw this scene going down from the vending machine. He contemplated going over there when Tommy first walked over; he knew that the guy had gotten pretty scummy since he started hanging out with Billy. But when he starting grabbing things from you and taunting you, Steve couldn’t help but go over there.

“Dude,” Steve said, grabbing the drink out of Tommy’s hand, hovering over him. “You wanna try to get a decent personality?”

You looked between the pair of them, trying to decide if you could run off while they were arguing. But you paid good money for that drink and you really wanted it. You realized quickly that Tommy wasn’t going to let this go, and you really couldn’t stand the kid as is. You made your move fast.

“Steve!” you gasped with a shrill giggle “There you are!” you walked over to him, taking the drink he offered shyly and wrapping an arm around his waist. “So are you gonna take me out this weekend or not?” you asked, batting your eyelashes up at him. Steve looked utterly startled, but he didn’t react poorly.

“Course, darling...” he cooed. Steve could’ve died; you made such a disgusted face at the nickname he would’ve happily melted into the tile and be mopped up by Larry the janitor. But you didn’t pull your arm away.

“Walk me back to work?” You asked sweetly. Steve nodded, not trusting himself to not say anything embarrassing. You waved to Tommy, letting Steve lead you away from him, taking a long sip from your drink. It was already melting, but it was still sweet and cold, so you didn’t mind. And Steve had helped you out, although somewhat unwillingly, which was certainly an improvement.

Steve looked back only once, but the look on Tommy’s face was priceless. He looked so annoyed and more than a little broken up about his snatching away of you. His ego hadn’t been this inflated since October of last year. He felt like he was on cloud nine, like he was finally himself again. And even when you let him go, he still felt good about himself.

“Thanks for the help, Harrington.” You bit out once you were far enough away from Tommy.

“Sure, no problem. You want me to walk you back upstairs or are you good?” Steve asked, cracking his can of New Coke. He didn’t love New Coke, but it was all the vending machine was serving and he was just desperate enough to drink it.

You sighed “No I’m alright, I’m still on break, so I’m just gonna go hide somewhere.”

“You can hide at Scoops.” Steve blurted. He mentally kicked himself in the ass, it was such a stupid idea. The upstairs stores had break rooms, you didn’t need to hide with him.

You raised an eyebrow, watching him carefully. Steve swallowed, finishing the thought “The place is busy enough as is and if Tommy walks in, well he already thinks something is happened with...us, he won’t try anything else.”

“Won’t your boss get mad if I’m in there, not eating ice cream?” you asked.

“Oh he’s never here. Me and Robin have keys so we switch between opening and closing. You’re totally good.” Steve explained, scuffing the toe of his shoe into the ground, making a black mark on the white and teal tiles.

“Robin...like Robin Buckley?” you asked, stopping dead in the middle of the hall.

“I think that’s her last name?” Steve replied, scrunching up his face in thought.

“Oh I can’t. She hates me. My friend Tammy told everyone in our sophomore year history class that she was weird and avoided her for like a month. I didn’t do shit, but you know, loyalties and shit.” You explained, running your hands through your hair, slightly embarrassed by the memory.

Steve thought for a moment, an idea slowly coming into view. “She won’t even know that you’re there, come on!” he said, grabbing your hand and dragging you off. You gasped, laughing as you ran to keep up with him.

Steve dragged you through the back halls and rooms leading behind the shops. You hadn’t been through the lower level’s back halls and they were much more expansive that the upstairs halls. The whole space still felt eerie, but much cooler than the upper level. Steve pulled you into one of the rooms and you spotted the nautical theming of the shop. Steve rushed and shut a divider themed with dark wood and glass bricks.

“There, she won’t know that you’re here and you can hide from Tommy. Easy.” Steve said proudly, hopping up on the ledge.

“Can’t she hear you talking to someone?” you chuckled, pulling out the awful plastic folding chair and sitting down.

“Eh, we’re busy enough for her to not notice or care. Probably think I’m talking to myself or something.”

You leaned back in your chair, letting the front legs of the chair raise into the air as you crossed your arms over your chest. “You talk to yourself a lot, Harrington?” you asked cheekily.

Steve shrugged “Only when I’m really trying to break something down.” He replied. You were surprised and a little refreshed by the honesty. You didn’t expect him to be honest with you; you expected him to lie or try to pull some cool line. It was nice that he wasn’t trying so hard.

“What about you? I bet you’re the stone silent type, keeping it all inside.” Steve added, leaning his elbows on his knees.

“You’re not wrong...” you grinned, cocking your head to the side. You let the front legs drop back down to the ground with a tinny smack, your arms unfurling themselves to balance yourself. “But I sing to myself all the time.”

Steve’s grin turned lopsided and you wondered what exactly what was going through his head. “Really?” he asked.

“Yeah...I find it calming. It helps me to focus my mind, sometimes it just a singular line of a song, over and over again until I get whatever I’m trying to do done.”

“Doing a lot of singing nowadays?”

You sighed “Pretty much...you doing a lot of talking?”

“All I do is talk now.”

You nodded to yourself, forcing the chair to turn towards Steve and centring yourself on it, resting your arms on your knees and looking up at him. “Alright, what’s happening with you?” you asked.

Steve turned away slightly “Ah geez...I mean haven’t you heard? I’m like the only guy who didn’t get into any colleges. I’m stuck here for another year, working and trying to get my shit together.” He ran his fingers angrily through his hair, ripping at the strands as if they hurt him personally.

“I mean...that fucking sucks. But you’ll be okay.” You replied “I mean, look on the bright side, you have another year to be something else.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, furrowing his brow.

“You get a fresh start in a world you already know. You don’t have to be the jerk everyone in school knew you as. And you don’t have to mope around either. You can just be...you.” You smiled to yourself over that answer. Steve had given you a hard puzzle to solve, and while you couldn’t solve it for him, you were glad to have an answer at all.

Steve chuckled, although he wasn’t sure why, nor did you. “Oh yeah? And who is me?” he asked.

You shrugged “I have no idea. I don’t think most people do.”

Steve’s expression changed to one you couldn’t read. He nodded to himself, leaning back onto the glass. He let out a deep sigh “Honestly? I don’t even know anymore...” That wasn’t a shock to you, but you didn’t say that out loud. Steve cracked a smirk “Who did you think I was?”

“Oh...I have no idea.” You leaned back in your chair, letting out a big breath “I didn’t really know you, just your reputation. I only knew the bad stuff, which made you seem like an asshole.”

Steve’s smile dropped and he looked away “Yeah...you aren’t the only one who thinks that...” he admitted sadly.

“But...I mean I didn’t have any proof till yesterday. That guy was a real asshole.” Steve’s face dropped further, but you didn’t try ease the blow you’d just sent him.

“Yeah...I’m sorry ‘bout that.” He muttered, looking up to finally meet your eye.

You nodded, sighing softly “It’s alright, no biggie. I get it now.” You said.

Steve found a small smile again “What do you think of this guy?” he asked, unashamed of the slightly embarrassing question.

You placed a finger on your chin, raising your eyes to the ceiling to truly think. “Hmm...I think I like this guy better.”

Steve smirked “Yeah?” he hopped off the ledge, inching towards you. You didn’t move, watching him stalk over to you.

“Just a little...” you pinched your finger and thumb together, showing an inch in between. “I’d like you more if you wore normal clothes.” Steve rolled his eyes, his hands coming cautiously to your face, pulling it up to kiss you. You didn’t resist his grab, easing yourself out of the chair, shoving your hands into your back pockets.

“Alright, what the hell is going on in there?!?!” The divider slammed against its sleeve violently and Steve snapped his head around. Robin was staring at you incredulously. She looked more than a little furious, but it melted away when you met her eye.

“Oh god, really dingus? Her?” Robin scoffed. Steve merely shrugged, turning his attention back to you without a word.

“You mind shutting the divider, Buckley?” you asked “Harrington’s a bit busy...” you grabbed his fake tie, pulling his lips to yours, the sound of the divider slapping shut the only sound left in the room.

625 notes · View notes

nev3rfound · 5 years

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lost love : b.b

brief summary: bucky reminisces on his days with you, the love of his life he lost

word count: 1.9k requested: nope, this is inspired by the bathroom scene between steve and robin in stranger things s3 warnings: kinda angsty, bit sad

* masterlistin’

* commissions

Sam laughed lightly as he held his drink up toward Bucky. “Come on, Buck.” He encourages as Bucky shuffles forward in his seat, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he sips his drink.

“Alright, truth,” Bucky answers, watching as Sam relaxes back into the sofa. He glances over to Natasha and Steve, who raise eyebrows as Sam grins momentarily before facing Bucky.

“Have you ever been in love, Barnes?” Sam finally asks, his question forms slowly, but it hits Bucky too quickly.

Steve watches closely, seeing Bucky sink down in the armchair, his grip on the beer in his hand loosening and his brows furrow together.

Remaining quiet, Bucky knows his answer. He knew from the moment he first met you that it was going to be the case, but if he spoke too soon could it ruin it. “Yeah, I have.” Bucky answers softly. “It was the kind of love you don’t read about in books or be displayed in museums or anything.”

Lifting his head up, Bucky meets Sams wide eyes. “Seriously? Someone fell for your cold ass heart?” Sam jokes and Bucky laughs under his breath, nodding. “Come on, Barnes. Who was the special lady?”

“Her name was Y/n, Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n.” Bucky recites your name with such sweetness it’s tooth aching. Steve smiles to himself, letting out a soft sigh.

“Oh, Y/n.” Steve comments, Natasha glancing up to see Steve’s eyes glazed over, his mind back in another time. “She was something else.”

Bucky lowers his head, feeling his hair fall into his eyes. “Yeah, she, she was unlike anyone I ever met.” He brushes the hair out of his face, something you always did in the early hours of the morning as he held you close to his chest.

“Who was she?” Natasha speaks up, curiosity overtaking her stoic expression.

“She wasn’t like the other girls we knew in Brooklyn.” Bucky starts, his mind wandering back to the day he first met you. “She wasn’t falling at my feet for a start.”

Sam scoffs lightly. “And you picked her?”

Shaking his head, Bucky clears his throat. “I didn’t pick her, she picked me.” Bucky explains. “I was smitten by her bluntness, her downright honesty with me. She didn’t care for my charms, the attempt at swooning her for a dance. She saw the marks from another woman on my neck, Steve hanging by and eyes following her every step from across the street.”

Steve can remember it clearly too. You were his neighbour, a training nurse who had no time for bullshit. You wanted to make a difference in the world, or at least to those in it. Bucky was always around, and when he saw you for the first time he whistled to you. Unlike the other girls he met, you turned around and swore at him rather than found it complimenting.

“She didn’t have time for you, Buck.” Steve admits, and Bucky agrees with his friend, knowing it was true. “But that clearly didn’t stop you.” Steve sips his drink, seeing Bucky lean back in the sofa.

“How’d she end up with you then?” Tony walks in, leaning against the sofa Sam and Clint are on.

“Mixture of perseverance, a lot of flowers and her forcing me to be who I am, not who I try to be.” Bucky tells everyone, and Natasha can see Bucky softening. His hard exterior melting under the mention of his past with you by his side. “She helped me become the version of myself I should always be, and that I shouldn’t have to hide behind a bad boy persona.”

The room falls silent as Bucky’s sentence hangs in the air. Clint leans forward, exhaling heavily. “Well, on that note, who’s next?” He asks and the game continues, but Steve can see Bucky isn’t really with them, he’s still back in Brooklyn with you by his side.

Sitting on the balcony, Bucky quietly reads his book as Steve walks out. Bucky knows it’s Steve based on the heavy energy that he shuts inside, leaving him to talk freely with his friend without fear of being heard. “Everything alright, Steve?” Bucky turns his head, seeing Steve carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“How come you don’t talk about her?” Steve asks quietly, knowing he doesn’t have to specify who.

Bucky tabs the corner of his book before closing it, placing it by his side as he rises from the single chair that lines the wall of the balcony. “She was part of my past, Steve.”

“But what if she’s still out there?” Steve steps forward, moving closer to be alongside his friend. “I found Peggy, what if you can find Y/n?”

Steve watches as Buckys gaze becomes cold as he stares at him. “And what Steve? What am I supposed to do?” Bucky retorts. “Y/n fell for the man I was, I, I don’t want her knowing who I have become.”

