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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years ago

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Au Acosf - Chapter 82

Little bit of emotional drama

@a-court-of-valkyries @sv0430 @mis-lil-red @nesquik-arccheron @emily-gsh @sunsetsofanemoia @swankii-art-teacher @moodymelanist @nestaarcher0n @my-fan-side @c-e-d-dreamer @nestaspegasus @champanheandluxxury @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @lyzriel @dustjacketmusings @sugardoll22 @gwynethhberdara @embersofwildfire @witchsouth @faeriebambula @lady-winter-sunrise

On the second day of her unwanted protection, Lucien was on duty again. The male arrived just as Cassian was departing for a meeting in the Hewn City with the inner circle and Keir.

‘I thought it was Az today?’ Cassian asked, tossing Lucien a towel to dry himself off. He’d been chased by a storm and, in the short distance from the wards to the front door, he’d received a soaking.

‘I volunteered again so he doesn’t miss your meeting.’

‘He’ll be pissed you’ve taken his escape route,’ Cassian chuckled.

‘Tough,’ Lucien said with a smirk. ‘I had too much fun in Illyria yesterday being Nesta’s personal chef to not seize the opportunity again.’

Nesta had managed to not strike out at Cassian when he came home late that night. She had buried her irritation with the Night Court’s meddling in her life, for the time being at least. Lucien had waited until he had returned home – leaving dinner for him too – before departing. The day had not been bad with Lucien, so she had opened her arms for Cassian to sink into then washed his cuts and bruises in the bath, talking quietly about their respective days.

‘You won’t be getting outside today,’ Cassian remarked, giving a cursory nod to the window. Rain poured from the grey sky and pelted the window frames. Zasha had not even emerged from the bedroom, preferring to remain under the duvet. ‘I’ll be back earlier today.’

They occupied themselves with dusty board games found in the spare room followed by a few rounds of cards. For every game that Lucien won, Nesta revealed more about Elain – good and bad stories. Nesta told Lucien how her younger sister hated early mornings and was always the last to go to sleep, how she threw worms at Nesta and Feyre once in a rare rage, and when she laughed too hard, she sometimes snorted. Lucien listened in rapture, falling in love with stories. Nesta told him that Elain and her had been each other’s dance partners as children, that when they had raced, Elain was always the quickest of the three, and she had always wanted to learn to ride a horse, specifically a white one.

It was nice to tell Lucien these things rather than to think of her past with regret. It had not always been staring at a wall in a cabin, frozen and starving. In the warm days of summer, there had been fun. The three of them would take the blanket from the bed, place it on the grass in front of the cottage, and gaze up at the clouds, naming the shapes they could see in the fluffy blobs.

In a careful voice, he told her that Graysen had been married the previous month to an heiress. When he said the name, Nesta rolled her eyes. She knew the silly girl; it was the same airhead who’d been wicked to Elain as a child, who’d then bragged that she would be marrying the duke from the continent. It would not have surprised Nesta if she had only married Graysen to exact revenge for a grudge she’d been holding for over a decade.

‘Jurian hates her. Says she sounds like a yapping dog. Apparently, she insists on being present at their meetings and interrupts him constantly.’

Nesta snorted. ‘If Jurian should like company, I would be more than happy to make a surprise appearance. I can even bring Cassian.’

‘Every mortal there would drop down dead at the sight of him.’

‘I may not have married that duke, but I am marrying the Lord of Bloodshed.’

When the rain showed no signs of letting up and they had exhausted all avenues of conversation in the house, Lucien clapped his hands together. ‘Just because it’s raining in this court, it doesn’t mean it’s raining in every court. How do you like the Autumn weather?’

***

Beside Keir, Rhys peered over the balcony at the hard stone below, his face was cold and aloof. The steward of the Hewn City had been instructed to display the talents of his Darkbringers as a means of inspection. They were elite, trained well and trained hard, Cassian acknowledged as he watched the line of males wield their sword along with the barking order of their commander. Feyre scrutinised them too, her tattooed hands clutching the railing, but Azriel, who was stood beside her, appeared bored in their carefully planned strategy. His shadows had found somewhere else to haunt, to further convey how utterly tedious it was for them to be in the Hewn City.

It was always this way – act as if the Darkbringers were mediocre, put the pressure on their commanders to drill harder, to push further.

It had been Rhys’ idea to call for the meeting – and another surprise inspection. With Briallyn finally showing signs of movement on the continent, it had him and Feyre fretting over another war. Cassian did not believe it would come to that; for him, it would be something much worse, Nesta being taken or hurt – and only Nesta. She was the collateral damage.

‘I am not surprised our emissary has not deigned to pay a visit,’ Keir said, eyes roving over the orderly lines of soldiers. ‘Or is it that he is loyal to another court now?’

Rhys tapped his fingers on the balcony lightly. ‘Lucien remains loyal to the Night Court. He visits his grieving mother in Autumn, no more than that.’

Keir chuckled. ‘You must have heard the news? If it reached us in the Hewn City where so few dignitaries deign to visit, you must have heard the news.’

The high lord and lady exchanged a worried glance. Azriel kept his eyes trained on the soldiers, but Cassian could tell he was listening intently.

‘Lucien Vanserra is the heir to the Day Court throne. He is not a Vanserra at all it seems. You will have a tug-of-war on your hands between Autumn and Day. A mother in one, a father in another.’

‘My sister resides in this one,’ Feyre said.

The steward narrowed his eyes at her – and Cassian waited for his snide remark about her daring to speak, but Keir only smiled. It was a cruel, revolting thing. ‘For now.’

Azriel stepped to the side, fingers flickering towards Truth-Teller, but Rhys asked, ‘Who is your most skilled?’

Keir indicated to a tall male with the same golden blonde hair as Mor. ‘My wife’s nephew.’

‘Cassian.’

Rhys gestured towards the lower-level as a sign that he should take up arms. As he descended the black stone steps, his high lord’s voice breached his mind.

Beat him anyway you have to. But beat him. I don’t want Keir getting complacent.

He tightened the gauntlet on his hand and gave the slightest of nods in response. How was he expected to focus when he had just found out that Lucien was Helion’s son? Lucien – sat cosily in his home with his mate playing children’s games – was a high lord’s son. And from the lack of reaction by Feyre and Rhys, it was something they had been holding to their chest for a long time. It hadn’t been Cassian’s business to know, it wasn’t his parentage, but the fact they had known, that they had kept it a secret from the inner circle, from Lucien even… Lucien was supposed to be a part of their court. Had they kept it secret to not lose Lucien’s loyalty? It had Cassian wondering what else they kept from him.

