#we need more dean in a waistcoat

[mushroommanchanterelle]

CW: seizure, anxiety Lost Cause

The Bay Harbor initiation into graduate school was a long, arduous process, far too long for Magnus to be comfortable with. It starts off with the Dean droning on about the history of the arcane, a history which each potential graduate student had studied ad nauseam throughout their initial years of schooling at the Institute. Magnus stands straight, the constrictive undershirt beneath their many layers of clothing forcing their posture to be immaculate. Their hair was pulled into a neat ponytail that rested over the shoulder of their gilded red coat. Fashionable as it might be, Magnus was roasting beneath the layers of shirt, waistcoat, coat, belt, and everything else they had on. Theodorre, heart bigger than his brawny muscles, looks over at Magnus as they twitch.

“Hey, you doin’ ok boss?”

Magnus responds with a quick nod, and an even quicker gesture to remind their dear friend that they were to remain absolutely silent during the ceremony. The Dean drones on and on about the promise the new students have, about the future of the arcane arts in polite society, all hollow words and empty praise to the ears they fell upon. Instead of hope and excitement, they caused irritation and frustration. Magnus’s thoughts begin to race as they will the ceremony to go faster in their head, silently contemplating how painfully tedious this whole process was. They simply wanted to receive their battery, the very device with which they could begin practicing the arcane arts, and leave to return to their studies. Being the top student in their class required hours of determination and dedication, and Magnus was more than frustrated to set that aside for some frivolous speech. Again, Theodorre nudges his good friend and roommate.

“Magnus, you’re twitching. Did you eat breakfast this morning? You need some water? I packed ext-”

Theodorre was cut off by a hiss from Magnus.

“Theodorre, I’m fine. Stop talking, lest we not receive the things we’re suffering through this for.”

The augmented man frowns, visibly concerned, but says nothing. He was more than used to how uptight Magnus could be. They’d lived with each other for two years now, and known each other for many beyond that. Magnus was his best friend, and it was his responsibility to care for them. He sighs, opting simply to pass Magnus a large flask filled with clean water. The uptight scholar refuses politely with a small shake of the head, continuing to stand for the remaining duration of the speech.

Though it lasted only two hours, it felt like eons to Magnus. Eventually, however, the Dean fell silent, giving the stage to a familiar scholar in order to begin the process of distributing batteries. One by one, the graduate student’s names get called, with various petraedicts taking to the stage, graciously accepting their batteries, then returning to the room margins to watch the rest of the ceremony. 

“Proggia Experha…” calls the scholar. It took Theodorre nudging Magnus for them to recognize the name. It had been so long since they had heard it, they nearly didn’t recognize it. They shudder and shake their head. Magnus’s arm twitches again, jerking to the side. They exchange a glance with Theodorre, his eyes filled with concern and worry, but neither says a word as Magnus silently slips past him, giving Theodorre a soft pat on his copper shoulder. They stand talls as they make their way through the crowd, stepping onto the stage set at the front of the room to receive their own battery. It was simply a training battery, but it marked an important step in their academic life. They saw the battery being handed to the figure on the stage, shining and copper. It had all forms of quartz worked into the metal surface, with a large chunk of clear quartz polished in the center. These batteries were meant to be weak, but all purpose, allowing the students to try out each school of magic before getting a more powerful battery for field work. 

The lights hit Magnus, the heat, the sweat, the sounds of a million murmurs. They look to Theodorre in the crowd, to Advent, to Ruth, sweating. Magnus blames the lurch in their stomach on their glasses. They must be focusing too much light. The scholar invites them to outstretch their arm to fit the battery snuggly. Magnus shakes, twitching, as they bring their arm up. Leather straps wrap around Magnus’s upper arm, entirely too small and thin for their size. All at once, the noise stops. The overbearing harshness of the lights, the sounds, the smells, it all fades as Magnus lurches back, feet crumpling beneath them as they fall to the ground. Their arms flail at their side, and their head slams into the wooden stage over and over again, the thuds reverberating around the room, deafening and silent at the same time. Awake, Magnus struggles to regain control over their body, fighting their thrashing limbs. The struggle only makes things worse. Magic pours through their body, leaking out of their hands, their mouth, their toes, invisible radiation that warps the wood beneath them. The walnut brown twists to rust red, the wood distorts and bends. Magnus watches in horror as other scholars wrench their arms down, ripping the battery that they worked so hard from off their person. Tears stream from their eyes from pain, from grief, from fear as their head slams into the wood again and again, until they finally fall limp, their chest heaving from the weight of their breaths. The entire room stares at the almighty Magnus, and just this once they regret having made such a name for themselves. The figure presenting the batteries gently helps raise Magnus to a sitting position and puts a hand on their shoulder as Theodorre forces his way through the crowd, arriving to help but much too late. The figure gestures towards Theodorre to assist, speaking softly, but Magnus was too overwhelmed to understand the words falling from those pale, wrinkled lips. Theodorre takes Magnus’s hands and lifts them up.

“Come on. It’s time to go.”

“But…my battery…”

“We’ll talk about it later. You need rest.”

Magnus twitches again, arm jerking to their side. They feel Theodorre’s warm, calloused hands lift them up, supporting them as they lean against his unusually large frame. He leads them out of the grand entryway, and towards their dormitory, and away from their vision of the future.

[deancodedcastielenby]

It started out with a XX

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

I am putting Tags first so I don’t forget like the horrible trash panda I am: @casmick-consequences , @proudcasgirl , & @paintdriesfaster You have asked to be tagged, or for Casmick you are the reason this is here. The Date Continues  This is 100% unbeta’d and I am litterally on my work computer writing in between phone calls so. I apologize for any spelling errors or punctuation since I am a trash panda. XX love you all, enjoy

Castiel is under the impression that Mick Davies is an interesting human. The man seems charmed by many of the words that Castiel uses, and has no problems showing his obvious interest. There have been other humans in his time in this vessel that have shown a reaction to his person, and now that this body is his and no longer Jimmy’s it is an interesting notion that he would be coveted carnally from anyone. Still, Mick is interesting and the conversation that he engages in with Castiel over a shared dinner have kept Castiel enthralled at least. The dinner was odd, it still tasted like molecules, but Mick made a point to have him try a bite or two of everything and explain how he found the flavors. 

The white sauce on the noodles, for example, Castiel knew was called Alfredo sauce, but Mick described it much better before he had Castiel try a bite off his fork. There was flavor that he hadn’t expected, on top of the molecules, but perhaps being described before eating was the difference. No one had ever thought to try that before. The breaded mushrooms were an odd texture that Castiel was not sure that he liked, but Mick did say that sometimes the dipping sauces made them better, and the sweet dessert was delicious, and tasted faintly of coffee. That was a beverage he missed from being human. 

As far as humans go, Mick was charming and rather handsome, though at this point Castiel realized he had a type. Claire had pointed it out when he described Mick to her before the date. His eyes may not be the right shade of green that he prefers, but they are quite beautiful none the less. In fairness Mick had also dressed up for the occasion and was wearing an outfit similar to his own, though he was wearing brown. That was a brown slacks and waistcoat over a light blue shirt and a matching brown blazer. The overall effect was very charming, and very appealing. Castiel had on occasion browsed through different magazines and had seen similar outfits on different models, so he assumed it was a fashion thing, but Mick was able to pull it off nicely.  Of course there was a few glasses of wine with dinner, and Castiel was able to sip them carefully during conversation. It was true he had a rather high tolerance for alcohol, so it wasn’t that he needed to, but he had tried to keep pace with Mick to make sure that he blended in. Over all Castiel would say that the date was a success. Many times throughout the conversation he was able to pick up on the different flirtations that Mick was sending his way, and apparently he was sending back. Once or twice he was able to say something that made Mick laugh loudly and give him a wide smile that made his face mirror one in return. To say that dinner was pleasant would be an understatement.  After dinner Mick asked if he would like to take a walk and continue their conversation. It was getting darker outside, but still there was plenty of light with the street lamps and there was such a quaint little park they could walk around. It was simple to agree, and so they left hand in hand after Mick paid for their meal. “I insist Castiel, honestly it was mostly my meal anyway.” That was another strange feeling, being hand in hand with Mick. There was a brief moment where he remembered Daphne, she would hold his hand sometimes when they were out and about, but he never had this strange intimacy with another person after his memories came back. The hand in his own was not a dainty one, it was on the larger side with blunt fingers and the cool metal of a ring on his pinky finger. Over all he experience was new.  At one point Mick had released his hand, and of course Castiel frowned when he missed it immediately, only to have him slip Castiel’s hand in the crook of his elbow and seemingly step closer. “I am honestly surprised that you came out with me this evening.” They were on their second loop of the small park, their gait was slow and measured to eat up more time. Almost as if neither one was quite ready for the evening to end. “It seemed as though you were very much in the Winchester’s pockets and that they did not like me very much.”  “They do have a negative disposition to the British Men of Letters, Arthur Ketch left a rather bad taste in their mouths and I do not blame them for that, however they are not my keepers and I am free to make opinions on other humans.” Ever the peace keeper, or so it seemed, Castiel tried for a neutral ground. That was until Mick barked out a bit of a laugh. 

“I would suppose so, though not all of us Brits are quite like Ketch. I am hoping you would have a better opinion of me after our date. Perhaps I should inquire as to another?” It seemed the man was looking at Castiel out of the corner of his eye, which was odd, but it only took a moment to realize that he was asking Castiel out on another outing. This was courting wasn’t it? The odd human custom? 

“I would not be against another outing, though I had thought you were to return to England soon.” The words were out before Castiel could reel them back, but they were true none the less. Mick did not know that Castiel could travel to England with just a thought, so it wasn’t that the distance was a problem. Castiel would just like to know where he stood, it was so hard to gage with Dean where exactly things lay between them when Dean was in denial and never spoke. Perhaps this was Castiel’s way of making sure that whatever this was with Mick, it was different.   “I will have to return home eventually of course, but I would very much enjoy spending time with you whilst I can. Your conversation skills are spectacular, it is rather hard to have meaningful conversations about things anymore, and you are quite a sight to look at as well so that is a bonus for me.” These words were said with a smile and a pat to Castiel’s shoulder, “I am aware that our engagement here is limited, not just by time. I have eyes, I know I am not your first choice and that is fine with me, honestly. I just think that while I am here, I can show you what a relationship should be like, so that you know.” Stopping their circle of the park, they were in a bit of shadow of a corpse of trees but they could still see the stars if they were to look up. They didn’t.  “I will not take advantage of you, or your kindness. I want us to be open and honest with each other, so that when I do have to return to England, we could still walk away as friends and you can come to me with anything. Though right now, I would very much like to kiss you if you would be amenable?” The words were honest and open, much like the expression that Mick was wearing. Mick wanted a relationship, in what ever capacity that he could while he was here that could translate to a great friendship when he left, and honestly what did Castiel have to loose? The want to experience something good and meaningful after watching the one he wanted jump into bed with countless others....  “I am amenable.” The response was gruff and quiet, almost an afterthought, though Mick had heard it if the wide smile on his face was anything to go by. Oh so gently one of Mick’s hands cupped the side of Castiel’s head and guided their lips together in a sweet and soft touch. The kiss itself was chaste, but it seemed to cause an ache somewhere in the pit of Castiel’s stomach. It was genuine intimacy and affection, something he never knew he honestly needed, but with the gentle press of lips it was something that he was honestly going to crave. After a moment or two of soft pressure Mick pulled back to gage the reaction on the angel’s face.  “Well, no fireworks which is a shame, but I can live with that.” A slightly cocky smile lit the side of his mouth, “Unless you’d like another?”  “I always expected that kisses would be... more than just a press of lips.” It wasn’t that Castiel hadn’t experienced kisses, because he had on a few occasions, namely with women. Though the thought made him tilt his head slightly and squint in confusion. 

“Ah, you were expecting more passion and enthusiasm perhaps? What kind of Brit do you take me for, a savage? This is a first date after all, need to keep you on your toes and coming back for a second one.” There was something akin to mischief in Mick’s eyes before he laughed, “well I suppose one more couldn’t hurt.” With that he did pull Castiel’s head down once again to meet his lips, this time with a bit more of a firmer touch. The scrape of stubble against his skin was a bit firmer now, and he could actually feel it. After some maneuvering to fit their lips just so, a hint of a tongue pressed against the seam of the angel’s lips and he opened to the onslaught of Mick’s rather talented tongue. 

Unsure of exactly how long they stood there, in the slight shadow of the trees kissing quite like teenagers, they broke apart. A soft flush to Mick’s features made him more endearing in a way as he seemed to shiver and attempt to take a step back. It was a strange sensation feeling Mick release him, as it seemed that the hand that was not tangled into his hair had found his hip, not that he had noticed at the time. “Well now, that was... something else. Shall I return you home then Cinderella? Or is there a night in shining muscle around here somewhere waiting to whisk you away?”  “I do know how to drive.” Something about the way that Mick said the words was unsettling, though Dean did tell him to call when he was ready to be picked up. Castiel was an angel of the lord and he could take care of himself. 

“Of course you do, I never said you couldn’t. Perhaps you could walk me to my car then?” Mick gave a soft chuff and a slight bow of an apology holding out his elbow again. Castiel missed that strange closeness so he nodded and tucked his hand into the crook and walked Mick back to the restaurant and to his car. Luckily he did not see the Impala anywhere on their walk, and Castiel indulged Mick with another kiss at the car before watching him climb inside. “Do let me know when you are free for another Date.” Mick said after yet another soft press of lips before driving off and down the street.  It was a few moments before Castiel moved and headed back to the park, keeping himself invisible from any kind of eyes until he was standing where he and Mick had been only a little while before. Pulling out his phone he sent off a text to Dean, letting him know that he was not going to need a ride home, nor would he be back that evening. There was far too much for the angel to think about at that moment, and far to much for him to replay to even attempt to be near Dean right now. Instead he found himself sitting on a bench in that park, staring at the emptiness of the night, not getting a reply from Dean at all, but that was fine. The hunter had probably fallen asleep anyway, it was better for him to get the rest than worry about Castiel.  

[ti-bae-rius]

Thomastair prompt

(Requested by @christinaherondale)

From @666-megabytes‘s prompt list. Prompt = “Something happened and we have to hide together in a really small space!!!!! we make out for 10 minutes but don’t worry we said no homo at the end”

Set at the end of Cast Long Shadows during Matthew’s plan to explode the South Wing of the Academy. 

“Come on, Kit,” Thomas urged, tugging at his cousin’s sleeve, which was dotted with burns. Christopher’s clothes never lasted long amidst the boy’s scientific experimentations. Though Christopher’s parents – Thomas’s Aunt Cecily and Uncle Gabriel – were patient enough, his sister Anna had since refused to lend Christopher any of her waistcoats. Thomas’s fingers clung to the worn material now, pulling his absent-minded cousin down the corridors. “Hurry!”

“Where are we going again?” Christopher asked, wrinkling his nose to stop his spectacles from slipping down. Anyone else would have spun to look at him incredulously and asked what planet Christopher had been on for the last hour as they carried out Matthew’s plan. Thomas did neither of those things and instead ushered Christopher down the Academy’s labyrinthine hallways with haste.

“The Dean will be suspicious if you and I are together. You go down to our room and I’ll go to the library,” Thomas instructed as they reached the top of the main staircase. He kept casting nervous looks over his shoulder back towards the South wing.

“Oh bother, I need to borrow a book,” Christopher said, and turned to Thomas. “I’ll swap you. I’ll go to the library and you to the room.”

“Fine, Kit, just go!” Thomas pressed, and Christopher set off down the stairs, clearly pleased with his bargaining skills. Thomas was about to start after him when he froze with a sudden realisation how incriminating it would look to see the two of them fleeing what was soon to be the site of an explosion. Instead, he loitered on the landing, waiting for enough time to pass as to be inconspicuous.

From below, Thomas heard running footsteps and pressed back into the shadows cast by the large grandfather clock near a door. They’d locked the door to the South wing so, unless someone was hellbent on getting into the disused wing, they’d have no risk of harm on their consciences. However, he heard someone throwing themselves relentlessly at the door and the old wood was starting to creak ominously. The person swore and Thomas’s chest squeezed with recognition.

“Alastair?” he said shyly and the Carstairs boy spun, scowling.

“Your stupid libertine friend, Fairchild, has moved all of my things to the South wing. Annoying bastard.” He gave the door another shove and it gave a worrying creak.

“You can’t go in there, it’s locked,” Thomas protested anxiously. It was only a matter of time now before the inevitable. Damn Matthew; he could never leave well enough alone. Thomas knew Alastair was beastly at times, but he didn’t deserve to be blown to smithereens.

“Not for long. Besides, who put you in charge, Lightwood?” Alastair sneered.

He threw his shoulder against the wood one last time and Thomas winced. One more and it would give. Panicked, he grabbed Alastair by the wrist and pulled him away into a nearby cupboard. He slammed the door and leaned back against the door, blocking in Alastair, who was looking down at the place where Thomas had grabbed his wrist, shell-shocked. Eventually, he snapped out of it and glared at Thomas.

“Move, pipsqueak.”

“You can’t go into the South wing. It’s about to –”

An almighty crash interrupted his sentence, shaking the floor beneath them. Dust from the crevices of the walls rained down on them like snow. A second rumble shook the floor and Alastair clutched Thomas’s arm, fingers digging in, to stop himself falling. A loud bang right outside the door made them both cry out, followed by glass smashing. Thomas winced, knowing exactly what that was. Then, in one last cosmic act of hatred, the witchlight bulb hanging overhead shook and fell, shattering between them and plunging them into darkness.

“—explode,” Thomas finished weakly.

 Alastair was sat against the door, thumping his head back against it in boredom. Thomas himself was anxious and lamenting the fact the cupboard in which they were stuck was too small for adequate pacing.

“I’m really sorry about your stuff,” Thomas said, for the eighth time.

Alastair finally rested his head back against the door and sighed. “Matthew Fairchild’s pathetic frivolities are neither your business nor your fault.”

“I swear I’ll replace all of your things. I swear it.” Thomas sank down on the floor before Alastair. “I never meant for you to get caught up in this. Matthew can be a prat, but he isn’t malicious. He’s just a bit of a fool.”

“You can’t,” Alastair said quietly and Thomas felt his eyebrows knit in confusion. As if he could pre-empt the question on Thomas’s lips, Alastair continued. “You can’t replace it all. My father bought me a mundane newspaper in the train station every time we left another place. They’ll have gone up like tinder in your stupid explosion.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas repeated. “How about a trade? I can give you something that means a lot to me as a guarantee I’ll find you the most interesting broadsheets London’s curios shops have to offer.”

“Why do you care so much?” Alastair replied. He didn’t sound angry, just genuinely curious. “All of your friends hate me. They clearly speak ill of me to you, yet you still trail me like a puppy. Fairchild must loathe it so why do you do it?”

Glad for the darkness, Thomas felt his face go spectacularly red.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, then flipped the question back on the other boy. “Why don’t you tell me to shove off if you annoy you so much?”

“You don’t annoy me,” Alastair said after a long beat of silence. “I just can’t help but feel like you want me to tell you things so you can report it back to your little gang for ammunition.”

“I make up songs in my head,” Thomas blurted. “It’s a secret. I’d never tell the boys. Usually I do it when I feel lonely or…or invisible.”

“How could you ever feel that way?” Alastair scoffed. “Your family is at the very forefront of the council in such an interconnected web it borders on the incestuous. Your friends are always there and like you just as you are—”

“All my friends have a distinct thing that made them…them. Christopher is the mad scientist, James is the bookish hero, Matthew is—”

“The bane of the Nephilim’s collective existence?” suggested Alastair.

“—charming and funny,” Thomas corrected. “I’m nothing. I’m nice, and that’s the most lukewarm thing you can be.”

“You’re honest,” Alastair pointed out and Thomas rolled his eyes.

“Not nearly as honest as everyone thinks. Besides, I think I carry so many of everybody else’s secrets that it’s easy to ignore mine. That isn’t honest.”

“Do you have room for just a couple more secrets?”

“Yes,” Thomas nodded tightly.

He heard Alastair swallow in the silence of their dark holding cell, then he let out a shaky breath.

“My father never comes to collect me at the end of term, nor drop me off at the start. You must have noticed – Fairchild certainly has. And why is that? Because my father is a drunk who can hardly get out of bed before supper. It would be worse if he did show up, I think.”

“You’re ashamed of him?”

“I just…I’ve had to sacrifice everything, so my little sister didn’t have to deal with him.” Alastair put his head back against the cupboard door. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” promised Thomas. “So…what’s the other secret?”

“Come closer,” Alastair said and Thomas shuffled closer, resting back against the door beside the other boy. Alastair cupped a hand around his mouth and turned to whisper in Thomas’s ear. “This.”

Instead of keeping his mouth to Thomas’s ear, he dipped his chin and pressed a kiss against the boy’s cheek. Thomas startled but, instead of pulling back, found himself turning towards Alastair, lips meeting lips like a flame touching a wick. The burst of heat that bloomed between them was almost imperceptible – almost. Thomas was almost sad that his first kiss was with Alastair Carstairs; it wasn’t that he didn’t like the boy – in fact, it was the opposite. No girl he ever kissed would make his heart race like this, make him want to melt into their touch. This was his Icarus moment, Thomas sensed. This was as close to the sun as he could get before he was burnt, but he’d never feel this warm glow again safe on the ground.

Footsteps outside the door made them break apart, shattering the moment like a dropped champagne flute. Suddenly they were once again stuck in a dingy cupboard, waiting for someone to let them out. At once they were on their feet, banging on the door, shouting for the person outside to help.

“Hold tight, boys. We’ll get you out in no time,” the voice came.

Quietly, Alastair turned to Thomas. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?” he whispered, biting his lip nervously.

“Of course not,” Thomas replied, tugging shyly at his shirt cuffs.

The door creaked open finally and Alastair didn’t wait, just pushed past their rescuer, vaulted over the fallen grandfather clock that had blocked the door, and hurried off downstairs. Breathless, Thomas thanked the professor who’d freed them and set off to find Christopher with one more secret to keep. He didn’t mind. At least this secret left him with the feeling of walking on a spring-loaded floor.

Alastair Carstairs, Thomas thought dreamily. He really was an enigma.

[thirsty4theextraordinary]

Everything Burns - Chapter 7

Pairing: Ledger Joker X OC

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Death, Murder

Word count: 3909 (Long Chapter, Sorry Guys :S) 

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 l Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Chapter 7: The Meeting

The rest of the night was strange, to say the least. They sat in near silence in costume, Joker flicked through the channels without much reasoning. He didn’t speak to her but would laugh at TV every once in a while. She tried to talk to him a few times but he didn’t seem interested and would only give her limited answers. She questioned him about tomorrow's meeting but again he told her no more than he should go. He would look at her when he thought she wasn’t watching, it was like he was testing her or maybe he was testing himself. 

She felt like she was waiting for something to happen but it never came. Eventually the Joker settled on a tear-jerker movie about a dying man, Joker cackled at the character's misery. 

Around midnight she yawned and The Joker looked at her strangely as though he too was waiting for something, waiting for her to do something maybe. She wondered now if this had been her chance and she had wasted it, but it felt so strange just sitting here like this, and she was so used to him taking charge of every situation they had ever had. But then again this was the longest they had ever spent together so maybe she should feel flatter he was even her at all. 

"I need to go to bed soon" she muttered, stifling another yawn and he simply nodded turning his head back to whatever was on the TV now.

"Do you want to go to sleep?" she asked trying to gauge if he wanted her to offer him her bed, or if he would sleep on the sofa.

"No," he said, simply not even looking at her.

She stood from the sofa and felt his arm brush against her side, she looked down to where he was fingering the material of her waistcoat again. She stood still for a moment unsure of how to respond. Finally, he looked up at her and ran his hand along her arm to her hand, he held it in front of his face for a second before he planted a kiss on the back of it like he had done before. It was intense, his eyes staring up at her as he placed the kiss to her hand, sending shock waves up her arm. 

"Goodnight, Jester," he said softly looking up at her, but before she could reply or even respond, his head had turned back to the TV and his hand had left hers. She headed to bed and left her bedroom door open, she washed the clown make-up from her face and got herself ready for bed, she peered down the hallway towards the living room, he still sat his back to her as he watched the TV.

She crawled into bed and for a long time, she lay staring at the ceiling listening to the muffled sounds of the TV down the hall. Eventually, sleep consumed her and she drifted off into a fitful state worrying, what tomorrow would bring and if she had missed her chance.

It was around 3 am, he woke from his place on her sofa, the TV was still on and he looked around. For a second he forgot she had gone to bed hours ago, he stood stretching his back and wiping the drool from his chin. He made his way to the bathroom, as he was about to enter he peered into what he knew to be Scarlett's bedroom opposite the bathroom. He walked over and looked inside, she lay tangled in her sheets with one leg over the mound of the duvet and the other under it. Her hair was even more dishevelled than before, and her long legs were bare apart from the pair of pyjama shorts she was wearing. Something deep inside of him growled, but he saw no need to act on his urges just yet. She was his now, he had time. He returned to the bathroom. Tonight he had tested her, and she had passed. She hadn’t rushed him and showed nothing more than curiosity, but most of all he had not wanted to leave her. 

When morning came Scarlett stretched out the painful kinks in her back and stood from her bed. She peered around half expecting him to be in the bed with her, the TV was still on and so she made her way towards the sound.

He was sat on the end of the corner sofa, watching the TV. His make-up looked fresh, and she was sure looking at his fingers that he had only just applied it. She wondered if he even had slept.

"Morning," she said sleepily and he looked up to her grinning wildly. He rushed towards her and she was too sleepy to react. Suddenly he was so close to her that she had to look up to see his face. He wore an expression reminiscent of an excited puppy. He pulled at her pyjama top and she took in a breath. For a moment the pair just stared at each other. He bent his head as though to kiss her, his lips inches from hers and she closed her eyes at the movement but then he was gone, turning away from her and throwing himself back down on the coach. She blinked for a second, feeling slightly like a fool. It had all happened so fast she couldn’t be sure that she hadn’t imagined it all. 

"Coffee?" she asked her voice far weaker than before, turning on the machine but he simply shook his head. He didn’t sleep, didn’t drink or was he even human at all. 

She set her cup under the coffee maker and began to put some cat food down for Puddin who was currently licking the paint off of The Joker’s hand.

"Joker," she said warily realising suddenly this was the first time she had ever addressed him.

He looked up at her from his seat again.

"Where are we going today?" she asked her nerves for the day ahead, beginning to settle in. She had no idea what to expect or what was being expected of her. Of course having grown up the daughter of a drug baron she was no stranger to fighting and killing people had never bothered her but still her mind was racing, The Joker was so much more than any other criminal she had ever met. 

"We are going to a meeting the mob are having. I have a little proposition for them, we are meeting some of my boys there," he said simply and she nodded her head nervously. This wasn’t as much as she needed but it would have to suffice. 

"Don't look so worried Jester, I'm gonna look after you. Plus you'll have your own gun" he said and she only nodded again.

"Have you ever used a gun?" he asked standing up from his seat and looking curiously at her.

"Yeah a few times, my dad taught me when I was little, that and how to kill," she said and The Joker grinned madly.

"Good old daddy oh" he chimed and she only laughed.

When 11 o'clock rolled around she decided to get her 'costume' on. She was nervous, how she was expected to act around The Joker's 'boys'. She decided confidence was the best way forward, that had always worked when she had been introduced to her father’s ‘associates’. She smiled at herself in the mirror as she applied the last touches to her makeup and pulled her hair up into a messy bun onto the top of her head. Allowing it to fall unevenly as she pulled on her hat. Somehow her new costume brought her a sense of confidence. 

As she entered the living room, fully ready, the Joker looked her up and down, wolf whistling loudly. She was glad they were going in the middle of the day that way very few of her neighbours would see her dressed this way. She wasn’t ready for Jester to be found just yet, she was really falling in love with her new identity. 

"Ready," he said standing and pulling on his purple jacket, she simply nodded. He led her out to a grey van with blacked out windows and she climbed into the passenger seat as he started the engine. His driving reminded her of a boy racer who had finally passed his test. It was erratic and fast, but it was strangely funny as she was nearly thrown out of her seat as he suddenly made a left turn. She laughed madly as they raced around the streets of Gotham. 

The Joker's boys consisted of a group of two wanted felons and one previous Arkham patient. They picked them up at a meeting place under the overpass. Jerry the Arkham patient was a slim black man with corn rounds and he whispered to himself as he sat in the back, but he seemed in awe of The Joker and became deadly silent when 'the boss' spoke.

"Boys, this is Jester, she is the second in command now, after me, do what she says, or well you know the deal," shrugged The Joker as though he hadn’t just threatened them with death.  The other two, Dean and Kyle who were large burly men, climbed into the back of the van and shut the door behind them. No one seemed to argue with the change in the hierarchy and nobody spoke much after that. 

It didn't take long to arrive, The Joker pulled the van over, hitting the curb slightly and stopping so forcefully Scarlett nearly fell into the dashboard. They parked up outside what appeared to be a commercial kitchen; it seemed derelict and abandoned. But Jester knew the signs of a mob hideout, she had encountered them many times during her growing up. 

"Right, I'm gonna go in, Jester you keep watch by that door and I'll go in via the back, as for the rest of you keep an eye. If Jester calls you come in guns blazing, if not have the engine running" said The Joker before he handed Jester an automatic gun and quickly jumped out of the van. 

Dean moved to take the driver seat. Jester jumped out and looked at where the Joker had just disappeared. She hurried off towards the door he had told her to go to. 

Inside she could see what appeared to be some kind of industrial kitchen, stainless steel counters and stark white walls. Although the kitchen obviously hadn’t been used for a while as the thick layer of dust lay across the surfaces and the pots were obviously unused for a long time. 

Just a little way inside the room was a set of double doors, as quietly as she could, she pulled open the door. It opened up into a long corridor that has a wooden floor and a very different feel to the kitchen area. Opposite her was another set of double doors. Quietly she snatched up a heavy steel pipe she found on the floor, and wedged it to hold the first set of doors open. She stood waiting in the doorway, her heart beating out of her chest as she peered into the window of the next set of doors. 

Inside the room opposite her was a long grey table along both sides sat an array of well known Gotham gangsters, including the only one she recognised Salvatore Maroni. He sat his boys standing behind him warily, none appeared to be armed. Though it was just past midday the room had no windows and so held a strange coldness to it, lit only with harsh fluorescent tube lighting.

At the end of the long table, a TV was being placed and it was quickly turned on. She spotted a glimpse of purple at the other end of the room hidden in the darkness, she knew he was waiting for the right moment.

"What the hell is this?!" said the mobster next to Maroni as he motioned to the TV with a loose hand.

But the TV was already on and an Asian man's face appeared on the screen looking at them all.

"As you are all aware one of our deposits was stolen a relatively small amount, 68 million" the Asian man on the TV began.

"Who's Stupid enough to steal from us," said a man with a strong Russian accent.

"Two-bit whack job, wears a cheap purple suit and make-up, He's not the problem, he's a nobody," said Maroni and Jester felt an anger like no other rise up within her and her hand clenched more tightly around the gun in her pocket.

There was a noise behind Jester and it brought her quickly out of her rage. She watched in horror as a man pushed open the door from the other end of the kitchen, quickly, she hid behind the door she had propped open as her heart began to beat harder. He had not seen her as she continued his patrol down the corridor. She pulled out the knife she had stashed earlier and tried to clear her mind as her dad had taught her so many years ago. He may have been a murdering scum bag and deserved to burn, but he had taught her well, better than most. But she hadn’t killed in a long time, in fact it was his own murder that was her last.

As the man passed by her hiding place, she moved quickly and slunk her arms around his neck and in one swift motion, she slit his throat. The gurgling noise was louder than she had remembered it was and she watched as the man fell to the floor.

As she watched his blood begin to pool around him, something inside her was rising from where she had buried it long ago. Her mask was crumbling rapidly and her madness was coming back into the light. She resisted the urge to giggle and headed back to the window in the door, ignoring the man behind her clutching hopelessly at his throat. She wasn't as bothered about taking yet another life as she thought she would be, in fact, she found it somewhat exhilarating as she rubbed her fingers together, savouring the glossy feeling of the blood as it seeped into the pores of her gloves.

She peered back into the window, making sure she wasn't going to be seen.

"Where then?" asked a huge black man sitting opposite the Russian, he looked outraged as he looked at the TV.

"No one can know but me if the police were to gain leverage over one of you everyone's money would be at stake," said the TV man, and the room erupted into angry roars.

The muttering soon stopped the Russian "what’s to stop them getting to you?" and with that there was silence.

"I go to Hong Kong, far from Dent's jurisdiction and the Chinese will not extradite one of their own," said the TV man.

"How soon can you move the money?" Maroni asked

"I already have, for obvious reasons I couldn't wait for your permission. Rest assured your money is safe". The Asian replied quickly.

And finally 'The Boss' made his move, his sarcastic dry laugh rang out through the room like a beacon and Jester couldn't help the grin that came to her face and her heart began to race in a whole new way. She rubbed her bloody hands together again. 

He made his way into the room a little more so they all could see him. He glanced quickly at the doors and a smile pulled at his lips as he spotted his new favourite person.

