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scorpiofangirl1109 · 4 years

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Bubba’s Little Princess chapter 2

Tuesday April 24th 2001

It was the middle of the night when Detective Munch woke up, still laying next to his granddaughter. The little girl’s cries had woken him up. Katie was crying out for her mother in her sleep and was kicking her legs slightly as she tossed and turned. But she was still asleep and was not aware of her actions at the moment. The sight was honestly heart breaking for John to see. There was nothing that anyone could do to prevent the nightmares but that did not mean that the man wanted to see his granddaughter in such a state.

So Munch gently shook Katie awake and said “Sweetie, wake up. Come on, sweetie, wake up.”. He was unsure of what else to say to wake up the young girl, but he kept gently shaking her and tapping her shoulder to wake her up.

It did not take too long for Katie to wake up luckily, and the young girl was upset and buried her face into her grandfather’s shirt as she sobbed hysterically, shaking slightly, still afraid from the dream she had just had. It was obvious to Munch that it was a nightmare. Dealing with nightmares was nothing new to the grandfather, as when his son Josh had been little, like all kids he had nightmares. And he had comforted his son and stayed with him until he fell back asleep. Somehow this was a different situation, mainly because surely this had to be due to the trauma Katie had gone through with being abandoned by her mother.

“It’s alright, sweetie. It was only a bad dream, you are safe right here with Bubba.” John told his granddaughter, kissing her head and rubbed her back. Part of Munch was unsure of what else to do to comfort the crying little girl in his arms right now as he was not sure of how best to help her. Katie had spent the night with him plenty of times before and a few times she had nightmares at his house. But those were simple as all it took for Munch to calm her down then would sit with her and let Katie cuddle up to him as he read her a story again, she would always fall asleep again before the story ended. This time things were different and Katie was just so hysterical as she cried into John’s chest, making wet spots on his shirt with her tears.

It took quite a bit of time for the young child to calm down and for her to stop sobbing hysterically. Munch kept holding Katie close and rubbed her back with one hand, she clung to him like a vine.

“It’s OK sweetie. I’m right here. I am not going anywhere.” Munch reassured the little girl once again. “Do you think you can tell Bubba about the dream you had? I think it might make you feel better.” He hoped that this would work because clearly Katie was upset about whatever she had dreamed about. But if she was so upset, the young girl may not be in a state where she would talk about her dream.

“It was scary.” Katie said slowly. The crying had luckily stopped at this point but she was still scared. It was evident from how the child was still clinging to her grandfather like how a baby koala clung to their mother.

“How was it scary sweetie?” Munch asked. As she aired for the girl’s response the detective could not help but tuck some of her blonde hair behind her ear. It was a little bit tangled because Katie had been sleeping, but it was something that could be dealt with later on.

“Cause mommy leave me all alone again.” Katie told her grandfather. Her little hands gripped her stuffed bunny a bit tighter. “But it different in dream.” the girl continued looking down at the blankets on the hospital bed.

“Can you tell me how it was different?” Munch asked looking down at his granddaughter, as he continued to rub her back and hold her close to him. He was a bit unsure of what else to do to comfort the little girl but his simple presence seemed to be enough to keep Katie calm. Well for right now at least.

Katie was quiet then and she continued to look down at the hospital blankets. It was a long few moments of what felt like painful silence to Munch before his granddaughter responded to his question. “Cause Mommy not the same. She threw away all the food and drinks. Then she laugh and tell me bye bye.” As the girl was recounting the dream tears were starting to form in her brown eyes once again, threatening to spill over. Clearly she was still about the dream and talking about it was upsetting her. “Then she leave me and lock me in the house so I no go after her. And I cry and cry for her but she no come back and no one come for me. Not even you Bubba and then I cry and cry before you waked me up.” This was the point where the young girl began to cry all over again.

Munch felt his heart break for a second time seeing how Katie was upset again and he continued to rub her back and hold her close to him. He felt her bury her face into his shirt once again as she was crying. If there was a way John could take away the nightmares for his granddaughter he would do so. It was hard to see his granddaughter so upset like this. Katie was definitely his little princess and he treated her as such. Sadly, there was no way Munch was able to take the nightmares away from his granddaughter completely. All he could do was sit there and comfort her and reassure her that everything was ok and that the bad dream was not real.

“It was just a bad dream, sweetie. You are not alone. I am right here and I am not going anywhere.” Munch told his granddaughter, still rubbing her back as she cried into his shirt.

It took a few minutes for Katie to calm down and Munch kept rubbing her back even though she had long stopped crying at this point. But he did use his free hand to grab a tissue from the tissue box that was near the hospital bed. After wiping her nose and throwing away the tissue, John kissed the top of Katie’s head and held her close again.

“Bubba?” Katie asked softly from her place in her grandfather’s arms. “You tell me another story?”

Even though it was the middle of the night and all John himself wanted to do himself was go to sleep there was no way that he could say no to this small request Katie had. Anything to help her fall asleep.

“Of course sweetie. Bubba can tell you a quick story to help you sleep.” Munch told his granddaughter. “And then we’ll go back to sleep OK? I’ll be right here next to you all night.” when Katie nodded her head slowly Munch began to tell her a story. Like before he made it up as he went along.

Luckily after a few minutes the story put Katie to sleep. She was cuddled up to her grandfather resting her head on his chest and clutched Bun Bun in her arms. After John was sure that Katie was sleeping soundly, the detective took off his glasses putting them on the table besides the bed before he fell asleep himself.

It was early in the morning when Munch was woken up by someone shaking his shoulder. It caused him to be startled and sit up in the bed, squinting from the sunlight streaming into the room. Reaching over for his glasses Munch put them on to see that it was Captain Cragen in the hospital room. Luckily Katie was still sleeping soundly, still curled up to her bubba as she had been earlier, Bun Bun still clutched in her arms. John was not about to wake her up when she was sleeping so peacefully, especially as she most likely had not slept much the nights she was all on her own.

“You look like you didn’t sleep much.” Cragen remarked watching as Munch carefully slid off of the bed and laid Katie down so her head was resting on the pillow as she slept. Luckily the young girl was still sleeping soundly and had not noticed that Munch was no longer right next to her. The captain handed the detective a cup of coffee which was accepted gratefully by the latter who took a long sip. Cragen put a bag down on a side table, he had brought some bagels for Munch and Katie to have for breakfast.

“I found myself watching her sleep. I had to make sure that she was alright.” Munch said taking another sip of coffee. The caffeine would be much needed to get through the day.

“How’s she doing?” Cragen asked looking back at Katie who was still peacefully sleeping in the bed.

“She is doing as well as one would expect her to do after what she’s gone through. The doctors had to put her on IV fluids because she was so dehydrated. And I had to stop Katie from choking last night because she was shoving her food into her mouth so fast. She also needs a bath because she hasn’t had one for a while but other than that the doctor says she is going to be fine. Well.... she’ll be fine physically at least,” Munch replied.

Cragen nodded as he listened to Munch. “That’s good. Olivia told me what Katie told her last night about what happened. How is she doing emotionally?”

John took another long sip from his coffee and sighed for a moment before answering his captain “She was a wreck when Olivia and I arrived at the scene, sobbing hysterically. You could hear her cries from down the hall. And she was clinging to me like a vine last night and didn’t want to let go of me when the ambulance came. I rode with her and she refused to let go of my hand the entire ride and once they brought her here. She had a nightmare about what happened, she was screaming and crying hysterically from it. I spent a while trying to calm her down and eventually got her to sleep.”

“And how are you doing?” Cragen asked Munch. “You doing OK? I know you must be going through a lot right now.”

Truth be told, Munch was feeling a lot of different things at the moment. But because he had been focusing so much on his granddaughter the past few hours, his own feelings had taken a backseat because Katie needed him. His granddaughter was John’s most important priority at the moment. Plus, with how much she had clung to him last night, it was not like he was able to do too much for himself.

“I should have known something was wrong. I really should have gone over and checked on them. Then none of this would have happened.” Munch said shaking his head slightly. “I made a point to spend more time with Katie after my son died, helped my daughter in law by babysitting or let Katie spend the night with me at my apartment. I had dinner with them at least once a week. But still this happened.”

“John…” Cragen said slowly “You can’t blame yourself for this. None of what happened was your fault.”

“I didn’t try to be there for Ashley as much as I should have. I helped her with childcare and had dinner with her but that was it. I was more focused on Katie that I forgot about Katie’s mother and how she was doing.” Munch said. “After Josh died, she took it hard of course but she seemed to be getting better. I guess I was wrong. I never saw her as the type to abandon her own child. Katie could have died if they had found her too late.”

One thing Munch was grateful for was that Katie had been found when she was. With how dehydrated she had been, it probably would not have taken too much longer before she would have died of dehydration. There was no way Munch would have been able to endure another loss, especially right after Josh’s death. The pain from that was still so fresh and real even three months after the accident.

“But the good thing is that they find her and she is going to recover.” Cragen told Munch.

“I know you’ve had a lot to think about but have you thought about what you are going to do when Katie is released from the hospital?”

That was one thing John knew he had to think about as he had no idea what it would look like once Katie was given the all clear to go home. One thing that Josh and Ashley had done after getting married on the advice of the detective himself , was that they made a will. And they had asked John if he would raise Katie if something were to ever happen to the both of them. Munch had said yes of course, but never in a thousand years he would ever be in the position where he would have to potentially raise his granddaughter.

“That hasn’t even crossed my mind. But I am taking her back to my place once she’s able to leave. Her parents made a will after they got married and named me as Katie’s guardian if something were to ever happen to the two of them.” Munch told Cragen. “I said yes when they asked me but I never thought I would ever have to be in the position where I would possibly have to raise her.”

“Well that’s a start. But you still have to go to family court. I can make a call to Cabot and see if she can recommend someone to you to help you in court.” Cragen said.

John nodded slowly as he took a sip of coffee. This was going to be a long process and there was no way of knowing how long Katie would be in his care. It could be a week or it could be months that Katie stayed with him and that idea was slightly nerve-wracking to the senior detective. Taking Katie for a night or a weekend was one thing. She’d have her suitcase packed and it was a time for John to spend some quality one on one time with Katie. But raising her was a totally different story, especially as it would be different taking care of a little girl versus raising a little boy.

Plus this time Munch would be doing this on his own without anyone else there to share the responsibility with. When Josh was young he and his wife had obviously been married but had gotten divorced when Josh was really young. They had split custody of Josh after the divorce and co-parented. Co-parenting was fine and Josh had turned out well with him and his ex wife’s parenting. This time it was all up to him though as his ex still lived down in Baltimore and John was busy with his life here in New York City.

“Thanks Captain.” Munch said glancing back over at Katie out of the corner of his eye. It was a relief to see her still sound asleep after the day she had yesterday and how long she had been up after her nightmare. “It helps a lot. But I’m going to have to take time off to take care of her. She needs me and I don’t know if I can leave her right now based on how she was clinging to me.”

“I understand and I have already given you have time off to spend with Katie. As much time as you need to take care of her. We have it handled at the precinct.” Cragen said. “We’re going to handle her case. We will find her mother.”

It was still quite difficult for Munch’s mind to actually process that his granddaughter was actually the victim in a case that his squad was investigating. There was no way that the detective could have predicted or imagined this. Because of how he was the blood relative of the victim of the case and his role as a detective, John knew that he was going to have to recuse himself from the case. He was too close to everything. But John still wanted to know what happened and why Ashley had done what she did to her own daughter. But would knowing make things any better?

“Bubba!” A tiny familiar voice called out for John which snapped him from his thoughts. “Bubba!” the voice said again. Munch turned towards the bed and saw that Katie was awake now. Even though he was only a couple of feet away from her and she could see him it was clear that she had gotten scared that he was not right beside her when she had woken up. So the grandfather walked over to the bed and sat on the edge carefully giving Katie a small hug and kissing top of her head while rubbing her back gently.

“Bubba, you leave me!” Katie said upset. She was not crying thankfully but she was still upset,nonetheless.

“I didn’t leave you sweetie. I am right here in the room with you. You’re ok honey.” Munch said to his granddaughter, reassuring her that she was OK. He looked up from comforting Katie and saw Cragen and the expression on his face. It was not a good sign if Katie was freaking out over Munch simply getting up the bed to talk to someone in the room. Once Katie seemed reassured Munch stopped rubbing her back but kept an arm around her as she rested her head on Munch’s chest holding Bun Bun close to her. “Katie, do you remember my friend Captain Cragen? He works with Olivia and I at the police station.” Munch asked.

The young girl looked over at Cragen who had moved closer to the bed and sat down on the chair near Katie’s hospital bed. She studied his face for a long moment before she slowly nodded her head yes.

“I remembers him.” Katie told Munch. She remembered meeting Captain Cragen when she was at the precinct when Munch had been watching her for her mother.

“Well, I’m glad you are doing OK now that the doctors are helping you.” Cragen told Katie. “It’s been a little while since I saw you.”

“Are you gonna find my mommy?” Katie asked Cragen. The young girl knew that Munch was a police officer. Munch had explained to her what his job was when she had asked him one time when Munch picked up Katie from daycare one day after work when she spent a weekend with him. And she knew that her bubba and his work friends helped people who needed it.

Munch knew that it was the job of the special victims unit to help his granddaughter and find her mother. But he was not sure if he was ready to hear what Ashley had done to her daughter because of his own feelings of anger towards her right now. And even though she had been abandoned by her mother, Munch knew Katie loved her mother a lot and she was only three years old, so she would want her mother to be found so she could see her again. Even if she had just gone through a major trauma with her mother.

“We are going to try our best to find her sweetie.” Cragen said to Katie giving her a small smile.

This seemed to be a good enough answer for Katie as she smiled a bit. It was the first time since he had found Katie that she had smiled. Even if it was a small smile. Seeing that smile was more like the granddaughter John knew and loved very much. Hopefully it would not be gone for very long.

“Bubba? I hungry.” Katie told Munch. “I eat breakfast now?” It was not too surprising that Katie was hungry from how she had inhaled her food and had nearly choked on her dinner the previous night.

Before Munch had a chance to say anything to his granddaughter that was when Cragen took the bag of bagels he had brought for Munch and Katie. “I brought these for you and your Bubba to have for breakfast.” Cragen told her.

“What do you say Katie?” Munch asked Katie to remind her to use her manners when she did get her food. Her parents had been working on her manners with her since Katie was able to form complete sentences. They had been done well as Katie was pretty good about remembering her manners. But she was still only three so she could forget and just needed a reminder just in case.

“Thank you Captain.” Katie said as Munch unwrapped the plain bagel with cream cheese for her and put it on some napkins on the rollaway tray table that was next to the hospital bed. Of course munch would eat his own breakfast but after yesterday’s little episode with the food he would make sure that Katie was OK before his own breakfast. They did not need another close choking call.

“You are very welcome Katie.” Cragen said as he got up from the chair next to the bed. “I have to go to work now but I am glad I got to see you and that you are doing good.” As he was getting ready to leave Cragen gave John a small but still perceptible nod.

“Bye!” Katie said waving to Cragen as he was leaving. She smiled and began to eat as the Captain gave her a small wave from the doorway before closing the door to the hospital room.

It was later in the morning when Munch heard the sound of his cell phone ringing. He had been sitting in the chair next to Katie’s hospital bed as she watched Sesame Street on the television in her room. Because Katie was glued to the TV and was focused on watching Elmo that Munch went to the corner of the room in order to answer the phone. He did not want to answer the phone in the hallway where he would be in the way of the doctors and nurses working here. Plus with how much noise in the hallway it would make it harder for the detective to hear the other person on the line. John was also sure that Katie would get upset if he left the room for even a second. When he had gone to use the bathroom attached to the hospital room Katie had freaked out and cried. So John knew if he went into the hallway Katie would have a massive freakout.

“Munch.” The detective spoke into the cell phone. Out of the corner of his eye Munch kept an eye on Katie to see how she was doing. Luckily the little girl was still watching the TV totally engrossed in her show that she was not paying attention to her grandfather talking on the cell phone.

“Hey John.” Olivia greeted John from the other line. “How are you doing? Cragen told us about his visit to see you and Katie.” She said.

Munch nodded at what Olivia said. He knew Cragen must have been on his way to the precinct when he had stopped by the hospital and then filled the rest of the detectives in on what he had told Cragen. “Katie had a rough night, After you left I put her to bed and during the night around two in the morning she woke from a nightmare and it took me over an hour to get her to calm down to where she finally fell asleep. So I didn’t sleep much last night and had a rough night as well. I’ve had a lot of coffee to compensate for that.” Munch replied.

“How is Katie doing physically?” Olivia asked. “Do they still have her on the IV liquids?”

“She’s drank some water from a bottle but they are having her on the IV for a little longer. I have a feeling you weren't calling just to check in on us.” Munch said to Olivia. He was not sure what to expect but he knew there was something up if Olivia was wanting to talk with him about something.

“Cragen called Cabot after filling in Elliot and Finn about the case. He called to see if she could use her connections to help you find a family court lawyer to gain custody of Katie. Cabot made some calls and she has a friend who can help you gain custody. Their name is Rachel Corbin. She’s willing to come meet you at the hospital to talk to you.” Olivia told Munch.

The detective knew that he would have had to get custody of Katie sooner or later. At least it would be taken care of sooner. And Katie would not have to be put into a foster home and go through the foster care system. The poor girl had already been through enough in the past few days and there was no need to rip her away from the only other family member she had in the city.

“That’s good. I’m not leaving the hospital anytime soon.” Munch said. “Did she say when this lawyer would be coming over to the hospital?”

“Cabot didn’t say but it would be sometime today. Before I go, is there anything we could do for you and Katie?” Olivia asked.

Munch thought for a moment. If Katie was going to be having an extended stay with him then he was going to need a lot more of her things. At his apartment he kept small things like toiletries, socks and underwear, a pair of pajamas and a few spare changes of clothes for Katie. Plus since Katie was three years old after all and would want her favorite toys with her. There were a couple of her father’s old toys from his childhood that he has saved at John’s apartment but Katie still usually brought a few of her toys whenever she had stayed with him. And he definitely did not have enough for her as it could be a long stay depending on how long they took to find Ashley and any legal actions that she would face whenever she was brought back to the city.

“Is the apartment still blocked off? I don’t have enough things to take care of Katie like clothes, and she is going to want some of her toys with her. I would go but I can’t leave Katie. I can give you my spare key to the apartment.” Munch told Olivia.

“You don’t have to leave her. We can go to the apartment and get the stuff. I can see if they cleared the scene and pack some of her stuff up to bring to you.” Olivia said to John.

“Thanks Olivia.” Munch said. “I really appreciate it.” John honestly did not know how he would be doing without people helping him right now.

“You’re welcome. Take care of Katie. Give us a call if you need anything.” Olivia said before she hung up the phone.

Munch flipped his phone closed and then put it in his pocket. As he did this he heard the sound of Katie’s little voice calling out for him. So he turned and went back over to where Katie was laying in the hospital bed. He sat down in the chair next to her and asked “What is it sweetie?”

“Bubba, why you go over there?” Katie asked as her little hand reaching out towards her grandfather’s. If he was not sitting on the bed next to her she still wanted to at least hold his hand. Munch took her small hand into his own, knowing it was reassuring to Katie that he was there.

“I had to answer the phone sweetie. I didn’t leave you, I was only on the phone for a little bit. It was Olivia. She came over to talk to us last night remember? She just called to tell me a few things.” Munch told Katie.

The little girl thought about that for a moment and said “OK Bubba. Watch Elmo with me?”

“Of course honey.” Munch said as he got comfortable and watched the show while holding onto Katie’s hand. Anything to make her happy.

Around one in the afternoon Katie had fallen asleep after lunch. Most of the morning Katie had asked for snacks, saying she was hungry, but the doctors wanted to make sure she ate slowly and did not throw up anything she ate. So when her lunch had come she had eaten it pretty happily. Munch was glad that Katie was taking a nap as she needed the sleep after the night she had. The little girl had gotten to the age where naptime was a bit more of a battle so the fact she had gone down without much of a fight after all was a miracle within itself.

Munch had watched Katie for a few moments to make sure that she was asleep before he turned off the tv in her hospital room. He had gotten the newspaper to read while Katie slept. Right as he was starting to read an article there was a knock on the door. John put the newspaper on the side table and out of the corner of his eye made sure that Katie was sleeping. The detective walked over to the door then and opened it.

There was a woman standing there in front of the door. She did not seem to be too much younger than John did, in her mid forties and was carrying a briefcase in her left hand. She was dressed in a light blue pantsuit outfit. “Are you John Munch?” The woman asked. “My name is Rachel Corbin. Alex Cabot told me you could be in use of my services.”

Oh right. This was the family court lawyer. To be honest, Munch had forgotten about her coming over while making sure Katie ate her lunch and watched Sesame Street with her. Munch really had to call Alex Cabot later on to thank her for what she was doing for him right now as it was a huge favor that she had done for him.

“Yes that’s me. Come in. Just be quiet, I just got my granddaughter down for a nap and I don’t want to wake her.” Munch said as he stood aside to let the lawyer into the hospital room.

“Of course. I understand completely. I have three daughters of my own.” Rachel said as she walked in as Munch closed the door behind her. The woman then proceeded to sit in the chair across from the one next to Katie’s bed and put her briefcase by her feet. She opened the briefcase to take out her notepad and pen.

John walked back over to the chair near where Katie was asleep and sat down. Talking to a lawyer about taking custody of his only grandchild was never something that the grandfather ever thought that he would have to do but here he was. But at least with Katie in his custody it would reassure Munch that Katie was safe and that she couldn’t be abandoned again.

“How much do you know already?” Munch asked Rachel as he was not sure if this woman knew much about the situation at all. He was certain Cragen had told Cabot the information that he and Olivia had told him.

“Cabot told me what your captain told her this morning.” Rachel said. “Considering the circumstances, I can file for a petition to have temporary custody of your granddaughter. And because the hospital needs to release your granddaughter to a parent or guardian, I can get an emergency hearing set for sometime this week.” Rachel told Munch. “I just want to ask a couple of questions.”

Munch sat back and took in everything that Rachel told him and nodded slightly, it all made sense to him. He didn’t care too much about the terms as long as Katie was with him. “Ask away.” He said as he re-adjusted himself in the uncomfortable hospital chair.

“I know that your son was young and your daughter in law is also young, but did they ever prepare a will where they had stated what would happen if they were unable to raise their daughter?” Rachel asked. “If they do have a will it could be extremely helpful to you.”

“They did prepare a will, they were advised to after my granddaughter was born. I don’t know the name of the lawyer who they went to but they did ask me to raise her if something were to happen to the both of them.” Munch replied.

“Well I can see if I can locate the lawyer they used for creating their will. But also I have to ask about any other family members in Kaitlynn’s life.” Rachel said. “Besides yourself, who does she have on your side of the family?”

Munch looked back at Katie for a moment as she continued to nap before answering the lawyer’s question. “Katie’s father, my son, was killed in a car accident in January and his mother and I spilt up when my son was really young but we shared custody. My ex wife had another child after our divorce, Katie’s aunt. My ex’s mother is still alive that is all I really know about my ex’s side. They live in Baltimore so Katie only sees them a few times a year.” He said. “And I have a brother whom Katie has seen here in the city.”

“And her mother’s side of the family?” Rachel questioned. “How much do you know about them?”

Munch didn’t know Ashley’s family well. Having only met her parents and her siblings a few times and had only met the extended family at the wedding. And it had been a few years since the wedding had happened. But they all seemed like decent people. “Her parents live in Boston most of the time but also have a home in Orlando. They are caring for their aging parents and Ashley has two older brothers and two older sisters in the Boston area. I don’t know much else about her family.

Rachel wrote some things down on the notepad. “How active are you in your granddaughter’s life?” she asked.

“Pretty active. I moved up to New York from Baltimore back in ‘99 to take a job up here. She was about 18 months old when I did. Before that I saw her whenever my son and her mother were in Baltimore. But after moving here I saw her a lot more and helped her parents out. But after my son died I made a point to spend more time with her, babysit her, let her spend the night with me, have dinner with her and her mom. Stuff like that.” Munch told Rachel.

“And do you think you are going to be able to provide the care Kaitlynn needs and provide a stable home for her?” Rachel asked.

Munch knew because he worked as a detective he worked off hours and that those hours were long. There had been times he had to postpone plans with Katie because of a case and not being able to leave the squad room. But he would do whatever he could for Katie because he loved her so much, he couldn’t lose her too. And the judge may see his job as a hindrance in his ability to be there for Katie but he would make sure that was not the case.

“I know my job as a detective keeps me busy and I work odd and long hours, but I already have taken care of my granddaughter and I know how to take care of her the way her parents would want her to be taken care of. And I would do whatever I need to do for her. I love her so much and would not let anything bad happen to her.” Munch told Rachel. “She’s gone through enough hell.”

The conversation between Munch and Rachel continued for another hour where Rachel explained to Munch what the court would be like and what he should expect. As Rachel was finishing some notes up Rachel asked “Do you have anything else you want to ask me?”

John thought for a moment, his mind going a thousand different directions at the same time. There was so much he was trying to figure out. So he just shook his head no. “No. I can call if I think of something. Thank you.” Munch said getting up so he could see Rachel out the door

After Rachel packed her things up and followed Munch to the door before stopping the doorway and said “You have nothing to worry about. I don’t see any problems with the court awarding you custody. Give me a call if you need something. I’ll let you know the court date.” Rachel said as she walked out the door.

Munch closed the door behind Rachel heading back to the chair next to Katie’s hospital bed. Amazingly the young girl had slept through the entire meeting with Rachel which the grandfather was happy about because he didn’t want little Katie to overhear anything Rachel said and to worry about things that was something she didn’t need to worry about. But one thing was for sure there was no way Munch would let anyone take Katie away from him.

It did not take long for Rachel to call Munch back with a court date. She was able to get an emergency hearing for the next day. And that was a good thing because Katie’s doctor had said she would be able to go home the next day because she was in better shape. They had taken her off the IV fluids and she was back to drinking what she would normally drink and she was able to keep meals down. And the nurses said because they did not have the facilities for it that Katie would have to wait to have a bath for when she came home. But one of the nurses had come and washed Katie’s hair and combed it out for her and braided it.

John did not know how to do Katie’s hair besides brushing it and help put a headband in Katie’s hair. So he was glad the nurse had done it for him and it seemed to have make the little girl happy which is something she needed after what she had been through. As Katie was eating her dinner and watching Blue’s Clues on the television. The dinner happened to be one of her favorite foods, mac and cheese. Her face had a bit of sauce on it but Munch would wait until she was done eating before he wiped her face. Munch had ordered a sandwich from the hospital cafeteria for himself. It wasn’t great but the detective was not expecting much from a hospital cafeteria. He had explained to Katie that she would be getting to leave tomorrow which made her happy but he had not said anything about him having to go to court. Munch did not plan on telling her about that until he had to go, knowing she would most likely freak out.

“Bubba?” Katie asked as she was finishing up her dinner but her eyes remained glued to the TV.

Munch was in the middle of taking a bite of his sandwich, so once he swallowed he wiped his mouth with a napkin and said “Yes sweetie?”

“What happen when I leave?” Katie asked. “We go back my house? Cause I want to go back home. Bun Bun too.”

John sat for a moment thinking about how he should explain this to Katie. She was only three years old she truly did not understand what was going on right now. The detective wanted to make sure that he did not make Katie feel upset or anxious about anything going on right now.

“Well sweetie I am going to have a friend get some of your stuff from your house and they will bring it to me because you are going to stay with Bubba for a bit while they find mommy ok? It’s like when you come sleepover with Bubba. OK? Won’t that be fun?” Munch asked hoping Katie would be OK with that.

“A sleepover? Bun Bun too? And my dollies?” Katie asked as she finished her dinner then, the tray completely empty, she had even eaten her green beans.

Munch took the wet wipe that came with the meal and wiped the mac and cheese off her face even as Katie made a face and turned away as she did not like the feeling of the wipe on her face. After throwing away the wet wipe he answered Katie’s question. “Yes Bun bun is invited too. I know you would be lonely without him. And your dollies will come too. I’ll tell my friend to get what you want, OK?” Munch said.

“OK Bubba and bun Bun a girl not boy” Katie said correcting her grandfather slightly annoyed her grandfather had called her stuffed bunny a boy.

John couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle and said “I’m sorry. Well, please tell Bun Bun that she is coming with us.”

Katie smiled at this and said. “OK. Cause Bun Bun scared when she alone. And she no like being alone.”

“Well we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Munch said leaning over and kissing Katie on the top of her head and tucked away a piece of stray hair that had gotten loose from the braid the nurse had done.

“Bubba? Can you come cuddle me?” Katie asked from her place in the hospital bed. “Please?”

“Of course, sweetie.” Munch said, unable to deny Katie this small request. Plus he was dying to get out of the uncomfortable hospital chair. The grandfather got up and gently sat down on the bed next to Katie and sat on the edge of the bed.

The little girl instantly snuggled right up to him with her bunny in her arm as her head rested on his chest and she kept watching Blue’s Clues. John let out a small smile as he leaned down and kissed the top of Katie’s head and held her close. Hopefully tomorrow good news would come.