The words hover in the atmosphere, refusing to budge as Steve takes them in, one by one. It burns his lungs, the pain that stabs at them from Bucky’s tone. He’s defeated, completely lost with himself.

“You’re a great man, Buck.” Steve places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, flashing a reassuring smile. “And from what I remember of Y/n, she wasn’t one to shy away from anything.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “she never gave up easy.”

Walking down the street, Bucky followed the route he memorised from his first visit. From the moment he had access to the modern world when he was free from HYDRA he refused to waste another minute of his time. He was determined to find you, find out what happened to you after he fell from the train.

Bucky had promised you he’d come home, that you would start the family together you always envisioned. You were in the war too, a nurse for the soldiers at the camps. When he fell, all he could think of is you and what would happen if you never found out.

He spent hours reading about you, the woman you became after the war. You remained in Brooklyn, you helped rebuild the city and worked closely with the community. You did what you always wanted to do, you helped the people first and foremost.

Yet, everything Bucky read wrote about you in the past tense. At first, it didn’t really register what that meant until he stumbled onto one article. The last article that you were ever featured in.

As his eyes scanned the words, his heart fell into his stomach. The last few strands holding it together, after decades of abuse, cold blood on his hands and pain of losing himself all he had was you. But you’re gone, you’re lost.

It hurt. It hurt like nothing Bucky had endured in all of his life. When he fell from the train, the pain was physical to the surface. Everything he went through in HYDRA was numbing, he wasn’t made to feel anything in there. But this, seeing a photograph of you as an older woman with the same bright smile he adored broke him.

Within days he found out where you were buried. He visited you weekly without anyone knowing. In his mind, if no one knew he could keep up the facade that somewhere out there, you’re still alive. How to Steve, you are still Bucky’s love, even if you’re much older and have lived a long life, you’ll forever be the woman Bucky Barnes fell for.

Walking into the plot of land, Bucky passes through various trees to find yours. When he first came to visit, he felt overwhelmed by the trinkets hung on the thin branches from families of those lost. Some placed jewellery, drawings, notes and photographs. He saw plaques of names unknown to him, but then he found yours.

“Hey, doll.” He speaks up as he places his hands in his pockets, standing in front of your oak tree. “Getting tall I see, you should see the size of Steve now.” He jokes lightly. “I swear he is still gettin’ bigger, that or I’m officially shrinkin’.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Bucky looks down at your small plaque. The marble etched with your full name and a beautiful photograph of you. He smiles at the photo whenever he visits, thinking how you would’ve looked if he could’ve known you that long.

“I came to check on you, as I always do. I just wanna know you’re okay. Not that you wouldn’t be, 'cause you’re a strong gal.” Bucky rambles before sighing loudly. “Guess I don’t have the right words every time.” He admits, picturing you crossing your arms before threatening to turn around and walk away. “I know I’m not who I was, but I know he’s still in me deep down.”

To the side of Bucky, he can see a young man approaching him. He clenches his fists in his pockets, feeling the plates of his metal arm whir together. The man moves closer, his eyes focusing on Bucky.

“Sorry, I just, you’re him, aren’t you?” The man questions, his eyes glistening in the sunlight like yours once did.

Bucky remained perplexed and glanced over his shoulder, ensuring no one was around him to be mistaken by. The young man laughed lightly before stepping closer.

“You’re Bucky, Bucky Barnes?” He asks gently, and Bucky slowly nods.

“What’s it to you, kid?” He huffs, nerves beginning to eat at his stomach as the young man smiles brightly.

“You are just how she always described you.” He comments before looking down at your small photograph with a small smile. “She always told us stories of her friends when she was younger, and the lost soldier she loved.”

Surprise lines Bucky’s expression as he opens his mouth. “Are you,” He starts, but his words falter.

The young man nods. “I’m her grandson, James.” He holds his hand out, and Bucky reaches forward and accepts it.

He laughs lightly. “Was she happy?” Bucky asks quietly, something he couldn’t ever read about in articles or learn from photographs. He looked at James, watching as he nods in response.

“She lived a long and happy life, Bucky. Nana was a strong woman, a try fighter until the end.” James wipes his eyes as Bucky lowers his. “And she never forgot about you, she didn’t forget about anyone.”

Bucky smiles to himself, feeling his heart being lifted back up just a smidge. “I never forgot about her either, James.” Bucky tells the young man, watching him carefully seeing the similarities of you in him. “You have her eyes, you know?”

James looks up to Bucky. “I, I get that a lot. She helped me learn there are people in the world that need help, more than we do ourselves.”

“Sounds about right.” Bucky comments, picturing you sat in his room rambling on about everyone you met on that day, the stories you heard and how many you wished to help. You had a heart of gold, one Bucky never felt he deserved to hold. “Thank you, James.”

“Thank you, Bucky for making my Nana so happy.” James sniffs lightly, watching as Bucky walks off leaving James a moment to himself with his Grandmother.

Bucky glances back to your tree as tears begin to fall down his face. You were happy, and that’s all that matters.

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itwillalwaysbedestiel · 4 years

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Supernatural Star Jensen Ackles Is Ready for What’s Next. Are You?

When it was announced that beloved CW series Supernatural was ending after 15 years, fans were crushed. But there's plenty to look forward to before saying goodbye. Here the show's star opens up about the “beautiful” final episodes, his next move, and how he finally got his hands on Baby.

By Emily Tannenbaum

October 14, 2020

Jensen Ackles’s Supernatural journey began and ended with a road trip.

Fifteen years ago Sam and Dean Winchester (played by Jared Padalecki and Ackles, respectively) began their drive across the country in a jet-black 1967 Chevy Impala, hunting monsters, demons, and, eventually, God himself. Ackles was 26 years old at the time (the same age as the James Dean–like figure he portrays on the CW series), single, and coming off a steady career on TV, including a popular role on Days of Our Lives.

The actor is now 42 years old and just finished filming the 15th and final season of Supernatural after the coronavirus pandemic shut down production for several months. To mark the occasion, he did what Dean would do: He took a road trip. But this time things looked a little different and not just because he lacked monster-killing weapons and the iconic Impala.

“It was a sprinter van,” he tells me, back at home in Austin, after driving to the East Coast with his wife, One Tree Hill actor Danneel Harris Ackles, and their three young children. And instead of fighting the forces of evil along the way, he questioned what life might look like without the show that's been a vital part of his identity for a decade and a half.

“I needed to get back home and start figuring things out and start unpacking my life that's been in Vancouver for 15 years,” he says. “What's the next move? Where am I headed next? What interviews am I going to do? Luckily, my wife was like, ‘Stop. Can you just take a breath for a minute and play with your kids on the beach?’”

So he did. But now he’s back, talking to me over Zoom with his new, prized commissioned drawing of Winchester brothers’ smashed-up Impala behind him (a gift from his wife by artist Alessandro Paglia), trying to put into words what it feels like to leave behind a 15-year legacy.

“How have you changed in the last 15 years?” he asks me. Well, I've watched a lot of Supernatural, to be honest.

Existentialism aside, Ackles is clearly ready for his next act, even if the show's massive, fervent fandom—known as the SPN Family—may not be. Back in March 2019, Ackles, Padalecki, and their costar Misha Collins devastated diehards when they announced they'd be ending the series on their own terms after more than 300 episodes. A bit of good news is that fans will still have the conventions that honor the show and cast meet-ups that take place all over the world. Eventually.

“I love how big it's gotten and how we feel like a traveling circus going from town to town,” Ackles says. “Obviously, we'll have to wait until we're all allowed to gather in large crowds again, but I think as soon as we can start going to concerts and festivals and movie theaters, we'll start those back.”

For now Ackles is preparing for his life beyond Dean Winchester, which includes his anticipated role as the first-ever superhero in season three of Amazon Prime Video's The Boys, as well as a new production company he's starting with his wife. He filled me in on all that, how the Supernatural finale changed due to COVID-19 restrictions, and, of course, how he got his hands on the iconic 1967 Chevy Impala—which he drove to Starbucks the morning of our call.

Glamour: I almost don’t know how to ask you how it feels to end a life-changing, 15-year project like Supernatural.

Jensen Ackles: I understand how rare it is and that it's a bit of a unicorn to have a show that runs this long and to be as intensely part of it as I have. I mean, you've got procedural dramas—you know, Law & Order and stuff—but a lot of those casts come and go. To have the same two leads in every single episode for 15 years, I think, is a pretty rare feat. So I'm proud that we did it. That was really the overwhelming feeling when we filmed our last day and our last scene. It wasn't a mourning process; it was more of a proud moment of “Look at what we've done.”

The finale of Supernatural was already planned before COVID hit. Did anything in the last two episodes have to change because of filming restrictions?

We had to drop some ideas we had for the final episode, but it didn't change the story. We were supposed to have a lot of familiar faces come back, and we were going to try to filter them into a montage. It was going to be almost a break from the story and a look at how far we've come—a little tip of the hat to the fans—and we would all be able to celebrate together. Obviously, we couldn't do that. So that part of the finale episode got nixed. But the story and how it ends up, that stayed the same.

You’ve been talking about wanting Dean’s Chevy Impala, Baby, for literally years now. Did you get it?

I've wanted it since the second episode. I was like, “Wait a second. What's going to happen to this car when it's over?” I've been angling to get that car since literally season one. I was thinking, Why wouldn't they give me the car?

Then as the years went on, I thought, Oh, I'm gonna have to fight for this now. So I kept seeing if I could put it in my contract, like for years and years, and the studio, the producers were like, “Don't worry, don't worry about it.” Wink. I was like, “Yeah, you say that now.” So, in my last contract that we had, I didn’t ask for a bigger trailer; I didn’t ask for more money or more time off or anything. I said, “I want the car.”

That car is sitting about 40 feet from me and my garage. I actually drove it to Starbucks this morning and picked up some coffee.

Your wife, Danneel, has been appearing on Supernatural since season 13. Do you two have any plans to continue acting together?

We've got a company now, Chaos Machine, and we're starting to produce things together. So it'll be a more of a producing team as opposed to an on-camera duo. That’s the thing with this industry...you never know where the roads may lead or what’s just around the corner. But she and I love that. And we certainly love a challenge.

You two already run a brewery, Family Business Beer Company, together while raising a seven-year-old and three-year-old twins. How do you work together as husband and wife versus as business partners?

Very similarly actually. Divide and conquer.

Speaking of behind-the-scenes roles...you’ve directed five episodes of Supernatural. Any plans to direct Jared Padalecki's new show, Walker?

I would absolutely love to, but with my new gig on The Boys, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to. We're trying to figure out scheduling.

They're in the midst right now of building my costume for The Boys, which is a custom-built superhero suit. That is way more intense than I anticipated, which is cool. But I have to literally be in L.A., like, every two weeks for the next three months. I think it's six fittings and they're each like three- to four-hour fittings. They're literally molding things to my body, so it's intense.

What will be on your playlist for you to listen to while they mold things to your body?

Actually, funny enough, that was the first thing they asked me. Laura Jean Shannon, the costume designer, she says this is important because every superhero [she’s worked on] has a type of music. So she was like, “What would Soldier Boy listen to?”

To be fair, the first time we see him, it's World War II. So we're talking the ’40s. So we listened to big band and swing the whole first day.

In addition to your new projects, you’ve also been posting a lot about Black Lives Matter this summer—from handing out supplies at a protest to giving over your social media accounts to Black activists and politicians. What have you learned?

Looking at my kids and being a father, I’m thinking, Wow, what kind of world are they gonna have? So I've started to listen a little more and I've started to want to understand other people's experiences so that I can make a better choice about the actions I take. I've gotten pushback—[in the past] even I've looked at actors using their platform to be political and been like, “You know, nobody needs to hear that. Just do your movies and do your show. You're not a politician.”

But I've now learned that, no, you've been given a platform now with social media. And even before that, when you would give an interview to a publication, there's a voice there that is yours and you get to choose how you use that. And I think that's a responsibility that people need to take seriously. So I’ve tried to do it as inclusively as possible.

Before I let you go, please tell me what fans can expect from the final episodes?

I've said a few times that the second-to-last episode really feels like the season finale and that the final episode feels like a series finale. The series finale, episode 20, is this beautiful throwback to the whole show—to what it was, what it has been, and what it is today.

Okay, one more! What’s the creepiest thing that’s happened to you on set, in honor of spooky season?