"And I thought my jokes were bad," he joked,  looking around at them all.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't have my boy here pull your head off," said the black gangster who looked more outraged than the others, that the Joker was here. His 'boy' stood quickly from his chair and headed towards the Joker, who seemed completely unfazed by the situation.

"How about a magic trick," said Joker, a childish grin spreading across his face, he opened his jacket and pulled out a pencil and slammed it into the table so it stood upright. "I'm gonna make this pencil disappear"

The gangsters 'boy' began his attack but the Joker moved in one fluid motion and soon the man lay dead on the floor with a pencil embedded in his skull.

"Dada! It's ah it's gone" said the Joker pulling up a seat looking around at them all as though expecting applause.

"Oh and by the way the suit, it wasn't cheap, you outta know you bought it," The Joker said, readjusting his collar slightly.

The black man's face contorted in a mixture of disgust and outrage and he stood to confront the clown, but before a word left his lips, the Russian spoke.

"Sit, I want to hear, proposition," he said motioning to the Joker and sitting back in his chair slightly more.

The Joker looked to the black gangster and waved his hand slightly at the Russian, and so reluctantly the gangster sat back down.

"Let's wind the clocks back a year. These cops and lawyers wouldn't dare cross any of you. I mean what happened, did your balls drop off, hmm" the Joker began staring around at them all, as though actually expecting an answer.

"You see a guy like me," he said motioning to himself slightly.

"Freak" the word rang out from the gangster's lips like a gunshot in the night and Jester once again had to control the rage that flared up, it was mad how emotionally attached she had become to that clown, but she couldn't deny it now, she was in deep.

"A guy like me" The Joker repeated and then he paused for a second clearly changing his mind.

"Look, listen. I know why you choose to have your little ahem ... Group therapy sessions in broad daylight. I know why you're afraid to go out at night. The Batman" he said the name slowly as though making sure that everyone understood.

"See Batman has shown Gotham your true colours, unfortunately. Dent,  he's just the beginning. And as for the televisions so-called plan," he said waving his hand in the direction of the TV, where the Asian was still watching from.

"Batman has no jurisdiction; he'll find him and make him squeal! I know the squealers when I see them... and" he implied pointing to the Asian directly who had covered the screen for a second before he was gone, replaced by snow.

"What do you propose," said the Russian looking at The Joker.

"It's simply we... uh ... kill the Batman" said the Joker pushing some of his hair out of his face slightly, before the room erupted into laughter.

"If it's so simple, why haven't you done it already," asked Maroni, a smirk on his face.

"If you're good at something, never do it for free," said the Joker simply.

"How much do you want?" asked The Russian his accent stronger than ever.

"Ugh...Half" said the Joker moving closer to the table.

"You're crazy," said the black gangster and the Joker's eyes went dark and his mood completely changed to something much more dangerous.

"No, I'm Not... No, I'm Not" he snarled looking at the black gangster and licking his back teeth slightly.

"If we don't deal with this now... soon ... little uh Gambol here won't be able to get a nickel for his grandma" Joker said looking at the black gangster and motioning his hand somewhat.

"ENOUGH from the Clown!" shouted Gambol standing again, but The Joker was on his feet just as quick.

"ah-ta-ta-ta-ta" The Joker sang slightly as he pulled open his jacket, his thumb attached to a cord that held on it the pins of around half a dozen grenades. He tugged at the sting lightly and Jester took a breath to calm herself. When had he put the bomb vest on? Was he wearing it back at her apartment or has he put it on since? She certainly hadn’t noticed it before. 

"Let's not blow... this out of proportion," warned Joker looking at Gambol.

"You think you can steal from us and just walk away?" asked Gambol.

"Yeah," said the Joker simply backing up, towards the door Jester was watching through.

"I'm putting the word out five hundred grand for this clown dead. A million alive, so I can teach him some manners first." threatened Gambol angrily but the Joker did not look scared but rather a little confused.

"All right. So listen, why don't you give me a call when you wanna take things a little more seriously..." said the Joker reaching into his pocket with his free hand.

"Here's my card," he said, placing a Joker card on the table still tugging lightly at the sting on his thumb. He seemed to be humming to himself as he backed out the room, kicking the door open with his foot. Jester jumped out the way as she watched him approach. He looked at her and laughed wildly.

"Did you do that?" he asked pointing to the man on the floor and he pulled her by the arm passed the dead body. Jester nodded slightly and The Joker laughed again as he and Jester tumbled into the back of the van and took off again.

"You brilliant girl," he exclaimed grinning again, Jester took a breath. This was the best high she would ever have, she was not only allowed to show her true self but the exhilaration of it all was intoxicating. Jester was unsure if she would ever be able to go without again, the death she had just caused completely slipping her mind as soon as he smiled at her. The escape was seamless, it seems Dean was an experienced getaway driver, easily losing Gambol’s men in no time. 

"So Jester wanna be a permanent member of our team," he asked after they had dropped off the boys. Jester felt like she was dreaming.

"I'd love to," she said grinning and he mirrored her.

"What about my job?" she asked and he seemed to be thinking for a second.

"Keep it, for now, just get some time off," he told her after a while and Jester only nodded before she pulled her phone out of her back pocket and began to dial, her eyes beginning to well up as her act took over. She has been acting for her whole adult life this would be a piece of cake. 

"Hi it's Scarlett, I need some personal time off as my aunt has just died, so I need to go back to England for a little while," Jester said her eyes welling up.

She agreed a few times, blubbling slightly, before she hung up and a smile filled her face as she looked at him.

"I have a month off," she said and The Joker cackled with happiness.

After that phone call, Scarlett's life would never be the same again, though she didn't know it at the time. Her true hidden madness would begin to dig deeper into her soul and Jester would become so much more than just an alter ego.

[katehuntington]

Title: Changes - part seven Word count: ±3000 words Summary “Changes”: Huntress Zoë Sullivan (OFC) crosses paths and swords with the Winchesters, when the brothers stumble on a case she’s already working. When complications arise, they are forced to work together. Summary part seven: Sam finds a perculiar place for him and his brother to spend the night, but can’t get the female hunter out of his mind. What caused her to act the way that she did? Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Demon possession, supernatural creatures/entities. Smut, swearing, alcohol use/addiction. Kidnapping, mentions of torture and murder, illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks.  Music: The Passenger - Iggy Pop & The Stooges. Author’s note: I couldn’t be more excited to share Supernatural: The Sullivan Series with you. There are quite a few people I want to thank: @coffee-obsessed-writer​​​, @soupornatural​​​ & @mrswhozeewhatsis​​​, who edited the early drafts, and my girls @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​​​ & @winchest09​​​ who are deciphering the recent version. Everyone who encouraged me to go for it, you are awesome!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist 01x01 “Changes” Masterlist

    “No, it doesn’t matter… Any room… Alright… Thank you, sir.” Sam removes his phone from his ear and presses the disconnect button.     That’s settled then; they have a place to spend the night. He’s not sure if Dean is gonna be happy about the type of room, it being expensive as well, but at least he will have a bed.     The younger Winchester shuts the screen of his laptop and puts it away in his backpack beside his feet, then rests his head against his seat. The green neon of the pharmacy sign up the street flickers rhythmically. Dean killed the engine but left the key in the ignition, allowing The Passenger by Iggy Pop & The Stooges to play on the radio. Sam has the urge to change the station, rock is more Dean’s kind of thing than it is his. But as always, he doesn’t, knowing that if he did, he would receive a ‘Dude, don’t change the fucking station’ comment when his brother gets back.

    He closes his eyes for a moment, but makes sure he doesn’t fall asleep. Man, he’s so tired. He feels like he could sleep for days, but a nightmare would probably spoil his moment of rest, just like they have for the last month. He sighs, listening to the cars driving by and footsteps on the sidewalk next to their parking spot. Then he looks outside, watching people hasten to their destination. Ordinary people, men, women, children. All with a certain goal, they seem to know where they’re heading. Business people in neat suits, mothers out shopping, kids hanging around after school. The lives of most of them are so simple. They don’t have a clue what’s really going on, what other world they’re living parallel to. He remembers brief moments of the time he didn’t know. If he had the smallest hunch of what he is aware of now, he would have never begged his brother to tell him. He closes his eyes again and breathes out; what a wonderful world.

    Out of nowhere, a loud bang sounds through the car. Sam almost jumps out of his skin and looks outside, startled, expecting to witness a car crash, but instead, he sees his smirking brother with his fist still resting against the window. Sam rolls his eyes while Dean walks around the car and gets in.     He laughs as he opens the bag. “You were out, man.”     “No I wasn’t,” Sam denies. “Did you get something?”     “Vicodin.” Dean shows off his meds, pops one capsule out of the package and knocks it back.     “Don’t you need a prescription for that kind of stuff?” Sam contemplates.     “Yeah, but the pharmacist was hot,” Dean grins, waving a card with a cell number written on it in the air.

    Sam shakes his head and chuckles; typical.     “Shall I drive? I’m quite sure you’re not allowed when you’re on Vicodin,” he suggests.     “Dude, we face death on a daily basis, and you’re worried about my driving skills after one teensy weensy Vicodin pill?” He glances in his side mirror before he turns his car back on the road.     “Touché,” Sam admits.     “Found a place to stay?” Dean checks.     “Yeah, I did.”

    The black Chevrolet approaches traffic lights on the corner of S. Broadway and 2nd Street Southwest, as Dean looks aside at his brother, his hand resting on the wheel. “Where to?”     “Take a right here, then the second right and a final fifth left. It’s not that far,” Sam explains.     Dean does as told, but gazes at Sam for a moment after he accelerates and makes the turn.     “What are you? A hunter equipped with a global positioning system?” he chuckles.     “I’m surprised you managed to say those fancy words without stuttering,” Sam counters.     “Hey, I’m surprised you still can’tgive out your fake ID without stuttering, you don’t hear me belly achin’ about it,” Dean counters with a grin, secretly enjoying their brotherly banter.

    Five minutes later, they leave the car in a small parking lot next to a three-story red brick building that used to be a warehouse once. Now, purple neon light flickers above the entrance: Deep Purple Inn.     “If the place is as good as the music, this is gonna be a hell of a stay,” Dean comments, glancing through the windshield.     “I thought you just needed some sleep?” Sam refers while he gets out and looks over the top of the car.     “I still do, but Stacy gets off at nine.” Dean closes the door with a smirk on his face.     “Stacy?” Sam asks, puzzled.     “Keep up, man! Vicodin-girl,“ his brother reminds him as he picks up the pharmacy bag from the back seat.     “Right.” Sam looks down at his feet with a chuckle. “And your point?”     He waits for a response while they enter the motel. The Inn is obscurely decorated, purple being the main theme, not surprisingly. The peculiar interior design choices have both the Winchesters frowning as they take in the lobby.     “My point is that while you are out checking on Zoë, I’ll be checking out Stacy,” Dean clears up, after redirecting his attention to Sam.     He leans his left arm on the counter, careful not to harm his shoulder. He beams and raises his brows as his eyes sparkle; seems like he’s gonna get lucky tonight.

    “Can I help you guys?” A young bloke, probably in his mid-twenties, turns his office chair and faces the brothers. He’s dressed in casual clothing with a waistcoat, his black hair is spiked with shiny gel.     “Yeah, we just called in for a room. Is it still open?” Sam checks.     “You probably talked to my manager, but yeah.” He nods. “We have a room left.”     “We’ll take it,” Sam decides as he slips a credit card.     The guy behind the counter gets up and takes the card. Impatiently, Sam checks his phone for the time; it’s four PM. Zoë’s meeting Terry Cliffer in an hour and a half and he wants to be there before she does. His brother, on the other hand, already seems to have forgotten about the argument with their fellow hunter, as he steals his fifth caramel toffee from the counter, puts it in his mouth and looks around to make sure no one saw it.

    “So, you just drove back in from Canada or somethin’?” the desk clerk asks, as he passes the card back to Sam.     “Beg your pardon?” he asks, somewhat dazed.     The young guy captures Dean’s attention as well, because he studies him with the same confused expression, having some difficulty chewing his toffee. They don’t receive an answer, though, at least not a direct one.     “Here you go.” The young guy puts a gift basket wrapped up in glittery transparent paper on the counter.     He places the key of room 301 next to it as Sam reads the card; Just married. Dean frowns when he detects a pair of handcuffs inside, upholstered with purple fluffy fur.     “What is this?” Sam looks from the gift basket to the guy behind the counter.     “You just got married, right?” the counter guy checks.

    Dean chokes on his toffee and coughs as the younger of the Winchesters stares from one to the other, flabbergasted. What did he say?     “Dude! We’re brothers!” Dean corrects with a raspy voice, not having cleared his windpipe entirely yet.     “Is that legal these days?” the young guy returns, disgusted.     “What? No - no - no. You got this all wrong. We’re not married, we just want a place to spend the night,” Sam clears up.     “Nice going, Sam. That sounded even grosser,” the older of the two comments.     “You do know you rented the bridal suite, Mr… Gillan?” he now carefully asks, reading the false name from the screen which he just got from Sam’s credit card.     “You rented the bridal suite?!” Dean exclaims, dramatically.     “It was the only room I could find,” Sam answers, guilty.     Dean rolls his eyes and turns around, lifting his arms from his side in disbelief. “He rented the bridal suite.”     “You brothersstill want it?” the guy behind the counter makes sure, clearly not impressed by all the fuss.

    Sam waits for Dean to approve. It doesn’t take long before he sighs, a frustrated hand gesture combined with an eye roll telling him to settle for the room. Sam takes the key and is followed by Dean, who snatches the gift basket off the counter as he walks by. When he receives a questioning look from the clerk, he turns around to face him.     “I’m expecting company later this evening. Might be needing those,” he points out the handcuffs in the goody bag. “Her name is Stacy somethin’. Make sure she gets in.”    “Will do,” he promises with a slight nod.

    While shaking his head, the older Winchester catches up with Sam, who’s waiting for him at the staircase. He glares at the gift basket and back at Dean, wondering what on earth he would want with that.     “Don’t worry, it’s for Stacy, not you,” Dean assures, as he begins his climb to the third floor.     Sam chuckles, he almost forgot about that. At this moment, however, Dean seems more bugged by being called queer, than happy to have a cute pharmacist over for the evening.     “Can you believe that guy?” Dean turns around at the top of the stairs and looks down on Sam. “Come on, do I give off a gay vibe?!”     Sam halts and looks up, pressing his lips into a thin line to suppress a laugh. Although Dean does his best to be all manly and tough, the thatched basket hanging from his arm gives a different idea.     Dean notices Sam’s strained face, glares skyward and moves on. “Don’t answer that.”

    They conquer three stories and arrive at room 301. Sam turns the key and opens the door, revealing the suite to Dean. He lifts his eyebrows as his brother switches on the lights and walks in. Purple. The walls, the sheets, the curtains, everything is either painted or fabricated a shade of purple. Several spotlights look down at them from the ceiling like tentacles of an octopus, and abstract paintings decorate the wall. The ceiling is the only surface that isn’t draped in the obnoxious color, but it reflects all that is via a giant mirror. The bedposts are made of steel and reach up to the ceiling, seeming to go on in the reflection. Small cushions are carefully made up on the bedspread.

    Dean sets the basket down on the main table near the window as he checks out the ceiling, the huge bed and its poles, imagining watching Stacy hanging from one of those. Or even better, being cuffed to one of those. He sniggers gruffly. They’ve come across their fair share of strange rooms, but this one is off the charts. Either the interior designer was intoxicated with Purple drank or was high on LSD, because no one in their right mind would come up with this.     “This is awesome,” he concludes, amused with the absurdity of the suite.     “There’s only one bed,” Sam notices.     “No shit, Captain Obvious. It’s a bridal suite. Not sure what you had in mind for your wedding night, but if you were thinking separate beds, you weren’t doing it right,” Dean chuckles, sauntering towards the large king size.

    There’s no clever answer following up his comment and Dean looks aside. When he sees his brother’s face, he realizes he hit a sore spot and his smile disappears. Sam might have pictured his wedding already, since Jessica was his longtime girlfriend. He’s quite sure Sam hadn’t proposed yet, but he knows his younger brother; he planned his future. It might have crossed his mind once or twice.     “Sorry, man,” Dean apologizes. “But now that we started on that subject; you don’t sleep, right?”     Sam closes the door behind them and turns at his brother. He decides to let it go.     “Right, not much anyway,” he answers with some hesitation, not sure where Dean is going with this.     “Good, then I’ll take this baby,” Dean sighs and falls down on the bed.     As he lands, a sloshing sound comes from inside the mattress as Dean bounces up and down like he’s riding small waves in a pool. His eyes light up and excitedly stares at his brother; it’s a waterbed.     “This is beyondawesome!” he laughs, rocking it even harder.

    Sam chuckles at the sight of his goofy brother, who has the resemblance of a six-year-old. Oh well, at least he’s able to enjoy the little things. For a brief moment, he thinks about Jess again, like he does countless times a day. Dean’s comment resurfaced some thoughts and feelings. Even though his life was turned upside down less than a month ago by her shattering death, it feels like all the good and normal happened so long ago. The gutting pain is still there and will remain for a long time, if not forever. Losing his girlfriend also created a massive rift between what is and what will never be. A canyon so wide, no bridge can span across. He can never be that college student with a bright future in law anymore.

    His mind shifts to the huntress who they crossed paths with, and he wonders if that same unbreachable gap is the reason why she’s so bitter.     “I still don’t get it,” Sam ponders. “Why would Zoë be dead set on working this case herself?”     “You’re still worked up over that? Oh, Sammy,” Dean shakes his head as he lays back on the covers. “Just accept that she’s an insane bitch and let it go, will ya?”     “But she wasn’t like this. You said so yourself,” the younger brother reminds him. “And what’s the deal with Dad? Did you see how angry she got when I mentioned him?”     “As far as I’m concerned she’s in Dad’s debt. Exorcising that Diligo demon was close to impossible. She’s alive because of him,” Dean states, defensive. “Look, I don’t know what crawled up her ass. I mean, you gotta be a little mad to do the job, but she does it alone and has for four years. That does something to a person. Maybe she saw some shit, got some wires crossed–-”     “Dad did the job alone for years when we were kids,” Sam reminds him.     “He always had us to come back to, Sam,” Dean disagrees. “He has a family.”     Sam narrows his eyes now, peering at his brother through his bangs. “She doesn’t?”

    Dean hesitates now, biting at his lip for a second before he answers, staring at his reflection on the ceiling before averting his gaze to his brother. “I don’t think she speaks to them.”     The younger Winchester frowns. “What makes you say that?”     Dean shakes his head, half dismissing his own thought. “It’s probably nothing, just something she said, or didn’t say, really. My guess is that she’s on her own and has been for a while. Explains why she was crawling the walls with us around. We don’t know what her reasoning is, but we do know she’s crazy, pissed off, not to mention a fucking assassin. Best to leave a hunter like that be.”

    Sam huffs, silently disagreeing. Dean might be glad to be rid of the female hunter, he himself can’t give it a rest, though.     “Knowing you won’t…” Dean stretches his back, wincing when his wounded shoulder stings sharply. “What time are you heading out?”     Sam checks his watch; it’s 4:15. Zoë will probably be at the bar in an hour or so.     “Four-thirty. See how that conversation goes, check on Cliffer’s place, maybe,” he says, still contemplating.     “As long as you don’t interrupt me and Vicodin girl, I’m good,” Dean mumbles carelessly.

    While Dean closes his eyes, relieved that the pain is starting to fade, Sam takes out his laptop and plugs it in. He has fifteen minutes to crack the Olmsted county website he was working on earlier. If he can get his hands on some recent blueprints, he might find a pattern that isn’t visible on the older public maps. He opens a few programs on his laptop and after a bit of work, he manages to get into the back of the website. Just before 4:30, he double clicks the ‘ok’ button and his computer begins to download a zip file, which contains the information he’s been looking for.

    That should do it, but for now, he will make sure Zoë is alright. Why? He’s not exactly sure, but he has a feeling he should. He once mistrusted that ‘feminine intuition shit’ – as Dean likes to call it – and Jessica ended up dead because of it. A hard lesson learned, and although Zoë isn’t nearly as important to him as Jess, there’s something about her that feels familiar, that he needs to protect.     He gets up from his chair and walks to the door, glancing at the bed before he leaves. Dean is fast asleep and as Zoë said earlier, he would need to set off a bomb to wake him up. Returning here later tonight will not be an option with the visitor his brother is expecting, but he can worry about that later. For now, he has some business to take care of. He leaves the room, closes the door behind him, and heads off.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

Read part eight here

[balenciagastones]

Who would you call up if you were Southgate?

okay well let me put me gaffers waistcoat on and let’s see what i can come up with ahahahaha

goalies:

jordan pickford (obvious choice, is a good tactical goalie but makes some errors, seems to be going down hill a bit but i still stand by him, one of our best choices)

dean henderson (young and one of the better english keepers atm especially for his age)

tom heaton (tbh he’d stay on the bench for me LMAO but he’s quite good and yeah, either him or nick pope)

centre backs:

harry maguire (can’t lie he is quite good, always gets involved, good at bossing people about, overall good on the pitch)

joe gomez (one of the better younger cbs we have, a lot of potential, a bit underrated tbf)

tyrone mings (not given enough time of day at england tbh especially for his age)

john stones (it’s just the confidence issue tbh, he’d probably end up on the bench but imagine this is in a few months time where he’s got his confidence back and he’s back at it, lovely stuff)

fikayo tomori (deserves more of a chance at england, definitely potential)

right backs:

trent alexander arnold (not much to say cos i don’t wanna lick his arse but he’s the best rb we have and obviously can’t make a team without him)

aaron wan bissaka (id give him the call up and give him a chance over trippier, he seems to be doing bits as of recent times and i think he deserves it)

left backs:

ben chilwell (always think he’s a good presence on the pitch tbh, does his job really well most of the time)

luke shaw (don’t rate him as a player that much but he’s young and has potential, would probably sit on my bench unless chilly was injured)

midfielders:

dele (without a doubt in my midfield, passionate, determined, livens up any pitch imo)

eric dier (very diverse defensive mid, can help out the back line if necessary, adds a bit of muscle and aggression to the pitch)

jordan henderson (good at bossing people about, good technically)

ruben loftus cheek (when he’s fit he’s amazing, obviously haven’t seen him for a while cos of the injury but still deserves a place on the team)

phil foden (one of the best if not the best youth player england has, give him a couple of years and he’ll be one of the best players england has ever produced, could learn a lot from joining the first team and i think he’s ready)

mason mount (extremely determined, his issue is with decision making and risk taking but definitely something he can improve on and be shooting them in left right and centre)

forwards:

harry kane (the skipper, obvious choice, doesn’t need an explanation)

marcus rashford (been unfortunate with injuries recently but he’s a good playmaker and has proved himself)

raheem sterling (seems to have lost passion a little bit but once he finds it again he’ll be back on prime form and unstoppable)

tammy abraham (big lanky giant, gets around the defence easily and pings them in, easy choice for me)

dominic calvert lewin (id give him the call up because his past season was eye opening and showed what he could do, definitely getting towards country level standards once he’d had some experience on the bench lmao)

[nickelkeep]

What I Thought I Knew

Pairings: Dean/Cas, minor Jody/Donna Rating: Mature - Language and a small mention of drug use. Word Count: 7500 Warnings: There is a kiss that is of dubious consent, as it comes out of the blue. On Ao3

Dean's elbows deep in the Roadrunner Bobby has him working on when his phone goes off. The ringtone tells him immediately that it's his other boss from his other job, Jody. She knows he works two jobs, and that the garage is the better paying one, but for her to be calling, something big must be going on. Dean makes sure that nothing is going to fall, come loose, or hit him on the head before he wipes his hands on his jeans and reaches into his pocket.

He answers the call, forcing his tone to sound chipper. "Jodio, what's happening?"

"Look, I know you're supposed to be at the shop until 7, but I just lost Benny. Andrea's gone into labor. This is a high-class job; I need one of my high-class guys to fill in."

"Hate to break it to you, Jody, you're not calling the right person for high class." Dean tucks the phone between his ear and shoulder and leans back under the hood. "I'm sure you can get one of the ladies to do it."

"Dean, she requested good looking men," Jody admits, a tone of shame in her voice. "You know I hate pandering to that kind of shit, but–"

"But business has been slow. I get it." He lets out a heavy sigh as he already knows that he's going to regret the next words out of his mouth. "When's it start?"

"Her party starts in fifteen minutes. Foodservice starts in forty-five. I know I'm asking a lot, I'll give you time and a half to make up what you'll lose. I'll call Bobby. Please, Dean."

"Let me get this car safe, so nothing falls out overnight, and I'll head out. Call Bobby; that way, he doesn't yell at me?"

Jody breathes out a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much, Dean. I'll call Bobby now." The call disconnects, and Dean's left wondering what the hell just happened before he pockets his phone and tightens up a couple more nuts.

Dean closes the hood and walks into Bobby's office, where his uncle is on the phone. "You and Donna owe me, Jody. Dean's my best mechanic." Bobby looks up and holds up a finger. "He just walked in. I'm kicking him out to go clean up. He's a greased up hog right now."

"Rude."

"Of course, Jody. I always take bribes in booze and pie." Bobby chuckles. "No, I'm not where Dean gets that from, and even if I were, that makes us cheap dates. Talk to you later." Bobby hangs up his phone and looks at Dean. "You sure you want to go?"

Dean rolls his eyes and throws his rag in the designated hamper. "I'm sure Jody told you the exact opposite."

"'Course she did, ya Idjit. But you're a sucker for her just like I am, just like Donna is." Bobby grabs up a folder and taps it before sliding it into a desk drawer. "Whatcha waitin' for? Get out of here and go be the playboy she needs you to be."

"Got it, Bobby." Dean salutes before turning and walking back out of the office. He stops by his locker to grab his jacket, stopping to wave goodbye to Ash and Garth, and heads out to the Impala.

A quick stop at home to get clean and dress up in his godforsaken monkey suit, and Dean's on his way to the party that Jody's catering. He pulls up to the venue and drives around back to where staff and temporary staff park and hops out of his car, quickly taking the familiar route to the kitchen.

"Not bad, Dean-O." Donna winks at him as he comes around the corner. "Thank you for showing up on such short notice."

"Yeah, yeah. You two know how it works. Booze and Pie." Dean looks around. "Where's Jody?"

As if on cue, Jody strides back into the kitchen, her shoulders tight. She sees Dean and relaxes, if only slightly, before coming in to hug him. "I am so sorry to ask you to do this, Dean." She backs up and straightens his tie. "You know Benny and Andrea weren't expecting the baby for another week or so."

"Yeah, you guys getting updates from them?"

Donna nods. "On the half-hour. You would think he's a first-time parent or something." She laughs at her joke, causing Dean and Jody to laugh with her.

"Dean, I need to warn you. The host is not happy right now." Jody gently pats down the lapels on his waistcoat and looks him in the eye. "Andy's out there doing his best, as are Victor and Aaron, but I need you to up your charm to eleven."

"I can do a pretty sweet Spinal Tap impression." Dean winks at her.

"Screw you, Winchester. You know what I mean."

Dean smiles fondly at her, trying to calm her nerves. "I do. What do I need to know about our host?"

"Bela Talbot. Heiress to the Talbot Estate. They're a huge shipping conglomerate." Jody leans in. "Rumor that the boys have heard is that she's supposed to be looking for a husband tonight. Otherwise, she doesn't get her share of the fortune."

"Doesn't explain why she wants good looking men tonight."

"She wants to show off her wealth, sweetie." Donna pipes up. "I have more charm in my pinky. So she figures money will get her a catch."

Jody picks up a tray filled with their famous crab puffs and hands it to Dean. "This way, you won't snack while you walk around." She pats his shoulder. "Just use that charm you use when you go to the bar, and who knows, maybe she'll find appeal in the lower people."

"Yeah, ok." Dean snorts. He gives Jody and Donna a salute before pushing open the double doors to exit the kitchen. As he walks down the hallway that connects to the ballroom, he can already hear the high priced sounds of an overpaid DJ, the technobabble of the music not to his taste.

Dean's eyebrows raise at all the people milling around. Jody's crew has done numerous parties here, but never to a crowd this large. He takes in a deep breath and plasters on his best fake smile before weaving into the group with his tray.

He gets about halfway through the room before his tray is picked clean, and he sets it down at his side, indicating that he's empty. Dean hasn't even spotted the rest of the crew and wonders if he's ever going to get a chance to find them when a sharp poke on his shoulder causes him to wince and turn around.

"Just where do you think you're going?" The cold British accent demands.

"Back to the kitchen to get a fresh tray of hors d'oeurves, ma'am." He smiles and bows his head slightly. "I'll be right back."

"I didn't say you could leave the floor." The brunette looks him up and down. "Who are you? You didn't come in with the original crew."

"I'm one of the waiters for the catering crew. I wasn't scheduled to work, but I came in last minute to cover for a coworker." Dean tilts his head slightly in confusion. "I'm sorry, but I didn't get a chance to look over the guest list. Who are you?"

The woman in front of him scoffs, and her eyes turn dark with anger. "You think I'm a guest?" She squares her shoulders and pushes into Dean's personal space. "I'm the person paying your paycheck right now."

"My apologies, Miss Talbot." Dean nods his head in apology. "Descriptions don't give your beauty justice."

"Wiseass." Bela grabs him by the tie and pulls him down to her level. "You're late to my party, you insult me, and then think you can worm your way out of it with a fake affection?" She stares at him, her eyes shooting daggers. "You are a worm, and you should be grateful that I'm even allowing you to stay."

Dean's lips press into a firm, hard-line. "Again, my apologies."

"Your boss will hear of this insolence." Bela slowly eyes him up and down. "Good thing you're pretty, I'd have you escorted off the premises now." She turns and walks away, stopping to look over her shoulder. "When you do come back to the floor, do bring more of those crab puffs, and find me immediately." She waves Dean off and focuses her attention on another gentleman.

Dean rolls his eyes and turns to go back to the kitchen when his eyes lock on a guy across the room. He has dark, messy hair and eyes that cannot possibly be so blue. He stares for a moment, ripping his eyes away only when he realizes the other guy has caught him staring. Dean blushes and rushes back into the kitchen.

"Jody, how long are we supposed to be here for?" Andy's leaning on one of the prep tables when Dean gets back in the kitchen. "Cause I swear on Nietzsche's grave, I will go batshit if my ass gets grabbed again."

"At least you didn't accidentally ask the Host who she is." Dean set his tray in front of Donna. "Request for more of the crab bites from the bitch herself."

Jody looks back and forth between the two before looking at Donna. "I'm sorry, guys." She starts to say something when Aaron walks back in and slams his tray on the table.

"Whoever said that Satan was evil, has not met that woman." Aaron walks over to Dean and greets him. "Sorry you're here, dude, but I am glad to see you."

"He didn't stand a chance either, Aaron." Andy looks over. "I failed, you failed, and Dean failed."

"Victor hasn't come back yet, you know." Donna starts placing crab puffs on Dean's tray. "Maybe he's had some luck."

Jody points at Donna as Victor walks back into the kitchen, a smug smile on his face. "What canary did you eat, Vic?"

"I have gotten the phone numbers of several extremely attractive ladies." He reaches into his waistcoat pocket and pulls out four pieces of paper. "And one decent looking guy, not my type, though." He hands the slip to Dean, who slaps it away.

"I'm here to work, dumbass." Dean rolls his eyes. "Has the Queen Bee not gotten to you yet?"

"Nope." Victor grabs Dean's tray and walks towards the door. "I see her coming, and I keep walking."

Dean looks at the prep table then looks at Victor before flipping him off. "That's my tray!"

"Dean, take this one." Donna slides one with meatballs on it over to him. "Remember, that bitch was looking for the crab puffs. She'll go after him." Donna winks at Dean, who lets out a frustrated sigh.

"Guys, I promise I will make this up to you. We're here for another two hours. Smiles, flirt, be eye candy for the ladies, cause let's face it, she wants the male attention on her, and if her female guests are staring at you.."

Dean, Aaron, and Andy all grumble in agreement, and Dean heads back out to the ballroom.

"Dean!" Jody calls out after him. "Don't spill anything on Miss Talbot!"

Back in the multitude of the crowd, Dean expertly weaves his way through the groups of people, stopping briefly to allow them to grab a meatball or two off of his tray. He keeps his best crowd-pleasing smile on, and a few of the ladies do start to flirt with him.

Like Victor, he ends up with a couple of their numbers shoved into his pocket. He smiles at each lady despite feeling dirtier each time he's looked at, talked to, or even pawed on. He looks toward the kitchen, finding a clear path and turns to head back, needing a moment away from the idiots on the floor.

As Dean gets nearer to the kitchen, he's stopped by a very gentle tap on the arm. He turns around to present the tray, and he comes face to face with the blue-eyed guy from earlier. Dean sucks in a breath and takes him in for a moment, now that he can see him up close and personal.

Blue-eyes is wearing an AC/DC shirt underneath a well-fitting blazer, and a nicely tight-cut pair of slacks. The eyes that were insanely blue from a distance are even more spectacular and otherworldly. Dean has to rip his eyes away to focus on making words.

"These are Rosemary Thyme... uh," Dean stumbles over his words slightly. "Sorry. These are balsamic glazed, Rosemary and Thyme meatballs, made from lamb and pork."