#law and order svu #law and order fanfiction #fanfic #john munch #au fanfiction #law and order svu fanfic #svu fanfiction #law and order special victims unit

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smallcowplant · 5 years

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[ P A R T T W O ]

my favorite thing is monsters (book one) by emil ferris 🧟‍♀️🔍🧛‍♀️

quick synopsis: adult (coming-of-age story from the perspective of a young girl, but definitely targeted at an older audience)/graphic novel. set in late 60′s chicago, the fictional graphic diary of ten year old karen reyes recounts her experiences as she tries to solve the murder of her beautiful and enigmatic upstairs neighbor, a holocaust survivor.

page count: 416

rating:★★★ (this is a hard rating for me...think 3.7-3.9....oscillating to a 4....4.2....I don’t know, man)

review: I keep doing this fun and cool thing where I buy a book without realizing it’s the first in an (unfinished) series, and then end up being cast woefully adrift by reality. that’s what I did with this one. purely based on the artwork alone, I can tell you that this book is a treat for the eyes. a lot is going on here, and there’s something so engrossing about being swept up into the chaotic pen strokes and colors. the story is an interesting one, and not entirely what you expect. the characters are all distinct and layered---really riveting people who feel near-painfully real. as the first book in a two (?) book series, it leaves off with the central (and now additional) mysteries unsolved---which leaves the reading experience feeling unfinished and kind of disjointed. I’m stuck in a bit of a confusing mid-zone with this one, where I truly....well, I can't say I enjoyed it, since this story is so much more than that? I was...fascinated? enveloped? I’ll be reading the next one, definitely.

one of us is lying by karen m. mcmanus 🥜🚓📱

quick synopsis: young adult/contemporary mystery/suspense. five students walk into detention. only four make it out alive. who did it...and who is lying?

page count: 361

rating:★★★ (firm 3.7)

review: the breakfast club....but with murder? if you’re down for that, you’ll enjoy this book! it certainly kept my attention. and MAN was this a suspenseful and super stressful read. (if you need a book that’ll make you go “wow, I’m glad I’m not in high school anymore”, this is it lol!) there’s a bunch of really interesting character studies going on in this one, and it definitely lends to a tense and involving read. the only reason the rating isn’t any higher is just that certain elements of it didn’t work...entirely...for me. that doesn’t mean that they were bad...just not what I...wanted? there’s two more books in this series, and while I’m not anxious to get my hands on them, I’m fairly sure I would read them!

murder at morrington hall: a stella and lyndy mystery by clara mckenna 🐎🍵💏

quick synopsis: adult/historical mystery. 1905. stella kendrick, a lively and confident american heiress, is tricked into an arranged marriage by her coldly ambitious father. her groom-to-be is viscount “lyndy” lyndhurst, who is both roughish and financially strapped. despite this rough beginning, they find themselves oddly drawn to each other. could they actually be a good match? however, all courtship is set aside when the pair discover the vicar who was to marry them----dead in the library. now they must work together to solve the crime and find the culprit.

page count: 304

rating: ★★

review: ugh, it pains me to say, as I thought I was signing myself up for a fun turn-of-the-century murder mystery/romance...but this was just...meh. a meh story. I feel like it had potential to be an enjoyable, soapy romp with a dash of sensuality...but it was none of those things? (basically, I wanted a self-indulgent and delicious slice of chocolate cake...but I ended up with a week-old raisin muffin.) it didn't help that I had some issues with certain things the writer included. in particular, I REALLY didn’t like the equating of fat = mean/ugly and the repeated use of the word “bulbous” to describe certain characters noses----I had to do a quick google search to see what the hell the author was talking about. still not sure if she was trying to imply that the characters had rhinophyma/rosacea or just that they had bigger, “ugly” noses, but neither is good lmao. whenever you put a “plain/regular-degular person” with a big nose up against your array of stock White People™ characters with thin noses and angular faces, AND make those “plain” characters play the “wow, I’m so ugly but these characters are so pretty oh woe is me” bullshit in their inner monologue, I’m dipping. I’ve collected my paycheck, clocked out, left the building. (your story is already about a bunch of rich, straight, white people in 1905...I’m already skeptical, don’t test me. jk, but also not.) I’m fairly sure this would have caused a decent amount of people to DNF this book, but I’m a stubborn little bitch, and if I paid actual money for the hardcover copy at goddamn Barnes and Noble, I’m reading it. this is all to say that....if I’m being thrown out of enjoying your soapy historical murder mystery to gripe about random shit, there’s a problem. other than that? carpet was described a lot, the twist was decent, the romance was okay (no smut---or anything even vaguely close to romantic/sexual tension---and the kisses were not described at all, so I have no clue if either of them do more than press their lips together while admiring each others pale necks, but whatever), and the setting was the most interesting thing about this book (a crumbling english estate in the countryside?? sign me tf up). I won’t be reading anything more in this series, but that cover is pretty cool isn’t it? (I don’t know that the vase had anything to do with the story I read, but it does look really neat.) sidenote: hate to be a smarmy asshole, as I know full well how much work goes into writing, and I’m in no way trying to shame the author...this book just didn’t do it for me.

wilder girls by rory power 🌳🦷🥀

quick synopsis: young adult/horror/mystery. on an isolated island off the coast of maine, raxter school for girls is under quarantine. a mysterious disease has wracked the island, leaving teachers dead, students twisted and changed, and the woods that surround it dangerous and wild. while the disease consumes the island, the girls wait---for help, for the cure that was promised to them. but when hetty’s best friend disappears, she must venture out of the safety of the school, past the gate that separates them from the woods---and what she finds will change everything.

page count: 363

rating: ★★★★★

review: powerful, blistering, and utterly terrifying. that’s what immediately comes to mind when thinking about this book. I read it in a breakneck pace, devouring the whole thing in a feverish five? hour haze. once it was over, I sat bleary-eyed, the air around me feeling different than before, my hands tense and my stomach jumping. “you were a good one.” I said softly, kissing the spine. so yeah, it’s good. it’s very good. heartbreaking and awful and shockingly beautiful. this one hurts. I felt this one in my bones, in my soul. read it.

lovely war by julie berry 🌷💥💞

quick synopsis: young adult (but the youngest character is 18...so I think this could comfortably slot into adult)/historical (with a touch of fantasy). the intersecting stories of hazel, james, aubrey, and colette: a classical pianist from london, a british would-be-architect-turned-soldier, a harlem-born ragtime genius in the u.s. army, and a belgian orphan with a gorgeous voice and a devastating past----told by the goddess aphrodite, who must spin the tale or face judgment on mount olympus.

page count: 468

rating: ★★★★★

review: do you know how many times I CRIED while reading this book? because I certainly don’t! I lost track, as there are simply too many painful and beautiful things contained in this book. heart-wrenching, sumptuous and intoxicating, vivid in the best and worst ways, sharp and soft at the same time. I met my boyfriend while he was still active-duty military, so the wartime/seperation themes hit me very personally....but even without that, this book is excellent. expertly weaving together mythology and history in one gripping piece of art, it left me with a wistful smile on my face and a faint ache in my heart. it’s good. very good.

we have always lived in the castle by shirley jackson 🏡💀🐱

quick synopsis: young adult? adult? who knows!/mystery/horror. mary katherine blackwood is eighteen years old and lives with her sister constance. she has often thought that with any luck at all she would have been born a werewolf, because the two middle fingers on both of her hands are the same length, but she has had to be content with what she has. she dislikes washing herself, and dogs, and noise. she likes her sister constance, and richard plantagenet, and amanita phalloides, the death-cup mushroom. everyone else in her family is dead.

page count: 146

rating: ★★★★ (4.5/4.6!)

review: delightfully creepy and utterly odd, with a full cast of extremely unlikable characters and one of the strangest protagonists I’ve ever read. at NO TIME did I have any idea where the story was going, which lead to an completely bizarre (but fun!) reading experience. twilight-zonian/gothic...but better. very eager to read more of shirley jackson’s catalogue, because that lady sure knew how to weave a tale. very glad I read this one.

sadie by courtney summers 📻👥🎙

quick synopsis: young adult (mc is nineteen, and imo I feel like this slides into adult tbh)/contemporary/true crime. told from the alternating perspectives of nineteen-year-old sadie, who runs away from home to find her younger sister’s killer, and a true crime podcast exploring sadie’s disappearance.

page count: 308

rating: ★★★

review: sad, awful, raw. that’s this book, simultaneously bright red and angry and deep blue, sadness upon sadness. this book reminds me of every true crime documentary I’ve ever watched---how it wraps itself up in a depressingly soft way, all the emptiness left behind and everything forever-changed. gives me the same icky voyeuristic feeling consuming any true crime content always leaves with me---this peculiar feeling of peering in to others heartbreak, of their horrors. this is a hard book. it’s difficult and not easy to stomach---and it never lets up. know that before you go in. what you may expect/want is NOT what you’ll get. and that’s the trueness of this book. I have my own personal feelings regarding the story, thus the three star rating, but that’s on ME. this book is incredibly well-written and insanely gripping. I finished it the same night I started reading it. if you want a gritty, intense read set in the very bleak reality of our world, this is your book.

FEBRUARY

BOOKS READ: 14

PAGES READ: 4225

# OF 2020 BOOKS READ SO FAR: 17/50

in reflection: my goal for this month was to read ten books, and I did that ...plus four more! so I’m pretty proud of myself, lol! there were a lot of stellar reads this month, and I had so much fun discovering them all! definitely a TON of new favorites to add to my bookshelf! :^)

disclaimer: all fourteen of the books I read this month include/focus on potentially triggering content, although they do fluctuate on the scale of intensity and subject matter. my wrap-up reviews do not contain spoilers/a comprehensive list of potential triggers. I urge everyone to do their own research regarding the content of these books if you’re interested in reading them, and I’m always available for questions. my reviews are just that, reviews, and books that work for me may not work for you (and vice versa).

#sam's 50 books of 2020 #nonsims #sam speaks #body horror cw #for wilder girls cover #and for wilder girls in general lol

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timeagainreviews · 5 years

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A Very Special Doctor Who

The title of last night's episode "Can You Hear Me?" was a bit of a misnomer, or rather, a misdirect. In the tradition of Doctor Who names, I expected it to have more to do with the function of a creature. Something like "Don't blink!" or "You've got two shadows." Instead, it acts more as a reference to representation. Can you hear my calls for help? Can you see the signs of poor mental health? In many ways, tonight's episode was merely a vessel to deliver a message than the story itself. But was that to its detriment? Let’s get into it, shall we?

The episode opens on Aleppo, Syria in 1380. An interesting choice considering the history of the Crusaders. But they never once touch on the subject, they instead lean toward a simple monster invasion. It's not exactly certain why Aleppo was even necessary other than the fact that it looks really cool on-screen. It never really plays into the storyline other than being another location for the story to take place. I am guessing that writer Charlene James has some sort of personal history with the location. Perhaps she studied it and wanted to incorporate it into Doctor Who someday. Considering this is her first Doctor Who, that seems likely.

Tahira, a young Syrian girl is running from the authorities. Evidently, she's some sort of adventurous klepto like Winona Ryder. She leaves the safety of the centre of the city to steal things for the thrill of it. If you don't remember this, don't fret, it has little to no bearing on the greater story other than informing us that she's a bit bored and looking for adventure. Her friend Maryam scolds her and they speak of monsters, in which Maryam does not believe. Later that night, we're visited by these monsters who take everyone but Tahira. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but it's still early on. My biggest bit of excitement came from the fact that the hand we see over Maryam's face was not the Slitheen. Having seen them in the trailer last week, that's who I was expecting them to be. You have to admit, their hands were very similar!

The Doctor drops all of her companions off so they can go touch base with their home lives. Yaz sees her sister, who seems a bit worried about her. Ryan reconnects with his mate Tibo. And Graham plays cards with the boys from the bus depot. I was happy to see the continuity of Gabriel returning as Graham's mate. That was a nice touch. Over the course of their revisiting their friends, we learn that things have been a bit off. People have been having nightmares. Tibo seems to have locked himself away in his flat and complains that at night he's visited by a bald man with tattoos on his head. Luckily, his mate Ryan has been travelling with the Doctor, which means that instead of being laughed at, he's taken seriously. On top of that, the trio of companions are also given visions of the tattooed man. Except for Graham who sees a woman with Storm from X-Men vibes trapped between two planets. That night, Tibo is once again visited by the dream man, whose fingers detach and enter his ear. I don't know why all five fingers detached as he only needed one. Ryan witnesses this just as the dream man and Tibo disappear.

The Doctor is also visited by this bald dream man which gives her something to do while dealing with the boredom of being away from her mates. The Doctor's own mental health has been a subject of discussion lately and it's apparent here as well. As she follows the intruder back to ancient Aleppo, she doesn't bat an eye at the fact that it appears to be ransacked. She's in her element. This is her bread and butter! The Doctor finds Tahira who alerts her to the presence of the monsters, as one is still present, hanging from the ceiling in a very creepy fashion. The make haste and give chase back to the safety of the TARDIS, but not before the Doctor finds a sample of the beast's fur. Strangely, the sonic picks up nothing. That's twice now in series twelve that the Doctor's sonic picks up no readings.

The Doctor picks up her companions where they've followed the source of Graham's vision back to a spaceship looking a lot like a Borg cube. The interior was like when you see a night club in the daytime. It's a bit weird. Also, there seems to be a network of fingers. Within this ship, they discover the bald man who calls himself Zellin. Apparently, he's some sort of Godlike immortal. For the classic Who fans, this was a treat as they name-dropped not one, but three different immortal species- the Guardians, the Eternals, and the Toymaker. I was especially excited over the Eternals, as "Enlightenment," is my favourite Fifth Doctor story.

The Doctor and her friends help release the woman from between the two planets, who turns out to be an immortal named Rakaya. It turns out to be a trick, as Zellin is unable to break her out of the prison himself. Through an unusually helpful bit of exposition, Rakaya recounts their story to the Doctor in a beautiful sequence of animation. I really loved the art direction of this scene as it was something you don't often see in Doctor Who. It was a nice way of illustrating what could easily have been something boring. Kudos to the production team for trying something new.

According to Rakaya, her and Zellin were both like gods, born into the universe and bored by their immortality. In order to entertain themselves, they pitted two planets against one another. But after a while, both species on each planet grew wise as to the nature of these gods and rebelled. They built a prison between their planets and trapped Rakaya there as punishment. I suppose they were done with their planets and decided they didn't need them anymore. I mean, after all, planets are a dime a dozen, right? The whole explanation is a bit hand-wavy, as is usual with god-like beings. The mythology trumps common sense. Zellin then set about using Rakaya's technology to free her while keeping her sane by feeding her nightmares he sourced from humans with his little flying fingers.

Having locked the Doctor and her companions up, they set about causing mayhem on their new favourite planet- Earth. Naturally, this being Doctor Who, they land in England. Meanwhile, the Doctor and her companions are kept as prisoners aboard Rakaya's ship, locked up and having dreams harvested from their minds. Ryan dreams of the Earth's destruction and sees the Dregs from Orphan 55 again. He sees Tibo as an old man. Just one more person he's failed. Graham dreams his cancer is back, complete with a vision of his lost love Grace. Yaz's vision is a bit more abstract as we see her sitting on the side of a stretch of country road while a policewoman looks on from a distance. And the Doctor's dream was a further glimpse into who I believe is probably the Timeless Child. Though we get about as much elucidation on that concept as we have in previous episodes. The only difference here is that we see the same shot for a few more seconds. Nothing new or surprising there. Clearly, that's series finale stuff.

What comes next is an absolute load of rubbish. The Doctor awakens from her dream, just because. After bumping her hip against her sonic, it flies up out of her pocket absolutely defying the laws of physics. For a second there, I wondered if she wasn't hanging upside down as that's the only explanation I could come up with for how the sonic was able to magically fly directly into her hands. While it doesn't ruin the episode, it was easily the worst moment. They don't even try and make it look believable. I'm not even sure they could have made it look believable. Had she dropped it, and then kicked it up into her hands, I could have maybe believed it. There's suspension of disbelief, and then there's just being stupid. In fairness, I'd be lying if I said this was anything new for Doctor Who. Who can forget Tom Baker's Fourth Doctor screaming at such a high pitch that it breaks a pane of glass to make an escape? That being said, it was still very bad.

Having escaped, the Doctor locks Rakaya and Zellin back into the planet prison. However, now they're joined by one of the beasties from Syria, which happen to be from Tahira's nightmares, hence why they never attacked her. The Doctor returns the ship's captive Syrians and Tibo. At this point, the episode still has a good ten or fifteen minutes left, but the threat has been completely neutralised. Or has it? Well, as it turns out, Zellin and Rakaya were not the biggest baddies this week. Instead, that illustrious title goes to none other than mental health issues! That's right, it's an awareness episode! This is why the entire story was so hand-wavy- it's just an excuse to talk about mental health!

I wouldn't say it was exactly shoehorned in, but it definitely was not subtle. Ryan talks Tibo into getting professional help for his issues. This one made the least sense to me because they gave literally zero indication that Tibo needed group therapy. Sure, he was locking his place like Fort Knox and becoming a recluse, but he was quite literally being visited by an all-powerful ancient evil. You get rid of the ancient evil and suddenly, his biggest problems are gone. Instead, it's inferred that Ryan just knows his friend well enough to say "Hey buddy, you need some help." Which is fine I guess, but they in no way illustrated this throughout the episode. Even Tibo's standoffishness toward Ryan could be explained by the fact that Ryan had not been returning his texts. And considering that by the end of the episode, he now knows Ryan has been travelling with the Doctor, even that issue is resolved.

Graham's own fears make far more sense as cancer was a very real part of his life. Of course, he's afraid of his cancer recurring. I did really love the conversation he has with the Doctor as she offers very little comfort. Watching the Doctor awkwardly meander away was funny, but also somewhat confusing. I found it a bit weird that the Doctor listened to Graham talk about cancer without mentioning that she probably has the cure to cancer in gum form or something. She doesn't need to say anything comforting when she can say- "Sure Graham, let's just go to Medicalus 9, the hospital planet! You'll never worry about cancer ever again!" If the Doctor can't cure cancer, then it's like Amy Pond said- "...what is the point of you?"

Yaz's story is easily the most welcome, as it offers up some much-needed backstory with her. We learn that Yaz had a hard time with bullies in school. After deciding to run away, he sister Sonya sends the police to find her. This is why Yaz's nightmare shows her on the side of a country road with a policewoman in the distance. Yaz's fear is that she will get to a point where she is unable to cope and needs to run away. Perhaps an even deeper fear is that her travels with the Doctor are one more form of running away. We learn why Yaz may have been inspired to become a policewoman herself, as the interaction between these two is a positive one. The policewoman makes a bet with her that in three years if things aren't better, she'll pay her £50, but if they are, Yaz owes her 50p. Remembering this bet, Yaz returns to give the woman her 50p, which you'll note was not a Brexit commemorative coin. Thank Zellin.

And that was it, really. There wasn't a lot of meat to this episode. The baddies were dealt with quickly, and the plot resolved before things were even over. Was I mad about this? Not hardly. In fact, I applaud the show for taking the time to talk about mental health. It was clearly the driving force behind the episode and I don't mind at all. Using the concept of bad dreams to represent bad thoughts made a lot of sense in context with the show. Even if the story was devised as a means to deliver a message, it was still a pretty entertaining story. I've always had a soft spot for the immortal baddies of Doctor Who, so adding two more in was a treat. I had even begun wondering if Zellin wasn't the black guardian pretty early on, so clearly they had done a good job paying homage.

The BBC even took the time to drop a hotline at the end of the story, which I thought was a nice touch. It's no lie that due to the current political and social climate of the world these days, mental health is at an all-time low. A friend of mine who is in school for counselling messaged me after the episode, ecstatic that they were addressing these issues, and I have to agree. Doctor Who spans a rather large audience, and it's good to see them trying to take that responsibility seriously. Where I've questioned the show's capacity to address bigger issues, it seems as though they've found a bit of a sweet spot with series twelve, give or take. Keep the messages broad and incorporate them into the story. If "Can You Hear Me?" caused even one person to reach out for help last night, then it's done its job well.

#doctor who #can you hear me #thirteenth doctor #Jodie Whittaker #yaz #yasmine khan #mandip gill #Ryan Sinclair #tosin cole #Graham O'Brien #Bradley Walsh #rakaya #immortals #mental health #bbc #tardis #Time and Time Again #zellin #charlene james

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redstreakfox · 5 years

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Before the night ends, I want to give the wishings of a Merry Christmas to the Mao Mao fandom and especially to @fanfics-and-theories-and-stuff whom I had the pleasure of being their secret santa in the gift exchange. I apologize if this is getting to you past when it would be considered Christmas wherever you live. I’ve never written a story with someone else’s OC before but I hope I captured her well for you and I hope you really enjoy what I wrote! Also a shout out to @maomaosmother for hosting another wonderful event!

Prompt: The sheriff trio and OC Kaiya enjoy Christmas carols around the fire while it snows outside

If there was one word Mao could think of to summarize his emotions that morning, it would be ‘nervous.’

And why wouldn’t it be? It’s not as if this was a turn of events he could have predicted.

It was several months back when Mao had gotten a phone call from his older sister Minori, a groaning sound coming from her end before Mao Mao had even had the chance to offer her a hello. Their father, Shin Mao, was a man who viewed any amount of complaining as a sign of weakness, an inability to take control over one��s problems, and so the Mao siblings more often than not had to rely on each other for any form of support in regard to their more negative emotions.

At first it was merely a routine exchange, another chance for Minori to vent her frustrations over the difficulties in trying to maintain both her hero duties and her responsibilities as the owner of a local eatery she had established in a larger kingdom she had recently settled in (business was good, her souffles were still known as her specialty.) This time, however, his sister seemed more tense than usual. She was barreling through a rant over an incorrect utility bill she had received when she also mentioned finding a hand written letter in the mail from a ‘Kaiya,’ and Mao would have thought nothing of it had his sister not immediately tried to walk back her mentioning of it.

Naturally, he asked about it, and unexpectedly his sister tried to lie in response. It only took him asking one more time before she caved and told him more. None of the Mao siblings were good liars, after all, another trait they could thank Shin Mao for.

What he wasn’t expecting to be told, however, was that Kaiya was a younger sister who had been all but scrubbed out from the official familial records. Minori was light on the details, knowing very little herself. An incident involving a different clan, a promise their mother made that even Shin Mao refused to speak of. It was a lot for Mao Mao to process, even with so much of the necessary information still missing.

That’s why, just a few weeks later, he both was and wasn’t surprised to find his own mysterious letter mixed in with his regular assortment of mail. It was just as Minori had recounted, a handwritten letter from someone named ‘Kaiya’ with the intent to introduce themselves. The wording of the letter seemed earnest enough, and even if a small part of Mao wondered if this was some sort of trick, the larger part still felt a sense of obligation to respond back, especially if it was someone claiming to be related to him.

And for a while that’s how things went. A series of correspondences only carried out in letter form; attempts to know each other and share stories about what growing up was like for the both of them. It was on a whim, after running the idea by both Badgerclops and Adorabat first, that he decided to invite her to a small holiday get together at Sheriff HQ. It was going to be Mao’s first Christmas spent in Pure Heart Valley, and what better way to keep a night of firsts going than finally meeting Kaiya face to face?

As it turned out, things had a way of lining up for the better. Kaiya noted that she would have been passing through Pure Heart around that time anyway (something about a yearly caroling trip she made with friends during the winter season) and so she would be able to stay over for the day before leaving later that night to go singing out in the kingdom.

It wasn’t long before that day finally arrived. The trio spent all morning decorating their living room and tree, chopping wood, preparing holiday treats, and it wasn’t until later that afternoon, once the doorbell rang and Kaiya had stepped across the threshold into their home for the first time, that Mao found a new description for his suddenly changing disposition: cautiously hopeful.

At first, things were noticeably awkward. Small talk that seemed to go nowhere, a tour of their headquarters where one of the smoke bombs Adorabat had been presenting got accidentally set off, and even a moment where Mao began choking on one of the prepared snacks. The incident was relatively small and only lasted for a moment, but it was simply another item to add to the list of ways in which Mao thought the visit was turning into a disaster.

It wasn’t until later, when Kaiya was perusing over a bookshelf, did things seem to finally settle into a better direction. It was a photo album she had found, or at least it was an attempted one.

The Mao clan had never been necessarily considered affectionate with one another. All of Mao’s childhood had been dedicated to training (well, self-training) and his sisters were often too busy with their father’s hero regimen to spend any quality time with each other. Even holidays were considered less of a break and more so a day where the workload just simply wasn’t as heavy. And all of that reflected in the book she had found, where pictures of the Mao clan together were few and far between.

Even still, to Kaiya, it was much more than she had previously seen of them, having been raised outside of the family. And even with his own hang ups, Mao found himself more than willing to indulge her in her questions. Some came easier than others, obviously. Mao Mao’s voice finding a slight sense of warmth when the discussion managed to linger on the sibling side of things rather than the parental, and for her own part Kaiya seemed less inclined to want to discuss her parentage as well.

It was during a sudden lull in the conversation when the two cats finally noticed that they had lost track of time. The descending sun had given away fully to the darkness of night long ago while Badgerclops and Adorabat, who at first had been quietly listening to Mao discuss his family, had slipped away to play with the new toys the blue bat had received that morning.

Kaiya then began to move about at a tempered pace, she had plans to meet her caroling group in the kingdom’s central plaza and she was now behind schedule, but there was a part of her that hesitated at the idea of ending her visit so abruptly. Mao assured her that he understood, assuring her that there would be more chances to see each other in the future. Kaiya slipped on her coat over her long, light blue skirt and leggings and began walking with her brother to the door when they discovered that the weather had decided on other plans that evening.

A sudden chilling gale blew past the pair, and even with the door open just a crack a small pile of snow had managed to slide into Mao’s home from outside. It was a snowstorm, and any chance of leaving had now dropped down to near zero. With a growl, Mao called out to Badgerclops that it had been his job to periodically check up on the weather while the badger argued back that it was the cat’s job to make sure his sister was able to make her obligations on time. It wasn’t until Adorabat added her own voice into the mix, yelling about their yelling, that things went from bad to worse.

In an instant, as if the world itself had closed its eyes, their surroundings were suddenly cast into pitch darkness. There was no mistaking it, a power outage thanks to the raging storm.

There was confusion to begin with, Adorabat seeking out Mao Mao in the darkness while Badgerclops tried his best not to accidentally trip over anything. The black cat was about to call out to them and take charge when another voice cut through the darkness instead. Kaiya called out and asked Badgerclops if his arm could be used as a flashlight, the mustelid giving a sheepish chuckle in response as he joked about why he hadn’t already thought about doing that.

Once he produced a source of light, Kaiya began to divvy out tasks: Adorabat was to collect some of the leftover snacks and Mao Mao was to gather some of the wood that had been chopped that morning, all while Badgerclops used his light to help guide them. She gave them all a time limit of ten minutes before they were to reconvene in front of the fireplace. It was during his time finding the wood that Mao Mao couldn’t help but smile to himself about the situation; taking charge of the situation just as he was about to, maybe they were more alike as siblings than even he anticipated.

The sheriff trio arrived back at the empty fireplace before the ten minutes, the badger and cat already taking the initiative to place a few logs in hearth and to get a flame started in order to alleviate some of the ever creeping cold. It wasn’t until the very end of the allotted time that Kaiya made her way over to the roaring fire and joined them, pulling out from behind her an old broadcast radio she said she had noticed in the office room during the tour.

After tinkering around with the device for a moment they found that it already had batteries inside, most likely left in there by one of the previous sheriffs to whom it had belonged to. It took even longer to find a signal that was anything more than loud static, but once they found a channel that worked it brought a smile to each of their faces. Christmas music, carols, holiday tunes with sweet, merry voices that seemed to mix with the warmth of the fire and make it glow that much brighter and drown out the roaring of the snow outside.

They spent the rest of the night like this. Letting the yuletide songs carry their conversation as they happily shared the food Adorabat had brought, blankets cozily wrapped around them as every now and then they raised their own voices in song if they knew the words.

It was a couple of hours later when the last of them finally fell asleep nestled near the coaxing warmth of the fire. It was another hour still before the radio finally died, the only song left playing then being the soft crackle of the burning wood before them and the whispers of fresh snow falling just out beyond the window.

#mao mao #mmhoph #fanfic #mao mao secret santa #OC

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honeypiehotchner · 5 years

Text

Trust -- part twenty

Hello and welcome back! The hiatus is over now that finals week has passed and I am excited to get back to this story. Here’s a lovely part where shit hits the fan. You’re welcome xx.

It’s a strange thing how the most abnormal things can happen after something so normal.

Whenever a tragedy occurs, as someone is recounting the day, they never say they knew something was wrong. They never say they felt the universe was off that morning when they woke up. That’s not something they say, because no one ever knows. The day always starts off as completely normal.

Mary Josephine, she said it was a normal morning. She was having her morning tea and reading her morning scripture when Gidon broke into her home. She was probably having a normal day when he broke in and kidnapped her. She probably had a relatively normal life before he began to target her – the reason behind that being still unknown.

Things are normal. And then the rug is ripped out from underneath their feet. Without preparation or anticipation. In a flash, the tragedy happens.

While the rug wasn’t necessarily ripped out from beneath your feet, you still got the same feeling.

The day started normal. You woke up a little after nine because you and Sherlock hadn’t stayed up that late. After he had gotten over John’s interruption two days prior, he was pleasant. He played games with you and occasionally played the violin while you slept by the fire. Things had gone back to normal.

You came up to the boy’s flat where Sherlock had made breakfast – yes, Sherlock made breakfast for once – and the two of you ate in relative silence. Sherlock solved a few cases and texted Lestrade the information, none of them being worthy of his presence outside the flat. He played the violin while you read, and he noticed that your feet began twitching at certain points, like they were itching to dance around the floor. But you never stood up to dance. You didn’t appear to even notice your feet were moving on their own accord. You were too lost in the book you were reading to see Sherlock’s eyes studying you while he played. But Sherlock wanted you to dance. He just wasn’t sure if he should ask.

Like every other normal day, you retire to your flat to finish reading and let Sherlock experiment. You also needed to dance alone, but you wanted to finish the book first.

You were in the middle of reading the last chapter on your bed that night, trying to fall asleep because you weren’t planning on going out. It had been two days since you last went – yes, because you went out after Sherlock was sulking. You can feel your body itching for something, but you’ve been trying to distract yourself, hearing John’s words in your head.

“So, if we’re gonna kill him, it’d be better if you didn’t kill yourself in the process.”

A single buzz on the hardwood floor next to your mattress. The phone rattles. Only once.

There. Tonight. –GD

The blood drains from your face – and torso, all the way down to your toes – when you read the message, and you’re thankful John is staying at Mary’s tonight. Because you have no idea what could happen or what might happen. You just hope he never finds out, unless he has to.

In a way, this is good. You’re getting what you wanted. You went into this with the idea of finding Gidon and beating him at his game. You went into this thinking you were one step ahead. And if he’ll be there tonight, then that’s good. Mission accomplished, partly.

You know it’s a bad idea. But you also know he has Mary. And if there is a single chance that you can get to her and save her before he does…whatever it is he does, you need to take that chance. Not to mention if there’s a chance to get Gidon, then you need to take it.

You leave the book you were reading on your bed, slipping into your trainers. You remember your gun, placing it comfortably at your hip – or as comfortable as it can be; you still hate carrying the damn thing – before you head for your window. And then, for some strange reason, you turn around.

You turn around and exit your flat, going up the stairs to find Sherlock Holmes. This doesn’t feel normal at all, but the only thing you can think to do is to let him know. Even though you know he’s likely to follow you, or tell someone else (John, maybe), you still want to let him know.

A final goodbye. Though you hope it isn’t one.

You step into the living room, seeing him sitting in his chair, his eyes closed, his hands steepled at his chin. You sigh. He’s thinking. And there’s no way for you to break him out of that, so you don’t bother trying. Even though he’s thinking, you know he’ll hear you. And it’ll register soon enough.

“I’m going out,” you say, essentially to an empty room. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back. I just wanted to let you know. Goodnight.”

You turn and skip down the stairs, exiting through the main door and out onto the streets of London.

~~~

By the time your words register in Sherlock’s mind, you are too far gone. Hours have passed, and the fire in his fireplace has long burned out, leaving the room dark.

He practically flies to his laptop, logging on. You let him know you were going out. You never do. Well, you go out, but you never let him know first.

Something is different. Not different. Wrong. He can feel it. That stupid tugging in his chest.

When the location device on your phone shows that it is still here in Baker Street, Sherlock nearly screams in frustration. Of course, you’d leave your phone here. That’s exactly the type of behavior you’d exhibit. He was stupid to even try to check, but he was hoping this time would’ve been different. He grabs his phone, immediately dialing his older brother.

He doesn’t give Mycroft a chance to think before he begins speaking. “Where is she?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Y/N, where is she? I know you know where she is.” Sherlock isn’t an idiot and Mycroft isn’t either. Sherlock knows his brother knows exactly where you are because it’s unlike Mycroft to continue paying someone the way he has with you when they decide not to give him any information. You had to be doing something, but still something for his guilt to get the better of him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Where is she?”

“What is wrong, Sherlock?”

“She’s in danger.”

Mycroft rattles off the address and tells Sherlock he’ll phone Lestrade before he hangs up the call, but Mycroft has already phoned Lestrade. Fifteen minutes ago.

~~~

Lestrade and his team storm the building on one of the biggest drugs busts they’ve had in…years. All thanks to a tip from an anonymous phone call.

There hasn’t been anything nearly this exciting in a while, and Lestrade would be lying if he said he wasn’t planning to celebrate afterwards.

But that was before he stumbled upon you leaned against the wall next to a smashed window. Thankfully, it doesn’t look like you were used to smash the window, which was his first worry, but you still don’t look good.

He presses a button on his radio. “Send medics up to the second floor. Now.”

Lestrade kneels in front of you, shaking your shoulder. “Y/N,” he tries, hoping this isn’t as bad as last time. Last time was much worse. Last time you were almost gone. “Y/N,” he says again, glancing down at your arms. He sighs heavily at the sight.

The medics come up the stairs, but not without Sherlock Holmes running behind them, almost pushing them there.

Lestrade stands quickly, holding up his hands to block a very concerned Sherlock from getting to you. “You need to let the medics look at her, Sherlock.”

“I can’t look at her, too?” Sherlock nearly growls, moving Lestrade out of the way – which Lestrade expected to happen.

You hardly remember any of this, but the medics are checking you over, making sure you haven’t overdosed, and bringing you back to consciousness. You’re disoriented, but fine nonetheless.

Sherlock glances out the broken window with narrowed eyes, looking for any signs of where Gidon could’ve escaped. He easily could’ve jumped down onto the crates and ran off down the road. He’s probably long gone by now, so there’s no use in trying to run after him, especially not with the state you’re in.

“Can you tell us your name?”

“Y/N L/N,” you mumble out.

“What about the date?”

“Who the fuck knows.”

“That’s good enough,” Lestrade nods, knowing you never know what day it is anyway. He’s fishing in his jacket pocket for his phone, gaining the attention of Sherlock Holmes.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling her brother,” Lestrade replies like it’s obvious. “I’m putting the two of you in my car and we’re going to my office.”

~~~

John is sleeping – snoring, more like it, is what Mary thinks – soundly next to his fiancé when his phone vibrates rather loudly and insistently on the nightstand.

He blindly throws his hand over to the phone, answering the call without looking. “Hello?”

Mary wakes then, hearing John’s voice. She blinks her eyes open to see John on the phone, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Lestrade? What’s wrong?” His eyes widen. “You what?”

Startled, Mary places a hand on his arm, letting him know she’s there.

“Okay. For God’s sake, okay, I’ll be there.” He hangs up the phone, throwing the covers off of his body. Mary looks at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. As John is throwing on clothes, he says, “Lestrade has Y/N. He found her in a bloody drug den.”

“He what?”

“Yeah,” John tries to hide his anger, but he’s frustrated. He’s angry. Why the hell would you do this? After he talked to you? He knew something was up. He suspected this. He should’ve stayed with you.

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, no you have to work. I need to talk to her about this alone.” He pauses, leaning over the bed to give her a kiss. “But thank you.”

“Don’t be too hard on her,” Mary reminds him softly.

He just gives her a look as he leaves, unsure of how he’ll be able to stay true to that.

~~~

In Lestrade’s office, Sherlock is pacing while Lestrade handles a few things on his computer – but he’s mostly trying to get Sherlock to stop pacing.

You’re laying on the floor, Sherlock’s coat folded under your head as a pillow. You’re glad Lestrade can’t get Sherlock to stop pacing because – oddly enough – the sound of his constant footsteps is soothing to your mind as you try to remember the details of the night.

You get nowhere, only remembering what happened before you left the flat. That’s bad…you don’t remembering getting to the drug den. You smirk, your eyes still closed. Drug den. Why do people call it that? It’s a funny name.