Anything that's kind of been paranormal or supernatural? I think that they stay away. If that stuff was to happen, it's not going to happen on our set because we've got too many tools to take them down.

If your lore is correct, that is...

Right? That's true. [Laughs.] Oh, it was pepper, not salt? Damn it!

Supernatural airs Thursdays at 8 p.m. E.T. on the CW. This interview has been edited for clarity.

#jensen ackles #glamour #interview

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lovedsammy · 5 years

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show me hope again; jack hurt/comfort [commission for wickedwithwings]

This was a commission for @wickedwithwings. The request was for a jack hurt/comfort with Sam & Jack and/or Sam, Jack & Cas, so I tried to do all of those. The premise was Jack gets sent back to Earth from the Empty, Chuck senses it and captures Jack, convincing him that no one wants Jack back and he isn’t loved anymore. Sam and Cas find him, and convince him otherwise.

If we’re going off somewhat canon events, this could take place after 15.08, lol.

--------

Jack remembers dying.

He remembers being blinded -- literally and figuratively -- by pain, screaming so loudly that even in death, he could feel the rawness of his throat. And then there’d been nothing, almost like he’d fallen into an endless, dreamless sleep. Every single concept of existence ceased to be. The process of death was simple. Like a candle, the flame of life burned for only a short period. And then it was snuffed out, sometimes before the wick even burned dry. Death had no regard for time or how long someone’s flame should burn. It just took. Awareness comes back to him almost instantly, or what he thinks is instantly. He opens his eyes anew, his vision intact once more, and he finds that he’s engulfed in blackness, in pure nothing. He’s in the Empty, he realizes with a start. This was the place where creatures like him, with no humanity or a soul, went when they died. This was where Castiel had been, before Jack had awoken him.

He glimpses a figure emerging from the shadows, and the boy sits up, squinting. He somehow recognizes it, the entity; it’s the host for the Empty. Jack feels his body, or what he perceives as his body, tensing up, and suddenly wishes he’d never awoken at all. He stares up at the faceless being with trepidation, waiting, for what he knows will be unimaginable torture. He’d defied it, and so had Cas, back in Heaven. There was no way it was going to let him remain awake without some kind of revenge. But The Empty just stands before him, using a finger to draw a smile on its nonexistent features. It calms Jack, although he knows it shouldn’t.

But maybe… maybe there was a chance that it meant him no harm. Cas’s deal -- was it considered null now, with his death? Cas, who had offered himself up for Jack instead, for Jack’s life to be spared, only for it to be taken by God. What did that amount to now?

“What’s happening?” Jack asks, not really expecting an answer, but to his surprise, he gets one.

“Yeah, about that,” A cool voice sounds from behind him, and he turns confused eyes onto a woman, dressed all in black with a large scythe in her hand. Billie. Death herself. He knew of her from Sam and Dean, knew that she had power in the Empty, which was probably how he was awake now. But why? Why was he awake? “We should talk,” Billie says, and Jack can only stare at her numbly.

“Talk about… about what?”

Billie regards him carefully. “Fortunately for you, your story is not over yet, young Nephilim. God may have prematurely sent you here, but I have the power to send you back.” She approaches, and kneels down in front of him. Jack’s apprehension fades when she smiles at him. It’s not exactly a friendly smile, but it’s warm enough that it lowers all of his barriers. He has nothing to fear from her. “I have a job for you. A job that only you can do. How would you like to save the world that your Grandfather has so desperately doomed?”

At Jack’s perplexed expression, she raises two fingers and presses them against the boy’s forehead. And Jack sees. He sees himself, writhing on the ground with light streaming from his eyes as they’re burned out of his skull. He sees Cas trying and failing to heal the damage. He sees Sam, gun in hand, yelling at Chuck. He sees Sam pulls the trigger, the bullet becoming a double-edged sword that lodges into both Sam and Chuck’s shoulders, creating mirroring wounds. He sees the scope of Chuck’s anger, feels his wrath, and watches as their almighty creator ushers in what he calls, ‘the end.’ He sees the released souls from Hell inhabit the bodies of the dead, watches his fathers as they try to fight them off. He watches the planet die, little by little. He sees the end of everything.

Billie pulls back at Jack’s fearful shout, watching the boy expectantly. Once he gets a hold of himself, Jack looks at her, really looks at her. She looks sad, he thinks. She doesn’t like what God has done. It went against Death’s very rule. What was happening now… wasn’t how things were supposed to be.

And Jack knows, suddenly, what he has to do. He nods.

“I want to save it. I want to save them.”

Sam, Cas, and even Dean… they were everything to him. He couldn’t bear to see them suffer.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Billie says. Jack thinks he sees fondness in her expression. “Good luck. Tell the Winchesters I’ll be seeing them soon.”

It feels like a warning, as much as it is a message. Before Jack can ask her what she means, fingers meet his forehead again, and everything goes black.

Jack breathes his first third gasp of life -- how many times would he experience that? Dying, just to be born again? -- and his eyes snap open again. It’s a cloudless day, is the first thing he notices. He’s staring up at a blue sky. Then his other senses kick in. His nostrils fill with the strong scent of earth., and he inhales it in, the smell making his nose itch, but not minding it. Allergies be damned. He lets himself absorb the feeling of the grass beneath him, damp from the morning mildew. He listens to the sounds, the rustling of the leaves and the rush of water from the river. He enjoys the gentle breeze wind swiping his hair. The sun is warm on his face. He loves this world, this amazing world that he never was supposed to be a part of in the first place, but had been born into. He loves humanity, with and without its flaws. He loves Sam, and Dean, and Castiel.

His family.

His family, that had included Mary, too.

His heart gives a painful clench when he thinks of her, and it feels different than the last time he was alive, when he’d had no soul. Had Billie somehow restored it? Or had he managed to live with it, as Cas had told him he would, and learned to love even without it? He didn’t know. It didn’t matter now, not really. The state of his soul was the least of his concerns.

Jack carefully rises to his feet, assessing himself. He’s wearing the same clothes that he’d died in. One of the laces of his shoes is untied. His jacket and jeans have grass stains. He reaches up to touch his face and feels unblemished skin. Satisfied, he looks at his surroundings. He’s in the middle of a field in an area that he doesn’t recognize. He hopes he’s somewhere in Lebanon. Billie wouldn’t have sent him back too far from home, would she? Jack reaches down to tie his shoes, and sets off. The first order of business was to find out where he’d ended up. And then he’d go find his family.

If they even want you back after what you did, his mind reminds him, and he swallows down that anxiety. Dean hadn’t gone through with killing him. Sam and tried to stop him, and had even shot God to try and save him. And Cas…. Cas had loved him unconditionally, no matter what. Of course they’d want him back.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” A voice remarks, and it’s one that he’s regrettably burned into his memory. Jack jumps, turning wild-eyed and afraid to find Chuck -- God -- leaning against a tree, hands in his pockets as he watches the Nephilim with a smirk. Was this some sick joke? Had he come back just to die again? “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you. Again. Not yet,” Chuck says, slowly approaching the boy. Despite himself, Jack backs up. “You’re too weak to fight me right now, and I could always use you as some incentive against the Winchesters and Castiel. You could be helpful to me. Well, your powers, anyway.”

“I’ll never help you,” Jack snarls. He tries to reach inward, to try and sense his powers. They’re there, but it’s as Chuck said -- they’re drained. It would take time to power back up. Right now, he’s practically as useless as he was when he was human. Jack bites his lip, unsure of what to do. He could fight in the way that Bobby trained him to, all raised fists and well-aimed kicks. But his puny human body wouldn’t stand a chance against God himself. Still, he has to do something. As Chuck continues toward him, he wrestles with his fight or flight response. Flight wins out, and he makes a beeline for the trees.

Chuck sighs, loud and exasperated. “Jack. Really? Come on. I created everything. There’s nowhere that you can go that I’ll never be able to find you. All you’re doing is prolonging things. You’re just going to wear yourself out.”

Jack ignores him, running as fast as he can towards the highway. Maybe he could hitchhike. Sam always said that was dangerous, but if it got him home, to them, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He needed to get away from Chuck. Chuck, who he can still hear as loud as if he were directly next to him, despite the distance that there should be between them.

“I mean, are Sam and Dean going to even want to see you? You killed their Mom.”

He knows that Chuck is just goading him, trying to break him down. And Jack, unfortunately, rises to the bait. “You made me!” He snaps. “The voice, the sound I heard that day, when Mary was talking to me! That was you!”

“Yeah, but it was your hands that killed her, Jack. Your powers. It was still you, too, even if I was guiding your hand. Not that it matters anymore, though. What happened to Mary Winchester is over. Her sons and their angel are the only ones who matter now. Well, and you. Especially you.”

Jack’s lungs wheeze from how fast he’s running, but he can’t slow down. He’s close, so very close to the highway, thinks he can even see it now, and recognizes it as he edges closer. He’s been on this highway countless times before, had driven down it with Dean. He was only about ten minutes from the Bunker.

If only he could --

There’s a stab of pain as he trips over something, and Jack shouts as he tries to catch himself, falling on his hands. He groans, and forces himself to sit up. There’s a hole in his jeans at the bottom of the pants leg, and a steady flow of blood from where the jagged piece of rock had cut into him. It doesn’t look that deep, but it would slow him down.

Jack whimpers as he tries to get up and fails, vision swimming, feeling every bit like the helpless kid he is. “Cas,” He calls out. He doesn’t know if his angel father can hear him. “Castiel…. Sam, please.”

He can’t move. All he can do is lie there and hope and pray that someone, somewhere, can help him. That Cas can hear him, that Sam will --

“Ohhh… kid, that looks like it hurts.”

Jack raises his head to see Chuck leaning over him. “Hello again, Grandson. It’s about time we actually spent some quality time together, don’t you think?”

The days are long and miserable.

Honestly, Jack begins to consider that being dead may be less of a torture than this. Chuck doesn’t even have to hurt him physically. It’s the mental pain that God inflicts the most, and enjoys. He makes Jack remember Mary’s death, over and over. The countless other people that Jack’s hurt or killed since he was born. He makes Jack remember his mom.

Chuck shows him things, too.

Sam and Dean, locking him in the Malach box. Dean, with his gun trained on him, ready to execute him. Both of them, calling Jack a monster. Castiel, agreeing, turning away when Jack begs him for help while the brothers torture him.

Jack knows it’s not real. God is like Michael in how he tortures him. It hadn’t been real, then, either. But this time, God has Jack’s insecurities and regrets to use against him, his doubts and fears. And he uses them. He breaks Jack over and over until the boy cries and begs to die. And then, eventually, Jack stops crying. He becomes numb, feeling almost hollow. Not soulless -- he’s quite certain that he’s not soulless anymore, if he’d honestly ever been -- but hollow in the way that only pure torture can make you.

Jack had seen it in Sam, when Sam was around Lucifer. He’s only now really understanding the depths of the fear Sam had toward his father, and why. Jack wishes he could tell Sam he understands, and that he’s sorry.

In the beginning, when Jack’s resolve was still stronger, he’d fought against Chuck’s mind games as much as he could. Chuck would play a game where he’d ask Jack where he’d go if he ever got free. Jack would tell him. And when Chuck would say that Jack didn’t belong somewhere, Jack had another answer lined up.

And on and on it went, until there were no answers left.

“Sam and Dean won’t want you, Jack. You killed their Mom.”

“Cas --”

“If Cas cared, he’d be here. He can hear you pray, remember? He just isn’t listening.”

“Heaven.”

“You think anyone would let you upstairs? Come on, kid. Yeah, you made new angels, but I’m back. You think for a second they’d take you over me if I told them not to?”

“Hell, then.”

“The demons? They want Lucifer, they wouldn’t want you. Even if you’re his son, they know your affiliation with the Winchesters. Why would they want the boy who rejected his father and chose humans? Face it, there’s no one out there waiting for you, Jack. I’m all you’ve got.”

After a while, he’d started to believe it.

“Why don’t you just kill me?” He asks Chuck one day when the man comes down to visit him in his cage from whatever establishment he has upstairs. A bar or something, Jack recalls Chuck telling him once. Even God needed breaks.

Chuck just laughs around his glass of tequila. “Where’s the fun in that? Billie would just keep sending you back, and then we’d have to start all over. At least this way I know you’re not going anywhere. You’re contained, and no one’s the wiser.”

