#why was i born to be a passenger yet forced to be a driver

[eunhos]

.

[cellard0ors]

Something Burrowed

Travis pulls away from the curb, waving to Caleb as he does so. It's so weird how fast time flies. Travis can remember when Caleb was born and now here he is... dropping him off at college.

Granted, Caleb's been going to this university for over a year now, but this is the first time Travis has been the one to drop him off.

But Chris had had his hands full and Travis had had to go into the city anyway, needing to file some paperwork at one of the bigger legal offices, so, win win.

Albeit Caleb wasn't too excited to be dropped off from a police cruiser, his uncle in full uniform. Still, it is what it is and it's not until Travis is pulling to a stop at a red light that his entire trip takes a turn.

Mainly because a harried young woman suddenly opens the back door of his car and clambers inside. Correction: a harried BRIDE.

The bride in question has to be wearing one of the biggest, most floofy bridal dresses on planet earth, the big princess skirt barely fitting in the spacious backseat as she slams the door behind her and cries, "Drive!"

"Ma'am, this is not a taxi, I'm a sheri-!" Travis starts, voice stern, only for him to meet the world's most blue, determined eyes in his rearview mirror, "Go!"

The light changes and Travis finds himself automatically accelerating, even though he has no reason to do so.

The bride, for her part, tries to get her enormous dress under control as she pants and makes sounds that suspiciously sound like sobs and this is the last thing Travis needs.

"Ma'am?" He tries again but she doesn't answer, instead still shifting about, tugging at lace and tulle and beads. She looks like a confectioners dream - all vanilla whipped topping and her dirty blonde hair has fallen from the tightly bound up do it was supposed to be in - tiny sprigs of white babies breath and other flowers cascading down - light pink and soft blue and this is just getting ridiculous, "Ma'am!"

"'Ma'am, ma'am', it's Laura," she corrects, sniffling as she grabs at the flowers that have stuck to the skin of her bare shoulders, "Unbelievable! Un-fucking-believable!"

"Laura," he tries, keeping his tone both authoritative yet soft, "As I said, I'm a sheriff, not a taxi driver. Now, if you need assistance-!"

She lets out a loud, high laugh that makes her sound a little crazy, "Yeah! Yeah, assistance! I guess you could say I need that! Being shoved into this stupid dress my Mom wanted and these dumb colors she picked - pink and blue! Would you pick pink and blue for your wedding colors?"

Travis opens his mouth to answer but doesn't get the chance as she barrels on, "No, of course you wouldn't! No one fucking would because they're baby shower colors and that's what this is all about, really, my Mom wants me to have babies when all I want is to have dogs!"

He has no idea how to respond to that. Not that he needs to as she continues, "And so she forces me and Max to rush along into this wedding neither one of us wants and that's probably why I caught him fucking one of my bridesmaids in the bathroom!"

The car veers slightly at this confession, Travis startled not only by the viciousness of the statement, but also the exact context of it, "He cheated on you?"

She nods, "On my wedding day! OUR wedding day!"

"Son of a bitch..." He mutters under his breath, suddenly understanding her upset a little better. He pulls to another stop at another red light and she looks at him, "Hold on a minute..."

Laura opens the door and pops out of the backseat only to tug on the door handle of the passenger's side. Travis has no idea why he unlocks the door, but he does.

Yet again she has to go through the motions of squishing down her massive dress, but this time pieces of it hit Travis in the face, making him spit and sputter

Luckily she manages to get it under control enough for him to go when the light changes to green. Now, sitting next to him, Travis can get a better look at her.

And...wow.

Okay. It's... it's a good look

Slow down, you gross old perv, an inner voice scolds him, not only is she decades younger than you but she's clearly in love with someone else - you know, the guy she's dressed to marry?

This in mind, Travis tightens his grip on his steering wheel, " So, ah, Miss Laura-?"

This gets a scoff from her, "'Miss Laura'?! That's somehow worse than ma'am!"

"Well, I don't-?"

"My last name is Kearney. It was going to be Brinly in a few hours, but I think we both agree I can scratch one off."

"Oh! Ah? I don't know - don't you think you should-?"

"Fucking. A. Bridesmaid." Laura spaces out like he's dumb to suggest otherwise and her talking down to him sets his teeth on edge but he allows it considering her current situation, "Her name's Emma, by the way. Her and Jacob have always had an on again off again thing but after seeing Max ploughing her like that, I'll take it they're an off thing."

Her phrasing makes Travis jerk the wheel again. Lord, the mouth on this girl! This pretty girl with a pretty mouth and focus on driving, Travis!

"Okay, but...what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Laura moans, tossing her head back and rubbing at her eyes, "Maybe you can just-? Drive me around? Forever preferably."

"... don't think that's very realistic..."

"Why not? Do you have something better to do, Officer-?" The way the words dry up is almost comical, her face certainly is as realization dawn's, "You-? You're a COP?!"

"You're just realizing that now?!"

"Well excuse me for being distracted, sir! I just ran out of a church after seeing my fiance nailing one of my friend's from behind over a bathroom sink, so-!"

Laura thrashes about where she sits, "FUCK! I can't BELIEVE this! How can my day get any worse?! I fucking hijacked a cop car?!"

"...not really hijacked..." He offers as if this clarification will make her feel better.

It doesn't.

Instead she just lets out the world's saddest moan and Travis suddenly worries about tears again. He prefers the fire to the potential rain and he speaks softly, "You...ah, you were right. I don't really have anything better to do."

Laura just lets out a sad hum, her right thumb nail in her mouth, her eyes looking out the car window. The reflection on the glass shows suspiciously glassy eyes. Teary eyes.

Travis can take a lot. One thing he cannot take is tears. Especially from pretty girls like this one, so he sighs gravely and tries again, "I...uh, was going to go to a Diner nearby. Grab a bite to eat. You want to-?"

She doesn't answer in words, instead just bobbling her head up and down in a shaky nod. He says a quiet 'okay' even as he heads to the diner.

Laura breathes in deep, a wet sniffle, before looking at him, " I don't even know your name."

"It's-It's Hackett. Sheriff Travis Hackett."

"Sheriff?" She asks and at his nod she snorts, "Of course."

He can practically read her mind, hear her admonishing herself for not only hopping in a cop's car but for hopping in a sheriff's car.

Then she looks at him.

She looks at him and Travis can feel her eyes on him. Can feel her looking at him and while he keeps his gaze directed forward, it's growing increasingly difficult because she's making him nervous.

This little slip of a bride...making him shiver.

Finally she asks, "Is it-? Can I-? Can I just call you Travis?"

Travis swallows thickly at the sound of his name on her lips before nodding, "Yeah. Sure."

He hopes he sounds as composed as he does not feel.

[mallowstep]

(nature; nurture)

You know the truth of yourself in pieces.

* * *

You are three, sitting on your mother's lap.

"And you understand this is a life-long commitment?"

"Yes," she says.

"And Mothkit, Frogkit, and Hawkkit, do you want Feathertail to be your mother?"

"She is our mama," Hawkkit says, and the woman laughs.

"That settles it, then."

* * *

Growing up is not a balloon inflating, the way you once pictured it. It is a crab moulting over and over again, exposing its softest parts, in hopes it survives.

* * *

You are the first to go to kindergarten. Only by a few minutes, but still. That feels like it counts for something.

You kiss your mother's cheek, and then drop your bag. A man crouches down beside you. "And what's your name?"

"Mothkit!" you say, and he shows you where to put your bag. You glance back at your mother as you venture deeper into the classroom. She wipes a few tears from her eyes.

* * *

Unlike a crab, you cannot reabsorb what you lose. Your teeth are collected in a box, exchanged for a few quarters, occasionally a dollar. Your hair is swept up and thrown away. You go shopping, and now there are two sections you have to examine. One for you, one for your brothers.

* * *

Stormheart picks you up for school, and no one is waiting in the passenger seat. You all climb in, and you end up stuck in the middle.

"Where's Mama?" you ask.

"She's at home," Stormheart says. He glances back at you for a second, smiling. "She's just having a bad day."

You kick off your shoes at the door when you get home, dropping your bag on the kitchen table. Your brothers are slower, but you peek through the crack in her door before Stormheart catches up with you.

She's asleep, not facing you. Mistyfoot is on the other side of the bed, reading a book.

Stormheart scoops you up. "Come on, bug," he whispers. "Let's go play outside."

* * *

But your soft parts stay the same, just growing between each exchange. You ask her about your father many times, and her answers drift, circling around a truth you want her to finish. You slip into her room after having a nightmare, and find her sobbing. You make a family tree, and stare frustrated at the missing names.

* * *

You follow her out to the garden. Frogpaw spends more time out here than you do, but you're bored, and your mother is here, digging tiny troughs into the earth.

You cross your legs on the grass beside her. She smiles at you. "Are you going to stay out here?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want a hat?"

"No." The sun is warm, and you lean down, your elbows pressing into the dirt. "What are you planting?"

"Poppies," she says. "Do you want to help?"

You shake your head. Feathertail takes a handful of sandy dirt, and pours the bag of seeds onto it.

"Mama?" you ask, and she lifts her brow. "What's assault?"

Feathertail pauses what she's doing, and looks questioningly at you. "Where'd you hear that?"

"It was on a TV show." You fidget with blades of grass. "I wasn't really watching."

Feathertail sighs. "It's -- when you hurt someone," she says. "When you attack them."

* * *

But you are not a crab. You are a girl, and you are changing. Your father sends you a letter and asks you if you're a help to your mother. You grapple with the undeniable proof he's in prison, like she explained a year or two ago. You shoot up past your brothers over the summer, and have to buy new clothes. A new garment comes with it. Feathertail cleans a few things out of a room you can't think of as hers, and it becomes yours. Your soft parts move, find new places in need of protection.

* * *

Sometimes, you want to explain everything to Leafpaw, all in one breath. You want to say, My mother didn't give birth to me, but I know who did, and I was not wanted, except that I was, and my father believes I am capable of nothing, and my period has started, and I don't know what that means, and I think you are beautiful.

You don't say any of that.

* * *

But you are not a crab, so you find traces of your past exoskeletons, the ones that didn't fit. A shirt you wore five years ago. A diary you can barely understand. A folded piece of paper you do not open. They don't make sense with who you are, and yet, they are who you were.

* * *

Shadepelt teaches you how to use make up. Feathertail and Mistyfoot don't wear any, but she does, and she makes it look easy and fun and flawless.

It's much harder when you have to do it.

Hawkpaw and Stonefur arrive home when you are scrubbing it off in the bathroom downstairs. You don't come down here very often, and it is strange to think that this space is a part of your home.

When your face is clean, you trudge upstairs. The air is tense, Hawkpaw and Frogpaw staring across the kitchen table at each other, Feathertail watching them.

"I'm -- allowed to know," Hawkpaw says.

"What do you want to know?" Frogpaw says. "We know everything we need to."

"Maybe you do," Hawkpaw says.

You glance at Feathertail. Her back is to you.

You slide unnoticed into your room, and pull out the stack of letters from your father. You read them all once, exactly, and then add them to the stack you keep in your bottom desk drawer. There's no point in rereading them.

But you run your thumb over them, listening to the way the old, dried paper crinkles.

Frogpaw is asking the wrong question. It's why Hawkpaw wants to know that matters.

* * *

Freshman year draws to a close, and you think you are in your final moult. Leafpaw falls asleep on your shoulder on the way home from a field trip, and you hold hands as you wait to be picked up. You haven't outgrown any clothes in months, and your brothers are now taller than you. You look in the mirror, and realize this will always be the face that looks back at you.

* * *

There is always talk. You try to ignore the worst of it,

("Well, Hawkpaw is a creep," and, "I heard their mother doesn't love them," and, "Bet you can't wait to see your daddy,")

but that's easier said then done.

Leafpaw squeezes your hand. "They don't know what they're talking about," she says.

But they do. That's the problem. They're wrong, but they know what they're talking about.

A junior Mothpaw doesn't know sits beside her at lunch, in Leafpaw's space.

"You should move," Squirrelpaw says.

"No one's sitting here."

"Someone will be."

True to form, as soon as Leafpaw bursts into the cafeteria, she forces herself between Mothpaw and the junior.

The junior rolls her eyes. "I was wondering," she begins, "how you feel about the death penalty."

* * *

There are still old memories you revisit. Feathertail is hospitalized for the third time you can remember, and you log your hours for drivers' ed as you practice making the trip back and forth.

* * *

On Halloween, you take the bucket of candy Feathertail gave the three of you to share and sit on the back porch. Frogpaw and Hawkpaw keep stuffing their faces long after you've finished, and you feel like you're witnessing something obscene.

"I did some math," Frogpaw says. "We were born a month early." He throws a candy bar up, and it lands on his stomach. "Means we were conceived around New Years."

He throws the bar up again, and this time it lands in his hands.

"You ever want to throw a party? Just one. Make a bunch of food for dinner and sit around the table and call all the different dishes courses?"

"What the hell are you saying?" Hawkpaw asks.

"I think i'm just saying something," Frogpaw says. "I think I'm just hoping if I say enough things, I'll find the right thing to say.

* * *

You get your license. It says your name on the card, Mothpaw, daughter of Feathertail, and ask for permission to drive the car.

You don't have a plan for where you're going, and you end up in front of a cathedral.

* * *

The stress of junior year threatens to break you. College applications loom, your classes grow teeth, and you start to bicker with Leafpaw over petty things.

You read over the essay requirement for colleges, and think about what kind of essay you could write. Because there's really only one story worth telling, and it feels wrong, to type out all of your family to a stranger.

It makes you glad you started early. "My mother was fourteen when we were born," you write, and then scratch out. "My father is alive. We know who the other is. I've never met him," you write, and then erase. "I don't know who I am," you write, and then you keep writing.

* * *

At some point, you decide you don't believe. But. You keep coming back. There is something reassuring in routine. Your family doesn't ask where you are going, and you don't volunteer it. Sunday morning. There's some kind of peace, in having the time to sit and think and be.

* * *

"I think I've messed everything up," Leafpaw says. "I've gone about this all the wrong way, and now, everything is terrible, and this is all my fault, Mothpaw, I'm sorry-"

You kiss her, and then lean your forehead against hers. "We're both at fault," you say. "Besides. Maybe the honeymoon is over. We've got lives to attend."

And Leafpaw, inextricably, is part of that life. You can think of the essays you would've written about her. How her hair looks brown until it catches the sun, and then it shines like red glass. How she stomps when she is excited. How she links arms with you and says you're going shopping until you find your family Christmas gifts.

* * *

They invite you to a class, but it feels strange, knowing you don't believe. How do you say, I am here, and I am not, and I don't think you'd really want me.

You don't. You kneel down and offer a prayer to a god you don't believe in. Maybe it will catch.

* * *

Feathertail listens to you practice your speech.

"I'm so proud of you," she says. "You know that, right?"

You nod. She tells you this often, but something about her tone makes your throat catch. You've outgrown the days when Feathertail's arms could surround you, but even so, you start to cry when she hugs you.

"I love you," you say.

"I love you too," she says. She settles back onto the couch, wrapping her hands around a mug of tea.

This is the truth of who you are. This is what you will always fail to capture. How can you describe how the light streams inside at an angle that you've always known, one that makes the dust swirl through it? How can you describe the books on the coffee table, how each book has been read and loved, not merely thrown there for decoration? How can you describe yourself in any way but being there?

* * *

You meet your father's eyes. You know them. You have seen them in the mirror.

* * *

You hold your diploma in one hand, stopping for a photo. You were the first to enter kindergarten, you were the last to leave high school.

The excited chatter in the air is a reminder of what this day is. You have all bought your final yearbooks, signed names and numbers you won't remember in a few months. You're in it a few times -- Feathertail and Leafpaw delighted in hunting for your every appearance -- and you think, maybe it is okay if you are pieces.

There is something whole and solid that is made of them.

[impala1967dwinchester]

Castiel: Stars in the night sky

Pairing: Castiel x Y/n/Reader 

Pov: Reader 

Warnings:sweet moments, kisses, realization of love 

Summary: Castiel takes Y/n to go stargazing for the first time, and she gives a kiss on the cheek. A gesture of thank you she says 

Word Count: 2k

Masterlist

Taglist: 

Castiel and I have always had a great relationship. Something between Castiel and I clicked, like a lock. Being around Castiel I would say has made me more appreciative of the things around me.  

Like for example; Castiel would list off all the stars in the night sky, while we were on a hunt. It was also so refreshing being around him, he had this passion in him like I’d never seen before.  

That passion had such a great effect on me. especially when I was around him, it was as if a huge magnet was forcing me to be beside Castiel.  

I guess I wouldn’t say that I didn’t love being around Castiel, but he had a way of making me feel nervous and timid. Not that he was a bad person... not that he was a bad angel.  

What I’m trying to say is that he had a great effect over my emotions and I knew no matter what that he’d end up finding out eventually.  

What may he find out?  

Castiel may find out that I see him more as special person in my life, then just a friend. I hate putting titles to things but I think in a situation like these things need titles.  

I promise that this will make more sense in just a few moments.  

I heard a knock on my door. “Can I come in?” I heard Castiel said through the wood door. A sudden wave of shock rolled through my bones, “Um, sure Castiel.” I said pulling the comforter over my very much covered frame.  

“I was wondering if you and I could go look at the stars tonight, Y/n?” Castiel asked, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. Something that he had picked up from Dean.  

I set down my book that I had only started reading earlier this morning. “I don’t see why not.”  I said giving him a small smile. His face lite up, those bright baby blue eyes glistening with excitement. A face the reminded me of much I really did enjoy being around Castiel.  

The day went on as usual. Dean washing his precious impala “Baby”, Watching whatever Dean watched for fun of course, or eating lots and lots of food. Sam trying to find another hunt, running, or reading through the lore.  

I on the other hand really hadn’t left my room since Castiel came in. I had sat there for what seemed like at least twenty minutes. I just stared at the door, thinking of every possible way that this could go wrong.  

‘You could say the wrong thing, at the wrong moment. Wear the wrong thing, think you’re getting some sort of sign when in all reality you aren’t’ I was brought out of my thought when I heard another knock at my door. “Come on in.” I spoke  

Hoping more than praying that it wasn’t Castiel again. To my surprise it was actually Sam. “So, I might have heard that Castiel and you are going star gazing tonight?” Sam said a little to knowingly.  

“Yes, I might be going out with Castiel tonight.” I returned getting out of my bed. I waved Sam in to my room. He shut the door behind him and sat down in my desk chair.  

“Well let’s just say that this conversation never happened” Sam said raising his eyebrows. “O-okay.” I said with a confused tone. “So Castiel and I are good buddies you know?’ “Hmm” I said. ‘He might have told me that he like it when you wear... when you wear that blue flower shirt of yours.”  