Blue-eyes smiles at Dean, and Dean nearly melts on the spot. "Delicious." The stranger grabs one by the toothpick and pops it into his mouth, Dean watching it intently. "The meatball was good too."

Dean swallows hard before feeling a shove knocking him back. "I'm so sorry, is the kitchen staff bothering you?"

Bela.

"Shall we go somewhere more quiet to talk?" Bela slides her arm into Blue-eyes' and pulls him away, bringing Dean back to reality.

Dean stops in the kitchen and drops off his tray, telling Donna that he needs a minute, and to fill it back up while he takes a quick break. He peeks back out the double doors and heads towards the restroom, hugging tightly to the wall to not be stopped by someone looking for staff.

He slides into the restroom without a hitch and takes a moment to look himself over in the mirror. Dean knew that when he told Jody yes that this would be a rough night. He turns the cold water on and splashes his face, trying to relieve the redness and the puffiness starting to form around his eyes.

Dean grabs a towel from the dispenser and dries his face, taking another look in the mirror. "You're nothing to these people, Dean," he whispers to the mirror. The door to the bathroom opens, and he jumps, figuring that the guests would have the main one at the front of the venue.

"I thought I saw you sneak in here." The deep, gravelly voice that had managed to rattle him in six words, cause him to look up. "I apologize for Bela's behavior. She's quite rude and off-putting."

"She had you wrapped around her finger easy enough, though."

Blue-eyes nods. "It would appear that way, yes. Trust me when I say that I was caught off guard as much as you were."

"I don't know you to trust you, Buddy." Dean finishes drying off his hands and throws the paper towel into the trash. "So, forgive me if I'll pass." Dean attempts to walk past Blue-eyes when that same gentle touch catches his arm.

"Please, let me show you? I want nothing more than to make up for Bela's idiocy and poor manners."

Dean shakes his head and, despite not wanting to, tugs his arm back. "That's up to her to correct. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work. Us little people can't keep the rest of you waiting, can we?" He walks out of the bathroom and hightails it back to the kitchen."Your tray is ready, Big D." Donna nods towards the tray sitting in front of her. "All fresh. The rest are on a plate over there for you and the boys to snack on."

"I can't."

"Dean?" Jody walks out of the small office to the side after hearing Dean's assertion. "What happened?"

"It's too much, ok?" Dean looks at Donna. "I'm sorry, Donna, but can you please take this tray? I'll take over prep for a bit. Then I should be ok to go."

Donna starts to nod, but Jody holds her hand up. "Nuh-uh, Winchester. You don't get like this. You look like a caged animal right now. What happened?"

"They're drinking more, and they're getting worse. I wouldn't be surprised when Aaron and Andy come back if they say they're done." Dean reaches into the pockets of his waistcoat, and then his back pocket. He drops several crumbled pieces of paper on the prep table. "They're handsy; they're not respecting personal space." He runs his fingers through his hair. "For fuck's sake, Jody, I was talking to a guest about the meatballs, and that Bela Bitch practically tackled me cause it was a guy that she's clearly marked for herself."

"She did what?" Jody's eyes light up in anger. "I believe you 100%, but please tell me who saw it."

Dean looks at Donna, who shakes her head and points at Jody. "The guy who she grabbed and pulled away from me after she shoved me. He's about my height, messy dark hair, blue eyes." Dean pauses, hoping that's enough from him, but Jody gestures for him to continue. "He's wearing an AC/DC shirt under a blazer. He's the only guy I saw doing something like that. Most of them are trussed up."

"Got it. You two stay here. I'm sending the rest of the boys back." Jody turns and heads out to find Dean's mystery blue-eyed guy.

Donna pats the stool next to her. "Come here, Dean." She waits until she's seated next to him and hands him a spinach puff. "Don't worry, seafood free." She smiles at him."I know this has been a shit night for you and the rest of the guys. Jody's been back here, dotting her Is and crossing her Ts to make sure Bela can't hire anyone from the area again."

"Good lot that does to help us." Dean leans forward, resting his elbows on the prep table. "Bela finds that out, she'll deny payment."

"Hence why–" Donna's cut off by Andy and Victor entering the kitchen. "Aaron behind you two?"

Victor nods. "I think so. Jody got to us first." He set his tray down on the table and sat down across from Dean. "What's going on?"

"The big bitch shoved Dean here." Donna moves to start packing up the remaining ingredients. "She's just collaborating his story to cover our asses, and then we're getting out of here."

"Seriously?" Andy perks up and walks over to Donna. "What can I do to help?"

Donna laughs and shows Andy items to pack up. While they work on cleaning up, Aaron bounds into the kitchen. "Jody says she's giving us a five-minute head start. Something about confirmation that Dean was attacked?"

"You two just going to stand there?" Donna snaps at Victor and Dean. "You too, Aaron, she wants us to pack up the van to haul ass out of here. She doesn't think Bela's going to take it well when we bail."

The boys quickly help Donna break down and pack up their gear. As they're about halfway through, Jody enters the kitchen with a massive grin on her face. "Ready to go?"

...

A week later, Dean meets up at Jody and Donna's to pick up his paycheck. Jody greets him happily and brings him into their kitchen to enjoy one of Donna's pies while they chat about the party.

"We haven't had any issue. We didn't charge her for the last hour of the event. But, we still charged her for all the ingredients and the setup and breakdown fees." Jody sets a beer in front of Dean. "She's paid for everything we've asked."

"How the hell did that happen?" Dean asks, gratefully sipping the beer.

Donna sits across the table from Dean, chuckling. "You and I both know Jodes has a way with words."

"So, why am I sitting here and why you two look like you're buttering me up?" Dean looks back and forth between the two. "Are you letting me go?"

"No." Jody rolls her eyes. "We have another gig, and we want you there. I already cleared the date with Bobby, but he said to make sure you want to work it first."

"And we could really, really use you. It's another big-name client." Donna adds.

Dean drains his beer and shakes his head. "Call me when it's a small wedding or something."

"Dean, they offered three times our normal rate." Jody advertised. "Including bonuses for any staff we bring. That could be the last bit you need to pay for Sam's last year at school."

"I don't like being treated like shit or an object, Jody."

"And you won't be," Donna affirms. "The person who hired us? They have a full security detail. We're catering at their house, and they won't hesitate to kick out anyone. They promised us."

Jody nods in agreement. "We let them know our concerns."

"Come on, Big D!" Donna leans across the table and playfully punches Dean in the shoulder. "We need you."

The next week, Dean shows up to the "house" following the directions Jody and Donna gave him. He pulls up, and a friendly staff member tells him where he can park as a member of the Catering Staff. He pulls into a spot behind the mansion and is quickly shown the way to the kitchens.

Andy's already helping Donna fill the first tray, and Jody is excitedly talking on the phone to someone. Jody sees Dean and smiles, holding up her finger. "Alright, Benny. Take care, give Andrea all our love and kisses to the little bean!" She hangs up the phone. "Alright, you two are my only servers tonight. There are only about 40 people here per our host."

"Yeah, who is this host?" Andy looks up from the tray he's loading. "Neither of you have said anything."

"It's the Philanthropist, Castiel Novak!" Jody is practically vibrating, and Donna lovingly rolls her eyes. When the guys don't share her enthusiasm, she frowns. "Really, you two?"

"Not much of a philanthropist if Dean nor I have heard of him." Andy winks at Donna.

"Dean? You don't know who he is?" Jody's face drops in shock. "Are you two serious?"

Dean shakes his head, confirming Andy's statement. "I have no idea who this dude is."

"Uh-huh." Jody crosses her arms over her chest. "Well then, you're in for a pleasant surprise, Dean."

"I don't like surprises, Jodes." Dean looks at Donna. "Anything I can do to help get ready?"

Donna pushes a tray at Dean. "Nope. You can start serving. That'll be Andy's tray if he stops eating every other one." Donna swats at Andy's hand.

"Show me the way, Jody?" Dean gestures toward the kitchen exit before picking up his tray and following.

"Dean?" Jody stops him before he walks out to the main room. She fixes his tie and straightens his lapels. "Thank you for coming. I know how hesitant you were." She leans up and kisses his cheek. "Award-winning smile, okay?"

Dean nods and heads out to the guests, plastering on the smile Jody requested. He weaves his way among them and finds them strangely friendly and pleasant. His tray clears out quickly, and no one is rude to him or yells at him for being out of hors d'oeuvres.

As he makes his way back to the kitchen, a fiery redhead catches his attention and waves. He holds his tray up to show that it's empty, and she shakes her head and laughs, excusing herself through the crowd. "Hi, sorry, didn't mean to confuse there. I'm Charlie. Charlie Bradbury."

"Not to be mean, but I have no idea if that's supposed to mean something?" Dean grimaces at the fact that he has to admit that he doesn't know who she is, and reminds himself to grab a guest sheet from Jody if she has one.

"Oh please, if you know who I am, I've screwed up royally." Charlie smiles, and Dean finds himself smiling despite himself. "Just checking in. Everything ok with you and the rest of your team?"

Dean looks around the room before looking back at Charlie. "It's not my team. The company is Jody's and Donna's second-in-command." He holds the tray across his chest. "Why do you ask?"

"I know that, Dean. Just making sure no one is harassing you or Andy." She smiles and winks.

"I know for a fact that I didn't tell you my name."

Charlie winks again, exaggerating it this time. "And you didn't have to. I'm Castiel's head of security. I know everyone's face, name, favorite color. No one gets in here without me knowing who they are."

"My favorite color?" Dean questions skeptically.

"Green. Although you're also partial to purple." She snaps and points at Dean.

Dean looks around again. "Am I on Candid Camera?"

"Nope, I'm just very good at my job." Charlie gestures towards the kitchen. "Let's get that tray refilled. I've heard amazing things about the spinach puffs you guys make."

"So, uh. Can I ask you a question?" Dean looks over to Charlie as they walk back towards the kitchen. "Who is your boss?"

"Cas?" Charlie pauses for a moment. "He's an amazing, down to earth guy. He was born into dirty money but did everything to turn it around and make it clean. Cas gives away most of his profits to charity each year, and he doesn't brag about it. Most of the things he does, you wouldn't know unless you follow who he assists."

The pair enters the kitchen, and Dean sets his tray in front of Donna. "Request for the spinach puffs, D-Train."

Donna nods. "I see you met Charlie."

"Just met, actually." Charlie smiles. "If I can just steal a couple of puffs for myself, you can put whatever you want on that tray."

"Consider it done." Donna places a few on a plate and slides them over to Charlie.

"Thank you!" Charlie takes a bite and moans happily. "These are freaking delicious. No wonder Castiel wanted you guys for this!" She finishes the puff and looks back at Dean. "So, two jobs, right? You work at Singer Auto Shop full time, and then help out Jody and Donna when they need servers?"

"Did you run full background checks!?"

"Yes!" Donna and Jody reply before Charlie can.

Charlie nods in confirmation. "What they said. I'm just a little more in-depth."

"So, why am I getting the third degree if you already know what my answers are?" Dean crosses his arms over his chest.

"Gotta protect my best friend." Charlie shrugs. A voice calls from the main room, and her head snaps to attention. "That would be Castiel's entrance. Gods know how much he hates them, but when he runs charity events like this, the board insists that he has an entrance." She points to the tray. "Grab that and come on."

Dean grabs the tray and follows Charlie back out to join the guests. He stands ready with his tray and looks over at the stairs where everyone is watching.

It takes all of his willpower not to drop his tray.

Castiel Novak is Blue-eyes.

Dean rolls his eyes and walks back to the kitchen, not waiting for Castiel to walk down the stairs fully.

"Dean?" Donna looks up from the pastries she's prepping. "What's wrong?"

"Where's Jody?" Dean asks, a hint of anger and frustration in his voice.

"I'm right here." Jody steps back into the kitchen and next to Donna. "What's wrong?"

"You knew." He points at her. "You knew the entire time who Castiel is. You knew he was the reason I was treated like shit at the last event." Dean shook his head. "Jody. We've been friends for years. Why wouldn't you tell me?"

Jody looks at Donna, who shakes her head in return and goes back to prepping the pastries. "Because I knew you wouldn't come. Several witnesses came to your defense at the last event, Dean. And they all said the same thing. You and Castiel were flirting. Which is why I was surprised you said you didn't know who he is."

"Jody." Dean shakes his head and looks down at the floor. "I need a few. Take my tray, please?"

Jody nods and takes the tray out to the guests, passing Andy on her way out. He sets his tray in front of Donna and smirks. "How'd you two get the boss lady to serve?"

"Not right now, Andy." Donna frowns and slightly nods her head towards Dean.

"Dean-O?" Andy takes Donna's hint and crosses over to Dean. "You alright there?"

"No."

"Me neither then." He looks over his shoulder at Donna. "We're going for a smoke. I'll be back before my tray's ready."

"Neither one of you smoke." Donna raises her eyebrow curiously but amends her statement when Andy shoots her a look. "I mean, of course. You've got like 5 minutes."

Andy gives her a thumbs up and leads Dean out the backdoor. "What's going on, Dude?"

"You saw Castiel?" Dean waits until Andy confirms that he did. "Did he not look familiar to you?"

"Should he?" Andy hopped up on a retaining wall and patted for Dean to sit next to him.

"Dude, he was at the event two weeks ago."

Andy laughed, "No offense Dean, but do you know how many dates I've had with Moby Bong since that shit show?" When Dean doesn't answer, Andy continues. "I take it he's one of the assholes that treated you like shit?"

"More like the opposite." Dean ran his fingers through his hair. "He was nice to me, and he flirted."

"Dude, go flirt back then! Sugar Daddy for Dean!" Andy nudges Dean with his elbow playfully.

"No," Dean answers quickly. "Nothing would come from it."

Andy sighs and looks at Dean. "You know, back when we dated, I used to think I didn't deserve Tracey."

"Okay?"

"That wasn't my decision to make. It was hers. And in the long run? My insecurities chased her off." Andy claps Dean on the shoulder. "And I still fucking miss her, Dean. Get over yourself and let someone else tell you what they think of you."

Dean brushes Andy's hand off his shoulder and hops down off the wall. "Go get your tray from Donna, and if Jody's done with mine, tell her I'll be back in a few. I'm hitting the head."

"You don't want to admit I'm right, fine, Dean." Andy pushes off the wall and follows Dean back to the house. "But don't fuck up like I did. I'm trying now, and it's a hell of a difference." He points down a hallway once they get back inside. "Staff facilities are down there. What kind of house has a locker room for staff?"

"Rich people houses." Dean turns and heads down the hallway, pushing on the door marked for staff.

He quickly goes to the bathroom, before finding himself standing in front of the mirror again. "This fucking Deja vu." He washes his hands and splashes the cold water on his face. As he dries his hands and face, the door opens, with Castiel walking in.

Dean manages not to roll his eyes to the back of his head, keeping his focus on the sink.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel takes a few steps in and stops at the edge of the row of sinks. When Dean doesn't respond, he takes another step closer. "Enjoying the party so far?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Not much to enjoy at a party when you have to work."

"Dean?" Castiel risks another step closer. "Talk to me, are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm freaking awesome." Dean grips the edge of the sink and keeps his eyes down.

"You're not awesome. What's wrong?"

Dean closes his eyes at Castiel's voice, the question sounding unfairly innocent coming from him. "Nada. Just trying to remember why I like this job."

"You don't like it now?" Castiel takes another step closer. "Why?"

"Honestly?" Dean looks up and looks at himself in the mirror, trying desperately to not look at Castiel. "I don't like who we cater to."

"Do you mean cater as in what your actual job description is, or do you mean catering as in appeasing?" Cas leans back against the sink, the warmth of his skin threatening ea closer proximity to Dean.

"I just don't like the people who see me as a servant."

Dean watches as Cas nods. "You mean people like me."

"Yeah, Castiel. People just like you."

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand." Dean watches in the mirror as Cas turns to look at him. "What exactly did I do to deserve your ire?"

Dean stands up and looks Castiel in the eyes. "You're just like the rest of them. You hide behind the fact that you can add 'philanthropist' to your abundant list of titles."

"You never even gave me a chance, Dean." Castiel steps closer to Dean. "You don't know me. I am a nice guy." His eyes flick down to Dean's lips. "I wanted to kiss you, the last time I saw you." Castiel looks back at Dean. "But, I didn't."

"What? Why are–"

"Because that would have been weird." Castiel steps into Dean's personal space, pushing him back against the wall. His lips lock on to Dean's, binding them in a fluster of confusion, want, and need. Castiel grabs Dean's hips and pulls them closer together, causing Dean to whimper involuntarily.

Dean pulls himself together long enough to push Castiel off of him. "Stop." He shakes his head. "You don't want this. You don't want me." The door opens, and Dean takes the opportunity to leave.

He moves quickly past Donna and finds Jody in the kitchen. "I'm sorry. You don't have to pay me. But I'm leaving." Dean rushes out the back door and hops into the Impala, taking off and heading back home.

Dean pulls into his apartment complex and heads inside, grabbing a beer. His phone keeps ringing and vibrating, phone calls, and text messages that he chooses to ignore.

Dean's thoughts are barreling down an unknown track at hundreds of miles per hour. He'd be lying if he said that he didn't want that kiss. Castiel has been on his mind since that night at Bela's party. At the same time, he's unsure as to what the kiss means. Did Castiel see him as all the other people had at that party? Was he just another object to be used and tossed away when he no longer had a purpose?

Against his better judgment, Dean grabs his laptop and sits on his sofa. His cell phone rang for the umpteenth time, and he shut it off completely. Dean loaded up Google and started the search to find out what he could about Castiel.

Some point during his research, Dean must have fallen asleep as he wakes up to a knock on his door. He stands up and quietly walks over and looks out the peephole. The redhead, Castiel's head of security, is standing outside on his stoop. He closes his eyes, trying to recall her name, when she knocks on the door again.

"Dean, can you please open up? It's Charlie. I know you're home." Dean quietly thanks her for calling out for him and looks through the peephole again. She appears to be upset, genuinely concerned, and he gives in.

"Is it just you?" He asks, hoping he doesn't regret this decision.

"One hundred percent just me, Dean." She pauses. "Please, can I talk to you?"

Dean opens the door and lets Charlie in. "Come in." He closes the door after she enters. "Welcome to my humble abode."

"I love it." Charlie smiles at him as she walks into the living room. "Harrison Ford fan?" She points to the framed Indiana Jones movie posters.

Dean nods, unsure of what to say.

"This feels like a home. Cas and I never feel at home back at his place." Charlie looks at Dean. "I'm sorry."

"For what, Red?" Dean slowly sits back down on the sofa and closes his laptop, remembering what he was doing on it.

"I already knew you were Googling him." Charlie raises her eyebrow. "I have a program that catches when his name whenever someone searches for him." She points next to Dean. "May I?" She waits until Dean nods before sitting next to him. "There was a huge miscommunication somewhere, and I don't know where it was. It's my fault that Cas is hurting, and you're upset."

"Your fault?" Dean shakes his head. "How the hell did you come to that conclusion?"

"I'm the reason Cas had the party. And the reason you guys were the catered staff." Charlie hangs her head. "He told me that he met the most incredible man at Talbot's party. Which, how he managed to even get away from Bela for ten seconds, surprises me."

"So, you assumed the guy was me?"

"The guy is you, Dean. Castiel is furious with me because I meddled." She looks around the living room before settling her eyes back on Dean. "Cas and I have been best friends since high school. He hated his family name. What did I tell you back at his house? You can Google that."

Dean nods. "I did. I saw it. His family doesn't appear to be very nice people."

"Cas managed to stay clear of all the drama because he has a conscience." Charlie starts playing with a strand of her hair. "He's never done anything for himself. To hear him say that there was someone he was interested in? Dean, those words have never come out of his mouth.

"I didn't realize how limited an interaction you two had. I guess romantic me thought you two talked late into the party, and like Cinderella, you had to run."

Dean laughs. "Why does everyone assume I'm a freaking princess?"

"It's not an insult. Just remember, a princess becomes queen. The queen is the strongest piece on the board." Charlie pauses to let that sink in then inhales deeply. "I told your boss that you had to be part of the staff. If she could get you on board, we'd give a bonus to each staff member."

"You can just throw away Castiel's money like that?"

"It's not throwing it away if it goes to a Mom and Mom business who needs it. Or to their staff. Cas agrees with me on that completely." Charlie crosses her arms. "The catch was, you weren't supposed to know who the client was until you got on site."

"So, Castiel, in the bathroom?"

Charlie frowns. "Thought you were at the party because you wanted to see him again."

"So..." Dean nods, running through his question in his mind. "Is he actually interested in me?"

"Dean, I swear to the gods. If I had to hear about you one more time over the past two weeks, I was going to strangle him myself." She looks at Dean. "I'm here to ask you for another chance since I screwed his up."

"Even after what happened?"

Charlie nods. "He's not mad with you. He's mad at the situation, and he's mad that I exacerbated it. He wants to get to know you."

Dean stands up and starts pacing. "Look, let's say I believe you. Let's say that Cas wants that."

"He does!" Charlie protests before being hushed by Dean.

"Hold on. Why me? We are worlds apart." Dean crosses his arms and looks at the petite woman on his couch. "He can have anyone and anything he wants. He only needs to snap his fingers."

"He wants a person who can keep him grounded. Who can call him out when his head is in the clouds. He may have turned his family's crap into gold, Dean, but he's still a rich kid who just wants someone to love him for him." She opens her mouth to say more but stops herself. "There are things you need to learn about him, from him."Dean sits down in a chair and looks at Charlie. "Did he send you?"

"No." Charlie pulls out her phone, unlocks it, and sets it down in front of Dean. "When we figured out what happened, when I came clean, he yelled at me to get out." She points to the phone. "He's been trying to get ahold of me to come home. Cas doesn't know I'm here."

Dean picks up the phone and swipes through. Unless they're acting, which he doubts, Castiel has texted her for the past forty-five minutes, asking her to respond or to at least come home. He hands the phone back to Charlie. "So what do you suggest? What's your plan to make it right."

"Really?" Charlie's eyes light up, and she looks as though a weight has lifted off her shoulders. She leans forward, and together the two of them start planning.

...

A few nights later, Dean is sitting in a booth by himself at his favorite place to eat, The Roadhouse. He may be a little biased since Ellen is his aunt, but free beer and amazing cheeseburgers go a long way when you're broke. Dean takes another look at his phone and takes a deep breath. He should have company joining him at any moment.

The chime to the front door rings and he can hear Charlie. "You said anywhere, Cas. I'm choosing here. I've heard they have the best burgers in town."

"It looks like the burgers will be good." Dean hears Castiel's voice, and it's almost like hearing it for the first time. "It's got that feeling of good, homecooked food."

"Well, I guess we'll have to find out," Charlie replies, a little too loudly and a little too stiffly, almost causing Dean to lose it in laughter.

Dean slides out of his seat, and turns to the entrance, finding a suddenly surprised Castiel, his head whipping back and forth between Charlie and Dean.

"You're here?" Castiel's head tilts in confusion. "I would have figured you hated me."

"You have a highly convincing wingwoman as your best friend there, Cas." Dean nods towards Charlie.

"You did cheat at poker." Cas points at Charlie, accusing her.

The redhead shrugs. "I needed to make sure I won, so you would let me choose where to eat." She winks at Dean. "That being said, I have places to be, so catch you bitches later." Charlie flashes a peace sign and exits the Roadhouse.

"Care to join me?" Dean points to his booth.

"You want me here?" Cas looks at Dean cautiously. "We didn't part on good terms."

"We had no terms, Cas." Dean stops. "Is it ok if I call you Cas?"

Cas nods slowly and walks to the table. "It's always been Charlie's nickname for me. But if she's ok with you using it, I prefer it." He sits on the other side of the booth. "Can I ask why here?"

"Why here, as in why I picked here for our first date?" Dean smiles as Cas' jaw drops. "Because the first two times, we were in your world. There was decadence, and there was opulence." Dean sits down and slides to be across from Cas. "I might dress up pretty, but that ain't me. If you want me like you say you do. If you actually want to know me?" Dean gestures around. "This is my world, Cas."

"That's not me–" Cas stops himself. "Anyway I phrase it, I'm probably going to shove my foot in my mouth." His mouth quirks up in an apologetic smile. "Tell me more about you, Dean? Tell me something that one of Charlie's background checks wouldn't tell me."

Dean snorts in laughter. "Your girl is creepy. Like, I've enjoyed getting to know her, but damn. She knows my favorite color, and I never told her. I wouldn't know what you found out."

"She's good at what she does." Cas agrees easily. He pauses, his finger tapping on his lips. "You said you gave me a second chance because of her. But there has to be more to it than that."

"You want to know?" Cas nods, and Dean continues. "It was what Charlie said, something my friend Andy said, and one other thing."

"What did they say?"

Dean leans forward towards Cas. "Charlie admitted fault and explained to me that you are a good person who wants someone to like you for you, and maybe love you for you." Dean takes a deep, calming breath. "Andy said it's not up to me if someone likes me or not."

"Charlie, while an over-sharer, is not wrong, and your friend Andy sounds very wise." Cas offers his hand.

"Don't let Andy hear you say that. He already has an inflated ego." Dean takes Cas's hand and squeezes lightly.

Cas tilts his head. "So, what's the third thing?"

Dean pushes himself forward, his mouth catching Cas' by surprise. He lets himself melt into the kiss, the feeling of electricity shooting through him just as it did at Cas' house. His hand wraps around the back of Cas' head, locking them together. When Dean pulls back for air, his fingers run through Cas' thick locks. Dean smiles at Cas. "I wanted to see your face when I surprised you with that kiss."

Cas blushes and smiles at Dean. "I look forward to getting to know you. Correctly this time.”

[owl-quill]

Random Supernatural x Once Upon A Time Crossover.

Hook catches the Winchester brothers sneaking around his ship, Emma catches Hook probably planning some vigilante justice.

Just some fun crackfic.

Content notes: just some kidnapping and general threatening behaviour

----

“Well. I guess if any boat here is haunted, it’s that one.” Dean pointed out a tall ship with three masts, standing out from the small yachts and fishing trawlers like a yeti at a dog show.

“Huh.” Sam was unconvinced. It was an unusual sight, true, but nothing supernatural. “Let’s not skip ahead, though, in case the guess is wrong.”

They did walk past all ships at the nighttime-deserted piers, Dean keeping his attention on the EMF meter, Sam on the surroundings, in case anyone showed up. No sign of either human or ghost activity, until they got near the tall ship. “It’s not strong, but there’s something.”

“Let’s check more closely, then.”

They walked up the gangplank as quietly as possible, and after a last look around, Sam pulled the sawed-off shotgun loaded with rock salt out of his jacket. Neither of them considered that there might be a living soul on board.

The EMF meter kept an unusually steady readout, leading Dean to give it a few sharp taps in case it was somehow stuck.

After walking to the stern and bow and back to the main deck again, and short, quiet deliberation, they decided to check below deck. The stairs below were only just visible in the lights of the harbour, and once they were below they would be able to use flashlights without having to worry too much about passers-by getting suspicious.

The second Dean was distracted fumbling the flashlight out of his pocket, there was a thump from Sam’s direction, followed by Sam’s body tumbling down the stairs, crashing into Dean’s legs and throwing him off balance. He hit the deck, flashlight and EMF meter scuttering away, and tried to turn on his back and go for his gun. There was a figure practically flying down the stairs, and the last thing Dean registered was a boot to his head.

***

“Hey, mate, time to wake up!”

With someone’s hand grabbing his face and shaking him, Sam was conscious very suddenly, head spinning. Trying to sit up and push away whoever it was did not work so well, what with his hands and legs tied. Also, “What the hell, where are my clothes?”

“I have confiscated your personal effects, seeing how you boarded my ship with obvious ill intent, and a considerable number of weapons.” The guy got up to hang up the lantern - one with a candle in it - he was holding, giving Sam a moment to take in his getup. A leather coat, black, with matching waistcoat and pants, and when he stood Sam got a pretty good look at the steel hook he used for his left hand, leaving no doubt he was not merely holding it. Great, unless this was an unusually solid ghost, he had been found by a weirdo who liked to dress up as a pirate. And they hadn’t even agreed on a cover story for sneaking onto a ship. Damn.

“Where’s my... partner?”

“Alive,” came the cool answer. “For for the moment. And now I believe you should answer some of my questions. Who are you, and what were you doing on my ship?” He fixed Sam with bright eyes, a slight smile on his lips.

“I’m... we were looking for...” Dammit, his head was still spinning.

“If you’ve lost your memories I guess I have no further use for you.” He drew some kind of curved sword, was that a cutlass?

“Whoa, wait, wait.” With the pressure of the blade tilting up his chin, he spoke quickly, giving the alias they had used when checking in to Granny’s. “We were looking for ghosts, OK? We didn’t mean to cause any damage or harm, really.” The wannabe pirate let the blade droop.

“Ghosts? And why would you think there were any ghosts on my ship?”

“The EMF meter, it--”

“That’s the beeping, blinking thing your ‘partner’ carried?”

Sam nodded. “It detects electromagnetic fields. You get electromagnetic fields were there are no electric cables, you probably have a ghost, and it did indicate something on this ship.”

“So some weird contraption being noisy makes you think you have a right to invade someone else’s ship, and incidentally home, yes?”

“Ah... We didn’t expect anybody to be here... or live here.”

The pirate chuckled, and with a grin and a raised eyebrow asked, “So you were planning to shoot ghosts with that gun of yours?”

Oh, what the hell. He didn’t have to believe in ghosts, he just had to believe Sam believed what he told him. “It’s loaded with rock salt. A hit briefly banishes a ghost.”

He squatted to get down to Sam’s eye level. “And doesn’t usually kill humans, just hurts like fire. That’s interesting.”

With a sinking feeling the guy might be crazy enough to use him as target practice to test that theory, Sam swallowed hard, and tried to control his breathing. “Sir, I’m sorry, you’re right, we shouldn’t have been here. But we really meant no harm, and you’ve given at least me a good scare, so how about we call it even? We can check your ship over to make sure there’s no supernatural danger, or we can leave, which ever you prefer. Or you can hand us over to the authorities, of course.”

“Oh, I’m not planning to trouble the Sheriff with you two. I’d like to have some fun for myself.” He ruffled Sam’s hair, grinning wickedly.

Humans. Humans were the worst. Too damn unpredictable.

***

By the time someone approached Dean, he had been awake long enough to come to terms with his situation, including the fact that he probably was not getting out of the manacles - manacles, not handcuffs, for chrissakes! That did not mean he was happy about it.

He glared at the costumed weirdo. “Where’s my brother, you sunnuvabitch?”

“You might want to pretend a little more respect.”

“Or what, you--” He swallowed the rest of the sentence at the sight of Sam’s shotgun pointed right at his face. After a second, he caught himself and looked the weirdo in the eyes, instead of keeping his focus on the muzzle, and went back to glaring.

“Your brother is alive, and not seriously hurt. I’m still trying to decide what to do with the two of you. Why don’t you tell me who you are, and why you are here?”

With no agreed-upon cover story, Dean reached for the same solution as Sam, giving his alias and otherwise telling the truth, curtly. The gun was lowered gradually.

“So this--” the weirdo pulled the EMF meter out of his pocket “--can detect ghosts, yes?”

“Yeah, believe it or not.”

He switched it on and watched the steady readout for a few moments. “Are you sure it detects ghosts in particular?”

“Or, like, electric cables, but this ship looked rather low-tech.”

“Maybe. But what about other supernatural... energies. Magic, perhaps?”

“What? You’re saying your ship is magic?”

“That she is. What would you do about it?”

Dean looked at him in confusion. The moment was interrupted by the noise of something hitting the hull of the ship. In a flurry of coattails, the pirate disappeared.

***

Hook cursed once again his lack of a crew. Not even one reliable man to leave on watch. It was maddening.

“Hey, Hook! We need to talk!” Emma’s voice. With a sigh, Hook revised his plans for his two guests, and hurried to get a rope ladder. He could see a sail peeking over the rail of the Jolly Roger. “You hear me?”

“That I do. Just a minute!”

One she was on deck, Emma got right to the point. “Do you have the two outsiders here?”

“May I ask what led you to that suspicion?”

“Their car is parked near the habour, Ron saw them sneaking around, and this morning there was no trace of the guys or the Jolly Roger, so, call it a wild guess.”

“All right. I have indeed taken prisoner two men who invaded my ship. Would you like to join me in the interrogations?”

“Hook, what were you planning to do to them?”

“I hadn’t decided yet. Under the circumstances, I shall defer to your judgement.”

“The circumstances being, being caught, eh?”

“Among other things.” He dropped his playful amusement and looked at Emma seriously. “They actually believe in supernatural things and might be a danger to Storybrooke. So I’m not sure what you would consider appropriate.”

Emma cursed. “Good to know. Yes, I need to talk to them.”

“Keep them separate, or gather all together?”

“All together. I want this over with.”

Hook led the way into the main hold and bade Emma to wait.

“Uh, hi,” said Sam, flashing a nervous smile.

“Hi.” Emma raised an eyebrow seeing the prisoner stripped down to his boxers, and sent a ‘what the fuck’ look after the captain’s back. When he came back manhandling someone else in the same state, she asked, “You stripped them? Really?”