“Where is she?”

Is that John?

“Lestrade, where is she?”

That’s Johnny.

Wait.

Oh no.

Lestrade gestures to the floor where you’re lying, your head gently resting on…Sherlock’s coat. John would recognize the coat anywhere because Sherlock never wears anything different – and he’s not wearing it right now. But when John sees you lying there, your eyes closed, ankles crossed over one another, hands clasped over your stomach, his anger melts away. At least for the moment.

John ignores Lestrade when he says the medics have already looked you over and cleared you, moving to kneel next to you on the floor.

“Hey,” he nudges your shoulder, glad to see your eyes open almost immediately. “Can you sit up for me?”

You obey, looking him in the eyes. “Johnny?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he looks back and forth between your eyes, checking your pulse as well.

“I’m fine, Johnny, you didn’t need to…stop your date with Mary.”

He hums, placing a hand in between your shoulder blades. “We’re going to talk about this.”

“I’m tired. Can we talk later?”

He gives you a look and doesn’t have a chance to react before you’ve laid back down, curling into a ball, both hands cradling Sherlock’s coat. Sherlock’s coat. Sherlock was at the flat with you. Sherlock was there.

A newfound anger is bubbling in John’s chest as he stands, facing Sherlock who has now stopped pacing. Lestrade sees the scene that’s about to unfold, and would rather it didn’t in his office, so he rounds his desk and begins speaking.

“There’s no charges to worry about. Mycroft gave her a pardon,” Lestrade speaks slowly, turning to John. “Wait until you get back to Baker Street before you start yelling, please? I’ve got too much paperwork to do already.”