I guess I was giving him a very confused look. The next words to fall from my mouth were “Huh?” “Actually, ignore what I just said, he just wants you to be happy and according to Castiel. You are the happiest when you’re wearing that flower shirt.” Sam said softly clapping his hands.  

“Okay I can be happy” I said, smiling a little wider than before. “Well, I’ll let you get to the rest of the day, Y/n.” Sam said sitting up from the desk chair, kissing my temple hastily before walking out of my bedroom.  

Once I was alone, I turned into a giddy teen. Jumping up and down squealing at the top of my lungs. I eventually ended up falling on my back onto my bed. I couldn’t express to you what I was feeling even if my life depended on it.  

A few hours had passed, and I had taken a very long shower, but not for naughty reasons. I had taken my time with my makeup. Which I don’t say so myself I was getting so much better at doing, picked out my clothes things that made me feel happy and a bad-ass bitch.  

Just as I was putting my sweater on I again for the third time this glorious day I heard a knock at my room door. “You can come in.” I said my back was facing the door, but I could smell was sugar cookies, and a hint of lavender. turning around after i had slipped my arms through.  

There I saw Castiel standing in my doorway, not wearing his normal trench coat and suit. Which was odd at first, but what he did have on was much better. He was wearing a light blue button up shirt that was under a dark blue sweater.

It was like looking at someone completely different. I’m saying that I wouldn’t mind Castiel wearing more ‘normal’ like clothing more often. “May we?” Castiel said reaching his hand out to take mine.  

“Yes, we may.” I said placing my hand in his, shit man his hands are so soft. As we walked out of my room Castiel shut my bed room door. As we walked past the kitchen door, and past the library, Sam gave me a short smile.  

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dean throw a pair of keys towards Castiel which caught them. ‘Be safe you two.” I heard Dean say. That was odd, not teasing, no asking where we were going, no... no nothing.  

“I grabbed a blanket for our gazing at the stars tonight.” Castiel said still holding my hand. At this point I was wondering if he’d forgotten that he was holding my hand.  

Castiel walked me over to the impala. I gave him a questionable look, wondering why and how Dean would ever let Castiel drive ‘Baby’. He walked me over to passenger side, opening my door, and then shutting it for me. This entire thing was giving me butterflies in my stomach.  

No man that I had ever been around did that for me. I mean yes, the two Winchester boys were great, but again there was something about Castiel. The way he was just such a gentleman.  

I was pulled from my thoughts when I heard the driver's side door slam against its frame. The start f the engine and we were out of the garage. Gone and Castiel driving to where ever he wanted.  

Castiel quickly realized that we were listening to Dean's music, so a few changes to the radio and we were listening to some classical music. I won’t say that it set a mood for the rest of the night, but I’d like to think that was what he was trying to do.  

It was actually a short drive only about ten minutes from the hidden bunker. Castiel parked the impala on a nice clearing of grass. He looked over at me giving a cute smile his dimples showing. Which in turn made me smile. He shut the impala off, and got out. Not before telling me “Wait, Y/n.” So that’s what I did.  

I watched Castiel through the rear-view mirror. Open the trunk, pull out two blankets. One look much larger than the other, but that doesn’t matter. I watched as Castiel rounded the Impala and just as he was in front of the car, he throws the bigger blanket out.  

Then placed down the other blanket. When Castiel was finished he walked over to my side opening my door. Giving me a hand with getting out. Castiel walked over to the area he had set up. I sat down and then Castiel did.  

I had never been this close to Castiel before he radiated so much heat. Castiel started rapidly firing off all the stars in the sky. “This star right here’ he said pointing in some random direction. ‘This star was the one that was out the night you were born Y/n.” He finished; a smile could be seen on his face.  

“Really?” I asked surprised that he knew that. “Yes, actually it was the biggest in the sky that night. Imagine Y/n the night that you were born this star right here was a lighthouse. That huge beam of light. It honestly for a few moments blinded us angels in heaven.”  

Castiel looked over at me. I could feel my face getting hotter and hotter by the second. “Are you okay, Y/n? You seem to be very warm.” Castiel said. His hand falling to my forehead like he was checking my temperature. “I’m fine Castiel, I just... I didn’t think that you knew all this stuff about me.” I said a little timid, messing with the hem of the sweater.  

“I won’t say that I know everything about you Y/n, but I’d like to learn more about you.” Castiel hand grazing over my cheek. “Really Castiel?” I asked slowing building the courage to look him in his baby blue eyes. “Of course, Y/n. You’re the brightest star, and I want to learn more about you every day.”  

I couldn’t help but to smile, now choosing to look up at Castiel. Looking down at me Castiel gave me a soft lipped kiss on my other cheek. As Castiel kissed my cheek he whispered in my ear “I think I’m falling.” A chill running down my spine.  

Castiel left my cheek, and his hand fall yet again down to my open hand. His fingers grabbing to hold onto my pinky, so his thumb could gently graze over the top of my hand.  

I leaned forward, catching his lips, in a gentle needy kiss. Like a dam had finally broke, and it was finally okay to feel every raw emotion. When I was very much in need of air, I slipped away and whispered in his. “It’s okay to fall, because at least we will be falling together.”

“Can I ask you something, Castiel?” I spoke. “Hmm, Of course Y/n.” Castiel responded. “When you did start feeling this way, you know about me?” I said, falling back into my timid and shy self. He gave me that face that told me ‘I’m thinking’ only a few moments passed before I received an answer from Castiel.  

“I’d say it was the day that I finally met you. You shined just bright as the star the sky did. You were like a magnet for me. I just wanted to spend the rest of time with you. You are shy now, but when we first met. You, Y/n were a forced to reckoned with.” I smiled, and fell into Castiel arms.  

“You are the reason why I love humanity. You make me want to be more human. You make me want to thrive. You show me that not everything is hard to finally have. You showed me long ago that you don’t have to be prefect.” Castiel said.  

I started to laugh and cry into Castiel chest. “Are you alright, Y/n?  Did I say or do something?” Castiel worried voice coming out. I lifted myself from Castiel very warm chest. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Castiel. You just made me feel nice, extremely good for the first time in a very long time. So, thank you Castiel.” I said, as Castiel wiped my happy tears away.  

“Well, like I said Y/n. I want to learn more about, I want to be there to protect you. You and I for the rest of time.” Castiel said winking at me.  

Completed: 03/07/2021 

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Out Of Time ~ 31

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,450ish (one of the longer ones...)

Summary: Y/N speaks to Coulson. Tony sits in front of the Senate Armed Forces Committee.

Instead of going with Tony and Pepper to appear before the committee, Y/N went to the Triskelion. SHIELD’s Headquarters. She promised Pepper that she would be there before the meeting ended, but needed to make a stop. As she walked into the lobby, she spotted Phil.

“Agent Coulson,” she called, jogging up to him. 

“Agent Rogers,” he greeted, with a small smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I called Fury a few weeks ago about an issue with Stark, and still haven’t heard anything. So I came to see why.”

“Oh, Fury did inform me about that.”

Y/N folded her arms over her chest. “So he has time to inform you and not get back to me?” 

“He has his reasons. The Director always does.” Coulson glanced down at his wrist watch. “I have to get going, or I’ll be late.” He started walking away.

“Where are you going?” Y/N inquired, following him.

“Where you should be. Watching Mr. Stark in front of the Senate committee.”

“Great! You can take me with you then. Plus, I know you know more then what you’re letting on, so I’ll use the car ride there to get it out of you. Are we taking Lola?”

“No, we are not taking Lola. Last time I let you near her, she got scratched up.”

“It was an accident! And it was also, literally, one scratch.”

“Still a scratch,” Coulson said as he held the door open for Y/N.

“All you men are cry babies when it comes to things like that. Tony got on me the other day for breathing near one of the suits. I’m so over it.”

  “I thought you two were getting along?”

“We were, until I started questioning him about what was wrong.” Phil stopped at a black SUV, getting into the driver seat while Y/N got into the passenger. “Tony knows I know that there’s something wrong, he just doesn’t want to admit it. So he’s pushing me away,” Y/N sighed, putting her seat belt on.

Coulson began driving off, silently. Y/n could tell though, by the way he was holding onto the steering wheel, that something was bothering him. Or at least on his mind.

“Just say it,” Y/N demanded. “You have something on your mind. So just let it out.”

“You have feelings for him,” Phil immediately said.

Y/N’s head snapped to fully look at Phil, who wouldn’t look away from the road. “What?”

“You have feelings for Tony Stark. I knew it the moment I saw you hovering over him after the incident at Stark Industries.”

“I don’t have feel—“

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N. You know you’ve never been able to.”

“Phil, I—“

“When Fury told me about you requesting to stay with Stark, it was just a confirmation of what I knew. What I had seen. I told Fury that you should be pulled and to put in someone else, but he said that it would be good for you. I…” Coulson sighed, shaking his head. “I think you need to quit this, Y/N.”

“Are you serious? What have I done to prove that anything, let alone emotions, have interfered with my job?! Gosh! I… I can’t even believe you.”

“You haven’t done anything yet. But there might come a time when you have to choose between him and the mission. Or, what happens when you need to be honest with him? You’re a Rogers, Y/N, not a Barnes. You were born in 1918. You fell from a plane trying to save the world and woke up in a new age. Stark’s going to need to know all of this, or he’ll find out. One way or another.”

“He knows bits and pieces,” Y/N whispered after a few seconds of silence. “Tony knows I have a twin. That him and his best friend died. He knows that I was in love with my brother’s best friend. And he knows that I burned my hand on a power source and fell from a plane…. I’ve kept all the details from him hidden though…”

“Do you know if he even feels the same? Do you?” It was silent for what felt like eternity until Coulson spoke up again. “Admit it, Y/N/N. At least to yourself if not to me.” Coulson parked the car, having arrived that the location of the meeting. “I know you probably don’t want to admit it. But do you have feelings for him because of who the man actually is? Or just he remind you of someone else you used to love?” Coulson stepped out of the car. “He’s not Bucky, Y/N. In more ways than one.” Then he shut the car door and walked off.

Y/N sat there frozen in the passenger seat. Was it really that obvious that she had feelings for Tony? And, is Tony really that much like Bucky? Yes, they both know—knew how to charm the ladies. But other than that… She shook her head and jumped out of the car. She couldn’t let this stop her from doing her mission. Y/N paused right in front of the building. What was her mission anymore? Just making sure that Tony Stark didn’t try to ruin the world with his Iron Man suits? Had she really become just a babysitter?

Inside the building, the meeting had started, though it hadn’t gotten very far. Tony kept looking back to see if Y/N had gotten there yet. He felt bad driving off, leaving her on the curb. But she had been asking too many questions, she was going to find out what he was hiding. Tony Stark was dying. The core in his arc reactor, that was keeping him alive, was also killing him. So not only did he believe that he had to push her away so that she wouldn’t find out, he believed that it would be easier on him. Tony would never be able to admit it aloud, but he had developed feelings for her. And he couldn’t stand the thought of giving her hope and then dying on her. (Though unbeknownst to him, JARVIS already spilled the beans.)

Looking back once again, he couldn’t see any sign of her. Tony looked disappointed as Pepper, from a few rows back, tried to get him to turn back around.

“Mr. Stark,” Senator Stern called. He was over the committee that wanted the Iron Man suit in the governments hands. “Could we pick up now where we left off?” 

Tony ignored him. Y/N quickly entered the room and found a seat next to Pepper. He tried to give her a small smile, but she refused to look at him. 

“Mr. Stark, please,” the Senator requested, again.

“Yes, dear?” Tony said, turning to face the committee.

“Can I have your attention?” The Senator asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Do you or do you not possess a specialized weapon?”

“I do not.”

“You do not?”

“I do not. Well, it depends on how you define the word weapon.”

“The Iron Man weapon.”

“My device does not fit that description.”

“Well… how would you describe it?”

“I would describe it by defining it as what it is, Senator.”

“As?”

“It’s a high-tech prosthesis. That is… that is… That’s actually the most apt description I can make of it.”

“It’s a weapon. It’s a weapon, Mr. Stark.”

“Please, if your priority was actually the well-being of the American citizen—“

“My priority is to get the Iron Man weapon turned over to the people of the United States of America.”

“Remind me again why we could ask the lawyers to do this?” Y/N leaned over and whispered to Pepper.

“He said he could handle himself,” Pepper sighed. She looked around the room. “I see Agent Coulson. You remember, from SHIELD?”

“Yes,” Y/N nodded.

“I’m going to see if he has any ideas about how to handle this.” She picked up her bag and headed to the back of the room, where Coulson was standing and watching. Y/N kept her focus on the proceedings.

“—depending on what state you’re in. You can’t have it,” Tony stated.

“Look, I’m no expert—“

“In prostitution? Of course not. You’re a Senator, come on.” Tony turned around as the crowd laughed. He met Y/N’s unapproving  stare. “No?” He mouthed. She just shook her head.

“I’m no expert in weapons,” Stern continued, causing Tony to turn back around. “We have somebody here who is an expert on weapons. I’d now like to call Justin Hammer, our current primary weapons contractor.”

Every turned to see Justin Hammer come in from the side and take a seat at the tables in front.

“Let the record reflect that I observed Mr. Hammer entering the chamber,” Tony began, “and I am wondering if and when any actual expert will also be in attendance.” 

“Absolutely. I’m no expert. I defer to you, Anthony,” Justin started. “You’re the wonder boy. Senator, if I may.” Justin stood up and moved infant of the tables. “I may well not be an expert, but you know who was the expert? Your dad.”

“Howard Stark. Really a father to us all, and to the military-industrial age. Let’s just be clear, he was no flower child. He was a lion. We all know why we’re here. In the last six months, Anthony Stark has created a sword with untold possibilities. And yet, he insists it’s a shield. He asks us to trust him as we cower behind it. I wish I were comforted, Anthony, I really do. I’d love to leave my door unlocked when I leave the house, but this ain’t Canada. You know, we live in a world of grave threats, threats that Mr Stark will not always be able to foresee. Thank you. God bless Iron Man. God bless America.”

“That was well said Mr. Hammer,” Stern complimented. “The committee would now like to invite Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes to the chamber.”

“Rhodey? What?” Tony questioned, looking around. “Did you know?” He mouthed to Y/N, who nodded her head in response. Tony stood up and met Rhodey half way down the aisle. “Hey, buddy,” he greeted. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Look, it’s me, I’m here,” Rhodey responded as the made their way to the front. “Deal with it. Let’s move on.”

“I just—“

“Drop it.”

“All right, I’ll drop it.” The two sat down.

“I have before me a complete report on the Iron Man weapon,” Stern began, “complied by Colonel Rhodes. And, Colonel, for the record, can you please read page 57, paragraph four?”

“You’re requesting that I read specific sections from my report, Senator?” Rhodey questioned.

“Yes, sir.”

“It was my understanding that I was going to be testifying in a much more comprehensive and detailed manner.”

“I understand. A lot of things have changed today. So if you could just read—“

“You do understand that reading a single paragraph out of context does not reflect the summary of my final—“

“Just read it, Colonel. I do. Thank you.”

“Very well. ‘As he does not operate within any definable branch of government, Iron Man presents a potential threat to the security of both the nation and to her interests.’ I did however, go on to summarize that the benefits of Iron Man far outweigh three liabilities and that it would be in our interest—“

“That’s enough Colonel.”

“—to fold Mr. Stark—“

“That’s enough.”

“—into the existing chain of command, Senator.”

“I’m not a joiner, but I’ll consider Secretary of Defense,” Tony added, “if you ask nice.” Various crowd members laughed as Y/N rolled her eyes. “We can amend the hours a little bit.”

“I’d like to go on and show, if I may, the imagery that’s connected to your report,” Stern requested.

“I believe it is somewhat premature to reveal these images to the general public at this time,” Rhodey stated.

“With all due respect, Colonel, I understand. And If you could just narrate those for us, we’d be very grateful. Let’s have the images.” A man moved near the tv, pulling up images of groups of people trying to recreate the Iron Man suit. 

“Intelligence suggests that the devices seen in these photos are, in fact, attempts at making manned copies of Mr. Stark’s suit,” Rhodey narrated. “This has been corroborated by our allies and local intelligence on the ground, indicating that these suits are quite possibly, at this moment, operational.”

“Hold on a second, buddy,” Tony called, doing something with his Stark device. Suddenly the screens changed, being controlled by Tony. “Boy, I’m good. I commandeered your screens. I need them. Time for a little transparency.”

“What is he doing?” Senator Stern questioned.

“If you will direct you attention to said screens, I believe that’s North Korea.”

“Can you turn that off? Take it off.”

“Iran.”

“No grave threat here. Is that Justin Hammer? How did Hammer get in the game? Justin, you’re on TV. Focus up.”

“Okay, give me a left twist,” Justin’s voice came through the speakers. “Left’s good. Turn to the right. Oh, shit. Oh, shit.” Justin, in the video, lost control. But before anything else could be shown, Justin found the TV plug and unplugged it.

“Wow. yeah, I’d say most countries, five, ten years away,” Tony stated. “Hammer Industries, twenty.”

“I’d like to point out that that test pilot survived,” Justin interrupted, trying to save himself.

“I think we’re done, is the point that he’s making,” Stern said. “I don’t think there’s any reason—“

“The point is, you’re welcome, I guess,” Tony said.

“For what?”

“Because I’m your nuclear deterrent. It’s working. We’re safe. America is secure.” Tony slipped on his sunglasses. “You want my property? You can’t have it. But I did you a big favor.” He stood up and turned to face the crowd. “I’ve successfully privatized world peace.” He held his arms out, making peace signs with both of his hands. 

The crowd all stood up, talking at once. Y/N followed, not surprised that Tony made this all about himself. He began making his way down the aisle, shaking hands as he went. “What more do you want? For now! I tried to play ball with these ass-clowns.”

Rhodey looked back at Y/N. The both of them shared a look that they were done with Tony not taking things seriously.

next chapter >

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[olivemac]

heartbeat | chapter four | b.b.

Summary | When Steve Rogers asks Kate Stark to find the Winter Soldier, she gets too involved.

Notes | Captain America: Civil War re-write, essentially. Starts just after the events of CA: Winter Soldier.

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc, Bucky Barnes x Stark!oc

Genre | romance

Rating | explicit

Story Warnings | mild angst, fluff, romance tropes, so many romance tropes, coarse language, alcohol use, canon-typical violence, smut (m/f), oral sex (f&m receiving), 18+ ONLY

Chapter Warnings | the romance tropes keep coming, angst, canon-typical violence, mild alcohol use, smut (m/f), 18+ ONLY

master list | AO3 link

_____

prev chapter

_____

The months pass slowly, and Kate is content to stay in the little bubble she and Bucky have built. She almost forgets she has to tell Steve about Bucky at some point. Almost.