“Before you judge, let me show you their personal effects.” He deposited Dean next to his brother, catching the look and nod they exchanged. Before getting the stashed items, he made sure that Sam’s hands were still bound tightly.

He fetched the shotgun he had left near the stairs earlier, put it on top of a crate, and pulled a bundle out of one of the lockers. Unrolling the set of clothes revealed a collection of weapons, two small bottles, and a small leather bag, which Hook laid out neatly. “That’s his.” He pointed at Sam.

“Look, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but it is wrongful imprisonment.”

“Seems more like a citizen’s arrest to me.” Emma put her hands on her hips, making sure the lout saw the sheriff badge pinned to her belt. Hook grinned with delight; It was always nice when the two of them were on the same side.

He continued with Dean’s arsenal, which included two of those modern repeating pistols, several knives, and a beautiful set of lockpicks.

“They also carried this—” Hook added the EMF meter “—and claim it told them there might be ghosts on the Jolly Roger.”

“Jolly Roger? Seriously?”

“Shut up, jerk!”

“Oh, come on, we go looking for ghosts and find some wannabe Captain Hook? What the hell!”

“That’s enough of that!” Emma cut in. “Names. Full story. Now.”

“I’m agent Mercury, this is my, uh, half-brother and partner agent May, with the FBI, we—”

“Yeah, right, and I’m Roger Taylor and he’s John Deacon. Try again.” She sat down on a locker so she could watch them and pulled a cigar box out of her satchel. “I guess if whatever you say is in here, it’s fake.”

“What’s that, Swan?” He looked over her shoulder at a collection of cards with writing and the prisoners’ faces on them.

“Fake IDs. Lots of different names, lots of organisations... They also had an even bigger and weirder arsenal than what you found. They might be more crooked than you were. Are. Whatever.”

Sam heaved a sigh and let his head drop back as far as it would go.

Dean had other priorities. “You broke into my car!”

“Yep.”

“I swear, if you hurt my baby, you’ll regret it!”

“Baby?” The man didn’t strike Hook as the fatherly type, but then, he hadn’t seen him at his best, probably.

“His car,” Sam explained tiredly. After a moment, Hook nodded. Not the pet name he’d pick for his Jolly Roger, but it made sense in principle.

“I asked for your names, guys!”

“Winchester. I’m Sam, he’s Dean.”

“And you are in Storybrooke because...?”

“There’s something off in the area, and we were trying to figure out what. There have been reports of people disappearing, or changing their personality overnight. We... investigate paranormal phenomena.”

“With a whole lot of guns and knives.”

“OK, you won’t believe this, but we’re hunters.” Dean obviously agreed the time for beating about the bush was over. “We hunt ghosts, werewolves, vampires, demons... anything supernatural that’s a threat, we eliminate it.” He held Emma’s eyes for a moment. “Go on, laugh.”

Hook was indeed tamping down an extended chuckle. “What do you say, Swan?”

“This is complicated.”

“It’s all the truth?”

“Absolutely.”

“So why not return the favour?”

“Hook—”

“At your service, your highness!” He swept her a bow.

“What the hell is wrong with you people?”

“Well, he is actually Captain Hook. The real deal. Getting us to believe in supernatural stuff? Nnnnot as tricky as it might be.”

Dean closed his eyes. “We’ve fallen into a vatload of crazies!”

“Dean?”

“What?”

“Remember Dorothy?”

Everyone was quiet for a few moments, then Emma asked, “You met Dorothy Gale?”

“Yeah.”

“All right!” Hook exclaimed. “Now that everybody believes everybody else, all that’s left is deciding what to do with those two dangers to the secrecy of Storybrooke.”

“I can’t decide that alone. Or just with you. How about you take us back to shore?”

“As you wish.”

***

Once Hook had left the three of them below, Sam asked, “He’s... more chipper than I expected from Captain Hook. Is he always like that?”

“No... I guess having someone to kick around put him in a really great mood. Sorry about the sticky situation... But we have an entire town to protect.”

“We have an entire world to protect,” Dean growled.

“We’ll work something out, I hope.”

“Could we please work out us getting our clothes back?”

Emma eyed the arsenal Hook had laid out. “I think I’d rather have some backup first.”

[dyslexicsquirrel]

Title: Anything

Square filled: Prostitute 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Tags: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alpha/Omega, Omega Verse, Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Prostitute Dean Winchester, Virgin Castiel (Supernatural), Anal Sex, Knotting

Word count: 2235

Created for @spnkinkbingo

What was he doing here? This was a horrible idea. Possibly the worst idea he had ever had and he once helped his older brothers sneak Scotch into Almac’s under the eagle eye of Lady Jersey, the most frightening omega the peerage had ever known.

“Oy, you gettin’ out or what?”

The voice of the hackney driver had him jumping, retrieving his hat and cane from the seat next to him and stepping out into the street. The carriage sped off with a crack of the reigns and he looked up at the brick facade of the building in front of him. Candle light seeped from around the edges of curtains drawn tight to hide the goings on inside.

God Almighty, he already felt his cock getting hard in his beeches and was thankful for the drape of his greatcoat to hide his embarrassing state. He was tempted to walk away, but another part of him, devious and whispering temptation, urged him inside. “You’ll find everything you’ve ever been curious about,” it whispered, echoing his older brother’s words that sent him on this errand in the first place.

“Don’t be a prude,” Gabriel had chastised. “Everyone does it. It’s like a right of passage. Our dear old father is the one who took me to my first whore house,” he added with a lascivious grin, lounging across the settee, popping grapes into his mouth as he spoke. “Don’t tell me you aren’t curious.”

And he was, which was what made it so shameful. It was true that most peers, the alphas at any rate, were encouraged to sow their wild oats before marriage, but Lord Castiel James Shurley had always been odd. He thought for himself, flouted convention, and had been, until recently, convinced he would go to his marriage bed a virgin, same as whichever omega his parents deemed suitable for him.

Ever since his first rut hit last year (a late bloomer, everyone had said, seeing as he had been all of six and twenty), he could think of little else. Not even his plants could keep his interest anymore and his fellows at the Horticultural Society were starting to worry. He spent more time locked away in his room than his greenhouse.

The front door opened suddenly, a thin omega in a red dress that was barely proper bathed in the light which spilled into the street, red curls falling from the pile atop her head to brush her shoulders. She smirked at him. “Why don’t you come in, love? We don’t bite.”

She chuckled at her own joke, and Castiel felt a blush creep up his cheeks. Well, he was caught now. It was either look a fool for loitering outside only to run away with his tail between his legs (And why did it even matter, he asked himself. He wasn’t likely to run into this woman in the street.) or stop being a coward and take what he wanted, what he had been fantasizing about for months—a warm, tight hole squeezing around his prick, an omega mewling beneath him.

It as base and common, but, oh, how he wanted it.

He walked up the steps and through the door.

~

The inside of Madam Ellen’s was as gauche and ostentatious as Castiel feared it would be: velvet, gold leaf, filigree, sconces shaped like male members, frescos of men and women, alphas and omegas, in flagrante on the walls for the foyer. There were also… noises. Ones he hadn’t been able to hear outside, but once past the doors they rang in his ears, moans, grunting, growls echoed by softer purrs. Things Castiel would have said were reserved for marriage beds, but were making him warm beneath his clothes, his cravat feeling too tight.

“Charlie, take the gentleman’s coat, why don’t you? I thought I taught you better manners than that.”

The woman who spoke descended the staircase with a regal air, dressed fine enough for any Ton ballroom in blue satin adorned in peacock feathers. She was older, perhaps his mother’s age, handsome, and an omega. Obviously the proprietress, by the way the redhead who let him in jumped to follow her order, which surprised him. He wouldn’t have thought an omega would run a house of ill repute such as this, but perhaps it made sense. Who else would an omega trust to keep them safe but one of their own?

He relinquished his greatcoat, along with his gloves, hat and cane, fingers fidgeting with the buttons he of his waistcoat. Madame Ellen reaches the bottom step and held out her hand with a smile that was more than a touch predatory. Still, Castiel raised her hand to his lips because he was a gentleman.

“No need to be frightened, dear boy,” she said, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow and leading him father into the house.

“I’m not,” he replied automatically and she smiled again as they passed through a doorway into a sitting room filled with numerous couches. Artfully displayed on a number of them, omegas posed for inspection. Castiel stopped in his tracks, eyes widening, arrested by half clothed limbs.

One omega in particular, seated by the fireplace, golden skin gilded by the fire, stole his breath. He was… stunning. Tall and leanly muscled, with green eyes and light brown hair, he wore nothing but a silk dressing gown from what Castiel could discern. The material split over one of his thighs, leaving his legs bare, long and made smooth and hairless by a process he couldn’t even begin to guess at. It fell off one shoulder, to behalf of his chest visible along with a single, pert nipple. A wine glass filled with ruby colored liquid dangled negligently from his fingertips, eyes trained on the flames before him.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Hmm, good choice,” Madame Ellen murmured, too close to his ear, her scent overpowering, but he didn’t pull away because what if he made her angry? The last thing he wanted now that he’d seen this omega was to be tossed out on his ear. She stepped away, one hand around his arm, the other beckoning the omega. Her lips curled in a sly grin. “Dean, dear. Come. Someone has requested your company.”

~

Castiel had no earthly idea what the room he was led to looked like because once the door shut behind them, Dean shed the robe he wore, tossing it over a chaise lounge pushed against the wall across from the bed, which he only glanced at when Dean laid back against the bedding. Propped on his elbows, everything wasI’m display. He looked like sin incarnate, half lidded eyes and a smile curving his plush lips. The blue silk sheets and velvet bed hangings were sumptuous and the color set off the omega’s skin in a way that made Castiel think they had been chosen specifically for that purpose.

“So,” Dean said, the deep cadence of his voice shocking Castiel, as well as the fact that he was American. He found himself wondering how this man had come to be here. “How would you like me?”

“I don’t know,” he stuttered, fidgeting with one of his cufflinks.

“Don’t be shy.” His voice lowered and he sat forward as though he were sharing a secret, the lean muscles of his abdomen flexing, candle light catching on all the dips and curves of his body. Smile turning coy, he informed Castiel, “I’ve tried everything. Nothing you ask for will shock me.”

“I don’t know what to ask for because I haven’t done anything. Shocking or otherwise.” He hadn’t meant to admit that, but the words tumbled from his lips and it was too late now to take them back.

Dean sat back, stunned, eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. “No shit?” The omega’s green eyes ran slowly up and down his body, making Castiel blush. “Been a while since I was with a virgin. Probably since I was one myself,” he added with a wry twist of his lips. Then he stood, walked toward Castiel, his movements I’m yes with sensual grace, and began tugging on the knot of Castiel’s cravat. “Well, that just means I get to ruin you for everyone else.”

Cas believed Dean could do it, too, as he slowly, efficiently, stripped Castiel of all his layers. He seemed pleased with what he saw, licking his lips when he uncovered Castiel’s cock, pupils widening. Dean ducked his head to run his lips along Castiel’s chin.

“I should have asked before, but what’s your name?”

“Cas,” he said even though only his family ever called him that.

Dean hummed, tongue licking up his neck. “I’m going to take care of you, alpha.”

Lord above, that went straight to his cock. He had been imagining making an omega scream his name by the end of the night, foolish seeing as he had no prior experience to call upon, but he thought it was going to be the other way around. 

~

Silk gripped between his fingers, Castiel groaned, stars filling his vision. He was on his back on the bed while Dean rode him as skillfully as a jockey at the Ascot. It was better than he had ever dreamed. The omega’s channel was hot and wet, squeezing him so tightly it bordered in pain. The scent of his sweat and the slick running down his thighs filled the room, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head when Dean clenched impossibly tighter.

Dean caressed Castiel’s chest, thumbs plucking at his nipples, then leaned down to kiss him, nipping at bottom lip. “Are you going to knot me, alpha? I can feel it, Cas. It’s so big.”

“Oh, God,” were the only words he could get past his lips. He untangled his fingers from the sheets and curled them around the omega’s hips.

His breath bathed Castiel’s ear with his next words, so softly spoken, but they were like ice water through his veins, reminding him of what this was. “It’s extra.”

“Anything,” he choked out, groaning, hips snapping up, chasing his release. He would give Dean anything, anything he wanted. He didn’t think he could live without this, without him.

Dean straightened, breath catching, and held on while Castiel thrust into him. His nails dug into Castiel’s skin. He thought Dean might have drawn blood but he didn’t care enough to look or to tell Dean to stop.

He was transfixed by the sight of Dean succumbing to pleasure. Eyes closed, head tipped back, he stroked himself with one hand, panting through parted lips. He was perfection.

Castiel’s knot swelled even more, making it harder to push inside. The noises their bodies made was a symphony Cas had never heard before: skin against skin, the squelch of slick being forced out of the omega’s channel. Frustrated when his knot pulled free of Dean’s sheath, the omega’s body resisting its entrance, he dug his fingers into Dean’s hips and tugged him down when he drove up. Dean shouted, spend painting Castiel’s chest, milking his knot.

Dean collapsed against his chest, hips rolling to pull the rest of his release from him, not that he thought he would stop anytime soon regardless.

“How was that?”

Dean’s question had Castiel barking a laugh. He ran his hands up and down the omega’s back, over the swell of his generous backside. “I want you to be my courtesan.”

Dean stilled. Slowly, his head lifted from Castiel’s shoulder. His eyes were wide with disbelief. “You can’t be serious. We’ve only just met.”

“I’ve always known what I wanted,” he told Dean, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. He confessed, “Truthfully, I don’t think I could stand the thought of anyone else touching you.”

“I did say I would ruin you for anyone else.” Dean spoke the words softly, voice filled with melancholy.

Castiel traced Dean’s cheek. “I will have to marry. One day. And were it a more perfect world…” He trailed off, not willing to say the words aloud. They would only serve to make them both sad. “I have more money than I could spend in two lifetimes. Let me spend it on you. You would have the freedom to do what you wanted when we aren’t together, run your own household, revive a monthly stipend.”

Dean studied him, fingers tracing idle patterns in the skin of his chest. “What happens when you decide you don’t want me anymore?”

The question was pragmatic for someone in Dean’s position, but it broke Cas’s heart. Conscious of his knot which had yet to abate, he sat up carefully so as not to jostle Dean too much and hurt him, and wrapped the omega in his arms. He couldn’t see that happening, but all he said was, “Everything will be yours to keep. I put the house in your name. You’ll have your own accounts.”

Dean looked away, biting his lip as he contemplated Castiel’s offer. “You are the best lay I’ve had in years,” he mused and tossed Castiel a cheeky smirk.

The alpha growled, rolling them over, trapping Dean beneath him. Dean’s laugh morphed into a moan when Castiel started circling his hips. “Is that a yes?”

Dean didn’t answer with words. He pulled Cas into a kiss, wrapping around him like he would never let him go.

[sailorchiron]

Day Three of Michael Guerin Week!

Further Adventures of college Michael and Alex.  

Read on Ao3

Dance Floor Anthem “Alex, that sounds completely lame.”

“No!  Why?”

“It’s just lame.”

“That’s not a reason.”

Michael looked up to where is boyfriend was perched on his bed, looking outraged and amused at the same time.  Alex has the most expressive fucking eyebrows.  “Alex, I can’t believe I have to explain this to you, but school dances are lame.  Even in college.  Especially in college.”  He watched Alex climb down from his lofted bed to sit across from him in his desk chair.  “I’m still going to say no now that you’re at eye level.”

Alex laughed, and Michael’s heart swelled at the sound.  Every time he made Alex laugh, he hoped a little of the pain of his past was washing away.  Michael felt like every time he made Alex laugh, a little of his own pain was washing away, too.  When Alex leaned in to kiss him, he didn’t even pretend to resist.  

“Kissing me won’t convince me to say yes.”

“Are you sure?”  

He laughed.  “Why do you want to go to a dance, anyway?  Who even knew there were school dances in college?”

“It’s not a ‘dance,’” Alex replied. “It’s a ‘dance party,’ which sounds slightly cooler.”

“Uh, no, no it doesn’t.  Why are you so set on going?  You hate popular music.  And normal people.  The room will be crawling with Greeks.”

“I’ve never gone to a dance with a date.”

“Dates just limit your options.”  He grinned when Alex cracked up.  “Did you even go to dances in high school?”

“You saw my prom pictures.”

“I mean, other than that.”

“Yah, with a big group of people that included Maria and Liz.  And Kyle,” he added with an eye-roll, “since they were together most of high school.”  

“Can I punch him when I meet him?”

“His parents are cops, probably not the best idea.”

“That’s a damned shame.”  Michael looked into those velvet-dark eyes.  “You really want to take me to a dance?”

“I’d love to take you to a dance.”

Michael was helpless to resist that sweet, hopeful little smile.  “If it’s totally lame, we can leave.”

“Absolutely.”

“You can’t put evidence of me dancing on social media.”

Alex laughed.  “Okay.  I won’t post videos of you dancing.”

“Or pictures.”

“Fine.”

Michael couldn’t help but smile at Alex’s borderline giddy excitement.  “I’m going to regret this.”

***

At first, Michael thought he was in the process of regretting it.

As he’d predicted, the room was full of frat boys and sorority girls.  Even though this was a ‘dry’ dance, people were drunk.  The music sucked.  At least to him.  Maria and Zoey had headed for the dance floor within seconds of walking in.

He looked at Alex, and decided he’d deal with the bad music and annoying crowd.  His boyfriend looked elated.  It took him a second to figure out why.  Of course, he thought to himself.  We’ve gone on dates but they were super casual because we’re not rich.  This is our first ‘out’ event.  He’s never had the luxury of going to a dance or party with a boyfriend before. He’d die before he’d deny Alex the chance to be in a group of their peers and be open about his first relationship.  In light of this, Michael slid his arm around Alex’s shoulders where they stood against the wall, and grinned at Alex’s delighted smile as he put his arm around Michael’s waist.

“Do you think this is as lame as I do?”

Michael and Alex looked over to see one of their suite mates, Dean, standing in a posture of utter annoyance with his girlfriend, Felicity, who looked like she was going to burst with amusement.

“It’s not that lame,” Michael answered.  “I have a cute boyfriend to dance with.”

“I have a cute girlfriend,” Dean argued, “and it’s still lame.  I can’t dance to this shit.”

“It’s not my fault all you like is old hip hop,” Felicity complained.  “This song is amazing, come on.”  Michael and Alex watched her drag him onto the dance floor for some R & B song that neither of them had ever heard.

“I do want to dance with you,” Alex said into his ear over the din.  “I’m sure all the music won’t suck.”

“I’m sure,” Michael answered, smiling.  At least, he hoped all the music wouldn’t suck.  He noticed Alex staring intently at the dancers.  “What?”

“Look at the guy Maria is dancing with.”

Michael scanned the crowd until he spotted her.  “Damn.”  He was hot.  

“She always gets attention from the hottest guys,” Alex commented.  

“She’s hot and a total flirt, so I’m not shocked.”

Alex laughed.  Michael was glad he wasn’t worried that he was into Maria anymore and could laugh at the comment.

They watched the dancers until the song changed, and Michael felt a sense of dread.  “Don’t you dare.”

“You cannot expect me not to dance to this song,” Alex answered, and he let himself be dragged onto the dance floor for one of his boyfriend’s Panic at the Disco favorites.  “What song is this?”

“Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off.”

Michael couldn’t complain when Alex draped himself over him.  Almost couldn’t breathe from the full frontal contact of Alex against him.  Had to echo Alex’s arms over his shoulders by sliding his arms around his waist, hands just barely skimming his ass.

And then Alex started singing the incredibly sexual lyrics in his ear, in that gorgeous voice, and he felt goosebumps break out all over his body.  Dances with Alex were definitely not lame.  Michael couldn’t quite believe that Alex was being so openly demonstrative, but he had noticed some other queer couples in the room.  Not that Alex ever tried to hide their relationship, he was just a little shy about it.

By the time the song was over, Michael was hard enough that he was ready to drag Alex to the bathroom for some alone time.  He could feel that Alex was in the same state, but was pretty sure he would not want to be dragged to the bathroom for alone time.

They danced to the next song, even though it wasn’t a favorite of either of theirs, just to stay pressed against each other.  The following song was Britney Spears, and neither of them could stomach the idea of dancing to that, and they headed for the back of the room laughing, arms around each other.  

Maria and Zoey joined them a few minutes later, each carrying bottles of water than had been exorbitantly expensive.  A few guys were hovering nearby, clearly taken in by the gorgeous, vivacious, and obviously single girls talking to guys that couldn’t possibly be their boyfriends.  They all watched the crowd for a while, laughing at the worst dancers and trading stories about high school dance disasters.  Alex mentioned Maria’s unsuccessful attempts to get him to go to dances in drag, Zoey talked about senior homecoming at which her boyfriend dumped her for another girl during a slow dance to Whitney Houston, and she’d punched him in the face and gotten suspended for three days. 

Not long after that, a song that Michael loved poured out of the speakers, 80s rock classic Silent Lucidity.  Couples throughout the room were coming together to dance to the slow song, and Michael realized that Alex had probably never gotten asked to slow dance with someone.  He turned to him, smiling.  “Dance with me?”

Alex smiled.  “Yah, I’d love to.”

Michael led him into the slowly swaying crowd and wrapped his arms around Alex, and felt his arms tight around his shoulders.  They were the same height, so they couldn’t really rest their heads against each other’s shoulders, but Michael was perfectly happy when Alex pressed his face against his neck.  He loved that Alex did that when he was emotional.  Eventually, though, he raised his head and smiled into his eyes.  

Michael couldn’t resist.  He leaned in, giving Alex a chance to pull away if he wanted to, and pressed their lips together.  This boy had his heart, and he couldn’t think of a better way to express his utter adoration than by kissing him in front of everyone there.  Showing Alex just how proud he was to call him his own.

They kissed for a little while; Silent Lucidity was kind of a long song.  When he pulled back, Michael rested his forehead against Alex’s, just breathing, just loving him.  They hadn’t said the words yet, but he could feel every ounce of Alex’s love for him as they slowly moved to the music.  It wouldn’t matter when they announced it to each other, their love was real and solid and almost a physical tether wrapped around them, holding them together.  When Maria’s mother had read his palm at the beginning of the year, she’d told him he’d have one true love for his entire life, and there was no doubt in his mind that Alex was that person.  He’d seen Alex’s matching love line, and was sure he felt the same way.

They stayed at the dance another hour or so, eventually leaving and walking back to their room, hand in hand.  It was a chilly night, and their snazzy party attire wasn’t protecting them from the wind, and they were cold and laughing about it when they stumbled through the door, still a little high on the excitement of their kiss on the dance floor.  It hadn’t been their first public kiss but the little pecks they’d shared when parting at different spots to go to class and occasional soft presses with small groups of friends just weren’t the same.

Alex initiated the kiss; he deepened it and pushed Michael against the bed frame, grinding against him.  They hadn’t had sex yet and it wasn’t going to happen tonight - he still thought Alex needed more time - but fuck if they were going to bed hard, either.  He kissed back, hands on Alex’s ass, loving his fingers in his hair.  When Alex started unbuttoning his shirt, he helped then started on Alex’s clothes, pushing the open waistcoat off his shoulders and hurriedly opening and parting his soft lavender-grey shirt before dropping it to the floor.  Nice thing about sharing a room with his boyfriend - they’d seen each other mostly naked before they ever started dating and neither of them had been remotely self conscious when they’d started making out the first time.

Alex’s hands were on his belt, and he waited for him to get his pants open before he reached for his.  His jeans were sinfully tight, and Michael couldn’t wait to get him out of them.  As much as he thought skinny jeans were ridiculous, he couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed seeing Alex’s body showcased in the tight denim.  

“Fuck, Michael,” Alex breathed, laughing.  “I have to sit down to take off my shoes.”

He pulled back, laughing a little.  “Yah, do that.”  He stripped off his clothes while he watched Alex untie his boots and pull them off.  “You looked amazing tonight.”  

Alex gave him a radiant smile.  “So did you, sweetheart.”

He called Alex baby; Alex called him sweetheart.  He felt a little thrill every time.  Michael watched him stand up and pull off the rest of his clothes.  Alex was fucking gorgeous, he had the most beautiful skin and he couldn’t wait another second to have his hands on him.  “Your bed?”

“Sounds good,” Alex answered and they climbed up, laughing because there was no graceful way to get into a lofted bed.  Michael settled on top of Alex when he flopped over on his back, kissing him with intent.  This was the best part of making out with Alex, the build up.  Getting off was, of course, fantastic, but taking the time to touch and kiss and sigh was so, so good.  Michael had always thought of Alex and too special to rush with, and Alex clearly enjoyed all of the attention and wanted to reciprocate.  

“What do you want?” he whispered against Alex’s lips.  

“Just this,” he gasped out, holding Michael’s hips to push up against him.  

“Let me get lube.”  

“Too close,” Alex complained.

“So much better with it,” Michael countered.  He looked across the room and saw that it was sitting on his desk, reached with his mind, and brought the bottle to his hand.  “Here,” he panted, pouring the liquid into his palm and lifting up a little to stroke them both.  If felt amazing.  “I’m close too, baby.”

Alex called out, gripping Michael’s hips.  “Fuck, yes.”

Michael resumed moving against him, kissing and biting at Alex’s neck.  He’d left marks before, and that hadn’t been a problem for either of them.  And the fucking sexy moans he got in response to the nips was a huge fucking turn-on.  He felt the moment Alex tipped over into oblivion, and bit down hard on his neck, earning a strangled shout.  Michael kept grinding down as Alex came, and finished himself in two or three thrusts.  Nothing in this universe was a fucking hot as Alex having an orgasm.

He collapsed on the other boy’s chest, panting, floating on clouds of bliss, sighing when he felt Alex flop heavy arms over his back from where they’d fallen to the mattress.  He nuzzled his neck, kissing softly.  He still wasn’t used to the luxury of getting to bask in the afterglow as long as he wanted; no authority figures were going to catch them being naughty together.  He smiled when Alex gently wove his fingers through his tousled curls.  He never wanted to move.

“Mm, sweetheart, we’re going to be glued to each other if we don’t clean up.”

Chuckling, Michael forced himself to lift up onto his elbows to look down at Alex, and couldn’t resist kissing his smile.  “Sad but true.”

“Shower or just wipe ourselves off and pass out?”

“I’ll take option two.”  He carefully crawled off of Alex and looked over the edge of the bed.  Spotting his t-shirt from earlier in the day, he pulled it to himself with his powers and cleaned them both off to the best of his ability.  Alex chuckled, he was always amused when Michael used one of his shirts for this, since he’d never used one of Alex’s t-shirts, even though they were both in the laundry basket.  Dirty shirt thrown off the bed, they tucked themselves under the covers, and Michael turned off the lights with a thought.

“Thanks for taking me to a lame dance,” Michael murmured, laughing when Alex did.  “I enjoyed being your date.”

“I thought dates just limited your options?”

Michael kissed Alex softly.  “Yah, doesn’t really matter.  The only option I cared about was you.”

[stusbunker]

Known Finale: Just One of The Many

A Supernatural DARK Fan-fiction

Featuring: Demon!reader x Moc!Dean,  Dean x Chloe “CC” Collins: Hunter/ Nephilim Anomaly OFC, Charlie Bradbury, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Death, and Amara

Summary: CC deals with the consequences of her actions. Dean gets a voicemail and our reader finds that Winchesters rarely heed any advice. Some dialogue is taken from canon. This is it folks, the final chapter. Thank you so much for reading until now. xoxo Stu

Beta’d: @thoughtslikeaminefield and @dontshootmespence Ladies, I owe you more than I can express.

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS

Series Masterlist

*^*^*^*^

Dark Dynasty

May 6, 2015

Sam’s Code Breaking Hideout

          “Sam and Dean are like my brothers. I love them.” Charlie stood before Rowena, soft and sure.

            “I know. And that steadfast loyalty will be your undoing, my girl,” Rowena’s brief kindness faded into a marked taunt. Charlie squinted at the witch’s retreating form before looking to CC for shared annoyance, instead she found a gentle agreement on the hunter’s face. 

CC wasn’t one for cat fights and she certainly wasn’t going to add fuel to the fire Sam had started by shoving the hacker and the Queen Mother of Hell together, but Rowena had a point. Charlie was just more forgiving than most and CC had been in the life too long for that kind of optimism.

May 7, 2015

Crowley’s Earthside Operation

            “--look, I get it. She’s unpleasant. She’s horrible. She has a messy workstation! What’s the dirt?! There must be something that I don’t know about her. Something I can hold over her as a bargaining chip. A demon lover?” Crowley was incensed with a hamster in a cage, which would have been concerning, if you didn’t understand the hamster as well as your boss. “You don’t need to paint a picture.”

            You bit back a smile as the hamster spewed off Rowena’s questionable decisions like a grocery list.. Naturally, his birth came up along the litany. As his patience started to slip to microscopic proportions, you cleared your throat. “She once saved a little boy’s life.”

            “You, not funny,” Crowley bellowed over his shoulder before he leaned down to glare at the hamster.

            “Oh, come on, it is a little funny, but that’s only ‘cuz it’s true,” you purred, leaning your elbow on the opposite side of the cage’s lid, eyebrows raised in challenge. Crowley’s dark eyes danced over yours as the hamster that was once Olivette grew unnaturally quiet.

            “What’s the punchline?” he demanded.

            You sighed and mock whispered, “he’s still alive.”

            “And?”

            “I’ve met him. Tall, cherub curls and innocent as a Rockwell painting.” The hamster slowly crawled to your side of the forgotten wheel. Crowley listened as you explained the story you had pieced together, a tale of a friendly witch who’d been adopted by an impoverished farming family, lifetimes ago. Before you could give him more than the bare outline of Rowena’s startling past, he was bellowing for a minion and the taste of freedom started to ghost over your tongue.

 Blackbird Motel

            CC picked up the phone on the third ring; it was Cas in a panic. “Chloe, what are you doing?”

            “Girls’ night out, grabbing some pay per view and thinking about throwing a motel party,” CC mocked as she checked that the door and the windows were secure.

            “You know that the Stynes will stop at nothing to find the book.” CC rolled her eyes at the patronizing tone from the angel.

            “Well, it’s a good thing we don’t have the book. Look, she needed a Rowena free space and I can’t blame her. Let the woman work so we can get this over with, once and for all,” CC closed her eyes as Charlie set up her computer, backpack full of notes left on the table untouched.

            “It isn’t just Charlie I’m worried about,” Cas’s voice dropped in warning.

            “We’ll be fine,” CC replied tersely. “I’ll call you when we know more,” she added to appease Charlie’s worried glances before hanging up. “Alright, I don’t think I bought us much time; work your magic.”

            The rain muddied everything, CC’s alertness as well as any sound or scent outside. She hadn’t sat since they arrived, knowing that even a lumpy mattress would push her exhaustion away in the blink of an eye. Startlingly quick, Charlie found the cypher. Just as CC decided she would always bet on red, a gut dropping pound sounded at the door. She waved Charlie into the bathroom as she released her knife from her hip.

            “I know you’re there, Miss Asimov,” a taunting drawl notched CC’s adrenaline to eleven. “You have it, I want it!”

            CC’s mind raced, no time for witty replies now. She had been out of practice and somehow the Book of the Damned had juiced up this family into something she didn’t know how to kill. He banged again, voice genteel and grating. She inhaled and finally spoke, “it’s not here, Jethro. You can back off.”

            “Well, that wasn’t too hard now was it?” And he kicked in the door. He was striking, refined and enraged, and missing half an arm. CC recoiled briefly before squaring up, knife at the ready, focus locked onto her target. “You’re not who I was expecting, darlin’. But either you’re gonna tell me where that book is, or I’m gonna take it out of your little redheaded friend.”

            CC heard Charlie’s voice through the rain and the thin walls, but she doubted whichever Styne stood in front of her could. Help was on the way, all CC had to do was hold the guy off for twenty minutes and the cavalry could clean up. Except fights never lasted that long and the glare he was shooting, told her he thought he’d already won.

            “You should leave, trust me.” CC walked toward him, he wasn’t overly large, a hair smaller than Dean. It was the unnatural way he moved, despite massive blood loss that had her questioning her every step.

            “Not until I get what’s mine,” he bit the last word out with curling lips. He leaped at her, right hand swatting hers as he stepped into her space. Bloody stump of a forearm pushing into her throat. CC dropped lower, getting a nick to his side, slicing through waistcoat, shirt and flesh in practiced motions. He didn’t flinch; the only indication he felt the wound was how his nose flared as he looked into her eyes, disdain dripping from his every pore.

            His hand locked around her wrist, squeezing, the tendons screaming until she felt her bones snap. She kneed his groin, using her center of gravity to push him back. Her knife useless in her misconnected hand, CC dropped it, leaving them to spar on more even terms. The broken in door swung on its hinges in the storm outside and just as CC spotted the shadow watching them a heart-stopping thwack and shattering of plastic sounded from the bathroom. In the second it took CC to realize they knew Charlie was still there, she froze. The blonde kicked her blade to his silent partner and before CC could get out more than a slight force of will against them, they had her caged in.

            His mangled arm wrapped around her neck, unable to grant the pressure he wanted, so he tipped her face at the ceiling, broken wrist pulled across her chest like a frayed seatbelt. The other Styne, the one in the long woolen coat kept quiet, inspecting the intricate carvings on each side of her treasured weapon. The one restraining her let out a low whistle. 