John clenches his jaw, but honors Lestrade’s request.

~~~

John barely waits until the door to 221B has closed behind the three of you before he begins raging.

“Why didn’t you follow her?” He nearly shoves Sherlock in the chest. “You follow everyone every-bloody-where, why didn’t you follow her?”

“He was thinking,” you offer, not really meaning to throw Sherlock under the bus even more, but you are. You lie down on the couch, wrapping Sherlock’s coat tighter around your shoulders.

“You bloody machine, you—You were thinking, so you didn’t know she left?”

“I knew she left, but it was too late. John, I—”

“You knew, you—” John takes a deep breath. “This is your fault.”

That gets your attention, causing you to sit up off the couch rather abruptly. “Wait, no it’s not.”

John turns to you with wide eyes. “I don’t wanna hear a word from you right now.”

“Oh, calm down,” you stand up with a roll of your eyes, tugging on the corners of Sherlock’s coat. “It’s not his fault.”

“And how is this not his fault?”

“Because in case you haven’t noticed, I’m an adult.”

“You’re right, I haven’t noticed because you’ve been acting like a child.”

“Rude,” you furrow your eyebrows. “But I have two legs and a brain. I walked myself there on my own decision. Sherlock had nothing to do with that.”

“He was here with you.”

“In spirit, yes, but he wasn’t really here.”

“And that’s the problem—!”

“That’s not the problem,” you cut him off. “The problem is—I don’t know what the problem is. What’s the problem?”

John levels his expression, his glare turning deadly. “Lay down.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Go to sleep. You’re sleeping up here. And we’ll discuss this when you’re not high.”

“Fine,” you grumble, lying back down on the couch. “But you’ll have to stop yelling. I can’t sleep when you do.”

John gives you another look, but you don’t see because you’ve already closed your eyes. Sherlock smirks, but quickly wipes it away when John turns to look at him. With a heavy, annoyed sigh, John settles into his chair.

Sherlock, with almost no hesitation, picks up his violin and begins playing the piece he’s been composing with you in mind.

#Trust #sherlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #john watson #greg lestrade #mycroft holmes #shit hit the fan #and i'm so sorry #angst #drama #you know i had to add some angst in here #it was inevitable

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satan-chillin · 5 years

Text

The Path to Redemption is a Winding One

Summary: Rowena dies at the hands of Sam Winchester in all accordance with their entwined destiny. Let it be said that her afterlife is neither Heaven nor Hell, but rather back in the year 2004 where the first Apocalypse is on the works, and with all her previous memories intact.

Warnings: Trigger warning for graphic description of torture.

Notes:

It’s a time-travel fix-it fic, dearies.

It’s a 20k words fic, so yes, it’s a long ass read.

The fic is also written long before the 15x03 “The Rupture” episode so don’t expect it to be 100% canon-compliant.

Also, this is a Gabriel/Rowena fanfic with mentions of SamWitch/Samwena that’s why it’s posted under the SamWena/SamWitch tag. It ain’t a Sabriwena, nor is it a triangle. Sorry, chiefs, but I do hope you enjoy this for the Rowena content alone. :)

Don’t worry, I’m planning to write a SamWena/SamWitch time-travel fix-it too.

Also available in Ao3 & FF.net

Rowena was no stranger to death.

She had had her encounters throughout the centuries, but there were only three deaths she deemed significant. This was the third; an expected one, in fact, since two years ago when she was told who would have done her for good. It hardly came as a surprise that it would be Sam because a witch dying by the hands of either Winchester wasn’t exactly news. Rowena took comfort knowing who would it be, and she supposed there could be worse candidates (i.e., Lucifer in whatever vessel). A girl couldn’t really choose who would kill her, but, morbidly it might sound, she lucked out that it would be by Sam Winchester’s hands.

What she wasn’t expecting, however, was the bond that formed between the two of them, how their shared trauma paved a way for the tentative understanding that in turn formed an occasional alliance. The trust came in last, brought by desperation and necessity that had her make decisions she would hardly consider a year ago. Rowena hated it, at first, that this huge lumbering man could make her uncharacteristic. She blamed it at her prolonged exposure to the brothers that she likened to letting a wound fester bare to infection until she was forced to live with it, to live with the knowledge that she was inching closer to the Winchesters’ inner circle.

Rowena had kept her distance when she came to understand how Fergus had become lapdog to the brothers. Rowena never felt the need to justify her actions before, and yet there was something satisfying to be in the side of good—at least, the Winchester brand of ‘good’ that was primarily concerned with the safety of many. For all her claims that the brothers owed her, Rowena liked the feeling of giving her natural talents as an aid. It had felt like an accomplishment.

She remembered Sam’s knowing look, and he understood.

Rowena pretended to be reluctant, but she was always there. She was there when there was an alternate universe with people that needed saving; she was there when Dean was ridden by an archangel equally as terrible as Lucifer; she was there when Jack was close to dying; she was there when Jack lost his soul; she was there when God left the world to ruin. Rowena was there until the end that brought pretty much everyone together.

And against her better judgment allowed herself to grow close to the Winchesters Bunch who was bad news.

Rowena observed how the dynamic of the Winchester brothers worked with their resident angel and noted that each shared varying degrees of relationship with each other. She learned that Castiel, while he treated himself as the guardian of the brothers, was more prone to exchange his life for Dean than Sam. She hadn’t been privy to the exact nature of the connection between the older Winchester and the angel, though she had noticed the subtle—blatant, in her opinion—signs that hinted stronger affections that surpassed that of mere friendship. What was ridiculous that it went both ways that had the person in the nearest vicinity of the two, usually the younger Winchester, painfully overwhelmed at all the unrepentant eyesex.

While the exchange had been around for an uncomfortably long time, it had an unforeseen consequence of Sam drawing nearer to the first person also left out of the Dean-Castiel loop: her.

Unlike his brother, Sam found it mandatory to connect with the people in their side, and often Rowena was his target, thinking that she might not have fitted in a group largely composed of hunters who would have hunted her kind if not for the present end of times then. Rowena didn’t indulge him with the knowledge that he assumed right, instead reveled on the unspoken sort of protection that came with being a trusted and proven ally of the Winchesters for some years, reluctant or otherwise.

The thing was, Rowena wasn’t expecting the small talks and sharing of secrets during sleepless nights, where there was also a point in time that talking about Lucifer included making fun of him. Sam was a naturally curious lad who asked several things about the 17th century on some evenings, and there were questions about how Rowena maneuvered through the witch trials, the subject which usually led to memorable anecdotes and informal lectures on little tricks that someone of Sam’s skill could manage when in a tight spot.

During the small spaces of free time when they weren’t both poring over thick volumes, Sam had the irrational habit to take her words personally, always under the notion that Rowena was telling him her deepest secrets and feelings; they weren’t, or at least, she thought they were not. Sam must have noticed the sincere fondness in her expression when recounting about Fergus in his wee age, when she spoke of her eagerness to learn and prove herself to be the strongest witch in her youth, when she told him what made her immortality worth it, and when she shared about the places in the world she would like to see again after all this, if she survived this.

Rowena remembered how Sam’s large hand gently squeezed her small ones and promised her that she would, that they would. Together.

And the fool that she was for a strong and honest man who liked making promises, Rowena believed. She relished in the fact that Sam told her numerous experiences in and out of hunting, of his encounters with various women who usually met unfortunate ends as if talking to Sam alone sealed their fates. She heard about a special woman named Jessica that Sam still held dearly in his heart and whose passing was dulled with time and the deaths of the demons responsible for her death. Rowena knew of this; after all, she had read Chuck’s books and had muddled through the terrible writing to get information before, but hearing the words came from Sam himself was quite different, especially when hearing bits and pieces that weren’t included in those Chuck-forsaken books.

She caught herself wondering one night if Chuck would write her as a rather disposable character whose intelligence and a strong sense of self-preservation she used to have pride in decayed overtime after allowing herself to grow close to the person she should have avoided in the first place. Mayhap she was finally the vapid heroine that starred in cheesy novels.

Though if Rowena was to be a character in a book, she would like to think it was in a work of tragedy of epic proportions, especially when the last passage of her story was about her and a killing blow delivered by none other than Sam Winchester.

Personally, Rowena approved of the choice: a knife in the heart was the most intimate manner of death by a man that she could think of, and trust Samuel Winchester to make the affair poignant and, pun intended, very close to the heart.

What ruined it was Sam’s profuse whispers of apologies, cradling her close and his face hovering over her as he spilled ungodly manly tears. The old her would have found such display irksome, that she wasn’t someone worth mourning over, but she was that woman no longer, was she? Enough that something affectionate in her regretted that Sam Winchester ended up with another blood on his hands, that she would be leaving him like this, emotionally vulnerable and raw. Belatedly, Rowena thought that maybe she should have kept up the evil, bitter, and petty skank image, just so Sam wouldn’t blame his lonesome self for finishing who he now considered a friend that he promised he would bend his fate for.

Rowena wasn’t stranger to death, but this wasn’t as simple as the previous two, was it? It wasn’t about the finality of it at all but rather on the person who was on the other side of it.

Touching his cheek was a chore after the immense bleeding, but Rowena hated that Sam would cry over this, over her, a less significant character compared to Chuck’s protagonists. For all they knew, Chuck could be writing the scene with the need to finish a character that overstayed its welcome; or probably for additional angst; or perhaps he didn’t know what to do with Rowena’s role in the story; it could be out of keeping tradition of killing off the female who connected with Sam Winchester; it could have been plain boredom while Chuck watched his story unfold.

If Rowena was truly subjected to Chuck’s will, then it wouldn’t be incongruous of a dramatic woman that she was if she told Sam that it was alright and had to be done, that she was thankful that it was him who would put her at peace.

Rowena’s life ended with a final kiss to one of the big bloody heroes of the story.

Rowena sat up, gasping, with the sharp pain of being stabbed in the chest ebbing away.

She rubbed on her skin, and there was nary a trace of the wound there, not even a scar. Faintly, she recalled that she must be in what passed as limbo temporarily while the whole Chuck ordeal resolved itself to bring back the order in Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory. Frankly, she was amused that she wasn’t delivered straight to the pits of Hell just yet.

In a world with varying sets of beliefs and only one true creator, Rowena guessed this was what encompassed as a limbo: a familiar place to the person in it. It was pretty underwhelming for an afterlife; it wasn’t even a particular memory she held fondly.

Rowena sighed. She would have to get used to having a long stay at this three-star hotel in Scotland.

Or was she?

There was something that nagged inside her mind aside from the familiarity of her surroundings. She had been here before, yes, but more than that, it felt lived in.

Tentatively, Rowena pulled the drapes aside and saw the city’s roads with a couple of vehicles and a few people out in the early morning Scotland weather. Alright, so it was quite detailed for nitpicking.

She backed away from the window and believed that she was thinking too much about this when she should be having her peace for Chuck’s sake. She would think that this included plenty of beauty sleep she had neglected.

There was ringing coming from the nightstand. Rowena raised an eyebrow at the flipped phone and picked it up to answer.

A harsh exhale could be heard before a tirade passed through the speakers.

Rowena pulled the phone away with a grimace, muffling the irritating sound. Amidst her growing annoyance and confusion, the nagging returned in a manner that she recognized.

Rowena knew she’d been here before; she’d been here in this exact moment in time years ago that seemed distant.

And it came back to her in increments: the angry woman on the phone was someone who accused her of fraudulence, a person who had insulted her capabilities after Rowena purposefully gave her a love potion that failed to work. Rowena remembered the handsome man intended to receive the potion and how she greatly desired the man for herself. The woman she conned was wrong—Rowena’s creation did work, only that it served its purpose to its creator instead.

Blearily, Rowena cut the call and focused on the displayed date.

2004.

Bullocks.

By some twist of fate, she traveled back in time.

Trust her to interpret it as a wrench thrown in the works than a second chance that shouldn’t be possible for a person like her.

It shouldn’t be possible for anyone, certainly not after the creator of the world decided to leave it all to shambles and discarded his creation like his old used toys that a child overgrew. Chuck wouldn’t be this generous to bring someone back in the past with the memories of the future intact.

Angels could, but as far as Rowena knew, Castiel was the only angel left on their side, not to mention fallen and with hardly any grace left. He wasn’t even around when she died.

And she did die. That wasn’t some dream or a scrying session, of that she was sure. She couldn’t have imagined Samuel’s weeping over her body. She couldn’t…

Oh, god. Samuel.

He was young around this time, not that seasoned hunter that she got to know better. He was practically a child compared to her. He was free of the burden of Lucifer. And if her calculation was correct, he wasn’t even back on hunting just yet, enjoying his respite from that life and thinking he completely escaped it for the mundane and normal pursuits.

Her mind reeled at the possibilities in her hands, the changes she could make not only for herself but for those that she cared for. She didn’t know whether to take the situation as a gift or a curse to relive all her terrible choices once more.

But by Morgana, this was something she wasn’t aware she needed until now.

Innocent Oskar was alive, and with all her power she would keep him away from her. What happened to that kind boy was all on her and no one else’s.

Her son was alive in Hell, not yet the King of the Damned, but a King nonetheless. Fergus could bloody well be a low-level salesman of Hell and she wouldn’t care. She could see him again, the person she once thought a remembrance of her greatest mistake. She could do it right this time.

Rowena crumpled on the floor in a torrent of sentiments, a mess in every sense of the word.

She put aside the planning for the meantime. For now, she allowed herself a moment to wallow in a curious mix of grief and elation.

Rowena was onboard the first flight to States by evening.

Fortunately, the travel time gave her some quiet time to carefully plan the moves she intended to make once she landed. She had been sorely tempted to prepare a summoning ritual for Fergus the minute she started to keep it all together; the ritual was, after all, a walk in the park for a witch of her caliber. But a more rational introspective reminded her that Fergus around this time wasn’t the same Fergus she reconnected with after three centuries.

There was more Crowley in Fergus now, wired closely to a callous demon than a humanized one. There was no love lost between them that would allow a semblance of affection from Crowley.

If she had attempted to summon Fergus, he would kill her quickly, at best.

It was difficult to sleep by the time she was settled in, her mind brimming with ideas on how to best make use of the situation. Was she alone in this venture? If not, then she has to find them soon. Working alone was ideal in most cases but not on this. Hopefully, if she did manage to find someone, it was a person previously on the Winchesters’ side, else it would pose as a huge hurdle she would have to deal with as well.

Rowena gave up on rest, getting a pen and paper instead to write down a temporary outline that followed a chronological flow. She disliked having to rely solely on her memory of Chuck’s books in regards to the major events that happened since the year 2005 onwards, but then again, having a single Supernatural book at hand would make things a bit easier, and she wasn’t under the illusion it would be so.

There was always the option to approach the Winchesters in person and explain the circumstances. Rowena scratched the idea away. Knowing them and their former black and white moral compass most especially to witches, it was the riskiest move. Not to mention, the notorious John Winchester who she wasn’t keen on meeting.

If she was truly well and alone, then she would make do.

The Crossroads Demon that greeted her was a woman with full lips curled into a sly smirk, appraising Rowena and humming in appreciation at what she saw.

“A witch,” the demon purred. “To what do I owe the pleasure of meeting such a pretty little thing?”

“I’m sure you already know, dearie,” Rowena replied with a saccharine smile.

“Perhaps,” the demon agreed, circling Rowena and trailing a finger across her shoulders. Rowena shivered. “But witches don’t usually come first to our branch. They prefer the direct approach than through a mediator, which, as they say, is faster, but I’d say they tend to forget the risk.” She sighed wistfully, twirling a lock of Rowena’s red curls. “Nonetheless, I’m here to provide you the best service. You may borrow from a demon and remain bound to my contract that guarantees security against an untimely death before ten years. What do you say, darling?”

Rowena has no time for petty sales talk, though she couldn’t help but mock. “I’m sure you’re not blind, dear girl, and you can see that borrowing a meager amount of power from a demon is the least of my needs.”

The demon’s smile faltered slightly and then twitched back to amusement. “Interesting. A strong, immortal witch. Old too,” she drawled. “Pray tell what you desire, madam. Is it eternal youth?” She cupped Rowena’s face, sharp nails grazing her cheeks. “Perhaps not. Neat work on the beauty spell.”

Rowena didn’t bother to hide rolling her eyes. Eternal youth for a ten-year contract? Please.

“Oh.” The demon’s look turned predatory as if it found what it was looking for while she searched Rowena’s face. “A man. Had the potions not worked?” She grinned knowingly. “No matter. He’ll be worshipping the ground you walk on, and he shall pour all his unconditional love for you.” Her eyes trailed lower with unadulterated desire. “As early as tonight he’ll make love to you like he hadn’t known passion, yearn only for you and no one else. He’ll know no greater beauty and derive pleasure only for you and from you.”

“Aye. It is a man,” Rowena said, swallowing thickly. She hated that she had been neglecting her needs. No matter; two could play this game. “And you might have known him by the name of Crowley.”

The demon tensed, pulling away in surprise at hearing the name directly coming from a human.

“Your boss, dearie. The King of the Crossroads.”

“I see that you know him,” the demon said once she recovered. “Left you used and empty?” She snorted derisively. “I must say, I didn’t know he got involved with witches. The others don’t know it, but I’ve noticed his strong dislike for your kind. You must be special.”

“Very,” Rowena said dryly.

“Unfortunately, I can’t give you the boss. Protocol and all that. I admire your gall, though.”

“Och. Nothing drastic like that. I simply want to give him something.” Rowena pulled out an ornate envelope.

“A love letter?” The demon kept her hand from plucking the letter from Rowena’s hands. She noted how guarded the demon became. “Charming. And you want me as your glorified mail courier? As unexciting this is, this is a first in my career.”

“Far from a love letter, but a letter written in love.” Rowena handed her the envelope. “Now don’t go be stupid to take a peek. It’s enchanted to be opened only by the person intended for,” she advised playfully.

Rowena could see how it irked the demon, though she relented, and with a snap, the letter was gone. “Done. Delivered to the boss’s pile.”

Well, who would have thought it would be this quick? Rowena grinned in satisfaction. “Now come here and let me pay you for the job well done, dearie.”

The demon was enthusiastic to get into Rowena’s space, latching a firm hand on her hip. Rowena ran her palms on the demon’s waist and slowly crept from her breasts to shoulders, lips making feathery touches from the jaw to an earlobe.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much I’ve been missing my son,” Rowena whispered breathlessly, slipping an inconspicuous ball of cloth before abruptly pulling away.

The demon let out an inhuman screech, violently coughing out black ooze as she doubled over. “You!” It seethed, wailing in pain. “What is—How did you—”

“Consider it a treat, darling.” Rowena flipped her hair. “Give a kiss to my son for me, will you?” She watched as the demon writhed in utter suffering on the ground for several seconds, cursing Rowena and her entire bloodline, before slumping lifelessly. “Or not.”

Rowena blinked, and with a pang of pity for the poor vessel, she crouched down to gingerly shut her eyes. She murmured a quick spell and the hex bag and the body burst into a bright flame, engulfing Rowena with heat that seeped to her bones.

Out of respect for the dead, Rowena lingered until the body was no more.

Rowena caught herself staring in front of the mirror and noticed a younger face in the reflection.

It was an odd thing to take note of given her age that was nowhere near youthfulness, but the subtle differences were there, like the laugh lines and small crow’s feet that she gained in the last five years were gone, replaced with smoother and firmer skin. She closely resembled the person she used to be, the proud witch untouched by time that never had the pleasure of meeting Lucifer.

If there was something else she took comfort in her newfound situation, it was that Lucifer remained locked up in a cage. She would’ve hoped for eternity, though with the amount of Apocalypse that happened in the previous years of her time, it was probably asking for too much.

Rowena frowned in the sudden realization that with her foreknowledge, she could stop that herself.

As quick as the idea formed, there came in the numerous issues she could already see. First, the Apocalypse was a divine concerto planned for several millennia, with both sides actively working towards the same goal. Second, Heaven and Hell were both in their peak, the former with its garrisons of angels and the latter with its generals loyal to Lucifer. Third, Rowena was working alone with neither the Book of the Damned and the Black Grimoire, which the lack of either shouldn’t pose much of a problem with her intimate knowledge of the contents of both.

Unfortunately, unbound magic or not, Rowena wasn’t suicidal enough to risk facing both Heaven and Hell, and most certainly not without a card up her sleeve.

Or she could let it all play out the same way it did before; the Winchesters would surely put a stop on the end of the world anyway, with or without her aid. Except that choice was making her strangely guilty like she owed the boys this. Hell, Sam himself admitted that they unknowingly caused the first Apocalypse, and Rowena had been occupied with skipping cities and conning desperate women to even know the world was ending.

But no Apocalypse also meant no Lucifer not only for Sam but also for her, and Rowena could see the appeal in that despite the stack of odds. Besides, it wasn’t like she wasn’t there when it was God and The Darkness duking it out, though there were allies back then and God was on their side.

Bloody hell, this was the main reason she was a pagan in the first place.

The initial plan was to indirectly give Sam Winchester an ample protection a witch could provide, until a serious reconsideration forced her to try a different approach that she wasn’t looking forward to try.

Mildly miffed, Rowena took a sip at the stale tea that dared call itself herbal; it did nothing but worsen her ire on the terribly rowdy surroundings and the gaudy shade of green and pink all over the place.

“That bad, huh?” said a male voice. She looked up to the barista who served her earlier. At her raised eyebrow, the young man elaborated, “The hangover.”

No, it was the bloody temporal displacement and the baggage that came along with it, Rowena was close to saying. “Not a hangover,” she muttered in disinterest.

“Not that I’m judging,” the boy said, raising his empty hands slightly. “So where’s the renaissance fair?”

She vaguely wondered why the boy won’t sod off already. “The fair,” she repeated testily.

“You look like you came from one.” The boy smiled impishly. “Or going to.”

If that was supposed to be endearing, then he was failing miserably. “Is there something wrong with what I’m wearing, dearie?” Rowena asked sweetly.

The boy shrugged. “Hey, you’re rocking them. Just saying you don’t fit with the elements, is all.”

Rowena wrinkled her nose at the gaggle of loud whippersnappers that came in. “Then pray tell how do pajamas in afternoon fit in.”

The barista followed Rowena’s line of sight. “Uh, because this is a university campus and that’s a college student wearing one? And this place is literally named Coffee Beans and Tea Leaves,” he answered like it was the most obvious thing.

“Ah, yes, I forgot I’m blending in with a bunch of hippies.”

The boy chuckled. “First time?”

“What gave it away?”

The tone earned her another huff of laughter. “So will I be seeing you around here often?” He seemed delighted at the prospect. The boy was sorely lacking in propriety.

Kids.

Rowena gazed up at him, found that the boy’s name was Louis, and simpered. “No.”

Rowena stalked the hallways of the campus, getting a few attentions here and there that she ignored for the purpose of finding the damned library of the building, her best bet in finding Sam Winchester and be done with this place.

The clicking of her heels reverberated through the corridor barren of any students except the lone janitor mopping the marble floors. The man looked up as she passed him, and she paid the man no heed as he stopped working and stared.

Rowena slowed once she could see the end of the hall with an opened door. Pausing, she let out an exhale and—

The surroundings changed abruptly to a warehouse.

Whirling around in alarm, Rowena found the janitor behind, observing her with a frown.

He might have done something with her vision as well—she could see his face shifting without a fixed set of features as if its face was scrambling to maintain its looks.

“What are you?” she demanded, fingers twitching in preparation.

“Okay, hear me out, lady,” the man—creature or whatever—suddenly said in a voice that sounded distantly familiar. “If I’m wrong, I’ll remove this encounter from your memory, but if I’m right… You’re here for Sam Winchester too, aren’t you?”

Rowena was immediately on high alert, raising her right hand. Was somebody following her movements? “Again. What. Are. You?”

It let out a sigh that resembled relief of all things. It snapped before Rowena could react, and its face began righting itself in a recognizable one.

Rowena’s eyes widened. “You—What are you doing here?”

Gabriel shrugged, eyes lit up amusedly. “I could ask you the same thing, lady.”

“Same circumstances, huh?”

“Except you missed out on the next two years.”

“No regrets here. Don’t want to see Dad wrathful.”

“Only on humans, Jack, and Castiel.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Dad doesn’t do things by halves. He was probably mad at everyone.”

“Are you here long?” Rowena asked.

“Last I remember was dying in the Apocalypse World, then I woke up a month ago,” he said. “You?”

That was roughly the same time she arrived, give or take a few days. “Same.”

“I’d say this is the Winchesters last-ditched attempt to fix everything, but I doubt it if neither of them knows anything.”

“You mean it’s not you?” Rowena rolled her eyes when Gabriel looked nonplused. “You’re the one who likes faking his own death and with enough mojo to pull it off.”

“That was one time,” Gabriel retorted. “I did die for real, and, no, my grace back then was too low for this.” He gestured vaguely between the two of them. “Actually, I believe it’s Jack.”

“That boy is dead,” Rowena told him somberly. She quite liked the kid and how little of Lucifer there was in him despite being soulless. His heart had been in the right place.

“Sure, but he could be awake where he ended up to, and I don’t know either whether it’s the Empty or Heaven.”

It wasn’t Gabriel, the Winchesters, and they have no proof that it was Jack. And if it really wasn’t the latter, Rowena couldn’t think of anyone else who would trouble themselves and strong enough to hide her and Gabriel’s situation from Chuck.

“Do you think He knows?”

Gabriel took a while to answer. “I won’t be surprised if Dad does.” He then smiled wryly. “As of now, trust me when I said he won’t bother us.”

Rowena wasn’t assured by Gabriel’s nonchalance and certainty. “Why won’t He? He knows about the future we came from, and from mine where his favorite characters pissed him off. I’ll understand if he won’t write off a son of his, but I’m not really held in the same regard.”

“But you are now, one of his important characters, I mean,” Gabriel said with a slight grin. “Dad is a writer—a shitty one, admittedly—who’s damn proud of his magnum opus. The two of us are his greatest plot twists in the story at this very moment, and if there’s one thing writers like the most, it’s creating a major revelation that’ll go down in history.”

When Gabriel put it like that… Rowena couldn’t really speak for Chuck, and if there was anyone who knew him better, it would be an archangel of his. “What do you propose we do?” she asked for the principle of it, knowing the inevitability of how to proceed from then on.

“I may have a few ideas,” Gabriel replied noncommittally, rubbing his chin in thought. “Honestly, I haven’t thought out this far.”

Rowena wasn’t fooled by the mischievous grin that widened almost imperceptibly.

Almost.

She has a bad feeling about this.

When Gabriel suggested they actively participate in the game on board named the Apocalypse 1.0, Rowena wasn’t told that it involved integrating themselves on the university population.

“If Hell already placed one of its agents near Sam, then so should we,” was Gabriel’s excuse.

“Then replicate yourself,” Rowena countered.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

An instructor in World History had apparently been given a grant by a rather generous (and mysterious) organization to pursue his research on the fallen civilization of Greece, promptly making him leave his post at Stanford within the second month of the semester. The faculty was sad to see an esteemed colleague go, while the students were pretty indifferent to the news, mostly claiming that they took part in the class for easy addition of units.

There was a distinctive change in opinion among the student body when Professor Gabe Shurley came in.

Prof. Shurley was a man in his early thirties with a charming personality and a love of puns and innuendos, who knew his stuff though he tended to make outrageous claims out of vague facts, such as insisting that Alexander the Great and Hephaestion’s favorite activity was swordplay, in more ways than one, which his students learned to take in jests. He was creative in his exams and papers, and so was in punishing cheaters that any attempt to commit the act was intentionally causing oneself grievous harm.

Prof. Shurley was a known sweet-tooth in his adorable 5’8’’ glory, with an infamous oral fixation and a notorious crush on the new nurse from the annex building.

Nurse MacLeod was of Scottish descent with a sexy accent, wildfire hair, milky-white skin, and a dancer’s physique that must have meant she was flexible, as per Prof. Shurley’s exact words. She was, more often than not, found with a perpetual scowl as if seemingly displeased with life in general. It intimidated quite a few male students who have no business to be staying in the clinic other than to check out how skimpy Ms. MacLeod’s skirt was for that day, while Prof. Shurley only found the attitude incredibly attractive, occasionally referring to her as ‘Firecracker’ or ‘Tigress’ in his long, wistful waxing of poetic in between lectures.

“I wanna be that stick up her ass,” Prof. Shurley let slip once.

Unbeknownst to everybody else, Prof. Shurley and Ms. MacLeod were living under one roof, occasionally enjoying kinky sex that made Casa Erotica a nursery rhyme video in comparison, though often out of working out some frustrations and clearing their heads. They were, after all, two major players on the replay of the first try at the end of the world.

For two people whose first interaction was a hook up in a library some distant past-future ago, they’ve easily fallen in a routine of keeping up appearances throughout the day, with Rowena taking up to reading volumes upon volumes that Gabriel would give her during the empty clinic. Sometimes with sex included, sometimes they schemed, and sometimes they did both simultaneously (you would be surprised at how ideas sprang during such moments). Gabriel, meanwhile, would pop in and out of town between breaks, bringing her with him on occasions, off to the other side of the globe on multiple occasions for something as simple as a unique ice cream flavor or doing his other job (exacting discipline to those he deemed needed it the trickster way), though frequently for gathering the rare ingredients that Rowena would need for usually modified spells she had taken a particular in, claiming they would be useful for worst-case scenarios.

“I saw some of Azazel’s minions today,” Gabriel said one evening, idly playing with a curl of red hair when Rowena didn’t bat his hand away.

“And?”

“They can’t get in the perimeter,” he answered. “The experiment worked.”

They had drabbled with an experimental spell that consisted of defensive Norse runes and a strong containment curse from the Book of the Damned that Rowena had memorized and repurposed to a repellant hex, which they then tested on the outer walls of the campus. The first layer was done, and all that was left was to weed out the demons within the campus grounds.

“I still don’t understand why you can’t just smite the rest,” Rowena muttered. “Clear them all in one sweep.”

“I would, but, well, I’ll be earning some attention using that much grace, and I’m hiding not only from my original family,” he sounded sheepish.

“Oh?” Rowena leaned on an elbow with interest.

Gabriel blinked, turning. “Right. You don’t know the story.” He glanced away briefly, though his eyes remained distant even when they met hers.

What passed as pillow talk consisted of Gabriel sharing about his time mingling with the pagan deities, making a deal with the actual Loki of Norse Mythology, and of Lucifer’s escape and Odin’s death by his hands that Loki had solely blamed on Gabriel, that in retaliation had him sold to Asmodeus.

Gabriel stopped speaking, and by then Rowena had pieced the bits and pieces she knew from Sam. “I won’t ask if you don’t want to tell,” she said carefully, realizing they fell on a touchy subject.

There was a minute shift in Gabriel’s features that Rowena mistook as a trick of the eye, and he began talking again, though of his early adventures in serving just desserts that caught the Winchesters’ attention, and of shacking up with porn stars in between. Gabriel spoke of much earlier times with the rise of great empires and cities that eventually fall; of the species that once roamed the Earth until it was the time for humans; and of the birth of stars and constellations that Gabriel witnessed himself and tremendously admired.

Rowena didn’t remember falling asleep, though she couldn’t be blamed if it was to the voice of God’s messenger and his fingers carding her hair.

Gabriel left the next day, claiming a sudden business he has to take care of.

Rowena didn’t pry, sending him away with a dismissive hand, chiding him to be quick since, for all their planning, they were yet to make direct contact with Sam Winchester who was an important factor to the sodding Apocalypse and their primary reason in mingling with the college children in the first place.

Gabriel left with a smile that didn’t reach the eyes, and whatever his business was, Rowena thought it must have been personal.

She wasn’t imagining the storm of fury brewing behind his eyes.

A week of Gabriel’s absence, Crowley materialized one evening in the middle of the room.

“Cozy,” he commented, idly looking around. He was thinner and younger, but it was the same vessel she came to know. He raised an eyebrow at a hanging green bathrobe. “Not interrupting, am I?”

Gabriel’s leave was an awfully convenient thing, and it was a stroke of luck that Crowley didn’t appear at the room where she conducted her work. “Took you long enough to drop by,” Rowena said in greeting, cautiously making a move to stand.

“Well, places to be about and paperwork to be done,” Crowley answered, approaching a wall and trailing a hand. “I’ll be honest. I’ve only decided to visit to avoid a… caterwauling group of fanatics situated near my department. One can only hear so much of the untimely death of their dear prince.”

Rowena pretended not to perk in interest at the offhanded remark. She didn’t know the princes of hell aside from Azazel and Asmodeus, and there was one that briefly kept Kelly Kline during her pregnancy. One of the princes died, and if it was one of the three that shouldn’t have prematurely, it only meant that something already changed in this timeline.

“Imagine my surprise when a letter made its way to my desk, delivered by an absent employee when I came looking.” Crowley regarded her fully after checking behind the drapes. “The years have been kind to you.”

“They’re not, my dear,” she disagreed ruefully. “But that is flattering of you.”

“I assume this is related as to why you asked for me,” Crowley said flippantly, stepping closer towards her. “What can I do for you, mother?”

“Have you not read the letter? I only wish to—”

“See me, yes, share a cuppa and trade gossips, yadda, yadda, yadda,” he drawled, producing the letter out of thin air. “Forgive me, Mum, if it all sounds so bogus.”

“Yet you’re here anyway.”

“Color me intrigued when a half-done contract contained my mother’s name,” Crowley said. “All that trouble to earn my attention. For once, I feel the motherly affection.”

Rowena sighed though completely expecting this flair for the dramatics. She was fortunate that he was yet to make a move to hurt her. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No,” Crowley said shortly. “What I’d like is to get to the point and tell me what the Hell you want.”

“Then I have nothing to say, Fergus,” said Rowena patiently.

Crowley raised a finger. “Actually, I think there is one more thing you can tell me.” He crowded Rowena, drawing up to his full stature and stopped by mere inches. “You’ve asked my employee for her boss specifically, meaning you knew where and what I am now after all those years. I would have known if you made a contract with another to come by this information, but I do believe you have a certain aversion to demons and those who deal with them.”

Rowena hesitated. Should she tell the truth? She would, and while she was confident that Fergus would wisely make use of what she knew of the future, it would also mean telling about Gabriel who was in hiding. It wasn’t a matter of Gabriel handling a horde of opposition but rather his confidence in her and the mutual understanding they’ve reached.

“I wish I could tell you, Fergus—”

Crowley’s hand found Rowena’s throat. “I could snap your neck like a twig,” he spoke. “Always wanted that—dreamt of it in the racks.”

Rowena’s lips pursed. “Not that I expect any less. I would have done the same to the mother who had as good as abandoned me in a ditch to pursue her career. I’m glad you inherited my sensibilities, that there’s more of me in you than your father.”

“So I do have a father,” he muttered, despondent.

“Witchcraft can’t stand for a substitute, unfortunately.” Rowena walked away when the fingers loosened, putting a distance. “Also because your dear mother was weak and made a dire mistake.”

Crowley snorted. “Ah, yes, yours truly.”

“I thought so too,” she acquiesced softly. “Learned otherwise the hard way,” she murmured.

Rowena heard a light hum. She hazarded turning her back once she got the intuition that Crowley wasn’t there to kill her. Not yet anyway. She could see him frowning, gauging her critically.

When she turned around, Crowley was gone.

“Hey.” Gabriel was leaning against the doorway when he appeared without a sound by midnight. “Started without me. I’m hurt.”

“I’m sure you can make more.” Rowena watched the red swirl on the wine glass. At the current lighting, it resembled blood. “Salud.”

“Vintage,” he observed, frowning at the taste. “But not old enough.”

An hour of Indian-sitting on the floor and passing bottles after bottles back and forth without speaking, Rowena began feeling the signs of intoxication.

Huh. That answered what her limits were under a sobriety charm. “There’s tingling in my fingers.”

“Okay, that’s it, Legolas.” In swish of his index finger, Gabriel cleared the floor. “We can drown ourselves in a pool of red when all this is over.”

“When will that be, another century?”

“I hope not. Can’t stomach another millennia of family feud.”

“Makes sense, with you picking off Princes of Hell who’s not supposed to die yet.”

Gabriel’s face went stony. “Doesn’t matter if you’re getting all friendly with a demon. The future King of Hell at that,” he shot back sardonically.

Rowena scoffed. “I can’t reconnect with my son now?”

“Except that’s not the same person you knew and died before you. That, what, just because he’s your son he won’t use what you told him?” He laughed humorlessly. “Like, c’mon. You should know him well.”

“You think I don’t?” Rowena challenged. “I do, and that’s why I didn’t say anything. I’ve turned soft and depressingly moral, but I’m not an idiot, you bampot.”

Gabriel huffed. He believed her words, surprisingly, that had him look terribly chastised afterwards.

He slumped heavily next to her, their backs against the side of the bed. “How did we even get here?” he asked after a while.

“I thought we already established that we don’t know.” Rowena sounded defeated.

“Nah. I mean, why are we even here? And that’s not an existential question.”

Rowena’s gaze flickered. She didn’t really have the energy to think at the moment, though she could pinpoint where it all started going shit. “Because your Daddy felt threatened by his dear ‘ol grandson.”

Gabriel seemed like he wanted to defend his father and yet not finding the strength for it. “Sounds about right,” he muttered listlessly. “Frankly, I don’t see the logic. A Nephilim is made up of both his first and favorite creations. Doesn’t that mean it’s two specials in one? And they’re called abominations.”

“Because one with an archangel father can rip the world a new one,” she pointed out. She wasn’t siding in Chuck’s defense, but she could understand how that would be problematic among a bunch of normal humans.

“Please, that one’s on Lucifer for not using a condom,” Gabriel argued, annoyed. “We lucked out with Jack’s good other half and the influence by his three better dads.”

“I’m surprised Michael didn’t do the same to another poor girl. I’m surprised nobody in Heaven thought to use Nephilim as weapons in the Apocalypse.”

“Michael and Raphael are known stickler for rules, but they’re not so—not that heartless, lady.” Gabriel frowned, reconsidering when he realized he used the wrong word. “But angels are no different from men when driven to desperation, so, yeah, I could sorta see them using that as Plan X.”

Rowena let out a delicate snort. “That’s reassuring.”

“Mmhm. They won’t, though. They’re too proud to lay with those they consider beneath them.” Gabriel playfully nudged her shoulder with his. “I’d say they’re missing out a lot.”

That has to be the worst come-on Rowena received from him. She rolled her eyes. “I’m pleased you never bothered lecturing your brethren.”

“Lecture them? Please.” Gabriel jutted his chin in thought. “Though it did enter my mind. Siring one, I mean. But it wouldn’t have been a Nephilim. There’s no word for it.”

“An offspring of an archangel and?”

“A Hindu Goddess,” he said with a toothy grin. “Kali, specifically. Think what a ferocious little beast our kid’s gonna be. His Mum’s a war goddess, his Dad’s the best-looking trickster angel there is. He’ll be getting good genes.”

“Aye. Or he could be short with ten heads, ten arms and legs. Ferocious little beast, indeed.”