Nesta’s words from a couple of nights ago echoed in his head. You are not a dog. You weren’t built to blindly follow orders. Cassian shook them away. For five hundred years, he had followed orders. For five hundred years, he’d trusted Rhys’ judgement – but how could he trust the decisions made about Nesta when Rhys was clouded by his opinion of her. That morning, he’d insisted that he deserved to be included in the rota to protect Nesta, but Rhys had refused again. His high lord considering him unfit to take care of his own mate had cracked a part of his trust. It had hurt him. Hurt him that Rhys, of all males, had overlooked him for something so crucial.

Cassian channelled that insecurity into his blade. Keir had insisted upon blunt steel; it could still kill with the right force, but for sparring, the blades were inconsequential. Cassian fought with skill, matching the male with every step, but his heart wasn’t in it; his heart was back in Illyria with the mate who pretended she wasn’t terrified – the mate who he wished he could take to the furthest corners of the world to protect.

The swords ground against each other with a harsh scrape. The male was good. All the Darkbringers were. Illyrians and Darkbringers were trained as little boys to hold a weapon to one day shed blood. Little boys in Velaris never had that burden. Little boys in Velaris could gain an education, open restaurants or work in banks. Nesta had seen the inequality between the three areas of the Night Court and could not in good conscience be in Velaris.

His temporary lapse in concentration meant Mor’s cousin drove him back a step. From the corner of his eye, Cassian saw Feyre’s eyes widen in shock that the male had been able to gain on him. Feinting right, he drove his sword towards the left – but the male met his parry with lightning-quick reactions.

Being born in Velaris did not mean a life of luxury, but it certainly meant a life of comfort not afforded to children in Illyria, or even the Hewn City. All the words that Nesta had ever thrown at him – in anger or desperation – about his court were threatening to drown him. Nesta had never hated the Night Court, not its people, but she had scorned its high lord and lady for not challenging the status quo. And he was beginning to understand it. Beginning to understand that when Nesta looked at Lule she saw a girl that would grow into a female with clipped wings who turned her eyes to the ground when she saw a male. That when she held sweet Lorin to her chest, she knew he’d grow into a male who hurt females, who jeered at them as they passed, a male who would be brutally murdered at the foot of a mountain because it was how life was for Illyrians.

With a deafening clatter, he disarmed the male so his sword fell to the ground. Then he left.

Rhys was speaking into his mind, questioning him, ordering him to halt from his march, but Cassian blocked out the voice and pushed open the heavy, stone doors. Kept his feet moving over the polished marble floors of each corridor until he was out of the gates. His wings spread out behind him, flapping twice to get him airborne, then he was streaking through the rain, leaving the Hewn City in the distance.

***

‘Drink.’

‘It hit the apple!’

‘I thought that magic eye was supposed to improve your vision,’ Eris tutted. He strode forwards towards the enormous, twisting apple tree and plucked an arrow from the ground. ‘No apple. Drink twice for speaking against your high lord – and elder brother.’

‘Show some respect, Lucien,’ Nesta chided playfully.

A golden afternoon had met them in the Autumn Court and Eris had jumped at the chance of escaping the Forest House for an hour or two. A team of sentries had accompanied them on horseback, but remained in the distance, encircling them with the horses in case that damn shadowsinger is sniffing in my woods again, Eris had said.

The Vanserra brothers were shooting at an ancient tree, trying to impale the fruit with arrows. For every miss, they took a generous drink of cider brewed with apples from the very tree they had gathered near to. It was an activity they had enjoyed a lot in their youth, Nesta judged from the familiarity of the game - and the scars in the trunk.

Nesta had managed to hit the bark once and sent another arrow skittering along the leafy undergrowth, but both of those had been when Eris had helped her hold the heavy bow and draw back the string. She remained sat on a blanket, the leather wrist guard still on her arm, sipping at cider without participating further.

It was fun to simply watch the brothers’ bickering – and how they grew more competitive with every shot and swig of cider. It was fun to be outside and distracted too. Eris, it seemed, also needed the distraction from duties. The stiffness was loosening itself from his body with every quip at Lucien.

‘Let your big brother show you how it’s done,’ he boasted, drawing back the bowstring.

His fingers were steady as he lined up the shot. A soft exhale came through pursed lips.

Lucien clapped his hands together loudly, making Eris jump.

The arrow embedded itself into a tree root.

‘Bastard.’

‘It’s true now too,’ Lucien winked. ‘It also explains why I’m the most handsome son.’

‘I regret telling you. It has inflated your ego – which was already too large for most males, especially for one with such a small…’ His voice trailed off, eyes glancing at Lucien’s crotch for emphasis. ‘Well, there are ladies present. I shan’t embarrass you.’

Nesta choked on her mouthful of cider, half-way between laughing and screeching. Eris was tossing his head back in loud laughter and Lucien was calling him a prick.

‘That’s a lie,’ he declared, pointing at Nesta.

She held up her hands. ‘You’re not my mate.’

‘It’s a lie! It is a lie.’

Eris lurched forwards, pulling Lucien into a head lock and ruffling his hair. A look of feral delight flashed onto his face as he looked at Nesta with poor Lucien trapped against him. ‘My darling, little brother.’

How lovely to see them both unguarded – to see brothers as they should have been. How many years had Eris yearned for it, Nesta wondered? How long had he coveted a relationship with his brother? He’d certainly thrown his title – not high lord, but big brother – around for most of the day, proud to bear it.

‘Did little Lucien ever tell you that he slept in our parent’s bed until he was eight?’

Lucien jammed his foot out, catching Eris by the heel so he staggered backwards, his hold loosening enough for Lucien to break free and push his brother to the ground. ‘Did Eris tell you that when he was eight, he declared to the whole court at a dinner that he was going to marry mother?’

‘You weren’t even alive then!’

‘The story lives on in infamy. You’ll always be a mother’s boy.’

Nesta raised her eyebrow. ‘I think you both are.’

***

‘You caught me!’ Mor was stood in the kitchen, shovelling a muffin into her mouth when Cassian swung open the door in the House of Wind. At the sight of his bedraggled state, her brow dipped. ‘What the hell happened to you?’

‘I’m in a bad mood and I didn’t want to go home and have an argument with Nes.’

‘Is this because of her?’

Cassian swallowed his growl. ‘No. Your cousin and his mate.’