She wakes one morning in early June with Bucky's arms tight around her. They've been sleeping together most nights, and they’ve both found it keeps their nightmares away. As she shifts her body to rise from the bed, his hold tightens. He buries his face in the curls at the nape of her neck.

“Bucky,” she whines, “let me go.”

He rolls her onto her back and hovers over her, peppering kisses over her face. When his lips finally meet hers, he sweeps his tongue into her mouth and tastes her. She pushes against his shoulders, and he relents, lifting from her.

“Bucky,” she laughs, “I have to pee.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, too, and she loves that rare sound.

"I'm going to shower and start the coffee," she says, slipping out of his grasp.

Bucky flops onto his back and enjoys the smell of Kate on the sheets around him, closing his eyes and listening to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. He’s content to lay like this all day, if only Kate would return to bed. Finally, he stretches, happily, and his hand hits an empty beer bottle he left on the nightstand the night before. The bottle tips and rolls beneath the bed, and Bucky groans. He climbs out of bed and slips his boxers on before kneeling on the floor and reaching for it. As his hand wraps around the rogue bottle and pulls back, he feels something sticking out from under the bed frame. When he draws it out, he can see that it’s a file.

He opens it, and his heart stops. The Winter Soldier. His military photo is staring back at him, along with records of who he was, what they made him do.

A cold rage tears through him. He's been so stupid. He let her get close and now she would turn him over to HYDRA.

The bathroom door opens, and Kate steps out, dressed in clean sweats, her damp hair curling down her back.

"Who are you?" he growls.

Kate sees the open file and the hard look in Bucky's eyes. She doesn’t answer.

"Who. Are. You?" He’s on her before he finishes the sentence, his titanium hand wrapping around her neck and slamming her against the wall. “Who do you work for? HYDRA?"

She shakes her head vehemently and tries to speak through his stranglehold. He loosens his grip.

"No," she says. “I know Steve Rogers."

"What?"

"Steve Rogers asked me to find you."

He drops his hand from her neck, and she gulps in air, her own hands reaching up to touch the tender flesh.

“I work for Stark Industries. My name is Katherine Stark. Two years ago, Steve asked for my help tracking you down. I hacked cameras around the globe and ran the footage through an advanced facial recognition software I designed. When I got a hit on you in Bucharest, I came to see if it was really you. I wanted to be sure before I told Steve.”

“Does he know where I am?” he questions.

“No.”

“You lied to me,” Bucky growls.

“I never lied…I….” She pauses. “It’s not like you were honest with me, Sergeant Barnes,” she digs.

Bucky’s jaw clenches.

"Are you going to tell Steve Rogers where I am?" he questions.

She hesitates, then says, "No."

He nods once, then grabs the rest of his clothes and leaves, slamming the door on his way out. Kate collapses to the floor, sobbing.

_____

Bucky paces in his own apartment. Stark. The name feels familiar, but he can’t place it, and he’s too angry to think straight. He loved Kate – loves her still, despite his anger and this betrayal. He clenches his titanium fist so tightly he can hear metal grinding on metal.

In her own flat, Kate allows herself to sob for a while before pushing herself off the floor. She’s ruined everything. She thinks about calling Steve, letting him swoop in to save the day. She imagines him confronting Bucky, talking sense into him, convincing him that she was only doing what she thought was best. But she knows that isn't true; she wasn't doing what was best, she was being selfish when she came to Bucharest. She thought she could save Bucky and now she's pushed him away. She knows Bucky will run, knows he'll disappear somewhere, and she'll never be able to find him again, but she can't bring herself to call Steve and admit her mistake. She doesn't want to tell him that she found Bucky and then absolutely ruined him.

_____

The day passes slowly. Bucky keeps pacing, angry but unsure what his next move should be, afraid Captain America will knock down his door any moment and he'll be forced to confront his past. And what of his past? He's been remembering more and more, writing everything down. With Kate, he feels like the Bucky he was before the war, before HYDRA, but he can't shake the feeling that the Winter Soldier is still lurking inside of him, so tangled up with who he is that he'll never escape the Soldat.

He thinks about the file Kate has and the photo of him stuck to the inside cover – twenty-six, eager to serve his country and prove himself, completely unaware of the horrors his future would hold, the things he would be made to do. He wonders what Kate saw when she looked at that photo. If she read the file then she knows who is really is, but she still let him get close to her; she still let him into her bed and fucked him every night. Bucky scrubs a hand over his face.

And if she knows Steve Rogers, then she also knows about his past – before HYDRA. He's knocking on her door before he can stop himself. When she opens it, he can see that she's been crying, but he can't let himself dwell on that.

“Tell me what you know about me," he says.

She stares at him for a moment before moving aside and letting him in. There's a suitcase on the floor – half-full – and a bottle of whisky on the kitchen table. She pours him a glass, then refills her own. They sit at her kitchen table.

"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes," she starts, "Born March 10, 1917 in Brooklyn, New York. Father: George. Mother: Winnifred. Sister: Rebecca. Childhood best friend: Steve Rogers. Drafted in 1943. Expert marksman. Captured by HYDRA in '44. Rescued by Captain America. Completed missions with the Howling Commandos. 1945 presumed dead. Captured by the Soviets and used as a weapon by HYDRA. The Winter Soldier."

He knew all of this – bits and pieces of it, at least – but he's gutted by how much she knows, how much she didn't tell him.

"Why are you here?" he asks.

“Steve asked me to find you," she says. After a while she adds, "When my software identified you, here in the Bucharest, I was afraid of what Steve would do, afraid that if you ran again, it would break him. I thought if I could keep Steve in the dark, I could protect him."

"Are you and Steve...?" he trails off, licking his bottom lip.

"He's my friend. I care about him," she says, shaking her head. "But we're not...it's not like that."

"Why did you stay? Why not tell Steve where I am?" he asks.

Kate pauses. She takes a sip of whisky, sets her glass down, and looks him straight in his eyes. "Because I fell in love with you."

Bucky is quiet for a time. "After everything you know about me?" he finally asks.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Kate shrugs. "Because I got to know you – not as Steve's best friend or as Sergeant Barnes or as the Winter Soldier, but as you, just you. You're a good man, Bucky."

Bucky sets his own glass down and stands. Kate thinks he's going to leave, but instead he pulls her to her feet and wraps his arms around her.

"Say it again," he says, looking into her eyes.

"What?"

"That you love me."

Kate smiles. "I love you."

He doesn't say it back, not yet. He wants to, but first he wants to enjoy this moment. So, he presses his lips against hers and tries to convey everything he feels in one kiss.

_____

“What do you remember?” Kate asks.

They're lying naked in her bed, her head on his chest and his arms tight around her.

“Everything. Nothing. It comes back in flashes. The memories sometimes feel like they belong to someone else," he says. “I have nightmares. About the things I’ve done. But not when I'm with you."

She smiles. "I sleep better with you, too."

He turns his head to look down at her.

“I have this dream, sometimes, about the night my parents died. There’s a man standing outside the car window. He’s dressed in all black, but I can’t see his face. All I can see is his chest in a leather tactical jacket and then a flash of silver." She's quiet for a moment before she says, "I was three when it happened so it's not like it's a real memory, just some figment of my imagination to help cope with the trauma. At least, that's what my therapist said."

Bucky is quiet.

Stark. Howard Stark. The super soldier serum he stole. Siberia. The memory hits Bucky like a freight train.

The Winter Soldier stands beside the wreck of the Starks' car. Howard begs for help: "Help my wife, my daughter. Please. Help." The Soldier pulls him up by his hair and stares at his bloodied face. A look of recognition crosses Howard's face. "Sergeant Barnes?" he groans. The woman in the passenger seat is calling for her husband. The Soldier strikes the man in the head, smashing his skull open. He pulls him up and places him in the driver's seat, then walks around the side of the car. The woman is crying. The Soldier kills her, as well. As he pulls his hand away from her throat, he sees the child in the backseat of the car. He pauses. The order calls for no witnesses. She's staring at him, her eyes wide. He turns away.

Fuck, Bucky thinks. He needs to tell Kate the truth. But when he focuses on the soft rhythm of her heartbeat, he doesn't think he has it in her to break that heart. Not right now. He decides the truth can wait. He knows it's selfish, not telling her, but maybe he's always been a little selfish.

So, instead of telling her that he was there that night, that he killed her parents, he turns on his side to face her and traces his fingers over the bruises forming on her neck. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “It was a reasonable reaction.”

"No, it wasn't. I hurt you."

"Make it up to me," Kate says, and she reaches for him.

Bucky slides his hands from Kate's neck over her collarbone and breasts and down to her waist. He rolls them so he's hovering above her. He reaches back up to wrap a stray curl around his finger before letting it go, then presses his forehead against hers.

"I love you, Kate," he says.

She smiles. "I love you, too, Bucky."

Bucky groans as he slides inside of her. Kate's eyes fall shut, and he studies the look of bliss on her face.

"Look at me," he whispers, moving against her slowly.

When she does, she's caught in the depths of his eyes, his pupils blown wide, the smallest sliver of blue visible around black. "I love you," she says again.

Bucky pushes himself onto his knees and shifts Kate's hips upward. "Put your legs up," he says, reaching for her calves and placing her ankles on his shoulders. "Good girl," he murmurs, his hands sliding beneath her knees. Kate moans at the change in position. Bucky turns his head and kisses her right ankle, laving his tongue over the soft skin.

“Say my name, doll," he demands, reaching between them to stroke her.

“James,” she breathes.

He’s taken by the sound of his given name on her lips, and his hips stutter. "Fuck," he groans, and the tight coil of pleasure in his lower belly snaps. Bucky moves through it, keeps his fingers on Kate until she's coming, and then collapses next to her, sighing.

"I love you," he whispers. And he takes her hand in his and holds it over his own frantic heartbeat.

_____

When Kate wakes the next morning, Bucky is gone. There's a note on the nightstand in his neat script.

Gone to the market. Back soon, doll. Don't move.

She smiles and stretches. When she reaches for her phone, she sees a news alert that makes her heart stop: Winter Soldier wanted for UN Bombing in Vienna.

She texts Steve.

_____

next chapter

[itssolonelyhere]

Did you~~~ Did you make sakura preggo? 🥺 Is she preggoo in your re crossover? Is there going to be baby heisenbergs? 🥺🥺 does mother know about this? was heisenberg excited when he found out?? ARE THEY GOING TO HAVE A HAPPY ENDING????? 🥺🥺🥺🥺 Plz he deserved to be free and enjoy life 🥺😭 Let him have a family anbd be happppyyyy!!!

Hello, anon! Sorry, I meant to answer this a few days ago but got a little side-tracked 😬. I've actually had a few people ask me about this part and I can see why they came to that conclusion.

"And now we have more on the line than before. This has to work or it all ends." She quietly listens, melting into the heated body surrounding her. Large hands skim along the maroon fabric of her skirt, slowly making their way up. His fingers curl around the pinkette's hip in a firm grip while the other finds a resting place against the bodice covering her abdomen.

I don't actually say Sakura's pregnant but some assumed that's what this paragraph meant. H mentions them having more on the line than before (implying there's something that's changed recently that makes their fight more consequential than it previously was) and he's laying his hand over her midsection, which can either be a gentle/intimate touch in a stressful situation or have more meaning. It depends on how you look at it.

But... I'm not going to confirm or deny that she might be pregnant. This chapter was an intro to give some insight on the present and where the story might be headed but the next one goes back in time to the 1950s. A lot of this fic will focus on Sakura being 'adopted' by Mother Miranda, dealing with the changes in her body, meeting the Lords, trying to navigate and survive living in the village, and what leads to up the events of RE8. It'll span over 60 years so a lot will happen and some things I have planned might change (or not lol). But I'll leave this part up to your imagination.

I 100% agree that H deserved a happy ending... I was so mad that there wasn't an option to accept his deal. It would've been really interesting to see how differently the ending might've played out. Who knows? Ethan turning him down probably sealed his own fate as well, so it's karmic in a way. It makes me sad listening to H talk over the speakers about how Miranda took him and the others and forced them to serve her for decades. He spent his life working on revenge and didn't even get the satisfaction of having the last laugh or knowing she met her end as well. In his case, he lost and Miranda won. She used him all his life and he was killed just as she wanted.

In any case, I'm not a big fan of tragic endings yet can't guarantee anything for now. This fic is most likely going to be long like my others so we'll see! I'm working on chapter 2 and there's a ways to go until the end. I'd love to see him be happy and free but I'm basically a passenger writing down what the driver tells me 🤷‍♀️.

As for the question about H being excited if he found out Sakura was pregnant in this scenario, I'd say he probably would have a whole lot of mixed emotions. The first would most likely be shock from the news, especially since nothing happened for years before then. I'm sure they'd both assume they were infertile a long time ago. There's also the disillusionment with family after being stuck in his current situation for so long but this also gives him the opportunity to have a real one. Another would be fear. Would Miranda take the baby after it's born? There's no way she wouldn't notice Sakura being pregnant after a while and with the parents being two cadou experiments, she might snatch the child away to study/observe/test its body, capabilities, and see what kind of information she can collect. So there would be a lot of internal conflict going inside that hinders H from being completely excited. It would give him even more motivation than he already has (if that's possible) to stop Miranda and escape the village. He'd be damned before letting his brat(s) go through the same terrible shit he did.

Sorry this is a bit long and might not be the answers you were looking for but thanks for sending this in! I love getting asks from readers 🥰. I try to be careful about spoilers when it comes to important parts (like the ending) so I have to tiptoe around certain questions to avoid ruining it for others. You're more than welcome to drop more asks in and I'll do what I can! And I genuinely appreciate your excitement for this story 💖!

[katehuntington]

Title: Black Dog - part two Word count: ±2250 words Episode summary: When Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other   trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part two summary: After successfully wrapping up a werewolf case in Waco, Texas, the boys are on their way again. However, an unexpected phone call might just result in a change of course. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and  medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of  torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​ & @deanwanddamons​​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

     Waco, Texas      November 30th, 2005 - Present Day

     “Get your motor runnin’. Head out on the highway! Lookin’ for adventure, and whatever comes our way.”

     It’s early morning in sunny Texas as the black Chevrolet Impala shoots down Interstate 35, just outside the city of Waco. The temperatures are still cool at this hour, but the orange sun that’s rising in the East will change that within hours. It is exceptionally warm for this time of the year, even for this far south. 

     Dean has his window rolled down and joins Steppenwolf’s lead singer John Kay on the vocals. The hunt was pretty straight forward; after a day of traveling and three more to track the creature, the hunters were able to make the kill. He feels ten times better than he did five days ago, the night he got pulled out of the water without a pulse. But the rest, time and a high dose of antibiotics did him good. Deep breaths aren’t much trouble anymore and the cough is as good as gone. Even the sprint to tackle the werewolf didn’t set his lungs on fire. He’s off pain medication, slept horizontally for the first time in days, and is behind the wheel of his Baby; Dean feels good as new. His way of celebrating is by belting out every word of the legendary rock classic Born To Be Wild.

     “Yeah, Darlin’, go and make it happen. Take the world in a love embrace. Fire all of your guns at once and explode into space.”

     His brother, who is huddled in the corner of the door and the front seat, opens his eyes slightly and glares at his sibling through the drowsiness. He’s not sure what’s more surprising, Dean’s unbelievably good mood or the fact that he’s able to hit the notes.

     “Like a true nature’s child, we were born, born to be wild. We can climb so high, I never wanna die!” Dean sings as he drums on the wheel.  

     “Dude, I’m trying to sleep,” Sam complains. “Turn that shit down, will you?”      Dean looks aside, as if his brother just said something vile. Did he just call Steppenwolf shit? The oldest of the two shakes his head; I tried so hard to raise him right. 

     Instead of honoring Sam’s request, Dean lets go of the steering wheel and plays the solo on his air guitar. Startled, the passenger reaches to take control in order to keep the car steady, after which he eyes his brother. As he does, Dean turns the volume button clockwise and sings along again.      “Born to be wi-i-ild!” he cries out.      “Seriously?” The youngest of the two shoots a look of annoyance at the driver.      “Ah, c’mon, Sammy. Why can’t a guy have a little fun?” Dean replies.      “It’s Sam,” his brother reminds him. “And for one, because I barely slept last night, and secondly, because it’s seven thirty in the morning.”      “So? You’re usually the one who’s all chirpy at the crack of dawn. This way we have the whole day ahead, y’know. Make some use of it,” Dean quips.

     Sam lifts one eyebrow and observes the driver for a few seconds. Is this truly coming from his brother, who is anything but a morning person? Bullshit, he thinks to himself.      “That’s the best you could come up with?” he confronts.      Right at that moment, AC/DC’s Stiff Upper Lip starts playing on the radio channel and Dean can’t help but to shout out when he recognizes the introduction.      “Man, I love this song!”      Sam shakes his head. All that his brother is doing is avoiding the topic of conversation. “And Erin didn’t mind you leaving before the alarm?” 

     Dean looks aside, thinking of the gorgeous brunette he picked up at a bar last night during their celebratory drink. “Not sure, she was still asleep when I left,” he admits.      The younger Winchester scoffs. “That’s just mean.”      “It ain’t my style to hang around too long, you know that,” Dean reminds his brother, defending his actions.      “Why the hell are you in such a hurry? We don’t have a lead on Dad, we don’t have a lead on any case at all. Yet you dragged me out of the motel room at 6 AM to hit the road,” Sam questions.

     His brother shrugs and fails to answer the question. Instead, he mouths the lyrics of the song while cheerily banging his head to the beat.      “Dean!” Sam shouts, trying to get his brother to focus.      “What?!” Dean bounces back, getting somewhat annoyed with his brother’s persistence. “I just wanna get to Hillsboro to pick up that lock so I can finally fix the trunk, that’s all.”

     The passenger rolls his eyes at the lame excuse. “That’s not the reason, Dean. And you know it.”      Dean lays his hand on top of the wheel and shakes his head. “You’re seeing things that ain’t there, know that?”      “Funny, though, apparently you know that I’m talking about Zoë, without me even mentioning her,” the youngest returns with an attitude. “And do you honestly think I didn’t notice that you’re driving north?”      “We’re in Texas, Sam. I can’t exactly go South without crossing any fucking borders,” Dean argues. “Not to mention that ‘north’ is a lot of square miles in this country. How the hell would we possibly be able to find her?”      “I don’t know, man…” Sam stares up the road ahead, but then looks aside. “But you did think of it then.”