“Oh, that is nice, a bit too classy for the likes of you, though. Now, you gonna sit politely and let us finish our business here, or are you gonna make my cousin put you down with your own blade, girl?”

            CC was, had, and would never be the type to sit politely. She jammed her left elbow into her cage’s ribs. A guttural shriek came from her chest as she tried to bend low enough to get him off his feet in an augmented arm toss. But that only occupied one of her opponents; with little more than a raised eyebrow the cousin jabbed in and down, pulling her collar open like a macabre off the shoulder number. Everything burned, CC fell to her knees, the blonde man walked her down. The gold started to spark in her periphery, and she willed her body to stop. She couldn’t heal, not in front of these kind of men, if any part of them even remained human. Suddenly a hand was on her jaw and her neck popped. She fell, broken and trapped inside her own mind.

            CC watched their tailored suit pants and polished shoes retreat to the bathroom. The sound of blood thrummed in her ears masking the rain and the demands, but not Charlie’s cries. Those she heard as tears of guilt burned through until she willed her eyes closed with the last wisp of energy she could muster. She didn’t want to black out, she needed to stay in control, but her body stopped listening.

            She sat up in a lurch of panic, neck reattached despite herself. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, there he was, covered in Charlie’s blood.

            “Chloe! Thank fuck, what happened?!” Sam crouched over her, eyes misting with grief and shame. She couldn’t answer him, her throat remained partially crushed, and it took nearly all her focus not to repair the damage-- to give herself the pain, a shallow penance for Charlie’s life. Her eyes returned across the room, to Dean holding Charlie’s face in his hands like a parent in comfort, stroking the hair from her face. CC’s sob came out in a shrill wail, gasps as the reality and terror flooded her senses. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Sam’s voice held more than the moment, it was a blanket covering their entire operation. The deceit that was supposed to help, yet it only pushed Dean further away from them all.

The Woods

            Dean felt CC’s brows raise as his words cut into Sam at the pyre, but he didn’t care. This was on her almost as much as it was on Sam. He was so sick of people he trusted letting him down. But this, this was wrong. It was Charlie and she was gone. Screw ‘em. Screw all of them because he couldn’t look them in the eye anymore; their betrayal was beyond gut souring.

            “Yeah, you had a shot. Well, you’re all terrible shots, ‘cause Charlie’s dead. Nice shot.”

            Sam looked up, trying to find his words, to combat the monotoned cruelty of Dean’s voice. “You think I am ever--- going to forgive myself for that?!”

            “You want to know what I think? I think it should be you up there, not her.” Dean barely even moved to deliver the last blow. CC cleared her throat, unable to listen any longer. 

“Don’t get me started on you! This thing with Cas and the book ends now. Shut it down before someone else gets hurt. You both understand me?”

            “What about you?” Sam was the beaten puppy that could.

            “Oh, I’m gonna find whoever did this. And I am going to rip apart everything and everyone that they ever loved, and then I am gonna tear out their heart.” He wasn’t even enthused about it, it came off like weekend plans, point by point.

            “Is that you talking, or the Mark?” Sam needed to stop asking questions.

            “Does it matter?” Dean left the challenge hanging in the air, walking away. Leaving those responsible to watch Charlie burn.

The Prisoner

            Dean waited on Rudy to run the plates while he pointedly ignored a call from Cease. Setting his sights on Shreveport, he went back to listen to the voicemail she left him. Which started off with oddly timid ramblings before she got to her point.

“Maybe in another life, we could have had something close enough to normal. But not after everything.�� Dean could hear her sniffling; her voice came back with a bite to it. 

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Charlie, about everything. I should have protected her, but I couldn’t even do that for you. And I fucking hate that, but it’s on me. No matter what you say or do Dean, it is on me. Not Sam.

But apologies are for regret, and I don’t regret trying to help you. If goodbyes are forever, well I aint ready for that sappy shit.”

Dean closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the headrest, it didn’t even hurt anymore. Nothing could touch him; it was the ghost of loss that haunted him. The guilt of unfeeling. Somehow it all came back to rage. He huffed, tongue teasing his back teeth.

“So, I guess, take care of yourself because that’s what I gotta do now.” The line stayed open for a fathomless beat and then the electronic female voice was reading him his saving options. Dean slammed the end call button, leaving Chloe’s voice hanging in the ether between a saved and deleted message.

Curtis’ Motor Court

Brother’s Keeper

            You sifted through the mess of Dean’s making, curious to see if he’d return. He’d certainly given the $39 a night room the rock star treatment. Without any current errands for Crowley, you decided to try your luck. Dean had gone radio silent and that only meant one of two things: he had succumbed to the curse on his arm, or he was done with you. Either way, you had to be sure. Sam found you in the end. He came in, gun raised and desperation bursting out with his big heaving chest.

            “Hey there, Sammy,” you greeted glibly, perched beside the note and keyring. “He knew you’d show.”

            “Who are you?!” Sam barked behind his intricate gun.

            “Just looking for your brother, I’ve been hearing things and it sounds bad,” you sighed, letting your eyes fill in.

“What do you want with Dean?” Sam kept his gun in one hand and reached for his flask.

You raised your hands in surrender. “Same thing as you, want to make sure he’s still Dean. That he’s safe. That everyone is safe.”

“You’re?” Realization washed over him, causing you to hum against a giggle. The latest vessel’s voice bubbly despite your best efforts.

“Long time.” You stood holding out your hand, which you awkwardly tucked into the back pocket of her jeggings. “Heard you struck out on Crowley, too bad on that.”

“Yeah, well, he deserves it.” Sam stuck his tongue in the side of his cheek. “Have you seen him? Any idea where he’s going?”

“Not where, but what,” you sighed and looked up at Sam with warning. “He’s done, Sam. He told me so and after Charlie, I can only imagine—”

“Wait, what are you talking about? When did you see him? You know what, forget it. I’ll find him on my own,” Sam turned to go.

“If Crowley can’t crossroad deal something away and Cas can’t heal it off, who would Dean go to?”

“He hates praying,” Sam shook his head. He flinched, but instinctively caught the keys to the Impala you tossed to him.

“Somebody he knows, Sam. That’s he’s seen, face to face.”

He left without a goodbye or any gratitude, but you allowed Sam his head start.

Juanita’s

Outskirts of Tulsa, Oklahoma

            You pulled up to the run-down restaurant just as Sam stormed inside, your demon senses telling you to stick to the perimeter. Death had already answered Dean’s call and the combination of voices left you enough to eavesdrop with. The hallway that lead into the main dining space was caked in dust. Dean’s voice bellowed, and it was as if you felt the hit his words landed on Sam. This wasn’t your place, this was a sacred conversation, of families and honor and things creatures like yourself couldn’t quite grasp anymore. It was also maddening.

            When the punches started flying you stalked in, earning nothing more than a single finger shush from Death himself. Dean had the upper hand, but that didn’t make you feel any better about his state. Sam yielded, bloodied on his knees. Dean was dark and determined, flashes of a younger soul clouding your thoughts.

            “You’ll never, ever hear me say, that you, the real you, is anything but good,” Sam pleaded from the floor. He spat and pulled himself taller. “But you’re right, before you hurt anyone else, you have to be stopped, at any cost.”

            Your vessel’s blood ran cold. Sam’s tears somehow made their way to your eyes and he nodded to the eternal executioner. “Do it.”

            Dean looked back to Death and he handed Dean his scythe. “Please, do me the honor.”

            Dean took the weapon in awe, gauging the curve of the blade and the balance in the handle. He appeared transfixed and obedient. You tried to scream, but nothing came out. This wasn’t Dean’s destiny, no matter what Cain nor Angels decreed. He couldn’t kill Sam. Dean would not. He inhaled and faced Sam’s shaking form, towering over his brother who had been bigger than him for nearly twenty years. Everyone froze as Dean told him to close his eyes, something he probably said a thousand times before.

            Sam prevailed, he pulled scraps from his jacket and set them at Dean’s feet. Begging him to find his way back, to himself and to family. Death knew better than to let a sibling’s pleas go on too long.

            “It is for family you must proceed, Dean. To be what you are, to become what you’ve become is a stain on their memory. Do it or I will,” he wasn’t demanding, he was calm in a finite kind of way. His words crawled in your ears and taunted your every memory of Dean; it was as if Death could reimagine him into someone else just by sheer force of will. Truth and your unshaken faith in the man Dean was, at his core, beat back Death’s sway.

            Dean paused, genuine anguish in his features as he let Sam make the final call. Even though Sam nodded for him to proceed, Dean asked one last thing from Sam, “forgive me.” 

He lifted the weapon and swung a wide arch, clear into Death himself. The puny man disintegrated before your eyes and suddenly you were in control of your vessel once more. You staggered into the room, legs wobbling from strain at fighting Death’s hold. 

You missed a moment the brother’s shared before blurting out, “What the fuck was that, Dean?!”

            “I think I just killed Death,” Dean sounded on the edge of fear. “Who even are you, lady?”     

            A dumbstruck Sam chuckled, “Dean, this is, uh, Chloe’s demon? I guess.”

            “Y/N? Nice digs.” You smiled gently as Dean’s lip quirked.

            “Wait, you know her actual name?” Sam sputtered as thunder rolled in, made from a wall of voices, out of nowhere.

            “Does that sound right to you?” Dean worried just as the flash of lightning burst through the ceiling. You screeched as Dean groaned with the impact, the magic peeling the Mark of Cain from his skin like an instant laser treatment. Just as quickly as it arrived, it returned through the roof. You gaped at the haphazard miracle you had all witnessed.

            You followed Dean cautiously, his hand reaching back to take yours, pulling the door shut behind you. Sam started talking through the disbelief. “This is good. Dean, this is good. The Mark is off your arm, nothing crazy happened, you get your baby back.”

            Dean dropped your hand to take the keys from Sam. “Yeah, I’m sure everything’s perfectly fine.” Nothing came without a price. Dean headed to the car as sizzling jolts of pink lightning webbed across the sky. Pillars of bolts staggered like tendrils in patternless cascades. Then it stopped.

            “What did Death call this?” Sam knew his victory speech had been a tad premature.

            “The Darkness,” you and Dean said in unison.

            Erupting from the points of impact came giant streaks of black smoke, denser and grittier than any demon. They shot through the sky like dancers hitting a mark, synchronized destruction. They merged in a nearby field and exploded into a boiling mound of matter, growing like an ancient horror show entity. Constantly expanding as you stood beside the pathless hunters.

            “Get in the car! Let’s go, let’s go.” You didn’t even hesitate, Dean pointed, and you listened, sliding into the backseat as if you had never left CC, never been cast out, never been a demon. The sheer terror of the moment dwarfed the realization and you slammed your foot down to help Dean accelerate, a phantom driver. The Impala’s back tires spun through the mud and you gripped the middle of the front seat, desperate to make the escape. The rear wheel fell into a pothole and Dean threw his door wide, panicked.

            “Dean!” Sam looked to the looming shadow as it grew closer, an unstoppable avalanche toppling everything it passed. In two breaths, it had overtaken the Impala. One moment you felt eyes on you and the next Dean had disappeared. Doors and windows all secure, but he was gone. The rolling black cloud jostled the car frame, knocking Sam out before you could ask him if he saw his brother. With every ounce of strength, you had you pushed the backdoor open, the endless tide of fog pushing you back, a tadpole against the current.

            Losing your vessel was your only hope to find Dean in the Darkness, you left her outside the Impala and swam up. This wasn’t the soaring you found most freeing, this was a frenzy of sound and force thrashing against the streams of your being. You reached out with your senses, feeling for Dean, his heartbeat, his scent, his voice. Needling through the chaos desperate to find him. Then you heard his name on the wind and someone else’s tongue.

            She stood with Dean in a clearing that was still drenched in shadow. She was dark lines and angles, elegant black dress hugging her effortlessly. He called out and you dropped down, trying to hold your molecules together in some discernible form. If he saw you, he didn’t reach out to touch you then. He was transfixed by her, by the Darkness personified. He stood challenging her, demanding why she hasn’t atomized him. Then she played him with the destiny card, endlessly bound by the mark on her clavicle. THE MARK, lock and key.

            There was no thought, just white hot, blinding rage. You snaked between them, spreading out to hold her from him. He had come too far to be made into her mindless drone. You had to stop her, you had to save him. As she leaned forward, closing the distance between her and Dean, you screamed without vocal cords. Vibrating with ownership you tried to push her back. You felt her eye your gaseous state and suddenly everything ceased to be. 

 There was no longer Darkness, nor Dean, nor you. It was just, Empty.

Cedar Rapids, Iowa

Dean pulled away from the pristine farmhouse, leaving Jenna and Amara in the safety of family. He had another long drive ahead of him to catch up with Sam. Now that Baby was passenger free; his mind got too loud. He thought that Y/N had been plucked out of the car with him; he couldn’t see her, but he had felt her until he didn’t. There was a gnawing in his stomach on the whim of her bailing on him and her vessel. Something the Darkness said without saying filled the void of doubt with an unwanted certainty.

“No matter where I am, who I am, or who is in the way. We will always help each other,” she promised him. Dean felt it was more warning than devotion, though he couldn’t help but agree. He may have lost the Mark, but he was far from free of it.

*^*^*^*

Epilogue

[enkelimagnus]

The Last Fairy on Earth - Chap 2

Winx AU, Clizzy & Others

Chapter 2: Welcome to Magix

Read on AO3

Clary has found a new friend, Izzy, and together they will make lots of discoveries. Mysterious creatures threaten Izzy, the fairy of the Sun and Moon. She knows how to defend herself. But she should be thankful for Clary’s help. Could she be a fairy too? We’ll find out at Alfea, the school for fairies.

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

Clary and Izzy walked out of the forest and into a clear space that seemed to surround the walls of the castle. Around them, young women were appearing out of nowhere, their suitcases in hand. On the side, there was a tall metallic column, upon which a great M was inscribed. A bus seemed to be parked on the side of the column.

Clary didn’t know exactly how, but something about this place made her feel at peace, comfortable. It was familiar in a way. She had made the good choice by coming here, she thought to herself. At least she hoped so.

Izzy was still holding her hand, and she led her through the gates of the school, a large pink archway with two wing-like doors that seemed to be open wide for all students to walk in. The girls around them were beautiful and fashionable, Clary noticed. She also noticed it was mostly women that seemed to attend the school.

“Are there no guys?”

Izzy shrugged. “Fairy powers usually occur in women. We don’t really know why, but you’ll find there are only a few boys at the school, or as fairies, around the realms. Men with magic usually follow wizard studies, or paladin ones. That’s the traditional thing to do, I guess.” She explained.

Clary hummed. There was an interesting idea of gender roles going on in this realm. It was for sure interesting. She would ask around for more about that. For now, she focused on the luminous courtyard they had walked through.

It was beautiful, with comfortable-looking stone benches, a big fountain decorated with an art-deco metallic structure, and emerald-colored grass.

"This place is gorgeous," she whispered. The deep pine green of the forest bled out into the grass outside of the gate, but not this one. The only reason Kiko wasn’t already running after the butterflies that flew around the courtyard was because he was scared of the new surroundings, and stuck close to Clary’s side.

Izzy had let go of her hand and was looking at her with a smile. Clary wondered if she felt like that too, after walking into the castle. For some reason, Izzy seemed to be used to it.

Next to the fountain, a tall man with blonde hair and some interesting scars on his cheeks was going through a list. He was wearing dark teal blue dress pants and waistcoat over a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and a couple of unbuttoned buttons. A young woman Clary’s age was standing in front of him, and looking very nervous.

"What is your name, young lady?" the man asked.

Clary turned to Izzy for a moment. “Who is that man?”

“That’s Hodge Starkweather, Head of Discipline,” Izzy explained with a shrug. “He looks like he doesn’t have a heart, but I think it’s in there somewhere.”

The young woman that was being interrogated by the Head of Discipline mumbled her name. "El... Eleanor of Delona. I... I sent my registration form a few..."

"Alright,” Starkweather cut in, “let’s see if your name appears on the list. Eleanor, Eleanor. Are you nervous, young lady?"

Clary realized what was happening immediately and turned to Izzy. “We’re going to have a problem. I’m not on the list. I didn’t register, I didn’t even know about this place until yesterday.” She could feel everything crumbling down around her. She’d left her home, she’d left everything and now she was going to get booted out of what she’d chosen to leave her life behind for.

She could feel some sort of panic attack arriving and she did not want to have one in front of everyone, in this place, where she was going to get rejected at anyway.

“Yes, you are on the list,” Izzy shrugged. “At least somehow. I have thought of everything, my dear. The Princess of Callisto was supposed to come here this year, but she changed her mind for some reason.” She pulled an envelope out of her pocket. It was a little crumpled already, and the light that came out of Izzy���s hand and started burning it ensured it wouldn’t be readable. “She gave me a letter to give to the Headmistress. I just won’t give it to her, that’s all. Anyway, no one here knows the Princess of Callisto, she’s never really left her realm. Her parents are some of the kind that inspire fairytales about imprisoned princesses."

Clary was a bit gobsmacked. She hadn’t been expecting this from Izzy, who seemed so regal and princess-like. Now she was expecting her to lie about her identity, take someone else’s name and spot, and not care about it.

"And you want me to take her place? Come on, Izzy, we’re being dishonest here."

Izzy shrugged again and looked at her. “It’s nothing. No one will care. Besides,  it’s too late to turn back now. Do you want this, or not?”

Clary barely had time to say yes or no before she and Izzy were standing in front of Hodge Starkweather. He was taller than her for sure, with serious blue eyes. She couldn’t help but stare at the crescent-shaped scars on his cheekbones for a second.

“Good morning, Mr. Starkweather," Izzy said with a sunny smile.

The man raised an eyebrow and looked at her. "Well, if it isn’t Princess Isabelle of Solaria,” he said in a tired and sarcastic tone. Clary was starting to believe that, at school, Izzy was much wilder than when she was in full princess mode. “I never thought I’d see you back here. After what happened last year, I’m surprised you’ve chosen to grace us with your presence... once again."

Clary’s gut feeling was right.

Izzy shrugged nonchalantly. "I don’t give up that easily you know."

The man almost rolled his eyes at her before turning back to Clary. "Right and who’s your friend?" Clary swallowed and stared back at him, trying to stay as calm as she could and not let transpire that she wasn’t supposed to be there.

"The Princess of Callisto,” Izzy introduced.

Hodge Starkweather looked through the list. "The Princess of Callisto? Hmmm…” For a few excruciatingly long seconds, he seemed to struggle with finding her name. “Ah! Varanda Callisto." He finally exclaimed.

"Yeah, that’s me."

Starkweather nodded and checked something on the list. "You two may come through. Next!"

Clary carefully kept herself from running towards the other accepted fairies. She needed to play it cool. Somehow, she already felt like it wasn’t going to last for very long. She wasn’t good at lying, and she wasn’t comfortable with what she’d just done. When they realized she was a fraud, they would expel her, and then she would have nowhere to go.

“So… what happened last year?" Clary asked curiously.

Izzy had a bit of a guilty look on her face before she shook her head and waved her hand around, dismissing the question. "Ugh! It was nothing, Mr. Starkweather loves to dramatize."

As they walked towards a small gathering of students, Izzy left her for a moment and went to say hi to a few people she knew. She was back soon and they chatted, waiting for… something? Clary wasn’t sure what but she was following Izzy’s direction, since she seemed to be doubling this year.

After a moment, Hodge Starkweather cleared his throat and gathered everyone in a group in front of the entrance. Clary quickly looked around her and counted everyone that was there. They were 36, and she was guessing they were all first years.

"This school will be your home for at least the next three years,” Starkweather started, standing tall with his hands behind his back. “But it doesn’t mean that you get to do everything you want. I trust that you were all educated with some sort of discipline and sense of restriction, and things will not be different here. The rules of this institution are based on discipline. Disregard these rules and I’ll personally escort you to the front gate.”

The threat resounded in the silent courtyard and Clary could feel herself falter a little. She was lying about her identity, for sure this would cost her her spot here the second they realized what was going on. She sent Izzy a look, and the dark-haired fairy winked at her in reply. Clary didn’t know if she was reassured by that.

Starkweather continued. “This is not a magician’s school. You’re not here to learn hocus-pocus. We expect our future Guardian Fairies to be responsible and mature. Consequently, you may not use your powers in the hallways or other common areas. In fact, the only place you may display your powers is in your classroom under teacher supervision,” he explained. He then turned to Izzy and gave her a pointed look. “Is that clear, Princess Isabelle? Thanks to you and your antics, the Potion laboratory will not be accessible until the next month at the earliest. Now, I think you know what not to do, if you wish to stay.”

Clary looked at her friend. Izzy was a bit flushed, seemingly from embarrassment at being put on the spot this way. So it really seemed like Izzy was much wilder and likely to cause trouble than she had looked like before. Clary found that she liked that.

"You did that?" Clary asked, whispering.

Izzy shrugged, but it was obvious she was trying to disguise her guilt and shame under a careless and tough attitude. "So? My father paid for all the damages."

Clary opened her mouth to reply to her but there was a clearing of throat. "Sorry, I’m late, I hope you’ll excuse me."

A group of four people were walking towards them. At the head of it, the woman who had spoken was radiating wisdom and confidence. She was Black, her hair styled in an afro, and she looked powerful. With her was a dark-haired woman with glasses and a beautiful up-do, a tall man with horns, and a silver-and-black haired man using a cane to walk.

“Students,” Hodge Starkweather called out. “Here comes Dean Cleophas Graymark and your professors. Attention!”

The black woman chuckled. “ I hope Mr. Starkweater hasn’t frighten you too much,” she said in a gentle voice. “Welcome to Alfea! The best fairy college in the whole of Magix. Well, it’s also the only one.”

Clary had a small chuckle at that. She liked Ms Graymark.

“Come on in, everyone,” the Dean called, as she started walking up the stairs towards the great doors of the college.

They walked through tall emerald doors into the warm, candlelit entrance hall. Across from the door that they’d come through was a great flight of stairs, leading to the first floor. On the wall, where the staircase divided in two, was a great window with a decorative colored glass design. The design represented a fairy, standing tall, hovering over the ground. On the sides of the stairs and behind it were alcoves, with additional doorways leading into corridors. Clary looked around curiously. No matter how dark the corner were, they did not scare her. She felt safe there. She felt at home.

“And so we begin our orientation session,” Ms Graymark explained, looking around the room at the small crowd. “by the end of which, we should all know each other better. Becoming a fairy is hard work, but I know everyone here can do it. Keep in mind that the teachers and I are always here to help you.” She seemed to exchange a look with Hodge Starkweather before starting again. “Feel free to explore your surroundings, you have no class today.”

Izzy leaned towards Clary and whispered. “Now she’s gonna say “However, you would be smart to stay away from the Witches of Cloud Tower. Listen!”

Just as Izzy finished talking, Ms Graymark took a more serious air and said in a more firm tone. “However, you would be smart to stay away from the Witches of Cloud Tower!”

Izzy made a little ‘yes’ and punched the air in satisfaction. Clary chuckled at that.

Starkweather glared at them before calling to everyone. "Alright, speeches are over, everyone’s dismissed, you’re free ’til dinner time."

Ms Graymark nodded. "Good luck, everybody, I’ll see you all tomorrow. Oh... and classes start at 8 o’ clock sharp. Do be punctual."

Clary didn’t really have time to think before Izzy had grabbed her hand and was pulling her up the stairs. Kiko ran after them quickly. They turned into a corridor, with high rib-vaulted ceilings. Again, the warmth of the light that came through the window was comforting to Clary. She didn’t know if it was the magic or something else.

"You’ll like Dean Graymark,” Izzy smiled. “She always says the same thing, but she’s really nice."

"Who are the witches of Cloud Tower?" Clary asked curiously. She hadn’t heard anything about them for now. This world held many more secrets than expected.

"Magix has three major schools,” Izzy explained. “Alfea is one. There’s the Red Fountain, school of Specialists, that’s where the guys that saved our asses go. Finally, there’s the witches’ school of Cloud Tower."

“What’s the difference between a witch and a fairy? Are we really enemies?”

“They use dark magic, while we use light magic. It’s not really a big difference, and in essence, we’re basically the same, but they are vessels of darkness, and usually, they have less than pleasant intentions. Witches or fairies… we’re all there to preserve magical balance in the universe. We wouldn’t want them gone.”

Kiko was running a bit ahead of them, sniffing about the corridor. He was getting braver in his explorations.

They started walking past rooms with names written on a list, pinned to the doors. Izzy quickly checked every one of them, and Clary just followed her. She knew what was happening. She knew what this place was about and where to go and Clary desperately needed that right now.

They stopped further into the corridor. Izzy grinned, pointing at the list. "Hey look! We’re in the same apartment!”

Clary blinked at the list. “Isabelle of Solaria, Helen, Varanda of Callisto, Lydia, Aline, and Maia of Andros,” she read out. “Why do some only have first names?”

“Because they’re not royals,” Izzy shrugged and pushed the door open, walking into the room. The main room was square, with five doors and a little living area, complete with a computer desk, a table and a small kitchen. “That’s my room over there, the same one I had last year,” Izzy explained and pushed the double door open.

The bedroom was big, with a giant closet taking over a wall, and a big, circular bed with delicate see-through curtains. Light was streaming in from a big window with a balcony.

"You’ve got a room all to yourself?” Clary exclaimed. She looked back at one of the other doors, on which there was a sign reading ‘Helen, Varanda of Callisto’. She sighed. She was not going to be able to have even a small moment of intimacy to keep her cover intact. “ I’ve got a roommate.”

Izzy frowned. “That’s strange. Varanda is a royal, so she should have a solo room too,” she thought.

Clary huffed. “Didn’t you say her parents were weird?”

“Right. They wouldn’t have wanted her to be alone in a room.”

Clary crossed the common living area again and pushed open the door of her room. She stepped inside, closing the door behind herself. As she shifted to let Kiko walk next to her, she felt something under the sole of her shoe.

A loud cry of pain resounded in the room, and it sounded so human that Clary opened wide confused and sorry eyes. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” She exclaimed, turning to see who she had hurt.

Instead of a person, there was a potted plant. A quite ugly potted plant, that seemed to be muttering something in a strangely human voice.

“No, no, excuse me,” someone said, and Clary turned around again, hoping that this time, she would be faced with a human person. Well, at least fairy person. She sighed in relief as she was greeted by the sight of a young blonde-haired woman. “I just got here and well, I left my things all over the floor,” she said in an apologetic tone. “This is a talking plant, one of my creations. My name is Helen.”

Helen wore a green maxi dress with a floral pattern and some simple cord sandals. She looked sweet and elegant and Clary somewhat felt guilty for not only stepping on her plant but being so annoyed about having a roommate.

"Uh, my name’s Clary,” she said without thinking.

Behind her, Izzy cleared her throat loudly. “Clary?”

Fuck. She was so bad at this. Clary looked around with a bit of a nervous smile and shook her head. "I mean, yes, Clary is a name I like a lot, but it’s not my name. In fact, my real name is... Varanda of, uh, Callisto. Yeah, that’s it." She sounded absolutely hesitant, and she wouldn’t have faulted Helen for finding her weird.

"Callisto?” An unknown voice said. “Fourth world of magic realm’s upper ring. Wow! That’s quite a ways away.”

A young woman around their age stepped in the room as well. She had a short purple haircut with some dirty blonde roots, and wore lavender and yellow sweatpants. That was unusual. Well, everything about this world was unusual, to Clary.

“Hi,” the purple-haired woman said. “I’m Lydia."

Izzy took on a bright smile and turned to her. “Isabelle.”

"Hey, I’ve heard about you,” Lydia said with wide eyes.

"Me too,” came a voice from outside the room. An Asian woman with short black hair in pigtails looked at them, walking through the door. “By the way, before you blow up your room, give us time to duck and cover, okay?" She joked.

Izzy huffed, growing red again. "Oh, it was just an accident, if you really want to know."

Lydia raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "An accident that got you expelled? How did you manage to get readmitted?" Her tone was somewhat curious, but she seemed to be having trouble with emoting more than that.

Izzy had a small chuckle. "Well, the truth is they couldn’t do without someone as gorgeous as me,” she joked. Clary chuckled. Izzy seemed to be quite uncomfortable discussing the events of the past year. Clary guessed she would be too, had she been in her shoes.

There was a sudden loud yelp and Clary turned around. The plant that she’d stepped on earlier was now holding Kiko by the leg, and the poor dog was screaming in fear.

"Bad plant!” Helen scolded. “Put him down right away!"

Clary shook her head, looking at her dog. She knew Kiko well enough to know there was probably more to the story than just a facetious plant. "No, Helen. Don’t scold your plant. Kiko probably tried to eat it. It was just trying to defend itself." She said as she noticed some green around Kiko’s mouth.

"Speaking of food,” Izzy said, stretching her arms up. “What do you say we eat out tonight? It’ll be our way of celebrating the new school year."

"Great idea,” Helen smiled.  “That will give us a chance to get to know one another!”

“I heard something about food?” Another voice resounded and another girl walked into the room. She was black, with curly hair and a sweet smile. Her eyes were a gorgeous dark brown shade. She wore a black crop top and some oversized cargo pants, with chunky sneakers. Around her neck was a fancy necklace, and Clary guessed it was probably crown jewels, like Izzy’s necklace.

“You must be Maia of Andros,” Izzy grinned. “So nice to have another royal here!”

“Isn’t Varanda a royal?” Lydia asked with a frown.

Clary mumbled. “Oh yeah, but Izzy and I have known each other for so long, it’s almost like we’re family.” She immediately went back to the food to deflect the attention onto something else. "Anyone for pizza?"

"What’s "pizza"?" The dark-haired Asian girl asked. Clary hadn’t managed to catch her name.

She’d thought that pizza was going to be an easy way to get everyone to agree but she guessed there wasn’t any pizza here. That was a very sad world, if there was no pizza. Clary briefly wondered if she could get her parents to send her pepperoni pizza regularly in packages so she could survive the year.

"Yeah, what is it?" Helen asked.

Clary struggled to find an answer to that. "It’s the national dish of Callisto... More or less."

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

As they all walked out of the rooms, carrying their purses, the girls didn’t realize they were being watched.

Hodge Starkweather stood in the shadows, following them from their room to the courtyard. He knew something was up with these girls, especially Varanda of Callisto. She didn’t look like Hodge’s memory of Varanda, and she didn’t even look very much like the King and Queen of Callisto.

That and her nervous behavior told him something was afoot.

He let them go, watching as they walked out of the castle and waited for the bus to Magix to get to the stop.

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

The bus ride was entirely smooth. Clary didn’t remember the last time that she’d been in a bus that wasn’t bumping along the ride. She was actually convinced that it was impossible for a bus to drive smoothly.

The bus came to a halt and a little jingle resounded from speakers. Following it, a voice that was almost too naturally human announced the name of the stop.

"Magix station! Last stop, please transfer here!"

Izzy nudged Clary and she got up from her seat. The six young women walked out of the bus and out onto the sidewalk of one of the busiest streets of Magix City.

Clary looked around. The cars had no wheels and hovered above ground instead of rolling on roads, but that was probably the strangest thing that there was about this place. It looked a bit futuristic compared to Gardenia, rounded and smooth buildings in gravity defying shapes but it wasn’t what Clary had expected.

She didn’t know what she had expected, really. Maybe something more fantasy-like. Here, it all looked more scifi than fantasy, and she guessed she’d wanted to see that side of the fairy realm she’d dreamt up. Horses and flowers everywhere and a sense of atemporal awe.

"You look disappointed,” Izzy said softly, looking at her.

“I guess so,” Clary sighed. “It’s different from what I thought it would be. You know… Magix City, Capital of the realm of Magix, most enchanted city in the universe?"

"Well, what did you think it would be like?" Izzy asked curiously.

"I don’t know. Dragons, gnomes, wizards, shops full of magic wands..."

The dark-haired woman couldn’t help but laugh. “Dragons, gnomes and wizards exist. But they aren’t exactly the same as story book ones. Dragons are wild, except for the ones kept at the Red Fountain. Gnomes are usually in forests, and wizards well… You met one yesterday.”

Clary opened her mouth and closed it again.

“I guess I thought it would be more… outwardly magical,” she ended up saying. “It seems relatively normal…”

Isabelle shrugged. “The thing is, here, magic is normal. It’s everywhere, and it’s not a big deal.   Here everything lives off its own magical energy. If you want to see it, you just gotta look."

Aline huffed. “Now that we’re done with the intro, can we get to the restaurant? I’m starving.”

Clary chuckled. “You’re right. Let’s eat!”

They all started walking towards the closest food court, Helen leading the way. Aline was chatting with her as they walked, while Lydia, Maia, Izzy followed closely. Clary was a little bit behind, regularly getting held back by looking around at the city. The magic was easier to see now that she knew it was there.

They walked past a eye glasses shop and she caught sight of a tall yellow person, but they were turning their back to her and she didn’t see much more. She didn’t really focus on that, but rather pegged it to the diversity of people in the magical realm. After all, there were already witches, fairies, wizards, and gnomes, according to Izzy. A big yellow person was probably something that existed to.