But it makes Jack realize the true reason why he’s doing this. Chuck is afraid of him. He’s afraid of Jack’s powers. And Jack could tell that Chuck was getting weaker by the day, while he was growing stronger. Contained, but stronger. His power was on par with that of God. The thought makes him nauseous instead of confident. Because if God could do what he’d done to the world, then what damage could Jack do?

I wouldn’t, he tells himself. I wouldn’t do what he’s done.

He’s unsure if he believes it.

He falls asleep at night dreaming of Sam, of his kind smile and gentle hands.

He prays to Castiel every day.

And every day, he thinks he breaks a little more. Because Chuck was right. If Castiel or Sam or even Dean… if any of them truly cared, they would’ve been here by now. Cas would have answered his prayers. Which meant that he didn’t want to hear him. And Sam…. Sam would never come find him, not after what he’d done, not after he’d taken Sam’s mother from him. Sam, who never got to really know his mom, who had lost her as a baby like he’d had his.

Sam had more reason to hate him than anyone.

Jack curls in on himself, and falls into a restless slumber.

Even if he got out, Chuck was right. There was no one and nothing to go back to.

He wasn’t wanted anywhere.

With his powers failing, it takes Castiel a little while to pinpoint the source of the cry being directed to him for well over a month. And when he does, it hits him like a freight train. He and Sam are researching in the Bunker when Cas feels it again, stronger than before. It’s like knives in his head, the intensity of the misery, and Cas gives a pained shout, grimacing.

“Cas?” Sam asks worriedly, the books forgotten. “You all right? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Jack,” Cas answers after a beat. “Sam… Jack’s alive.”

The hope that enters Sam’s eyes is something that Castiel never wants to see taken from him again. It’d happened far too much already.

“What?” Sam asks, breathless. “Are you sure? Cas…”

“He’s calling for help,” Cas confirms, getting to his feet. He’s able to hone in on Jack’s presence now, can feel his state of being. “He’s been crying out for me, for us. He’s showing me… Chuck. Chuck has him. There’s enochian sigils and other forms of warding on the cage he’s in, I… he needs help.”

Sam leaps to his feet without hesitation. He hasn’t looked this alive in months. “Then let’s go get him, Cas. Let’s get him and bring him home.”

Jack is awoken, at some point, by a commotion upstairs. He opens an eye, squinting, focusing. Chuck usually had his fair share of parties and things happening -- it was a bar, after all. He listens for the familiar shriek of girls, the game machines blaring, the loud music… but none of it ever comes. It’s silent except for loud thudding, and hushed voices. This isn’t Chuck. Something’s different.

“Hello?” He calls out, heart pounding in his throat. “Is someone there?” He moves around a little, managing what he can in his little cage. It clunks every time he remanuvers.

He waits.

More talking.

“Hello?” He repeats, trying to make his voice louder.

He tries to see up the stairs to where the light from the room is coming from behind the door, but from the angle he’s at, he can’t see who it is. He’s still too far away. Luckily, whoever it was up there seemed to know there was someone downstairs, and open the door, hurriedly descending the staircase, flashlight in hand. Cops, then.

Jack doesn’t understand why they’re here, of all places. From what he knew, there wasn’t any illegal activity taking place. Chuck would want to keep the establishment under the authorities’ radar, lest the Winchesters discovered it. Jack had honestly thought there was no chance of rescue, that no one at all would be coming for him. Maybe they still weren’t, but the possibility of freedom has Jack reworking things. He would take anything.

He didn’t know where he would go, or who could possibly ever want him. But he’d give anything to be out of this cage, and out of Chuck’s grasp. Anything for the days of torture to be over.

“Hello?” A voice calls. “Is someone down here?”

Jack knows that voice. He knows it, because it’s the first voice he’d ever heard.

“Sam?” He croaks, mouth dry. Was he just imagining things? Was this just another of Chuck’s mind games, making him see what he so desperately craved? But then Sam is standing in front of him. Even with the limited light, he can see how pale Sam is, see the absolute shock on his face.

“Jack?” Sam gasps. “Jack, you’re alive, you’re…. Oh my God. Cas! Cas, get down here! I’ve got him!”

Sam pushes himself down to his knees, and reaches out to the boy immediately, still locked in the cage. He engulfs Jack’s small hand with his much larger one. The sensation of the touch takes Jack aback, and he shakes his head. Was this really happening?

“I don’t believe it,” Sam says wetly. “You’re really here… I need to get you…” Sam looks around for something he can use to pry the cage open. He settles for a crowbar, prying and shoving at the lock. It comes undone after a long moment, and Sam wrenches the door open, pulling Jack out and into his arms. He cradles the boy close to him, his large frame trembling.

He is soft and warm in the way that Jack remembers, and not even his dreams had been able to replicate the safe feeling he associated with the man.

“Sam,” Jack realizes. This isn’t a trick, isn’t some form of distorted reality that Chuck had cooked up. This was real. Choking, tears running down his face, Jack clings to Sam with everything he has. He lets himself relax for the first time in weeks against Sam’s body. Sam was here. Sam was really here, and he was free, and…

“Sam --”

Cas.

Jack and Sam pull apart at his arrival, and Jack raises his head to meet Castiel’s eyes. “Cas,” He sniffles.

“Jack…”

The angel looks thunderstruck, like he’s seconds away from falling over. Instead, he surges forward and envelops both Sam and Jack to him in a tight embrace. His fingers card through Jack’s hair, and the boy closes his eyes in pure relief. Somehow, he was still wanted. He was still loved. His fathers had come for him. Chuck had been wrong.

“It’s all right now, Jack,” Cas says. “You’re safe. We’re going to take you home.”

But Jack shakes his head. “I can’t. Dean. He’s going to kill me, he's ...”

“No, he isn’t going to kill you, Jack,” Sam promises, hugging the boy close. “He’s missed you, too. I won’t let anything happen to you ever again. Neither will Cas. None of us will. I promise. I know this is late, but… I love you too, Jack. I love you so much, and I’m so sorry I failed you.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Jack cries, his tears coating Sam’s neck. “I’m sorry about Mary. I’m sorry for all of it.”

Sam and Cas shush him, whispering nothing but comfort and assurance, holding him close.

They stay huddled on the floor for a long, long time.

#wickedwithwings #jack kline #commissions #samjack #casjack #sam winchester #castiel #spn #supernatural #chuck shurley #*mine

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natewallace · 4 years

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COMMISSION: MY NAME BELONGS TO YOU

(18+) Erasermic, where Shouta Aizawa tries to get Hizashi to use his voice.

for: @paranormal-paradigm ♡ by Sam WC: 2310

as usual, gaby’s commissions are lovely to write commission info + AO3 + ko-fi

Shouta had made quick work with him that day, wasting no time undressing him and pushing him down onto the bed when their workday was through. Now, spread out on the bed on his hands and knees, Hizashi is panting. His body curls and trembles against Shouta’s relentless thrusting, drawing out loud, lingering moans from between Hizashi’s lips. Shouta has his fingers tangled through the other’s long hair as he gasps out short, shallow breaths as his own body warms and grows flushed. Hizashi feels just as warm — warm and tight and absolutely incredible. Feeling Hizashi’s skin over his hands is a bliss that Shouta knows doesn’t compare to anything else.

Shouta knows exactly what he wants. As he rocks his hips rhythmically inside the other, Shouta is dead set on achieving a single goal; he’s going to make Hizashi feel so incredible that he activates his own quirk when Shouta eventually makes him come. The very thought of it — of Hizashi utterly blissed out, begging and pleading and writhing with Shouta’s relentless thrusts — makes him groan.

Only a week before, Hizashi had done the same to him, and the memory makes him shudder inside Hizashi, now. Bent over Shouta, Hizashi had murmured endless praise into his ear and took his time kissing each and every white scar on Shouta’s body. The way his lips brushed against his heated skin, soft and warm and gentle for almost an hour, had driven Shouta into a panting, writhing mess beneath Hizashi’s wandering touch. By the time Hizashi had turned him over with agonizingly gentle hands, Shouta was already begging for him to fuck him by the time Hizashi had slipped a single finger inside.

After, Hizashi then began thrusting into him so hard that Shouta’s fingers tangled desperately through the bedsheets and all but begged him for release. Fucking him into the mattress had been Hizashi’s plan, and Shouta’s overstimulated body had curled into every thrust, desperate and on-edge for more. Shouta had seen stars dance at the corner of his vision before his eyes burned red and his hair floated above him as his quirk activated without his direct invocation. He had come hard, harder than he ever had in his life, and it had left him, quite literally, breathless. He had been dazed, really, for days afterward, and had silently pledged to make Hizashi do the same.

Shouta needs him to lose control. Having an incredibly raw and powerful quirk, Hizashi is incredible at keeping his voice under careful, tethered control after years and years of training during and after their time spent at U.A. And it’s exactly why Shouta needs Hizashi to lose that tight hold over his quirk that he’s garnered so well; Shouta wants Hizashi to know that he is the only one that can break Hizashi’s careful, measured composure. He wants Hizashi to feel utterly lost when Shouta is deep inside him, thrusting in and out of his body and treasuring every last little inch of him.

And it’s exactly what Shouta intends to do. Panting, Shouta smooths his hands up Hizashi’s body, his fingertips gliding along every inch of Hizashi’s beautiful skin that he can reach. Hizashi moans and tangles his fingers through the bedsheets as he whimpers out Shouta’s name with a startled gasp. The touch makes him shiver and desperate for more. Shouta is the only person who can make his head spin the way it is now.

Shouta slowly leans down and kisses Hizash’s ear. His thrusts grow slower, more controlled as he grazes gentle nails down his back. “What is it, love?” he murmurs. “Do you need more? Does that feel good for you?”

Hizashi nods desperately. He grinds his hips back against Shouta as his long hair spills past his face, desperate to give himself more friction.; desperate for the hard, fast thrusts Shouta had given him before, and all the same, loving every moment of the slow, even rocks of his hips.

“Yes,” Hizashi gasps. His voice grows louder, and Shouta’s smug smile is hidden as he kisses Hizashi’s ear.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that? God, the sound of that voice drives me wild, Hizashi. I want to hear it more.” He keeps his thrusts gentle and steady, and Hizashi whines. Braced against the mattress, Hizashi’s arms tremble as he whimpers out a needy plea.

“Shouta. Please,” he begs, his voice escalating in volume as he bites his lip. “I’m — ahh —!” Whatever he was going to say is cut off as he cries out around a sharp moan. He’s utterly delirious as Shouta begins thrusting faster, his hips colliding with Hizashi’s ass as Shouta lets out a small, strained grunt. Hizashi feels amazing, and it’s difficult, even for Shouta, to keep his composure as he takes Hizashi’s hips in his hands and begins talking to him again.

Still, Hizashi’s cries are music to his ears. The very sound of his voice curls white-hot pangs of pleasure through his stomach and makes Shouta want to devour him whole. As he watches him with a heated gaze, he can tell that Hizashi is close and nearing that blissful loss of control that Shouta is so eager to wring out of him.

“God, you’re so good for me,” Shouta murmurs, the praise coming readily and easily as his eyes rake over Hizashi’s body. “Let me take good care of you, love. You’re always so in control. You’re so strong and brave and good. I’m gonna take such good care of you, you know that?” His voice is low and rough, and he gasps through his teeth as another hard thrust makes him moan deep in his throat. He reaches over to pull Hizashi’s hair back and out of his eyes, smoothing a hand over the other’s flushed, heated face.

“Shouta.” Hizashi cries out his name like it’s the only word he knows. He’s so close, and his voice trembles as his thoughts grow hazy and clouded over. “Shouta. God, please — “

Hizashi grows louder as he gasps out a weak cry, feeling unbearably close as he gasps between clenched teeth. With a soft, smug laugh, Shouta grabs Hizashi’s hips and shoves him harder onto the bed, dropping Hizashi onto his forearms with his hips angled up into the air. Gripping onto him hard, he drives himself inside him as hard as he can manage, fucking him hard onto the mattress with a grunt as Hizashi cries out. The pleasure is overwhelming and feeling Shouta take total control over his body makes him tremble and shake and cry out.