     Dean sighs, realizing his slip of the tongue. Okay, so maybe he did, but he isn’t going to admit that. “You are the one who keeps calling her every day. You’re full on stalking her, no wonder she doesn’t pick up.”      “I hope to God that’s the reason,” Sam responds, worried.      “She’s probably just neck deep in a case,” the driver brings to mind. “Zoë’s a good hunter, she knows her shit. Why would you think she’s in trouble?”      “I don’t know, just the way she took off. Like she wasn’t expecting to see us again,” Sam recalls.      “You mean that she was nice?” the oldest rephrases. “Look, if she’s in trouble or not, we’d be searching for a needle in a very big haystack. For now -” He turns on his blinker and exits the highway, “- I’m gonna patch up my Baby.”

     Ten minutes later, they pull over on 526 West Elm Street in Hillsboro. It’s a quiet lane on the outer side of the city, on which a little auto shop called Ronny’s Garage and Wrecker Services is situated. It’s not a big place, just a shed, from which the Stars and Stripes flag flutter playfully. A big Chevrolet truck is parked in front of the lawn, and several wreckages fill the large yard behind the house. On the other side of the sober home next to the shed, there’s a small gas station. 

     Dean cuts the engine and gets out of the car. A largely built man with big sideburns and a slight limp in his walk shows up from under the garage door and moves into the sun. Whipping his hands clean with a dirty cloth, he smiles at the sight of the ‘67 Impala. The oldest of the two Winchester brothers walks up the driveway.      “Ronny Davis!” Dean grins as he approaches him. “Man, it’s good to see ya.”      “Long time, no see, Winchester,” the big man says, embracing the hunter.

     Dean pats him on the back and restores the space between them. It has been a while. Last time he saw the brawny guy was at a shady diner in Tampa, where he and John helped Ron out on a Djinn case. It must have been four years ago, at least. Sam just left for college around that time.      “How’s your old man?” he wonders.      “He’s alright,” Dean says, keeping up appearances. “Workin’ another case.”

     It’s not a lie. Well, technically it’s not. He will leave out the part where his father is missing, though. Not telling the truth to the old friend is not something he’s comfortable with, but he will do anything to make sure his father’s work isn’t jeopardized. Sam was eager to reach out to other hunters in order to find him and although Dean wants to track him down just as well, he prefers to keep this in the family, letting sleeping dogs lie. Who knows who, or what, might be listening in. They will find Dad, when he wants to be found. 

     The two men enter the garage, where a 62’ Lincoln Continental lays on the operating table with a bared engine bay. While Dean nods at the car with appreciating eyes, Ronny turns around to  observe the youngest Winchester for a moment, who gets out of the car.      “I see Sam is back in action.”      “Yeah, dragged his ass back into the game,” Dean replies with a trace of regret in his voice.      “He’s an excellent hunter. We can use a few good men like him,” Ronny says. “Especially now that one of the very best was sent on early retirement.”      Dean chuckles at his comment and glances down. “How are you, by the way?”      Ron pulls up the pant leg of his overhaul, revealing the bionic prosthetic.      “It doesn’t even hurt a bit,” he jokes. “Ruguru took it right off, knee and all.”      “I’m sorry, man,” Dean sighs, his sympathetic eyes meeting Ronny’s.      “It’s quite alright, actually,” he assures, smiling at the ground. “I mean, I still have holy water on my nightstand and a sixgun by the door, but instead of killing monsters I fix cars now. Life could be worse.”

     Dean can’t help but to agree on that. A small prick of jealousy pierces his heart, because deep down, he wouldn’t mind living the ordinary life. Sure, he has embraced hunting, or at least acts like he has. He finds fulfillment in the job, saving people who are in need and ridding the world of evil, but it comes with great sacrifice. Who knows, maybe when they finally find the son of a bitch that killed his mother, he can lay down his weapons. Some day.

     The former hunter has walked to his workbench on which a dissected transmission box lays bare. “So, what brings you here?”      “Passing through, just wrapped up a case in Waco,” Dean tells him. “Some scumbag tried to break into the trunk, though. The lock is busted, couldn’t fix it. And since you have six and a half a Chevy in your backyard, I figured you’d be the guy who could help me out.”      “I actually dismantled a 69’ Caprice last week, same lock as the ‘67.” He moves a few boxes around, snuffling through the thousands of parts. In this organized chaos Ron is able to find what he’s looking for and pulls the lock plus keys from a drawer.      “Let’s get to work,” Dean suggests, contented.

     As the mechanics take a look at the Impala, Sam wanders off. Not going anywhere in particular, the youngest Winchester strolls down the crooked sidewalk, taking in his surroundings. None of the lawns in the neighborhood are taken care of, no one made the effort to water the grass. The houses seem neglected, paint is coming off the wooden frames and weeds growing through the tiles. 

     With a sigh he takes out his phone. Scrolling through the list of last outgoing calls, Zoë shows on the display over and over again. Dean’s right; he is stalking her. Despite that thought, he presses the green button and puts his new Blackberry against his ear, since the last one perished in the lake in Paragould.

     “This is the voicemail of Zoë Sullivan. You can leave a message after the--”

     Annoyed, Sam hangs up and walks on. As he enters the small shop by the gas station, a bell rings. A middle aged woman behind the counter looks up and greets him politely. He gives her a nod and takes a few candy bars from the selves, since there is no healthy alternative in stock to choose from. So much for breakfast, but at least this will save them from starvation.      “That will be $ 3,60, sir,” the lady informs while she puts the bars in a plastic bag.      He passes her a five dollar bill and takes the bag and his change. As she wishes him a nice day, he leaves. The sun almost blinds him, still hanging low, but shining brightly already. Sam narrows his eyes and starts to make his way back to the garage, when his phone rings. A bit startled, he hastily takes out his phone, hoping it’s Zoë, but the caller ID isn’t identified on the display. While wondering who it could be, he answers.      “This is Sam.”      “Sam Winchester?”

     A bit stunned, the young hunter looks back at his display to make sure the woman on the other end of the line isn’t Zoë. The voice coming through is different, softer, with a slightly dissimilar accent. Sam digs deep down his memory, but he doesn’t recognize the person on the phone.      “Who is this?” he asks, still cautious.      “I have some information for you.”      Whoever she is, she got his attention. Sam tries to not sound too curious as he responds. “What kind of information?”       A short silence follows before the girl answers, but when she does, her words bring his heart and mind to a full stop.

      “I know where your father is.”

There you have it, the first chapter of the new episode “Black Dog”. I hope I got your attention! Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you  do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or  buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part three here

[fuckinuchihas]

hi! this is an emergency request, sorry to bother.. it's my birthday now, but I feel like I haven't gotten as far as I should by now and I can't help feeling like I've failed. do you think you could do hc's for kuroo, bokuto, oikawa, iwaizumi, mattsun, and/or the miya twins (separate or together) cheering their s/o up for her birthday? also p l e a s e don't do all of these if you don't want to. thank you so much. (also i'm 18+, so whatever you think suits the characters works)

I plan to get to Iwa and Mattsun soon but on the off chance your birthday isn’t over yet I wanted you to have these two to start!

I don’t know the twins well but if I can get something I’m okay with out, you’ll have one or both of them too!

Kuroo:

As hard as it would be to take, Kuroo would understand when you say you don’t want a party. He wants to show you off and let everyone in his life, in both your lives, celebrate the person that means the most to him. You don’t want the attention though, so he nods and promises not to make a big deal out of it.

But he draws the line at leaving you alone for it.

He refuses to give in and eventually you relent and promise to let him spend the day, just the two of you together.

He shows up at your doorstep at 11:58 two minutes before the day officially starts and you’re half asleep ( he woke you mid nap) staring up at him in a shirt that’s just a little too big and he goes soft at the sight of you being so absolutely adorable.

You rub your eyes a little while asking what he’s doing there and he rolls his eyes at you before pushing his way into the small, comfortable apartment you’ve rented for yourself.

“Like I would miss a minute of it,” he says, arms laden with bags that he sits on the counter.

“What is all this?” you ask, wide eyed and slightly more awake now that you’ve noticed the bags.

“Well some of it is your favorite snacks, and some actual groceries so I can cook you breakfast and a romantic dinner later tonight…”

“Tets...this is all, it’s too much.”

He stops, turns to you and puts a hand on your shoulder to make sure you’re facing him directly before lifting your chin up until you can look in those big, bright eyes of his. “I’m grateful, y’know…”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I want to celebrate your birthday because I’m grateful you were born. I’m so happy that you exist in the world and that I can love you. Please...please let me do this,” he says, eyes a little glassy as he searches over your features.

“Oh…” you whisper softly, heart racing as your gaze flicks down to his lips. “Okay I guess.”

He smiles softly at you, using his thumb to brush against your chin before he leans in and presses a warm, quick kiss to your lips. “Thank you, for being born and for being mine.”

Bokuto:

So everyone knows that Bokuto is so full of life and fun and energy and you’d think this big fluffy himbo owl boy would want nothing more than to throw a party for his amazing partner. But while Bo is a bit, okay maybe a lot clueless about some things, he’s noticed how you’ve slowly been crawling into yourself as your birthday approaches.

He’s not sure how to fix it but he does realize that a big party isn’t the way to go. For him, maybe but not you. As much as he would love to show you a good time and have everyone together, he figures for the first time in his life a more subtle approach is necessary.

Okay you got him, he asked Akaashi for advice and Kaashi told him not to be an idiot and draw attention to the fact that you’re not feeling your best.

Still...it was his idea not to throw a party so he should get bonus points too he thinks.

He finds you in an oversized hoodie and pajama pants despite it being mid afternoon when he comes over with your favorite dessert in hand.

He melts.

“You’re so cute, babe.”

“Bo, I’m a mess. What are you even talking about?” you ask, a small chuckle leaving your lips though. He has a way of making you smile even when it’s hardest.

“Here, eat one of these, or five I don’t care,” he says, handing over the pastry box. “Then you’re gonna get ready and we’re going out.

“Ko, I don’t really feel-”

“Just us… I promise,” he says, and you hesitate.

“Fine…”

“That’s my baby,” he says, patting the top of your head.

You scrunch up your nose but ignore the feeling of being patronized because Bo would never and also the promise of sugar is far too appealing.

When you’ve stuffed yourself full on dessert, you change into your favorite seasonal outfit. It’s warm and soft and it fits you like a glove. Bo gives an appreciative whistle despite the fact that he’s seen you in it several times before.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, shaking your head but you chuckle anyway.

“What? You’re hot...I’m not gonna let you forget it, not for a second.”

You feel your face warm up a little but you duck your head to hide it away.

He pulls you by the hand toward the door and then out to where his truck is waiting.

When you get to the passenger side he opens the door for you like a proper gentleman and then you start to climb up but instead he lifts you up like it’s nothing and eases you down onto the seat despite your slight flailing.

“BO!” you squawk.

“What?,” he says, adding a huff of your name with a wide grin. “I was just trying to be romantic!”

You see a bit of mischief spark in his eyes and you huff out a disgruntled noise.

“No you were just being mean,” you say, shaking your head but you can’t stay mad at him.

He’s too cute, honestly it’s kind of unfair.

Ignoring your fake pout he jogs around to the driver’s seat and hops into the cab beside you, pulling until your pressed up against his side where you belong.

You start to look at him a bit strangely when the road goes from blacktop to gravel and then again when it changes to just sand and a little mud from the rain yesterday.

He pulls into a grassy field and you look around skeptically. “Are you...hiding a murder cabin out here somewhere or something?”

“What? No!” Bo says, shaking his head. “We’re having a picnic.”

You start to open the door but he flies across the cab and pulls the door shut.

“Uhh.. just give me a minute first okay?” he says, and you quirk an eyebrow at him but agree easily enough.

He moves back to his side of the cab just as quickly but you feel the warmth of him leave and you have to pull back a whine. There’s a chill outside and now that the engine has been cut it’s not nearly as comfortable. Thankfully though, you don’t have to wait long before Bo comes back with a wide grin, offering you his hand to help yourself down.

You chuckle but follow along with his guidance.

When you get around to the side of the cab you realize both why he lifted you into the cab because there’s no way you would have missed this.

The bed of the truck is covered in soft fluffy blankets and pillows and there’s a gorgeous wicker basket in the middle and you go a little weak in the knees but Bo just puffs his chest out and grins. “So you like it, eh?”

“No, shut up-” you lie, but he knows the truth so you don’t bother to correct yourself.

The food is amazing, he picked up your regular meal at the place you guys went to on your first date and he takes pleasure in watching you eat as he digs into his own plate.

When the food is gone he stretches out, props himself up on the stack of pillows against the back of the cab and motions for you to join him.

When you cuddle into his side he starts.

“I really like your smile, especially that sleepy soft one you get in the mornings before you’ve forced yourself out of bed…” he grins, and you blink up at him.

“And the way you laugh when something is really funny, not just a little funny but like hilarious. Like that one time with the peanut m&m’s, I still can’t look at a bag without laughing…”

You chuckle too because it’s a fond memory just between the two of you. Still..this feels strange so you poke him in the side gently and ask, “Kou, what’s this about?”

“Oh it’s nothing-”

“Bo…”

“Ugh fine, I was trying to give you one thing I love about you for every year you’ve been alive. I found the idea on the internet but it seemed really nice and stuff.”

You melt a little further into the blanket pile with Bo. “It’s very nice, thank you. But this is all I need.”

“Well I could still say em’ though.. Right? I made a list and everything,” he says, pulling the paper out of his pocket to show you. “Those were the only ones I remembered without looking though.”

You chuckle. “It’s okay...thank you by the way, for all of this. It was exactly what I needed,” you add and he looks so fucking proud of himself that it’s almost hard to look at.

You lay there together for a while as he continues to read each and every item off the list and you smile up at him with a look of true awe in your expression before you pull his neck a bit until his lips press against yours and it feels like you’ve come home again.

[alarawriting]

52 Project #6: Birds

(I am not 100% positive that this is a story per se, but it’s as much of a story as China Mieville’s “The New Death” and other such “new weird” stories, so... here you go.)

***

One day all the men in the world woke up to find that they had been turned into birds.

It began in New Zealand, where a day is first born on the planet Earth. By the time that women were waking and going into hysterics because the men and older boys in their lives had all turned into birds, the men of Central Asia, India, and the middle of Russia had already gone to bed. It was late enough in Europe that many men were getting ready for bed; a large number of them missed the warnings. Not that the warnings helped; men who tried to stay awake all night stayed human, but sooner or later, they all had to sleep.

In Western Europe and the Americas, there was an idea that maybe if someone would keep waking a man up, he wouldn’t turn into a bird, so many women kept watch by their husbands’ bedsides. It didn’t help. No one was able to see the transformation; they’d blink and a human lying in bed would suddenly be a bird. Even with high speed cameras, it proved impossible to catch the transformation. One frame, human man; next frame, bird. And they were many different kinds of birds – pigeons and roosters and peacocks, ostriches and starlings and falcons, flamingos and penguins and seagulls. Practically every kind of bird you can imagine, including some extinct birds – at least two men became dodos and one became a passenger pigeon.

Fortunately, it turned out that the birds could still talk, and sounded exactly like the men they used to be. This was helpful when linking birds to their former identities, because of course, none of them matched the pictures on their ID cards. It took a little bit longer to convince everyone, closer to a week, but eventually it was proven that the birds all retained every aspect of their former intelligence and personality.

Birds argued that this meant nothing should change significantly; birds could still go to work at their old jobs. This was true of birds who worked in banks and in IT and in management, for the most part, but any jobs that required physical strength, dexterity, or simply having a human-sized body? Birds couldn’t do those jobs. So for a while there was a severe shortage of plumbers, electricians, construction workers, garbage collectors, and bus drivers. Some New York city pigeons argued that if people with no legs could drive cars, surely adaptive equipment could be built to let pigeons drive the buses, but it was easier to get women to do the job than to build such equipment. Birds either lost their jobs entirely in those kinds of industries, or were kept on the payroll to teach women how to do what they had been doing when they were men.

For a while it was thought that there were occasional anomalies – men who didn’t turn into birds, women who did – and this gave people some idea that the situation could be reversed, but this proved to be a false hope. To a man, everyone who didn’t turn into a bird was not in fact a man; anyone with a penis who didn’t turn into a bird was either a trans woman or a nonbinary person. Likewise, trans men did turn into birds – male ones. All the birds were physiologically male even if they had seemed to be women when they were human. This was a stressful situation to be sure, since all the trans women had just been forcibly outed, but on the other hand, it was fairly good evidence for their contention that yes, they really were women, that whatever force had transformed the men hadn’t touched them.

After an initial difficult adjustment period, birds who’d been men were soon flying, or in the case of penguins, swimming. Some domestic geese and roosters, too heavy to fly, hit the gym to train their wings and lose weight. Personal trainers who were now birds devised regimens that other birds could follow, to strengthen their wings, and personal trainers who were still women helped birds to do the regimens, since there weren’t yet gym machines designed for birds. Birds discovered, to general happiness on their part, that whatever special ability the bird they had transformed into had, they now had it. So pigeons could always find their way home, and roosters could crow. Roosters in fact were very, very fond of crowing. Owls could see very well in the dark and eagles could see tremendous distances and parrots could imitate any sound they heard and pelicans could stuff their beak full of whatever they wanted to carry.

In addition, the birds they’d become seemed to have some connection to the personality they’d had as men. Men who’d thought there was no place like home became pigeons. Men who’d been models or actors who’d loved to show off their handsome bodies became peacocks. Men who were short and aggressive and always on the go became hummingbirds. The species was usually appropriate to the location as well; birds of wild, native species always turned out to be living in the area that species was native to. Temperature and environment seemed to also be a factor; the only men who turned into penguins had been living in cold places, near water. Since the entire Southern Hemisphere was having winter at the time, this might have resulted in a disproportionate number of penguins in Africa and South America, but it was more common for birds who weren’t penguins, who’d loved Polar Bear Challenges and skiing and cold weather sports, to regret the fact that they weren’t penguins because it was too hot for penguins where they lived when the change came, than for penguins to regret their penguin identity.

This was all quite nice and a boon for the birds, whose lives had been so very disrupted by their transformation, and many argued that in fact they had the far better deal than the women who’d gotten to keep their humanity; they had their intelligence and their speech but they could also fly. How awesome was that? Women generally responded to such comments either with amused tolerance, or with an obscene gesture that involved the use of an opposable thumb, because of course that was the main thing the birds had lost. Many bird talons were very dexterous and had opposable thumbs, but they were feet, and the birds couldn’t use them for the same tasks that had been easy for hands. Deaf birds were devastated; by losing their hands, they’d lost speech. They could type notes to their wives or mothers or other birds in their life, but it wasn’t the same. Groups of deaf people, both birds and women, gathered to discuss and work out signs that birds could make, but this was essentially telling birds that they needed to learn an entirely new language to translate their own into.