They made it to the food court and each chose their foods. Clary followed after Izzy’s order, repeating it as closely as she could. When she got her food, she realized that it looked a lot like pizza, actually, except it wasn’t called that at all. That was good to know, at least she could eat something familiar.

The six girls sat around the table. While Izzy and Clary had the pizza-like meal, Lydia had chosen a sort of soup, and Maia, Helen and Aline all had some noodles, served with thin slices of meat and vegetables. They started eating slightly after and chatting.

“So what brings all of you to Alfea?” Izzy asked, munching on her piece of not-pizza.

Clary swallowed. She didn’t know if that was the best question to ask, since she had no idea what Varanda would answer.

Helen straightened up before she spoke. “I was chosen amongst all fairies of age of Linphea to be sent to Alfea to become my kingdom’s Guardian Fairy. The Guardian Fairies of Linphea have always been chosen outside of the royal family. It’s a great honor for me to be there.”

Clary opened wide eyes. “That’s amazing! You must have been so good!”

Helen had a bit of a blush. “I was the best of all preparatory schools, and my skills in healing and defensive magic, and nature magic were a big reason why I was chosen.”

“Well, next to you, I sure feel like I don’t have the credentials,” Izzy huffed. “I was sent to Alfea because my parents wanted me to have the best possible fairy education. Whether I become Guardian fairy or not isn’t really what matters. They just want me to be the best. That’s why I’m here and not at the Solarian Fairy school.”

Aline smiled. “That’s still great. Your parents seem to care a lot.”

“I guess so,” Izzy shrugged, toying with the crust of her not-pizza. “I kinda wish they’d care differently though.”

“Alfea had the best enrollment to graduation ratio,” Lydia said, shrugging. “It was the best choice, logically. And unlike some other good academies that have fairy curricula, it allows non-royals to enroll for free.”

Aline nodded. “That was definitely an argument for me too. I knew I wanted to be a Guardian Fairy rather than just a music fairy. Else I would have gone to the Golden Auditorium. And since the Princess of Melody didn’t want to be a Guardian, I just jumped on the occasion.”

Maia slurped one of her noodles as everyone turned to her. She chuckled. “Princess of Andros. Don’t really have a huge choice about it, my parents really expect a proper fairy education.”

Helen turned to Clary and smiled. “What about you, Varanda?”

Clary opened her mouth to say something but Izzy shrugged. “You know. Varanda, Maia, me, all royals. Stuff is expected of us for sure.”

Clary nodded. “Yes, exactly.” She looked at the time. She’d left Gardenia hours ago. She sighed. “I need to call my family. I’ll be right back,” she said, as she took her phone out of her pocket.

“What, with that?” Lydia huffed, pointing at the iphone in Clary’s hand.

“Yeah. It’s my phone.”

"This is prehistoric technology,” Lydia chuckled. “Where did you get that thing?"

Clary looked up at her with a frown. “That’s… not possible.” Unless they considered a couple of years ago to be prehistory, this was a rather recent model.

“Damn, I would have thought the Princess of Callisto would have some serious tech, but that’s just… cute,” Lydia chuckled. She twisted the phone around, looking at it. “But it’s really interesting in a like… research way. Old tech is so fun to study.”

Aline nudged her, raising an eyebrow and Lydia sighed, before turning back to Clary. "Sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed, that was rude."

Clary shook her head. “It’s fine.”

Izzy rummaged through her purse for a second before she took out a bright purple card with a phone logo on it. “Here. That’s my payphone card. There’s a cabin right outside of the court.”

“I’ll pay you back,” Clary promised, taking the card and running off towards the payphone cabin.

She closed the door of the pod-shaped cabin before sliding the card in the slot. A screen lit up, showing her different options of call destination. She slid through several menus before she managed to find “Earth”. It seemed not to be a popular call destination. She entered the codes and the phone number and waited.

The tonality was a bit different than the Earth one, she noticed. There was a light noise and her mom picked up.

"Hello? Clary?"

"Hi, mom,” Clary sighed in relief. She hadn’t really known if this was going to work. Magic phones were not something she was used to.

“How is it going, darling?” Amber asked presumably from the other side of the universe.

“Everything is great,” Clary sighed. “The school is wonderful. I’m sharing a dorm with Izzy and four other girls. We’re currently out in the capital of the realm, and I had pizza that wasn’t called pizza at all!”

Her mom chuckled on the other side. “That’s great, Clary. Did you get your first classes already?”

“No, courses start tomorrow morning. But don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted, alright?” Clary smiled, and she turned around, twirling the cord of the phone in her hand as her eyes watched people walk by without really realizing.

“Don’t forget to be careful, okay? And call us whenever you can.”

“I won’t forget, I promise!” Clary said, and just as she was saying that, she saw it.

The yellow monster that had attacked Izzy, then her and her family in Gardenia. Was it following them? She had to do something, she had to follow it and try to keep it from her friends!

“Uh, mom, I’ve gotta go now, my friends are calling me, so a big hug and kiss daddy for me please. Bye.” Clary said as fast as she could before slamming the phone back on its hook and running out of the cabin.

The creature was acting weird. It stuck to the walls, trying not to be noticed, and creeping around the corner. Clary followed it as quietly as she could. As they both turned around the block, she noticed it was watching a group of people. It didn’t take long for Clary to recognize her friends.

It was insane how fast she’d gone from ‘these are strangers’ to ‘these are my friends’, but she’d always been a bit like that. She’d always been always ready to adopt people in her family.

She kept following the creature, even as it left its watching point and started walking into a dark alley. She swallowed. She wasn’t exactly super comfortable with finding herself in that alley but she really needed to know what was going on. And she was a fairy. She could defend herself, couldn’t she?

Clary settled behind a trash can, and watched as the yellow creature stopped in the middle of the alleyway. Suddenly, as three silhouettes moved out from the shadows, clouds gathered and wind blew, the temperature dropping sensibly.

The one that seemed to be leading the three people was tall. She had blonde hair, held up in a ponytail . She wore a sleeveless navy blue bodysuit and a royal blue cape, with boots a darker shade of blue. Down the front of the suit, Clary could see a white stripe that formed a thin belt with the letter "H" over the stomach. She had fingerless gloves, and even from far, Clary could see the dark eyeshadow that covered her eyelids.

On her right was another woman. Her hair was long, brown, styled in loose curls. She had the same type of bodysuit as the first one, except it was a dark purple color and her pants were shorter, more Capri-style. Her gloves, ankle boots, and choker were all a lighter shade of purple. From the choker down was the same white stripe as the first woman’s, except it formed the letter “C” instead of H.

On the left of the H-wearing one, was a third woman. She had brown hair as well, but tanner skin, her hair streaked with dark fuschia. It was messier than her dark-haired friend’s. Her clothing was a bit different, with a dress instead of a bodysuit. It was a dark fuschia dress with a flared collar, matching elbow-length gloves that stopped at the palm, fuchsia tights and short, dark fuchsia heeled boots with pointed toes. She had a choker as well, and the white stripe formed a “K”.

Clary couldn’t help the feeling of doom and gloom that overwhelmed her at the sight of them. She was trying to inch closer to listen more but the yellow monster moved, keeping her from watching and cutting off most of the conversation.

Finally, it moved again. “Well, that’s better,” Clary couldn’t help but mutter. Something shifted in the air, but she didn’t pay much attention to it. The three women and the creature had seemed to stop chatting and she almost swore. She had missed all of it.

Suddenly, she was brutally shoved by some sort of great force and she flew out of her hiding place and landed painfully at the feet of the women and the creature. She knew it had been someone’s doing, but she couldn’t remember feeling any… hands. It had been more like some sort of crashing wave or wall.

She struggled to get up, her whole body aching. The first thing she saw was the first woman’s boots. She looked up. They were all looking down at him with smirks on their faces, and all Clary could think was “run”.

The purple-wearing one disappeared suddenly, and Clary blinked. Nothing made sense.

"So, did you like our little joke?" H-girl asked, a cold chuckle in her voice.

Clary didn’t have time to reply because behind her, where her exit should have been, a voice resounded.

"Turn around!” The purple one exclaimed. “Surprise!" She was laughing at her now, looking at her like she was dirt under her shoe. Her cold smile didn’t reach her eyes. Clary could only feel cold. And scared.

She couldn’t be scared. She was strong, and she’d shown herself as strong, and powerful, in front of much uglier monsters. She’d helped defeated the troll and the red ant monsters, she could take down three twenty-year-old women, right?

“You won’t hurt me,” Clary exclaimed, trying to get up somewhat. Her body was shaky, and she couldn’t explain why. "I am a fairy!"

She opened her hand, and tried to get herself to shoot out some sort of energy blast. All that came out of her open palm was a little trail of glittery sparks, and they didn’t even graze the three women.

The blue one’s laugh was cruel, and it hurt Clary. She’d thought she could do it, but now that she was in an actual magic realm, nothing had happened. Was it only working in Gardenia?

"Ha! You think you scare us?” The blue one laughed. “I’ll show you magic.”

She held out her arms. From her hands came out icy blue sparks, and the temperature dropped down in seconds. Clary felt her hair rise and her body get colder, her teeth starting to shake. With another motion of the woman’s hands, giant icicles starting to bloom from the ground, trapping Clary in between sharp ice blades. She felt it some nick and tear at her exposed arms.

The one dressed in purple, the one that had shoved her earlier, moved forward next. With hands joined and palms opened, she threw a soundwave into the icicles. They broke, and Clary was sent flying back again, unable to catch herself as she fell. She was frozen, she had a headache and felt dizzy from the shock of the crashing sound wave.

She couldn’t do anything but watch as the third woman stepped forward. With a great snarl, the third one summoned was Clary could only describe as a tornado. She was swept away, and she screamed in fear. She couldn’t keep herself from showing how terrified she was. The tornado winds slammed her into the wall of a house, too high, and Clary grabbed onto the closest she could find, the edge of a balcony. Her cold fingers felt like they were going to break as she held herself there.

"And that is magic, little girl,” the third woman shrugged.

Clary made the mistake of believing that this was over. A very stupid mistake. An icy wind caught her and pried her from the balcony edge.

“Get down here! I’m not done yet!” The first woman exclaimed.

Clary cried out. It slammed her down into a pile of trash. Her breath was painfully forced out of her lungs and she struggled to regain it, feeling heavy weight on her entire rib cage. Her eyes seemed to be unable to really focus as tears of pain were overflowing them, blurring her surroundings.

“And now... The final touch!”

She didn’t get to take in her breath before ice grew over her. It started from the ground and encased her feet, growing over her entire body and pushing it upright, forcing her back to arch back. Her eyes were still open, she could see but she couldn’t move. It was so cold. She was going to die in there.

The blue-wearing woman walked to contemplate her work, and hummed in appreciation. Clary wasn’t able to hear what she was saying, as she scratched her nails onto the ice.

Clary, prisoner of the ice, was only able to watch. The three women seemed to be disrupted by something and Clary somehow saw what it was. Her friends stood in front of the women and the creature. The two groups exchanged taunts and the creature charged towards the fairies. Clary wished she could do something.

The girls dodged the first attack. Light blinded everyone suddenly, and when Clary could see again, the five young women were now in their fairy forms. Clary had already seen Izzy’s before, the orange crop top and short combo, but she’d never seen the others’.

Lydia circled the monster. She wore a full-body suit of a sparkling lavender color covering her torso and legs. Her powder blue knee-high high heeled boots struck the ground with certainty. She screamed something. Her wings were so different too, Clary couldn’t help but wonder why. It seemed that hers were the only ones that did not look like traditional fairies wings. Rather, they were green and in the shape of a glider. It was the same green that poured out her when a cage, which Clary guessed was why she had screamed earlier, materialized to imprison the yellow monster. It buzzed with an energy Clary could feel, even from within her icy imprisonment.

Aline striked next. She shouted something, probably the name of a spell, and her pigtails moved as she shot the energy beams towards the caged monster. Her outfit was now a glittery red left-sided one strap top with translucent pink fabric at the middle, a red mini skirt covering some matching shorts, and red knee-high wedge boots. It seemed strangely feminine for what Clary had seen of Aline’s style, but fairy forms were true representations of fairies’ power, not a stylistic thing.

Magic-made sound waves seemed to pound around the monster’s head, and even the ice vibrated. Clary saw Izzy wince at the sound of the magic waves. It was affecting everyone. Aline seemed to be the only of them not to be kinda uncomfortable with the sound. That could be due to the headphones her fairy form had added to her outfit.

Helen still looked uncomfortable as she flew forward, holding out arms covered in light pink elbow-to-wrist fingerless gloves. She blew on her hands and lime green magical pollen flew towards the monster. Clary had the time to notice that the pollen was the same color as Helen’s wings, line green, translucent and shaped like leaves.

The magical polen planted itself in the ground beneath the caged monster and wrapped around its limbs. Right as the energy cage broke, Lydia’s spell not holding for long, the magical plants held the monster tied tightly so it wouldn’t escape. Helen got back to the ground, fuschia dress blowing and revealing the mini shorts underneath, just as the vines growing around the monster seemed to get a life of their own and threw the bound creature towards a wall. The monster screamed as it flew.

As the three scary women realized the creature was defeated, they turned towards the fairies. The blue one, whose powers seemed to be ice-related, sent a burst of icicle daggers flying towards them. All the fairies gathered behind Maia, who deployed a plasma shield.

Maia’s outfit was an all-green, just as sparkly as the others’, ensemble, composed of a one-shoulder top and a mini skirt atop mini shorts. There was a sash connecting her top and skirt, and several silver rings around her outfit and on her arms. Her wings were sky blue with spiky-styled mauve tips, the same mauve as the plasma shield she was keeping up.

Immediately following the ice burst, the fuschia-wearing woman was the next to attack. Her energy ray was electric and it made Maia’s shield explode, sending all of them onto the ground.

Clary wished she could get to her friends, but she couldn’t feel anything in her body but the cold that was taking her over. She watched as Izzy stumbled to her feet and grabbed her scepter.

Suddenly, there was no more ice.

Izzy transported them nearby. Clary could still feel the cold, and she was struggling to move, every breath feeling hard and painful. Izzy sat down by her side, wrapping her arms around her tightly. Clary closed her eyes.

Izzy started radiating heat, and Clary snuggled deeper against her, laying her head on Izzy’s chest and sighing. She was shaking slightly but Izzy kept her close, one hand gently caressing her exposed, frozen skin.

“You’re gonna be alright, Clary,” Izzy whispered gently. “It’s okay, you’re safe now. You were so brave, I’m so proud of you!"

Clary could feel herself smile, at Izzy’s words. She was glad Izzy wasn’t mad at her for getting herself in danger, for getting her in the kind of situation where she could have had her scepter stolen.

She was starting to move and feel much better. As they both looked up from their little bubble of warmth, they noticed the four other girls, standing above them with arms crossed and something a bit annoyed on their faces.

Aline leaned forward, looking at them. “So. Is there anything we should know about Clary of Callisto?" She asked. She was angry. They all were.

Clary opened her mouth to speak, but once again, Izzy was too fast. "Er... Well, I might have been lying a bit about Clary’s background. I’ll explain everything on our way back to Alfea."

They all got on the bus and started the way back to the castle. Helen and Aline were sitting closely, and were chatting quietly, while Clary, Izzy, Maia and Lydia discussed Clary’s background a little more. Maia and Lydia were especially curious.

They weren’t that mad, it turned out, as Izzy explained everything to them. They were annoyed that Clary and Izzy hadn’t trusted them with the information in the first place, but they understood why they hadn’t, and it was all that mattered.

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

The telltale tug of students entering the warded area of the school warned Hodge and Cleophas that the students were back. They’d been waiting for a few hours, ever since Hodge had seen them walk out and known, immediately, that with Isabelle of Solaria leading them, they would not be back by curfew.

He’d taken his concerns to the Dean, who had then told him that something was wrong with the list of enrolled students. According to the list he’d checked as students were coming in, Varanda of Callisto was present. However, Dean Graymark had received a message from the Royal Family of Callisto that their daughter wouldn’t be attending, since they did not trust Isabelle of Solaria entirely when it came to delivering the news.

A quick investigation had revealed that an unknown student had taken Varanda’s place, led into the castle by Isabelle. It had also revealed that said student was now sharing a room with the future Linphean Guardian Fairy, a young woman named Helen, and an apartment with Isabelle and another princess, Crown Princess Maia of Andros.

Both Hodge and Cleophas were ready the second the girls tried to come into the building. Isabelle was still leading them, which proved to be absolutely no surprise to both members of the staff.

Hodge cleared his throat, coming out of the shadows. “Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Cleophas nodded. "Young ladies! We were worried sick! Go to bed immediately. We’ll discuss the rules again tomorrow."

As all the girls walked past them, Hodge grabbed the arm of the red-haired one, the one they had realized was not who she was supposed to be. "Not so fast, Princess Varanda. Isn’t there something you forgot to tell us?"

The girl looked very guilty and sheepish as Hodge let go of her arm. He noticed also that the other students had stopped in their tracks the moment he had grabbed her. She was already making friends, and strong bonds were already forming between them and her.

“I’m not Varanda of Callisto,” the girl said softly. “My name is Clary Fairchild.”

Hodge shook his head. “Shame on you, young lady. Identity theft is not permitted. Especially identity theft of a royal.”

Dean Cleophas stepped forward. “She might not be Princess Varanda, but she must be a magical creature or the barrier would’ve kept her out. Now, tell me, Clary, why didn’t you give us your real name?"

"Well, I..." The girl started replying, but Isabelle cut her off, stepping forward.

“It’s my fault! This whole thing was my idea."

The red-haired student shook her head. "It’s okay, Izzy. I come from a small town on planet Earth called-”

Hodge scoffed. "Outside the realm of Magix? Utterly impossible!" Fairies hadn’t been born on Earth for centuries. Earth was a lost cause to magical beings everywhere, and no one ever bothered trying to reignite the Winx there. It had been too damaged, and the horrible circumstances of the Earth fairies’ disappearance had tainted the planet forever.

"I beg you, don’t send me away. I’ve always wanted to be a fairy with all my heart and now I can make my dream come true."

Hodge shook his head, deaf to her pleas. "You lied to us and that is unforgivable!"

"But, she also has a dream and she totally believes in it. She has displayed a great tenacity and isn’t that a quality that every fairy should possess?" Dean Graymark pointed out.

Hodge sighed a little. She was right. And it wasn’t like Varanda was going to come now that her place was free. They could keep the girl. They could also punish her severely with detention for the next three years for her lies.

"Now, go to bed, all of you,” Cleophas said. “And don’t make any more noise."

The six students thanked her and left.

Hodge immediately turned to her and shook his head.

The woman sighed. "I didn’t think there were any fairies left on Earth."

Hodge nodded in agreement. "Me neither, I thought they’d all disappeared centuries ago, when the Circle attacked them..."

"Well, then, who is Clary?"

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

Not long after, the six fairies had gathered in Clary and Helen’s bedroom, wearing their pjs. Clary was wearing an oversized hoodie from a popular Earth tv show and some shorts. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed

“What if we called ourselves the Winx?” She suddenly blurted out, and everyone turned their attention towards her.

"What?"

Clary chuckled at their tired and confused expressions. "The Winx, us! I mean, if we’re going to be a group, we should have a name! Don’t you think?"

"Actually,” Lydia pointed out, something thoughtful on her face. “it’s not a bad idea... A name is good for a quick reference."

Izzy, who was sitting next to Clary, wearing a fancy, lacy nightgown that would not look too out of place in a period tv show, hummed. "It’s true! The three witches are the Trix. And we could be called something like…” She paused for a moment. Her smile became a little mischievious as she started offering names. “The Super Six... The Izzy Six... Oh, I’ve got it! The Airy Fairies!"

"The... The what?" Aline asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The Airy Fairies! It’s short and sweet and it rhymes!” Izzy chuckled. “What’s wrong? You don’t like it, Aline?" She said sarcastically.

"Nah... it sounds terrible!"

Maia raised a hand from her position on the floor. "I vote for Winx!"

All the others ended up saying some version of "Me too."

"Perfect!” Clary grinned. “We’re the Winx. I mean… it’s stupid but I saw it written on some stuff in Magix City. And I didn’t even think about asking: What does "Winx" mean?"

Helen grinned. “It’s the name of a fairy’s magical energy. I have a nature-sourced winx, while Izzy has a sun-sourced Winx. And it kinda also became the name of the basic fairy form. The one you saw us take today!”

“Nerd,” Izzy chuckled.

Clary chuckled as well and looked at them. “So now we’re the Winx. One day, everyone will be learning the definition of Winx, and adding a reference to us at the end.”

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

In the next chapter, there’s going to be a big party in Magix. This is an opportunity to meet the Specialists. The boys from Red Fountain are really amazing. The witches won’t be invited, and they will react. What will they do?

[galaxystiel]

Flowers

Send me a single word and I’ll write something?

Taking a step back, Castiel looked over at the fruits of his labour for the last time. It was a spectacular cake, even if he said so himself. Six tiers, a fluffy lemon sponge with a blueberry compote and lilac-infused cream. It was decorated with flawless white fondant, and blue and green sugared flowers. It stood, tall and regal, the most spectacular wedding cake that Castiel had ever created without a doubt.

Sam and Jess were worth it.

Castiel was happy for them, truly. Still, he couldn’t shake the wistful as he dreamed of his own wedding, to Sam’s brother and love of Castiel’s life, Dean. They’d been together for seven long years. Engaged for almost two. Yet with Dean’s career as a naval engineer requiring long hours and Castiel’s own couture wedding cake business taking off, landing him with a six-month waiting period, they’d never had time to arrange anything.

Yet when Sam had announced his engagement, blushing and shy, Dean had taken an immediate vacation and promised Sam he wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. That Dean would plan everything for him. He had done an admirable job, dragging Castiel around venues and testing caterers. He’d even recruited Charlie to officiate the ceremony. Pleased by Dean’s renewed interest in weddings, Castiel had tentatively reminded Dean they had yet to set a date for their own nuptials.

“Sure, but I gotta focus on Sammy first, Cas. He’s my little brother. His happiness is the most important thing to me.”

That had stung.

Unwilling to voice his concerns, Castiel had volunteered to make the wedding cake for free, as part of his gift to Sam and Jess.

Now the big day was here. Dean had spent last night over at Sam’s to stop him from fretting and suffering from cold feet. Castiel had dressed in his tux alone, and even though he was meant to be making his way to the church, he’d been unable to resist stopping by his bakery, even though Anna and his apprentice Jack would be bringing the cake to the reception later.

The sound of the door chiming drew Castiel’s attention and he turned to see Sam, dressed in his own tux, complete with blue waistcoat.

“Sam? Shouldn’t you be at the church?” Castiel asked, alarmed, looking across at the clock.

“So should you,” Sam reminded him. “Dean was looking for you. There was an issue with the flowers, so he’s handling that while I came to get you. We should go, or Jess will beat us there.”

Castiel nodded, unable to help grinning at Sam widely. “Are you nervous about today?” He teased. “It’s been a long time coming.”

Sam snorted. “You got that right,” he muttered. “I can safely say that nervous isn’t my main emotion right now. Oh, that reminds me, Dean gave me this for you. Said something about both my best men needing to match.” He fixed a boutonniere into Castiel’s buttonhole.

Castiel blinked as that registered. “Both? But I thought – Dean’s your brother, and I would never presume…”

“After all this time, you think you’re not my brother just as much as Dean is?” Sam nudged him gently. “Sorry I didn’t ask you sooner. Dean said the pressure would stress you out.”

“I’d be honoured,” Castiel replied, roughly, feeling a lump in his throat. “We should go.”

The ride to the church was quiet, with Castiel still reeling from being asked to be Sam’s best man. He’d never even considered dual-duties with Dean, especially since Dean had taken care of almost everything, and Castiel was sure he could throw a speech together off the top of his head. He had seven years of material, after all.

They hurried into the church, but instead of making their way into the nave as expected, Sam pulled him into one of the side rooms. “Wait here for two minutes, okay? I’ll get Dean, he’ll need to coordinate with you about… uh… the rings, I think?”

Sam disappeared into the church, leaving Castiel confused but content to do as he was instructed. When Gabriel appeared moments later, Castiel stared at his brother.

“Sam invited you?”

“Actually, Dean did,” Gabriel gave him a shit-eating grin. “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you? This isn’t Sam’s wedding, Bucko. It’s yours.”

Castiel’s jaw dropped.

“Dean planned everything, because he knew you were too busy. Got your input on the venue, the caterers, hell, you even designed your own wedding cake. He’s in there and he wants to marry you right now. So what do you say, kid? Want to go marry your dreamboat?”

Tears filled Castiel’s eyes and he wiped them away furiously, giving a nod. His heart felt like it was going to explode down his chest as he took Gabriel’s arm and let the sound of the wedding march fill his ears as he finally understood what was going on. His knees felt weak as he walked, his hands trembling as he passed row after row of their friends, their family. But Castiel didn’t see any of them. He only had eyes for Dean.

Each slow step down the aisle felt like torture when he could see Dean standing at the front, so far away and yet so close. Castiel wanted to break away from his brother and run to his future husband, but a lot of planning had gone into this and Castiel would be damned if he did anything to ruin it, or make it anything less than perfect.

When he eventually reached Dean, and he took the warm, familiar hand that was waiting for him, his strength returned. The pounding of blood in his ears faded and all that remained was love. Unconditional love for the selfless, beautiful man in front of him. Castiel clung to Dean’s hand tightly feeling tears well up again, but when they clouded his view of Dean’s face, he blinked them away.

“Those are happy tears, right?” Dean whispered, a spark of uncertainty hidden deep within his green eyes. “If this isn’t what you wanted –”

Castiel cut off any self-deprecation with a kiss that he knew was meant to come later, but he didn’t care. In the pews, their friends and families laughed, but Castiel heard nothing. He just felt Dean’s laughter against his lips and then arms were encircling his waist and pulling him in close. Their lips parted and then Dean’s forehead was resting against his own.

“I love you,” Castiel choked. “So much.”

“I love you more,” Dean smiled. “That’s a ‘yes’ to marrying me, right?”

Castiel pulled back, reaching out to take Dean’s hands again with a wide smile on his face.

“I can’t think of anything I want more.”

Masterpost

Buy Me A Coffee?

[quentinsquill]

Fic: “It’s a Wonderful Pride” (The Magicians)

It’s a Wonderful Pride

Author: Lexalicious70

Fandom: The Magicians

Rating: R (language, brief descriptions of violence)

Word Count: 4,272

Genre: Canon divergent, crossover, (Good Omens) fic challenge entry

Summary: It’s pride month but Eliot, still grieving for Mike, can see little to celebrate about his sexuality. Can a fussy-yet-benevolent angel reignite Eliot’s flame and show him the light before he sinks into depression, booze and drugs?

A/N: This is for the @whitespiresarmory’s Armory Challenge, week two: “Pride.” I don’t own The Magicians or Good Omens; this is just for fun. Comments and kudos are magic, and as always, enjoy!

 Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19358269

It’s a Wonderful Pride

By Lexalicious70 (all_hale_Eliot)

 “You really aren’t going? El, come on!”

 Eliot looked up from his third glass of wine in 40 minutes to find Margo standing over him, her hands planted on her slim hips in a way that told him, (if he cared,) that she was annoyed with him.

 “I’m really not going.”

 “We haven’t missed New York City Pride in the three years we’ve known each other! It’s a bigger deal than our trip to Ibiza!”

 Eliot closed his eyes and Margo hesitated before she sat down on the arm of the couch.

 “I’m sorry. But El . . . I feel like getting away from Brakebills, even if it’s just for the parade, would be good for you!”

 “Because I should celebrate.”

 “It couldn’t hurt!”

 “And what exactly am I supposed to celebrate?” Eliot drained his glass. “The sound of Mike’s neck snapping? His body rolling to the floor like some fucking marionette with its strings cut? My complete naivety about our relationship?”

 Margo’s upper lip thinned out and she nodded.

 “Okay. I get that you’re mourning, and maybe I even get your necessity to literally turn into a living wine decanter. But I’ve told you already, El, that what happened wasn’t your fault! How long are you going to torture yourself over this?”

 Eliot swung to his feet, picked up his glass, and took refuge behind the cottage bar.

 “I’ll get back to you on that.”

 Margo threw her hands in the air.

 “Fine. Skip Pride, start denying who you are, marry a nice girl from Yonkers! I’ll be in the city if you change your mind.” She turned and swept up the steps and Eliot poured himself another glass of Chardonnay before returning to his prone position on the couch. Some wine slopped out of the glass and stained his paisley shirtsleeve and he frowned at the affront before taking a long draw on the glass.

 “Maybe I will marry a nice girl from Yonkers,” Eliot muttered as people began to filter out of the cottage, leaving it silent. His hand tightened around the glass and he resisted the urge to hurl it against the nearest wall. “Fuck knows it’d be simpler than—” He made a vague gesture to the empty air and drained the glass. His stomach clenched in protest and he frowned at it. “Oh, nut up. I’ve put you through worse.” He set the glass aside and threw an arm over his eyes to block out the sun pouring through the cottage windows. His pulse pounded in his ears, but the sound of his abused body was infinitely more preferable to the sound Mike’s neck made when Eliot had twisted his head around, like stepping on a dry tree branch on a November hiking trail. Eliot heard it all the time, as if the echo had imprinted itself on his brain synapses and played constantly on a hesitant loop that ground out the sound, a faceless something that cranked a distorted hurdy-gurdy of loss in Eliot’s ear each time silence ruled his senses.

 “Oh my,” a voice said in Eliot’s ear, “have I been sent to Clutter Cottage? But Druridge Bay is so damp!”

 “Fucking—!” Eliot yelped, sitting up, his sock-clad feet drumming on the couch cushions. He turned, the room slightly out of focus, to find a slight, and rather fussy-looking man staring around the common room. He wore his curly pale blond hair short and stood before Eliot in tan slacks, a blue button down and a brown vest, a cream-colored waistcoat, and a wide plaid bowtie that might have looked silly on anyone else, but this man wore it as if it were as much a part of him as his skin. It was impossible to guess his age. He didn’t seem to notice that Eliot had spoken.

 “It’s so glaringly bohemian,” the little man continued. “Rather too much so for Northumberland!”

 Eliot blinked to assure himself he wasn’t sliding into the hallucinatory stages of acute alcohol poisoning.

 “I’m sorry? I wasn’t—who are you, exactly?” He asked, and the man gave him a benevolent smile.

 “I do apologize for not introducing myself. I was just rather surprised to be called here so suddenly.”

 “Called? Who called you? Was it Margo?” Eliot asked, wondering in a dazed sort of way if she had called some sort of AA wingman or grief counselor before leaving for the city. The man shook his head.

 “My supervisors. You may call me Aziraphale, and you, dear boy, would be Eliot Waugh, correct?”

 “Yes,” Eliot nodded, the man’s correct way of speaking and upper-class British accent cutting through some of his drunkenness. It reminded him of the way some of the professors at Brakebills spoke, as if they wanted to be British and constructed their sentences so instead of affecting a phony accent. This man, though, seemed to be the genuine article.

 “Excellent. Well! Let’s be off then.”

 “Off? To where?”

 “To correct some misconceptions you have about your life, Eliot.”

 “Miscon—I’m sorry, who are you again?”

 “Aziraphale,” the man said with what seemed like endless patience. “Come along now!” He held out a hand and Eliot took a step back with a flat chuckle.

 “Recent events would warn me not to go anywhere with strangers who might be disguised as the Beast.”

 “The Beast!” This Aziraphale huffed. “Well! That’s—how rude!”

 “Is it? Because I—wait, what?” Eliot frowned. “You know about the Beast?”

 “I know of him because of my line of work, but to suggest that I go around disguised as him?” The man eyed him. “Despicable!”

 “I’m sorry?” Eliot’s wariness made it a question. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I only meant . . .” Eliot blinked and lost his trail of thought as this odd little man caught his gaze and held it. The blue eyes held no trace of obvious wicked intent and Eliot realized they were kind—extremely kind, and in a way that threatened to slam through every alcohol-soaked brick of the multiple emotional walls he’d built since Mike died.

 “I do apologize,” Aziraphale said after a moment. “There was a bit of a mix up, but now I understand. I am not your Beast, my boy, but you are as in just as much danger now from your own thoughts as you were from it when it attacked.” The man held out his hand again. “Now do come along, it’s getting late.”

 Eliot reached out his hand and slid his fingers between Aziraphale’s, and the little man paused.

 “Whoops! Can’t have you inebriated for this venture—” He touched Eliot’s forehead and a peculiar sensation filled his body, as if someone had discovered and flipped a reverse switch somewhere in his abdomen. The wine bottles he’d left near the bar began to fill and the drunken fog he’d been in for nearly three days began to lift. “There we are!”

 “What—how did you—”

“Your magic and my miracles are somewhat related. Like cousins, almost. I believe that’s why they sent me. You feel as if you are to blame for Michael McCormick’s death—”

 “How do you know about Mike? And I am responsible! I broke his neck! He was in thrall by the Beast and I—I murdered him!” Eliot wanted to shout, but it seemed the brazen, bitter attitude he’d given Margo had deserted him along with the alcohol.

 “I saw it when I looked into your soul.”