“Shouta,” Hizashi moans. Half delirious, he whines as his fingers curl tightly through the sheets. “Oh, God. Please. Please —!“

Spurred on, Shouta moans and soothes a hand down Hizashi’s back. He watches the way Hizashi’s body moves in time with his thrusts, relishing the sight of him as his own eyes grow hooded. He leans over and bites the back of Hizashi’s neck, ushering another harsh cry that spills messily from Hizashi’s lips.

“Just a little more for me, love,” Shouta gasps. “Just like that. God, you feel incredible. So warm and so beautiful for me. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

Shouta reaches his arm around Hizashi’s stomach to take his member into his hand and stroke him, earning a pleasing series of cries and whimpers from Hizashi as his head drops limp against the mattress. Hizashi is growing loud as Shouta picks up a quick rhythm, thrusting into him deeper and harder with every pump of his hips. But he’s not loud enough — not yet. Hizashi isn’t using his quirk, meaning he hasn’t lost the full extent of his control.

Going slow, Shouta strokes him carefully as he fucks him harder and harder into the bed. Hizashi’s needy whimpers are the only sound he can hear over his own, ragged breathing as Hizashi’s body works him up to the slow climax his body aches for. Shouta swipes his thumb over the tip, and the soft motion makes Hizashi yell — without activating his quirk — against the mattress as he comes hard. Hizashi whines as he rocks his hips through his orgasm with a hard jerk of his hips into Shouta’s hand, spilling across his fingers and onto the bedsheets.

Grunting — and disappointed Hizashi hadn’t lost control of his quirk — Shouta thrusts into him again and again until he’s spilling inside him with a low, blissed-out moan of Hizashi’s name. He stays inside of him for a long moment when he finally finishes, panting against Hizashi’s warm skin as frustration bubbles up in his stomach. Shouta had gotten so close to making Hizashi completely lose control, he could tell. But he couldn’t make Hizashi lose that control the way that Shouta wanted so badly.

Pulling out, Shouta flops down on the bed beside Hizashi as he works to catch his breath. Clearly pleased, Hizashi rolls over to face him with a lazy, content smile. He reaches a soft hand over to brush Shouta’s hair from his eyes.

“You look a little grumpy,” Hizashi points out. He fights back a smile as Shouta huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Last week, you made me lose control of my quirk. I tried to get you to do the same thing. Didn’t work, though,” he grumbles. He leans back against the pillow with a sigh as Hizashi lazily plays with his hair.

Hizashi giggles. He remembers that fondly — seeing Shouta, so calm and reserved, lose control that way had been nothing short of thrilling. The thought of it stirs a warm coil of excitement in his stomach, despite having just come.

“I know,” Hizashi murmurs. “I could tell that’s what you were trying to do. You came close, I’ll give you that, but I wasn’t going to break for you that easily.”

Shouta’s eyes fly open in surprise. “You knew?!” he hisses. Hizashi laughs and grabs his own stomach. He can only nod as he tries to suppress the giggles bubbling up from his throat. Something about Shouta getting so belligerently grumpy about not being able to make Hizashi lose control of his quirk is nothing short of hilarious to him. Shouta stares at him in numb disbelief, before a faint, knowing smirk stretches across his face.

Narrowing his eyes, Shouta takes Hizashi’s jaw gently in his hand and smoothes his thumb over Hizashi’s lower lip with a tilt of his head. The other’s laughter cuts off with a small squeak as the two of them look at one another for a long moment.

“Five minutes,�� Shouta says finally, his voice low and measured. “You have five minutes. Then I’m tying you to the bed.”

With a wide, eager stare, Hizashi flashes him a cheeky grin and nods in very, very excited agreement as Shouta slides off the bed and huffs into the bathroom. He watches him stand up and leave with a quiet laugh, shaking his head in wonder at Shouta’s stubborn insistence to make Hizashi lose control. But then again, maybe that really was just like Shouta. Always stubborn, always focused to a fault on the goals in front of him with little to no insight of what lay outside.

Really, It had always been very expected of him to insist on being all but perfect at everything he does. In that way, Shouta hadn’t changed since they were children in the way he was dead-set on mastering any skill he was instructed to perform. Be it in training, combat, or, now, in bed, Shouta was a stubborn perfectionist through and through. Hizashi leans back with a gentle hum, closing his eyes as his heated body steadily cools in the bedroom over the messy sheets they would surely make even more of a mess of when the night was through.

He has half a mind to fake losing his control and activate his quirk manually the next time they have sex just to appease Shouta’s pride. But the idea of it makes Hizashi feel a little guilty. And anyway, Hizashi knows, Shouta would probably be able to tell if Hizashi faked it, which might make him genuinely upset as opposed to just frustrated with himself. He likes seeing Shouta so prideful and haughty and insistent on making Hizashi feel as good as physically possible, even if Hizashi doubts it would be possible to make him break just through sex.

Before he can open his eyes, he hears Shouta open the bathroom door and walk back into the bedroom with quiet footfalls on the floor — just like a prowling cat, Hizashi thinks with a giggle.

“Keep your eyes shut,” Shouta murmurs quietly. The sound of Shouta’s voice is difficult to ignore, and Hizashi does as he’s told without a second thought. He feels pressure on his hips as Shouta climbs over him and carefully lifts Hizashi’s hands up against the bed frame, clearly taking his time. Hizashi feels the familiar texture of his capture weapon weave around his wrists as his breath catches in his throat at the sensation. Softly, Shouta leans down and kisses his bare throat with a lingering pressure of his lips against Hizashi’s warm, flushed skin. It ushers a quiet whimper of excitement from his throat when his tongue flicks out past his lips to lap at Hizashi’s heated skin.

Hizashi grins and shivers at the touch, keeping his eyes shut as Shouta runs his hands carefully down his chest, taking in every inch of him as they carefully move down to his hips. He can hear Shouta’s breathing hitch in his throat, only slightly, and Hizashi leans back in anticipation. All at once, Hizashi has a feeling he wouldn’t have to fake anything at a

#present mic #mha fanfiction #eraserhead #shouta aizawa #erasermic

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orionsangel86 · 5 years

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Jibcon10 Auto Stories!

I have so much to tell you all about Jibcon as it was such a wonderful experience and I can’t even begin to express just what an amazing week I had being surrounded by such a positive and happy fandom, along with a very happy and relaxed SPN cast. It was truly magical.

First I want to share my auto stories as I was fortunate enough to have some lovely experiences with all of J2M.

Misha

I had my Misha auto first of all, and I was getting him to sign my Castiel funko pop. I was really nervous as this was my first Misha interaction of the con and last year I didn’t really have a good interaction with him at autos because he was super exhausted and just not really present in the room it seemed. This year as I approached the table he was smiling, he looked refreshed and SO BEAUTIFUL OMG. He looked up and smiled at me and my brain kind of turned to mush right there. I can pretty much only remember saying “Hi Misha” and something along the lines of “I hope you are having a good morning” which could have easily come out as a mumbled scream, but he smiled and responded that he was doing really well and happy to be here (or something like that as I said I can barely remember it!). I then handed him my TFW2.0 button that I was giving out to everyone I met at the con. I told him “I wanted to give you this, as I am spreading a bit of positivity and love to everyone with this button” and he looked at it and grinned and then looked up and said thank you and WINKED AT ME and in all honestly I think I had already died from staring directly into Misha’s eyes at this point so had to have this all retold to me by Jen afterwards.

Jared

I got really lucky with Jared because he was also in a really good and quite chatty mood when I went over to him. He immediately started asking how I was and when I replied he asked me about my accent (AGAIN since he also picked up on my British accent last year!) and where I was from. When I said I was from London he asked if I was staying in Italy long and I told him that sadly no, I was flying back home on Monday. He goes “Ah bummer” and I sort of shrugged. He then looked down at my Sam funko pop and asked “where shall I sign him?” and I said “oh anywhere you want really!” and he was being really cute like “okay I’ll just sign his head here” and fumbling around with a silver pen. I then also told him that I wanted to give him a button like I did with Misha, and he goes “ooh yes!” and he took it and read it and said “What does TFW mean?” and I just looked at him like “seriously Jared? Team Free Will!” and he laughed and was like “OH YEAH DUH” and he then read it again and fist pumped and said “YEAH TEAM FREE WILL TWO POINT OH!” and we laughed and that was nice. THEN I said “Oh just quickly, I really wanted to thank you for everything you said in your panel yesterday (Jared’s Saturday afternoon panel) because so much of what you were saying about the show really resonated with the fandom and those of us who talk about it and write about it online. Your thoughts just seemed really on point and I thought it was such an interesting and enjoyable panel and I wanted to thank you for that. I loved it.” and he was nodding and smiling and he said “really? You really thought that?” and I was like “yes it was awesome” and he seemed really touched that we were all really interested in what he was saying and he held my gaze for a while and was so attentive and honestly I just love him and both times I have met him now he has been very gracious and attentive and engaged which I think says a lot about how much he cares about his fans.

Jensen

I was the MOST scared to approach Jensen because my auto with him last year (being the only time I actually had a 121 interaction with him at the con) wasn’t really good because he didn’t seem to be in a good mood and wasn’t really interested in interacting with me. I barely got a “hello” from him which made me sad. This year, I really wanted things to go better, and I had my commission from @winchester-reload for him to sign so I was hoping that he’d be in a better mood.

Well luckily he WAS. He was late for autos, and the staff were really rushing us through. He had three handlers all swarming him and it’s no wonder the guy appears grumpy sometimes. But when I approached he looked up at me and smiled and oh he is so pretty... He says “hi” and grins and that’s the first difference from last year. So I say “Hi Jensen, how are you doing?” and he responds that he is doing great. Then he looks down at the art which has been moved over by Daniela and I tell him that I commissioned my friend to do the portrait when we heard he was going to be Bacchus and he was like “wow really? You commissioned this? It’s really good!” and he was looking at it for quite a while after he signed it, so I pulled out my spare print and said “yeah, she’s really talented and I have a spare print for you if you wanted it?” which he took and seemed really pleased and said “wow thank you so much” (or something like this remember guys my brain is MUSH after this weekend) but yes, he seemed very pleased to be getting his own print of it. Well, at this point the handler to my left is saying “thank you” quite firmly at me trying to get me to move along and literally repeating “thank you” every few seconds and is starting to piss me off, but Jensen side eyes this guy too like he is also aware that he is being rushed and finds it all rather impolite (bless him really he must put up with so much shit) but I stand my ground because I want to give him my button. So I say “one more thing really quickly, I really wanted to give you this. It’s only a little thing but I gave these to the other guys as well because I’m spreading some positivity around about the show and TFW2.0 and it means a lot to me that you know how much we love all these characters” (Or something like this - half the time I ramble I know I say something like this but probably far less articulate on the day) and he picks up the button and looks at it again for what seems like a really long time and then he looks up at me again and smiles this really nice kind of touched smile (I think, it seemed like he was touched) and he mouths “Thank you” and holds my gaze and I can’t really express exactly what it was that he was conveying in that moment but for me it was a really great moment that spoke to me quite a lot.

So all in all it was a great moment and I really hope he takes the print of Jackie’s portrait with him because no doubt Danneel would also LOVE to see it! Here’s the signed version:

Basically I was totally overwhelmed by everything BUT I really enjoyed it and I can’t express enough how lovely and charming J2M were all weekend. All of them seemed really happy, refreshed, and just generally in great moods. It was a huge difference from last year.

Alex

My interaction with Alex was also really lovely and he is such a sweet guy. He scribbled all over a page of my scrapbook and I also gave him a button which he happily accepted. If you’ve had an auto with Alex you’ll know that he has this personalised “A” that he likes to draw as well as to write “Jack” next to his autograph with a backwards “k” which is adorable.