Plus, there were certain biological realities that had upended the order of things that humans had grown to expect. Now, aside from a few ostriches, cassowaries, emus and other very large birds, every human woman was bigger than most of the birds. Birds who’d been abusive men found themselves in cages, and when policewomen and policebirds came to do wellness checks and investigate why a certain bird hadn’t been seen in a long time, those cages often ended up in closets or the basement or the attic, and were never found by the police.

It wasn’t all that suspicious. Many birds, especially ones who’d lost their jobs, had decided to give up on running the human rat race, and had abandoned their human families and flown off with a flock of like-minded birds, usually of similar species. Why not? Birds could forage for food on their own – they didn’t need to go grocery shopping. Why did they need money, or jobs? They could live like the wild birds did!

A lot of these came back, injured by predators or far too thin, because they didn’t know nearly as much about getting the available food as the never-human birds did.

Many birds died in the early days – cancer patients couldn’t get chemo that would work on birds, but they still had cancer. Men who’d needed open heart surgery became birds too small for anyone to safely operate on. Also, there weren’t nearly enough trained bird doctors. Most veterinarians knew dogs and cats; bird specialties were rare. And obviously, human doctors knew nothing about birds. So there was a massive shortage of doctors who could do anything about the problems birds suffered, and half of the few doctors there were, were birds themselves.

Birds who were vets with a specialty in birds were shadowed by women who were vets, and sometimes women who were human doctors, trying to learn all they could about care for birds. Women and birds in veterinary colleges elected to learn about birds, and the same professors who taught bird specialties to veterinarians were called in to teach med students. Most countries allocated huge amounts of money to getting bird doctors trained up and ready as soon as possible.

The balance of power shifted. In the United States, several female senators argued that birds had no business being allowed to make laws for humans. What if all they did was vote for free birdseed and the extermination of cats? The bird senators argued that the United States was now a country for both humans and birds, and needed to be represented by both. The women pointed out that there were far, far too few women for that to make sense; birds should represent birds and women should represent women, and since every senator here had been voted for by humans, and now only women were humans, all the existing seats in the Senate should be taken by women, and birds could go have their own Senate. Some human senators from states where gun rights were important showed up to the senate exercising their Second Amendment rights to carry weapons… which, of course, birds could not do. In response, a falcon insisted on reading the entire script of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds into the senatorial record. In the end it was decided that the states would vote on a constitutional amendment to set aside one seat per state for a bird and one for a woman, and in the meantime, a lot of senatorial birds got female aides or proteges to speak for them in the Senate, so anything the bird wanted to say went through the human first.

Many other countries went through similar experiences. In countries where women had been virtually or entirely shut out of power completely, birds found that their expertise in rule was not desired, thank you, and many, many birds found themselves in birdcages. Large numbers of women objected to this, arguing that if it was the will of God for women to rule, God would have already allowed this. Other women retorted that what better evidence did you need that God wanted women to run things than that God had turned all the men into birds? More egalitarian countries generally had more peaceful agreements between women and birds as to how to split up leadership roles.

The President of the United States – the new one; the old one had been tragically killed when he’d transformed into a house wren, a very small bird with a very loud mouth, and the First Lady had accidentally rolled over on him in the middle of the night – agreed to abdicate in favor of the Speaker of the House, who was a woman, if the House would pass an emergency resolution that there would be a new election as soon as possible and that birds and women should both be explicitly authorized to vote for any candidate of either type, bird or woman. Birds were suddenly very much in favor of gun control, and while many women had been in favor of total freedom to use guns, more women in general favored gun control as well, so the United States finally got sensible gun laws.

In Great Britain there was a kerfluffle – Queen Elizabeth was ancient and her heir was a bird. It was argued that birds, no longer being human, could not possibly still be part of the royal bloodline. Birds, of course, argued against this proposition, and women in Great Britain didn’t generally have guns. They did, however, have rocks. It turned out that the remarkable human ability to throw rocks was now a problem for birds. Her Majesty ended the conflict by demanding that Parliament pass an emergency amendment allowing birds to serve as King so long as there was a woman of sufficient rank and bloodline standing as his Queen.

Of course, all of this was going to be moot very soon if humanity didn’t confront the elephant in the room – sex and reproduction.

The sperm banks were going to deplete within a generation. Trans women and nonbinary people born with penises could make a great deal of money selling sperm, if they still had the equipment to make it with, because women still wanted children. Immediately after the change it had seemed that perhaps the human race would be spared after this generation, because baby boys hadn’t transformed – boys as old as 4 had remained human. However, within two weeks, the news went around the globe that a little boy had just turned into a bird, and it continued to be the case that as boys aged, they would transform into birds too. The population of humans who still had testicles that worked was very, very small, and scientists warned that there would be unacceptably high risks of massive interbreeding if every cis woman who wanted a baby was buying sperm from a trans woman. Fertility experts worked day and night on finding a way to either cause a somatic cell in vitro to undergo meiosis, or to permit two eggs to be merged into a viable zygote.

Birds had lost all sexual interest in human woman. Many birds still had lingering romantic feelings for the women they had loved, but it wasn’t sexual. Instead, they were sexually attracted to other birds of their species. The gay and bi birds were widely considered to have gotten the best of it, since while many male-male couples were broken up by the two birds being of different species, at least some got to be two birds of the same kind, and they could continue to be lovers. And some couples made it work even when they were different species of bird. Obviously, nearly every single heterosexual couple – with a few kinky exceptions – lost their sex lives completely. Birds who’d been straight men would mate with never-human birds, and while many women, and some birds, argued that this was bestiality and it was repulsive and should be against the law, most birds felt that it was necessary. What other options did they have?

Meanwhile the sex industry was turned upside down. Prostitutes and porn stars and other sex workers suddenly had no clients interested in what they had to sell. But they knew the truth – human women were horny, and desperate for sexual contact with human men, which could no longer happen. Straight-up porn of the wham bam thank you ma’am type was not appealing to most women; whether having been raised to think Good Girls Don’t, or having some biological predilection, none could say, but the truth remained that women wanted their porn in context, with men who had strong emotional bonds with the people they were ostensibly fucking. Lesbians had no trouble finding porn in the new world, but it was heterosexual women who were starved for sexual attention, and they were the new big market.

Different strategies for creating porn with men in it were used. Some dead men or former men were resurrected on film by the miracles of CGI. Women with strap-ons could be rotoscoped into handsome men. The biggest new market, however, was animation. Birds still sounded like men – their voices tended to be tinny, lacking the full timbre of a human voice, but this could be fixed by a good sound mixer – so voice acting became a very popular profession for birds. Some birds went into doing phone sex; they weren’t interested in human women anymore but they were interested in fat paychecks, and they remembered what it had been like well enough to act.

Similar transformations encompassed Hollywood and in fact the entire entertainment industry. Rock stars who’d been famed for their voices could still sing, but they couldn’t play guitar, or keyboards – some birds managed to keep up with drums – so birds who could sing ended up making albums with women who could play instruments, and the stars who’d been famous for their virtuoso skills with their instruments… either went into singing also, learned how to program synthesizers to sound like the instruments they’d once played, or took advantage of their ability to mimic noises to be their own instrument, singing like a bird instead of like a human. Or left music entirely. Theatre, for the most part, dressed up women to play the parts of men, although some more avant-garde productions kept birds in some important roles. Movies and TV became dominated by CGI and traditional or computer-assisted animation, although some television shows set in supposedly modern times just rolled with it and incorporated the bird transformation into their storylines, so they could keep their bird actors.

Things settled down after it had been a year or so since the transformation. Birds still worked in entertainment and in professions where their minds were their greatest assets – writers, professors, researchers, programmers – and in most countries, were guaranteed all the legal rights they’d had as humans, though some countries had adopted new rules regarding bird representation in their government. Women did everything else. This left a lot of unemployed birds – they couldn’t all do phone sex – and many of these either opted out of the human race, joining in flocks of like-minded birds, or they stayed in their homes all day, surfed YouTube, and played video games with controllers that had been designed for birds.

It was around that time when scientists made a tremendous breakthrough. Sperm from birds, if collected rather than deposited into another bird’s cloaca, would, after two or three days in a refrigerator, spontaneously transform into human sperm. The human race was saved. Birds still didn’t have any sexual interest in human women, but many birds were definitely interested in the ability to father human children; their bird children were ordinary never-human birds, unable to speak. Fortunately, birds who’d been romantically interested in women back when they were men were often still romantically interested in women, and women found that they were entirely capable of falling in love with birds. For sexual release, birds needed to be with birds and women usually turned either to vibrators or to women (or sometimes nonbinary people with penises, but many of those felt uncomfortable in relationships with average women, feeling that most women saw them as men even though they weren’t), but women could pet birds, and birds could preen women’s hair, and birds and women could still join finances and households and raise children together.

The killing of birds was outlawed almost everywhere, since how could you tell the difference between a never-human bird and a bird who was just tongue-tied? Some argued that the killing of female birds should still be okay, but others pointed out that birds could father never-human female birds, and that even though their children couldn’t talk and had animal intelligence, they still loved them. The poultry industry was devastated. People discovered that lizards tasted just like chicken, and soon breeding lizards for food was a new norm. Unfertilized eggs were still considered edible, so hens were still raised for eggs, but never-human roosters were often dumped in the woods because they couldn’t be killed and they weren’t useful to egg producing farms. They usually ended up feeding some creature who wasn’t a human. Sometimes those creatures were formerly human birds of prey like falcons or eagles, who knew it was illegal to feed on other birds, but knew they’d probably get away with it because no one cared about the never-human roosters except some animal rights activists. Roosters who had been human were not legally allowed near the egg farms; no one wanted them to mate with hens and perhaps produce rooster chicks who’d eventually be abandoned in the woods. It was, however, perfectly legal for a rooster to buy hens and keep them in a coop at his home, as long as he understood that he had the obligation to protect and provide for any offspring from such a union.

Eggs being breakable by rooster beaks, very few roosters actually ended up having to support chicks of their own.

Before long, things had settled down into a new normal. “People” now consisted of human women (and non-binary people, but they were a small enough part of the whole that sadly, people kept forgetting they existed) and talking birds. In addition to having a birthday, boys got to celebrate their bird-day, the anniversary of their bird transformation, and All Birds’ Day – the anniversary of the day the world changed -- was an international holiday. Girls and non-binary children – basically, all the kids who remained human – would study “humanity” between the ages of five and seven in preparation for their “confirmation”, an official recognition of their human status. While humanities, plural, had once meant the study of art, literature, history and languages, “humanity” was a class aimed at children that focused on human history (with rather more emphasis on the contributions of women than their parents remembered from their schooldays), and at teaching skills that were specific to being human, or at least, to not being birds. Throwing balls. Playing musical instruments. Endurance running. In rural areas, shooting a gun. In coastal areas, swimming. This wasn’t technically unique to humans – penguins could swim underwater, and many birds could swim on the surface – but it was true that most birds couldn’t do it. Sometime between a human child’s seventh and eighth birthdays, they would usually have their confirmation ceremony, affirmatively declaring their humanity, and then they’d get to celebrate their “human-day” like the boys got bird-days.

This was done as late as it was because of the trans boys. Most trans boys didn’t change as young as the cis boys, but almost all of them had changed by the age of seven. A rare few wouldn’t change until they were teenagers; this was thought to be the result of the hormones of puberty hitting the brain and finalizing the child’s gender. This didn’t happen the other way around; birds had much shorter childhoods than humans, so little boys would always change into adolescent birds. The lifespan of formerly-human birds seemed to equal to the lifespan of humans, not the species they’d turned into – at least, so far, although at this point no one could yet tell if maybe the parrots might have been shortchanged a bit -- but the boys got through adolescence and into physical adulthood long before their skills at navigating civilization were solid. High speed cameras left focused on apparent boys successfully, once or twice, caught a moment where a child became a bird and then immediately turned back into a human, and after this they were always certain that whatever they were, they weren’t boys, even if they’d seemed to identify as boys previously. So trans girls and nonbinary children with penises were never birds for longer than half a second, because when they changed into birds, the hormones that finalized their gender were already present and said that they weren’t male. However, these cases were very, very rare – in general, a child of seven was either a bird or a human and would remain so for the rest of their lives.

It was somewhat more than two years after the transformation when a new phenomenon was discovered. Fledgling birds would wander into cities or other human settlements, go to sleep on the ground even if they were a bird species that normally roosted up high, and then they’d turn into toddler girls. Invariably, when it was possible to figure out where they’d come from, it turned out they were the result of formerly-human birds mating with the female offspring of other formerly-human birds, so in a sense, these birds were three-quarters human to start with. It didn’t seem to happen to all of them – in a clutch of four eggs, all of which hatched female, maybe one would be strongly attracted to humans, and the ground, and would then turn into a human child. Generally, when birds saw female fledglings on the ground near human habitation, they would bring it to the attention of women, who would often scoop up the bird and keep her in a human crib for a while. If she didn’t change, she’d eventually fly off. These bird-girls didn’t know human speech, obviously, when they first transformed, but they caught up and were usually fully verbal to the expected level for their development after a year or so. They tended to be more independent than human children of the same apparent age, but also very sociable, craving the presence of humans. Some longed to fly and begged their adopted mothers for hang gliders and zip lines; some were very happy with being grounded. Egg-clutch-sisters of the human bird-girls remained non-human birds, unable to talk, but were often far more intelligent than their species would normally suggest, as were their brothers.

Humans worried about what might be happening out in wilderness where humans rarely went, and where a fledgling bird would have a hard time finding a human habitation, but no one ever found a child, alive or dead, in those circumstances. Perhaps whatever compelled the bird-girls to seek the ground and the presence of humans wouldn’t allow them to transform if they couldn’t find those things.

Life returned to normal. Bird boys went to school beside human girls. (And nonbinary children. They weren’t common, but they existed in large enough numbers that there was usually at least one in a normal-sized school at any given time.) Boys who couldn’t find a profession that was open to birds that they would enjoy would graduate and then, often, fly off to spend a few years in semi-wild flocks of formerly human birds. Very few girls ever had trouble finding a job, given that all the jobs that birds could no longer do fell on them. Both were encouraged to get a good education to ensure they could get a job they actually wanted.

It was very useful for humans and birds to live together, if the bird wanted to live as part of civilization and have access to internet, television and refrigerators for their bird food. Birds and humans could pool their income, raise children together, and compensate for each other’s species-based inabilities; among the things birds could do that humans could not were environmentally friendly bug extermination (many birds loved to eat bugs, and with human intelligence, it wasn’t hard for them to seek out and destroy anthills and wasp nests), alerts for potential dangers (bird hearing and eyesight were often better than human, and prey birds, with eyes on either side of their heads, could see a wider range than humans with their stereoscopic vision), and early detection of noxious gas (when a bird in your house complains that he’s dizzy, you grab him and run.) And of course there were many, many things that the women could do with their height, strength and opposable thumbs, that the birds could not. Because of these advantages, and because birds and humans could be romantically attracted to each other, birds and humans began to date, just as they had when the birds were men, but without any expectation that they would have sex (aside from formerly mentioned extremely kinky couples.)

Birds who resented the lack of opposable thumbs or human size learned to pilot robot drones that had such things; humans who resented the lack of flight took up ballooning, small aircraft piloting, hang gliding, bungee jumping, and every other thing that humans had always done to get as close to flight as they could. Oddly enough, almost everyone was happy with what they were. Little boys would eagerly share with their preschool playmates what sort of bird they hoped to be, but whatever they got, they usually found they were satisfied; little girls might initially be upset that their playmates got to be birds and they didn’t, but by a girl’s confirmation she’d been taught all the advantages of being human and usually thought it best that that was what she was. Birds and humans might be somewhat resentful of the other’s abilities, but in the end most of them agreed they wouldn’t really want it any other way.

Aside from the deaf birds, who had to completely reinvent sign language for talons and wings, accommodating disabled humans’ needs became much, much easier in a world where companies and governments had to accommodate birds of various sizes, abilities and needs; at least usually the disabled humans were roughly within the same size and shape range, in comparison to the diversity of birds. Racism remained, but was much harder to act on; while white women often continued to be racist to black women, they couldn’t tell what race a given bird had been unless his accent or his speech patterns gave it away, and birds mostly got over racism because they were too busy being prejudiced against other bird species. The idea of discriminating between humans on grounds so tiny as skin tone and hair consistency became ridiculous when you could be a chicken and have to deal with other roosters ranging from tiny gamecocks to giant Oshamu roosters, not to mention, every other bird in the world that humans had turned into. Religions had turned weird because they all had to take into account the concept of a God who’d turned all the men into birds; birds tended to think that God was probably a bird, and women tended to think that God was probably a human and either female or genderless, so most religions split in at least two, notwithstanding the ones that had multiple schisms because birds of different species all wanted to imagine a God that favored their species. Polytheism came back.

Sometimes there were still wars, flocks of birds viciously pecking and slashing at each other in the air while women on the ground shot at each other, and at birds wearing the enemy colors. It didn’t happen as often as it used to, though. Terrorism continued, and even got worse at times, because security measures designed for humans couldn’t keep birds out, but the disaffected young men who had no jobs and no futures, that had usually supplied the backbone of any terrorist movement, just weren’t there anymore. They were out flying in flocks with their friends, enjoying the freedom of the air and hunting for food. And environmentalism became a deadly serious issue; birds were more likely to be negatively impacted by any drastic change to the environment, so most of them were strongly in favor of reigning in the excesses of capitalism and cleaning up the planet. Who wanted to fly in a cloud of smog?

All in all, it was surprising how much better the world built by birds and humans, working together, was than the world that had been before. It was far from perfect, and there were many new problems that hadn’t previously existed – women’s near-universal sexual frustration, birds being unable to get jobs, the high cost of having children in a world where artificial insemination was the only means by which all but a tiny number of the women could get pregnant, plus the phenomenon of birds having ridiculous prejudices against other birds, as well as many others. But other problems that had plagued humanity for centuries turned out to be very easy to solve once all the men were birds. And so the people of Earth stopped looking for a cure; they were happier in the world where half of them were birds than they had been before, overall.

[nothingbutfangirlsmut]

The Girl Out of Time

Pairing: Bucky x Reader and Sam x Reader

Background: Willow Roffe was born and raised in Brooklyn. She lived her life as happily as she could with her two childhood best friends Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. When they both left her to join the military she tried to continue with life but that didn't get to happen for her for the simple fact that she meant something to James Buchanan Barnes.

Rating: Story will be overall MATURE but not every chapter. There will be strong language, talk of both mental and physical abuse, some good ole angst, and smut. There will be a warning at the beginning of the chapter when it includes smut.

Chapter 29

“Hey Cap!” Sam shouted.

I was instantly moving to kneel in front of James when Sam grabbed my arm pulling me back.