 Eliot tugged on the little man’s hand. His skin was pale and soft, with no evidence of calluses or the particular muscle tone most magicians had in their fingers and arms. No, this Aziraphale wasn’t a magician. He—

 “Wait.” Eliot gasped out a breath that was tinged with jagged amusement. “Did you say ‘my miracles?’”

 “I did.”

 “So you’re . . . uh . . .” Eliot gestured with his free hand, and Aziraphale nodded.

 “An angel.” He smiled and touched Eliot’s cheek. “You believe that the world you know would be a better place if you weren’t the person you’ve become, that your sexuality has been a blight on the people around you . . .that believing in Pride makes no difference to the future because you are contemplating cutting that short. But you’re mistaken on all fronts, and I’m here to show you why. Shall we?” Aziraphale made a slight motion with one hand and in a rapid swirl of color, Eliot found himself standing outside of Dean Fogg’s office.

 “What are we doing here?” He asked, and Aziraphale nodded toward the door.

 “You think your influence on others causes negative effects? Look there.”

 The door to the office slammed open and Margo marched out, her expression set, thunderclouds and damnation in her dark eyes. Eliot took a step forward.

 “Bambi? Hey, what—”

 Margo never slowed. She walked through him as if he were made of mist, and Aziraphale watched.

 “We don’t exist to them, Eliot. This is a universe where you never came to Brakebills, never had the courage to become who you are meant to be.”

 “Your expulsion and mindwipe will take place immediately, Miss Hanson,” Dean Fogg snapped as he followed on her heels. “We do not tolerate theft of Brakebills property from anyone, least of all a first-year student who decides to practice forbidden magic!”

 “You can kiss my ass!” Margo shouted, turning on the dean, her expression a mask of hatred and fury. “I don’t need this! I don’t need any of it! Mindwipe me? Wipe your ass, you pompous nobody!”

 “Jesus,” Eliot muttered as Fogg called security and they hauled Margo away even as she continued to hurl insults at him. “What happened?”

 “This is what would have happened to Margo if you two had never met during your first year. She arrived here brimming with fury and forging an emotional suit of armor no one would have ever broken through. But then she met you . . . your obvious flair, your refusal to settle into the background, it turned her away from all that anger, softened her edges. Because you would not accept a minor role in the Brakebills community, it caused her to become protective of you. And in that, she learned to curb the anger that would have otherwise shut her out of the magical community forever.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the scenery morphed; they stood outside a grimy building, its brick surface painted a fading urine yellow.

 “Where are we now?”

 “New Jersey,” the angel replied, “twenty years in the future.” He took Eliot’s hand and they walked through the aging wall. Inside, about half a dozen girls tended to what looked like a failing clothing store geared toward tween and teenage girls. Circular metal racks of clothing, their bases tarnished, littered the floor like elderly soldiers. The beige walls carried the distinct stain of nicotine, and a few customers poked through the merchandise, most of them being the kind of thirtysomething Jersey Shore-loving mothers convinced they could wear their daughter’s clothing. An office door banged open somewhere in the back and Eliot swallowed a gasp as Margo emerged. Her dark hair wasn’t so much pulled back as it was being forcibly strangled, and deep frown lines cut into her complexion. A cigarette smoldered in her right hand, and Eliot noticed that her fingernails, which she’d always kept filed and lacquered, were brittle, broken and gnawed to the quicks. Her dark eyes, ensconced between gaudy green eyeshadow and deep bags that cast bruise-colored shadows beneath them, darted around the room, unblinking.

 “Rene!” She bawled, her voice lined with a rough edge of years of tobacco use. “Why the fuck isn’t that order out on the floor yet? Are you stupid and slow? Huh?” She cut through the store like a torpedo, the cigarette trailing out smoke behind her. The young salesgirl flinched.

 “No Mz. Hanson, I’ll unpack it now, I was just helping a customer—”

 “What you were helping was your useless ass out of my shop! Go on! Beat it!” Margo brandished the clipboard she carried and the shopgirl fled as she burst into tears. “Yeah, go on, cry about it on the unemployment line, honey!” She then turned her baleful stare on the other girls. “And what the fuck are you dizzy cunts looking at, huh? Get back to work!”

 “That’s what Margo turned into without me?” Eliot asked, watching her slam back into her office, where they could hear objects being hurled around.

 “Without you, she never learned kindness or trusted anyone enough to soften her edges,” Aziraphale said. “It was your bond that helped mold her into the Margo you know now.”

 Eliot pushed a hand through his dark curls.

 “That seems awfully cut and dried,” he argued. “Besides, even if I did influence her for the good, that’s only one instance out of many where it didn’t fuck up someone’s life! And—and then later, we . . . I mean, she and I, and Q . . .” Eliot felt his ears flush with heat. “I can’t say this to an angel! And anyway, isn’t God a homophobe?”

 Aziraphale’s eyes widened and sparked with humor as he chuckled.

 “Oh, my dear boy, no! Whatever gave you that idea?”

 “About 90 percent of Christians I’ve met.”

 “Ah. Well that’s the fault of those who wrote the Bible, you see. Many of our admirers believe it’s the direct word of God. But it’s the desires of men, Eliot, men who want to control and erase much of what the lord has created, especially those like yourself. It’s something we never quite expected once Adam and Eve were sent out into the world to raise humankind. Now. Tell me about this Q.”

 “Quentin,” Eliot sighed. “We’re—well—I don’t know what we are now, since he says I ruined his life. And he’s probably right.”

 “Well. Let’s go have a look, shall we?” The angel flicked his wrist and transported them into Margo’s bedroom, where she and he and Eliot had all shared a dalliance just a few days before. Margo was applying a vicious smoky eye as Quentin sat with his hands clasped between his knees.

 “And it took me awhile to realize what I was so pissed about,” Quentin was saying, and Margo flicked a glance at him.

 “I could have told you why, Q.”

 “I know you could have, but I had convinced myself that Eliot fucked up my life that night because—because, uhm, well . . .”

 Margo waited, busying herself with her compact, and then Quentin blurted it out in that stammering way that Eliot found both frustrating and adorable at the same time.

 “Because I wasn’t upset about what Eliot and I had done! It—it was Alice, it was how she looked at me, the way she called me a whore, it—because I felt like one, waking up and seeing her sitting there! But before that, when I woke up and felt Eliot’s arm around my waist and his body up against mine, it—it felt right, Margo! The way our legs tangled together, the way he looked when he was asleep.” Quentin ran a hand over his face. “It let me know what I’ve been questioning about myself for years, ever since I went through puberty and developed a serious crush on my best friend James—and then one on Julia.”

 Margo nodded.

 “Congratulations, Q, you’ve figured out you’re bisexual.” Her full lips twisted up into a smug yet affectionate smile. “Welcome to the club.”

 “What? You mean you—”

 “Bi, pan, girls, guys . . . hot asses that go bump in the night.” She shrugged. “Call it what you want, Q. But El is your sexual lightning rod. Without him, you might never have figured it out and ended up with some frigid, narcissistic bitch because you thought it was supposed to happen that way. Or kept on thinking you were meant to be with Alice which, by the way, I think you’ve both figured out was the result of Mayakovsky’s fox spell, the bastard.”

 “And what if El and I were just emotion magic and booze?”

 Margo set her compact down and pinned Quentin with her gaze.

 “Do you seriously believe that?”

 Quentin scowled and tucked his feet up under his thighs.

 “No,” He sighed. Margo brightened and ruffled his floppy hair.

 “Good! And don’t sweat our sex, Q . . . I really don’t remember it and was out of the game for good once El came around and found you willing.” She rose from the bed and looked over her shoulder. “Want to come to Pride with me?”

 Quentin lifted his head and the frown lines on his forehead smoothed.

 “Yeah!” He nodded, and Margo rolled her eyes at him even as a smile curved across her painted lips.

 “Then get your bi ass in gear, Coldwater!”

 Eliot watched them leave the room together before he turned to his guardian angel.

 “Is this something that could have happened, like the other thing you showed me?”

 “Oh no, not at all. We’re looking at the present, dear boy.”

 Eliot closed his eyes a moment as that night came back to him in flashes that burned with a halo of booze; Quentin climbing into his lap, his naked skin filling Eliot’s field of vision, their mouths meeting, the way the back of Quentin’s neck, slender and fragile, fit in his hand as he gripped it to claim Quentin’s mouth once, twice, who knew how many times. He glanced at Aziraphale and then away, and the angel smiled and touched his arm.

 “I’m an angel, not a priest. You needn’t confess anything to me.”

 “The way he reacted the next day, I thought I’d forced him. That I’d ruined his life because of my own selfishness.”

 “No. He was embarrassed and guilty because Alice found him out. And if not for you helping him discover his true nature, he might have never found a path to happiness.”

 Eliot nibbled on his thumbnail as he gathered his thoughts. They were more lucid than they’d been in days, but that sound, like the snap of a dried branch, weaved its way through them.

 “I appreciate what you’re trying to show me,” he said at last. “But it’s because of who and what I am that Mike died. There’s no way around that—” He groped for the name and the angel gave a sigh borne of patience.

 “Aziraphale.”

 “Right! Aziraphale. Unless you’re going to tell me that Mike was the reincarnation of Hitler or the next mass serial killer, he didn’t deserve to die because I loved him.” Eliot felt the tremble on that last word and clenched his jaw. “And that’s what they want me to go out there and celebrate? That me being attracted to men got an innocent person enslaved to the point where I had to—” Eliot wrung an open palm over his mouth.

 “Oh, my dear boy. You sweet child,” The angel almost sighed it, and his tone caused a crack in Eliot’s walls. The cracks began to leak and then they burst open slowly, like a decrepit dam giving way to the onslaught of a flood. The emotional impact caused Eliot’s knees to buckle and he slapped both hands over his face in one last attempt to stem the tide, but it roared forth anyway. He began to sob, rocking back and forth, all his personal wards and defenses blasted away. A rustling noise registered in his consciousness and then smell of something sweet and warm, like the return of a childhood blanket, filled his nose before it seemed to enfold him. A wall of white, its touch like the sweep of his mother’s chenille housecoat, drew him into it. Eliot found the strength to raise his head and found himself cradled in Aziraphale’s left wing. It was enormous and he welcomed it, burying his face in feathers that were at least each a foot long. He groaned softly, his sinuses clogged, an acrid taste in his mouth, like rotten cloves.

 “I didn’t want to kill him!” Eliot cried into the soft recesses of the angel’s feathers. “I only wanted to stop him but then I saw what he really was and how the Beast had fooled me and all the pain, it was like it rolled out of me and . . . oh God, Aziraphale, I didn’t mean to kill him!”

 “No, child. What you wanted to kill was the agony of what you felt when you realized your lover was held in thrall. But, listen to me now . . .” The wing tip dipped under his chin and raised it so Eliot was looking into the angel’s eyes, so infinitely kind. “Mike isn’t dead because of who you are. He’s dead because of what the Beast is. He is an evil thing, twisted beyond all comprehension. It was he who put the poor boy in thrall, and it was he who sent him into your path. Yes, perhaps he understood your desires, as many evil things do, and he likely understood the temptation a handsome gentleman with your interests and tastes would represent.”

 “I should have seen through it!” Eliot cried, and Aziraphale smiled.

 “Many people say such things after the fact. But that doesn’t make it true. I believe the Beast chose you because you’re strong, and yet you have a great capacity for love. However, you must remember, Eliot, that he could have sent a thrall to Margo, or Quentin, or any other person on campus who might have fallen for a person of another gender. Your sexual preference isn’t the reason that boy is dead, Eliot.” Aziraphale reached out and brushed a few tears away from his damp, chapped cheeks. “He’s dead because evil works in ways that are just as surprising and mysterious as the Lord’s. You cannot deny who you fought so hard to become. You cannot throw away your pride. And something at Brakebills is waiting for you. Something real, a someone who loves you. One you will have several lifetimes to know and explore—but oh, dear, I can’t give away too much.” The angel helped Eliot to his feet and then the wings were gone, tucked away wherever they were kept. Eliot considered his words.

 “You mean Quentin—wait, did you say several lifetimes?”

 “Did I?” The little man cocked his head and gestured the question away with a careless motion of one hand. “Well! Never mind. It’s time for me to shove on, now, I have other people to see.” He touched Eliot’s cheek with the gentle manner of a loving father, a touch the magician had never known before. “Go find your friends, Eliot Waugh, and remember that you must always fight to remain the person you worked so hard to become.”

 Aziraphale was gone before Eliot could reply, but that phantom touch remained on his cheek. Eliot put his fingers to it and smiled before he left Margo’s room and headed for his own.

 ***

 “So this is Pride? It’s, uh—it’s crowded!” Quentin shouted to make himself heard above the joyful noise of the parade passing him and Margo. She whooped and hollered as she caught a set of beads thrown by some passing drag queens, and Quentin blinked. “Are those men?”

 “Yes, duh!”

 “They’re so pretty!”

 “That’s the idea! You’re such a dork!” Margo grinned and looped one of the shiny sets of beads over his head. Quentin rolled his eyes and then jumped as a long arm dropped onto his shoulder and a voice spoke in his ear.

 “Anal beads? I hope they’ve been cleaned!”

 Margo turned, her dark eyes wide as another equally long arm slung itself over her shoulders. Eliot grinned down at them, resplendent in black drainpipe jeans and a tight white tank top that spelled out I YNY. The heart gleamed with rainbow colors. Reflective Ray Bans covered his eyes and his dark curls spilled over his forehead in a way that was artfully careless.

 “El!” Margo threw her arms around him. “You shit! You came!”

 “What made you change your mind?” Quentin asked, leaning close so Eliot could hear him. It was as simple as turning his head, and his mouth met Quentin’s. The younger man’s dark eyes widened in shock and then slipped halfway closed as Eliot pulled back slowly.

 “The thought of doing exactly that!” He grinned, and Quentin blinked.

 “You mean you—”

 “Yeah, Q. It’s more than booze and emotion bottles this time.” He took Quentin’s hand, entwining their fingers, and Margo turned away so Eliot wouldn’t see the glee in her expression. Eliot pulled them both close, kissing each of their cheeks in turn before turning his face up toward the sun. Long rays of sunlight were breaking through the clouds and leaving smeary wisps behind.

 To Eliot, they looked like angel’s wings.

 FIN

[elizabethrobertajones]

14x03 watching notes

Just finished watching and said, out loud and to no one: “Awww Jack.”

(This is not a spoiler, he’s just so sweet.)

-

Hallo, I am watching from bed despite having 3rd hand inherited a 2nd monitor over the weekend so theoretically my watching experience would be back to giant comfortable side-typing glory.

But comfy.

Easily accessible stuffed toys because Bobo Fucking Berens in Dabb era has made me cry more at this dumb show in the last couple of years than I cried in the previous ten.

Expectations: it's our Dean episode to make up for no Dean until now, and also Jody is there to see Sam's beard, and also Cas continues to be party!Cas, and Jack's shirts get darker and darker.

-

Side note: I think I was rushing out the door before I could talk about our lil Nougat of Denmark properly last episode where he was all, so we're killing my uncle then, and Cas was all D: D: D: D: D: who raised you. (Dean. Dean did. In this regard the boy is his father's son.) This, of course, is another Shakespearean irony than is being returned to Dean via Jack.

The point of this focus is very much to show Jack vs Cas mindsets on it when we're getting Dean returned to us, and I assume considerably more nuance is being added to the story. But for now, Jack being ready to kill his father to kill his uncle because his father was ready to kill him to kill the ghosts he saw of his enemies in Jack is more than enough of a pile of tragedy level angst to be working with.

I just need it to be clear that as far as I'm concerned, Jack is working in a completely different genre from EVERYONE ELSE around him, and the fact that it's the protagonist of a tragedy is fairly alarming, as it's a mindset that Sam, Dean and Cas have hurdled over since season 5/6 and though Dean still assumes he'll die bloody, he is at least capable of dreaming of a happy ending, and a lessening of the angst load has allowed that. Their personal stakes in the story are dwindling, in a sense, while Jack has showed up with like FOUR FATHERS and an evil uncle, which is so much potential family angst Shakey would have exploded. "Wait you can just addeth extra fathers thence addeth extra angst!?!?"

Yes my dude, yes.

-

*hits play* *Sam ruggedly cocks his pistol* You're stealing this whole shtick from Dean and I think it is time for the angst that you were the one dramatically cocking a gun and being the yes reductive heteronormative blah blah penis of the dynamic while Dean was not there to do it.

-

Oh no we immediately start with more Jack angst recap and aside from everything I just said I remembered that Bobo personally murdered me in 13x03 with the Jack n Sam stuff and here we are a year later.

Mr Stark I don't feel so good

-

THE BEARD EXCHANGE IS LITERALLY THE OPENING SCENE. BOBO I LOVE YOU. Thank you for breaking the tension and immediately drawing attention to how Sam has been busy and miserable. I think 14x01 set up well that every time he even had a moment to sigh his phone would ring again, and hence the beard appears as Sam eskews personal grooming and comfort in exchange for finding his brother. Jody is gonna draw attention to it at some point too because we have the promo shot of her nice peach fuzz-ing him, and I sincerely hope this is bookends to the episode and the next episode Sam is clean shaven with no comment except Jody prodded him in the face, and let me tell you only Bobo has me fantasising about the narrative framing of an episode like this.

God i'm a nerd

Anyway more seriously, this exchange coming out of the blue has a clear motive: Dean is up and about, still so freshly de-Michaeled he's in a waistcoat (and LORDY the only other scene he was in a waistcoat? 7x12's ending scene where Sam turns into such a moron in Jody's presence he's waving blushily at the door still AFTER SHE HAS GONE). Complaining about not being able to eat and sleep might be a sense of hyperbole to catch given the lack of elapsed time, but it also warns us that this might be how Dean reacts to being un-Michaeled. Or would he not, given he's up and about and snarking like his old self? How damaged will he be and how much can he repress into snark? He is playing off the very idea that this experience will have been damaging to his psyche and of course Michael did a ton of stuff which was expressly tuned to BE damaging to his psyche, then punched a mirror and shattered Dean's reflection for extra emphasis.

So all this question of how Dean is doing is loaded into the very opening line before he's even taken off his waistcoat, or of course, had enough time to truly eat/sleep/develop massive tells of the psychological trauma he may or may not have taken.

Obviously the show wouldn't be the show if he were fine, so I'm taking it as a question posed.

Then of course it slides into Bro Banter to prove it's Dean, remind us JUST how much we missed this snarky genre savvy fucker, and to make Sammy smile.

-

Also we're mocking Jared for being friends with that one Duck Dynasty guy who Jared's fans insist is the least awful of the bunch and also who you end up hanging out with when you're most embedded in the Texan stardom scene rather than living in Hollywood or whatever.

(God imagine being famous and from Atlanta and sticking true to your roots and you end up with the Queer Eye guyses as your BFFs instead)

-

Listen Bobo showed his socialist party membership card on twitter, he has no fucks to give about waving his politics around and I love him.

-

"If you're going to ask if I'm okay, you don't have to" (I am making fun of your beard, what more do I have to give you, bro?)

Buddy, I have been watching your face for over a decade and you have the sad tired pink eyelids of a Dean who is both tired and miserable.

-

Oh NO Dean walks into the main room expecting his comfy quiet library and war room full of 3 trusted family faces, and finds the bustle of Boss Sam's operation. The upcoming noise of these people before he turns the corner is an immediate warning that we should have expected this as dramatic irony for Dean's comfort levels from the start, and now he's back, well.

Panicked eyes.

He needs quiet recovery with his peeps, not alarming sudden change. A rug pull immediately after possession is a terrible thing to deal with. I've been wondering if this is a full reverse of season 6 for Dean - from the trustability of the hunter compound to the fact he lives in it, to the Samuel running it. But the effect is the same. Dean comes back from quiet time off to a change he can't handle and Sam in a new position in a family/hunter heirarchy. In this case, not Samuel's soulless goon, but a fully bearded Boss Sam King Of Hell Sir who Runs Shit competently in a way we the viewer trust implictly as Sam having Done Well, and also that the AU peeps might be a bit rough or untrained in some ways but 100% reliable in that they really do have no ulterior motive and every reason to think of Sam as an AU Moses who popped up and walked them to another land of safety and comfort.

-

Like, Dean, welcome back, you have Hamlet, Moses and Mobby to deal with. Cas seems to be the same as you left him, though. If somehow, impossibly, squintier.

-

"Right, Chief told us"

GOD I MISSED JENSEN'S MICRO EXPRESSIONS

You know how Michael sucks? No micro expressions. Guy doesn't have an anxious bone in his body.

This little bundle of neuroses I have chosen to love is full on having a meltdown on the other hand.

-

"Dean? Is it really you?" "Hey kid"

HUG. THE. BOY.

I suppose this is better than last year when he had a hug from a shapeshifter and had to wait to episode 6 for a hug from his father, but REALLY this season has been tormenting me with how bad Jack feels and even a hug from his gramgram isn't enough to satisfy how he should have been hugged by Sam, Cas and now Dean already this season.

We're only on epiode 3 and he's already got more hugs than he had this point last year. Deep  breaths, Lizzy

-

Children need a lot of cuddles to affect their development into sensitive people okay? Dean got a lot of hugs up to age 4 and Sam basically did not, and he's an awkward moose and Dean is snuggly. I want Nougat to have the same development into a sensitive lad because he has EIGHTEEN FUCKING PARENTS AND NONE OF THEM HUG HIM

-

CAS HEARD 'DEAN' FROM ACROSS THE BUNKER, ARRIVES IN A BLUR

-

GOOD NOUGAT, HUG DEAN.

But like, dude, Cas just showed up at a run and made the gooiest eyes at Dean who made them back, and now you're officially cockblocking, so naff off, kid

-

I watched with prayer hands and Cas just got gooier and Dean got sulky he didn't get a Cas hug and this is officially the worst. Bobo, you let me down, my guy.

-

I mean no, Cas's gooey eyes were

...

Cas doesn't do gooey eyes. He squints. Squintily.

Who is this guy

-

Lol Mobby aren't in the episode because they stayed back to clean up - Sam gets stammery to Jack. Is he scared to imply they're maybe banging because he finds it weird but everyone else present is an even worse audience to announce this to for one reason or another (historically coped much better with the concept of dad sex when discovering adam and also didn't drive the car off the road into a ditch on finding out mary banged ketch), or is he trying to protect Jack from the concept of Michael leaving a pile o dead bodies for one reason or another, knowing Michael is his rage button?

-

He was the one who dealt with Jack trying to stay back in the AU to fight Mikey instead of just coming home.

-

"Speaking of clean up, I need a shower" *gestures vaguely* *Cas opens his mouth like why did I have a reaction image here? Do you want -* *closes mouth* *dean leaves*

Guys. You fucking suck. Go take a shower together and work things out.

-

"Still okay, I promise" *bisexual finger guns at Cas*

cut to: Cas squinting after Dean like "is he implying something"

"..."

"I really feel like he was trying to communicate something to me"

"..."

"I have no idea what Dean just hinted loudly to me twice in short succession and now that he has gone to shower I guess I will never know what he was attempting to communicate to me"

-

"Where's Nick?" "Hopefully not in this episode. Let's just say he needs some time because he's in a dark place and hope that's ALL we have to say about him"

-

Oh no. "Sam. Dean. How is he really?"

Cas has a one track mind.

But then we get the shot of Dean opening his door and they're still talking about him over the top of it, but it's that same shadowed shot of himself silhouetted in the doorway, the inner darkness represented by his room... Sam went into his and stripped himself of the tools in his pocket but before he could sleep, Jo called and set them all off again with the next lead.

Now Dean opens his door and turns on the light so we can see his inner self in a moment of peace and privacy, but essentially with a voice over about how he's super not okay.

-

Just how we left it. You can't even tell that for the last 2 episodes/3 weeks Cas has been coming in and snuggling your pillow every time he's not in a scene because where the fuck was he inbetween scenes in 14x02

-

God I have missed lingering shots of Dean's room, equating his inner space to his inner feelings. *paws lovingly at the shot* Dean's room all tidy and orderly and as he left it, yet feeling somehow very very empty and off-kilter in an unfamiliar way because he hasn't been here for so long.

-

It was all serious then guitar music started playing as Dean started stripping

and look

I saw the promo pics

you saw the promo pics

some person in the audience is like... why are we lingering on Dean getting undressed alone in his room while guitar music kicks up?

-

Is this what all that winking and finger gun action was about?

-

(Dean didn't wink but I took a lil break to chat with Mittens and the moment has evolved into him gurning at the door for like a minute trying to remind Cas that this means he joins him in the shower in 5)

-

"Fuck this shirt in particular"

I still think it was the audacity of wearing a bow tie that dragged Dean to the surface last episode

-

I love how Dean changes from this plain white t-shirt which is completely clean and shiny, into his normal dark dark brown shirt between scenes. I hope he got to shower. Whatever happened, this scar could have said "Ha ha ha I'm behind you", and he would have finished stripping down right to the skivvies then started fresh with his own boxerbriefs before freaking out and rushing to show the others.

-

But yeah, he's PISSED and embarrassed about Michael. You don't throw a guy's shirt on the floor like that unless you feel SERIOUSLY used, and here we end up with a creepy sort of STD metaphor, complete with the visual similarity to the clap: https://www.giantmicrobes.com/uk/products/clap.html

Bad fling, Dean?

-

Poker!witch gave Sam the clap in the episode which was totally not a metaphor about Sam getting the clap then beating poker!witch at his own game like nearly 20 episodes before he was possessed by Lucifer then beat him at his own game.

-

"Do the whole vulcan mind meld thing" Listen, James T Kirk, you can't just MAKE yourself one of the most iconic slash pairings of all time by comparing - wait

wait a minute

*Checks slash history books and sees them as a dictionary definition or two*

-

Anyway.

-

Dean's so eager for Cas to jump into his head. Just, like. Again. We all said it but immediately after that shirt throw? It REALLY emphasises that Dean sees Cas in this transcendant way to being used by an angel that got in his head. And left an STD mark on his arm. He can just immediately think, well, that sucked. But here's MY angel and I'm just gonna rev myself up and present my head for inspection and this isn't even a thing I'm concerned about. Hit me, big guy.

-

Oh come the fuck on Bobo.

I didn't have time to hit pause to have a heart attack about Cas putting his hand over The Scar, the one on the wrong shoulder, to get a clearer reception, because there's a HISTORY in scars, okay? They leave a mark and to the discerning poker and prodder like Cas that history can be read in the mark... And Cas sees... Michael being stabbed by a spear. Not just, like. Seeing Michael being stabbed by a spear, mind you. He sees it in a Bobo episode in a way wildly reminiscent of Patience seeing Claire/Kaia getting stabbed by a VERY SIMILAR LOOKING SPEAR and getting her Wayward introduction that way, when the whole Dreamhunter thing ended up being a massive Destiel parallel and Kaia getting stabbed already mirrored CAS getting stabbed by a spear (Michael's, natch) in 12x12, never mind the other stuff.

So Bobo has just built up a Destiel Dreamhunter sandwich, with Destiel nonsense either side, complete with bonus shoulder scar imagery, and a nice gooey dreamhunter centre.

Bobo, if you hadn't noticed, is really really really really reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally bitter he isn't off writing Wayward Sisters and hanging with his girls.

There's still a bunch of stuff to add up here, about why and who and how it all connects, which would involve dragging in these other spear-y episodes to assemble the full picture, so I'm just gonna hit play now I'm recovered from the shock :P

-

Oh dude it was a hooded figure who even LOOKED like bad Kaia and tbh at this point I'd say maybe even was?

Like, how many pronged spears are out there anyway and Jody's dealing with it so is it local? Did Michael pop up on Kaia like hey so you and I are both from alternate universes, what do you wa - OW FUCK JESUS FUKKIN CHRIST -

-

"Dean, who was that?"

Dean recognised her, and Cas was mind-melded enough with him to know that Dean did... Good grief I can not handle Dean and Cas existing on an emotional plane.

It's enough to mean they're the ones who call Jody with a tip off for HER rather than months of them asking her to help THEM.

-

Introducing us back to the Wayward world - South Dakota mug, and a text that Claire is a little angel who has been training her gals and even did the laundry.

I'm so happy

-

Eyebrow raise

God, Kim Rhodes is the most beautiful woman on the whole show and that's saying something considering, like. Ruthie. Lisa Berry. Something about the way she uses her face is so full of intelligence and humour that I am HELPLESS in her presence

-

God damn I want that fabled Girls' Night episode. Billie comes along too on a night off.

-

Rowena calls her up for chats sometimes these days, they're actually really good pals.

-

Sam you fucking moron you can't even finish a sentence in her presence. Just slap Dean on his WOUNDED arm and throw the ball to him.

-

Everyone leaning over the phone... This is the closest Cas has ever come to Jody.

"Jody, that's the good news."

Jody recognises that gravelly voice and snaps to holyshitanangel attention. "What's up?"

The implicit thing here is that Cas and Jody know each others' voices and are on at least chatting acquaintance. I would like to think they're invited over for beer at the same time but we have no proof..................... yet. This is Bobo on a "fuck you" rampage so I'm just, like, gonna wait see.

-

Bad Kaia has been going around ripping heads off things. DAMN, GIRL.

-

Considering the placement of the pronging was ~random~, in the sense that she can meat fork you anywhere, that means the placement of it on the meat of Dean's arm where the handprint once was on the other is even MORE significant in a metaphorical sense, of writing about "the scar" in the way of giving it a mystical property tied into the wider framework of all these relationships and events at once. The amount piled onto a simple stabbing is unbelievable, and the use of the scar as the vector for all this is definitely the byline of the episode given the title and all. It's brought Kaia back to us, given Jody the clue she needs.

And more dramatic irony that Claire was just asking to help, and Jody was like DEFINITELY HUMAN, SO ALL MINE. HAHAHA. And now we know, no, it's not all "human", it's bad!Kaia and that makes her CLAIRE'S.

-

I keep stopping to seal clap

-

it's 7:20am

-

Cas is packing up to leave with them!!!

And Jack looms blurrily into the background in his darkest t-shirt yet. And he's been RAPIDLY cycling through them.

In a sense this is good laundry practice, in order that you have a full load of lights followed by a full load of darks.

Metaphorically, however, this is BAD.

Jack sounds pissed they're all wearing jackets and packing bags, and he's wandering around in an over-sized dark grey t-shirt (one of Dean's? AUBobby's? It doesn't look like his standard fare which fits his body, this makes him look SMOL), with no idea we were off to kill the wizard.

Let's be charitable and say he wants to meet Jody and hang out with Kaia again.

But more likely Bobo is once again messing with Jack's inherent darkness in his presentation, especially as right now, once again while Jack is being The Sweetest Little Cookie, meeting his grandparents for ice tea and looking through the family photo album with misty eyes, he is ALSO Prince Nougat of Denmark and this is causing some serious darkness slippage because, well, revenge. Revenge is bad, kiddo. Don't need a ghost of your dead father (hey Dean's back) to tell you that.

The accusatory tone is enough to warn us that Jack's not doing so well and I'm going to assume drags Cas away from a mission with Dean followed by cooldown eating pizza and watching flicks with the girls.

-

"Kaia's killer is in Sioux Falls" Buddy. "He, she or it can hurt Michael" BUDDY.

I suppose they're bringing Cas because Bad Kaia kicked their asses and they assume Cas is the same height as her pet/metaphor for Kaia's inner fucked-up-ness so he can probably fight it??

-

"Michael's my enemy too! I fought him. For MONTHS." JACK sweetie. You can't just go around like, having an enemy list. And comparing it with your collective fathers' list.

The line about bringing Kaia into it and being responsible for what happened to her is good, though. Jack's got a social consciousness and that is lovely because he keeps doubting his goodness but when it comes down to it he wants to meet his grandparents and feels bad that Kaia got dragged into things and killed.

Of course, not realising this is Bad Kaia, they're all off to get MORE revenge on that thing that killed her.

-

Aw, Dean, no, don't point out how smol he is. He's wearing a huge baggy shirt to emphasise it already.

"I didn't - I didn't MEAN to be a dick" Whoops. Well, you were. You also missed the part where Jack went from smol precious child to angsty teen.

Fun fact: Hamlet was supposed to be like 18 or whatever, but because a famous actor wanted the lead role but was like, idk, 50, Shakey bumped up Hamlet's age a lil so he could get away with it, making him more of, like, a giant manbaby who is still functionally a teen in all ways except he keeps getting portrayed by middle aged men.

So, of course, we have our one and a half year old Nougat who is a 29 year old actor now getting into his terrible teens, and if that isn't the funnest nugget of trivia...

... then you are not as much of a nerd as I am about irony, coincidence, and neat overlaps of thingies.

Point is: get me a version of Hamlet where the other expected actors are adults of course, but Horatio and Hammy and his squad are dumb teens.

-

Lol Bobo just randomly introduces a cool lady hunter who is dragging a random victim of a hex down into the bunker to be healed by an angel. That poor girl is going to have a story to tell.

A lot just happened in a few seconds but at least Jack, who has stormed off for his nth teenage sulk of the season, now has a Cas trapped in the Bunker with him.

Dean n Sam gonna get their asses kicked by Bad Kaia

honestly is this just a ploy not to keep Cas where Jack is, but to keep Misha away from stunt fighting?