Richard Speight Jr and Rob Benedict

I have to add Rich and Rob here because I had a really good time with both of them at autos. I went to Rich first and I held out my scrapbook and told him he had a whole page to scribble whatever he wanted on. He was immediately like “oooh!” and started drawing. I spoke to him about his direction style and how I always love it when he directs because he manages to make every frame look beautiful. That 12x12 has some of the most gorgeous shot compositions especially and I really hope he keeps directing in season 15. He was really touched by what I said and was like “Really? Thank you so much!” and I said “Yes, and I’m not just saying that because you also act on the show. Seriously, you have a wonderful style and I’m looking forward to what you do next.” He smiles at me and hands me my scrapbook and says “that what you had in mind?” and I said “omg yes thank you so much!” and he laughed. This was what he did:

So then I go over to Rob and I tell him the same thing, to scribble in my scrapbook. But I say “no pressure, but Rich drew me a picture.” and he says “oh nooo” and turns over the page to see what Rich drew. He laughs and faux panics like “so much pressure!” and starts scribbling. So I do my usual “talk about something that’ll interest them” because I hate standing there in silence waiting for them to sign, so I tell him that I’m really looking forward to what Chuck gets up to next in Season 15 now that he’s basically become a sadistic fanfiction writer. He laughs at that and says yes, he’s really looking forward to it because as an actor, it’s always really fun to play a different role, or look at a character from a different angle and playing the villain now is something he is really excited about because he gets to stretch his acting wings a bit. So I tell him I can’t wait to see how it all plays out and then he grins and hands me my scrapbook and I just go all gooey and say “ahh thank you so much. You win.” and he laughs and I think that pleased him. He wrote this:

So yeah basically I left every single auto I had with a brain made of mush just walking on cloud 9. I haven’t even mentioned Ricky Whittle yet... that was... something. But consider that a separate post as this got long.

Basically I LOVE THIS CAST AND SHOW AND AM SO HAPPY I COULD CRY.

#Supernatural #jibcon10 #jibcon #Misha Collins #Jared Padalecki #Jensen Ackles #alex calvert #richard speight jr #Rob Benedict #personal #jibcon experiences #saz does jib

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hans-writes-things · 4 years

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Fairy Dust Chapter 8

The Pinnacle of Arcane Research, PAR for short, was a massive glass tower with a museum of magical artifacts in it's lower three floors, followed by five floors dedicated to the largest school of arcane magic on the entire continent. The rest of the 150 floor building was dedicated to research. This was the tallest building in L'waren, by a wide margin. It was a city landmark, and a symbol of power and perseverance to any of the city's races that had a history of magic.

After the fade of magic throughout the world, wizards of every race scrambled to keep hold of the power they had accrued through their art. Most wizards, being too arrogant to band together, obviously failed in their endeavors, but a few of the more clever ones formed alliances that grew into companies. One of my ancestors had been a wizard of some renown, and the company he and his had founded was still alive, still run by my sister. The Pinnacle was a joint effort, created and funded by a handful of companies of wizardly origin, built with the end goal in mind of making arcane magic a force to truly be reckoned with again.

I knew why Sam had hesitated to tell me where we were going. It was not my favorite place to visit. My name alone would get us through the door and even allowed us, on one occasion, to make appointment with the high wizard in charge of the school in connection with a previous case, but the look on her face suggested something more this time.

As we entered the building through the main doors, walking through the group of daily visitors coming to view ancient magical artifacts, I couldn't help but to be awestruck by the view. Ancient wizards had commissioned the craftsmen in building their towers and PAR had spared no expense trying to emulate history's greatest wielders of arcane magic. The entry hall was especially opulent, sporting a pair of massive, gnarled and twisting trees, made from stone, and decorated with thousands upon thousands of precious and semiprecious crystals and stones to serve as foliage. Threads of the purest gold wove through the whole construction and the boughs of the trees met over the entryway to the museum to form an arch. It wasn't the first time I looked at these, and yet they seemed even more marvellous, more magical, than the last, and they were. I knew that they would be even more amazing still the next time I would look at them. It was part of the school of the Pinnacle. The students of arcane magic would prove their dedication to their studies by spending one whole week of every school year, exhausting every ounce of strength in their bodies, by pouring their magic into the trees, helping to shape them, maintain them, even grow them. On a good year, the nearly twenty thousand students combined, would grow them a whole inch between them. On a bad year, the trees would wither a little, even lose some their foliage. Of course the result of that ritual was mainly used as a measuring stick for the top floors of the tower, the high wizards, and their decisions as to how to market their work. Still, the trees were undeniably beautiful, and undeniably magical, and they tugged at my sense of awe and wonder, no matter what else I knew of them.

The air in the entryway held a soft and constant birdsong, and within the boughs of the great trees I could see the subtle flit of movement. This year had been a good year then, a bumper crop of ready and eager young people, hungry to be part of the magic that the tower offered. Sam scoffed softly at the display and offered me an awkward smirk. "Thinking of running away and joining the mages?" She elbowed me in the thigh as she spoke. She was trying to lighten the mood, and I felt my mind starting to put a couple of things together, though I hadn't quite figured out what was off just yet. "Yeah Sam," I replied, breaking eye contact, "I've always wanted to become a gardener, don't you know?"

She walked over to the right towards the desk, guards, and elevators that lead to the upper floors of the building. I followed a few steps behind, feeling as though I was decidedly not going to enjoy this visit one bit, though I still hadn't quite figured out why, beside the usual. Behind the desk sat an elven woman with dark hair and dark skin. She seemed older than any other elf I'd ever met before. Her skin seemed thin and wrinkles creased the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her eyes were bright and sharp though, a stark contrast with the rest of her features. Her hair was tied up in a tight bun. To either side of the desk, and behind her down the hall to the elevators, stood several half orc guards. The ceiling was not as high here as it was over the entrance to the museum section, and the muted colours of the desk, the woman's suit, and the guard uniforms, helped to make the severity of this other entrance less conspicuous when compared to the bright and welcoming gateway to magic offered between the two magical trees.

"Good morning." Sam started but was cut off before she could continue. "Detectives Xyrocelzam Daxldizk and John Winters, what can I do for you?" "We request an audience with the archmage." Sam said without hesitation. I bit my tongue and froze in place a step behind Sam. The archmage? She hadn't explained exactly what we were here for, but, the archmage? "Your errand?" The elven woman asked, and though she reacted quickly she had hesitated, just a hair. "Interplanary travel." Sam said, again, as though the phrase was normal and expected. This time the elven woman hesitated notably enough to draw a concerned glance even from one of the guards. "I beg your pardon?" "We need to speak with whoever is in charge about how something extra planar could even get here" Sam said, this time her voice a little firmer. "It can't" the elven woman started, but this time Sam cut her off, "and we would very much like to know who around here has been playing with necromancy." This time I could see one of the guards move his hand reflexively down to his weapon. "Or we could just discuss how the arcane is falling short" Sam offered and gestured in my direction "the divine are already preforming miracles again." And there it was. That's why she had been so apologetic and awkward. I sighed and slowly, with my hands held open in a gesture of surrender, reached up and removed my new sunglasses. The elven woman gasped, bringing one of her hands up to her mouth, and shot up from her seat. "My gods" she whispered. "I'll make some calls, please wait here."

I turned and sat at one of the benches to the side, keeping my eyes low to the ground. The room was too bright, not just in the amount of light, but the sheer intensity of colour. Even the shapes and angles of things seemed sharper than they should be and the room felt as though it might start spinning at any moment. "I'm sorry" Sam whispered, standing next to me, "but we need answers." I nodded, which immediately reminded me how close I was to nausea. "Count the tiles." Sam offered, and I looked down at the floor. What I had previously assumed was a smooth surface had actually been made from countless little tiles of odd shapes and sizes, all of them nearly the same colour. Nearly. I started counting and trying to get a feel for them, for what they were, for the pattern in what looked more like chaos. Slowly I found myself realizing the pattern they formed was reminiscent of a forest floor. Pebbles, single straws of grass, a carpet of old mulch and leaves, dirt. The room settled and the pain became manageable and I couldn't help but to lift my eyes and glance in the direction of the magical trees. They glowed with magic, each tree echoed a thousand times in faint reflections through the air itself. Each stone and crystal leaf throwing the image through the room. I was in an entire forest of gentle light and unearthly beauty and all I could say was "what?" "Yeah, I thought you'd like that." Sam whispered.

"The archmage will see you now." The elven woman called over. I closed my eyes, and pocketed by sunglasses before standing up. "Please follow me." The old elven woman led us past the elevators to the far wall of the hall, then placed her hand on the wall, chanted a gentle spell, and revealed a small keyhole. She entered a key she held on a bracelet and to the side of her the wall slid open to reveal a separate elevator with only two buttons. One for up, and one for down. To my surprise, we went down.

"My name" the elven woman spoke "is Far'emin Chuft. I am one of the three members of the current council of archmage in the Pinnacle of Arcane Research." "I know." said Sam. "I didn't." I muttered, feeling a little more myself, and thus a little more frustrated at the turn of things. "We aren't fond of a lot of people knowing, Detective Winters." The elven woman continued. "Wizardry is all about knowledge, about information, and protecting personal information is how we keep ourselves safe. Magic is not what it was in my mother's age, after all."

The elevator slid to a halt and opened. I squinted instinctively but quickly relaxed again. The hallway was softly lit and coloured. The hallway had simple wooden floors and walls, well worn by age, but clearly well cared for. The ceiling had softly glowing lights though I couldn't see an electrical source for them. On the other end of the hall were wooden double doors, open a slight crack, and from beyond them came a pair of voices in hushed conversation. Far'emin kept in the lead and threw the doors wide as she entered. The room was large and circular with portraits along the outer wall, faces of what I presumed were noteworthy wizards, perhaps previous archmages. The center of the room had a circular table with a large crystal set in it's center, emanating a soft glow that somehow managed to bathe the entire room in a gentle and comfortable light, even to my sensitive new eyes. Around the central table were thirteen plush chairs, only two of which were occupied.

As Far'emin entered the room she ran her hands over her face and back over her hair, letting out a soft sigh of releif, and when I glanced her way her hair had changed colour, from a deep and rich brown to a stark white, and the skin of her face and hands had darkened still, as though it had absorbed the colour from her hair, darkening to nearly coal black. I whispered "Drow" before I could catch the though in my mind, and Far'emin chuckled slightly. "How very astute." "Let me introduce my colleagues," she then said "the very honorable mister Joseph Darian Swit," she gestured towards a stout human man with almost dwarfish features. Thick black beard and a pair of round glasses completed the look. He looked up and nodded at her mention of his name. "and the lady Amana Silverlight." The high elven woman stood up from the circular table and gave a slight bow. My mind ran a few pointless circles within my head, reminding me of what little was known of the drow even before the fade, and the reputation they still had to this day, and watched as Far'emin walked over to the high elven woman and gave her a hug and a gentle kiss and just gave up on thinking I knew anything.

Sam, which until this moment had seemed unfazed by the entire encounter, stood frozen by the door with wide eyes, watching Far'emin's every move as though she expected her to simply explode, taking the room and everything in it with her. "Sam?" I asked softly. "She's a fucking dark elf!" Came a half whispered response. "Yes, yes I am." Far'emin responded with a sigh. "I know what reputation my people have, but there's much you do not know. The fade did not just affect the surface." "Come now!" Joseph suddenly spoke, his voice a deep booming one that jostled us to move, "Take a seat and let us see those eyes. Please?" Sam seemed to remember why we were here and took a steadying breath. "Alright then. Come on tall boy."

__________________

What you get here, on Tumblr, is my first draft of each chapter, as it happens to exist. I’m considering making a patreon for working on this thing. In the meanwhile, keep me in writing fuel via; https://ko-fi.com/miniar

#Fariy Dust #Look mom! I'm writing!

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javocjovian · 5 years

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Dress For Success - Bonus, SPN Kink Bingo

To celebrate the completion of my Bingo card I rewrote my first Bingo Square and commissioned the incredible @purgatory-jar to draw the final scene! I’m absolutely thrilled with how it turned out! (I had to crop it to post on tumblr, but you can see the full NSFW image on AO3!)

Title: Dress for Success Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17444402/chapters/50431292 Square: Clothing Sharing Ship: Destiel Tags: Smut, Humor, Top/Bottom switching, Clothing sharing, Sam is so done Word Count: 1946

art by @purgatory-jar

Dress For Success

Sam knew Dean and Castiel were fucking. They never told him, per se, but Sam knew. And it wasn’t because of any brotherly bond crap -- It was because of clothing. Or rather, a lack of it. It all started with Castiel. Sam was used to Castiel doing weird things in the bunker. Said things included, but were not limited to, making pb and j’s (and not eating them), reading books backwards, filling the coffee pot with honey, opening every single drawer in the bunker, and, of course, walking around at night completely naked. The first time Sam saw this, he slopped tea all over his nightshirt. He took a steadying breath and politely informed Castiel that humans do not do that. So when Castiel started acting jumpy and suspicious, especially first thing in the morning when he and Sam were alone, Sam barely paid any notice. It was just Castiel. But then there was Dean. Dean was the one who made Sam think it was all in his head. Dean always acted completely normal, chalking up the noises Sam heard late at night to Busty Asian Beauties and other nighttime adventures that Sam did not want to hear about. Dean almost convinced him that nothing was going on, until one night Dean did something Sam simply couldn’t ignore.