Mor led him onto a couch before fetching a towel and draping it over his head to dry off his tangled mass of ebony hair. There were slight bags under her eyes, but she hadn’t been away in the continent for a little while. Cassian knew better than to ask her why she wasn’t sleeping. Most of the time he didn’t want to know who was keeping her up at night.

‘Have you and Rhys argued?’ She frowned. A wave of her hand had a tea pot whizzing in from the kitchen – both of them flinched as it wafted past them and skidded to a stop on the little table, boiling water sloshing out of the spout. ‘Oops. Bit too much power there.’

‘Show off.’

‘I’ll use my hands from now on,’ she promised, pouring for them. ‘Spill whatever it is that’s interrupted my peace gobbling cakes alone in the kitchen.’

So, Cassian did. He told Mor how hurt he felt that Rhys did not allow him to protect Nesta. How he had always been the little boy who wasn’t good enough and all those feelings of childhood had swarmed back into his chest. Protecting Nesta was the most important task of his life and he was overlooked from it. He’d never had the chance to protect his mother. Now, his brother had decided that he was not good enough to look after his mate either.

‘What if you never got out of the Hewn City? Would you still bow down to Rhys and treat him with respect?’

‘But I did get out, Cass,’ Mor said softly.

He swallowed, not wanting to push too far and drag Mor down into misery with him. ‘You have cousins there, just like you, trapped in marriages where they’re beaten and hurt.’

‘It’s how it has always been. You know that. To keep Velaris, there has to be a place like the Court of Nightmares.’

Cassian laughed bitterly. ‘You wouldn’t be saying that if you were on the other side of the fence. There’s a reason they hate us.’

Mor threw out her hands, chewing down on her lip. ‘What do you want me to suggest? We break the hand of every male that touches a female without permission?’

‘Fucking yes! There’s a library downstairs full of females hurt by males – and none of them come from the Hewn City or Illyria. Our females don’t get saved. They have to endure misery because it's always been that way.’

The wind seemed to scream past the windows. Stormy weather was coming in fast from the north, bringing bitter winds and torrential rain that was unlikely to pass quickly. It matched his mood, he thought.

Tears were welling up in Mor’s brown eyes, but she let him put an arm around her to pull her close. ‘I wasn’t having a dig at you. I know you try so hard to help the females in the library. Illyrians are my people. I can’t live there and know that I’m not doing anything to help them.’

‘You’re going to build an orphanage for children like you, Cass.’

‘But there shouldn’t be children like me,’ he protested, voice raw with anguish. ‘I’d cut off the hand of any male who dared to touch a female who didn’t want it. I’d cut their fucking heads off.’

Mor inhaled then shook her head dismissively. ‘You’ve been different since you spent time in the Spring Court.’

‘Since I saw lesser fae not treated as such. It’s a court where everybody is treated fairly.’

‘Do not say that Tamlin is a good leader.’

‘I said he’s fair. Don’t twist my words.’

At the snap in his voice, Mor blanched. Immediately, he regretted his tone, regretted that it had set her on edge. For a long while, they sat in a pained quiet. Mor drank her tea then put the mug down with enough force, it was no wonder it did not shatter. Still the wind howled outside, rattling the huge windows carved into the red stone walls.

Mor folded her arms across her chest. ‘Sorry.’

‘Sorry.’

She held out a hand and slipped hers into his, squeezing once. ‘I hate when we fight.’

‘Me too. I’m just so worried about Nesta. I’m on edge.’ He blew out a shaky breath. ‘Have you heard the newest gossip in Prythian?’

Her mouth popped open and she leaned in, tucking her feet up onto the couch. ‘No, tell me more.’

‘It turns out Lucien is actually Helion’s son. Our emissary is the heir to the Day Court – which explains why Helion was so bizarre at the funeral and the dinner he invited himself to at the River House.’

‘Helion had a son with Adeline Vanserra?’ Mor gaped. ‘Lucien? They do have the same nose.’

‘Wait until Lucien finds out you’ve slept with his father.’

Mor snorted. ‘Wait ‘til he finds out Helion’s been trying to sleep with you and Az for centuries too.’

Finally, a laugh came to Cassian. It bubbled away at first until it spilt out into a roar that had him clutching his stomach. ‘You and Eris’ mother have slept with the same male. If you had married Eris, you could have compared notes on Helion with your mother-in-law.’

It had been centuries since their failed betrothal and he thought Mor might have laughed, or at least rolled her eyes at the joke, but she burst into big, wailing sobs instead. She buried her face in her hands. Cassian had never seen her like this before, never seen her cry so dramatically.

‘I’m so tired,’ she gasped through her tears. ‘I can’t sleep. It’s all I can think about. It’s constantly there. That pull. That feeling. It’s worse and worse each day.’

‘What feeling?’

Mor opened her mouth then swallowed the words trying to come out. Cassian knew her well enough to know when she was lying – and knew when to let the lie exist undisturbed. ‘That things are changing.’

In a brief reprise from the downpour, Cassian bolted from the roof of the House of Wind. The rain started up again mid-flight, so he pulsed his wings quicker to avoid looking like a drowned rat when he finally reached the cabin.

A pang of fear hit him squarely in the chest when he realised that Nesta was not home. Zasha was gone too. There were no signs of a struggle, but it had been terrible weather all day. The lights in Emerie’s shop had been off when he passed, so she likely wasn’t there. Rhys was sending Azriel to Rovena’s on Friday, whether their brother wanted to go or not because it had been so long since he’d seen her – and Cassian knew Nesta was going then too, not today. Balthazar wouldn’t be working his forge in such horrendous weather. He might have an indoor workstation somewhere, but Cassian didn’t know it.

Just as Cassian was about to rush back out of the front door and tear open the world to find his mate, he heard her giddy squeal. She and Lucien appeared a few feet from the cabin with Zasha in tow, winnowing in from somewhere.

A bright smile stretched across her flushed cheeks, despite the rain pelting her scalp, as she ran into his arms. He heaved her up to his chest, pressing a kiss to her lips.

‘You scared me.’

‘Sorry,’ she said hiccupping.

‘That’s my fault,’ Lucien explained, following them into the house. ‘We went to Autumn and broke open the cider during a shooting contest. Lost track of the time.’

‘I shot a bow,’ Nesta said proudly, a smile brandished on her bleary features.

‘She’s drunk.’

‘A good meal and she’ll be fine. Cider from the Autumn Court is strong. It turns a good coin. The apples grow year-round.’

‘The apples!’ Nesta cried, snatching a bag from Lucien’s hand and rummaging through it. Within were more of the toffee covered apples – enough to feed a small army – and a thick, knitted blanket. ‘You should come to the market, my love. We can spend your high lord’s money.’