“We don’t know his condition yet.” Sam said sternly.

I looked from Sam to James. The man sitting on the ground looked lost and exhausted. His eyes locked with mine and I knew he was Bucky again.

“Steve” Bucky said as our friend entered the room.

Steve stayed back keeping his eyes trained on James. He leaned against the wall then crossed his arms over his chest.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” Steve asked.

Bucky sighed.

“Your mom’s name was Sarah.” Bucky spoke in a scratchy deep voice.

He chuckled softly.

“You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.” He added with a smile.

I couldn’t help but laugh. I had totally forgotten Steve used to do that.

“Can’t read that in a museum.” Steve nodded.

“Just like that, we’re suppose to be cool?” Sam asked in disbelief.

I shot him a warning glare then turned back to Bucky.

“What did I do?” He asked with a pained look on his face.

“Enough” Steve said simply.

“Oh, God, I knew this would happen. Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words.” Bucky said through clenched teeth.

My heart hurt for him. He had no control. This wasn’t his fault.

“Who was he?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know.” Bucky shook his head.

“People are dead. The bombing, the setup, the doctor did all that just to get 10 minutes with you. I need you to do better than ‘I don’t know’.” Steve ordered.

“Steve he-“ I started to defend.

“No doll it’s fine.” Bucky interrupted.

“He wanted to know about Siberia. Where I was kept. He wanted to know exactly where.” He told Steve.

“Why would he need to know that?” Steve asked.

Bucky sighed.

“Because I’m not the only Winter Soldier.” He said flatly.

My heart plummeted.

“Who were they?” Steve questioned further.

“Their most elite death squad. More kills than anyone in HYDRA history. And that was before the serum.” Bucky explained.

“They all turn out like you?” Sam asked bitterly.

“Worse” Bucky answered.

“The doctor, could he control them?” Steve asked stepping forward.

“Enough” he said simply.

“Said he wanted to see an empire fall.” Steve told him.

“With these guys, he could do it. They speak 30 languages, can hide in plain sight. Infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize. They can take a whole country down in one night, you’d never see them coming.” Bucky explained chillingly.

Steve and Sam stepped closer together. Instead of joining them I finally got to kneel in front of James. I gently pushed back his hair to check his head injury. It looked like just a scratch now.

“How are you feeling?” I asked him quietly.

“I’ve been better.” He practically whispered.

“I’m sorry about all this.” I told him as I pushed a bit more of his hair out of his face.

His flesh hand gently grabbed mine pulling it away from his hair. He pressed a soft kiss to my knuckles making my heart flutter.

“It’s ok baby doll. None of this is your fault.” He smiled at me.

“Jamie there’s some stuff you should know.” I said hesitantly.

“It can wait.” He said then dropped my hand.

I felt a hand on my shoulder making me look up to see Sam. I stood up to face him and Steve.

“Give me a hand with this would ya?” Sam asked gesturing to the wench.

I nodded then walked around him. I lifted it up enough so James could pull his arm free. He stood up as he rolled his shoulder trying to work the stiffness out of the joints.

“Steve’s making some phone calls. We’ll be leaving soon.” Sam told me.

I noticed him glare at Bucky before placing a quick kiss to my temple. Great. Masculinity at its finest.

“You and him a thing?” James asked with a slightly sharp tone.

“It’s complicated” I sighed.

“How’s that?” He asked.

I looked up at him to see his eyes focused on Sam’s back. His jaw was clenched tight.

“I don’t know what me and Sam are anymore. I adore him. He’s fantastic and he’s been by my side for awhile now but after I remembered you completely then saw you again in person things started to change.” I explained softly.

“On your end or his?” He asked turning his head to look at me.

“Mine” I whispered unable to meet his eyes.

I felt his warm flesh fingers under my chin. He forced my head up so I’d look him in the eyes. A ghost of a smile was on his lips. Silently he pulled me into him. My head collided with his chest. His large arms wrapped around me holding my body tightly against his. I wrapped my arms around his back burying my face more into his chest. I felt one of his hands slide into my hair. Just feeling him wrapped around me like this brought everything back in a split second. His warmth. His scent. For a moment I was back home the night before James left for the Army. The night he held me like this while we danced.

The sound of someone clearing their throat brought me back to the present. Steve was standing in the doorway behind Sam with a smirk on his face. Sam stood facing us with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.

“Time to go” Sam told us.

I pulled away from James then walked past Sam to Steve. When I reached him he tossed his arm over my shoulder.

“You got one hell of a decision to make Will. Let’s hope you decide before those two kill each other.” He whispered as we walked towards the car.

“You’re ever so helpful Rogers.” I told him sarcastically.

“It’s why you keep me around.” He chuckled.

I quickly climbed into the backseat expecting Sam to get in the back with me. What I didn’t expect was to see the two full grown men have a mini race to the car. It was no surprise that James made it there first. He climbed in the backseat with a smile on his face. Sam grumbled to himself as he sat the passenger seat back then sat down.

“For heaven’s sake you two. Could you at least pretend to be adults?” I asked them both in disbelief.

Steve laughed as he started the car. I made it a point to ignore everyone. I sat against the window with my arms crossed. I kept my eyes out my window the whole drive. It wasn’t until Steve finally pulled off under a bridge that I took in my surroundings.

In front of us was another car. Steve got out the same time that car’s driver did. I was surprised to see Sharon Carter but honestly I shouldn’t have been.

“Can you move your seat up?” James asked Sam.

“No” Sam answered simply.

“Guys” I warned.

“That’s alright doll. Gives me an excuse to sit a little closer to you.” James said mischievously.

I huffed trying to ignore the heat quickly growing in my cheeks. Sam glared back at James but still didn’t move his seat.

The three of us turned our attention to Steve and Sharon only seconds before Steve finally kissed her.

“About damn time” I groaned but smiled nonetheless.

Steve was quick to retrieve his shield and costume from her trunk as well as Sam’s wings. Sharon closed her trunk as Steve walked back towards our car. I felt Bucky’s eyes on me the next second.

“Can I help you Barnes?” I questioned dryly.

He chuckled then gently tugged at the collar of my brown leather jacket. I jumped slightly at the sound of Steve opening the trunk. Bucky wasn’t fazed as he kept his fingers and eyes on my jacket.

“This looks exactly like the jacket I wore as a Howling Commando.” He said softly.

“That’s because it is your old jacket Buck.” Steve said then closed the trunk.

I sat there in surprise for a moment until Steve got back in the driver seat.

“What? How is this his old jacket? It shouldn’t fit me.” I asked in disbelief.

Steve chuckled as he started the car.

“Remember when I had to take my old costume from the museum?” He asked.

“Yes” I said slowly.

“I grabbed Buck’s jacket too. It’s genuine leather and it’s old. It shrunk a bit over the years making it the perfect size for you. I couldn’t resist.” Steve said happily as he glanced back in the rear view mirror.

“Looks perfect on you too like it was meant to be.” James smirked.

Sam made a disgusted noise from his seat.

“Behave Barnes” I told him biting back my own smile.

“Where’s the fun in that doll?” He whispered into my hair.

In that moment I wish the ground would swallow me up or Thor would appear and say he needed my help on Asgard. Anything to get me away from here. James was gonna be a relentless flirt knowing he had me eating out of the palm of his hand while Sam was going to sulk like a gentleman and let me make my choice. A choice I was afraid I may have already made without even realizing it. I just couldn’t make a final decision yet. I needed more time. I needed to think but it was so hard to do right now.

—

[spookyspaghettisundae]

We All Pay for Power

Even at sunset, the yellow fireball in the sky was scorching hot. Not a single waking soul around for miles, save for a dusty old pickup truck roaring down the lonesome road. Its driver and passenger traveled closer and closer towards an even dustier, even older tour bus. The unforgiving desert winds swept over them.

Layers of grit and grains of sand caked the windows of what looked like a steel whale, beached in the Nevada desert. Far away from the road, in a circle of cacti, resting in a place invisible to natural eyes.

But the truck’s driver knew how to find it. The wheels spun and screeched as she veered off the thin strip of cracked asphalt, cutting through the landscape of red sand, sparse vegetation, and rocky hills. The tires found traction and dug into the dirt, carrying the truck closer to the old abandoned bus.

With each inch the truck drove closer to the bus, the sky darkened. Defying nature’s laws. Devouring the sun before it even set in due time. The black void of a nightly sky opened up overhead, and the darkness between the stars loomed ever-darker in between the tiny lights.

Watchful, and hungry.

The driver cut the engine. The pickup truck continued rolling until she hit the brakes and rocks and dust ground underneath the wheels, stalling the machine till it lurched forward and fully stopped.

She was the first out of the vehicle, grabbing a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun and slamming the car door shut behind her—the noise echoing through this pocket of Otherworld, hidden away in the desert. Paying no mind to how the starry sky had appeared before sunset and the sun vanished. This was not Kim’s first time of crossing over into another dimension that looked similar to our own on the surface.

Unlike Javier, who hopped out of the car next, leaving the passenger seat open. He stared up at the sky in disbelief.

“The fuck?” he asked. Getting no answer.

Kim did not reply. She approached the dusty old tour bus with steady steps.

Javi’s gaze wandered, coming to rest on the cacti nearby. Their thorns took the shape of wicked little knives; crooked and jagged and sharp-edged. Their stalks twisted to elongated, thin shapes that did not belong on Earth.

“Hey, Kim, seriously. What the fuck?”

He got no answer from her. She held the shotgun in her hand and slowed down before she arrived by the tour bus’ open door. Something echoed through space and time, as if it had just burst open mere moments ago. But now, the door leading inside the bus swayed gently in the wind. The metal of its hinges creaked eerily.

A dark presence waited inside. Palpable. Watching. Born from the void between the stars, coalescing in the bowels of this steel giant, taking familiar shapes. Silver eyes that peered outwards, that Kim could not yet see, but eyes that saw her clearly before she entered. Piercing through matter, through the veil between worlds.

Having spotted something that vaguely resembled a vulture, Javi backed away from the truck and towards the bus, following Kim without looking where he went. The winged creature on the rocks glared at him and he broke out into a cold sweat as their eyes met and the thing’s stare locked onto him.

It crept closer, like a four-legged predator, crawling over the bend of the rock, stopping on its perch and flapping its leathery wings twice. It didn’t look too much like a vulture anymore, owed to many sharp teeth in its beak and the eight eyes on its unfathomably hairy face.

Kim raised her weapon and entered the bus, oblivious to Javi’s panicked breathing as he stumbled backwards and caught up to her. He had his hunting knife and revolver out, ready for the winged thing to pounce, but it just waited. And watched.

Like the entity inside.

They entered the bus, back to back.

Plastic clicked, and Kim swept her flashlight’s cone of illumination across the darkened interior of the abandoned bus. The leather on the seats had been chewed up by time and tiny teeth. Piles of trash littered the place all over, making it look like a hurricane had hit someone’s belongings and scattered them about.

Someone had pinned vast amounts of newspaper clippings to one wall. Everything from serious reporting to lousy tabloids had found its way here. Reports of two missing men, Brent Carver and Rick Sutton, members of the indie rock band The Lost Number. The only remaining person in the group was Kevin, whose mugshot adorned one of the cut-out articles.

Kim remembered the story from her research: how two of the three band members vanished mysteriously out here in the desert, how no bodies were ever found, and how the police eventually released Kevin into the wild where he started a new life.

The punchline of the articles continued on from there, following Kevin’s ensuing career trajectory. The flamboyant, cross-dressing bassist player of a dead-end rock band had transformed into a successful stage magician on the Strip with a cult following. A snippet from a Rolling Stone interview book-ended the assortment of notes.

In red color, someone had spray-painted over the tail end of this creepy collage:

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

Javi gasped when something cracked and he spun around. The plastic of a CD case broke underneath his boot; an autographed copy of the EP, Sexy Vampire in the Basement by The Lost Number. He stepped away from it, stumbling over empty cans of beans and bacon and other assorted canned food, kicking loose a brief cacophony of clattering and clanking.

Kim glared at Javi, silently imploring him to stop being so jumpy.

The wind outside picked up, resembling a coyote’s howl. But unlike a natural animal’s howl, it petered out into a ghastly screech. Something flapped its horrid wings to underline the ungodly origins.

From the darkness, deeper inside the bus, silver eyes stared out, watching the two new arrivals.

“Did he live here?” Javi asked. His voice trembled. So did he—his entire body.

Even if he couldn’t see the presence, he felt it.

Kim refused to answer. This was not a place to answer redundant questions.

“How can anybody live like this?”

Kim set her jaw, shining the flashlight down the narrow corridor of the bus into its deepest parts, where the silver eyes awaited them.

Finally, she answered, “Power always has a price. We all pay for it in our own ways. And this—this was his way.”

Someone cleared his throat and Kim pointed her gun in that direction. The darkness swallowed the cone of light, though a set of two eyes reflected it back as they blinked. A man in black sat there, in the bedroom at the end of the bus. Lounging on the beds, legs crossed, hands folded behind his head. Not a care in the world.

Bright white, clean teeth bared, a wide grin plastered across a face of handsome features. Chiseled, sharp jawline, symmetrical. A glint of the devil’s own confidence in his eyes.

“Can I help you?” he asked. Smooth voice—like smoke and velvet rolling over sanded stone.

Kim and Javi approached with careful paces, stepping over the trash heaps strewn about the floor. Both of them had their guns pointed at the stranger.

He budged not one bit, sitting like he belonged here. Garbed in black leather boots, dark jeans, and a crumpled old duster over a fancy black cowboy shirt with red patterns on it, this guy had the air of both a rich man and a vagrant.

“Are you Michael?” Kim asked him.

“No,” he lied. His smile widened. His steel blue eyes turned silver for a split second of the flashlight blinding him. He didn’t even blink this time. Lapped up the attention. Drank in their anxiety, thirsting for their fear.

Sprawled out in front of him was a circle of odd objects. Kim scanned over them with a quick glance, not quite registering what all of them meant or represented.

A circle of rice grains outlined the circle clearly, framed by a square of metal legs broken off a chair. In a pattern inside these shapes rested a tourist trap postcard from the Grand Canyon, a coyote’s skull, a tiny crucifix fastened to an old-timey alarm clock, a pill bottle of Alprazolam filled with black-painted fingernail clippings, a spiked dog collar, a folded piece of paper stuffed with a dark powder spilling out of the seams, and a pile of paperback novel covers glued together. Blue paint chippings covered the various objects.

“Please, let me know how I can help. Are you looking for Kevin?” asked Michael. “So am I. Perhaps we can help each other.”

“Don’t listen to him. He’s fuckin’ lyin’,” Javi said. He emphasized that by taking a threatening step towards Michael, but Kim elbowed him to stop him in his tracks.

“Stay outta the circle,” she growled at Javi.

Michael raised his hands, displaying his open empty palms. He brought his hands together and steepled his fingers like some sort of discount villain.

“You might as well put those lil’ peashooters away. Even if you manage to waste me, you gotta deal with Smokey out there,” Michael said, gesturing at the way they had come from.

The cawing shriek pierced the air, followed by more flapping of the wings. Something heavy landed on top of the tour bus, thumping. Sharp claws scraped over the metal, and one of its many beady red eyes peeked in through an old bullet hole in the roof. It kept moving, thumping until it stopped, out of sight. Right above them.

Both Kim and Javi found they had been holding their breath all the while.

“You spill one drop o’ blood in here, then Ol’ Smokey’s gonna be all over this place like flies on shit. And none of us are gonna look pretty at the end of it,” Michael said. The smile slowly faded from his visage, lending credence to the visceral danger lurking just outside.

“We can find your friend if we join forces. Work together,” Michael lied again.

Javi’s lips curled into a sneer but he swallowed any remark, and Kim picked up on the subtle cue. He could sense Michael’s lying. He smelled bullshit five miles against the wind, which is why she had brought him along.

“Alright, whaddya got?” she asked the sorcerer.

Michael smiled again. Like the wolf inviting Little Red Riding Hood inside.

He raised a hand, index finger outstretched, cautioning them away from shooting him and indicating that he was not about to draw a weapon. Digging his other hand into his coat’s pocket, he produced a small silver object.

A flip-top phone from the early 2000s. He held it out for a second, and then gently tossed it across the room to the two. It clattered onto the ratty carpeted floor in front of Kim’s boot. She handed Javi her flashlight and picked up the phone.

Flipped it open. Didn’t question why it still had juice, because nothing needed to make sense in this pocket space adjacent to Earth. No network, all sorts of little arcane symbols blinking on the display. Memory full. The buttons triggered ridiculous little beeps as she thumbed her way through the phone’s storage, browsing through a set of photos.

Kevin was on each of them, striking different poses in front of a mirror, dolled up with make-up and wearing women’s clothes. She always knew him from his stage performances as a magician to pull off the androgynous look quite well, so it did not surprise her that he looked rather pretty as a woman.

Without looking up, continuing to click through them in hopes of finding anything unusual, she asked, “Anything else?”

Michael pointed to something behind the two.

“Yeah. What do you see in there?”

She clapped the phone shut and pocketed it in her jacket then followed the cone of light that Javi shone on the object behind them.

A heavy-looking safe with a digital lock, its display dull and deactivated, its door open. It was empty except for a mirror sitting in it, pushed up against the back wall of the safe’s hollow belly. Kim and Javi only saw themselves inside of it.

Then Kim spotted the silver eyes creeping up behind them, closer and closer. Shining out from a cloud of darkness, billowing out and growing and preparing to engulf them.

She spun around and the deafening shot from her gun made way for a vicious ringing in their ears. Kim frantically pointed the gun around, looking for a target, but she had hit no person, only blown a hole through the back wall of the bus where Michael had been sitting mere seconds before.

“This how you thank me for helpin’?” Michael’s voice spilled out. Everywhere, and nowhere at the same time. Like a voice in the back of their heads, like he was telepathically communicating with them.

“Run,” Kim breathed.

Javi didn’t need to hear it twice. He tripped over some of the junk on the way out but was out of the bus within a matter of heartbeats, kicking up sand as he sprinted towards the pickup truck.

The cloud gathered, swirling and pooling in the corners inside the bus where silver eyes opened in its center, staring at Kim.

“You’re just as messed in the head,” Michael said. His laughter erupted, revolving and booming and growing in volume like the stifling black fog that filled the bus.

Kim coughed and held her breath, stumbling away from the bedroom. The thing outside cawed. Thumped, thundered, as it climbed down the side of the bus. Claws sliced through steel, causing the metal to screech under the pressure of the creature’s tremendous weight.

Michael’s laughter swelled to a crescendo and stopped abruptly.