Anyway Dean communicates most of the above to Cas silently, and tells him that he should stay with Jack and also heal this girl and they have the most married eye conversation about what  needs to be done, which is wonderful that they've been having these silent conversations all Dabb era but this is definitely the wordiest so far. I mean one of their more recent was just "Dean I can hear that cowboy music in your head" "what cowboy music?"

-

DEAN DOESN'T EVEN LOOK THRILLED TO BE DRIVING BABY AGAIN.

Sam mostly looks concerned he's hitting 80mph

I don't know anything about American speed limits but this is an alarming speed to me because in the UK 70 is usually like, the Most, and we don't have enough long straight roads that when there's no speed limit it's ever really recommended to go super fast because you will flip your car and die because all our roads are one and a half car length wide and extremely wiggly. And our motorways are congested enough you're more likely to be in a traffic jam than top speed anyway :P

-

I love that Dean measures people by their favourite Spice Girl. Hey Dean the 90s called, they want their pop culture relevance back.

You gay icon you.

(I'm reminded of 12x07 and Bobo and a similar conversation where Dean listed off all his manly manly historical faves)

-

Dean thinks Cas can handle it back home :')

-

"Something huge happened and you won't really talk about it!"

Okay Sam, he's traumatised and that's surface text.

You do realise the entire massive subtext is his repression and yet another metaphor for some huge queer experience and that this is the same conversation as 10x04 when he was grumbling into his chin about being embarrassed about what he did with Crowley? You realise that right?

Stop poking him about it, he'll talk when he's ready to open up. In the mean time he's feeling used and ashamed that this fling didn't go as planned after the whole first flirtation with waving his wings around and killing Lucifer where it all seemed fun to embrace his ~true self~ and have a crack at being a Flaming Michael Sword.

-

Also of course, we might just take him on his word that he really does NOT remember most of everything that happened because if he was truly repressing that much he wouldn't have been so gung ho for Cas to read his mind earlier but this mood pre-dates that so even if he remembered everything when Cas poked his brain, which seems unlikely as Cas saw it too, the wider sulk about his Clap Scar is more than just this.

-

It's a common experience, though, that Dean is repressed and moody, and Sam barrels in there trying to make him talk about it before he's ready, so the pressing is in character, regardless, that Sam doesn't trust that Dean is telling the whole truth and that there's some huge secret he's holding back.

The best part of queer subtext is that whether there is one or not it works - if there isn't, it's a metaphor for the obvious. If there is, same as above but the metaphor is concretely attached to whatever Dean is not telling Sam, and that in turn then becomes a part of the queer subtext, offered up on a platter to tell us more about how Dean is handling his post-possession shame of being, essentially, roofied after thinking he'd agreed to a consensual fling with a dude on his terms of entry and no strings attached, no walk of shame like he did when he was undressing earlier.

-

Poor guy can not catch a break. Shoulda hooked up with Aaron when you had the chance so your first time having a dude in you wasn't such a big deal, but just a nice booty call to keep in your phonebook. Now it's all Crowley this, Michael that...

-

"We need to deal with it." "Okay, I'm literally going EIGHTY to deal with it"

Dean, that's.

that's not therapy

"How can I be running from something when I'm RACING towards it" "I don't know, it's kinda your thing"

Sammy boy you have been trapped in the same car as Dean for way too long. Your analysis is getting deep. Deep deep cuts. Leave him alone.

-

I mean this is a guy who dealt with a gay panic by hooking up with Crowley and singing karaoke for him so.

-

"I  just *need* you to talk to me. Slow down."

Oh SAM you said a good and interesting combo of words there. Dean, go 70 instead of 80, give us some time to feel this out because I've been FREAKED and, for you, you got a time skip but I lived it all real time and it SUCKED, and I'm hurt too by this. Reminder: our family does not do well with LOSING each other, and this is every conversation we've ever had post-thinking that happened, and I did things responsibly and grew a beard and became Boss of a bunch of peeps and also King of Hell but we'll talk about that later... Like, slow down. I have my issues too. There's 2 of us in this car and you can't go 80 and time skip to the end of this conversation either. Not when I have 3 weeks of angst packed into it.

-

Also: classic Sam projection. Trying to get Dean to open up because HE has pain he wants to air, instead of just bringing up how he felt, he tries to get Dean to open up, and when this continues, as always, not to be how Dean deals with things, Sam gets upset because it never gives him the opening to talk about his shit until it's an argument...

You could have just started the convo, sorry about the beard, I really mean it when I say I haven't had a moment to myself for 3 weeks, it's been HELL and funny I should mention Hell, er, did you know you can kinda just declare yourself king these days... heh

-

At least he's using racing metaphors about wanting to catch up and also, like, catch up

Dean responds to the sport metaphors

-

Dean is like nah call Jody we're almost there. I skipped ahead.

-

Look, I'm delivering you to your boo, what more do you want?

Jody smiles at the sight of them in a way which is almost as revolting as Cas smiling at seeing Dean again

-

Hugs!

Send Jody to the Bunker to HUG OUR BOY

-

"How'd you do it?" "What, me vs some assbag archangel? Who would you pick?" "You, every time."

And this, guys, is how Jody is never, ever patched into their angst, because they present a narrative where Dean just kinda chucked off Mikey and sent him packing and it's all cool and he's a hero.

Jody has at multiple points threatened to beat Dean into submission in order to hear a true version of how he's doing and he has so far not given in and sat at her kitchen table with a box of tissues to sob through his crap, but I hold out eternal hope like the fool I am.

Anyway it's also telling RIGHT AFTER that last conversation where Sam was probing Dean so intensely, that this is the version of "I'm fine" that Dean is going with, and even though Sam KNOWS there's more to it, this is the wall Dean is projecting, even to him. Even when he knows Dean is freaked by it and doesn't know all the details.

-

Jody goes up like 18 pitches "Heeey I liiIIIiiike it!" she squeaks, forcefully tweaking Sam's beard because "nice peach fuzz" is too understated both for Jody and the volume of facial hair Sam has produced without comment until Dean came back and Jody showed up.

-

Dean has never been so offended in his life

-

*Jody continues giggling to herself while Sam desperately looks for a normal conversation*

-

AHAHA "I haven't been home since I talked to her........... I may be avoiding her"

Yeaaaah, bringing up that it's not just a normal human beheading and weird stab mark, but ALSO a KAIA-RELATED ONE maaay be... too much.

-

i'm going to be honest I've been so thrilled about everything I forgot to check what cast is flashing up on the screen

-

Anyway there is very much a subtext to Jody's avoidance of telling Claire what's going on that she knows how much she loved Kaia and how much of an issue this is - even if it's gonna be for revenge, because they don't know it's Bad Kaia - this is something where Claire's feelings make a MESS.

-

Bobo gets in Sam's serial killer thing, Dean is staring into the void like am I still even here or am I in hell. Is this a hell that Michael conjured. Mikey. Hey. Mikey. I figured it out. We're done here. Let's go back to regular torture. Michael. This is the bad place. Michael.

-

Dean stomps off into the woods because waiting for daybreak means being stuck in the same room as Jody and Sam flirting for a few hours.

-

Jody firmly pokes Sam in the chest with a map.

-

Sam.

-

A raven caws in the background, and Jack is wearing layers, the darkest shirt yet, a thick corduroy jacket in the style of early Sam, and is packing a bag.

-

He wrote a note and his handwriting is as disgustingly adorable as I thought it might be.

Alex wrote "Jack" with a cutesy backwards K in an autograph for someone who requested it at a con and I thought that was a cute detail but not how Jack would write and the real story - and I assume like with others they made him write it in character - is much more nuanced. His letters are competently shaped like he knows exactly how they should be, but shakily written, like he's not used to holding a pen, because, well, he isn't. He's not developed the muscle memory for it, just as he hasn't for fighting and all the other stuff, because in may ways he IS still a smol toddler with no life skills. His capital letters are huge and precise, like he knows he has to write them big, but disproportionate - putting so much emphasis on the titles of the people around him, the capital letters a metaphor for their influence on him. There's something clearly unconfident about writing and yet for all that obviously written by someone intelligent enough not to make basic errors of backwards letters and other things. He knows exactly how he is SUPPOSED to do it, but the execution is shakey, and disproportionate and generally looks unschooled and painfully revealing of his entire state of being.

-

Is this the scene where Bobo said out loud to an empty room, awww Jack.

-

I've been dreading that since the hiatus.

Maybe I should dig up that post and use it as the title for this one.

-

Triss is gonna die, Jack stopped by the stairs up out the Bunker in the war room, heard and saw Cas moving around, then in a fit of conscience or missing him already or something, stopped by to open the door and look in.

They have DEFINITELY expanded the Bunker set, in the sense that they've attached extra rooms to it or Wanek has sat down and made some parts more standardised, because they've shown off the corridor connections in every episode so far, and in this one we're seeing a never-seen-before connection which actually explains what is behind that window and how it fits. I mean, I'm pretty sure we've seen this particular room a few times, window and all, but never actual connections which show connected sets, so much as scenes starting or stopping there with no transition.

-

"She's been enchanted" "Like sleeping beauty" Jack says with awe "Awwwwwwwwwww" Lizzy says with awww

I honestly can't tell which moment Bobo said "Aw Jack" out loud about because we're getting such a series of them

-

Anyway, Hamlet, the great procrastinator, is distracted away from his mission to kill his uncle.

Not sure about the overlap of hearing things from the other side of a wall but I mean at least he's not going around stabbing people so

-

Jack also seeing all the important work they do for other people, even randos, and Cas getting involved in huntery business, distracted from emotionally nurturing him because of sleeping beauty there, and phoning rowena, doing the work to unknot a spell...

If we get Cas doing spellwork I'm gonna die, it's been Too Long.

-

Cas [squinting]: "Are you going somewhere?" Sleeping Beauty: "ooooww" Jack: "No."

Hon, that was so suspicious you are lucky this is Cas and not one of your other dads.

But. Aww Jack to an empty room.

-

"If I get a vote I'm team stick together" Jody remembers 9x19

Also Sam remembers bad!Kaia kicking their butts. They're on her natural territory

she is the Predator.

-

Sam keeps LOOKING at Jodio.

Look, I just

Cas keeps looking at Dean, Dean keeps looking at Cas

Jam won't stop looking at each other

-

That head is a Warning.

Come no further, mortals

-

I think Bad Kaia lives here

-

Vampires.

they really need to figure out how to biologically identify them except for teeth because they really come up against a lot of dead ones

-

Oh

"I brought tissue samples home, Alex ran them underneath the microscope"

Look, girls supporting girls, I knew what they needed to do before they did it lol

-

Dean: I was stabbed here

-

YAY I went frame by frame before the reveal and that is Kaia's face in there, the hood less spooky than before and more open to reveal her

-

Dean: bout to be stabbed here again

-

Dean finally has the moves to take on Bad Kaia after a season or two with the new stunt guy

but then her hood falls back and he's STUNNED

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Now everyone is stunned

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I think they've been using the Wayward Sisters Bad Place soundtrack for this but I'd have to check

the music is so very different and I'm not good at music ear thing

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Cas: *eye twitches violently* Me: Cas why are you having trouble with this line Cas: "... marked.................... 'gross stuff'"

Cas, internally: Why did I marry into this family

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Future MoLHunter 100 years later: "Man, this place is sweet, but the filing system is balls to the walls." Other Future MoLHunter: "Babe, you did not read the Winchester Gospels before your initiation?" F MoLHunter: "There is a drawer here marked 'hands of god' and the only thing in there is a pair of chopsticks and a ladel" OF MoL Hunter: Okay I will give you that. -

Me out loud to an empty room: aww Jack

He's so concerned about Sleeping Beauty, and he can't do anything about it but he's curious.

Maybe he CAN fix her and this is how he gets a lil power back.

I hope so because awww Jack being so concerned about her.

This is a Good Procrastination From Revenge

Hamlet, take fucking notes

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"Is that your dad?" "One of them, yes." Aw Jack

Aw Bobo

Jack's flipping around on family - he's accused them of talking about nick/Lucifer as his father, he's disowned everyone but grampa and grammy Kline, and now he's fondly thinking of his three hero dads

He's really struggling to work out his place and what sort of family set up he belongs to and to be fair, he has so many fucking options and all of them are somewhat disastrous or tragic, so he's 100% in his right to be fuckin confused.

On the other hand Sleepy Beauty has no context so she's gonna assume Cas is gay married with a kid Jack's age and that's like, not untrue.

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"My mom... but she probably hates me" "Why?" Jack says, horrified at the entire concept that a mom could hate a child, because, well, Kelly's love was COSMIC for him "because I left," she anvils

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"I was sick of being treated like a kid, and i thought I could make it on my own" Oh boy. She's just expositioning how Jack feels and immediately telling him if he leaves he'll fall in with a witch, who curses her with an AGING spell which will make her old before her time.

I feel like there is probably... a metaphor........... in here...............

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Also a reverse of Dean's aged down curse, because the girl and her other victims were hansel and greteled.

I had a sudden whim a couple of nights ago to see aged down Dean and current Jack hang out. Bring back Dylan Everett to go play basketball with Jack out on the front step.

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"Gave us all nice things," she says, clutching at a HUGE EVIL EMERALD PENDANT AROUND HER NECK

Jack.................................

Is that cursed

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"She said having us there kept her young" She put her own age into that locket

dang I should get a bonus point for bringing up poker!witch before he was relevant

I'm always curious about the show's implications about witches maintaining their youth by sucking it from others, because almost every witch we've met who had a focus on age was doing it for that reason, whether it was eating children or playing poker.

And we have a 300 year old witch chilling around who we don't know anything about when it comes to immortality, except that she has it and she bestowed it on Oskar so it's clearly a spell she can do rather than an inherent trait of reaching a certain level of magic practitionery.

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"Then it started taking me too. Even faster than the others!" yeah because she killed the witch so she probably has to suck poor sleeping beauty dry in order to regenerate and skulk away and start over somewhere

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PS: Sleeping Beauty is really doing an amazing performance here. I 100% am in Jack's shoes of being horrified and wanting to protect her

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"Cas is going to fix this. I promise" Sweetie! Have you ever called him Cas rather than Castiel before? It seems weird. He even wrote castiel on the letter

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Sam deducts Michael's entire plan off the clue that Alex couldn't detect the vamps in her sciencing, and based on having been attacked by super werewolves.

But why is Michael cleaning up these people?

Unless he's taking threats off the board who would be too cool and powerful and may challenge him...

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"Doesn't change the plan" "but Dean - "

Dean walks off

Dean has no time for Sam suggesting maybe this is something awful because of Michael that Dean might know about or else be weirdly intimately connected to because of his weird Michael-based condition.

We have no clue what's going on and Sam doesn't like that and Dean's powering through and Jody is hovering in the background like WOW I can see why you leave me out of all your dumb main plot angst normally. Never done me one of these MAIN PLOT ones before. Can we go back to normal MotW where you're low key angsting in the subtext about whatever currently ails you?

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Jody slaps Sam on the lower back

lower, babe. Lower.

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Cas does magic, boom purple smoke!

Aw no she's still withered.

Jack, take her necklace off and smash it

because you did the good work of a hunter and talked to her and through being kind discovered what was wrong with her

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Jody has a phone provider that gets her signal in the wilderness

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"Claire's been doing so good, but anything connected to Kaia... she's a powder keg"

"FIRST LOVE STRIKES QUICK, AND TO LOSE IT LIKE THAT"

okay no Jody didn't shout it, but Bobo did.

ILY Bobo

I'm like 0% surprised but I am guessing other people who had been less trusting are throwing a complete party to have it textually confirmed like that. I felt like Bobo's intent especially when he went on the record in that stream AND he had been saying already that he shipped it right after Wayward Sisters, that he never ever meant to be coy about Dreamhunter, and confirming that Claire was madly in love with Kaia was a top priority on his fuck you list since he didn't get to write the show he wanted in order to work on this naturally.

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Sam nods like fair enough, happened to me with Jess, but uh wow okay no i did not - yeah okay yeah

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"He's not ready for this case" "maybe he needs it"

Jam jam jam jam

I mean

Yeah mature adults discussing issues together and working out how they feel about Dean rage-hunting Bad Kaia

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hey look it's that one cabin that has been in like every episode of the show in the same way that one little stoney valley was in every episode of BBC Merlin

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Has she lost her spear??

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Dean, that was RUDE, you're so horrible to all these versions of Kaia

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That zoom up on his face is one of the top 10 Dean Is Not Okay zooms of the show

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So not like "bad cas" or "new bobby" are Dean's definitions for AU peeps - no word on what Charlie is to him, maybe because AU Charlie is a real issue for him to define as he couldn't help treating her like his Charlie.

But Bad Kaia insists that she is to Kaia what she is to me - they're joined in a different way. A way that back in Wayward Sisters was implied to be a dreamwalking connection of a very different sort, something anchoring our Kaia to the bad place and their connection was... weird.

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"That was an accident. I was trying to kill the blonde" She's remorseful about killing Kaia but upsets them even more by reminding them that she was out for Claire instead.

How about we kill no one, bad Kaia

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Oh no, Michael keeps sending monsters after her... Now she sounds like the original Kaia just because she's got "always more" things out for her. I suppose Michael learned of her through Dean, found her, and either wants to stop her or capture her because she has universe-crossing dreamwalking abilities, and woooow that will be useful to him.

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NOOO SLEEPING BEAUTY DIED. THIS IS REALLY BAD. JACK COULDN'T SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVE HEEEEEEEEEER

waaaaaaaaaah

Stop fuelling Nougat having an interesting dark arc about his entire self and purpose and let him just hang around the bunker and watch TV and eat nougat and be hugged. Can we not just have a son who is okay and nothing is wrong with him?

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Oh no even the random hunter (did I really catch her name as Brunhilda or did I imagine that?) is crying at Jack crying over Sleeping Beauty dying. Cas is contractually obliged not to cry or do complicated stunts but he looks miserable too.

Oh, jack figured out the pendant?

But can they actually save Sleeping Beauty?

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Sam as usual getting in before I can - "Break her!??!?"

don't you dare hurt Kaia any more, she's already told you what she knows, Michael hurt her, you punched her out with the same face and then threatened her a bunch. She might be a snarky monster-hunting feral woodland weirdo but she's still Kaia-like and you have a history of being completely horrible to Kaia-like girls when you're in a bad place.

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And it turns out Dean just wants the spear that pronged him, to figure out what it did and how to hurt Michael with it. To go on his own revenge mission that he denied Jack because, guys, we are now in competition for who gets to have the angsty anti-Michael revenge mission. Jack and Dean literally competing to be most angsty about it.

Jack is being considerably more productive even if Dean solved the Kaia mystery.

But yeah. Revenge sucks you guys.

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Dean you need to eat a snickers and take a rest.

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smiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirk because fuck you Dean for always hurting me and the other Kaia who is probably also me.

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Jack is being much smarter.

The smartest cookie.

Who needs powers when you are a good cookie.

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"She wasn't cursed. This was."

GOOD COOKIE.

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I vote Jack gets to kill Michael. Dean has lost his Michael killing rights.

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"You're no different from him. Threats, violence, anything to get what you want." "I am nothing like him."

Hon.

"Yeah you are. And you always have been."

I don't know if Kaia knows or if she's pulling a gambit, but acting like a mystic know it all and reading Dean stone cold in a villain way sure did take some of his rage away into that good old Dean self-loathing and fear, which was one heck of a good chess move regardless of if she can magically read him or not.

No I don't think Dean is these things but Michael is a means of exploring Dean's "blunt little weapon" sort of mindset that he has suffered from because of John's upbringing all this time, and Michael emotionally mauling Dean to the point of being a non-functioning worst version of himself who threatens Kaia (AGAIN) really is an on the nose way to display the sort of trauma that Michael tore into his psyche.

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Crap I need to go to yoga, but this is too good to rush so even though I don't have much left, I will be back for proper notes in a bit!

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Him smash magic glowy thing with hammer

just like i told myboy to do!

Cas's hair is ridiculously spiky.

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"What happened?"

YOU MADE NOUGAT FEEL GOOD ABOUT HIMSELF THAT'S WHAT HAPPENED

Aww jack to an empty room

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Sam I  have been gone for hours. How have you not tackled Dean to the floor and apologised to Bad Kaia

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"I saw what you did to her, when you got angry. You shoved your gun in her face." To be fair, at the time Dean had also been emotionally mauled by the feels bear because Jack gave him a vision of Mary being tortured in Hell-equivalent and he was also fucked up beyond belief.

Kaias really are seeing the worst side of him all the time.

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Bobo likes breaking Dean

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That was enough to make Dean let go

Also to ask a really good question about how she knows!

I'm way more curious about Kaia than Dean yelling at her :P

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Then she points out that he's angry and impatient because he's scared, like, duh, but sometimes he needs to be reminded that he can have "weak" emotions like that because he wants to be all tough and on the case and instead he's freaked out because Michael has messed him up completely. Like. Stay home. Help the boy with lore or something. Take a pyjama day.

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Wheee full flashback!

The early evening light gives it a Bad Place colour tinge, which is awesome.

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I can't believe Mikey shows up in his hat but not his jacket.

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He says he's BORROWING Dean here. Hm.

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Also, what I suspected, that he sensed her around and was just curious. Probably having a "what the fuck that's KAIA!?" from Dean inside him and being like Kaia huh? Time to chat.

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Mikey do you literally not have your own version of that fuck off huge spear they stabbed Cas with a couple seasons ago, or do you just collect cool spears?

There's something more than usually terrifying about his face in this conversation.

And he now says there's a war coming and thinks something weird like Bad Kaia might appreciate being on his side.

Oh boy.

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"Wild one" that's so cool

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Michael really has some great lines for being a massive pillock

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Omg he fight good too

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AAH this is Kaia's memory and she's psychically implanting it in Dean's head

"Stop!" he says, clearly not enjoying watching himself beat up Bad Kaia and, like, realising exactly how awful it looks to do this when he has to watch himself from the outside and for all we know feel her pain too.

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Of course Dean being desperate to get the spear to fight Michael could come across with a blur of ambiguity of Michael being desperate still to have it, whether to stop Kaia using it or because he just really wanted it and doesn't like being told no.

The concept that Michael just disappeared from Dean still lingers.

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So many fights with a whole bunch of people this season. Maybe just because there's so many friggin characters

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"Now you're in trouble" *Bad Kaia literally leaps through a window to avoid dealing with this* I love her

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NICE STAB

thanks for saving Jody

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Well that was quick

Also you're badass and terrifying and I think Claire might fall in love with you too >.>

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"I'm used to it" Oh babe.

She literally raised herself in a terrifying doomy forest so

I mean at least this world has dry crackers and beans. SCORE

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Jody has got a LOT of thinking to do about how to phrase any of this to Claire.

"So there's a feral Kaia living in the woods outside of town"

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Awww Sam offering her a lift to the hospital

Bobo wants us to remember 9x06 and Dean having to tend Cas's broken hand maybe

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Sam. Hug her right now. RIGHT NOW.

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Nope Jody just looks really tormented

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She's in a reverse Jack position - one mom to 3 hunters instead of one kid to 3 hunters :P

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Hey look it is Jack and one of his fathers.

"Jules is off!" Hey look Sleeping Beauty was called Jules. Nerdylittleshit doesn't read these notes however so she will never know that I decided this character was named after her :P

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Cas apologises for not being there for Jack, because it took this long to realise he's the father who's always at work while others have taken the stereotypically maternal role to Jack, Cas just gets to be the cool strong father who is usually dead, captured or just busy saving people and too busy for Jack as a result.

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"It's okay," Jack says, sounding considerably more emotionally balanced about it than he had in 14x01 when everyone was neglecting him

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"Today you PROVED that you have the mind of a hunter. And the heart of a hunter" Raised by the best, bitches!

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Awwww Cas wants to be a hunter with Jack! They can get a terrible car and hit the road and do an easy case and bond as they go and eat crappy food at diners and

Jack develops Nephilim Flu in response to having a nice moment with a father because he's so unused to being treated with full attention.

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Cas: *squints*

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"Must be getting my first cold!"

I have a cold too Jack! Awww!!

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Cas is going to make him some soup. This is too sweet. I don't even have words for any of this it's just gross. My teeth hurt.

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Jack I swear to god if you stopped your revenge quest and it hurt you so bad inside you're about to cough up a lung I am going to LA to kick the writers' asses in person so if you dare be even the slightest bit consumptive

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Oh thank god the scene changed before he coughed blood into his hand

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Awww and then Dean admits Sam was right, while still being the one driving on the way back.

I wonder if they filmed these side by side. "Dean slow down" "Sam you were right"

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"What Michael used me for" Ouch, hearing him say it like that... Sad sad thoughts.

He just wanted to skip ahead and have it all done because revenge makes you feel SO much better.

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"Dean... you did what you had to do" Okay it's even worse hearing someone else justify it rather than hearing that phrase come out of someone's mouth. At least when they say it about themselves they're just in a bad place. I don't even know if this is a pavlovian response I'm having but really flipping it around to have Sam say it is a validation - Sam certainly thinks things are better off with a dead Lucifer and would have a favourable bias, because it got the job done and whatever Mikey is up to at least it's not Lucifer doing it. Because even if Lucifer were doing the exact same things it would just be intangibly but clearly worse.

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"It wasn't a blink, being possessed."

Dean says to Sam, who has been possessed by an angel twice and when it was Gadreel, for almost as long as Dean was Michaeled

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Dean's so freaked out because fighting the drowning sense of being possessed was so horrifying and made him feel so weak and useless and he didn't even win that fight, Michael just bailed and let him have it back. With the "I own you" hovering over him.

It certainly reeks of being haunted by a bad relationship. The sense the nasty abusive ex hovering around outside the place you work every night...

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"And it's all on me, man" No it isn't, he got through because Lucifer told him how.

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Well I mean if you wanna go cosmic consequences, yeah it is because Billie done told you not to go universe hopping and that's several billion dominoes you messed around with doing exactly that

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But despite how I spent all of season 13 SHRIEKING at you not to do it while knowing full well you did, and how this is technically your cosmic hubris for doing that, I also don't actually blame you on a personal level, Dean. Just, like, so you know once I get back to the shrieking. Because ow you are very sad and in pain and if Nougat wasn't coming down with Nephilim Flu in the other scenes I'd basically rank you No 1 for wrapping in blankets and feeding soup.

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You're still in the top 10. Jodi had a pretty bad day too :P

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Oh COME ON JACK

*starts packing my bags for the ass kicking*

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Aww Jack to an empty room

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Um EXCUSE ME HOW MANY CONSUMPTIVE TISSUES HAVE YOU GONE THROUGH?

GO FIND YOUR FATHER RIGHT NOW

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HAVE YOU BEEN DOING THIS FOR THREE WEEKS?

Well no wonder you've been in a panic to get Michael killed.

SHEESH.

Dean's back and he's gonna kick your ass because he remembers when Sam did this in the Trials and he is very very anti consumptive family members.

[nickelkeep]

Pride and Revelation

“Rainbow flag, check. Beads, check. Body paints, check. Cute outfit, check.” Charlie was going over all the items in front of her, making sure that she had everything that she needed for the Pride Parade that afternoon.

A knock on her door frame pulled her attention away from her check list. “Hey Red.” She turned to see her roommate Dorothy standing in her doorway. The statuesque brunette had her arms crossed over her chest and was smiling fondly at Charlie. “Getting ready to go to your Pride thing today?”

Charlie nodded as she fought down the butterflies in her stomach. She and Dorothy had been thick as thieves since Freshman year of college after meeting in their Theater 101 class. For Charlie, it had been love at first sight, but Dorothy only had eyes for a guy named Sam in their class. Granted, that didn’t work out, but Charlie’s infatuation was never reciprocated. When she realized that she fell in love with her best friend, she knew that she would have to keep it bottled up inside.

“Who all is going? I’m assuming you, Dean and Cas, anyone else I know?” She waltzed into the room; her steps graceful and mesmerizing.

“A few others. Kevin should be there. Gilda. A few other people from the Allies group. Why?”

“Taking the train, right?”

“Oh my god! Dot, yes! Why are you asking so many questions?”

“I just wanted to make sure I wouldn’t be imposing first before I asked if I could tag along.” Dorothy flashed a mischievous smile. “Can I join you guys?”

Charlie’s heart skipped a beat. “You want to come to Pride?”

“Red, I’ve always wanted to join you for Pride. Just, things didn’t always line up before. I either had plans, or I was working.”

“I just thought it wasn’t something you were interested in.”

“What do you mean Charlie?” Dorothy’s voice was choked between a mixture of hurt and confusion.

Charlie turned bright red. “I just meant, that…” She stumbled on her words. “I know you’re an ally, I just didn’t think…” Charlie covered her face with the palm of her hand.

Dorothy nodded. “I’m coming. You were planning on leaving at 10, right? I’ll meet you downstairs then.” She turned on her heel and stomped out the door.

“Smooth move ex-lax.” Charlie fell back on her bed and tried to figure out how to make things right with her best friend.

***

Dorothy was already down in the lobby when Charlie went looking for her. She was wearing a cropped waistcoat, which Charlie had never seen before, over a tee shirt and a pair of shorts. It was like Dorothy was trying to punish her or give her a heart attack.

The two of them needed to walk the block to Dean and Cas’ place before walking the rest of the way to catch the bus. Dorothy immediately latched to Cas’ side as they met up with the guys, leaving Charlie to talk with Dean on the walk over.

“So, Dorothy ended up coming along after all?” Dean nudged Charlie in ribs smiling at her.

“You knew she wanted to come?”

“You didn’t?

“Not until an hour ago.” She poked Dean in the side. “Dean! What the hell is going on here?”

“Cas said that Dorothy was asking him all kinds of questions about the parade. She’s signed up to march with us.” Dean shrugged. “Thought that was your doing.”

“My doing?”

“Charles. Seriously? You’re still holding a torch for her.”

“And I don’t have a chance in hell with her. I accepted that years ago.”

Dean stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. “You really think that?”

“I’ve known Dot for damn near 10 years Dean. She has never once shown interest in a female. She wanted in your brother’s pants. She’s only ever gone on dates with guys. One plus one equals two. The sky is blue.”

“Jesus Christ Charlie, what was your minor again? With as many classes as you took, it could have been your second major if they offered it as a major.”

Charlie scowled at Dean. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“Yep, that confirms it. You are definitely the little sister I never wanted.” Dean looked after Cas and Dorothy. “Shit, we need to catch up to those two. Who the hell put rocket fuel in their tanks?”

***

The bus ride downtown had been quiet. Dorothy’s demeanor had gone from upset to defeated, and when Charlie tried to talk to her or Cas, she was politely shot down by the latter. With Cas actively running interference, the red head knew that she had royally fucked up. As they met up with the rest of the Allies group, she chewed on the cuticles around her thumb and thought on the rhetorical Dean brought up. She had majored in Computer Sciences, but her minor was in Gender and Sexuality Sciences.

The call came out for the different groups to line up. Kevin and Gilda were the Banner carriers this year, and the entire group had gotten matching shirts that had either their individual pride flags – if they were comfortable sharing what it was – or if they were an ally.

It suddenly dawned on Charlie that Dorothy must have been talking about Pride with Cas for a while. The shirts came in the week before, and the orders were due three weeks prior to that. Cas would not have let Dorothy walk with them if she wasn’t wearing an Allies shirt.

Charlie looked around frantically for the tall brunette when she felt two hands gently clasp her shoulders from behind. “Calm Down Red.” Dorothy’s smoky voice filtered through her ear. “I wouldn’t leave you hanging.” Dorothy let go and walked around to be in front of Charlie. She was still wearing the damned waistcoat, and Charlie couldn’t help but think how unfair it was that Dorothy could make it look so good.

“How’d you know I was looking for you?”

“Well, you just confirmed it for one.” Dorothy smiled. “More like I was hoping.”

“I’m sorry for how I acted this morning. I don’t have an excuse, and I don’t want to hurt my best friend.”

Dorothy took Charlie’s hands into her own. “I may have overreacted a little bit as well. I’ve been planning something for a while, and I wanted it to go off without a hitch. My nerves were kind of shot this morning.”

“You were cool as a cucumber.”

“No Red, I really wasn’t.” Dorothy ran her thumbs in small circles over Charlie’s knuckles. “We’ve known each other for what, nine years now?”

Charlie nodded. “Yeah.”

“And we’ve shared a lot of things with each other, right?” Charlie nodded again, and Dorothy continued. “I’ve been keeping a secret from you.”

Charlie cocked her eyebrow in confusion as Dorothy let go of her hands. Dorothy undid the buttons on her waistcoat, her hands slightly trembling. As the last button slid out of the hole, Dorothy opened the vest fully to reveal the flag on her shirt.

Charlie’s jaw dropped. “You’re Demi?” Dorothy smiled shyly and nodded. “I appreciate you telling me, but I don’t understand.”

“I tried so hard to be what was expected of me. You’ve met my parents, remember?” Charlie nodded. “I can’t hide anymore. And I don’t want you to hide anymore either.”

“Dot?” Charlie’s voice cracked with fear at what Dorothy’s words meant. “I don’t know what you mean by what I’m hiding.”

Dorothy finished taking off her waistcoat and tossed it to Dean, who had walked up with Cas to check on them. She gently cupped Charlie’s face in her hands. “I love you too, Red. It’s always been you.” The taller brunette leaned down and kissed the shorter redhead, unleashing the emotions they had been hiding from each other.

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