‘My love? You are definitely drunk.’ He flicked the end of her nose.

‘I’ll leave her with you then,’ Lucien said. Once Nesta had clattered up the stairs in hunt of her night gown, despite evening not yet settling in, the male spoke again. ‘Sorry. She looked as if she could do with some fun. She is safe in Autumn Court – you have my word. Eris has offered her the deal again today and she still won’t accept it.’

Cassian nodded. ‘She won’t let anybody risk themselves for her.’

Lucien stroked a hand through his hair. His mouth opened then closed again. When it opened a second time, Nesta stumbled down the last couple of steps in her nightgown and tossed the new blanket around her shoulders like a cape.

‘Goodbye both. I’ll see if I can be put on the rota again soon,’ he winked to Nesta.

‘I have many more stories about Elain, Spell-cleaver.’

‘I should hope so. Farewell.’

In the time that Cassian had seen Lucien out of the front door and returned to the kitchen, Nesta was slumped at the table, head propped up by a bent elbow. Cassian leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

‘Dinner’s cooking.’

‘I wish you could have come to Autumn today. It was brilliant fun.’

‘And have Eris goad me for hours?’

Nesta scrunched up her face. ‘He’s much nicer now Beron isn’t there to beat him.’

Cassian stilled at the stove. Quietly, he turned the chicken breasts over in the sizzling pan, letting those words settle. If Beron hit his wife, it shouldn’t have been a shock that he did the same to his son. But it was. Eris was his son and heir. Even Illyrian brutes didn’t generally hit their sons, only the daughters. ‘Beron used to beat Eris when he was a child?’

‘He was beating him until he died,’ Nesta frowned. ‘Thank goodness the faebane got him before I did.’

Her eyes were drooping again at the table, so Cassian made her drink a cold glass of water to wake her up. The cider had made her tongue far looser than other alcohol usually did. There were different phases to drunken Nesta, he had learnt. Sometimes she got a little too excited with her hands and tried to undress him – or herself. Tonight, it seemed, she was spilling secrets. Beron was old – but not old enough to have died from natural causes. Nesta had known all this time about his death, known and kept that secret for Eris’ sake. For his sake – or his mother’s.

‘Do you… Do you ever regret not pursuing a romance with Eris?’

‘Why would I? I have you. My Cassian,’ she sighed dreamily as she gazed upon her engagement ring. ‘I want to get married in Illyria. Soon. I love you too much to wait any longer.’

And just like that, the part of him that was stretched and aching with worry and despair was soothed. Nesta reached out her hand, awaiting his touch. He kissed the heart of her palm, huffing a laugh at his drunken, adorable mate. Lucien was right – she had needed fun.

When they ate, he gave Nesta a bigger portion than usual to try and sober her up before bed. Her table manners had not departed at least. The chicken was sliced into dainty bites and she’d straightened up in the chair to eat.

‘How was your day, krásavec?’

‘Had to spar with Mor’s cousin in the Hewn City then I threw a strop and left.’

‘Why?’

‘I was pissed off. Went to Velaris, made a joke about Helion and Eris then Mor burst into tears. All round, it’s been a fantastic day.’

Nesta left her plate to come and sit in his lap in the chair. Her arms snaked around his neck as she pulled his head against her. ‘I love you. You are a good person.’

‘Thanks, sweetheart.’ Cassian rubbed his thumb on the bare skin of her thigh revealed by the night gown. ‘I thought Mor might be able to joke about Eris after all this time, but she fell apart. I feel horrendous.’

‘It’s because he’s high lord now and the mating bond is pulsing stronger than ever.’

Blood pounded in Cassian’s ears. Mating bond? The food in his stomach seemed to curdle. His pulse had stopped entirely. Mor had mentioned a pull. The same pull he had felt for Nesta – what he still felt for her. ‘What did you say?’

Nesta slipped off his lap. ‘I’m so tired. I better go to bed. I don’t know what I’m saying.’

He held her still, not letting her leave. ‘Eris is Mor’s mate.’

‘Cassian, forget I said anything. Please. Leave it.’

A lot of it made sense. Mor’s reluctance to be near him in case anybody scented it. Eris’ constant teasing of her. The way he seemed unable to stop himself from mentioning her in their meetings, because she was his mate and likely consumed all of his thoughts like Nesta did to Cassian. Was that what he had shown Rhys that day to gain his trust? That for five hundred years they hadn’t just been in a failed betrothal, but they had been mates, bound together by the Cauldron.

‘Why hasn’t she severed it?’

Nesta’s eyes were red where tears were leaking from them. ‘Because that would require her admitting that Eris is her equal.’ She scrubbed her face with her hands. The truth had sobered her – or the regret. ‘Please, Cassian. You cannot tell anyone.’

‘Who else knows?’

‘Just Eris and Mor. And Emerie.’

‘How the fuck does Emerie know?’

‘That meal in Velaris after Helion had warded the mask. Do you remember I left the room flustered and Emerie followed?’

Yes, and they had both come back with eyes like saucers, unable to look at anyone and kept devolving into fits of giggles. He’d thought they simply shared a rude inside joke or nerves had got the better of them. Emerie had nearly spat it out at dinner the other night, he realised suddenly.

‘That was months ago,’ he gritted out.

Nesta grimaced. ‘I know. I’m sorry. Eris had dropped clues and I figured it out there and then. Mor spoke to me, warned me that if I hurt you, she’d always be on your side. I couldn’t take it. I told her the same, that Eris was my friend and to keep his name out of her mouth. It was so stupid. She begged me not to tell anybody, not to tell you. I had to keep their secret. It wasn’t my place to tell you.’

‘It seems everybody keeps secrets from me. Let me guess, you knew about Lucien being Helion’s son too?’

‘I did,’ she said screwing her eyes shut, ‘but I only realised last time we were in Velaris and I demanded that Eris tell him the truth as soon as I knew. I hate to keep secrets, Cassian, especially from you. I even asked you if you thought Lucien looked familiar because I thought others must have realised it. You’ve known Helion far longer than I have.’

‘So, now I’m stupid for not noticing it?’

‘I didn’t say that!’

Cassian wasn’t being fair and he knew it – but couldn’t stop himself. The jaded feelings of the last couple of days were pouring out.

‘Accept Eris’ deal. Let a high lord look after you because I’m incapable.’

‘No,’ she yelled, ‘I will not give into fear. I will not let myself be like Rovena or Adeline or Gwyn where I am too afraid to experience the world. I will not have people shielding me for the rest of my life. And I will not accept Eris’ offer because I know what it does to you, Cassian. I know it hurts you when you see his mark on me. And I do not want you to hurt. I choose you. I love you.’