His voice right in Kim’s ear, “He tried to cheat his way outta the deal. And if you try to help him, you’re just gettin’ in on the cheatin’. And you don’t wanna know how I’m gonna deal with you. You girls don’t know what repercussions you’re lookin’ at.”

She fired another shot, blindly at where his voice had come from. The wind howled, and so did Michael, one of them expressing otherworldly hunger, the other incredible pain. He tripped and slipped on old magazines and fell. Blood had sprayed against the walls inside the bus and he coughed.

“Bitch—”

He groaned and held his side, collapsing onto one of the chewed up couches. In his hand he held a mean-looking knife—something straight out of a horror movie, all jagged and meant for unholy rituals.

“See you in hell,” Kim muttered, scrambling away from him. The junk around her clanked and she tumbled down the short set of stairs leading out of the bus.

The pickup truck’s engine roared and its wheels kicked up sand as it spun around, sliding to a halt next to her. Kim’s eyes went wide but she hoisted herself back up onto her feet. Ripped open the passenger door as it banged against the frame without engaging and Javi hit the gas pedal, making the ragged old engine growl and roar again.

The truck sped off before she even slammed the door shut, and the vehicle kicked up more sand. The distance towards the bus rapidly grew. The winged thing peered after them with its eight red eyes.

With trembling hands, Kim blindly reloaded both barrels of her still-smoking shotgun, craning her neck to observe what the creature would do next.

It defied her expectations—did not leap or fly after the pickup truck. It instead swung around the edge of the bus, moving like molten, living shadows. Folded its wings up behind its back and crawled inside the yawning door, leading into the bus.

Michael’s screams of agony pierced the heavens, louder than the wind, and the old tour bus of The Lost Number shook violently as a struggle for life and death ensued inside there.

The radio in the truck screeched, almost like the creature, followed by garbled static and white noise. Kim hit buttons on it until she silenced the device.

A gust of wind kicked up a huge cloud of sand, sweeping over the truck and causing both driver and passenger to cough until the air cleared.

The sky had changed, the starry night making way for the warm orange tones of the sunset. The natural one. Earth.

Kim and Javi looked into the rear view mirror, seeing no bus, no alien-looking cacti, no winged monstrosity that belonged in another world.

They allowed themselves to breathe, emitting sighs of relief, knowing they could put this experience behind themselves. Maybe get a good night’s sleep some day.

They wouldn’t even talk about it for the next ten miles. Dealing with these sorts of things took it out of you. The unnatural always gave you that extra little oomph to unpack later on.

For the entire ride back to Vegas, they failed to notice the disgusting, football-sized egg stuck inside the back of the pickup truck.

They would only find it after it had hatched.

—Submitted by Wratts

[flyandfamousblackgirls]

In 1982, Teddy Pendergrass, one of the hottest soul singers of the ‘80s, was paralyzed from the chest down in a car accident. In the wake of the accident, questions emerged about the mystery woman who was riding in the car with him. She was revealed to be Tenika Watson, a woman of trans experience who was a nightclub performer.

PGN: What was your worst job? Tenika Watson: Back in the day, I was a bar maid at a club on 13th Street — oh what was it called? Scabadoo’s? That was hard, trying to remember everyone’s drink orders! PGN: Best job? Tenika Watson: Working for Kingsley Six Modeling agency. Unfortunately, the accident happened just as my career was taking off. After that, it became impossible to work. I’d been doing impersonations at the New Forrest Lounge for a year and a half and had to leave there because the owner was trying to exploit the situation. PGN: Tell me a little about coming out or transitioning for you. Tenika Watson: I think I was born out. People could tell before I even knew about myself. I don’t think my parents or anyone else was shocked. Even as a kid playing house, I was always the girl, looking for someone to play my boyfriend! PGN: First crush? Tenika Watson: There was a boy named Sheldon that I liked in elementary school. [Laughs.] Bald-headed, brown-skinned and he was so mean! But I liked him! PGN: When did you start to transition? Tenika Watson: When I was 20. I don’t know why it was in my head, but I had the idea that at 20 I would be considered grown, so no one could say anything to me. PGN: What was the scariest thing about it? Tenika Watson: I didn’t have any fear about transitioning. Though I do remember walking down the street in D.C. one time with a girlfriend of mine and she suddenly said, “Be careful, that man has a knife!” I was so naive I didn’t understand that he wanted to attack us just because of who we were. Next thing I knew, he swung the knife at our heads and we were running down the street. It was my first understanding that people might want to hurt me just because of my life. PGN: You transitioned in a time when it wasn’t really heard of and certainly wasn’t accepted as much as it is now.

Tenika Watson: No, it wasn’t. This was in 1977 and it wasn’t heard of, though a lot of the girls were doing it. But back then, most girls transitioned with the thought that you would just live your life as a woman and never tell anybody. You weren’t supposed to be open about it. Once you had surgery, you never told anyone except your mate. That’s how it was back then. Once you were a woman, you put your past in a closet. I guess I’m part of that era. I have fought really hard to be respected as a woman. I don’t know if the girls nowadays really fight for the right to be totally respected as women after the surgery. You hear a lot of trans this and trans that and I don’t get it. Maybe I’m old-school, but once you have the surgery, you’re supposed to be a woman. Your birth certificate says female, your driver’s license says female and yet in articles I read, they still refer to you as a “transwoman.” And it’s like, what was it all for? Why did I go through all of this if I’m not going to be considered a woman? To me, transgender means transition. Moving from one gender to another, but once you’re there, that should be it if that’s what you want. I don’t know if girls today feel any kind of way about that, but I know I do. I don’t like the term.

PGN: So what would you like to say about Teddy?

Tenika Watson: I’m sorry that he’s not with us anymore. I wanted to go to the funeral, but I didn’t want to be disrespectful and I didn’t want to be disrespected. So I just had a little quiet prayer and a little quiet tear after he was gone. I met his mother in 2001. When he died [in 2010], my first thought was for her. He was her only child. I know she has grandkids, but it must be terrible to lose a child.

PGN: And the accident? Tenika Watson: We were on Lincoln Drive when the brakes went out. The car hit a guardrail, crossed into the opposite traffic lane and hit two trees. The one thing that always bothered me was that the news media got there before the ambulance did. It upset me to think that people were calling for publicity before they called for help. PGN: You’ve stated that the medical personnel were more worried about getting a urine sample from you than they were about your health. Tenika Watson: They were very sneaky: They said they needed a sample to make sure that there wasn’t any internal bleeding, but I knew what they were really trying to check for. After they didn’t find what they wanted, they weren’t interested in me anymore. It was reported that I was acting strange, but I was in shock. PGN: Reading about the accident, it seems that the media didn’t know at first about you being … what terminology would you like me to use? Were you frightened? Tenika Watson: No, they didn’t say anything because they didn’t know. [Laughs.] Yeah, I was scared. I thought, if anyone finds out, they’re going to lynch me! It was scary wondering if it was going to get out or when. Trying to figure out how to survive or explain it. I was never given a chance to explain. The only paper that gave me a break was the [Philadelphia] Tribune. PGN: I read a Jet article with the headline, “Teddy’s Transsexual Passenger,” in which they call you a “confessed transsexual.” It seems like it really tilted the trajectory of your life, your modeling career, etc. Tenika Watson: Tilted it? It destroyed it. I was told so by potential employers and it really made me doubt myself. It was a tough time. I had one reporter come to my house and try to force her way in the door. There were some very ugly things printed. I had to move out of the city. Which is sad because I love this city. I love the people, I love the neighborhoods … There are so many places to hide! PGN: Do you get recognized? Tenika Watson: Yes, I used to; not so much any more. It happened just the other day when I was walking down the street. But for the most part, nobody really sees me. I’m actually glad of it.

PGN: Did you ever have any contact with Teddy after the accident? Tenika Watson: I talked to him in 2002. That’s how my book starts out, with that conversation. PGN: Was it frustrating being in such a high-profile incident with someone and not being able to call and ask if he was OK or let him know how you were? How well did you know him? Tenika Watson: I didn’t know him at all! I’d met him once or twice before, but that was it. He’d simply offered me a ride home from a club that night. The media tried to make something out of it, but it was untrue. He was one of those people that had a kindness about him.

[dragonsaphirareads]

The Worth of a Name

[cdelphiki]

wait wait wait what’s this I hear about a fic where Damian and Tim are kidnapped and Tim is forced to do things or Damian gets tortured bc I don’t remember that WIP and it’s EXACTLY my cup of tea like holy frick did I literally prompt that I don’t know but it is 100% My Kind Of Fic -gremlin

:D I’ve been working on it since like November, I want to say.  It was born of a handful of whumptober prompts and quickly ballooned to be wayyyyy too long to write for whumptober.  But anyway, Tim and Damian get kidnapped while working a Human Trafficking case, lots of torture happens.  Some brainwashing.  It’s bad.  They’re missing a while.  (but not life happens-a while.  Like, less than a year, while) They grow very super close in the meantime.  Because nothing brings people together like trauma!

I’m still super torn on the title.  There’s a phrase said around here a lot in the spring, and it’s Finnish, and it means “The new snow will be the death of the old snow,” and I feel it’s fitting, but it’s in another language.  You know?  I’m afraid that’s too cliche and will turn people off from clicking on the fic. So if anyone has title suggestions, I’m all ears.  I might come up with the perfect answer as I keep working.   

But anyway. Here’s the first chapter, just for you!  💕

Untitled WIP, chapter 1

Going back in school was not something Tim had ever planned on doing.  When he took over as CEO at Wayne Enterprises almost a year ago, he figured his days in the classroom were over.  As thrilling as 10th grade was, CEO was pretty much as high up on the ladder he could get, and if he got there without a high school diploma, what on earth was the point?

But Bruce had been adamant.  Talked him down out of his full time work at WE and encouraged him to go back to school.  Despite Tim’s assurances that he did, indeed, have friends, Bruce seemed to think that being at school around ‘normal’ kids would be good for him.  

Maybe Bruce was right, because sometimes Tim really enjoyed school.  11th grade was remarkably easy and stress-free compared to work, even if Lucius or Tam still called him every once in a while.  Or often, actually, but they knew not to bother him before 3pm unless it was an absolute emergency.  Which meant Tim’s days at school were rather relaxing.

That didn’t mean Tim didn’t live for the final school bell, though, just like every other student in that overpriced building.  

“Tim,” he heard someone shout from down the hall as he was shoving his books into his backpack, antsy to leave for the weekend, “we need to get together and work on our presentation.”

“Nah,” Tim said, turning to whom he now recognized as Mike, his lab partner, “I got it done.  I’ll email you the slides now.  There are notes on each slide, just review it and we’ll be fine.”

“Really?” Mike said, running to catch up as Tim made his way out of the building, “You don’t want me to do anything?”

“Nothing to do,” Tim said, waving a hand as he finished attaching the file to an email, “presentations are easy.  I have marked what you have to say in class.”

“Wow, thanks man.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” Tim said, turning toward the lower school where he needed to meet with Damian for pickup.

“We should hang out some time anyway,” Mike called after him, “I’ll text you.”

Tim shot back a peace sign, not even turning back to face Mike.  Because if he did, that would show the goofy smile he couldn’t contain as he bounded down the sidewalk. 

He almost felt…normal again.  Himself.  

Bruce was right.  Going back to school was a great idea.

Tim’s smile didn’t fade as he approached the pick-up area of the lower school.   That is, until he felt Damian approach him from behind.  It was like a sixth sense—a spidey sense—the way the back of his neck prickled whenever the brat was behind him. In reality, he’d probably actually heard Damian, and his subconscious was warning him of impending danger.  Which was unfair to Damian, maybe.  Since he hadn’t actually bodily harmed Tim in at least four hours.  

Fine.  Like three months. But still. 

“Drake,” Damian greeted in his usual flat, disinterested tone.  

“Gremlin,” Tim said, scanning over the line up of cars for Alfred.  There were over a dozen very nice, very expensive cars all along the road, mixed in with many more modest cars, but none of them belonged to Alfred.  Which was strange, because Alfred was usually one of the first in line.  

“It is unlike Pennyworth to be late,” Damian observed dryly, and Tim could hear the underlying tone of worry in the brat’s voice.  

Nodding, Tim scanned the cars again.  Then he saw it.  Bruce’s Tesla, about 15 cars back.  With a smile, Tim headed toward the car, uncaring whether Damian had noticed Bruce yet or not.  Now that they were in eyesight of Bruce, Damian was no longer his problem.  About ten seconds of babysitting was all he had to do that day.  It was a good day.

Damian, apparently, did notice Bruce.  Or, he at least followed Tim anyway toward the Tesla, and only reacted once Tim shouted, “Shotgun,” and quickly opened the passenger door and slid in. 

“Drake,” Damian hollared, scowl becoming more pronounced on his face as Tim grinned and shut the door between them. 

“That is unfair, I always have to sit in the back,” Damian grumbled after he opened the backdoor and slid in.

“That’s because you’re the baby,” Tim said, fastening his seatbelt and looking over at Bruce, “and tiny.  It’s safer for you in the back.”

Instead of react to their bickering, Bruce just grunted and pulled out into traffic. 

“I am not a baby,” Damian pouted, kicking at Tim’s seat, “and I am only a few inches shorter than you.”

“Well then, you should have called shotgun.”

“How was school?” Bruce asked in his gruff tone that signaled it was time to stop arguing, without him having to explicitly state that was the case.

“Fine,” Tim reported, pulling his tablet from his bag to settle back and read on the drive home.  He had a few reports to catch up on for work and he’d have to call Lucius once they got home to catch up on what happened while he was at school.

He was trying to let go of WE, honestly he was, but it was difficult.  And he enjoyed the work so much.

“Where is Pennyworth, Father?” Damian demanded.

Bruce sighed as he checked his mirrors while merging onto the highway.  “Running errands.  I offered to pick you up.”

“Why?” Damian said, now rifling through his backpack, likely for his sketchbook, if Tim knew the kid.  

“I can’t offer to pick you boys up?” Bruce asked, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.  

Tim smiled to himself as he opened up the next report to skim.  Bruce’s good moods were like sunshine in the middle of winter.  Warm and bright, lifting the mood of all those around him.  Today really was a good day.  

“Tt. You never have before.” 

“Actually, I do have an ulterior motive.”

“Shocker,” Tim mumbled, trying to get through the last report as fast as he could before Bruce demanded his attention.

“You know that case I’ve been working on for the past few months?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow at Tim.

Tim clicked his tablet’s screen off and asked, “the human trafficking one?”

“I’ve got a lead,” Bruce said, grunting in the affirmative, “and I’m leaving tonight to follow it.”

Ah.  So Bruce wanted to get them alone, trapped in a car, to impress into them how important it was to not kill each other on Alfred’s watch.  Smart.  Because neither of them would remain in the room otherwise.

“Where are we going, Father?” 

Tim snorted, “Please, Damian.  Like he’s take us on a human trafficking case that’s dragging him outside the country.”

“Well, actually,” Bruce said before Damian could protest, “I wanted to bring you, Tim.”

“Me?” Tim asked at the same time Damian shouted, “Him?”

“Yes.  Your skills would be useful to-”

“But Father,” Damian shouted, leaning forward so his face was right between the passenger and driver’s seats, “I am Robin.  I am your partner.”

“You’re both Robin,” Bruce grumbled as he checked around him to shift lanes, “and I have more than one partner.”  

“It’s Batman and Robin, not Batman and Red Robin,” Damian protested, still right into Tim’s ear.

“Damian,” Bruce snapped, “sit back properly and fasten your seatbelt.”

“You can’t take Drake,” Damian continued ranting, even as he complied with Bruce’s order, “It’s not fair.  You never take me anywhere.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Bruce grumbled, “Tim, we’ll leave tonight.  I’ve already let the others know we’ll be away and asked them to watch Gotham in the meantime.”

“What about me, Father,” Damian asked, still demanding in his tone, his age shining through gloriously with his tantrum.  

“Damian,” Bruce said calmly, just to be cut off by Damian again.

“This isn’t fair.  Not only are you leaving me behind but you’re going to force me to stay in all weekend.  I follow your dumb rules about curfews on school nights, this isn’t fair.”

“Damian,” Bruce repeated, tensing some as he shifted his hands on the steering wheel.  Tim just sank down into his chair and grinned.  Bruce angry with Damian was one of his favorite things.  It was even better than Bruce’s good moods, because the little brat deserved to get yelled at sometimes. It always made Tim happy to actually hear one of the adults in their lives actually do it.

“Why are you bringing Drake?”  

Tim grunted when his seat was kicked again.

Bruce seemed undeterred by Damian’s outburst and said simply, “His skills are more suited to this case than yours.”  

“What skills?” Damian shrieked, “I am the superior Robin in every way.”

Tim let out an annoyed huff turned his tablet back on.  Yelling over, he was ready to get immersed back into his work. He was used to Damian’s verbal abuse, but wasn’t interested in hearing Bruce not defend him. 

No one ever defended him against Damian.

“I need someone clever and quick on his feet who will not be rash in his decisions.  This is a very sensitive case and a lot can go wrong if we move too quickly.”

“I’ve done human trafficking cases before,” Damian protested, “I can handle it.  I can do it!”

“Not like this one you haven’t.  A lot can go wrong, it’s too risky.”

“But Father,” Damian said, his voice coming dangerously close to whining and Bruce was having none of it.

“If you are hoping to convince me to bring you,” Bruce said, his voice hard, “throwing a tantrum is not the way to do it.  All you are proving to me is that you are a petulant child.”

Damian let out a growl and kicked at Tim’s seat one more time as he collapsed against his own seat.  “This isn’t fair,” Tim heard the kid mumble.  

“We will leave in a few hours, so when we get home I expect you to wrap up any business you have,” Bruce told Tim, as if there hadn’t just been an argument in the car, “pack warm clothes.  It’s still winter in Siberia.”

“Okay,” Tim agreed, typing out an email for Lucius in lieu of the call he had been planning on having, “when will we return?”

“Wednesday, at the earliest,” Bruce grunted, just as they pulled off the highway toward Bristol, “Friday at the latest.”

Nodding, Tim finished up the email and said, “Did you tell my school already?”

“Alfred will call on Monday.  I already filled him in on the details.”

“Father, please,” Damian said, much more calmly than anything he’d said thus far.

“No, Damian,” Bruce said gently, almost sadly, while still somehow making his words sound firm and unchangeable, “Not this time.”

The enraged screech Damian let out, however, was nothing near gentle.  Tim had to hide his smile again when he heard it, because it was about as close to throwing a tantrum Damian got.  At least, the crying kind of tantrum.  He stomped around and screamed a lot while throwing things, usually.  This just sounded like…. a kid.  Being mad his dad won’t buy him that new toy at Walmart.  

Amusing.