Gabriel mock-pouted. “You wound me. What about ours though? If I don’t love Dad enough to fuck him over, I’d suggest we make a Nephilim. Can you imagine one born from a natural witch and an archangel?”

And unlike Kelly Kline, Rowena would make sure not to die from childbirth. “Better a girl to inherit my abilities,” she added, sliding on Gabriel’s lap easily.

“A witch Nephilim.” Gabriel’s grin was stretched too wide at the prospect. “Dad will hate her more than Jack, and not only because of her mojo. The sass that kid’s gonna have.”

“Imagine the mouth she’ll have,” Rowena murmured against Gabriel’s neck.

“I think I can,” he said, patting the side of Rowena’s head when she nibbled on his earlobe. “The mother’s, ah, proof of it.”

Rowena pulled away, chuckling a little. “Bit too sweet, dear,” she said slyly, standing to disappear to the bathroom, leaving him ambling around for the better part of three minutes until the bathroom door went ajar.

Gabriel didn’t need any prompting to take it as an invitation.

Autumn break rolled in without much fanfare and any difficult encounters; Sam Winchester included. After finishing the layers of defense that theoretically should resist both angels and demons alike, it was tremendously dull, the days dragging and with hardly anything to distract Rowena.

The peak of the month was when Gabriel had enlisted her assistance the week previous on a project that Rowena didn’t get many details on aside from setting a special ‘surprise’ for someone, which Gabriel worded with utter enthusiasm and a glint of mischief. With the specific warding he asked of her and upon discovering the abundance of sulfur and salt on the ingredients he had fetched for her, Rowena concluded that the someone was a demon.

While she knew Gabriel wouldn’t keep it from her if she asked, Rowena didn’t want to indulge him. She was happy to be occupied in the meantime.

Rowena should know better than to trust a trickster.

Apparently, Prof. Shurley was well-liked by practically everybody that when he instigated a Halloween party and handed out an invitation by word of mouth, double the amount of students of a single class appeared at the front steps of his bloody frat house conjured out of the blue for catering to a single party that Gabriel deemed special.

Rowena wouldn’t have been there, with the drunk and children in garish costumes exchanging spits left and right, if she didn’t read more into his giddiness belying a hidden agenda that Gabriel didn’t deem necessary to say outright.

Perhaps it was for the best, seeing as not an hour in, Gabriel sought her with his arm wrapped around familiarly to a tall boy who he introduced from his class.

“Ro, I want you to meet Sam Wesson, the finest student of World History 101,” Gabriel eagerly introduced.

While the flannel was a familiar sight, Rowena first noticed the long hair that extended above Sam’s eyes, then made an observation that answered the question of whether a younger Sam was already a tall drink of water. She imagined quite a few scenarios before how her meeting with a young Sam would go down.

Sam reminding Rowena of a cattle breed from Scotland wasn’t one of them.

“Sam, this is Ms. MacLeod which I’m sure you’ve heard of from me every day,” Gabriel told Sam in turn, winking saucily. “Who is now a muse of mine after my own heart.”

Sam looked abashed to be within the proximity of Gabriel’s hyperbolized flirting. “Hello, ma’am,” he greeted politely.

“Aren’t you a little shy for your own good, Samuel?” Rowena couldn’t resist teasing, making Sam flinch a bit at the name. “It is Samuel, isn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah.” Sam smiled tightly, a tad sadly. “If you’ll excuse me. I think I just saw my friend stumble and hit his head.”

“You scared the kid,” Gabriel said, watching with Rowena Sam’s retreating back after a hasty exit.

“I’m not the one who’s acting like his long-time friend,” she retorted.

“Technically, that’s right,” he replied cheekily. “’sides, that’s Prof. Shurley for you. He’s friends with everyone, to the reluctant or otherwise.” Gabriel jerked his red solo cup to the direction Sam disappeared to. “Also, I don’t think Samsquatch’s lying. I did see someone about to hurl his guts out.”

“What in the world are you giving these kids?” Not that Rowena could care less; she simply wasn’t looking forward to a couple of mewling children complaining about the most massive hangover of their lives tomorrow.

“Nothing harmful, trust me,” Gabriel said before tipping the contents of his cup in one gulp. “To humans, that is.”

A boy was making his way to the door in a stumble, unnoticed, and as if ran over by a truck, sweaty and disheveled. Sensing eyed on him, the boy whirled, his eyes unfocused and furious like a cornered wild animal.

When his eyes zeroed on Gabriel’s steady ones, the boy’s face drained of what little color it had.

Brady almost tore the door off its hinges in his hurry. He would have if every fiber of his self-preservation weren’t screaming for him to flee this deathtrap of a house.

He couldn’t believe he was caught off-guard after his instincts already picked up a weak thrum of protective magic surrounding the place, the kind that he chalked up to the house being old and previously in possession of a religious family. Brady would have been suspicious, but that meant putting credit to this hedonistic dunce of a man who called himself a teacher. See, this was the kind of humans Hell profited on.

Brady took comfort on the human stupidity, particularly those of people around Sam Winchester. It made his job easier, albeit dull and mawkish when keeping up appearances as Winchester’s close friend. Still, a job well-done to Lord Azazel was a job without any form of hindrance.

That was until a small dose of holy water inexplicably made its way to his drink.

Brady had felt the liquid burn his throat and esophagus first before it burned his mouth, making him rush to the restroom and vomited what he could heave out. What he excreted was a mix of red chunks and black phlegm that had him forcing two more fingers down his throat in order to remove the contaminant out of his system before it killed the vessel from the inside.

The regeneration of the portion of his tongue and lips was slow, and for a second, he feared that the concoction—he refused to believe it was as simple as holy water at this point—did lasting harm to his vessel. He couldn’t afford a change now, not when the vessel was personally given to him by Lord Azazel. His vessel’s death meant death for him as well.

Brady left the restroom, deliriously looking around every face in the cramped living room. Was it a hunter? He knew of the restlessness among the lower ranks. Rumors had been floating around that Lord Azazel’s foot soldiers were being put down one by one, and judging by the skill and how precise the tracks were covered, it was a seasoned hunter that, much to his surprise, wasn’t John Winchester. That was the last news Brady had heard from Hell.

No, it couldn’t be that hunter. Only Lord Azazel and he were aware of his mission, the main reason why Brady couldn’t risk an attempt to investigate on his own the sudden disruption in his connection, not to mention the lack of reachable henchmen he could order.

Then who the fuck was it? Who was stupid enough to dare obstruct—

Brady chanced to turn around and he realized too late that he got his answer.

A fucking archangel.

No, no, no—it was supposed to be only Michael and it would be years before they deal with him! The Apocalypse would officially start when Lord Lucifer was finally freed, and only then would Michael and the Heavenly Host in his back would make their opposing move. Nobody said that Heaven would send out an agent to foil the plan.

With Raphael known to be on the side of bringing the Apocalypse to fruition, there was only one archangel left who remained neutral on the matter and who hadn’t been seen for thousands of years.

Gabriel’s divinity was obscured by the pagan entity he was wearing, though it wasn’t enough to completely dim the intensity of his grace. He could wear layers upon layers of pagan entities and they wouldn’t suppress his true identity.

Or maybe that was exactly what Gabriel wanted him to see.

Brady should have known there was something fishy with the little weasel shit.

“Brady!” He heard Sam called from behind before running towards him. “Are you—what’s wrong? Do you need help—”

“Don’t touch me!” Brady seethed when Sam turned him by the shoulder. Sam looked surprised at his reaction, and Brady didn’t really need the added problem of Sam suspecting him; the oaf was too fucking perceptive. “I’m sorry, Sam. I just—I feel sick after starting too early.” He gave a wry chuckle. “But I’ll be fine going back.” He smacked Sam’s arm lightly. “Go on and get wasted. All study and no play makes you a dull boy.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Seriously, though. If you need anything, call me. Or Jess. We’ll be there.”

How awfully kind and ridiculously soft. It was in situations like this when Brady doubted this kid was truly Lord Lucifer’s true vessel. “Thanks, Sam.”

The more time Sam took to watch him go, the more pathetic Brady looked for not being able to escape somewhere in a blink. Brady cursed Sam Winchester and his abominable family under his breath until he reached the other side of the street.

With a gesture, Brady escaped under the darkness of the night.

And fell.

The drop was a sudden thing; one moment he was standing, and next the back of his meatsuit was slamming the ground. Every bone of his vessel was broken in five ways, and when he looked up he was outdoors, in an open pit of freshly-dug earth.

A silhouette above took shape, peering below at him.

“Get me out of here. Now,” Brady demanded but what left his mouth was a pitiful set of squeaks no better than a rat’s.

The figure clicked its tongue. “Look at that,” it said. “Another victim. Poor lad.”

“I said, get me out of here!” A gurgle came out in place of his yell.

The figure didn’t appear to hear any sound, starting to shovel back the earth on the pit.

Brady’s attempts at movement were fruitless and at best a writhing gesture that made him seem like a worm convulsing underneath the soil that began piling up quickly until the earth was on his eyes, inside his ears, nose, and mouth.

He let out a noise that went unheard six feet under.

Rowena murmured, hovering her hands above the young man’s chest and forehead. “He’s still there. Weak,” she confirmed.

“Good. That’s good,” Gabriel muttered distractedly, pacing. “Oh, man. This demon sucks at obstacle challenge.”

Rowena ignored him for the meantime in favor of saving the vessel and communicating with the person that remained inside while keeping the demon possessing him unaware.

She would have preferred it if the body was lying down on its back instead of sitting and roped tightly against the chair carved with demon traps. She tipped his chin and tore his shirt. Rowena wrote swiftly with a brush dipped in a special concoction. She wasn’t sure how long Gabriel could keep the demon occupied; probably for as long as Gabriel was entertained, but the quicker Rowena move, the greater the chance to pull out the young man back safely.

“Dico vobis levate manum, eo cui corporis huius,” Rowena chanted. “Sequimini me, et audi vocem meam. Imperium accipere gratiam immundos fugare templum tuum, qui aues…”

It took her two repetitions for the body to respond by convulsing on the chair before a sharp gasp broke through and wide, terrified eyes unfocused as he took in his surroundings in panic. “W-Where—”

“Hush now, lad. You have to calm down,” Rowena told him, clicking her fingers in front of his face to get his attention. “Brady. Brady Wilson,” she called firmly. “Look at me and me alone.”

Brady Wilson’s attention snapped to her as his face crumpled in fear and agony. “Help me. P-Please, help me.”

“I will help you with the demon expulsion, but you have to calm down or you’ll alert it.”

Brady shook his head frantically. “No. Help me. Let it end. Please.”

Rowena froze at the request, and before she could form a reply he spoke again, pleading as he gripped her hand on what little movement he could make against the ropes.

“I know what they’ll do. They’ll kill me, you, my family, my friends Sam and Jess. They don’t know what happened to me. Kill me and the demon.”

And that was the fastest way to finish it, wasn’t it? Gabriel told him that this mole was an integral part of Azazel’s scheme, and irreplaceable unlike the rest of his followers. Killing him early would at least hinder Jessica’s death and in turn Sam’s immediate return to hunting. The boy was asking for it, and not only it would be saving them the time, effort, and resources, it would be mercy.

Had it been some time ago, Rowena wouldn’t have hesitated.

She cut the ropes, propping him on the chair properly while she methodically let the blood flow back to his wrists. She was conscious of him blearily looking at her and leaning to her touch on his forehead and hair. She could no longer feel Gabriel’s presence behind her, and she knew he was in that crafted world of his, personally taking care of the vermin because Gabriel always wanted to have fun with those that actually deserved the trickster experience.

“I don’t want to hear that again from you, you hear me?” Rowena said, mildly reprimanding. “I won’t let you, young man, and the angel won’t either.”

Rowena didn’t let him get a word in edgewise and began the exorcism.

It was a peculiar thing to see Gabriel use the door, Rowena thought idly.

“Done,” he said. “He won’t remember getting possessed, and his memories of the past year will be fuzzy once he wakes up tomorrow, but that’ll be better for him.”

“And the demon?”

“Killed in a trial by combat in Westeros.” At Rowena’s confused frown, he waved his hand. Gabriel jumped on the bed, unwrapping a bar of chocolate and tossing another to her. “Good job on the exorcism.”

Rowena wasn’t a fan of sweets, but she would rather have something that wasn’t alcoholic right then. She scooted beside him and tore a small piece of the Swiss dark chocolate. “The lad wanted to die, you know,” she said absently, careful not to spill any bits on the comforter.

Gabriel was looking at her silently.

“I don’t know him,” she continued. “It would be nothing personal, and he would thank me for it.”

She saw numerous times demons getting killed while inside their meatsuit—she had killed a couple—and perhaps that would make any forget about the living person within. It wasn’t a particular issue she and the Winchesters dwell on, but what happened earlier made her rethink her approach and outlook on a few things.

He was still watching her, and whatever he saw, it was enough to make him smile genuinely. “You did good today, Rowena.”

She did, didn’t she? In a relatively general sense of ‘good’.

Rowena wanted to huff a denial, to insist on maintaining an image within the morally gray area, but it wasn’t often that she got something of an acknowledgment for a deed.

It was… nice.

Rowena met Sam Winchester again the next day.

He didn’t pose a flattering sight, propped by a tall blonde girl who helped the giant to the clinic. Taking pity, Rowena assisted her in lugging Sam to the cot.

“I’m sorry for barging in this way, Miss MacLeod, but you’re the only nurse on duty I know during the holidays,” the girl said immediately. “He’s been feeling under the weather since yesterday, and I thought it was just a hangover since he never really drank heavily. But then he got a mild fever this morning. I did my best lowering it down, but—” She sighed glumly. “It’s out of season but I think it’s flu.”

Rowena felt mildly guilty for the girl’s apparent concern. “He’ll be fine, dearie. I’ll give him mefenamic for the migraine he’ll surely have when he wakes up. Just let him rest here for a few hours if you have somewhere to be.”

The girl appeared slightly hesitant to leave but grateful nonetheless. “Alright. Thank you, miss. I’ll leave Sam to you for a bit. I might as well get him lunch.”

“A meal with hot soup will do nicely,” Rowena suggested. The girl politely bid her goodbye and was already at the door when Rowena called her. “What’s your name again?”

“Jessica. Jessica Moore,” she said with a bright smile. “I’ll see you later, Miss MacLeod.”

Rowena remained staring at the closed door. So the sweet and caring pretty lass was Jessica. Rowena wondered why she hadn’t piece it together the moment she saw her enter.

But maybe it was the years knowing Sam Winchester too; she was a little familiar with his taste in women in the later years.

“I don’t know what happened to your standards, Samuel,” she muttered.

“Tastes change, you know,” Gabriel said, appearing closely behind her. He grinned at her jolt of surprise. “Also, can you fault him for liking dangerous women?”

“The good lot they did to him,” she scoffed. “No wonder he thought he was cursed, with the women he got involved with dying left and right.”

Gabriel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If I remember the books correctly, only those he slept with, then some.” He paused. “Wait. Does that mean you and him—”

“Och. No.”

Gabriel looked skeptical.

Rowena rubbed her temple and shooed Gabriel away with her free hand. “Do your bloody thing, you angel.”

It was anticlimactic watching him touch Sam’s forehead and chirping it was done. “Did what Castiel placed on him and his brother before. Enochian carvings on the ribs. Pretty ingenious, actually. I put back his anti-possession as well. Should hold up against demons with a class as high as a Prince.”

“And the malady you gave him?”

“Squashed like a bug.” Gabriel grinned impishly. Rowena didn’t share the same appreciation for the pun.

“You mean to say you could have done that months ago in less than two minutes,” Rowena said lowly. “What the Hell, Gabriel.”

“What? I like roleplaying. I’ve been a janitor in another uni for six years last time. I get to be a professor this time. Maybe I’ll be a student next.”

“I wasn’t told you’re the angel of universities.”

“It’s not the university itself, lady. It’s the people,” Gabriel reasoned. “Why the ungratefulness? You get to see Sam again.”

“Frankly, I’d rather didn’t.”

“Yeesh. Trouble in paradise before the time travel?”

Rowena fixed him a look. “No.”

She moved past him, leaving no room for argument. Gabriel remained by Sam’s bed, squinting his eyes down on the unconscious man. He dropped the subject, or so she thought.

“Is it the height?”

“Gabriel!” she hissed in irritation. Any louder, Sam could possibly wake.

Gabriel shrugged. “Not that I blame you. It might have occurred to me once to climb that tree.”

“What?”

“What?” he asked.

Rowena blinked.

“I’m not blind, and I can appreciate both kinds of Dad’s creations.” He definitely sounded defiant.

“Of course, dear.”

“Right.”

Jessica returned not long later, unknowingly stumbling on the awkward silence when she checked on her boyfriend. She recognized Gabriel and the two were engaged in an animated talk that led to him seeing her out of the clinic.

“Hope you didn’t mind I stole your coin,” Gabriel said when he returned inside. “That girl’s a walking target, if you remember.”

Hard to forget, though admittedly Jessica’s importance had been trumped by prioritizing Sam. “I’ll keep her protected,” Rowena promised.

As long as Azazel and his fellow Lucifer fanatics were alive, Jessica was yet to be out of the clear.

Rowena was just as unprepared as the first when Crowley visited the second time the following week.

By some luck, Gabriel was absent once more when it happened, sauntering somewhere off the coast, he said with a worried frown. Either he was away to check on something concerning or it was an absurdly good coincidence that probably wasn’t at all. A thought for later.

She watched him survey the walls all over again. Somewhat amused, she quietly let him look under the drapes before he decided there was nothing out of the ordinary. Crowley considered her as if trying to figure out a puzzle. Rowena was fine with getting used to this routine if Crowley were to visit her again.

Rowena busied herself with a nightcap, and for a minute, she thought he was gone, until he asked to be poured one.

Crowley grunted appreciatively after taking a sniff. “Developed a fine taste, I see.”

“Hard not to when you have a man who can give them to you in a snap.”

“Who’s the poor rich lad?”

“Loki,” answered Rowena, sitting across her son. “That’s what he likes to be called. In his homemade movies, I mean.”

“If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you’re cohabiting with a porn star,” Crowley said. Rowena enjoyed the disgust that fleeted across his face. “But I did know better. Say, why’s a pagan god—what’s that term? Putting his finger in the pie?”

Rowena made no reply to refute the discovery. “And the pie is?”

Crowley sat back, seemingly challenging that Rowena tell him herself.

Rowena feigned nonchalance. “We enjoy each other’s company enough without being upfront with each other’s business. It’s a decent arrangement.”

“For sure,” Crowley agreed patronizingly. “A witch in the guise of a nurse. The outfit alone. My, how scandalous.”

Rowena could see what he was trying to do. She would bite; she was curious how he happened with the information after supposedly cutting off the communication between demons in and out of Stanford. “How did you find out?”

“I have my sources.” His tone was noncommittal. “What piqued my curiosity was the choice of location. While I didn’t know what possessed you to moonlight as Florence Nightingale, I wonder if there’s a specific reason why Stanford. It just so happens that a very important person, to the Netherworld, is attending there. Then there’s also the sudden demise of a secret field agent that I only found out about recently. Ironically, Hell’s been having several consecutive deaths recently.”

“Sounds like a lot of funerals in your workplace, Fergus.”

“Good riddance on some, though. That department isn’t known for their competency. The losses are not that impactful.” Crowley frowned. “I’m getting sidetracked. My little birdies also told me you’ve been hooking up with a college professor with an interesting name of Gabriel.”

“What can I say, his father is deeply religious.”

“Yes, that’s one way to put it,” he said dryly. “They said that the Messenger of the Lord has been missing for a while now. Nobody claims he’s dead, though some speculated he went native. What I think is that he has migrated to another pantheon, mingling with the indigenous tribe. They’re lesser than him in terms of divinity, but I heard they’re more fun compared to the prudes upstairs. Being a pagan deity is less conspicuous if you’re hiding from the Family, though it makes one think how he believes he can stay hidden while messing with some grand plans that involved the said family.” Crowley inclined his head. “The pie that I’m talking about, mother, is the Apocalypse itself.”

With Crowley intently watching her reaction, Rowena smoothly schooled her reaction to that of intrigue and surprise. Suffice to say, Crowley wasn’t happy with what he found, which made Rowena wanting to ask why.

If he believed her lie, was he displeased to be proven that she didn’t know any? If he was aware she was lying, was he displeased that Rowena was involved? Rowena knew of Crowley’s stand on the Apocalypse based from the previous timeline, and the sole reason he wouldn’t like Rowena’s complicity against the end of the world was that she would throw a wrench on Crowley’s own schemes.

“What are you really doing here, mother?”

Rowena wanted to laugh. “An oft-asked question to myself, Fergus,” she replied, languidly pushing herself back on the armchair.

“A question for next time then.” Crowley began to look impatient when he couldn’t gather what he sought. Funny that he wasn’t resorting to force if he was in dire need of information. It should be the easiest to employ the method to her, of all people. He stood, flicking nonexistent lint off his suit. “Something to keep in mind: a certain faction in Hell is outsourcing a rather efficient team to look into the mysterious deaths. Not only that, a cavalry is bound to arrive soon to express their displeasure on the turn of events.” His mouth pursed, too quick for Rowena to discern whether from d. “Farvel.”

He vanished, leaving Rowena startled at his parting words.

She wasn’t under the illusion that Fergus cared, but she would take the ‘next time’ at face value.

“We have a problem,” Gabriel said, the grimmest Rowena had seen him.

“Great. We’re having a shortage on surplus at the moment,” Rowena replied sarcastically. She turned to him, suddenly concerned when she was met with uncharacteristic silence. “Gabriel, what is it?”

“A Devil’s Gate is opened earlier than anticipated,” he said, running a hand on his hair. “Something’s wrong.”

“The Devil’s Gate?” Rowena repeated confusedly. “I thought the gate to Hell has always been opened. You do know that Fergus can visit me after all.”

“There are a few other doorways to Hell, and very few know of them. Crossroads Demons can go to the human plane since they can technically be summoned here, and because your son is the King of the Crossroads, he gets to move freely in between whenever he wanted,” he explained. “This gate I’m talking about is the main one where multiple hordes can exit all at once.” He looked up to her. “That’s where Lilith will come out per Azazel’s arrangement.”

“Then we kill her too!”

“No, you won’t like that. Her death is the final seal of Lucifer’s cage. The best we can do for her is to trap her for eternity. But, no, that’s not really the issue at hand. We forget another important person we should be keeping an eye on.” Gabriel smiled wryly. “Dean Winchester.”

Of course. Of course, they neglected Dean who was another vessel, albeit for the lesser of the two evils. “If Heaven already made its first move to rally Michael’s vessel, you’ll speak of it. Pray tell how does forgetting about the older Winchester factor in this timeline.”

“With the Devil’s Gate opened, Lilith will possibly be out within the week. That can only mean one thing: they’re pushing ahead of the schedule, probably because of our interference. All that’s left are to break the rest of the 65 seals.”

“You said killing Lilith is the last, then that means there are still 65 seals before her and those are plenty which should buy us enough time.”

“Not enough if they’re moving in an organized manner and with Azazel alive helping her.” Gabriel worried his lip. “The first seal is the righteous man spilling blood in Hell. Dean was the one to do so in the original timeline. He was there after he made a deal to save Sam’s life.”

“But Sam should be safe now. We put every bit of protection on him. He has you protecting him.”

Rowena didn’t want to think it would be all for naught. Gabriel, seemingly reading her mind, reached over to squeeze her hand reassuringly.

“We are, and that puts them in a bind. They can’t take a step that involves Sam. Not yet, at least. But they can switch up a couple of things. They killed Jessica before to push Sam back to hunting—they needed him in top shape for Lucifer—and on the road where Sam discovered about his abilities. Hence, the addiction to demon blood. Sam might be away from Dean as of now, but you do know those two love each other to death no matter the distance that if something were to happen to the other, they will do everything in their power to save one another.”

Rowena was starting to see where Dean would factor in. She let Gabriel continue.

“An accident befalling Dean will be enough to push Sam back to hunting,” Gabriel said. “As to sending Dean to Hell, it’ll be easy with John Winchester around and hunting with him. I imagine that it won’t be a difficult choice for Dean to sell his soul if, say, John mysteriously died or if they gullibly get baited with a piece of information about Yellow Eyes.”

“Targeting Dean now means killing two birds with one stone,” she concluded. “Or three, counting the death of his father.”

Gabriel nodded. “That about sums it up.”

Rowena sighed. “Then we protect him too. Now, without all the role-playing nonsense we did.”

He chuckled. “We can, but that means springing it all on him, who we are, what we are, and when we came from. Here’s to hoping that he’ll simply take them in a stride and will be reasonable to talk to.” Absently, he fiddled with her fingers. Rowena completely forgot she was holding hands with him. Huh. “Actually, I think you should let me handle this. I’m telling you so you know what we’re dealing with and who might be after you and me. I’d rather you’re prepared in case—”

“No.”

“… No?”

Rowena smiled sweetly. “No, dear. Let me take care of Dean.” She shushed him when he was clearly about to protest. “If Hell is already getting hints who’s working against them, don’t you think they’re ready to strike in the open who it is? Now, I won’t put it past them to not know a way to at least put you out of commission for a short while. They’re bound to know a trick or two, and remember that you’re only one angel against most of Hell’s faction.”

“I’m just one archangel!�� Gabriel protested. At Rowena’s raised eyebrow, he grumbled, “Fine. I can see your point.”

“My point, darling, is you need to lay low a bit and let me be less conspicuous.”

“Not to offend, quite the opposite, but you enter a room and you can get everyone’s attention on you.”

“Why thank you.” Rowena preened. “And that should work nicely. I do need to get Dean’s attention, and there’s only one way I can think of how without raising his suspicion.”

As expected, Dean was by his lonesome self, nursing a bottle of beer by the bar. He was eyeing the bartender, a short-haired brunette with striking blue eyes that showed a mutual appreciation directed to her admirer.

Well, interesting to know Dean started young with a certain type.

When it was clear that Dean was about to ask the bartender when her shift would end, Rowena actually felt bad for intervening. She quietly slid to the empty stool to the left of Dean, ordering a top-shelf bourbon and flicking her hair daintily in the process.

There were several variables that could possibly catch Dean’s attention: the shock of red hair that streaked across his peripheral vision; or the scent of lavender and raspberries that was proven to work like a charm; or the slinky black and purple dress that showed skin around the shoulders; or the sound of her manicured fingers tapping against the mahogany top as she waited; or maybe her gall to sit directly next to the person who was sending an obvious signal that he wanted to be left alone.

It could be any of those, but the fact remained that Rowena could feel Dean’s eyes on her that lingered heavily.

Rowena turned to him, her own eyes bright with coy and red lips turned up coquettishly at the ends, and found Dean Winchester staring at her as if he had seen a ghost.

That wasn’t what she expected.

Dean blinked at her once… twice unbelievingly, his jaw fixed and face draining of color, and under the lighting, he appeared as old as when she last saw him.

“Rowena.”

It barely registered that Dean called her by name without uttering any word so far, and, oh. Oh.

Dean was like her.

The inside of the Impala was the same as ever: it smelled of manly sweat and stale pine fresh, and the car seat with unexplainable bumps. With how worn the backrest, Rowena would hazard a guess that the vehicle was more often slept in than before.

For once, she was at the passenger’s seat, a blanket of silence between her and Dean that wasn’t pierced by his cacophonous choice of music. Oddly enough, they were both fine with the quiet.

“Where are we going?” Rowena asked after Dean made a turn on the road.

“A different motel. Dad is there where I’m staying. We need to talk somewhere.”

That was just as well. Rowena wasn’t excited meeting the Daddy Winchester. Within five minutes, Dean pulled over a 24-hour motel and parked on the almost empty parking.

Rowena exited once Dean killed the engine and waited out on her side of the car, and to her utter surprise, Dean enveloped her in an embrace.

Dean was no less short younger. She knew he was the more emotionally constipated Winchester, and the fact that he initiated a hug meant he was in dire need of it, of this. Rowena let him, squeezing him briefly before he pulled away hurriedly, awkwardly, probably thinking it cheesy to do so.

Rowena rolled her eyes fondly at him. “I missed you too, you big lug.”

“Yeah, you’re the only witch I missed.”

After the check-in at the front desk with the attendant tossing them a weird look that they pretty much ignored, they made way with to the room, each taking different parts of the room and sitting heavily.

“How long have you been back?” Dean asked, breaking the stillness that yet again settled on them.

“I’ve been here since June last year. You?”

“January last year.”

“You’re early. Earlier than us,” she commented. “I forgot to tell you that Gabriel is also the same.”

Dean’s mouth hanged open before a bark of laughter escaped him. “Why am I not even surprised that he’s also here?”

Rowena smirked. “He was the one who suggested that we seek you out. For your own protection.”

“My protection?”

It was going to be a long story, Rowena decided as she got comfortable beside Dean. She told him of what she and Gabriel had been up to since their return. She mentioned disposing of Brady, and while Dean didn’t interrupt her retelling of events, Rowena could see his gratefulness.

“We took Sam under our protection—well, Gabriel’s, specifically, and I took Jessica under mine. The entirety of that school of his while we were at it. We managed to eliminate a few from within and those waiting outside by cutting their communication. It was apparently vital to the mole disguising as giant’s friend,” Rowena said, not bothering to hide her smugness.

There was an imperceptible softness in Dean’s eyes at the mention of Sam. “Did you tell him? Did you tell Sam about the… the situation?”

“No. And if you’re asking me, that means you don’t as well,” she said wryly. “Then we both try to keep him away from his fate for as long as we could.” There was a note of wistfulness in her tone.

“’The things we do for love’,” Dean said. Rowena quirked a brow, and he shook his head. “I’m quoting someone. I did want to tell Sam, you know, because he’s the only person I know who will believe me and be at my back no matter what. I figured you were tempted to tell him with the same reason, especially with,” Dean shifted slightly, choosing his words carefully, “the thing between you and him.”

“Do you mean him killing me or something else?”

He sighed. “Both? I don’t know. There is something else there that you’ve danced around, right? I’m not blind, Rowena.”

Ironic thing to say when he and his angel had their fair share of ‘dancing around’. “Maybe there was, or maybe none,” she said noncommittally. “All of it are in the past now. He’s not that Samuel anymore, and with the rate we’re trying to change to change it for the better, he’ll never be the person we knew. We can tell him who we are, and he could sympathize, but he’ll never understand.”

“But he’ll be happy to be free of what would be in store for his future self,” Dean said. “We’ll be strangers to each other, but it’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

It seemed rather selfish of them to decide what was best of Sam, but Rowena couldn’t find it in her to disagree.

“Anyway, you were telling me something about my protection?” Dean abruptly asked, a change in topic that Rowena was thankful for.

She told him of the sound theory that Gabriel formed before he sent her after Dean. Dean took it quietly, nodding grimly in agreement for the most part. In turn, he told her of his escapades as well, of trying to stop known followers of Azazel, for example, his children.

“I don’t understand why can’t we kill Lilith ahead before the first seal is broken. Her death will be out of order, hence should be useless.”

“Not saying it’s impossible, but they’ll just find a way to resurrect her until she served her purpose. Also, it’s kind of difficult ganking demons in one strike now without a demon or angel blade,” Dean admitted. “I had to resort with quick exorcism, which is preferable since the person inside can be saved, but it’s a slow process.”

“Don’t you have those at your mancave?”

“Sadly, we won’t have the bunker until 2013. The key’s still with our grandfather and Abaddon won’t be—it’s a long story for later.”

“Fine. Gabriel then. He’ll be happy to provide you with them. The demon blade, at least,” she said. “Would you like me to call him now?”

Dean looked hesitant. “I’d like to see Gabriel too, but I don’t think I can handle another reunion with a familiar face tonight.”

Rowena relented with a tired nod. “I understand, but tomorrow morning I have to. For your Enochian warding and reinforced anti-possession tattoo.”

“Do you have those too?”

“No. I never asked for them.” Dean’s face was disapproving. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Bold of you to assume I don’t have ample protection on my own. Witch, remember?”

Dean snorted. “It’s not a jab on your pride, Rowena. But don’t you think you’re much safer with Gabriel’s protection? Dude’s an archangel, for Christ’s sake. That’s a lot of firepower on our side.”

“It’s not like the subject often comes out. We were occupied enough as it is without thinking of the Apocalypse.” Rowena crossed her arms haughtily.

Dean’s expression was sour. “I don’t want to know.” He made his way to the other bed and dumped himself face-first.

“That bad?”

Dean grunted against the pillow. He turned his face to the side without moving his body. “You have an idea.”

“I can still sleep if that’s what you mean, and it’s not as if I have too many ghosts of the past. I avoid them aside from Fergus.”

“Crowley? You met with him?”

“Twice, and it’s him fishing out information from me and the mysterious beau of mine who he believes is Loki. Technically, I’m not lying.”

“Does Crowley know?”

Rowena scoffed. “Be stupid to tell him when there’s not an ounce of humanity in him. He’s still my son, but he’s an opportunist without a shred of conscience.”

Dean smirked. “That’s him, alright.” He glanced away. “And he’s not a friend. Not yet. The thing about this time travel, you see a lot of people from the past who died a different person than what they are now. You can change them again, but it’s a gamble whether for better or worse.”

“Aye. We’re gifted with foreknowledge, but we lost the friends we gained in the past.”

“Yeah. It’s lucky that she brought you and Gabriel too. When she spoke to me and said she’ll bring me back, I thought—”

“She?” Rowena repeated numbly. “You know who brought us back.”

Dean sat up slowly before answering, “It’s Amara. She appeared to me when I died because I did die for real. With Sam.” He exhaled sharply. “When she told me she’d bring me back, I expected Sam would be here with me. He wasn’t, and in the long run, as much as I hate to admit it, it’s for the best that he didn’t.”

“Why?” she asked. “Why bring us back?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Honestly, I give up trying to figure what these fucking bigwigs are thinking. Amara brought me back, and yeah, I guess I should be glad for the chance, but part of me keeps thinking too that you, me, and Gabriel are just another pawns, only to a different entity.”

“What choice do we have, Dean, but play on their board? Because I am playing no matter how insignificant I am compared to you and your brother and an archangel. What am I? A wee witch who has a few tricks up her sleeves and who died because she had to. I didn’t ask to return, but I don’t doubt that my end will be the same sad end as a footnote in an epic novel.”

“But your death wasn’t for nothing,” Dean insisted. “Not for me, and definitely not for Sam. For someone who’s too proud of what she is, you sure give yourself so little credit. You went out as part of us. You were family, Rowena. You came back, and you still are.”

“You certainly learned how to sweet talk,” Rowena said, unable to stop herself from giving Dean a good ribbing. “You should have—” she suddenly stopped speaking, cocking her head with a frown. “Do you hear that?”

“I don’t hear anything.” Dean was immediately on alert, his back straightening. “Rowena, what’s wrong?”

There was an incessant buzzing ringing in her ears that turned louder and louder and rang inside her head. Rowena’s head began to hurt that she hardly noticed Dean rushing to her and kneeling, shaking her by the shoulders in both fear and concern.

Amidst the sharp stab of pain in her head was a sudden realization that something was approaching them at fast speed.

There was already the sound of breaking glass the moment Rowena forcefully pushed Dean down on the floor.

Great flames swarmed them a matter of seconds, and they burned.

The walls, the ceiling, the drapes, the blankets, the pillows—the whole room was enveloped by the heat that intended to devour her and Dean. Knowing it wouldn’t let on unless both of them were charred crisps, Rowena had to think. Fast.

“Rowena?” Dean coughed and wheezed. “Are you—”

She held Dean firmly under her, and in quick successes snatched a knife from Dean’s waist and sliced her palm. She did a simple pentagram on the carpet by Dean’s head and muttered an incantation.

Despite the smoke, Rowena persisted with the spell, occasionally breaking mid-chant to heave a lungful of breaths. Dean watched her from below, his face covered by his forearm, though his eyes watering from the amount of smoke were stubbornly kept open, wide with unwavering resolute.

Dean firmly believed that she could and would tame the demonic flames, and Rowena did.

A strong gust of wind whirled in and sucked the fire in large increments through the broken window. The smoke within was cleared as the fire was smothered out by magic. Faintly, they could hear the fire alarm that set off outside the room.

Rowena staggered backward from Dean, drawing her breath with great effort and hissed at the stabs of searing pain making themselves known all at once, mostly coming from her back that she could feel from her neck through the arms and legs. Dean was about to scramble on his feet when a force suddenly knocked him aside.

“Dean!”

Rowena collided with a hard body behind her. She whirled and grimaced in pain at the sudden jerky movement, and found a strange man with ashen skin and yellow eyes towering over her within arm’s reach. She tested her right wrist and fingers, and albeit the aching, she could flick them to hurl the demon out.

“I won’t do that if I were you,” the demon warned in its raspy voice. He cocked his head at Dean’s direction and raised a closed fist. “You chant, I snap Dean’s neck here.”

Dean was telekinetically lifted up the ceiling, his throat closing from within, and worrying choking noises were coming from him the longer Rowena stood idle.

Fuck it.

“Abite!”

While it was satisfying to watch the strike of purple lightning hit the demon squarely in the chest and throw him back with a crack, Rowena had to catch Dean as he rapidly slid down, fortunately against the wall, once he was freed from the demon’s hold.

“Dean, wake up,” Rowena called him urgently, shaking him. “We have to go, and I can’t carry you!”

But Dean refused to budge even as a presence loomed heavily behind her. Before Rowena could react, the demon pulled her up on her feet by her hair, twisting and tugging at her scalp.

“As expected of an angel’s bitch,” the demon sneered, voice grating on her ear. “There’s more magic in you than you look.”

Azazel, Rowena’s mind supplied. It was bloody Azazel.

Gabriel.

It was the last thought in her head before blackness completely overtook her.

There was a trickle of water.

Rowena woke to the acrid smell of sulfur that was palpable in the air. What she believed to be water falling in droplets against her face seemed sticky and thick. Rowena blinked her eyes open and regretted that she did.

Above her was a body of a man hanging limply and whose blood was dripping down on her. Rowena had seen revolting sights in her years, and while this hardly churned her stomach, it was the familiar stature, blond hair, and the drab flannel that had her let out a muffled scream against the gag.

Rowena turned away, struggling on her bound arms and legs on the metal table. Her eyes darted wildly in the dark and found nothing. Once her vision adjusted, the place turned out to be bare like the inside of an abandoned warehouse.

It wasn’t Hell.

Rowena calmed her breathing with deep inhales and exhales, turning her attention back to the body hanging above.

It wasn’t Dean.

In hindsight, it was ludicrous to think Dean could be killed this easy; death was infamously evasive of the Winchester brothers after all. Not to mention, Dean should be considerably experienced when it came to demonkind in his second life.

Dean could have escaped, or Gabriel could have arrived in the nick of time. Rowena might be tied down in some dank hole, but she took comfort that she was alone for now.

She tested her hands. Iron. Figures.

There was a loud clang of heavy doors before a shuffling of feet could be heard approaching her. It was no use pretending to sleep when a faint light shone once the lifeless body above was casually set aside. A figure hovered over her, reeking of sulfur and the smell of blood and rotten flesh. He was thin and bony, with a sallow complexion.

The unfamiliar demon watched Rowena with scrutiny and the total focus of a boffin studying a specimen. He didn’t react at the glower Rowena was sending him, merely humming and mentally taking notes of his observations.

Rowena could hear the same buzzing from before when they were assaulted in the motel, and it wouldn’t be farfetched to think it was some sort of a signal of impending danger.

Something cold settled in her stomach.

“Fascinating,” the demon muttered in rapt attention. “Your body has experienced numerous deaths and yet retains its form.” His eyes darted on her right thigh. “An embedded resurrection seal. Brilliant.”

He rounded the table, producing a scalpel that gleamed under the dim lighting. He addressed her directly. “I expect your threshold is higher than most I’ve laid here on the table. Such a shame. It would have been preferable if we’re in my office downstairs.”

The cold blade dug lightly near the crook of Rowena’s left arm, and she writhed in pain when it cut down and peeled a portion of her skin.

“Shh,” the demon shushed, unperturbed at her futile attempts to twist away from the blade where a small, thin slice of flesh was sitting atop it. To her horror, the demon brought it to his mouth and ate the bit of her skin.