Quietly, he said, ‘I’m going to bed.’

Not good enough to protect his mate, not good enough to know the secrets everybody else was clued into. The cabin was locked for the night and Nesta was safe inside, but he had to get away from her to stop himself from hurting her even more with his words. He had left her crying in the kitchen, the good mood from the Autumn Court colliding with the maelstrom devouring Illyria.

When she followed him up to bed and cuddled up to him, Cassian moved her arm away and left the bed. He wasn’t foolish enough to leave Nesta over night in Illyria, but there was a spare room. He didn’t deserve to share the same bed as her.

He settled in the cold blankets, staring up at the slanted roof, breathing heavily. Everything was happening all at once. He played every single memory of Mor and Eris over in his mind, hunting for clues that were easier to see with hindsight. Cassian hated Eris, the cruel, spoilt son of a high lord. But now, he saw Eris as the son beaten by his father, the male whose mate hadn’t wanted him – the mate who ruined herself with an Illyrian bastard rather than be with him. From Eris’ perspective, he understood why he hated him. Mor had carried that secret for five centuries. She hadn’t told any of her family the truth – as if they’d have thought differently of her because of something she had no control over.

Cassian thought again of Beron’s funeral, of how distraught Helion had been. How ready he had been to start a fight with Lucien until he’d looked the male in the eyes. Had he known it then – that he was staring at his son?

Cassian lay under the covers, listening to the rain patter on the roof. It wasn’t fair to punish Nesta for the secrets she had been forced to keep. The regret had been clear on her face. And Nesta. Brilliant, brave Nesta who refused the protection of a high lord to not hurt her mate’s fragile feelings. There was no female like her.

After what felt like hours later, the door creaked open. Nesta’s outline was just visible in the darkness then Cassian heard the jingle of Zasha’s collar as the smokehound pushed past her and leapt onto the bed.

‘Can I be here?’ She asked tentatively. ‘I can’t sleep without you.’

‘I’m so sorry, Nes. Come here.’ He had her in his arms in seconds, drawing her cold body to his and wrapping a wing around them both like a cocoon. ‘I should not have said any of those things to you. You never asked to carry other people’s secrets.’

‘I didn’t want to keep them from you.’

‘They weren’t mine to know,’ he conceded, stroking her hair. ‘I just want to take you somewhere safe, where we can just be us. I'm sorry. I'm so scared something will happen to you.’

‘It’s you and I. We have to be together, have to be on each other’s team.’

‘You have all of me, Nesta. No matter what happens, our hearts are always meant to be together.’

#au acosf #i love writing the vanserra bros being bros

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usaigi · 2 years ago

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Steven & Daniela

Lunar sys au character cards | Read all chapters on ao3

cw: past child abuse

‘--no matter how hard you scrub your hands will always be stained with blood. You think that you can deceive everyone just because you hide behind a mask but I know the truth. You pretend to have a noble cause, a righteous one, but you’re not different from Marc. Both of you disgust me. When will you ever open your eye and admit that the only thing you’re good for is inflicting pai–’

“What the hell is your problem? Is it really so hard for you to shut up for a bloody minute? I've had a shit night and I don’t need another self-important prat yapping in my head,” Steven finally snaps, slamming his hands on the side of the sink. The water running from the faucet, a mix of blood, dirt, and water flooding the sink. Steven stares directly at the mirror, almost expecting to see her –whoever she is–instead of his own tired reflection.

“What is the freaking end goal here? Do you take pleasure in tormenting us? Is this fun for you? You refuse to talk to us unless it’s to abuse us. You won’t even tell us your name. To be completely frank, it’s getting old.” he talks back, speaking out loud as if to better articulate his point.

‘I don’t owe you an explanation, I–’ she curses, her low voice booming through his head.

“Then, respectfully, piss off. You've been in my head for as long as I can remember, yeah? You’ve been the one telling me I’m not good enough, that’ll never be good enough. I always just thought you were my intrusive thoughts, my self-doubt. I’ll have you know I’m not going to let myself be bullied by anyone else; not Donna, not Khonshu, and much less you,” he states, shutting off the tap. Steven runs his hands through his hair, tugging his hair to cover his eyes as he takes a seat on edge of the bathtub.

‘You insolent worm, how dare you–’ she spits, crawling at his skin.

“What, are you picking up insults from Khonshu now?” he sasses, rolling his eyes. “Marc says that you remind him of mum… how she really was, not how I imagined her to be. How he just shuts down whenever you poke your head in because it’s too painful,” he mumbles, dropping his hands to his lap, “Do you remember her?”

He doesn’t know how to interpret her silence. It’s so quiet that he can ever hear the water droplets hitting the porcelain sink, one after the other. He clears his throat before continuing.

“I remember her… sober. Loving us. Marc doesn’t like it when I talk about it but… I remember spending afternoons cooking as music played from the kitchen, curling up by her side and watching movies, how tears would run down her face when she kissed us,” the memories of her comforting him play across his eyes, lacking the warmth he once associated when he used to reminisce. “I know they’re not real but… it was real to me… I know my mother died with our brother, I know she hurt us not just Marc, I know she was awful and sick and I’m wrong and I know it was a lie … it’s hard to process that…my whole life has been a lie,” he finishes, wiping the tears off his cheek.

“What do you remember?” Steven asks again, opening the door.

Instead of a verbal reply, the cold wind shakes through his bones. Images of a young girl, with fiery red hair, pulled back into a tight updo. The girl is wearing what appears to be a school uniform, a white blouse underneath a plaid dress the same color as her hair, sitting perfectly straight like a doll. A looming shadowy figure stands behind her, ominously slapping a ruler against its open palm. The second the girl slouches, the sound of the ruler hitting her skin crackles, jolting Steven to straight out his back.

Instead of tears in the girl's eyes, Steven sees rage seething in her eyes.