Sam was bringing some dishes back to the kitchen and found Dean standing in front of the refrigerator drinking orange juice from the carton, butt naked. Sam shouted in surprise. “What the hell, Dean?” Sam gawked at him. Dean paused, looked down, then shrugged and kept drinking. “You can’t… just. Oh god.” “God has left the building, Sammy.” “I can see that.” Sam skirted around Dean like he was contagious and dropped his dishes in the sink. “The human body is nothing to be ashamed of, Sam. It’s a thing of beauty,” Dean said. “Don’t censor me.” “I’m not, I…!” Sam blinked furiously, determinedly looking Dean in the eye. “I’m going to bed.” “Fine,” Dean replied casually. “Goodnight.” Before Sam could leave the kitchen, he bumped into Castiel in the doorway. Castiel at least was clothed, but they weren't his clothes. He was wearing an old AC/DC shirt and stained jeans. Sam and Dean both stared at him. Seeing Castiel in those kind of clothes was just as jarring as walking in on someone naked. “Hello, Sam,” Castiel said. When he looked to Dean, his eyes fell straight down. “Dean,” he greeted him, his voice cracking. Dean barely noticed. He was in a daze. He’d never seen Castiel wearing clothes like that -- His clothes. “Cas that’s...” Sam said awkwardly. “That’s not really what I meant, about the clothes...” Castiel and Dean both ignored him. Sam took a sharp breath, looking between them. “Mhm. Uh, hm.” His expression fell. Finally he found his voice and said, “Nope, not touching this. Goodnight.” He strode past Castiel and disappeared down the hall. Dean cleared his throat, making Castiel finally look up. “You should wear my stuff more often," Dean said slowly. “Like, seriously. That’s... fucking hot.” Castiel squinted at him. Dean winked and put the orange juice down. There was something fiery in his gaze that made Castiel’s brain go fuzzy. Castiel approached him, trying hard to keep his eyes from drifting downwards, but Dean wasn't embarrassed. He pulled Castiel close. Castiel could smell the citrus on his tongue and feel his nude body against his...

“Okay! New rule.” Sam reappeared in the doorway. Castiel backed away. Dean rolled his eyes. “Clothes. You have to wear clothes. Both of you. All the time! I don’t care what you do behind closed doors but...” Sam sighed exasperatedly. “In the kitchen? C’mon.” He huffed, then left without another word. Dean winked at Castiel.

Sam’s knowledge of their relationship didn’t hinder Dean or Castiel at all. In fact, after that night -- a very long night in which neither Winchester got much sleep -- Dean and Castiel stopped hiding their relationship altogether. Castiel seemed to sense that wearing Dean’s clothes was one of those ‘kinks’ Dean never clearly expressed but obviously enjoyed, so he started wearing his shirts under his suits. During one particularly messy werewolf hunt, Castiel got injured and tore his suit. While Dean was fixing him up, he noticed his old Metallica shirt peeking out from beneath Castiel’s ripped button up. Dean stopped what he was doing and stared at Castiel. They were in a dilapidated cabin deep in the woods. Sam was out securing the perimeter. Castiel’s chest was heaving from the fight. He was flushed and his hair was a mess, and that old, paper thin Metallica shirt was dampened with Castiel's sweat. Dean didn’t stand a chance. As soon as Castiel was bandaged and Dean's work was done, Dean pushed him onto the floor. Within seconds Castiel’s suit things were scattered around them and Castiel had been stripped to that Metallica shirt with his dress pants and underwear around his knees. Dean's hands were all over Castiel as he fucked him on the cabin floor. It took practice to get good at fucking Castiel. Fortunately, Dean had had a lot of practice. He knew exactly how fast and how hard to thrust to get Castiel to start panting. He knew the perfect spot to make Castiel shudder and gasp. Once Castiel started moaning Dean’s name and arching his back, Dean knew he was close. He reared up and took full control, working his hips like a porn star. Castiel's cock was leaking onto the Metallica shirt as he writhed in ecstasy.

Half a mile away, Sam heard Castiel shouting. He sprinted back to the cabin at top speed, his hunter instincts on high alert.

Inside the cabin, Castiel came with a heartfelt groan. The sound was so human that it nearly tipped Dean over the edge. He was so close, just another few thrusts… then a series of sounds ripped Dean out of his ecstatic haze. He heard the door slam open, the cocking of a shotgun, and then Sam sputtering in disbelief. “Really? Goddamnit, Dean!” Sam exclaimed. Dean attempted to cover himself with the trench coat and failed. Cas made no effort to help. “Five minutes, Sam, please,” Dean muttered. “Unbelievable.” Sam walked away. “I’m going to go burn my eyes out with holy fire,” he shouted back at them. “Sam, no,” Castiel said breathlessly. “He’s kidding,” Dean said, resuming his thrusts at once. Castiel groaned and dropped his head on the floor. “No, I’m not!” Sam shouted. “Shut the door!” Dean yelled back. “Pervert!” There was a flustered, indignant noise as Sam slammed the door shut.

“Great plan, Dean,” Sam muttered to himself, taking a seat outside the cabin with his shotgun. “If another werewolf comes I’ll just tell them to form a queue. ‘Your murder is very important to us’.” Sam huffed. “Once my brother’s done getting ass we’ll be right with you.”

Dean and Castiel rejoined Sam outside ten minutes later. Castiel looked awkward and embarrassed, but Dean was unabashedly in high spirits. "Alright! Let's kill some werewolves!" Dean slapped Sam jovially on the back.

The next few hours were spent hunting down the rest of the werewolf pack. By the time they were done every last werewolf had been exterminated, and even Sam had to admit that Dean and Castiel were in rare form. Sam couldn't remember the last time a hunt had gone so well, so he decided to give them a break and stop complaining. He also decided to start entering rooms with a hand over his eyes.

When they returned to the bunker Dean went to his room to get cleaned up and Sam started the laundry. He was able to get all of the blood stains out of Castiel’s suit, plus a stain Sam refused to let Castiel explain. They hadn’t been able to find his trenchcoat, so Castiel went looking for it. It was strange, Castiel knew he was wearing it when they got back to the bunker. He went into Dean's room and found it -- on Dean.

Dean was sprawled out on his bed, wearing nothing but that trenchcoat. “Hey,” Dean greeted him. “Were you… looking for something?” He feigned looking around. A smile tugged at Castiel’s lips. He took his tie off and joined Dean on the bed. Dean was pleased to see Castiel’s eyes darken as he took in the sight before him. Castiel smoothed his hands up Dean’s body, from his thighs to his shoulders, tracing every line and muscle framed so perfectly by that open coat. His coat. “That’s...” Castiel rasped. “That’s not how you’re supposed to wear it.” Dean smiled, shivering pleasantly. “I don't hear you complaining.” He could already feel Castiel’s growing erection pressing into his leg. Castiel couldn’t deny that. They seemed to come to a silent agreement and Castiel began stripping. Dean watched him, idly stroking himself, something he knew drove Castiel wild. Sure enough, Castiel kept getting distracted while trying to get undressed. Once Castiel was naked he settled between Dean’s legs, captured Dean’s hands, and pinned them above his head. Dean felt a jolt of arousal. He loved it when Castiel got like this. Dean spread his legs and let Castiel fuck him right there in that trench coat. Castiel was normally all instinct and passion when he topped, but tonight was different. Tonight he wanted to claim Dean. He wanted to mark him on the inside just as his trenchcoat marked him on the outside. He took his time, unraveling Dean piece by piece until Dean was beside himself with pleasure and groaning Castiel's name. “Dean...” Castiel growled, “I think I understand now.” “Do you?” Dean said. It took all his strength to speak with Castiel fucking the breath out of him. Castiel nodded, his pupils blown and his lips parted. “It’s… ‘fucking hot’,” he rasped. He lowered his hips and angled a thrust into Dean’s prostate felt a rush of satisfaction as Dean’s witty retort fell apart on his lips. Dean didn’t bottom often, but when he did it reminded him just how awesome it was sleeping with an angel. Castiel was a force of nature, raw and powerful, ravaging Dean over and over again and hitting pleasure spots Dean didn't even know he had. Dean was in heaven. Castiel wove their fingers together above Dean’s head and kissed him deeply.

Across the hall, Sam put on rain sounds to fall asleep. Dean had let him borrow his noise cancelling headphones earlier, something Sam tried not to think about as he drifted off.

In the morning, Sam was surprised to find Dean awake first. He was sipping coffee and sitting funny at the Men of Letters' table, looking oddly at peace with the world. Sam poured himself a cup and joined Dean in silence. “So...” Sam spoke up. Dean glanced at him. “How was your night?” “Shut up.” Sam smiled. "You realize that you’re… um... You and Cas... What did they call it?” Dean was barely awake, but he realized where Sam was going. “Don’t say it.” “’Destiel’?” Dean stared at Sam. Sam was trying, and failing, to hold back a grin. Finally, Dean cracked a smile. “Yeah. I know.” They shared a mutual silence, both of them smiling to themselves. “We should make bumper stickers.” “No," Dean said firmly. Sam sipped his coffee. He didn't say another word. Truthfully, he was happy for his brother. Castiel came in wearing a pair of Dean's pajamas and looking extremely well rested. Dean smiled warmly at him. Sam looked away, but he was smiling, too. Maybe, just maybe, the clothing thing was kind of cute.

#supernatural #Destiel #fanfiction #Fanart #fanfic #spnkinkbingo #art commisions #purgatory-jar #sarasaurusrex #archive of our own

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alienduckpond · 5 years

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Back in town - ch 7 - Wateland Rights

Ella gets sidetracked when she finds out the Wasteland is open again, and she wants to find out what's in there

1 - Good Day / 6 - Managing Debt

-~-

"Lolo,” Ella’s voice piped up behind him in a bouncy sing-song tone. “I need help please."

He finished scraping the mud from Spacer’s hoof and let go of his horse’s leg before looking up at Ella, draped over the stable bar and giving him kitten eyes.

"Right now, or can it wait until I'm finished here?"

"Oh, it can wait. I need you to come help me with some sea urchins. I need some spines."

Blinking at her a few times before he straightened up, he let his face settle into his blank Captain expression as he stared at her.

“So you’re fine with killing sea urchins, who are completely harmless unless you deliberately attack them, but not with killing bandirats who are a menace and were stealing from the town?”

“Yes,” she agreed, smirking when he scowled at her and lifting her fingers to tick off the same points she’d made every time the argument had come up. “Bandirats are clearly intelligent enough to have formed a complex society all of their own, communicate detailed ideas to each other, and use items and weapons. They’re basically the same as Papa Bear at this point. Whereas sea urchins are, you know.”

Rolling his eyes, he tried to make himself put aside his residual annoyance over the whole thing. He knew all about her dislike of sea urchins, better than she did he’d say, and while he would always be fine with helping her with them, he did want to help her get over her issues with them if he could.

But with the bandirats? It didn’t matter if she had a point about their intelligence, or that there had been no more thefts since then. Nor did it matter that when he’d gone down into the tunnels, they’d all been cleared out, with the other stolen items piled up near the exit. None of that meant anything. It was all a giant coincidence. Because he’d been fighting bandirats for years now, and he knew what they were like. He shifted his hands to his lower back and started to twist side to side.

"Not the point. And Ella, we’ve been over this. If you want me to kill things you're meant to put in a commission."

"I didn’t say that!” she immediately countered, lifting her finger in a ‘one moment’ gesture. “I didn’t ask you to kill anything. I’m not asking Captain Arlo for a commission, I’m asking brother Lolo to come with me. For, erm, moral support?"

Smiling at him, eyes wide and obviously trying to look innocent and cute as she fluttered her lashes, he felt his already shaky resolve crumble further.

“Please,” she whined, drawing it out. "Just this once? I’ll do your stable duties for a week!"

He groaned, tipping his head back and weighing up his options, then dropped his head forward and sighed again.