Rowena turned away from the sight, wanting to puke against the gag.

The demon hummed, seemingly satisfied at the taste. “Not bad,” he said, and proceeded to calmly incised on sections of Rowena’s left arm.

Rowena screamed.

Eventually, Rowena passed out against her will once the demon practically peeled most of her upper arm, and one could only see so much of their skin getting eaten and savored right in front of them.

When she came to, her mouth was freed from the binding though her jaw ached. She hadn’t been unconscious that long, it seemed, once she could feel her own magic struggling to mend her broken skin in gradual surges.

The demon didn’t miss the healing raw flesh, and in an expression of disapproval, he dipped the end of his blade at the tip of her pinky finger and flayed the top half.

Rowena’s howl of agony came out unhindered that rang loudly even to her own ears. The demon didn’t flinch at the sound and was in fact rather delighted if his triumphant smirk was anything to go by.

“What do you want?” she demanded, gritting her teeth in spite of the torn nerve endings that she could feel in her whole body.

She would not beg.

“Lord Azazel had asked for my service. He intends to conduct an inquiry about a mysterious party working behind the scenes,” the demon replied matter-of-factly, more interested with working on Rowena’s fingers one by one. She bit her lip to stop the cry from escaping her lips when a nail was pried off.

She would not beg.

“I was told that you’re working with an angel to stop Lord Azazel’s plans to free our Dark Father, and the quickest way to get answers is through the Grand Inquisitor.” The demon made a show of bowing. “Alastair, at your service.”

As expected of Hell, giving out fancy titles to a lowly profession of torturer. Just her luck that it was apparently one of Hell’s finest that was sicced on her.

She had had worse, she kept reminding herself. Rowena had been at Lucifer’s mercy once. Alastair couldn’t have been worse than the Devil himself.

Rowena’s teeth sunk on her bottom lip while tips of her fingers and toes were being skinned to expose the muscles underneath. By the time Alastair was done, her lip was bleeding, blood and spit mingling down her chin.

“Within ten minutes, you’ll ask for them to get cut off, and I will for every piece of information you can give me. I only need three: a name, a reason, and hm—other names, I suppose?”

Rowena would not beg.

“The countdown starts now.”

She bit back her tongue.

Rowena didn’t beg.

Somewhere in her addled mind, Rowena registered one thing: Alastair kept referring to Gabriel as an angel.

They didn’t even know what he was.

In the middle of Alastair hammering down a nail on a knee, Rowena laughed.

In her experience with tortures and torturers, it was entertaining to see them arriving at the brink of desperation when they couldn’t pry from her what they wanted.

Alastair was a different case.

He never tired of asking the same questions, and instead becoming more and more methodical and endlessly inventive with his ways. Rowena’s sense of time has faded, and she wondered how long she had been there with only the company of his demon. Had the situation was different, she would have admired his dedication and ingenuity.

It was exhausting, with her body continuously agonizing over the torment, and on one hand her innate magic was doing its best to repair her in its own way. She might not felt the strength to build it in a ball in her palm, bound by wards etched on the iron that was keeping her down, but her magic was there still and wouldn’t let her just die.

Rowena held on nonetheless.

She knew she could handle it once she found a footing by imagining in turn how she would inflict the same kind of cruelty on Alastair the moment she was freed.

Calmly, Alastair humored her ideas, until Rowena became more vocal than he expected and he changed his tactics.

Rowena couldn’t see them, though she did sense when three hellhounds came in with their inhuman growling and heavy steps.

She wasn’t detached enough to not react in terror when the hellhounds mauled her to bits.

“A name?”

Rowena spat on his face.

It earned her a throaty chuckle.

Alastair left her eyesight for last.

She blinked, painstakingly and lasting for more than a millisecond, and wished that she hadn’t dared to do so.

Her father stood there where Alastair had been, his face the same as she remembered as a girl, when her father was done after a hard day’s labor but wouldn’t forget cooking her dinner and putting her to sleep at night.

“Rowena,” he said, tender and soft as he brushed her hair and kissed her temple. “My child.”

It hurt when he gutted what currently remained of her, and it began to hurt where Alastair’s tools couldn’t reach before.

With only her eyes intact and voice box and tongue ripped out, Rowena cried noiselessly when her father pierced her cheek.

It was Fergus next.

She almost didn’t recognize him, her one good eye aside. It was the nose, the mouth, the ears that resembled Gavin’s—but not quite—that clued her in.

Fergus was taller and thinner compared to Crowley’s meatsuit, and the fact that Rowena didn’t get to see this version of her son when he was alive was a testament on the kind of mother that she had been.

The Fergus that was staring back at her bore no recognition in his face, and when he sat down to gouge her eye out, Rowena knew she deserved it.

Rowena woke to the shrill sound of an infant’s cries. Exhaustion seeped to her bones, and with utter difficulty held the fussing bairn to her chest until he calmed down.

She was tired, with sleep close to lull her back to its arms. She didn’t notice the makeshift bed dipping with additional weight until he spoke, leaning over to her and their son.

“He got your nose,” Roderick said fondly, his index finger reaching out to touch the baby’s small nose that twitched adorably.

Rowena didn’t answer, though she wasn’t out of it yet to not smile at him affectionately.

“I have to go, my dear,” Roderick said. “You still need blankets and food to replenish your strength. Oh, and hot water. I’ll be back, my love. Don’t wait up for me.”

She hummed distractedly, quite taken with the baby to pay attention to what he said. She knew he understood.

“I’ll give him your name,” she said when Roderick was almost by the exit.

It took him a moment to turn around, and when he did the meager lamplight wasn’t able to illuminate his face. “Yes, I’d like that,” he said, sounding oddly distant and so very far away.

With Fergus garnering all of her attention, Rowena didn’t care.

They grew up fast, Fergus and Oskar, as quick as a blink of an eye.

It was a swirl of haze how they came to be whenever Rowena tried to think and remember. It didn’t matter a bit; Rowena loved her sons dearly that she would gladly give up her life for them, as any mother should.

That was why she couldn’t understand why and how her hands found themselves around Oskar’s delicate neck and twisting it cruelly as if breaking a twig.

She turned to Fergus who froze after seeing the incident, and Rowena stomped on the poor boy with all her strength until the white showed. Unlike Oskar, Fergus remained alive long enough to cry. Rowena burned him while he pleaded for his mother for mercy.

“It’s okay.” It was Roderick who appeared beside her when she crumpled on the ground once she got back a semblance of control. “You did good, Rowena.”

But there was nothing good in it. There was nothing good in killing her sons.

There had been nothing good in Rowena’s entire life, with only regret and several mistakes for company.

She was her own making, what she was now.

“It’s okay,” Roderick said again, with a handsome smile that used to twist her stomach pleasantly, except now she detested that particular look that reminded her of someone she struggled to recall. “You were amazing, Red.”

Red. It was only the Devil who called her that.

“Lucifer.”

Roderick caressed her face, causing Rowena to flinch at the touch. His hold was strong and his tenderness jarring.

Rowena would not beg.

“Even better,” Lucifer said, in Roderick’s voice and face, and without preamble kissed her lips. “I’ve returned, my dear.”

She didn’t fight when Lucifer sent her ablaze.

Rowena had drowned once.

Afloat in a void that she unknowingly fell into felt like it—the oppressive nothingness that weighed heavily on her lungs and the lack of foothold and to grab on to pull herself up.

There was no choice but to drift or fall down, whichever direction she was being directed to.

And would she know it, it actually gave her a sense of peace.

“Rowena.”

Oh, it was Sam.

Not the young one she met recently but the one she knew longer, who had those wrinkles and laugh lines on his face that showed his age.

Sam looked well, and Rowena had a burning hatred to Lucifer and to that demon capable of playing with her mind like this.

Sam shook his head. ��No. I’m not—you’re not there at the moment.”

Lucifer has to be more convincing than that.

Sam’s expression was patient, contrite and concerned rolled in one. “I’m sorry that you haven’t quite found your peace yet. After.”

“I suppose you know of that too.” Rowena snorted in derision. It was a surprise they were only using the knowledge now against her.

“Why shouldn’t I? I am you. I am a part of you, you know.”

“I wasn’t aware my conscience looks like Samuel.”

“The appearance is all on you, I’m afraid.” Sam grinned impishly. “And, no, I’m not your conscience.”

Rowena bit, getting frustrated with the uncalled for mystery. “What are you then? The part of me that has been keen to die because I never really asked for a second try? It’s not surprising given that you look like the person who killed me. Terribly unoriginal.”

Sam hardly looked offended. “I’m the part of you that believes you deserve a second chance.”

And if it was true of course it would have Sam’s face because the giant was the first person to saw her merit. It was probably appropriate to laugh; she didn’t, though, finding the metaphor stupid.

“The mind works like that,” Sam said sagely. “It’s fascinating.”

On any other occasion, she would have agreed. It was a confounding thing, in her present opinion, that tried to fill up the gaps she hadn’t noticed, like the surroundings and what she and Sam were wearing. If it was her unconsciously doing so, then it was a strange choice to put them both in white, situated among the fields of the highlands from her childhood.

Rowena began walking, with Sam following beside her wordlessly. He wouldn’t speak if she didn’t want him to.

Yarrow beset them on both sides, and Rowena could think of a couple of spells she could do with a single ingredient. There was one for servitude that tended to boil the person’s brain; there was a charm for the home’s safety; and there were two for either good or bad luck.

She wondered idly if there was any for a swift getaway.

“You don’t have to use any to get out of here,” Sam said. “This is your domain.”

Rowena could sense a ‘but’ despite the wistful tone. “What is it?”

“You still have to call him. Gabriel.”

Well, Rowena felt sort of bad that she had completely forgotten about him, though caring about someone who was vastly more powerful than her and the demons who had gotten her seemed a useless notion.

“He wasn’t asking you to,” Sam said, reading her mind—the concept was funny seeing as where they were. “He respects your own power, and he trusts your strength, but like you he’s also someone who believes in having a fail-safe plan. You two are in-tuned with each other in little aspects like that.” Sam gestured at himself; white suited him, Rowena noted, though it wasn’t in character of the Sam she knew. “He’s the reason why I’m here with you, how I can insist that you put yourself back out there again. It’s not too late yet.”

Sam had to do better if this was him trying to persuade her. “What if I don’t want to go back?” she asked. “What if I simply want to be here, on my own and away from everything else?”

“If that’s really what you feel, then you could banish me anytime. I told you: this is your domain. You have power here. And should you want it, I can stay here with you for as long as you want me and for as long as we’re allowed.”

Rowena wouldn’t have minded. She missed him, and she was in favor of spending the rest of the time with Sam.

But who was she fooling? This wasn’t Sam. He was nothing but an idea of the real person, of the man Rowena had formed a genuine connection with since Roderick. This Sam was nothing but a chaste memory of the man who cared enough to weep for her death in his hands.

This Sam was but her version of what-if should she had survived with him and lived out the rest of their days together.

It was a piss-poor way to remind her that she had wanted that, once.

“It’s okay,” Sam said, wrapped around her like a friend that he had been, and Rowena latched on to him equally tight. “You have to let it go, Rowena.”

Rowena let go and called.

Behind the closed eyelids, Rowena could make out the harsh white light.

In contrast was the gentle fingers cradling her head and brushing her hair. Rowena couldn’t find the strength to open her eyes yet, burrowing on the comfort that came with the kind gestures and the delicate lifting.

Rowena didn’t have to look to know who the balmy presence belonged to.

She knew.

It was a messy bedroom that greeted her when she came to, with half-peeled wallpapers yellowing and wooden ceiling and foundations with chipped-off light-green paint.

When she maneuvered herself on the bed, there were springs in the mattress poking her back uncomfortably, not to mention the scratchy comforter above her.

It might be the most unflattering situation Rowena had been, but the regularity was unmistakable. There was a quality of rightness—at the lack of better term—from the dusty smell of stacked books and the pile of clothes on a chair in the corner.

Rowena was finally out and in a place that felt safe.

Or at least, what she kept telling herself, rubbing on her arms barren of any scar from the misery she underwent, and murmuring repeatedly that she was fine, that the phantom pains would pass and she would be right as rain again.

Rowena slumped down against the side of the bed and let out a choked sob.

A quiet swish of air came and so was Gabriel who pulled her up and guided her back to the bed protectively. He never promised that it would be alright because he understood firsthand that it wouldn’t be the same after that kind of trauma no matter how short the experience.

Gabriel held her close until her cries died down to hiccups, ruining his shirt with her tears and snot. Not that he cared, carding his fingers through her hair and wrapping the itchy comforter around them both.

Against her better judgment, Rowena fell into a dreamless sleep.

Gabriel was always silent whenever he stayed with her, and Rowena allowed the silence to settle over them like a newfound routine, along with him holding her to sleep until waking up the following day.

He didn’t prod when Rowena refused to eat, and she supposed he had something to do with her lack of the pang of hunger. Rowena took her time to think of eating food without fighting down bile.

For an entity who couldn’t possibly stay long-term in one location, Gabriel was patient with her, surprising her even with a book at hand when she was woken up once in the middle of the night by thirst. Since then, she would found him occupied with trinkets in between her waking moments; sometimes Gabriel was playing with a Rubik’s Cube, though often he was playing a low tune on small wind instruments like a kazoo and harmonica.

By the estimation of the slow drag s of daylights and evenings, Rowena guessed that it has been already a week.

“Where are we?” was the first thing she asked since the rescue. Her throat was dry, her voice raspy from being unused.

Gabriel snapped her a glass of water, eager to answer. “Bobby Singer’s house. It’s the most warded aside from Stanford, courtesy of Dean-o and Roberto, and, well, the uni became a known location to the demons.”

“What happened, Gabriel?”

Gabriel recounted from the night she was with Dean. Azazel had attacked the motel they were at, with an intent to capture her and Dean both. Dean had narrowly avoided becoming a bargaining chip to lure John Winchester after Gabriel arrived at the motel in the nick of time, but not soon enough to get her from Azazel who had hidden her from angels and demons alike, with only he and Alastair aware of the location they were keeping her. He told her of bringing Sam and Jessica to the Singer’s Salvage Yard after Lilith let loose a horde of demons after them in order to capture Sam and to kill Jessica in front of him. Gabriel told Rowena how she steadfastly didn’t break under Alastair’s hands, and that when he finally heard her call, Azazel and Lilith’s combined force bunked topside was unprepared for the assault of an archangel with two seasoned hunters—Dean and Bobby armed with the appropriate weapons.

“Your son had been helpful,” Gabriel said.

Rowena perked up at the mention of Fergus.

“Crafty, that one. He kept Lilith from escaping before I could get to her,” Gabriel told her with a wicked grin. “He got a few tricks from you, I noticed.”

When what felt like pride came over her, Rowena gave a little smile. Maybe it wasn’t too late for her and Fergus.

Gabriel continued, telling of a short trip to an alternate universe where the Winchester brothers existed as actors with different names and whose roles were Sam and Dean Winchesters in a show called Supernatural. Gabriel was particularly impressed at the very minute existence of magic in that world, making it the most ideal place to trap Lilith in their deepest ocean trench. Meanwhile, Rowena was just fairly impressed that somebody deigned to think of adapting Chuck’s awful books into a show.

Rowena started taking in food by afternoon, starting with a croissant that came directly from Paris. She wasn’t a fan of sweets, and Gabriel showered her with plenty, but the sugary and milky taste was a welcoming change in her bland pallet. The strawberries dipped in chocolate syrup were a blessing.

The hours moved faster that day compared to the days Rowena spent in the bed recently. By evening, Dean knocked to check on her.

“Huh. So that’s what you look like without the heavy make-up,” Dean said gruffly in greeting.

“Yes, because seeing my face bare is as bad as seeing me naked,” Rowena said flatly. “Not that I care with the latter.”

Dean huffed out a chuckle. “Damn it, I thought Gabe was lying when he said he has the best bedside manner.”

“Well, it’s not like that’s his only use…”

“Oh, c’mon. TMI.”

Rowena didn’t suppress the smirk. It was entertaining to make fun of Dean. “There’s strawberries involved if you’re curious to know.”

“I’m not!” Dean’s expression went aghast when his gaze landed on the bedsheets. “Bobby’s gonna kill me. Then he’ll kill you and Gabe. Just saying.”

“Noted, dear. By the time he finds out, we’re already gone and Robert will get nice silk sheets and a new mattress. He’s in badly need of one.”

“I’m telling you, he’ll appreciate those less than a simple ‘thank you’,” Dean said dryly. He observed her briefly before taking on a more somber note. “How are you doing, Rowena?”

“I’ve been better,” she said as nonchalantly as possible. Dean wasn’t deceived by it, looking sympathetic without saying anything else. Rowena was drained to bother wiping the look from his face. “Is that concern I see?”

Dean seemingly caught himself, glancing away. “Kinda.” He tilted his head to the side, adding, “Alastair got what he deserved.”

“I know,” she said, though Gabriel didn’t mention personally smiting Alastair. ”And you? How are you feeling, Dean?”

“Fine. Like always.” Dean seemed like he wanted to believe that. “I mean, I’ve had better days.”

“I never asked, but have you tried reaching Castiel?”

Dean seemed perplexed at the abrupt change of subject. “What for? As far as I know, Gabe’s the only angel who got back with us.”

“How do you know? Maybe he’s like you, the same way you purposely don’t involve yourself with Sam despite knowing what you know.”

“Assuming that’s true, there’s still the technicalities between Heaven and down here.”

She snorted. “That never stopped you before.”

Dean was miffed at the topic, and something told Rowena that he thought of the same thing before but kept making excuses otherwise. “Yeah, but judging from Sam’s reaction when I told him, it’ll probably take Cas centuries for that to sink in.” At Rowena’s astonishment, Dean smirked. “I told Sam yesterday.”

“Oh.”

“He doesn’t like that I put it off this long, but he’s glad that I told him. Better late than never, I guess.” Dean’s mouth twitched. “He asks a lot of things, and sometimes it’s a bit tricky to give him a straightforward answer, but what’s more difficult is when he looks at me and he tries not to see a stranger.” He shrugged, as casual as he could muster for the sake of appearance. “Could be worse, all things considered.”

Rowena decided that the last thing Dean needed was an assurance that they would be alright.

Rowena was startled to see Sam ambling outside the room not an hour later after Dean’s leave.

“Uh, hi, Ms. MacLeod,” Sam fumbled shyly in an adorable kind of way that Rowena would have teased the older Sam for. Instead, she was fairly stunned that Sam approached her first. “Can I come in?”

“Come in, Samuel.”

He was carrying a pot of tea, setting it down on the bedside like a peace offering. He stood there awkwardly as if waiting for permission to sit.

Rowena smiled and gestured at the foot of the bed. The mattress was beginning to grow on her if she must say so herself.

“It’s probably not a good time to ask, and it’s fine if you want to kick me out, but can I just—” He ran his hand through his hair.

“Ask away.” She took pity on the boy. “Dean told me that he told you.”

“Uh, yeah. He told me a lot. He also tells me about Prof. Shu—I mean, Gabriel, who’s an archangel.” Sam furrowed his brows at that. “And you. He said you’re a witch.”

“That I am.”

“And that you’re friends with us—well, Dean and the future me—after a rocky start.” Sam fiddled with his fingers like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “It’s not that I’m against it, but thinking about getting involved with angels and demons alone… it’s insane. Time travel aside, it’s already insane.”

Rowena wondered how he would react to alternate words, but that was clearly a topic for another day. “You’re right; those are a lot to take in one sitting.” She sat back. “What do you want to ask me, Samuel?”

“Right. I’m—It’s not really a question, per se.” Sam shifted properly to face her. “Dean also mentioned to me about the supposed deaths. Jessica, first and foremost. I just want to say thank you for saving her, and by extension, me.”

“Och. It’s but a wee role in my part,” Rowena said, flattered, nonetheless. “I’m afraid Gabriel gets most of the credit with his creativity,” she admitted reluctantly, not that she would openly tell Gabriel that his idea of infiltrating Stanford was actually effective.

Sam shook his head. “We owe you just as much. Even Brady.” Sam glanced downwards. “I know I’m not the Sam that you know and grew close with, but I’m sure he’s proud of you.”

It should be strange that Sam referred to his older self as another person, and yet it wasn’t. Not really. At this point, Rowena no longer saw this young Sam becoming her Sam.

This Sam wouldn’t know of most hardships his other version experienced, and he would be happier and more liberated for it.

And seeing this untainted boy full of earnestness and optimism, Rowena thought that perhaps it was for the best.

They left the next day.

Of course, not without expressing their gratitude to their gracious host, Bobby Singer, who might have taken Gabriel’s leave as thanks of its own after the archangel-slash-trickster was said to have fooled around the salvage yard by changing it to different sceneries that Bobby didn’t particularly like.

While Rowena wasn’t a fan of the redneck appearance and Bobby didn’t appreciate her criticism on his mattress, she liked Bobby’s straightforwardness and literary knowledge. They formed a tentative association, with both lines kept open in case Bobby would be in need of advice on dealing with witchcraft.

“And I’m one pray away, Dean-o,” was Gabriel’s farewell to Dean.

Gabriel then popped them both back to their shared unit, and upon their arrival, Rowena was swept off her feet and was tucked to bed like a child. She huffed out an annoyed sigh, knowing she was bound for coddling by an angel, no less, though in the end the desire for a softer bed and familiar sheets eventually won her over.

These days, she just wanted to lie down and rest like an old person, which technically wasn’t wrong on normal circumstances.

Oh, well.

Gabriel jumped on the space next to her, sidling close with Rowena turning him to a makeshift pillow which was nice in a cozy way. Rowena wasn’t the cuddling type, though she supposed it was too late to assert that now after practically hogging Gabriel to herself in the past few days.

“We should take a vacation,” Gabriel suggested. “Niagara Falls is the perfect spot at this time of the year.”

Rowena could name at least three issues in taking a holiday dab smack in the middle of three waterfalls, but she humored him anyway. “Perfect for what exactly?”

“Skinny-dipping.”

She snorted. “Of course, dear. We’ll see in about a week.”

“Nah, no rush, Ro. Just putting the suggestion on the table. Take your time, Niagara could wait.”

Rowena lifted her head and setting her chin on his chest. Gabriel raised an eyebrow at her, and Rowena couldn’t resist taking his face in her hands tenderly. “What if it takes me years to fully recover?”

“Then I’m with you,” Gabriel said firmly. “It’s not time-wasting, Rowena, when it’s us walking together every step of the way to get better.”

Goodness, he could be romantic if he wanted to. “Thank you,” she said, leaning down to place a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“I should be saying that,” he said humbly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “But you’re welcome.”

Rowena was lulled by Gabriel stroking her arm and carding her hair, and it wasn’t long until her eyes became heavy and she fell in an unbroken sleep at a place she started calling home.

“Good night, Rowena,” Gabriel whispered.

For once, he joined her in her dreams.

fin

…

English translation for the Latin exorcism incantation:

I beckon you, the person who owns this body. Hear me and follow my voice. Take control and expel who fouls your temple.

#supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #rowena macleod #rowena #gabriel #gabriel x rowena #gabriwena #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #destiel #sam winchester #jessica moore #dean winchester #time travel #fix it au #samwena #samwitch

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fanfic-from-a-67-impala · 6 years

Text

I’m a Believer

Fulfilling a square for @spnonewordbingo: BRUNCH

Characters: Charlie x questioning lesbian!reader, Sam, Dean

Word Count: 2466

Summary: You were never one for romance, and the idea of love seemed as out of reach as ever. You figured maybe it happens for some people and not others.

But then you saw her face...

Warnings: teensy bit of angst at the beginning

A/N: I’ve been sitting on this idea for a while. I swear I’m getting to requests soon.

Listen to the Monkees song here.

The bunker door opens and closes, followed by Dean’s heavy, uneven steps clanging down the stairs. He reaches the library, where you and Sam lounge in the chairs.

You glance up from your book. “You’re home early.”

“Finished early,” Dean replies, flopping into one of the chairs.

He left for a bar only a few hours earlier to blow off some steam, which usually involves him stumbling through the door in the wee hours, the smell of perfume still lingering on his skin.

“No luck?” Sam asks.

“No, no—plenty of luck,” Dean smirks. “I thought I hit record time last Valentine’s day, but my God, this girl—”

“Okay, thanks, man. Don’t need to hear any more,” you interrupt.

“Sure you do,” Dean says. “Isn’t the deal that you live vicariously through me?”

You shake your head. “What makes you think I have to?”

“Oh, even Sam sees more action than you.”

“Dude, come on,” Sam warns.

Dean holds up a hand. “All I’m saying is—how long have we been riding together?”

“Too long,” you mutter.

He rolls his eyes. “Well, in all our ten years, give or take, not once have you, you know, spent the night out.”

You set your book on the table and cross your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow.

“I’d offer to help, but—”

“But you know I’d knock you on your ass before you could get out the words ‘last night on earth,’” you finish for him.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “And not in the sexy way.”

You sigh. “I guess it’s just nice to have some kind of connection before I end up in bed with a guy, you know? And, so far, I… haven’t.”

“Sure,” Sam says. “But you don’t want to find someone you do connect with? Dean and I both have at one point or another.”

“I used to,” you shrug. “But I don’t know. I’m starting to think it’s never gonna happen for me.”

Dean scoffs. “What, are you kidding? You could have any guy—”

“You know what?” you cut him off. “How did this become about me?”

“You’re right. It’s none of our business,” Sam concedes.

He turns to Dean. “Anyway, it’s a good thing you’re back early. I just got an email from Charlie. We’re meeting her for brunch tomorrow.”

“Brunch?” you question.

“Yeah,” Sam shrugs. “Right, I forgot you’ve never met her. Charlie’s a hunter friend of ours.”

You furrow your brows in confusion. “What kind of hunter eats brunch?”

Dean chuckles. “She’s got her quirks, that’s for sure,” he admits. “But you’ll love her.”

“Good enough for me,” you nod. “What time are we leaving?”

A bell dings above your head as you follow the boys through the doorway of a cafe in town. The air is tinged with the bite of roasting coffee and something buttery.

A waving hand catches your eye from across the room. The woman it belongs to waves and smiles in your direction.

Definitely not Charlie, you think. You can’t possibly be meeting someone who looks like she belongs on the cover of a magazine.

Still, the boys head in her direction.

Following them, you smooth out your clothes, suddenly regretting your casual choices this morning.

She slides out of the booth and jumps into Sam’s outstretched arms.

“What’s up, bitches?” she says when he releases her.

Dean scoops her up. “Hey, kiddo.”

She pulls away and smiles up at him. She has a beautiful smile, really. It lights up her vibrant green eyes. Long red curls frame her face, and light freckles pepper her cheeks and nose.

You feel your heartbeat start to pound when her curious green eyes land on you.

“(Y/N), this is Charlie,” Sam introduces. “Charlie, (Y/N).”

“So, you’re the famous (Y/N),” she says.

Heat rises to your cheeks. “I don’t know about ‘famous.’”

“Are you kidding?” she says. “These guys told me all about you. Man, I would’ve killed to be there when they first discovered the angels.”

“Well, I would’ve killed to be the one who defeated the leviathans.”

She ushers the three of you into the booth where she was sitting.

“So, Charlie,” Sam says, “what have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know. Hacking big bads, burning bones—the uszh,” she answers. “I was in Missouri on a ghost hunt, decided I’d come by and visit.”

The waiter none of you noticed rounding the corner gives Charlie a disturbed look.

“Uh… what can I get you?” he asks.

Once you’ve all ordered, Dean looks around the restaurant. “Nice place. Very hipster.”

“I know, right?” Charlie says. “I found it online. It got four and a half stars on Yelp.”

“Sorry, ‘Yelp’?” Dean questions.

Sam clears his throat. “It’s a site where people—”

“I know what it is.” Dean turns to Charlie. “I just didn’t peg you as a Yelp kind of girl.”

“Don’t judge me. It’s helpful,” she retorts.

“Sure would’ve been helpful a few weeks ago,” you mutter.

Dean groans. “Oh, don’t remind me.”

“Why? What happened a few weeks ago?” Charlie leans forward in her seat, interested.

You chuckle. “So, we roll into this small, middle-of-nowhere town. It’s before the crack of dawn. It had been a while since the last food break, and there’s one place with its lights on in town, so this one—” you point an accusatory finger at Dean— “drags us there. We take one look at the menu. Turns out it’s a vegan place.”

Charlie laughs and turns to Dean next to her. “You, Dean Winchester, actually stepped foot in a vegan restaurant.”

“Okay, in my defense, we’d been on the road for twelve hours.” He shakes his head. “I wish we’d never taken that case.”

Sam scoffs. “Right. You’d have let those people die so you could have meat.”

“Damn straight.”

You and Sam continue the story while Dean frowns at the memory, pausing only for a satisfied sigh at his burger when the food arrives.

Well into the meal, while Sam is recounting new information he found in the Men of Letters’ archives, your foot brushes against someone else’s. You glance across the table at Charlie, who darts her eyes downward when you meet them, withdrawing her foot.

“All right, I’m going to go get this settled,” Sam says, holding up the check as he slides out of the booth.

“And I’m going to hit the restrooms,” Dean adds before heading to the corner of the restaurant.

You take a sip of cold coffee while Charlie wraps her hands around her glass.

“So,” she says, “this was fun, right?”

“Yeah, it was nice,” you say. “Thanks for letting me tag along. I’ve never done brunch before.”

She bites her lip and leans her hands on the table. “Well, how’s about we have a real meal? Maybe dinner? Tonight?”

You almost choke on your coffee in surprise. You stare at her, convinced you must have heard her wrong.

“Who am I kidding?” she says. “Of course you have plans tonight.”

You shake your head, almost too quickly. “Free as a bird.”

A wide smile grows on her face. “Cool,” she says. “There’s a place across town—Giovanna’s. Say seven?”

You hesitate a moment. You should tell her that you have no intention of getting involved with her, that you don’t even like women.

But don’t you? Doesn’t the overwhelming feeling of wanting to see her again as soon as possible mean there’s something there?

“Sounds great,” you nod.

You walk through the glass doors of the restaurant at thirty seconds past seven.

After brunch, you went back to the bunker and spent an hour deciding what to wear. You’d never cared much for the way you looked before, but tonight, you suspected, was special. You wanted Charlie to see you at your best, something you’ve never wanted of anyone.

You shouted to the boys that you were going to run some errands, and you slipped out, drove into town, and waited in your car a block away from the restaurant until seven o’clock rolled around.

You freeze in the doorway. What were you thinking showing up here alone? By “we,” she obviously meant you and the boys. How stupid will you look when you waltz in by yourself expecting a date when she’s expecting a group dinner?

“Hi,” the hostess greets from behind her stand.

The restaurant smells like rich bread and wine, not even a hint of the greasy odor you’ve become so familiar with at your regular diners. The tables are lined with tablecloths, each set with utensils, wine glasses, and a small flickering candle.

“I’m meeting someone,” you tell the hostess.

“What’s the name?” she asks.

“Uh, Bradbury, I think.”

Across the room, you spot Charlie at a table. She sits at a table for two so that her side faces you. She wears a maroon-colored dress that complements her hair, which she pulled up into a bun.

You barely pull your eyes away to tell the hostess, “I found her.”

Charlie smiles when she glances up at you.

“Hey,” she greets, standing up to give you a hug. “Wow, you look great.”

“Thanks. You look really nice, too,” you say as the two of you settle into your seats.

You stumble over your words at first, but the longer you talk with Charlie, the more relaxed you feel, and conversation flows easily.

She tells you she’s from Kansas and bounced from places like Chicago, where she met the boys, to Michigan. She tries to downplay her computer skills as nothing important, but the enthusiasm in her voice tells you that she’s exceptional at what she does.

You tell her about your hunter’s childhood, growing up on the road, living by motels and dusty backroads like any hunter does. You exchange stories of life on the run—whether it’s from monsters or law enforcement doesn’t seem to make a difference.

Halfway through the entree, your phone buzzes, the screen lighting with Sam’s name.

You look up at Charlie with a wince. “I’m sorry. I should probably take this. The boys get worried.”

“It’s no problem,” she waves you off. “You do what you gotta do.”

You head outside the restaurant and press the button.

“Hey,” you answer.

“(Y/N),” Sam greets. “Just checking in. You okay?”

“I’m fine, Sam. Just got caught up in something.”

He pauses, listening. “What kind of something?”

“Nothing,” you assure him, listening to the gears turning in his mind. “I’m just in town, nothing funky about it. Promise.”

“All right,” he huffs. “Well, as long as you’re in town, do you mind picking up some lighter fluid? We’re running low.”

You let the line go silent for a moment as you construct some story that would offer a reason why you won’t be coming home with lighter fluid, or any supplies, really.

“(Y/N)?” he asks before you think of something.

“I can’t do that,” you spit out.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’m kind of… on a… a date?”

“You’re on a what?”

“What?” Dean’s muffled voice sounds through the speaker.

“She’s on a date,” Sam says. “You’re on a date?”

You sigh. “Yes, and you two are interrupting it.”

“Wait a second,” Dean says. “Who? Where? Wh—”

“Date now, details later,” you insist.

“All right, all right,” Sam says. “I guess we won’t wait up?”

“Yeah, don’t,” you say. “Good night, boys.”

You switch off your phone and dart back to your table, where Charlie waits patiently.

“All good?” she asks.

You nod. “All good.”

Again, you slip into a natural back-and-forth of light anecdotes and shy advances.

A lull settles between you over a shared dessert, and you decide to break the silence.

“You know, I’ve, um—” you pause to lick your spoon— “I’ve never done this before.”

“Had a chocolate souffle?” she suggests. “That’s a crying shame.”

“Well, that, too,” you shrug. “But I meant I’ve never done this before.” You gesture between the two of you. “The date thing. With a woman.”

Realization fills her features as she smacks her lips lightly and places her spoon on the plate.

“Well…” she drawls. “What did you think?”

As you play the night through in your mind, storing some moments to remember on a rainy day, you can’t help the smile that crosses over your face.

“Five stars.”

The next morning, the bunker halls are cold and quiet, but you hear the boys’ voices as you round the corner of the kitchen.

Their chattering ceases as their expectant eyes land on you.

“So?” Dean says after you say nothing.

“‘So’?” you repeat, pouring a cup of coffee.

He rolls his eyes. “So, how ‘bout that Chiefs game?”

“How was your date?” Sam interjects.

You take a sip of your coffee and turn to them. “It was good.”

Dean throws his hands in the air while Sam stares at you with wide eyes.

“It was… better than good?” You bite your lip and sigh. “It was great, and it was magical, and I think I’m in love. Is that what you want to hear?”

Sam looks to his brother, then you. “That’s great, (Y/N), but are we ever going to meet the guy?”

You turn your attention down to your coffee. “Well…”

“We already know him, don’t we?” Dean says. “God, tell me it’s not Garth.”

“What? No—”

“It’s Garth, isn’t it?” he says. “I swear, that guy keeps making the eyes at you.”

Sam furrows his brow. “‘The eyes’? That’s not even a thing.”

“It’s a thing. You just don’t—”

“It’s not Garth!” you shout.

Dean’s shoulders relax as he huffs out a sigh.

“Then, who…” Sam trails off as his eyes drift to your left.

Charlie stands in the doorway, wrapped in a grey Men of Letter’s robe.

“Morning,” she says, stepping toward you.

You smile at her, frustration at the boys melting away. “Good morning.”

She wraps an arm securely around your waist before turning her head to the boys.

“What’s up, bitches?”

They stare at you for a minute, mouths gaping.

“Charlie?” Sam finally manages. “Charlie’s your guy?”

“Hey, I am a lady,” she remarks. “A queen in some realms.”

He nods. “Of course.”

“We just didn’t think you…” Dean gestures to you.

“Oh, me neither,” you admit, draping an arm over Charlie’s shoulders. “But it feels right, you know?”

Even with sleepy eyes and unbrushed hair, she flashes you a smile that makes your heart flutter. As if to return the sentiment, she tilts her head up to peck your lips.

“Now,” she says, “about that ‘I think I’m in love’…”

Tags: @ellie-andthemachine @gaybrieljax @electraphyng @emerald-watermelon-199 @mersuperwholocked-lowlife

#Supernatural #Supernatural x reader #Spn x reader #Supernatural oneshot #Spn oneshot #Spn #Charlie Bradbury #Charlie Bradbury x reader #Charlie x reader #Charlie Bradbury oneshot #Charlie oneshot #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #oneshot #crimson and clover #wlw reader #writing is hard #fluff

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fallen029 · 6 years

Text

Down

They could both be extremely silly and frivolous people. He was known to be a bit of an eccentric, buying toys, still, at his age, painting little wooden dolls for his 'babies', living, at times, with little to nothing other than sugar and cigarettes (typically laced). Though she was nowhere near as bad, she was mostly known for, of course, being the girl who beat death, if not just Mirajane's baby sister, but also for the silly antics she and Natsu could still get into, even as they edged into their early twenties. Her new lease on life had granted her a desire for more than just guild jobs and, though she hung around frequently, mostly helping her sister tend bar, she was one of those less likely to be out on a job.

Though it was different levels of the word, they were both known to be rather upbeat and, on her part, optimistic.

What most didn't catch, however, were their down times. They both had them. Lisanna didn't so much, in her adolescence. Though she'd had a great tragedy in her parents death and the eventual way they were run out of their village, those memories faded quickly for the little girl as she slowly scoped out a new future. It was rather easy, actually. There were so many other kids at Makarov's guild in those days that she hardly had any time to carry the heavy stain the village had left on both her sister and brother. Though they faced their own demons, both physical and mental, regarding the place, many of her thoughts of the place felt more like fever dreams than actualized situations she found herself in. She could remember her home, somewhat, her parents, a little, and the rural area they grew up in, but that was about it.

Her early memories had been replaced by those beginning years in Fairy Tail when they were all so young, yet so talented. The future wasn't set in stone, but it was certainly bright.

And he, well, he didn't have that ability. That she did. To just push the early memories away. Maybe it was because he was older when it all turned to shit or because he didn't have siblings to assist in caring for him, but no, he couldn't just easily forget all about his life on the road with both his parents and eventually just his father and, finally, just him. And the souls he would collect along the way. He'd come to have good childhood memories, after that, of joining Fairy Tail and befriending Freed and Evergreen. Discovering the practical religion that was Laxus Dreyar. But it didn't cancel anything out. Not for him.

He remembered everything.

Sometimes, when it all came flooding back, he just had to get away. From everything. From the guild, his two best friends, the constant chase of Laxus, the jobs, the training, all of it. Except his babies. He could never leave them behind. Never. Not when they never had him. But the other things, well, they'd all be waiting for him when he returned. It was just time that he needed. That was all. Time to...think. Think so much, about all sorts of things, enough so that when he returned, he wouldn't have a single thought left in his head. Not one, at least, that he hadn't already figured out.

They'd return though. The thoughts. In ways he wasn't ready for. Eventually. No time soon, usually. It only happened about every six months or so. He could feel it too, as it approached. Crept up on him. That darkness that, if he tried to fight it, he'd only lose more of himself in the struggle. No, it was just easier to go with it, to allow himself to be led along, alone, until it was finished with him. Led him where it wanted to go, down whatever treacherous path it had awaiting him, took him as close to the edge as you could get only to, slowly, edge him right back off and then leave him, high and dry, caught in something he didn't understand, but knew was over. It was over.

For the moment anyways.

It would be back. It would always be back. With all the hopeless, self-loathing crap that he never really knew what to do with.

He'd never met someone who got it that bad.

Most of the people he grew up with in Fairy Tail had some sort of trauma that brought them there, fine, but none of them seemed to get that feeling. That urge. None of the ones he talked to, anyways. Either that or they hid it well. Even Evergreen and Freed, his closest of allies, his brother and sister, really, couldn't understand where he was coming from.

Evergreen handled all of her pain and turmoil internally. She never spoke to him on her past and, as far as he knew, she kept it from Freed as well. All that mattered was the present. Fairy Tail. Laxus. The Thunder Legion. Elfman Strauss. Maybe. Sort of. Anything else she felt or thought about was never vocalized and he assumed that she handled it well, but she did spent a good portion of her jewels on wine when they weren't out on a job and maybe she just had her own crutch.

Maybe.