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #marvel #moon knight fanfic #usaigi speaks #mk lunar sys

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safetypinned · 2 months ago

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"uh... yeah," he murmurs. guilt coats his tongue with a sour flavor. "probably why we didn't. wasn't much to worry about.. you're right." that part stings. the part where she brings up him getting hurt. he, inwardly, kicks the crap outta the rumor mill that is the roadhouse. can't kick the crap outta sonny if it was her that did it. but he can mute a groan at the way the freaking hunters in that place yap like old ladies sitting around a knitting circle. worse. old men perched on a porch in their rocking chairs watching the world go by and droning on about everything around them. his chin tucks into his collar even further. like he'd bury himself away inside the jacket that seems a little too loose on his shoulders. even though it fit not too long ago. he's lost a little weight. hasn't been all that hungry. all things considered. hard to eat when your brother's life and soul are on the line BECAUSE OF YOU. this would be a good place to leave. wander away with some good excuse about needing to get back to dean and make sure he hasn't passed out in a position that he's gonna regret in the morning. throw some line about research he has to finish. there's so many outs.. and yet? sam doesn't take them. in spite of his gut telling him he should. instead. he followers her in.

sam stands awkwardly by the little kitchenette. figuring this is a safe distance between her and him. doesn't want to get in the way of her keeping herself busy. he sees it for what it's worth. something he'd do. something dean does. "did she? you get to hear a lot of things in that place. some are greatly exaggerated. most people hear one thing and twist it into the worst. it was already aiming towards the latter when it hit her. m'sorry.. if.. did she tell you after dean and i were there? i mean.. you didn't think i was..you know. too?" struggling to talk about the whole mess, he bites into his bottom lip--lifts a hand to scratch the back of his head. "enough people were put through the ringer with the whole thing.." he's not gonna ask if there's something else on her mind. not til they get past this part. opening up another can of worms? probably not for the best.

his words did nothing to settle the feeling in her stomach. she knows what it is like to hide the truth behind empty words and vacant gestures meant to reassure. she's doing it right now, pretending to be normal. pretending she's fine. natasha looks up at him through her lashes, blue eyes wary before sliding out from under his arm and fiddling with the motel key to her room. "is that why neither of you bothered to mention you'd gotten hurt? because there was nothing to worry about?" looking over her shoulder, natasha gives him a pointed look before opening the room door and stepping in. the door is left open, the key pocketed. she had left the safehouse the day prior and had spent who knows how long drinking in the near by town. a nameless, faceless hook up. a dreamless sleep. only to wake up with a pounding headache, an aching arm and memories that won't leave her. advil had been washed down with shitty gas station coffee on her way here and she was thankful that they'd already kicked in half an hour ago because sam doesn't deserve to be on the receiving end of her current mood. all she wants is to be alone.

"sonny told me about the rumor that was going around a few months back." she adds, as she gathers the empty take away containers littering the small table by the door and shoves them into the already half full trashcan. next, she picks up and folds the few clothes that are strewn about. it gives her something to focus on. gives her something to think about, something other than how her daughter felt in her arms.

#featuring: natasha romanova (cursedhunting)#cursedhunting #boy.. he is nervous af. lol!!#we are made from the sharpest things you'd say. (chapter ii)

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hookedonapirate · 4 years ago

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Book Update

If anyone is wondering when Hard To Handle will be coming out, I have some news! So, for those who don't know, Hard To Handle is an original A Helping Hand rewrite featuring Harper and Owen (Killian and Emma) and will be part 2 of the series. And if you haven't guessed yet, part 1 features Audrey and Brady (Elsa and Liam from A Helping Hand) with a Harper and Brady friendship. For those interested in their story, I have a little treat for you below. However, this Sneak peek doesn't show Audrey and Brady meeting yet because I haven't gotten that far.

This is sort of an enemies to lovers story (I say sort of because their "enemy" status in the beginning is too complicated to slap a label on it) that starts off with Harper and Audrey butting heads with their new neighbor, Brady, and him and Audrey exchanging love hate letters. 😉 Then Brady and Audrey form an alliance and break up Harper and Bryce. I promise it's not evil like it sounds because Brady discovers Bryce is cheating on Harper. Remember, Bryce is the Neal of AHH.

This book is a bit darker than book 2 because of the toxic nature of Harper's relationship with Bryce, and because Audrey often pays the price for his shenanigans, but there's still humor and fun in this one.

Anyway, here are the first few chapters. I may post more if anyone's interested ❤️

Chapter One

Brady

There are strange sounds coming from the unit next door.

Laughter maybe?

Yes, definitely laughter.

More like Cackling. From one—make that two—females.

Two loud, annoying females.

Just great.

I take pride in being a fairly simple man who doesn’t need much to be happy. A few things like fishing, enjoying an ice-cold beer and having a few moments of quiet time usually does the trick. Even the sound the can makes whenever I crack open the pull tab of Coors Light is music to my ears. I finally have time to relax after sweating my ass off from all the unpacking I did. I just moved in today and couldn’t stand the idea of tripping over boxes or searching through them every time I needed to use something. I was unable to stop unpacking until every single item in those boxes had a home.

Now I’m able to sit back in my patio chair, prop my feet up on the plastic stool and breathe in the pleasantly cool evening air, enjoy a refreshing, ice-cold beer and some quiet time.

Or at least I was able to until my air of tranquil serenity was so rudely disturbed by my cackling neighbors.

They could at least close their balcony doors, so the entire building doesn’t have to hear them.

I’m already in a foul mood, and the two laughing hyenas aren’t helping. If anything, my mood is worse than it was when I was packing.

They, however, sound like they’re having a grand old time. Doing what exactly, I’m not sure, but it sounds like one of them needed a break from studying and the other one is encouraging her to get drunk and let loose. Which means they’re college students.

Just fucking perfect.

This is exactly why I moved off campus, even though it meant paying rent and enduring a much longer commute to work.

It’s just my luck to get stuck living next to two loud teenagers or early twenty-something-year-olds. I’m around college students all the time, considering I’m an instructor; I don't need to live next to them, too. I learned that very quickly.

Young adults, my ass. More like impudent children.

I feel like the property management should’ve included that minor detail in the apartment listing. Or that not everyone is required to follow their uniform policies.

A peaceful, friendly community? Ha!

The management will definitely be hearing from me about their false advertising.

“Dude, I’m sorry to tell you this, Harp, but your boyfriend’s a fucking loser! Even Elisa said so!”

“He’s just misunderstood!”

“Misunderstood?! Bryce is such a creep!”

“Is not!”

I take a swig of my beer through gritted teeth. I really wish I had a TV right now.

It won’t be delivered until tomorrow, though. Which is very unfortunate and inconvenient at the moment because I need a distraction from reality. Listening to their conversation makes me furious and sad at the same time because it reminds me of me and my brother arguing about his girlfriend. I kept trying to tell Owen she was no good for him, but he wouldn’t listen. I bet this Bryce guy isn’t married, though.

Or maybe he is; I really don’t know.