"You say ‘just this once’ as if you won’t be back the second you need some more killed,” he mimicked her, rolling his eyes before throwing his hands in the air. “But fine! Fine. Give me five minutes, and I'll meet you down in Central Plaza. We'll go after the ones by Bassanio Falls. But you’re going to kill at least one by yourself today! I'm serious. I don’t care how slimy and gross you think they are, I’m not doing this for you again, even if you post a commission! And I’ll tell the others not to either. Not unless you actually kill one without my help."

"Thank you thank you thank you! I’ll try, I promise! You’re the best!" she called, already perked back up and smiling again, and he half heartedly glared after her as she turned to jog across the open space to the slope.

"She won't, but we don't mind, do we boy," he told Spacer fondly, patting his side then turning to run his hand down his back leg. "C'mon, let's finish getting you clean so I can not go kill things for her.”

He started down the steps towards Central Plaza ten minutes later, sword and a loot bag slung over his shoulders, and frowned at the hubbub he heard. It sounded like someone was going to spar, but that was unusual for half past ten on a Tuesday morning. He scanned the plaza and almost missed the next step when he saw Sam and Ella standing opposite each other, both having taken off their outer layers and weapons, and the crowd of people surrounding the edge of the ring all looking amused.

Running down the remaining steps and drawing the attention of everyone gathered, he strode quickly to Sam, both brows raised in question.

"She saw the Wasteland is open again, and was heading towards the gate. So I told her she's got to last at least a minute against one of us to be allowed in, and she wants to give me a go."

His mouth worked silently as he tried to find words, and Sam shrugged helplessly at him. He knew the rules, she couldn't actually turn down a challenge like this, not for official Civil Corps matters. He turned to Ella, and his brows rose higher in disbelief.

Meeting his gaze calmly, she merely blinked at him, head tilting to the side as she shrugged.

"Sam said I gotta beat her to go in, and I’ve always wanted to see what's in there."

He opened his mouth to say something, remind her that Sam was tougher than she looked, but paused when he registered the carefully neutral tone she’d used, and the glint in her eyes.

“What else did Sam say?” he asked warily, and almost groaned at the smirk that sprung to her lips.

“Oh, she just thinks I shouldn’t even try, since I’ve got two left feet and no stomach for killing things.”

He winced, because damnit Sam, tact was a thing.

"Ella, Sam does have something of a point," he started, trying to quickly think of how to persuade her to withdraw without making things worse, but she cut him off with an eye roll and a groan, giving him an exasperated grin.

"Lolo, have a little faith in me, would you? If I lose I lose, and I'll know what to work on for next time."

“It’s a little difficult to have faith when I watched you trip over thin air and into a wall not two days ago,” he muttered flatly, earning a stuck out tongue. But he stood back, walking over to stand next to Mei and settling his hand on top of the BooBoo pouch to wait for Remy to start the match.

To be fair to her, she did seem to have some combat skills from the little bits he’d seen so far. Or more accurately, defensive skills. She hadn’t got a single scratch from fighting in the tunnels despite not using a proper weapon. And the giant corpse they’d found, which had been even larger than he’d expected despite her description, had shown signs of a proper fight. Then the way she’d dodged out of the way of Huss had been even smoother than he could sometimes manage when sparring. He’d seen her practically dance around the Mr Ladybugs without a problem while she gathered things from the trees they lived by, and she only ever had problems with the snaillobs and mudcrabs by the river when the sea urchins came too close. Plus she was strong and sturdy, carrying around those giant branches and beams, and one of Paulie’s sofas, like it was nothing.

But then none of those creatures or people were Sam.

Hmm.

This was going to be a very interesting fight.

“Who do you think is going to win this one Captain?”

Glancing down at Mei, who was flipping her little notebook to a new page, her eyes fixed on the two women stretching their arms out before them, he let a tight smile settle on his lips and stood taller.

“You know that as the Captain of the Civil Corps I cannot condone betting Mei. I need to been seen setting a good example for the people in town,” he said, sparking quiet chuckles from those around them as he dug in his pocket. “So as Captain, I can’t possibly comment.”

Relaxing his shoulders as she groaned, he smiled properly down at her when she shifted closer to him.

“Ok ok. Who do you think is going to win, Arlo?”

He waited until Remy started the countdown, three short pips on a whistle before the harder one that marked the start of the match, before he slipped coins into Mei’s hand.

“Five gol on Ella winning, and another two on Sam not actually landing a hit,” he whispered quickly, leaning down towards her to avoid his voice carrying too far.

Ignoring the quiet murmurs around him as Mei took his money and wrote his bet down, he focused instead on the start of the fight. Neither of them had moved yet, both balancing on their toes and eyeing each other up, but then Sam burst into action.

She darted forward with her fist raised, aiming for Ella’s shoulder, but missed when Ella stepped back and to the side, hands lifted to guide Sam’s fist into the now empty space just like she had with Huss as she danced backwards out of range. Stumbling a step from momentum, Sam then whirled around to try again, eyes narrowing.

Moving in to swing out with a high kick, Ella dove to the side in a perfect roll. She came up in a crouch with her hand lifted to behind her shoulder, as if reaching for her sword, and her annoyed “tsk” sounded loud in the quiet plaza when she jumped to her feet, hands settling back in front of her chest in ready position.

The fight wasn’t really much of one from a technical point of view. Ella was quick on her feet, constantly dancing out of the way of Sam’s kicks and punches, deflecting the ones she couldn’t avoid completely to her sides, and at one point over her head as she rolled out of the way. Her skills were fairly impressive for a civilian he would admit, and he recognised some of his own techniques in the way she moved which made him smile.

But then Remy was blowing the whistle to mark the end of the fight, and he nudged Mei’s arm. Because he’d been right, and Sam hadn’t landed even a single punch or kick on Ella. He was enjoying the look of utter shock on Mei’s face when Sam whirled round to face him.

“You cannot seriously be thinking of letting her go in there Arlo!”

“What? Why? I lasted didn’t I?” Ella yelled, hands going to her hips as she faced him too. He eyed her thoughtfully, noting how she looked just as fresh as when she’d started, baring her hair which had puffed out of the hair tie again. She wasn’t breathing any harder than normal either, which fit in with how fit he’d suspected she was, and her endurance levels.

“Seriously kid, you won’t last five minutes in the wasteland if all you’re going to do is dodge. The monsters in there will have you for breakfast,” Sam told her bluntly before turning back to him with a pleading look, and Arlo winced because again, tact. And also he could see the change in Ella’s eyes as he looked at her.

“The rules were that I last a minute, not that I had to beat someone,” Ella said slowly, head tilting in question, and he rocked his head side to side while making a considering noise because yes, yes that was the rule. But Sam had a point. He shrugged at her, and she huffed in annoyance.

“Fine. You want to see me fight, I’ll fight. C’mon Sam, let’s go.”

“You’re on kid. Remy, count us down.”

Arlo watched carefully as they squared off again, and focused on Ella as Remy blew the whistle.

She was standing in a ready position, but seemed oddly relaxed still. She didn’t seem at all bothered when Sam lunged forward, much like she had the first time, with her fists raised and aimed at her shoulder. But unlike last time, when Sam was nearly on her she dropped to the floor, shifting out of the way and leaving one leg sticking out in Sam’s path with her other tucked under herself. She planted her hand firmly on the ground behind her as she twisted on her extended heel, before sweeping out and up with her other leg straight into the back of Sam’s thighs.

With a loud yelp Sam tripped forward and rolled into a ball when she hit the ground, twisting herself out of it to finish on her knees facing Ella, staring in shock. Ella merely huffed as she pushed off with her foot, lifting herself up into a one handed cartwheel to land back on her feet again, and dusted her hands off. She looked at Sam, smirking, then held out her hand to wriggle her fingers in a ‘come on then' gesture, and Sam stood up with a soft huff.

Stepping towards her, Sam looked slightly warier this time as she lifted her fists up, which didn’t seem to be bothering Ella at all. She was actually holding her arms out in front of her, fingers linked together, and lifting them above her head in a stretch which tugged her top free of her waistband. He heard Sam tsk in annoyance, before she darted in close again.

Sam threw a fast punch directly at Ella’s face, and he winced, expecting to hear the sound of flesh meeting flesh. But when it came, it didn’t sound like he was expecting. Because Ella had instantly dropped her hand to catch Sam’s fist against her palm, then grip it, stopping it dead in the air in front of her face. Gritting her teeth, Sam tried a rib shot with her other hand, which Ella also caught. She leaned in to Sam, and, and--

And he would swear that Ella blew a kiss at Sam when she practically brushed the tips of their noses together, but that couldn’t be right, could it? He was still trying to work out if he’d actually seen what he thought he saw when Ella suddenly leant backwards and brought her leg up between them, before she planted her foot squarely in Sam’s stomach, and pushed.

He could only stare as Sam grunted and staggered backwards several steps, only to fall flat on her back with her arms wrapping around her stomach as she wheezed. And Ella, Ella was left standing on one leg, her other still stretched out all the way in front of her, perfectly balanced with her hands in the air from where she’d let go of Sam’s fists. She pulled her leg back in and tipped herself upright with deliberate slowness, then lowered her leg back to the floor to set herself in a ready position again. And at no point during any of it did she lose the small smirk on her lips.

“What’s the matter Sam, I thought you wanted a fight, not a nap,” Ella taunted as she walked over to his fallen friend, and Arlo had to lift his hand to his mouth to cover it. She sounded so sure of herself right now, and he was starting to understand why.

But the laughs he was trying to hold in died away when Ella stepped over Sam as she struggled to sit up, then dropped down to squat over her so they were nose to nose again. And when Sam seemed to instinctively lean back away from Ella, his little sister took advantage and laid both her hands on Sam’s shoulders to push until Sam was flat on the floor again.

Something in his brain broke a little at the sight of Ella settling down on Sam’s hips, palms pressing into Sam’s shoulders, leaning down and smirking like that with her eyes all twinkling, and Sam all flushed and breathing heavily and holy crap did she just lick her lips and try to sit back up?!

“Time, Remy?” Ella called out, glancing away from Sam, and apparently not noticing her trying to get closer. “Or does Sam not being able to fight anymore count as a win for me?”

“You win. Well done, congrats, you can get off her now,” Arlo cut in before Remy could answer, quickly walking forward and reaching down to grab Ella’s forearm and pull her to her feet. He could hear the other townsfolk murmuring behind him, and Mei starting to work out payouts for people, but he’d deal with all that later.

He glanced at Sam, laying on the floor and staring at Ella in a dazed way, and shit. No. Damnit. He’d already had to warn Albert off, and was keeping an eye on Oaks. He was pretty sure he might need to talk to Alice soon too about her intentions. He did not need his colleague getting a crush on his Beany!

Glancing down at Ella, who was staring up at him all confused, he finished placing himself between her and his friend before letting go of her arm. Because of course she had no idea what she’d just done, or what it had looked like. Of course she didn’t.

“Yes. You won,” he made himself say in his bland professional tone. “You can go in the Wasteland whenever you want now.”

“Sweet! Thanks Lolo.”

Ella flashed him a bright happy smile as she turned to head towards the bench she’d left her things on. He looked down at Sam again when she spluttered, pushing herself up to sit and waving her hand around before pointing at Ella.

“But you can’t even fight sea urchins!” she yelled breathlessly, seeming torn between outraged and confused.

“Well yeah!” she said, her shoulders scrunching up as she shivered violently. She started to shake her arms out and dance on her toes. “They're just so wrong! Because they’re all slimy and squelchy and icky and weird and their eyes are so creepy and bleeergh.”

She danced on the spot, eyes squeezed shut and a look of disgust on her face, before she shook her arms out one last time and picked up her knotted string waistcoat thing. She threw it over her shoulder instead of putting it back on, and grabbed her bag and sword. "But that doesn’t mean I can’t fight everything else I want to just fine," she went on simply with a smirk, tilting her head to the side.

“Any more objections? I’m happy to go another round if you need me to.”

He would laugh at the dumbfounded look on Sam’s face while she shook her head, her mouth moving silently as she obviously struggled to process what had happened, if he couldn’t also see the other emotions playing behind her eyes. Or the way her eyes were darting all over Ella’s body as she spun round to face him, bouncing on her toes.

“Great,” Ella chirped, shooting Sam a slightly happier grin over her shoulder. “I’ll go check it out later! But now, sea urchins. C'mon Lolo, let's go!”

-~-

8 - Eviction

#My Time At Portia #MTAP #mtap arlo #mtap fanfiction

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