Freed and he talked extensively on their pasts. Both the shared and the prior. He could recount his friend's entire childhood, probably. Especially when he met Laxus. Freed told that story frequently. It was, after all, what convinced him to join Fairy Tail and changed the entirety of his life. Bickslow felt much the same. Of course.

So it was no surprise to him that Freed too held some darkness inside of him. But he channeled it quite efficiently in those days. He didn't sit and brood, as he once had, in their teenage years, but rather, when he was feeling lowly about the past, he merely went to the hall and attempted to help one of his guild mates with their training. Or suggested to the lesser ones that he might accompany them on a job. To assist them. It didn't kill the pain or pangs of sadness, but it did well to keep him preoccupied.

It wasn't like that though. Not for him. Not like it was for Freed. Though the rune mage frequently suggested similar tricks such as those to him, they didn't fix what was going on inside of him. It went deeper than that. He didn't feel as if his pain was any more strenuous than Freed's, but it was certainly processing in his brain differently. That was all. His felt more like a sensory overload or something. There was no asking to help out around the hall or just drinking it away. He had to get away. Physically away, from everything, and just sulk for awhile. Hardly eat. Hardly drink. Just be. Alone.

He thought he'd never find anyone else that understood it. That didn't think it was odd. That didn't suggest, as Evergreen and Freed did, at times, in veiled ways, about maybe seeking someone more...professional to assist in all of this. They didn't get it though. How could they? He was a dark knight, the baddest of the good, the saddest clown of all. No one could help him with that. No one could understand that. It was just someone he was.

Which is why he was so bummed, only a few months into his relationship with Lisanna, when he felt it creeping up. It was coming and he knew it. That horrible period of days to weeks where he just had to be away, not on a job, not anywhere, really, just away, from everything, just to stop his mind from eating itself alive.

It wasn't exactly the most trustworthy sounding excuse in the world.

"Can't hang out, kid," he informed her when she showed up on the day he was packing a small bag, planning on heading out to the woods and not coming out until his mind wasn't so clouded anymore. "I'm busy."

"Oh, really?" She seemed rather disappointed. "Did you guys take a job? I didn't see Freed or Ever up at the guild-"

"No."

"Were you going training then? Or-"

"Nope."

"Then what?"

"I'm just," he told her and he hated how his voice sounded so final, so distant, already, "busy."

He didn't feel bad in that moment, for Lisanna, really. It was difficult for him to feel for anyone when he got like that. But he knew he would, when he came back. It was weird, knowing you'd feel something, but being unable to actually experience it in that moment. He couldn't describe it, really, but it was extremely disconcerting.

Lisanna seemed suspicious, or perhaps just a bit crushed, but she only backed off and out of the apartment, much to the dismay of his little wooden dolls who'd been looking forward to hanging out with the youngest Strauss sibling that day.

He only ignored them though.

When he came back, he expected Lisanna to be distant. Or upset. Annoyed. Apathetic. Something. But she only greeted him two weeks later with a smile, up at the bar, and quickly launched into a story about how she and Levy had discovered this super rare book the other day when they were shopping in Hargeon. And he just nodded as she then explained that they were having a special on fish, but not the order it, because it was just the Master and Mirajane trying to get rid of some nearly rotting product.

"Oh," she added as she still stood there, serving tray tucked under one arm, looking as chipper as ever, "and I get off, by the way, around seven tonight. If you wanted to hang out or whatever."

"Hang out, Papa," his babies pleaded and Lisanna rarely mapped things out between the two of them. It was usually his doing. But still, he just nodded and said he'd swing by the Strauss home at eight, then, to pick her up.

When Elfman was the one to answer the door that night, he was sure he'd get an earful from the man as Lisanna definitely had to have bitched about him to her siblings, at least, right? Maybe her friends? But Lucy was inside too, hanging out with Mirajane, and none of them seemed to even recognize him as having been absent. At all.

"Did it not bother you?" he asked much later when, after catch a late train, they found themselves in only a vaguely familiar city where they planned to explore until the wee hours and then crash at a sleazy motel. Their standard date. "Lisanna?"

"What?" she questioned back with a bit of a frown. "The train ride? No. I-"

"Me being gone," he corrected, trying not to get snippy. His tongue fell out of his mouth slowly and his guild mark caught a breeze. "Lissy. You weren't upset with me?"

"Should I have been?"

"Well, I dunno. I'd be, I guess, if we had plans, but then you up and left for a few weeks."

"I'm not your keeper, you know," she pointed out. "And yeah, canceling our plans was pretty shitty of you, but you are a pretty shitty person, overall."

"That's hurtful."

"Most of us are," she pointed out.

The truthfulness did little to soften the previous blow.

Kicking some at the ground as they walked along the expansive city, he let out a long breath into the cool of the night, disappointed winter wasn't upon them yet and he was, therefore, unable to see his breath.

"Freed and Evergreen," he accused almost under his breath, "told you, didn't they?"

"Told me what?"

"Lisanna-"

"I haven't even spoken to them."

"Are you telling me the truth?"

"Bickslow," she complained and she glanced up at him then, frowning though she didn't fall out of step with the seith. "You're being weird."

Still, he only shook his head. "If they told you-"

"They didn't tell me anything." Rolling her eyes, she said, "And apparently, you aren't going to either, so stop trying to pique my interest. I mean, gosh, Bickslow, why did we go out? If you're just going to be so uptight about this the entire time? You went and did whatever it is you did. Who cares? I don't. So why do you?"

He'd built the whole thing up in his head, when he was coming back, but apparently it was all for naught. Or at least so far. He didn't right her off as always being so accommodating, but it was nice to see, so far, that she wasn't too bothered by his absence. So he just tried to put the worry out of his mind and, eventually, they did have a pretty decent time out there, goofing off.

When it grew late, they checked into a hotel room where he only sat at the tiny desk, smoking, and she spent time over on the bed, his babies resting there with her, neither talking. For a good while, at least.

Eventually though, he did shove up, going to offer her a few drags and, after being declined, to sit on the edge of the bed, taking them for her.

"I just need breaks sometimes, is all."

"Huh?" Lisanna was actually pretty busy trying not to fall asleep, not until he truly came to bed, but listening to him talk had not been on the suggested methods. "What are you talking about?"

"About where I went," he told her simply. "I went- Well, I went campin', I guess, technically." He paused to take a drag before, around the smoke, adding, "But I just had to get away."

"You don't have to explain-"

"Maybe I want to."

He probably did. The best either could figure. It was why he couldn't shut up about it.

"Maybe I need to," he even insisted then. "Tell you. So you understand."

"I do understand."

"You don't even know what I'm talking about."

She sat up some then, to stare at him in the darkness and he offered her the smoke again, but she didn't even wave it off. Just kept her eyes locked with his.

"I get it," she insisted a bit harsher that time. "Needing to be by yourself. I need that sometimes too."

"Not like me."

"Maybe not," she agreed. "I mean, no one needs the exact thing as someone else, you know? But I like to be by myself sometimes too."

"I don't like it, Lisanna. I need it. It has to happen or else… Or else. It's just how things are."

"I'm not fighting you on this."

He knew. And yet, everything he'd prepared for these moments was under the anticipation that she would.

She was making this a lot harder, being all accepting and shit.

"It's not normal, Lisanna," he insisted. "It's not."

"Okay."

"But it's something that happens sometimes. That I need sometimes. To keep it all on straight."

"Alright."

"And it's not something I plan. Or use to get out of practice or jobs or something stupid like that. I really do just feel real low sometimes and I just… I… It's just how it is."

"I understand, Bicks."

But did she? He wasn't sure, but the idea of her being so didn't bring him near as much comfort as it should have.

Maybe he just naturally wanted things to be complicated.

Heh, yeah, probably. He only went to snub his cigarette out before, finally, falling into bed which allowed her to shut her eyes and truly get some rest.

They didn't talk on it again. Not for a long while, at least.

Things kind of had their own natural flow in their relationship. He went on jobs, he came home, she was usually just returning from one as well or working heavy shift rotations up at the bar, with her sister and Kinana, which meant she definitely deserved a break if he deserved one and he always deserved one, and they'd just goof off. For awhile. Until he had to go on a job again or she was needed down at the bar. It felt like a safe, nice pattern. He usually didn't stay around the same woman for long. They usually didn't want much to do with him outside of those first few dates, if he even got that lucky. But Lisanna felt different.

She was different.

Because for as alone in the world as he felt in his own despair, Lisanna wasn't too far off from his feelings. Most people probably weren't, fine, he'd admit it, if he had to, but no one else had ever been so open about it with him. Not the way she was.

"I don't," she told him after he bounded into the bar one day intending to offer her a chance to go get smoked up at his place and watch some movies on Freed's lacrima that he definitely asked before borrowing, "feel like it."

"Oh." He tried hard not to be disappointed and quickly pivoted to his next idea. "We could go to the park. Hey, yeah! I've been working, kid, on this super hard trick with the babies that I could show to ya if you-"

"No."

"But… Well, what do you wanna do then?"

"Nothing," she told him with a bit of a shrug as she bused one of the tables for her sister. "That's what I meant before. I don't feel like doing anything."

"Well, we can just go home, I guess, to my place-"

"With you, Bickslow." Then she felt like that was too mean and sighed some, glancing down at the mugs she was pulling off the table. "With anyone. I just wanna go home, you know? And be alone for awhile? After work? We can talk later. Maybe in a few days."

He was confused and almost felt like he must've done something wrong. Clearly. Why else would she being so cold to him? Unless…

Did she just have other plans? That she didn't want him to know about? That she didn't wanna tell him he wasn't invited to? He knew that a lot of her guild friends didn't exactly line up with his and, yeah, he could hang with Natsu and Erza just fine, but it wasn't always completely enjoyable. Not everything meshed, after all.

But Team Natsu was out on a job and Levy seemed to just be hanging around the bar, bothering Gajeel, and who else would she not want to bring him around?

"No one," Mira said with a bit of a bemused smile when he asked this, not an hour later. Lisanna got off and left after kissing him goodbye. He just skulked from his table with the bickering Freed and Evergreen (they were disagreeing about some sort of practice shit he should probably be listening to, but he was too heartsick for that) over to where Mirajane was behind the bar. She knew everything about the woman, after all. "Why would you even think that, Bickslow?"

"She don't wanna hang out with me. She just wants to be alone, she said. For days. I mean, one day, fine, but could you go without talking to a guy you're super interested in and attracted too because he's just so awesome for days? Huh? Could you?"

Mira thought hard. "Well, I dunno. Does he have a car?"

"That's not the point."

There rarely was one, between the two of them, honestly.

"Lisanna's not upset with you or anything, Bickslow," Mira finally told him with a bit of a sigh. She even shrugged. "She's just… It's not my place to say, I guess, but sometimes she gets like this, you know? She just needs to be alone for a bit."

"Like… Not like me. I'm different."

"Okay," Mira agreed easily because she didn't even know what that meant. Still, she added, "Just give Lisanna a few days. Like she asked."

He wanted to. He knew he should. But it was so fucked, really, because every day he went up to the bar, there she was, working her shift like usual. Each time he asked to hang out after though, she declined him and he started to fear he was coming off as desperate. So he backed off. The only time he truly felt comfortable was a few days later when Team Natsu returned and they invited her out with them (well, Happy did; he'd missed her bunches), but she turned them down too. Not that he was spying on her or anything…

Maybe she just really didn't wanna hang out with people? Seemed kinda sucky…

Still, he didn't wanna leave on a job until she bounced back from it and, luckily, it didn't take too long. One day when he went up to the bar to get some breakfast, she was there, but not on duty, sitting with Lucy and Gray, talking about something or other. When he looked at her, she waved him over and even gave him a hug when he took his seat beside her.

It wasn't until Lucy headed off to go on a job with Erza and Gray found himself spending some time with Cana that, alone at their table, Lisanna truly spoke to him.

"Did you," she asked as his babies, glad to have her back, had taken to landing anywhere on her they could find, from her head to her shoulders to her palms, "wanna go for a walk?"

Anywhere to talk.

The morning was really in swing then and the streets were a bit crowded, the further into the city they went, but they only walked in silence, together, for a good half hour before, finally, he felt comfortable in speaking.

"What's been going on?" he asked simply. "Lisanna? These past few days? I thought that you were mad at me."

"Why would you think that?'

"Because… I dunno. Because that's how I am. When people cut me out, it's usually for a reason."

"It's usually because you were being creepy again."

"Lisanna-"

"I told you, Bickslow," she said simply though she did frown some. "I just needed some time alone. Why's that a problem?"

"Alone? You were with people all the time!"

"What do you-"

"You were up at the guild," he complained.

"Yeah, working."

"Yeah. With people."

"Because I had to?" She asked it, rather than stated it, and it seemed like she was ridiculing him, just a bit. "If I didn't come in for my shifts, Bicks, then Kinana and Mira get screwed over. They deserve the days off that I say they can have. Shifts. Whatever."

"Yeah, but-"

"It's just like you," she insisted then. "You go into the woods, you said and-"

"Camin'."

"Yeah, camping."

"You weren't camping."

"No, but-"

"I'm," he insisted to her then, "different."

"Different, Lisanna," his dolls agreed as they floated all about. "Papa's different."

"Yeah, you are, he is, I know," she agreed with them all, even nodding her head. "But it's the same thing."

"No," he repeated, "it's not."

"Then it's not, Bickslow. Whatever. I wasn't mad at you or anything, so it's not some big deal. Alright? I just needed space for a bit."

"But not from work."

"Normal people," she told him simply, "can't just do that. What we do. As wizards. Pick and choose when to go to work. I was assigned shifts, so I went. After them, I wanted to be alone to think and decompress."

"Why couldn't you decompress with me?"

"Why couldn't you," she countered, "with me?"

"I just said it's different."

"But why. Explain it."

"Because… I just need to be alone. To get my head on straight. To get away from everyone else and everything and- No, Lisanna, it is not the same thing. I know that's what you're going to say, but-"

"There's nothing wrong, Bickslow, with needing to be alone sometimes." She stopped walking, there, on the sidewalk, and just stared up at him. "You get that, right? You're not...broken. And I'm not broken. But ever since I came back, all those years ago, from Edolas, sometimes I just get… So… It's not sadness, but… I can't explain it. Maybe you'd understand, maybe you wouldn't, but I won't explain it right, anyways, so I won't even try."

"Just," he insisted as he only faced her, "try. Lissy."

She paused to think, but started walking again, expecting him to follow. He did so with ease.

"It's like, sometimes, I just wake up and something's not right. I can't stop thinking about...about...Edolas and my other self and how she died. She died, Bickslow. But I didn't. Because I was saved. Because of her death or whatever. Do you know how fucked up that is? Because it is. Why did I live? Why did she die? I'm not even doing anything with my life. Not really. I'm not super important in the guild. Mira and Elf had gotten on without me. I don't even know if I want to be a mage, honestly. And sometimes… I love everyone here, but sometimes… I just miss it. There."

He was silent for a few long moments, after hearing her out, before whispering softly, "I don't think about anything. When I get that way. Or feel like anything. Sometimes, I think a lot about my life before and that stuff, but I think about it constantly anyways. It's not like a...trigger. Or anything. It's just like suddenly I can't get away from all these dark ideas and feelings and if I just separate myself off, off from everyone, they go away. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. I told you that before. If you're fine with it and think that you have a handle on it, then there's nothing wrong with it."

He wasn't sure about that and, honestly, wasn't too sure if he should be taking advice from someone who, apparently, got those same feelings as him, but only kicked once more at the ground.

"Thanks," he whispered. "And you're… You're real important to a lot of people, Lisanna, who are real glad to have you back and-"

"Yeah," she agreed. 'Have me back. That's what they were. And I'm glad to have them back too. But it's different, you know? No, I guess you don't. It's such a weird scenario, but to, like, get a second chance like this and then to just do the same, dumb stuff I was before… Sometimes I wonder if the only people who are really happy to have me here are the people who had me before, you know? It's not like, since I came back, I've touched someone else. Someone new. Someone who, if I didn't come back, wouldn't even have missed me. Not really. Do you know what I mean?"

He regarded her again in silence before, with a bit of a shrug, "I didn't miss ya none, other than, you know, when everyone was missin' ya a bunch. That first week. When everyone heard what happened. Other than that, I forgot all about ya, mostly, till I'd see your sister or brother."

She only made a face before replying dryly, "Thanks."

"You don't get it." And he elbowed her then. "Lissy. If you hadn't come back… My life would be different. You touched it. You touched a lot of me, actually, so-"

"Bickslow-"

"I'm just sayin', kid, that if you hadn't come back, then I wouldn't have this. And that would suck. Not to have this. This...this..." He smiled at her. "You. I wouldn't have you."

"We're just dating." She blushed though, as he said this, and looked away.

"That's not even what I mean."

"Then-"

"I wouldn't have," he told her simply, "someone who understands it. Freed, Ever, Laxus, no one in my life gets it. Why sometimes I just… But you do, don't ya? Lisanna?"

Her blush was fading then and, nodding her head, she assured him, "Yeah, I think I do, Bickslow."

"I dunno why you were saved. I dunno why I'm here. Why we're all here. If it means somethin'. But I'm glad that I'm here with you. Right now. And that's enough, huh? For right now?" He kicked one last time at the ground before snickering. "We get down sometimes, kid, me and you, but we always get up again, don't we?"

She nodded slowly, reaching over to lock her arm around one of his and when she beamed up at him, he only wagged his tongue at her.

It felt nice, he realized in that moment. Not to have himself cured, because he wasn't., not to have cured someone else, because he hadn't, but to have someone else understand what it was that was wrong. Understand what it felt like. Even if they were so different and the way it came about them was very different, it was just enough the same that it comforted him to know he had someone out there that got him. That understood him.

They'd get back up again.

Always.

#Bixanna #Bickslow #Lisanna #Lisanna Strauss #Fairy Tail #Fanfiction

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johnismyreason · 6 years

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Episode 4: « I force the entrance »

gif credit: @peakystitches

PREVIOUS EPISODES

The next day, as expected, the Solomons and the Shelbys met at the same café the day before, at the same time. They had coffee and breakfast and set off.

"I have several places to show you, in several different parts of Paris, all different. What kind of customers do you want ?”

“The best” answered straight away Arthur.

“That has the merit of being clear. Well, I have what you need."

They get into a car, which Elsa drove. They crossed all types of streets, boulevards, avenues,... Once again the English discovered Paris and marvelled inside. They're English, they don't let anything appear, right ? They finally arrived in front of a fairly busy café-bistro: it was a mixed population. There were bourgeois, merchants, craftsmen, workers,... They were all mixed because they come to this café particularly because it made most of the sports bets, especially horse racing. The manager sees the group entering his establishment and already knows what will happen.

"Good morning, gentlemen and lady. My name is Clément. What can I do for you ?”

“We're going to have some tea," Elsa replied.

“Good. Green, grey, black tea ?”

“Give us the color you want, man. We're going to sit down.”

“Perfect” he swallowed. “I'll bring this to you right away.” He waved to them to move forward in the room to settle in. They sat on a red couch under large mirrors.

“So what do you think ?” asked Alfie.

“I say it's fucking chic here. This makes me want to fart in silk" said Arthur. John laughed at his brother's remark, while Tom looked up at the ceiling, jind of desperate.

“The place welcomes all types of people. There are no longer any social classes when it comes to making money effortlessly," said Elsa. “It seems that the manager makes 5000 francs in just one week. Not just when there are horse races. People bet on other sports too.”

“It looks very good to me," said John.

“Besides, if you have a racehorse, people will take it as their mascot, and bet on it. They will come to consume and play even more.”

“It's a good strategy," commented Thomas. “Are the games rigged ?”

“No, everything is in order.”

“And the manager, what do we do with him ?”

“We'll take care of it.” At the same time Clément walked in with the tea and served his customers. “Do you need anything else ?”

“Yes. Your business.” Elsa answered, looking into his eyes. Clement, stopped moving and breathing. He knew he was going to lose his bistro the moment Elsa came in with his gang.

“I can't, miss... This bistro has been in the family for generations. I can't sell it to you.”

“Who told you I want to buy it ?”

“I thought that....”

“No, I'm gonna put the pressure on you, the pressure of my gun on your skull and either pull the trigger or not. It's up to you.” She took a sip of her tea, as if her threat was a little friendly message.

“Miss Solomons, I'm really sorry, I can't give it to you.” Elsa put her cup down.

“The thing is, it's not even for me. It's for them” she pointed at the Peaky Blinders with her chin. “They wanted to have a business in Paris and I thought this was the best place to do it. You know, you're very lucky it's for them and not for me. They're much softer than I am. They may be willing to buy it from you.”

“Again, the bistro is not for sale.” Clément raised his voice, which Elsa didn't like.

“Very well. We're leaving. I'll leave the tea on your account, huh... As compensation for the bad service.” She got up and signaled to the men to do the same.

“We're leaving ? asked JOhn who didn’t understand the conversation in french.

“Yes, he's a wanker. I'll find you another place. Come on.” Thomas caught the young woman by the arm.

“There is no way I'm leaving," he said quietly to Elsa.

“Who told you we were leaving ?” She freed herself from Tommy's grip, and turnt to Clément. “Where is the phone, please ?”

“There is one only in my office," replied Clément.

“Well, where's your office, then," she sighed.

“It's this way.” Clément showed him the way to his office. They entered a small room with a window. He handed Elsa the phone. She took the member who allows to hear and stunned Clément with it. He fell to the ground but Elsa immediately lifted him up by the collar, and punched him in the nose. Then a second time, a third time. That was when the Peaky Blinders came into the office, alarmed by the screams.

“Elsa !” shouted Tommy. But the young woman didn't care and put Clément against the wall. He moaned in pain. She approached his ear and whispered:

“You're gonna give me your bistro or I'm gonna blow your fucking head off, understand ? I'm losing patience here, I don't know if you've noticed.” Clément cried and grined. His whole body was shaking with fear and pain. As he gave no answer, Elsa pulled out her weapon, removed the security and pointed it at the poor man's temple. “I count to three Clement, then I blow your brains out. One... two... two... thr…”

“Alright !” he shouted. “It's okay! It's okay! Take the bistro... Take it…” he sighed. Elsa had a smile of satisfaction on her face.

“Thank you. Wise decision.” She dropped him to the ground and he curled up moaning in pain and sadness. “There you guys are, you're the new owners of the bar. We'll make new documents saying you own the place. My guys will do that.” She paused for a short while and examined the desk and the man on the ground, then turnt to the Peaky Blinders. “Shall we have a drink to celebrate ? You invite me hahahaha !” She laughed hysterically. She took her uncle's arm and they left. Arthur got behind the bar and served the group some whiskey. They each had a drink and Elsa rose hers. “To the new bosses ! Welcome to Paris, darlings !” She made her glass ring on those of others who imitated her.

A customer walked up to a server and asks: "I would like to bet on Moca, number 7. I bet 150 francs". Elsa looked at the boys who didn't understand what the man had just said.

“Guys, you're going to get yourself some golden balls," she said, drinking a sip of her whiskey.

“It's all thanks to you," said John. “If you knew it made a lot of money, why didn't you take it ?”

“I don't know... I wanted to have other businesses than bars and restaurants. Also, I like to save bistros that suck. So there was no challenge there.”

“Anyway, it's a very nice place. Thank you again Elsa.” Tommy rose his glass in her direction.

“I should learn from you, Elsa," said Alfie.

“What do you mean?

“Put my fist in someone's face to get what I want. That's the only thing they understand. When I get home, I'll do that. The guy you just smashed up, he barely fought for what he has ! It's so easy.” Elsa laughed, but not the Peaky Blinders, still embarrassed by the young woman's methods of persuasion. They finished their drinks and left.

“What do you want to do now ?” asked Elsa.

“Let's go see the Bastille! I want to see where the fucking French cut off their fucking king's head," laughed Arthur.

“Arthur, first of all the Bastille was destroyed during the Revolution, there is nothing left, so you won't see the prison," explained Elsa with a slight hint of contempt in her voice. “Secondly, he was guillotined in the Place de la Révolution, now called Place de la Concorde. If you want we can go, and then there is the Tuileries garden and the Louvre. What do you think of that ?”

“It's perfect," replied Alfie always very enthusiastic. Let's go!"

They climbed into the car and Elsa drove them to Paris. They arrived in a perpendicular street to the Place de la Concorde, where they parked. They got off the car and walked towards the Obelisk. Once in the square, Elsa recounted what happened on January 21, 1790, the day the French guillotined their king. They then headed for the Jardin des Tuileries in the direction of the Louvre:

"It's still incredible that you dared to behead your king," John told Elsa. The other three men being further ahead. “You really have to hate your sovereign.”

“I don't think we hated our king. We hated the system to which we gave everything, but which gave us nothing in return, not even the right to express ourselves, not even the right to count in society. It had to stop. But you're not going to tell me you love your king, are you ?”

“I could !” he replied. “No, the thing is, I don't really care. I do my business and that's it. Politics and all that crap, it's not for me.”

“Your stuff or Tommy's ?”

“What do you mean ?”

“Well, he's still the one who makes all the decisions without ever consulting you and Arthur, he makes you do the dirty work,... Alfie told me that.”

“That's not true. We decide together.”

“Oh, yeah? What about the story with the Russians ? Alfie told me no one knew what was going on except Tommy. And that he was giving you assignments and that you shouldn't ask questions. Isn't that true either? I thought your company was a family business. Tommy is a family member, he's not the family alone. You deserve to know what's going on.” She stopped talking for a moment, and saw that John was uncomfortable. “Anyway, it's none of my business. Let's talk about other things.”

“ About what ?” asked the youngest of the Shelbys.

“Anything you want.

“All right. Would you like to have dinner with me ?” dared to ask John. And here it is again, that naughty smile that has certainly broken many hearts. Elsa was surprised by his request.

“I don't know. I don't know. If it's asked correctly, we can work something out," she says.

“Elsa Solomons,” John stopped and standed in front of the young woman so that she faced him, “would you do me the great honor of having dinner with me tonight ?” He smiled and she didn’t know what to do anymore.

“Avec plaisir. But tonight I can't, I have business to do. Tomorrow, I'm free," she smiled. John imitated her, satisfied with the answer of his future date for one night. They started walking one step faster to catch up with the rest of the group.

They finally arrived at the pyramid. They then decided to enter the museum. They visited a few rooms, examining paintings and other works of art. Everyone stopped at different paintings to look at them.

"It pisses me off with all this museum bullshit stuff,” grunted Arthur. “What the fuck are we doing here ? And then this painting, what's so special about it ?”

“It's Arthur art, try to appreciate it.” said Thomas.

“Yeah well, it pisses me off," he replied, sitting on a bench in the middle of the room.

Thomas joined Elsa who was admiring a huge canvas depicting a war scene. She saw him approaching in her field of vision and started the conversation:

"Don't you think we feel the fear of the soldiers ? But also their hatred towards their enemies. I don't understand that.”

“ What don’t you understand ?”

“War.” Thomas closed his face in confusion. “After all, they are men used as pawns in a context they did not choose. The kings, the government chose, not them. They just wanted to survive and hope one day to live.”

“Isn't that what you do ?”

“War ?”

“Yes. You manipulate people, you use them as your pawns. You're confronting other clans. And the people you torture, they didn't choose that.” Elsa listened to the Shelby chief carefully, but didn’t look at him.

“Of course if they chose it. War is something I do locally, between two damn Mafia clans. Civilians are not in danger. You choose to be a gangster. I don't manipulate, I'm an open book in terms of my working methods. I'll let you know. People don't listen, it's their problem, they pay the consequences.”

“Did you choose to be a gangster ?” asked Thomas. Elsa thought, staring into the void.

“I chose to survive, Thomas. I had several choices, I chose this one. I will pay the consequences for the rest of my life.” She turnt to him. “So will you.”

“I’m not like you.”

“Fuck no, you're not like me. You're weak and scared... You're sentimental and you let your emotions guide you. We don't play in the same class, Thomas. You're not like me. But you're a gangster anyway, because you chose to get involved in this, and now you're already starting to pay the consequences.” She started leaving but Thomas kept talking.

“How do you plan to integrate my horse into Longchamps ?”

“How do you expect me to do that ? I force the entrance, old sport, I force the entrance…” She joint her uncle, and continued the visit.

After a two-hour visit, the Peaky Blinders and Solomons decided to return to their hotel, so they headed to their car. The vehicle was still there but someone was inside. Elsa pulled out her gun: "Get the fuck out of there, asshole ! Hurry up!". The thief started the car and it exploded, propelling the group backwards.

#arthur shelby #john shelby #peaky blinders fanfiction #oc x peaky blinders #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #alfie solomons #imagine peaky blinders #be my reason #johnismyreason #oc x john shelby

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impfiltration-archive · 6 years

Text

@kariio

☆ ░░C∅SΠIC D⊍ST░░ ☆

Pidge didn’t talk with a lot of the refugees Voltron rescued.

Usually, she just checked that they were okay before pointing them towards help, but the Olkari processed most of these fugitives through their clinics, and they found something that worried them enough to bring straight to Voltron.

They were tags.

Some alien’s had their ears clipped, others were branded—even more showed signs of lobotomy upon inspection. The obvious suspect, of course, were the Galra; however, none of this lined up with their track record. This level of objectification certainly wasn’t beneath them, but it was far from typical from their usual limb-tearing and reckless experimentation.

None of the tags even translated to Galran dialects, either.

Even though Ryner spent multiple cycles analyzing these tags, the translations she came up with were crude at best (Either something like “SUBJECT” or “PROPERTY”), and could only be traced back to a language classified as Rserian.

Which, as it turned out, wound up being their best lead for this entire mystery, because even interviewing all these tagged aliens turned out fruitless. Many of them cast blank stares over the whole matter, while others recounted some vague, shapeless impressions about bright, white lights. There were a few that appeared non-responsive to general stimuli, or showed poor gross motor control, and had to be admitted into intensive care.

So, there was a small group of aliens that had been tagged liked lab rats after(?) getting their brains picked at, and this somehow connected back to the Rseria sector in the far outreaches of space. When Team Voltron was presented with these findings, Lanced named about 5 different horror movies all of this reminded him of before Coran suddenly remembered the dreaded Karions.

Or were they Kairons? Kasirons? Coran waffled on their name. Apparently, they were elusive enough that not even the likes of Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe had ever dealt with him. He knew a handful of stories, though, all about the demonic hunters that like to collect different lifeforms to keep in their ice palace. Something about them being so incredibly resilient that they could thrive in the notorious “deadlands”.

It all sounded pretty fat-fetched, but the rumors provided a culprit. Well, a potential one at least. The coalition didn’t need this kind of conspiracy sneaking up on them in the future, so the team decided a reconnaissance mission was in order. Kind of a bad time, seeing how they’re still adjusting to all their new operations now that they’ve made a real frontier for themselves on Naxzela.

Relocating and aiding refugees, inducting new allies, coordinating with the freedom fighters and Blade of Marmora—eventually they decided just to go with a solo mission.

If only because Pidge had a lion equipped with cloaking technology, and she’s proved herself to be versatile when it comes to observing and recording her targets. Also, she had to promise to periodical updates on the mission and her well-being (As mandated by Shiro). They almost left this investigation on the to-do list before Pidge offered herself, but now they’ve hashed things out, the girl was on her way to the far outreaches of space.

That’s where the Rseria sector turned out to be; far enough away that Allura had to open up a wormhole for her. Pidge sailed through that kaleidoscopic-vortex with a tight-grip on her controls. She’s suppose to keep her eyes peeled for ice-themed monsters that treated aliens like zoology projects in the darkest, coldest places of the universe. That’s pretty creepy.

She can, though—good ol’ Green is adamant in reminding her that. Her last solo mission had been a success (Excluding the bounty hunter mishap), and her only objective, right now, is research. Keeping that in mind, confidence raises above paranoia as Pidge sails through the other end of the wormhole. Like that, she was in the Rseria sector, and her first sights of the place were nothing.

Well, that makes sense. Space is about 96% empty, you know; still, Pidge had been painted these grandiose pictures of icy fortresses on decrepit, forgotten lands. Maybe there was a planet like that a couple, hundred light-years away from her current location. For now, Pidge pulled up her sensors, and steered Green into a cruise.

She did some scanning herself, looking from side to side through her lion’s windows; of course, the sensors picked up something well before she spotted anything herself, and Pidge initiated her cloaking shields.

Just like Shiro drilled into her head: If you see something out there, cloak.

There was a little hum as Green went from obscure to transparent, then Pidge piloted her towards the little blip on the sensors. As they got closer, readings told the paladin that it was a ship, but nothing beyond that. It’s like her equipment was confused by this object, and Pidge started checking for interference when all the sudden, Green began to shake.

It was only about half as violent compared to the likes of a robeast, but it created a strong enough contrast against the still, nothingness of space to make Pidge panic. Her heart clenched as she sat up straight in her pilot’s seat, then nearly leaped out of her throat, too, when she found that the ship—previously far, far away—was right on top of her.

Not only that, but her shields were down, too. How did that make sense? She’s flown under entire Galran fleets undetected, and the empire monopolized on the most advanced technology in the entire universe. Pidge felt her nerves start to fray in sparks and bits, but training still kicked in, and she pulled at her controls to get some distance between herself and the behemoth cruiser overhead.

She didn’t get very far before there was a bright burst of light, then a burning sensation that ran right through her spine just as everything went black.

The next thing Pidge knew, she was waking up in a strange room. Which, in of itself, was frightening enough, but waking up had felt more like plummeting into consciousness. Already, there was a weird twitch that made her arms feel sore, as well as an unfamiliar pressure in the back of her head.

These afflictions only flared when Pidge looked around herself. Bare room and bare walls with nothing but a floor to match them, right where Pidge had been left in a sprawl. She knew what this meant pretty much instantly: she’d been captured. The cuffs tying her wrists together more or less confirmed those suspicions.

That was enough to leave her relatively frantic, but even more panic swirled in her chest as she picked herself up and couldn’t pinpoint who captured her.

This didn’t look like the ratty, old brig of a bounty hunter; even then, since when were there low-life mercenaries that could detect and disable cloaking shields. None of that chalked up with any residual memories of her capture either. They took a minute to come to, and were hazy at best, but Pidge remembered a cruiser—a giant, military-grade ship that would take a massive amount of manpower to operate. Pidge would suspect the Galra, but the architecture surrounding her looked nothing like theirs.

Well, it did—sorta. It seemed like there was an sharp edge and dull grey to everything; however, the Galra never used red for lighting, and usually kept those light features sunken instead of glaring down at you.

She was sitting in an empty room, yet it haunted her like it was filled with ghosts. The cell looked like some kind of unholy collage between Galra, and even more disturbing, Altean. There were other elements, too, things Pidge couldn’t really place, but it came to same conclusion: wrong.

It all painted a confusing picture about who had her and what she should expect. Torture? An awkward conversation? Ancient sacrifice? Dread started to build up, and Pidge shuffling across the floor until her back was pressed against the wall. Even with the cuffs, she was able to hug her legs, and she did so tightly as she cast another worried stare over her surroundings.

“What is this place..”

#kariio #v; undetermined #(i need to think of a cool verse name for this)#(also made this part drabble/part starter to get some of that sweet exposition in)

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thiskryptonite · 6 years

Text

Tagging: August Knight & Allison Montgomery

Timeframe: January 13th - 19th (1 day in the faerielands).

Location: Faerielands

Word Count: 4217

Notes: August steals away to a restricted area to see what he can pilfer from the High Queen, but is discovered by Allison. TW: fire, burns, violence @morningsmead

August

He laughed as another joke was told amidst a small group of fae that lay in various positions and state of undress, their bodies languid across the Grecian lounge, between them a fountain of liquid silver flowed in a pond, it rippled as two fae splashed playfully together. Taller than he would have expected, the silver shimmered across their iridescent skin as they laughed in an almost singsong manner, another mimicked the voice of a mad king who’d existed millennia before while spitting pillars of fire to exaggerate his point. Another played with his hair while four more draped themselves across the smooth tiles. It was warm, springtime, in fact, and August almost felt overdressed. He smiled, and slowly moved away, he was not sure how much time had passed but he’d been enthralled by little more than the aesthetic of it all. Beneath the perfume and the smiles, the wine and the haze, there were half spoken truths and hushed whispers, they were all cursed here, just as the others. August could perceive the magic around him and it flourished, some he recognized, others he did not. When eyes were off him, he slipped from the crowd and into an unoccupied room, the chamber was just as lavish as the ones August had come through. Of course, he went for the books, the collection one of the most extensive he’d ever seen.

Allison

Floating from one group to another, Allison couldn’t help but revel in the party. Everyone singing, dancing, fighting, and — a quick glance to the darker corner of the hall revealed other things. She had been avoiding the fae for so long she’s forgotten what it felt like to be among her own kind. The air was warm, much warmer than Ashbourne, and she was grateful part of her had decided to keep a dress, just in case. More revealing than anything else she owned, the light material plunged low down her front and back, held together by sparkling bands at her waist. The slit running up to her upper thigh meant it was easy for her to move but it also meant someone got a flash every so often. She didn’t care. For the first time since she’d been trapped, Allison finally felt at home. She was considering going down to the fighting ring with her third glass of wine when dark hair caught her eye. Following the movement through the crowd, Allison was surprised to see August slip out of the hall and into one of the rooms. Crossing the hall, she went through the same door and closed it quietly behind her, continuing to nurse her wine. “The party not exciting enough for you August? You know, they don’t usually let humans in here. Not as guests anyway.”

August

Had they been anywhere else, August might have felt the approach of somewhat familiar magic, but as it happened, the young witch was caught unaware. His hand in the proverbial cookie jar, so to speak. He was holding a 15th century manuscript from a witch who recounted their experience through the bonfire of the vanities. He hated humans. “Witch.” He corrected, apples and oranges to some but not for him. The book closed, though August had no intention of reshelving it unless he was going to be forced to. His eyes moved across iridescent skin and those same, ethereal eyes that matched those of her kin. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see Allison here, she was fae after all, but he welcome the intrusion. “Almost too exciting “ he breezed, “your people certainly know how to throw a party - what happens to the humans who get brought here?” He could only imagine.

Allison