“Damian Wayne,” Bruce snapped, turning to face Damian while they were stopped at a traffic light, “I said no and that’s final. Keep this up and you’ll find yourself benched indefinitely.”

Bruce’s death glare was leveled at Tim for half a second when he accidentally snorted. But Tim could tell there was no real heat behind it.  Not for Tim, at least.  It kind of made it harder to not laugh.  

But the threat worked, and Damian went silent and still.  And remained like that for the rest of the drive home.  Tim managed to keep the smile off his face, a feat much harder than would be expected in an atmosphere so tense.  

Those good mood vibes from earlier hadn’t been squashed by Damian, and Tim would be hard pressed to say he was anything but happy.

“I hate you, Drake,” Damian eventually muttered, just as Bruce parked the car in the garage.  

Tim grinned widely and turned to face Damian, just so he could stick his tongue out at the brat.  An action that would have earned him a knife in the face, six months ago.  Now all it got him was another kick to his chair.  He might have been punched, though, had he not quickly retreated back to the safety of having the seat between them.

Bruce simply raised an eyebrow at Tim, adequately scolding him for his behavior without even opening his mouth.

But then, of course, Bruce did open his mouth, too once they’d gotten out of the car. “If you’re going to act like a child-”

“No,” Tim said hastily, slinging his bag on his back, “you already invited me.  No take backs.”

“No take backs?” Bruce echoed, this time not masking the slight upturn of his lips, “Tim, what’s gotten into you?”

Tim just grinned and said, “Nothing.”  

“Well,” Bruce said, wrapping an arm around Tim’s shoulder as they walked.  Much slower than Damian’s stride, when he’d run into the Manor the second the car doors unlocked, “It’s nice.  To see you like this.”

When all Tim did was smile, because heck yeah, it was nice to feel that way, too, Bruce pat his back and then pushed him forward, “Go on.  Wrap things up, pack a bag.  We leave at 6.”

So Tim did.  Even as he listened to Damian throw crap around in his bedroom, just on the other side of the wall from Tim’s, he cheerfully packed a bag.  

Because between having a great day at school, making new friends, and getting a rare good mood from Bruce, Tim was already doing pretty well.  His days of depression felt pretty well gone and dead.  But take all that and add it to going on a week long trip with just him a Bruce? Something that hadn’t happened in years? Something he once thought would never happen again?

Yeah.

Tim was pretty damn ecstatic. 

[a-supernatural-writer]

Party of Three Pt.2 (pilot)

Summary: The three end up in Jericho, following the case that John was last working on. 

Pairing: Eventual Sam x OC x Dean (polyamory relationship) 

Warnings: language, mentions of death

Words: 3310

*This work is also posted on other fanfiction sites* 

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It was the next morning, the impala was parked in front of a gas station. Isabeau and Sam decided to wait in the car while Dean went inside to get whatever the hell he wanted. 

Isabeau and Sam were talking about whatever came to their minds. The two felt good catching up with each other. Isabeau pretty much knew what Sam was up to these past two years, and so Sam was curious to know what Isabeau was doing. She never really talked about the details of her life over the phone. 

Sam was sitting in the passenger seat of the impala with a box in his hands, rifling through them. “You hunted while in college? You must’ve been going crazy.” Sam turned to Isabeau who was sitting in the backseat of the impala. 

Isabeau nodded, leaning forward, putting her arms over the front seat. “Insane is more like it. Pulling multiple all-nighters to study for a test and my free-time was committed to hunting. Never caught a break.” 

Sam nodded. “Have you ever thought about, you know, leaving it behind?” 

Isabeau sighed and gave Sam a look. “Sam, you and I both know that I can’t leave it.” 

“Why not? No one is stopping you. You could live a safe, normal life.” 

“I’m far from normal Sam. I was a part of the supernatural since the second I was born. I can’t just shimmy my way out of this. It’s always going to be a part of my life whether I like it or not.” Isabeau explained. Sam knew that there was no fighting her on the matter because she was right. 

What she was, she couldn’t just leave. Sam didn’t want her to be right about the situation. He didn’t want her life to just be hunting. He wanted her to use that degree that she worked her ass off for. Have a family, maybe even have a couple of kids. But he knew deep down that even if she did settle down, her partner and her own kids, if she chooses to have any, would be dragged into the supernatural. 

Sam cleared his throat, going back to the box in his hands. “Sorry.” 

Isabeau scoffed. “Don’t be… let me see that.” Sam chuckled, handing her the box of cassette tapes. Isabeau took the box in her hands and began rifling through it, trying to find something good. 

“Hey, you want breakfast?” Dean called out to Sam and Isabeau. 

Sam leaned out of the passenger door to look at his brother, “No thanks.” Dean leaned over to the back seat window, holding up junk food in Isabeau’s vision. Isabeau stuck one of her hands out of the window grabbing a bag of chips from his hand. “Don’t mind if I do.” She placed it besides her, going back to her task. 

“So, how’d you pay for that stuff? You and dad still running credit-card scams?” Sam leaned over picking a few cassette tapes and giving them a once over. 

“Yeah, well, hunting ain’t exactly a pro-ball career.” Dean answered, putting the gas nozzle back on the pump. “Besides, all we do is apply. It’s not our fault they send us the cards.” 

Sam chuckled. “Yeah and what names did you write on the application this time?” Sam swings his legs back into the car and closes the door. 

“Uh… Bert Aframian and his son, Hector.” Dean gets into the driver seat, placing his soda and chips down and closes the door. “Scored two card out of the deal.” 

Isabeau gave a small chuckle. “Sounds like nothings changed.” Isabeau handed the box back to Sam. 

“I swear, man.You got to update your cassette-tape collection.” Isabeau looked at Sam like he had grown two heads. Dean was just as confused. “Why?” 

“Well, for one- they’re cassette tapes, and two- Black Sabbath, Motorhead, Metallica?” Sam listed off the names on the tapes. Isabeau wanted to grab the Metallica tape but Dean beat her to it. “It’s the greatest hits of mullet rock.” 

“Well, house rules, Sammy,” Dean plopped the tape into the player. “Driver picks the music,” 

“Shotgun shuts his cake hole.” Isabeau finishes with a smug smile. Dean and her share a smile before Dean drops the Metallica box back in with the other tapes in the box. 

“Sammy is a chubby 12-year-old, it’s Sam, okay?” Sam said. He never did like that nickname. The music begins to play. 

“Sorry, I can’t hear you. The music’s too loud.” Dean said with a smirk. Isabeau shook her head, leaning back into her seat. Yeah the music was loud, but it could be a little louder. Isabeau lifted her finger up, turning it to the right. The volume button on the player followed the movement of her finger, turning the music up a tad bit louder. 

Dean looked back at Isabeau and gave a whole hearted laugh, seeing that she was using her powers to turn the music up. “That’s my Beau!” Sam shook his head with a chuckle. Yeah he wasn’t too fond of the music but seeing Isabeau use her powers for a little bit of fun, brought him back to a relatively normal part of his childhood when the three of them were together and not hunting. 

And with that Dean drove out of the gas station and on their way to Jericho. 

Isabeau was leaning against the door, holding a rose quartz pendulum in her hand over a map of Jericho. The pendulum was going around and around in circles the moment they passed by a sign that said, “Jericho 7”. 

Sam hangs up his phone, “All right, so there’s no one matching dad at the hospital or morgue. So that’s something, I guess.” Sam looks back at Isabeau, who was concentrating on her spell. “Got anything, Beau?” 

Isabeau sighed, a little annoyed. She placed her pendulum back in her pocket and folded up the map with a shake of her head. “Nothing. It’s weird, usually I can get something. A general area at least, but nothing.” 

Dean glances at Isabeau and then back at the road. There’s a bridge ahead of them, with police cars and officers. “Check it out.” Both Sam and Isabeau lean forward to get a closer look. 

Dean pulls over the impala across from the bridge and officers and turns off the engine. Isabeau leans on the open window of the backseat, brow furrowed. Dean leans over to the glove compartment and pulls out a box filled with fake ID cards with his and John’s face on them. He picks one out and smiles at Sam. 

Sam looks back at Isabeau, and pauses once he sees that she took out her own fake ID from her pocket. “Let’s go, Stretch.” Both Dean and Isabeau get out of the car with Sam sighing but reluctantly following them. 

On the bridge, what Isabeau could only assume to be the deputy, leans over the bridge, calling down to two men in wetsuits. “Did you guys find anything?” 

“No! Nothing!” One of the men called back. The deputy turns back to a lone car in the middle of the bridge, sighing as he leaned down to take a look inside. “No sign of struggle, no footprints, no fingerprints- spotless.” The other deputy responded. “It’s almost too clean.” 

Isabeau,Sam and Dean walked into the crime scene like it was a walk in the park for them. They listened as the deputies spoke, not noticing them yet. “So this kid Troy, he’s dating your daughter, isn’t he?” 

“Yeah.” 

“How’s Amy doing?” 

“She’s been putting up missing posters downtown.” The other deputy nodded. 

That’s when Dean spoke up. “You fellas had another one like this last month, didn’t you?” The deputy who was leaning over, straightens back up as Dean talks to him. “And who are you?” 

Isabeau and Dean both hold up their ID’s. “Federal Marshals.” Isabeau responds and the two put them away after a few seconds. 

“You three are a little young for Marshals, aren’t you?” Dean laughs. “Thanks, that’s awfully kind of you.” Isabeau and Dean walk over to the car. “You did have another one just like this, correct?” 

“Yeah, that’s right, about a mile up the road.” The deputy responds. “There have been others before that.” 

Sam stepped up. “So this victim, you knew him?” 

The deputy nodded. “A town like this, everybody knows everybody.” Dean circled the car as Isabeau stood beside the drivers side tilting her head at the car. 

“Any connection between the victims besides that they’re all men?” Dean nudges Isabeau when he stops next to her. Isabeau took a breath, placing one of her hands on the car. Flashes of images crossed her mind, it was nighttime, Troy was running, running from someone who was after him. Everything became blurry, Isabeau saw the outside of his car on the bridge, his screams echoing out from the car and then blood splattered on the windows. 

Isabeau sighed, blinking away the images and shaking her head at Dean. She got nothing concrete. Dean patted her shoulder, his way of saying that it was okay, she tried. Psychometry was something new she was working on. Touching objects and looking into it’s past was a tough thing to do. 

“No. Not so far as we can tell.” The deputy answered. Sam walks over to Isabeau and Dean. “So what’s the theory?” 

“Honestly, we don’t know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?” 

“Well, that is exactly the kind of crack police work I’d expect out of you guys.” Sam stomps on Dean’s foot from the comment while Isabeau slaps his outer thigh. He couldn’t just shut up sometimes? 

Isabeau politely smiled at the deputy. “Sorry about him, thank you for your time.” Isabeau grabs Dean’s upper arm and guides him to walk away with Sam. 

“Gentlemen.” Sam says one last time as the deputy watches them go. Once they’re a good distance away, Isabeau let’s go of Dean’s arm only for him to wack the back of Dean’s head and slap Isabeau’s ass. Yeah, she glared at him for that one. 

“Ow! What was that for?” Sam exclaimed, annoyed by his brother's actions. 

“Why do you have to step on my foot? And you! Slapping me?” Dean asked Sam and Isabeau just as annoyed. Isabeau rolled her eyes. She’s hit him harder than what she just did before. 

“Why did you have to talk to the police like that?” Sam countered back. Dean looks at Sam, “Come on.” He steps in front of the both of them, forcing them to stop. “They don’t really know what’s going on. We’re all alone on this. I mean if we’re gonna find dad, we’ve got to get to the bottom of this thing ourselves.” 

Isabeau’s eyes widen as she sees who's behind Dean, She clears her throat telling Dean to turn around and for the both of them to pay attention. Dean turns, it’s the sheriff and two FBI agents. “Can I help you boys? Lady?” The sheriff asks. 

“No, sir. We were just leaving.” He looks over at the two agents walking by them. “Agent Mulder, Agent Scully.” The three of them head past the sheriff, who turns to watch them walk away. 

The three headed into town, trying to find the girlfriend of Troy, Amy. They spotted her while walking down the street in front of a movie theater putting up missing posters with Troy’s face on it. 

“I’ll bet you that’s her.” Dean said. Sam agreed as they approached her. “You must be Amy.” Dean asked. 

“Yeah.” Amy said. 

Isabeau gave her a small smile. “Troy told us about you. These two are his uncles and I’m his aunt. This is Dean. This is Sammy, and I’m Isabeau.” 

“He never mentioned you to me.” Amy said walking away. Dean chuckled, the three of them walking with her. “Well, that’s Troy, I guess. We’re not around much. We’re up in Modesto.” 

“So we’re looking for him,too. And we’re kind of asking around.” Sam interjected. 

Just then a young woman comes up next to Amy and places a hand on her arm. “Hey, are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Do you mind if we ask you a couple of questions?” Isabeau asked softly, hoping her calm nature would help them get answers. And it did. 

They went to a local diner, all five of them sitting in a booth. Amy and her friend whose name they found out was Rachel on one side and Dean, Isabeau and Sam on the other. Isabeau was slightly squished between the two, but her somewhat small stature made it work even with the two brothers being giants sitting next to her on both sides. 

“I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and he never did.” Amy explained. 

“He didn’t say anything strange or out of the ordinary?” Sam asked. 

“No, nothing I can remember.” Amy says, shaking her head. 

“Here’s the deal, ladies, the way Troy disappeared, something’s not right.” Dean said as Isabeau took a sip of her tea. Isabeau agreed with him silently. Yeah, blood splattering on his car windows was not right at all. “So if you’ve heard anything…” 

Amy and Rachel look at each other. “What is it?” Dean asks, knowing something was up. 

“Well, it’s just… I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk.” Rachel says. 

“What do they talk about?” Both Sam and Dean speak in chorus. Isabeau smiled into her drink, she loved it when they spoke at the same time, it almost made her burst into giggles because of how cute it was. 

Rachel explains. “It’s kind of this local legend. This one girl, she got murdered out on centennial like decades ago.” Dean looked at Sam and Isabeau as they listened intently. “Well, supposedly, she’s still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up… well, they disappear forever.” 

Isabeau set her tea down, the three of them glancing at each other form the story. 

To get more information on this local legend that Rachel was talking about, they went to the local library. Dean took to the computers, going onto the Jericho Herald and typed in “Female Murder Hitchhiking” into the search box and hit go. Unfortunately he came up with zero results. 

Dean goes back and replaces “Hitchhiking” with the word “Centennial Highway” as Isabeau and Sam watch. Still nothing comes up. 

“Let me try.” Sam goes to touch the mouse but Dean smacks his hand away. “I got it.” 

Sam shoves Dean’s chair away and takes his spot in front of the computer. “Dude!” Dean hits Sam’s arm. “You’re such a control freak.” 

Isabeau sighs, putting in her input. “So angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?” 

“Yeah.” Dean agrees with her. 

“Then maybe it’s not murder.” Isabeau suggested. Sam caught onto her thinking and replaced “Murder” with “Suicide”. He hit go and ended up with only one result, “Suicide on Centennial”. 

Sam read the details of the result. “This was 1981.” Clicking on the article. “Constance Welch, 24 years old, jumps off Sylvania bridge, drowns in the river.” 

“Does it say why she did it?” Dean asks. 

“Yeah.” Sam answers with a furrowed brow. “What?” 

“An hour before they found her, she calls 911. Her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute,” Isabeau closes her eyes and clenches her teeth, she knows what is coming next. “And when she comes back, they aren’t breathing. Both die.” 

Isabeau opens her eyes again and takes in a breath. She can’t imagine what that must have felt like. 

Dean hummed in response. Isabeau leaned forward taking a closer look at the article. “‘Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn’t bear it, said husband, Joseph Welch.’” Isabeau read the quote from the article and noticed the familiarity of the pictures. 

“That bridge look familiar to you?” Dean noticed it too. Isabeau nodded. Back to the crime scene they go. Isabeau had a bad feeling about this. 

They went back to the bridge during the night, Troy’s car was gone and so were any official officers. The three walk along the bridge, then stop in the middle to lean over its side. Isabeau placed her hand on it’s ledge, images of a woman in white flashing in her vision. She pulled away. “So this is where Constance took the swan dive.” She told Dean and Sam. 

“So you think dad would have been here?” Sam asks, looking over at Dean. 

“Well, he’s chasing the same story, and we’re chasing him.” Dean and Sam walked away from the side while Isabeau stayed, looking down at the rushing water. She left the two brothers to talk among themselves, they needed it. There was too much pent up tension between them. It was a family problem, one that she didn’t need to get involved in unless she needed to.

She could hear the two bickering, Sam saying that he needed to get back by Monday for his interview and Dean mocking Sam’s attempt of having something normal. Isabeau sighed. She never knew why Dean couldn’t just let it go. Let Sam be happy, even if it meant not being with his brother and Dad. 

In a way, Isabeau wanted out too. Not to be a part of the things that she hunts. To be human, but she knew her life wouldn’t be exciting. Hunting gave her a sense of adventure, a fucked up sense of it, but she was saving people, making a difference. She knew she could never settle down with a human as well, it wouldn’t take too long for them to find out who she is and in doing so would put them in danger. She tossed out those dreams a long time ago too. The apple-pie life was a dream that was never going to happen. She thought that maybe she could find a relationship like her parents but as time was going by, her chances were becoming slim to none. 

She looked over at the brothers the moment that Dean shoves Sam up against a railing on the bridge. Her eyes widened, jogging over to the two. Now is when she steps in. “Hey! Hey! Dean let him go.” 

Silence fell between the three of them, Isabeau was ready to pull Dean off of Sam if her tried to do anything stupid. “Don’t talk about her like that.” Dean releases Sam and steps back. Isabeau lets out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding, she then froze as she saw what she only guessed to be Constance standing at the edge of the bridge. 

“Guys.” Isabeau stepped forward in front of the boys, gesturing towards Constance. The brothers come to stand next to Isabeau, all of their gazes were on Constance. 

Constance tuned towards them, then fell forward off the bridge. The three break out into a run and look over the railing, seeing that she disappeared. “Where’d she go?” Dean asked. 

“I don’t know.” Sam whispered out in confusion. Behind them, the engine of the impala suddenly roars to life, and the headlights turn on. 

“What the…” Dean mumbles. 

Isabeau could feel her chest tighten. “Who’s driving your car?” Sam asks. 

Dean digs into his pocket, pulling out his key and jingles them. The car jerks to life, heading straight towards them. Isabeau’s flight instincts kicked in, turning and running away from the oncoming car. Dean and Sam close behind her. 

“Go! Go!” Sam shouts at the two of them. Their running wasn’t fast enough as the car was becoming closer and closer. Just when it gets too close, Isabeau, Sam and Dean dive over the railing and the car comes to a screeching halt.

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