I need something to take my mind off the overwhelming urge I feel to hop on a plane, fly to Chicago and kick my brother’s ass for being the fucking moron he is. And let me tell you, the urge is very strong right now. Earlier today, Owen told me the woman he’s been seeing is married. They’ve been dating for six months, during which she was lying to him the entire time. I already didn’t like her very much to begin with because she was a controlling bitch—I’m the only one who’s allowed to be a controlling bitch to my brother—and because ever since he started seeing her, I haven't been able to hang out with him very much. Whenever we made plans, he canceled them because Naomi wanted to spend time with him instead. And he was my best friend. Now he tells me she’s married and that he’s still staying with her.

What the actual fuck?

He’s so brainwashed by her, I couldn’t talk a lick sense into that goddamn head of his. Now he wants me to be okay with them staying together while she’s still with her husband?

Fuck that shit.

“Okay listen, if you’re going to talk shit about my boyfriend, we’re going to need more wine.”

“Agreed.”

It becomes silent next door for a few minutes, which makes me sigh in relief. Soon I hear, “Son of a fucking bitch!”

There’s a litany of curses and then, “We need a new corkscrew!”

“But we’re too drunk to drive anywhere!”

Damn, if only I had a corkscrew so they could drink more wine, get drunker and become even louder and more annoying than they already are.

That’s actually not a bad idea, though. If they’re anything like my ex-girlfriend, the quicker they get drunk, the quicker they’ll be ready to sleep. The quicker I’ll finally have my peace and quiet.

I contemplate driving down to the corner store, but what would I even say if I showed up at their door with a corkscrew they didn’t ask for? Oh, hi, I was eavesdropping on your conversation and took it upon myself to go to the store and buy you this corkscrew so you could both drink yourselves into an alcohol-induced coma and I could finally have some peace and quiet?

Nope, I definitely can’t say that.

Chapter Two

Audrey

“Son of a fucking bitch!”

When I rush into the kitchen to see why my roommate’s cussing up a storm, I’m expecting the counter and floor to be covered in wine and shattered glass, even though I didn’t hear any glass break, but Harper’s just holding the corkscrew and staring at the top of the bottle.

“What’s wrong?”

“We need a new corkscrew!” Harper grabs the bottle of wine and points the top of it at me. The cork is still jammed into the neck of the bottle, and the worm of the corkscrew is stuck inside it.

Which is very unfortunate.

She’s been studying her ass off, except for the occasional interruptions from her asshat of a boyfriend, Bryce. She had a really tough time getting him to finally leave so she could study, and she had to literally push him out the door. So I thought Harper could use a break and I could feel saner again by indulging in some wine. But one bottle of wine quickly turned into two. Or rather, it would’ve if not for the end of the corkscrew inside the cork.

Fuck.

“But we can’t drive anywhere,” I point out, considering how tipsy we both are, even though we only went through one bottle between us. But we’re both lightweights.

“Hold on,” she says, picking up her phone from the counter.

I cock my brow. “You do realize Amazon Prime takes two days to ship, right?”

“Yeah, I know, Aud. I’m not that drunk.” After looking at something on her phone for a minute, she leaves the kitchen, returns with one of her tennis shoes and sets the phone down to pick up the wine bottle. She places the bottom of the bottle inside the heel of the shoe, raises her hands above her head and goes to one of the walls in a striking pose.

I rush over and put my hand on her arm to stop her. “Wait, what are you doing?”

“This will push the cork out.”

“But won’t the wine spill all over?”

“Not if I can only push the cork part of the way out and then pull it off the rest of the way.” She hits the shoe against the wall a few times, but the cork doesn’t budge.

“Why don’t we see if any of the neighbors have a corkscrew,” I suggest. “This method doesn’t seem to be working.”

She sighs and drops her arms. “Who do you think would have one?”

“What about Mandy? She’s a wine drinker.”

Harper shakes her head. “She doesn’t get home from the office until late on Mondays. And there’s no way I’m trying mister grumpy pants across the hall. It always seems like he’ll snap at any moment. Plus, once his dog starts yapping, she never shuts up.”

“What about the new guy who just moved in next door?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. What if he’s an ax murderer?”

“I saw him earlier when he was moving in. He seems harmless enough, and is kind of cute, actually.”

“Yeah, well so was Ted Bundy. And I’d like to stay alive with my head intact, thank you very much.” I haven’t seen the new neighbor yet, but I don’t think going over to a stranger's place while we’re both a little tipsy is the best idea, for several reasons.

She flicks her hand. “Well, you don’t have to go. I will.” She grabs her keys, removes her pepper spray from the attached chain and throws her keys back on the counter before heading toward the door.

“Harp, wait…”

Ignoring my pleas as I follow behind her, she slips into her Nike slides. “I’ll be fine. I got my handy dandy pepper spray,” she says, holding it up.

Before I can talk some sense into her, she’s already dashing out the door and calling out over her shoulder, “If I’m not back in five minutes, call 911!”

I sigh and lean against the door, pressing my ear against it so I can listen for Harper’s screams or any signs of a struggle.

Chapter Three

Brady

When I head inside from the balcony, there’s a knock on the front door. I scratch my head and stride over to answer it, wondering who it could be. I just moved into this apartment today, so I literally don’t know any of my neighbors yet.

I open the door to a skinny blonde with green eyes, long, shimmering hair and soft pink lips. She’s easy on the eyes, but I have a feeling she’s one of the laughing hyenas next door. She’s not as young as I thought she’d be, though. She looks to be around my brother’s age. When I give her a once-over, I notice the pepper spray she’s trying to hide in her fist.

I wince at the sight of it. She doesn’t even have the safety lock on.

I offer a tight-lipped smile. “Hello.”

“HiI’myournextdoorneighbor,” she mumbles, her words slurred together. She’s a little tipsy and has to lean against the doorframe so she doesn’t fall over.

“How can I help you, next-door neighbor?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the pepper spray. The sight of it brings back too many painful memories. Memories I’d rather keep locked away.

“I was wondering if you had a corkscrew my roommate and I could borrow?”

On the balcony, I wanted to strangle the two neighbors who were interrupting my quiet time, but now I feel very protective. She’s obviously drunk, yet stumbling over to a neighbor she doesn’t even know. I mean, I like to consider myself an overall decent human being, or as I’ve been called before, “one of the good guys,” but this woman doesn’t know that. She knows nothing about me, yet she’s over here asking to borrow a corkscrew. And yes, she’s carrying a weapon, but I doubt she knows how to use it properly, and with how tipsy she is, I doubt she’d even be fast enough to use it.

“I’m sorry, I don’t.”