Laughing, Allison inclined her head. “Fair enough.” The room was beautiful, as opulent as any other and she wasn’t surprised that August had already picked up a book. No doubt the shelves were stacked with one of a kind volumes that hadn’t seen the human work for centuries, if not longer. Moving across the room, she came to stand beside the witch and glanced at the book in his hands. Interesting choice. “It can be a lot,” she admitted. “I haven’t been to one in years. And the humans I’ve seen - well, let’s just say it’s certainly an experience.” She picked up another book and thumbed through the pages . “How are you liking it so far?”

August

The stillness of the library contrasted the music and clamor of what was going on outside this refuge of peace, in an otherwise bustling party. It was not at all unlike the fae at the party, upon arriving, he’d been the subject of every wayward gaze, in another room he was simply another attendee. In another it was impossible to take a step without someone pawing at him, another whispering with their eyes come hither. Really, it was nice to be alone, or, almost alone anyways. Even if his intention in coming here had been to pilfer from a collection that would hardly miss a few tomes, he couldn’t do that with Allison breathing down his neck.

“My aunt raised me on stories of the Otherworld, and the Fae, too. She told me once that only a fool would trust a Fae, I’m sure if she saw me here now, she’d remind me of such.” August said, she had called him foolish many times. “I think she must have been jealous, in a way; columns of marble and gold, treasures and poetry, and science and magic.” It was a shame, really, that all this was kept away from so many, it made him wonder what would happen to it, should the race continue their decline. “There are parts that I enjoy, and others I don’t, but I think that can be said for just about anything. I think this is my first formal event ever where I was actually invited. Usually I end up crashing.” he looked a bit sheepish, not really ever enjoying admitting to anything that indicated his age. “What kept you away for so long?” August recognized that this was a once in a lifetime chance, and he’d likely never see these halls again, he supposed it was possible to grow bored of it all when you were eternal, but he could probably spend the rest of his days scouring this library alone. But he’d always preferred books to people.@bonefida

Allison

“Your aunt sounds like a smart woman,” Allison said, glancing up from the book in her hands. She’d encountered her fair share of superstitions when it came to the Fair Folk, some of which were laughable, but she had no doubt witches had a better idea of what they could do. The book in her hand was talking about some ancient thing or another. A few words jumped out at her, vampire, night, evil, nothing she didn’t already know. She loved a good read as anyone but she hadn’t come here to hide away in the library. “Oh, you know. Things happened. Hearts were broken. People died. The usual.” Allison was never good at holding her alcohol and she was already working on her third. Still, this was a party. She didn’t want to think about the past right now - there was fighting and dancing and art to look at and none of it was happening in this room. “Come on August, if this is your first formal party then you can’t spend it in here. Let’s go out and dance.”

August

Whatever his differences with his family were, and contrary to what anyone may have thought. August had loved his Aunt with all his heart. “She was,” he said, the manuscript still in his hands, it had no value here. So why should he leave it behind? His fingers tightened around it slightly as he listened to Allison’s explanation, it was no big surprise, it seemed all their fates to be plagued by the specter of death. Though the Fae perhaps most of all. He was about to voice discontent, make some excuse about too much wine giving him a headache and needing the quiet for now when the door burst open and another fae, eyes ablaze, pushed through. Unlike Allison, he looked displeased to see the witch in their presence, worst so, that August was somewhere notably off-limits to anyone considered a ‘guest’ in these halls. “What’s the witch doing in here?” Came the ragged question, undoubtedly pointed at Allison, though the fae was charging towards August, his hands ablaze. The idiot.

“Fire in a library? Smart.” August retorted, though his own features had contorted some into a scowl, his hazel eyes darkened as he glowered at the creature. Though the fae was menacing in presence, August was not intimidated so easily.

Allison

This was why she didn’t visit the faerielands much anymore. Sure, it was nice to drop her glamour and be around her own kind but on the other hand, there were so many fae who refused to leave for fear of the evil humans. She knew it wasn’t as safe out in the world than it was in the faerielands but she also refused to stay trapped. The outside world was beautiful and there were so many more good people than bad - to lump them all together was unfair and judgmental and she wanted no part of it. Which was why she found herself sliding in front of August, hands raised in a defensive position. The room was small and her reaction time had slowed - the charging fae pulled up but one hand just scraped across her jaw. Burning pain followed by an the sudden rise of bile in her stomach had her groaning in pain. “August, don’t do anything. He’s right, you shouldn’t be here.” Turning her attention back to the angry fae, staring into his blazing eyes, she adopted a mockery of a sheepish grin. “It’s my fault. We needed some...privacy and there was no one in here.”

August

August practically snarled as Allison stepped between the two of them and took the blow that was intended for him. There was a growing trend of women in his life who were throwing themselves into harms way on his behalf, first Aria, now Allison. He was willing to suffer whatever the fire fae had seen fit to dish out, so long as he was prepared for what was to follow. But seeing the blow land upon someone he’d only ever known to be intelligent, kind, and respectful. Well, it was infuriating. He conjured images of witches scorned. What shall I make you? August thought, an eternity was a long time to live as a cockroach. Already he felt himself smile, the other should consider himself fortunate that there were no resources here that August could use. And Allison was here to be a voice of reason. “Why do you stand between us?” The fire fae’s flame extinguished and he stepped away, ashamed? Though, that didn’t seem right, either. Her answer seemed to bring the fae little but disgust, but he was satisfied. “Regardless. This room is off limits to him. You know this already.” The fae stated evenly, but he’d made a motion to leave. “Don’t linger long, there are greater pleasures than...” his disgusted gaze lingered in August, while the witch did little but keep his mouth shut and stare daggers into the other. “that.” the door shut again and August let out a breath. “Thanks for that,” he still held the book in his hands, “guess we should probably head back, huh?” @bonefida

Allison

Breathing through the pain, Allison gave the departing fae a sharp nod. He was right - August shouldn’t have wandered into this room and as a good fae, she should have escorted him out right away. She’d seen the disgust and shame mix on his face and it was as if a he’d twisted a knife in her gut. It had been so long since she’d truly been an active participant of the fae culture - maybe she didn’t fit anymore. Her cheek burned where fire had grazed it and she could taste bile in the back of her throat as the skin began to bubble. It would be fine once she went to ground but for now, she’d bear the mark for all to see. Again. “You go ahead August,” she smiled weakly at him. “I suddenly don’t feel much like dancing.” Leaning against the bookcase, she picked up her wine glass and downed the rest of the dark liquid. “And I’d say leave the book,” she added on with a pointed glance at his arms. “But somehow I don’t think you’d hear me. So, don’t get caught. Not here.”@allyourfavesarequeer

August

The remarks landed on Allison and the fae looked as though she’d been struck, though the fire fae departed, it looked as though the damage had already been done. “Fucking price.” August stated evenly, his eyes still burning into the door where the fae had left. August was not in any rush to incur the ire of more of his kind, but August suspected that they at least would have some time not before anyone else came back through that door. If he hadn’t known Allison from any other fae at the party, he probably would have breezed past and not batted an eyelash. But when he looked at her now he did not see changeling eyes or iridescent skin that reflected and shimmered and caught every stray piece of light. He felt the same presence he always had, a lingering contemplation that pulled him along the same thread of fascination as when she treated the yellow-ribbon meadow with her presence. August couldn’t just leave her, especially not when she’d just save his ass.“That makes two of us,” August breezed as he stepped closer and placed the book on the table adjacent, the book was scorched, evidence that it had survived this long, but only barely. He’d stopped at a page that had dictated verses of Dante’s that, among so many other priceless works, were tossed into the great fire. His tongue had curved around the old latin with ease, it was familiar for most witches, though he did not know how old Allison was, or if she’d recognize it at all. “What a hot head,” August said as he shook and tried to peek at her burn. He was no healer, but his aunt had made sure that he at least knew some first aid. Being magical helped. “People like that have nothing better to do than fill the air with their spiteful opinions, don’t let it get to you. He’s not worth it. He’d have torched everything in here just to get at me if it wasn’t for you. Mind if I take a look?”

Allison

She was surprised when, instead of rejoining the party, August stepped closer. Her eyes flickered to the book on the table, an eyebrow raising as she took in the title. Latin wasn’t something she read very often anymore but it was easy to remember and the words came to her easily. For the first time in minutes, August had surprised her again. It was so easy to forget he was young, even by human standards. An old soul indeed. A tired smile spread across her face as he tried to comfort her, grateful for the effort. “Probably not everything. I like to hope he would have stopped short of burning the books. Even the most hot-headed of fae understand how priceless the little information that we have here is. Especially in Ashbourne.” Allison hesitated, before turning her cheek towards August. “It’s not too bad,” she fibbed. “I’ll be able to heal after the party.”

August

"I think that makes you the optimistic one, of the two of us," August smiled as he stopped short the book not forgotten but reserved for later; he would take in each word, the original had been translated by several different people over the years, finding something like this was a testament to the resourcefulness of the fae. He liked to think that Allison was right, still, August had seen such hatred in the eyes of people before, it was hate that often burned out of control. His hand moved carefully to examine the wound, she was downplaying it. Still, he doubted she wanted to wear that burn on her face all night until she found a healer. "May I?" August asked, he wasn't going to perform any magic without her express permission first, it would be a minor spell, but he could ease the sting.

Allison

The winter season in Ashbourne meant the ground was hard and cold - Allison didn’t relish the idea of spending a night in it. And she was curious what August could do. It wasn’t often she required the help of magic outside of her own. “Thank you,” she said as way of permission. “So,” she started, slightly more subdued than before the intrusion. “How are you enjoying the Sarau? Other than the slight disregard for anyone that’s not fae.” The door to the library was heavy and it muffled most of the music and laughter from the main room. Once upon a time she would have been in the thick of it all but now, the earth fae just wanted to go home and curl up in bed.

August

With a couple words in soft Latin, August drew the heat from the small burn on Allison’s face. She’d need to see a healer to prevent any scarring, but absently he couldn’t help but feel like the immortal had, at times in her life, had worse. Scars on the heart burned twice as bad. The question was simple, yet complicated due to the nature of the Sarau in general. “I think I’ll be telling tales of this night for the rest of my life,” he winked, “it is beyond... any frame of reference I might’ve had.” He paused for a moment, contemplative. “Pools of liquid metal, music that harmonizes with the air itself, food that tastes richer than I ever thought I’d have.” August thought again, “I grew up with very little, places like this, they were... just out of my reach. I feel out of my depth, but I’m trying to at least look like I belong.”

Allison

The burning heat of her cheek cooled and she reached up to touch it. While the surface was still bumpy and raw, it no longer felt like her face was in an open flame. Once she got out, a quick jump underground would fix it all right up. Ignoring the way it pulled, she shot August a grateful smile. Allison nodded. She could imagine just how overwhelming it all was - her first year in the human world had been very much the same. There had been strange technologies and iron, everywhere. She'd learned quickly to avoid the larger cities and to avoid touching most things for too long. It was partly why she'd kept to the forests and mountains so much. "I missed it," she admitted, a wistful look in her eyes. "Just a little. There's nothing like this anywhere else in the world and nothing in Ashbourne can match the opulence of the fae realms. But you're doing fine." Reaching out, she tugged at her sleeve. "You look very dashing tonight. Still very much not fae but you don't quite stick out like a confused human."

August

Allison offered him some gratitude, and it was all the repayment he needed. In his mind he'd call them square, though truthfully it was just nice to see the fae smiling again. She seemed to fit in well here, it came as no surprise that Allison had missed these halls in her time away from the fae realm. He could sympathize, though truthfully he wondered why she would ever choose a place like Ashbourne over this. Then again, he supposed that there were bound to be cobwebs in every dark corner. He couldn't help but flush, "thanks, I uh..." his flush deepened, "I got changed like, six times before I finally settled on this." August chuckled lightly, embarrassed that he'd even care about such a thing, "but you look effortless. It's obvious that this is a home for you," he wished the fire fae hadn't chased that mirth away. She'd come in eager to dance, to enjoy the party, but apparently the other had stirred up some unwelcome memories. "I'm glad my meager attempts to blend-in didn't go completely unnoticed."

Allison

His warm flush brought a quick smile to her lips. This might be his only time at a Sarau and she wasn’t going to let him waste it looking after her. There would be time later to mope - for now, she wanted him to put aside the fire fae and actually experience what a real fae party was like. “Well now, we can’t have you hidden away in the library when you look so nice.” Leaving her empty glass, Allison’s skirts swirled around her legs as purposely did not look behind her until she got to the door. If August was quick, who was she to say if he took the book? She hadn’t seen anything after all. Opening the door, the light from the party filtered in and highlighted the damaged skin across her face but she was still smiling. “Come on August - I believe I owe you this dance.”

August

August sighed when some life seemed to return to the fae, though he wondered how much of it was simply for his own benefit. August quickly slipped the book into his jacket and was quick to follow behind, “Now you’re going to make me blush,” August teased, following her lead easily. The party was in full swell as they returned to the world which the library had offered them a brief reprieve from. The music, the smells, the sights, it was glorious and beautiful and intoxicating and wondrous. And infectious. August smiled, eager to dance, though he doubted he’d meet the expectations of the fae. “You might have to lead, I am not a great dancer.”

Allison

Allison shook her head. “Don’t worry about it – I’ve got you.” Gently taking his hands, Allison placed one around her waist and held the other. She tuned into the music, counting out the beats in her head until it started over and led August onto the floor, the two of them slipping seamlessly into the music. There was nothing on earth like fae music and it was just one more thing Allison hadn’t realized she’d missed. Relaxing, Allison glanced up at her dance partner and grinned. “You’re doing great August – just go with the music and try not to think too much.”

August

On the dance floor, it was easy to forget yourself. At least, it was supposed to be, from his experience, but that was not dance in the way that this was. Posture needed to be held, form need to be followed, but at least August was a fast learner. Still, he did not have the reprieve of merely moving for the sake of moving, eyes were upon them, but this was nice in its own way. Like wine out of a glass compared to beer out of a plastic cup, apparently he could enjoy both, though he'd always been something of a lush. "This music is... Surreal." August spoke, amused as he followed Allison's lead easily, he'd found that her steps were easy to trace, he wondered if she'd made them so. A few turns around the room and he was starting to slip more easily into it, relaxing into the steps. "Are all fae so skilled at this dance?"

Allison

“This is how I like to dance,” she said as they twirled around the floor. “Others choose to dance differently.” She nodded towards a couple that were dancing decidedly different than them, the two of them entwined so tightly that they looked like one. It was beautiful in its own way but it was Allison’s style. “It all depends on how you want to dance. There are a couple set dances, if you want to call them that, but it’s really not that strict.” As August began to relax, Allison slowly let him lead, adapting to the way he stepped until their dance had changed from her steps to his. “See?”

August

He felt himself easing back into the world of the Sarau, the library had pulled away whatever familiarity he'd garnered like a great rug that was swept from underneath him. Allison did not seem to mind that August had no real hidden talent for dance, but if this was the fae's preferred style than he could surely adapt. The lights, the music, it was a sort of spell all on its own and as August followed her gaze, it was not hard to see that others found it just as enchanting. Absently he wished it was always so simple, the quiet pace, the familiar presence, but he felt the eyes of the court upon him; them, really. He was an outsider, but for a moment he could have sworn he belonged.

END

#event:sarau #Allison 02 #convo:allison #discord:allison 01 #tw:fire #tw: swearing #tw:burns #tw:violence

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thepilotanon · 6 years

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springbeauty vii

{masterlist}

I’m so excited for you guys to read this chapter! I hope you will let me know what you guys think of it and just imagine cuddling with Clyde in a sleeping bag or cuddling by the campfire. HE SNUGGLE AND HE CUDDLE LIKE A PRO! Please enjoy!

warning: none!

Kneeling down to look into the tent, Clyde wasn’t expecting to be given a kiss on his big nose and Belle giggling at the sight of Sadie wrapping her arms around her uncle’s neck and hugging him. Being so proud of her successful surprise attack, the little girl jumped out of the large tent and proceeded to go tell her father and his girlfriend, who were about to finish pitching their tent on the other side of the firepit. Clyde blinked, still a bit stunned but then chuckled at seeing Belle walking on her knees over to him and give him a quick peck on the lips.

“Sadie wanted to help unroll the sleeping bag,” she told him as she pushed his loose, dark hair out of his face. “When she heard you coming, she told me to be quiet so she could be a ninja.”

“She did a good job,” Clyde huffed in amusement, seeing how the inside of the tent was organized with their bags on the side and their thick sleeping bag arranged in the middle. Knowing that it would be very warm this weekend, the couple opted to use the sleeping bags as a cushioning and bring along thin blankets to cover themselves with (knowing that they were going to be sharing body heat whenever they sleep close together as well, they weren’t worried about the cold nights). Although, in Clyde’s mind, he was sure they were going to be glued together after what he had planned…

“Did you need help with anything else?” Belle asked politely, her lips in a sweet smile at noticing his eyes giving off that daydreaming gleam.

Having left either of his prosthetics at home, Clyde was comfortable enough to have his left arm bare to those he was close to. Although he was used to not needing so much help with everyday things, camping was a bit of another story. Camping itself was different, when it comes to pitching the tent and being able to hammer down the spikes properly, he asked Jimmy to help out with the task and then asked if Belle could set up inside while he double-checked with his brother if everything else was set for their site. The campground was secluded from any sort of civilization, but led to a small town that had a gas station and small grocery store and Clyde could recount about two or three other attendants within the site on the way to the Logan Family’s designated spot. It was still too early in the season for flooded campgrounds and summer activities, providing a source of peace for the Logan brothers and their loved ones to enjoy their time.

It was the perfect place to propose.

Feeling his girl’s hand lightly scratching his beard, getting his attention, Clyde snapped out of his haze and shook his head. Belle giggled lightly. “You seem so out of it since we got on the road… Are you feeling alright, handsome?” she asked gently, bringing her hand up to feel his forehead.

“M’fine, Darlin’,” Clyde assured, taking the hand on his forehead and kisses her knuckles. “Just very happy to have ya here on this campin’ trip.”

Seeing her smile so brightly, Clyde felt his heart stutter when she poked his lips with her pointer finger. “I’m happy to be here, too, Clyde. It means a lot to me that you want me to come to the place where your dad brought you.”

Kissing her finger, Clyde looked up to the sky to see the sun signaling a shiny afternoon with the birds singing somewhere and the noise of the creek not so far away making a lovely, peaceful soundtrack. Looking behind him to see Sadie distracted by Sylvia having her helping with fitting all her stuff inside the child’s tent and Jimmy fiddling with the instructions on his and Sylvia’s, Clyde looked back to his girl and gave her a small smile.

“I wanna take ya someplace,” he told her, kissing her wrist before tugging her close. “C’mon, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” Belle responded brightly, crawling out of the tent and allowing her man to help her to her feet. Holding onto his hand, Belle followed him onto the dirt trail of the pathway, looking all around her with new eyes and drinking up the beautiful scenery of the tall trees and vegetation while Clyde was her guide.

Seeing her admire the nature of the camping property, Clyde squeezed her hand with a small smile. “When Jimmy and I were kids, we would spend hours at the creek I showed ya on the way over here. We pretend to be pirates searchin’ for treasure,” he began recalling softly. “Course the treasure was rocks ‘n sticks, and we’d haul it over ‘round here to bury it somewhere… It was fun ‘til Jimmy stepped into a hole and dropped all the rocks on me while I was diggin’.”

“Oh no,” Belle gasped but the tiny smile of hearing the amused laugh from the taller man made it seem less serious.

“It’s alright, I pushed him in a bush that had nettles under growin’ under it. He couldn’t stop itchin’ his ass and legs the whole time. Pa thought we were bein’ stupid wanderin’ in the woods when we didn’t know which plants to avoid,” Clyde chuckled.

“I bet you two were little rascals for your dad,” Belle hummed. “But, you would’ve been the cuter kid, for sure.”

Clyde shook his head at her assumption but she ignored it and began swinging their linked hands, beckoning him to tell another story. “ Once Jimmy found a turtle while we snuck out of the tent one night and brought it back inside in a bucket, wanted to keep it as a pet. Turned out wasn’t a normal jus’ a regular turtle and Pa woke up to somethin’ nippin’ his toes because I took it out. It was bonkin’ the bucket and I couldn’t sleep.”

“Sounds like something Jimmy would do. I’m not going to lie.”

He chuckled and rewarded her with a kiss to her head and nuzzling his nose to her sweet-smelling hair. “Or there was the time I found a nest of woodchucks by accident and the mama wasn’t happy. You should’a seen it, a kid runnin’ through the woods, screamin’ his head off because of a mama groundhog thought he was gonna hurt her babies.”

Belle gasped, covering her laughter with her free hand as Clyde watched her with amusement. They turned to a trail that was off the main road provided, but still distinct from years of others traveling. The woman noticed the change of path and looked up to him with a curious smile on her lips. “So, Mr. Woodchuck-Nest-Invader, where exactly are you taking us? Off to some magical pathway to another realm filled with adventures and mystery?”

“Probably not filled with mystery, but it is indeed somethin’,” Clyde answered. He wasn’t going to spoil it, but his smile exposed his excitement at the unknown feeling of the small box hidden deep into his pocket. Belle gave him the side-eye and smirked, only to make him grin even bigger, if that was already possible. “Not sayin’ anything ‘til we get there, sweetheart.”

“Okay, whatever you say,” Belle hummed before looking forward, only to lose her teasing expression at the sight of a metal chain blocking their way next to a park trooper stall. The ranger inside his little post noticed the couple outside his window, prompting him to fix his hat and exit the wooden hut.

“Afternoon,” the man said, tipping his hat to them and Clyde nodded in response, instantly shutting himself away from the stranger.

“Hello,” Belle responded with a polite smile, noticing Clyde eyeing the chain. “Is there something happening over here today?”

“Uh, no ma’am, the trail from here onward is closed off to the public.”

“Excuse me?” Clyde frowned deeper as his eyes snapped to the ranger, who jumped at the sudden, unexpected growl from the much taller, muscular man. Belle’s other hand came up to rest on his bicep, offering a calming rub. He took a deep breath, remaining calm, but the pout was still evident on his mouth.

Being a bit better with speaking for the both of them, Belle looked back to the ranger. “Can you let us know why it’s closed? This is actually my first time camping on these grounds, and my boyfriend is showing me around.”

“There’s been major flood damage that’s not safe beyond here,” the ranger answered, placing his hands on his hips. “Majority of our trails have been closed for now, but we plan on inspecting lessening the limits for you all to enjoy within a few months or so. Until then, we initiate a serious look-out to insure the safety of everyone.”

“There’s no way to get to the marker?” Clyde asked with a low voice, looking to the chain and following his eye to the post. The marker he was referring to was the nature post providing information to passerby of what types of flowers naturally grew there - the exact place his father proposed to his mother and planned on doing the same.

“The marker is the spot where the flood is, sir. The dams that connect with the town flooded the edge of the creek beyond it and flooded the marker first; we assume it’s about eight feet submerged right now, but it’s gone down some. Still too dangerous for the public.”

“That’s too bad,” Belle sighed. Looking up to her boyfriend, she offered him a small smile. “Maybe we can come back in a few months, then you can show me the surprise? It can be like a little vacation for us, if you want…”

“But there’s gotta be a way to the marker,” Clyde huffed but the ranger shook his head. “Dammit…Ya gotta be shitting me right now! You gotta let us through, please!”

“Clyde, honey, it’s okay.” Belle squeezed his arm lovingly, being honest as she stepped between him and the ranger who raised his hands in a sort of way to tell him to ease up. Knowing that he was just frustrated, giving the ranger a look of slight distrust. “Thank you for the info, sir. We will be on our way now.”

Allowing her to turn him around and gently pull him back down to the way they came, Clyde huffed a few times in stress, absolutely outraged by the reality of the situation but couldn’t figure out how to express it. Belle kept rubbing his arm soothingly with both hands holding on to him, her brows furrowed as she saw how he was getting riled up. “I’m sorry this happened, Clyde. I guess the rain has been causing runoffs and flooding more south…”

Seeing him do another, upset huff, Belle leaned her head on his arm. “We can always come back, if you want, handsome. I’m sure whatever you wanted to show me will be there and beautiful once the flooding cease by then!”

“But I wanted to take ya there now, I had to,” Clyde grumbled, eyes wet as he stared to the ground with a tense jaw. Coming to a halt once they made it out of the off trail and onto the main road, he raked his hand through his dark hair and Belle let him go and gave him space. “I had to bring you there, Belle. I had to…”

“You will, handsome,” Belle assured him the best she could, coming around to rest her hands on his chest. Feeling his speeding heart, Belle sighed and carefully wrapped her arms around his torso and pressed her cheek against him, closing her eyes. “It’s okay, Clyde. Please, don’t let this ruin your trip with your family, okay? The sun is still shining and we’re all here to have fun. We can still have fun, I promise.”

Looking up to see his eyes filled with tears, Belle smiled to him and she gave him a loving gaze and reached up to stroke his jaw. “I know this camping trip means a lot to you, Clyde, and I’m already loving it. You telling me what you did as a kid and all the messes you and Jimmy caused, and I can’t wait to share the tent with you with no sounds of the neighbor’s dogs or trucks honking.”

Pulling back a bit from him, Belle held his hand with both of her own. “I’m willing to wait as long as possible for the surprise, okay? I won’t make a fuss about it, I promise,” she told him honestly, her eyes gentle as possible and Clyde couldn’t help himself but fall deeper in love with her being so sweet to him over something she didn’t understand.

Sighing, Clyde wrapped his left stump around her neck and pulled her into a kiss that showed his frustration with the situation, but also giving her his love and appreciate how much she cares for him. Peppering smooches on her lips and on her chin, nose and cheeks, Clyde dipped her back a little, resting his good hand on the small of her back. “I love you, Belle. I love you, I love you, I love you so much, Darlin’. Yer so perfect, baby,” he whined against her lips as she cooed to him in thanks. “Yer so perfect, angel. I love you.”

Returning to the campsite after walking everywhere else that was allowed, Clyde pointing out some memorable moments of his youth to Belle and telling stories that made her laugh or gasp, he eventually calmed down. It looked obvious that Jimmy was waiting for the couple to return only to see Clyde looking rather bitter to the world and Belle unfazed or any different from before. As soon as Sadie saw the two coming up, the child called to the woman from playing with a collection of small rocks being placed into a sort of structure. Belle excused herself to Clyde, giving him a kiss to his cheek before going to Sadie’s side as she began explaining that she was building a house made from rocks, leaving Clyde to slowly trek towards his brother.

Jimmy looked between his little brother’s pouty face and the back of Belle while she pointed to some flat stones for the girl to use as foundation. “So?” he urged Clyde with raised brows.

“Didn’t happen. Marker was closed for flooding.” Clyde grumbled and looked down to his feet with heavy eyes. “Got the whole perimeter on watch, can’t get through nowhere without poison ivy or junk. Said it take months before they reopen it.”

Jimmy frowned immediately and ran his hand down his mouth. “Shit.”

“I had it all planned out, everything,” he whispered under his breath, shaking his head. “Was gonna take her to the exact spot Pa showed us and everything, Jimmy…”

“Hey, hey,” Jimmy slapped his brother’s back and pulled them to move out and away from the little girl and two women lounging not too far off. “There’s gotta be other spots, right? How ‘bout the tree everyone carves their names? Pops showed us where he and Ma wrote theirs after the proposal. Or-or, ya know, there’s that nice bridge near town? Nice view of the woods and over.”

Clyde shook his head. “I was going to propose at the same spot Pa did, not some janky tree people vandalized or the bridge where it stinks of fish and booze. You know the bridge is a hotspot for those rowdy teenagers and bums.”

Jimmy remembered and sighed, pinching between his eyes. “You’re right. Damn, and you’re sure ya can’t just sneak past?”

“You know how it is over here, they’d cuff ya as soon as you step one foot over the line,” Clyde scoffed. “Not to mention that the water’s ‘bout tall as me! What’s nice being proposed like that?”

“Does...she like to swim?”

Clyde gave him a nasty look and readied himself to walk off, only for the older Logan to grab the collar of the shirt and hold him in place. “Don’t you think ‘bout it, buddy. We can think of somethin’. It’s not over just yet.”

“You’re not thinking straight enough,” Clyde grouched, trying to lean away from Jimmy.

“And you ain’t thinkin’ creative enough,” Jimmy countered. “Listen, you still got all weekend to figure something out. Belle knows how important this campin’ trip is for me and you, right? Jus’ suppose to be us guys?”

“Yeah.”

“And she knows that you’d do anything to make her feel like a princess or goddess, or some crap, right?”

“She does.”

“Then she will think whatever proposal you do to ask her to marry you, she’s gonna love it. She’ll probably cry and hug you and not let go, so you’d carry her every ‘til we have to pack up and leave,” Jimmy pointed out. “I’ll be teasin’ you two and Sadie will be askin’ if she will be the flower girl and everything like we talked about. Don’t give up so easily, ya little shit. Jus’ find your perfect timing.”

Clyde thought it over carefully, keeping his eyes on his Belle every time she came his way or he would turn his head around whenever he heard her voice. Sadie seemed to have hogged most of her attention, not wanting Belle to follow her uncle whenever he came by to let them know that Jimmy had brought out sandwiches. The little girl even sat on Belle’s lap and chatted nonstop to her and, once they were done eating dinner for the night, Sadie wanted Belle and Sylvia to help her set up the inside of her tent before tucking her into bed. Clyde didn’t really mind it as much, instead letting his head flow through possible ideas to give Belle the best proposal, and Sadie seemed to help give him time to think. Still, no matter where he tried to think of a proper place to propose, and with special meaning to both him and Belle, Clyde was having a hard time…

By the time the adults figured it was late enough to sleep, after sharing the first pack of beers amongst each other, Belle told both Jimmy and Sylvia to rest well. Clyde was stretching his arms by the time Belle entered the tent and began looking in her bag for her sleeping shirt, finding it, sitting back on the sleeping bag beside him. Clyde just looked to her with a sleepy stare as she changed, his mind all over the place.

Once Belle popped her head through the hole, she noticed how her boyfriend seemed deep in thought, making her smile before leaning over to press multiple kisses on his cheek, somewhat startling him. Chuckling a bit, Clyde let his hand lift to stroke her neck with his fingertips.

“What are yer doin’?” Clyde asked her softly, his voice tired and cracked.

“Just telling you how much fun I’m having on this camping trip through kisses,” Belle mumbled against his cheek, pressing another there before moving to the edge of his jaw, just under his ear, then lightly biting his skin there to make him shiver.

“It’s not much like I wanted. I wanted to take ya to the special place…”

“And that’s okay, Clyde,” Belle hushed him gently, snuggling her face into his neck. Clyde was careful in wrapping his arms around her and pull her into his lap, and she pulled back and tucked his hair behind his big ears. “I’m still very happy I got to come; I know how much this camping trip means a lot to you and Jimmy, so being a part of it is such a big honor. You made me feel important to you, Clyde, and that’s enough for me.”

Sighing, Clyde held onto her tightly and rolled to the side on the sleeping bag, making her squeal a bit when he groaned tiredly and trapped her in his hold. “I just want everything to be perfect, baby…”

“I think it is already,” Belle told him honestly, her hands tangling in his hair as she pressed her forehead against his. “I’m here with you, and I got to play with Sadie and spoil her with Syl, who is just as awesome. And Jimmy isn’t bad company, too, I guess, but you’re the cuter Logan brother that I have more fun with. Jimmy’s only fun when I do shots with because he always loses!”

“You just don’t have a brutal bone in your body with me, do ya?” Clyde snorted and she puffed air into her cheeks and pursed her lips. He snuck a leg between hers and patted her cheek with his only hand, making her let out amusing noises. “Yer too patient and gentle with me with everythin’ that goes wrong on my end.”

“I do it because I love you,” Belle batted her lashes at him, smiling the way he loved. “Even if you have a bad day, I’m just happy to be with you at the end of it. I know you would do the same for me, like you always do, even when I can be an absolute ticking time bomb of a monster. You still pick me up and give me your professional Clyde Logan lovin’ that makes me feel better, so I’ll do the same to you when you need it!”

“Such an angel,” Clyde sighed with his big puppy eyes, holding her cheek. “How am I so lucky to have you, I have no idea.”

“I could say the same to you, handsome,” Belle cooed, bumping her nose with his affectionately and he willingly played along, feeling his heart race. “To tell you a secret, you were like a beautiful sunrise to my very dark days, Clyde, and I love you so, so much for it. I think you’re the real angel here.”

Clyde whined and pulled her into a kiss that nearly made them both lose their breath. They weren’t going to get too handsy on each other in their tent, especially when a little girl’s own tent was not too far away from theirs and Jimmy having ears of a hawk (when he wants to). Giving his girl another long kiss to her lips, Clyde allowed her to slip under the sheet and turn off their lantern, leaving him to watch her fall asleep within minutes against his chest.

Then it clicked.

“Sunrise…” A big, toothy grin spreading on his face, Clyde remembered how beautiful the sunrise looked from their designated spot and then everything wrote itself. He could wake up Belle before the sunrise and watch it come up, bend on one knee and hold out the small box that was currently snugged against his thigh.

It was perfect, because Clyde saw Belle as his sunshine.

Unable to fall asleep so easily as he normally would, Clyde gave Belle’s head a few short, gentle kisses before snuggling his face into her hair. He always watched the sunrise when he camped, like his body was a natural clock to the perfect time to see the warm colors paint the sky and wake up the world - this just had to work for something like this!

“Uncle Clyde?” a soft, timid voice reached his ears, making him lift his head to see Sadie’s favorite Elsa flashlight glowing as she began unzipping the entryway. Careful to reach over and turn the lantern back on, Clyde saw his little niece’s face wet with tears and the most cutest pout ever.

“Sadie, sweetheart, what’s the matter?” Clyde sat up slowly, brows furrowing to the young girl as he beckoned her to enter the tent and zip it shut.

“I’m scared,” Sadie whimpered as she clutched the flashlight to her chest. “I heard weird noises outside, and I think it’s a bear. Can I stay with you and Aunt Belle, please? I don’t want to upset Daddy…”

Exhaling, Clyde looked to the slumbering girlfriend next to him and back to his niece. As much as he adored his niece and would pretty much kill for her, he wanted to prepare himself for the proposal while cuddling Belle. It wouldn’t be a big deal...unless it was Sadie, who would no doubt cuddle Belle and hog her comforting body as much as she did during the day. He could tell her that there were no bears around their area and send her off, but…

“C’mere, honeybun,” Clyde waved his hand only hand for her as he scoot away from Belle’s side a bit, already missing her warmth. Sadie was quick to pounce on the sleeping bag and scramble under the covers, turning straight to Belle and cuddled right up to her. Clyde watched Belle inhale and slowly register Sadie’s familiar snuggles, draping her arm over the child and settle right back to sleep within moments and holding the girl close, just the way Sadie liked it.

Clyde turned off Sadie’s flashlight for her, whispering that she was safe now between him and Belle, and she nodded in understanding. Taking extra measures for his niece’s sake, Clyde snagged the coat he brought for himself and draped it over both girls as an extra layer. When he was done, he got under the covers by them and kissed Sadie’s blonde head.

“Sleep tight, munchkin. No bears will bug ya now, okay?” Clyde whispered to her and kissed Belle’s head when the kid hummed against the woman’s chest. Settling down, Clyde began forming his proposal speech he would say within hours…

“A flash flood warning has been put into effect, please pack up your belongings and leave the park in a orderly fashion. I repeat, a flash flood warning has been issued and we request all attendants within the camp grounds to leave the property in a orderly fashion.”

Waking up with a jolt, Clyde’s eyes shot up to the pattern of heavy raindrops pelting on the outside of his tent. There was no form of thunder or lightning, but the overhead speaker startled him enough and Jimmy struggling with the zipper. The older Logan eventually shoved his head in to find Belle starting to wake with his daughter still curled against her, looking between the two with a drenched head and water dripping from his scruff.

“We gotta pack up and head-on outta here, they’re shuttin’ it down,” Jimmy informed them. “Rain’s jus’ gonna get worse and they don’t want us stayin’ in this spot so close to the creek and all that.”

“Oh shoot,” Belle breathed as she instantly got up and reached for her bag to shove her items inside, Sadie still out cold. The overhead kept repeating its news as Jimmy shook his head like a dog. “I can roll everything up, Clyde, if you want to help Jimmy break down the tent.”

“Already done, Belle,” Jimmy nodded. “Got Sadie’s all packed and in the truck, too. We’re jus’ gonna help ya out with yours so we can scramble on outta here.”

“There’s no way we can stay and wait it out?” Clyde blurted out to his brother while Belle was still half-asleep as she got their bags packed.

“I’m already slippin’ on mud out here, they ain’t gonna let us stay,” Jimmy shook his head. “Already got a ranger tellin’ me and Sylvia to get you guys packed and gave us a half hour.”

Belle was already urging Sadie to wake up to go to her dad, and Clyde gave Jimmy one last pleading stare before he shook his head slowly. Sighing, Clyde silently removed the sheet and yanked his boots on to leave, already seeing the mess Mother Nature decided to literally rain on his parade, making him start to feel his throat contract. Jimmy patted his shoulder before silently bending back down to collect his daughter to bring her to his truck, where Sylvia was waiting with a coat over her head with the backseat ready for the child. Noticing how cold it was in the rain, Clyde turned to see Belle getting ready to leave the tent with both their bags and blankets in hands.

“Belle, baby, wear my jacket ‘til you get to the car,” he instructed her with his chin jerking to his coat left on the bare sleeping bag. Fishing out the keys in his back pocket, Clyde tossed them to her and she caught them. “If yer still cold in the car, turn on the heat and I’ll be right there.”

“I can come back for the sleeping bag,” Belle insisted as she draped the said coat over her head, which he knew she will properly put on inside the car, since it didn’t have a good.

Clyde shook his head. “Don’t worry ‘bout that, baby,” he offered her a small smile and bent down to kiss her quickly. “Jus’ wait in the car for me and stay warm.”

Belle slowly nodded and proceeded to follow his order, hurrying to the car as Jimmy returned after dropping Sadie off with Sylvia. The brothers locked eyes for a moment when Belle closed the passenger door, dumping the bags in the back, before Jimmy gave Clyde a ruffle of his wetting, dark hair.

“We will figure somethin’ out, Clyde,” Jimmy promised before the two started to dismantle the tent in the heavy rainfall with slick mud at their feet.

Fun fact: Original plan was for the weird noises to be Jimmy and Sylvia getting busy, and Sadie was scared and kept Belle and Clyde awake all night...still could’ve been, it’s up to you!

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Remember, if you would like to be tagged for future chapters, please don’t hesitate to message me! I’d be more than happy to add you. Thank you for reading and I hope to hear from you!

#pilotanonwrites #clyde logan x reader #oc/reader insert #reader insert #springbeautyclydefic

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