Her smile fades, but she looks determined, so I’m hoping she doesn’t go knocking on all her neighbors' doors asking for a corkscrew.

“I could buy you one,” I offer, trying to sound as polite as possible. Which is difficult when I’m irritated.

Her eyes widen in surprise. “Really? You’d do that?”

I cross my arms and give her a stern look. “On one condition.”

She nods excitedly. “Of course, anything.”

I’m so glad I’m a nice guy because this woman seems far too trusting, and I’m afraid of what would’ve happened if I were anything less than a decent human being. “I’ll go and get you a corkscrew if you return to your apartment and keep the noise down for the rest of the night. And maybe close your balcony doors so the entire building can’t overhear your childish conversation.”

I’m thinking this is a very reasonable request. I’m willing to leave the comfort of my apartment to get in my car and go to the corner store to get some women I don’t know a corkscrew, and all they have to do is put a cap on the noise.

But the scowl on her face tells me she doesn’t agree. “First of all,” she raises her index finger, “ruu-uuuuuuude!” She raises another finger. “Secondly, my roommate and I aren’t children. We’re having a stressful week and were finally able to relax and drink some wine when the corkscrew broke. But that’s okay, we’ll figure out how to get the cork off ourselves!” She turns on her heels and starts to head toward her apartment, but spins around again and gets in my space, jabbing a finger at my chest. “And thirdly, we weren’t being that loud!”

I clench my jaw as she storms away and slams the door shut after disappearing inside her apartment. I throw my own door shut, huffing in frustration.

Why couldn’t my neighbors all be sweet old ladies?

So much for having a relaxing evening!

I head back to my balcony when there’s another knock on the door.

“Son of bitch,” I curse under my breath as I march over to the door and yank it open. “What, now?” I ask angrily when I see her standing at my door again.

“I need to borrow a dress shoe.”

I furrow my brows, growing more agitated. “A what?”

She sighs as though I’m the one inconveniencing her. “A dress shoe,” she says impatiently. “Surely you’ve been to a wedding or funeral. You must have one.”

“I do, but why do you—” Before I get the chance to answer, she shoves past me and heads toward my bedroom.

I follow her in there and cross my arms over my chest in the doorway as I watch her go to my closet. “What in the ever-loving hell are you doing?”

“I told you, I need to borrow a dress shoe.”

Seriously?!

The audacity of this woman waltzing into my apartment and taking one of my shoes! “That’s funny because I never said you could borrow one.”

“Wow, your closet is super organized,” she comments as she looks around, easily finding one of my brown dress shoes and grabbing it from the shoe rack.

I’m still standing in the bedroom doorway when she tries to get through. I reach for my shoe, but she steps back and aims her pepper spray at me. I instinctively duck out of the line of fire and lunge forward, grabbing the pepper spray from her hand and twisting the safety lock.

“Wait, please don’t kill me! My roommate’s calling 911 if I’m not back in two minutes!” she cries, shielding herself with her hands.

I sigh in exasperation and extend the pepper spray to her. “I’m not trying to murder you, I was trying to get my shoe back.”

She slowly drops her arms and narrows her eyes as she snatches the spray from my hand. “Then why did you take away my weapon?”

I scoff. “It was a reflex so I didn’t get sprayed in the face since I wasn’t actually attacking you. Do you know how many times I’ve been pepper-sprayed in the face?”

“Why, because you’re a rapist?!” she accuses, stepping away from me and aiming her pepper spray at me again, even though the safety is still on. She probably doesn’t even know that, though.

I sigh in exasperation and raise my hands in surrender. “No, because I was in the Marines. Getting pepper-sprayed was part of my training. It taught me how to use my weapons and equipment.”

She lowers the spray, guilt etched in her features. “Oh, sorry. My roommate said you might be another Ted Bundy, and I don’t want to be raped and murdered.”

“Yeah, because breaking into your neighbor’s apartment and stealing their shoe is a good way to prevent that from happening,” I say, my words laden with sarcasm.

“Well, no, but that’s what the pepper spray was for.”

“It won’t do you any good if you don’t use it properly. You need to have a firm grip and use your thumb to activate it so it can’t be taken out of your hand like I just took it out of yours.”

“Thanks for the tip.” She raises the pepper spray at me again and presses the button to activate it. But it’s still disarmed. Once she realizes her mistake, her eyes widen.

I cock my head to the side and plant my hands on my hips. “Really?”

She offers an apologetic smile, then scurries toward me, ducks under my arm and squeezes past me, darting for the front door. “I’ll bring it right back, I promise!”

I let her go and exhale another deep sigh. What could she possibly need my shoe for anyway? To squash a spider or something? Can’t she use her own Goddamn shoe for that?

Right, she probably doesn’t want to get her precious shoe all gross, so she’s using mine instead. Which means my shoe will be returned with spider guts on the bottom.

Just great.

I go to the balcony and curtly grab my beer so I can head inside and not have to hear every goddamn word of their conversation again.

Pound, pound, pound.

What the hell?

It sounds like they’re banging something against the wall.

My shoe, perhaps?

Pound, pound, pound.

Then I hear a loud pop!

“Yessssss!”

They got the cork out.

“Holy shit, you made a mess!”

“Sorry, but at least we can keep drinking!”

“Woohoo!”

I head inside and close the sliding doors, hoping to go to bed and get some rest. But then there’s another knock on the front door.

“Fucking hell,” I groan as I go over to answer it. It’s probably the blonde neighbor with my shoe, but I’m not sure I want it back.

Sure enough, it’s her.

“Thanks for letting me borrow it.” She hands over my shoe with a small smile and heads back to her apartment.

“You didn’t borrow it, you stole it!” I call after her. But she completely ignores me.

“And sorry I tried to spray you...twice!” Before I can respond, she’s already inside her unit.

I bring the shoe to my nose to get a closer whiff of it. I noticed the smell as soon as she handed it to me. “Hey, why does my shoe smell like wine?!”

But I’m talking to the door at this point.

I shake my head and go back inside, trying to decide if I should try to get the smell out or just toss the pair into the trash. For now, I set it aside and go to the bathroom to get ready for bed, hoping my neighbors will down the bottle, get tired and pass out so I can have a quiet evening.

No such luck.

They turn on the music, and I can hear the pounding bass through the wall and also, “Yeeeeesssss, this is my jam!”

The walls are actually shaking.

Why do the other neighbors put up with this! It’s absurd, really.

They should be evicted.

I contemplate calling the police to make a complaint, but this is New York City; the police have better things to do than respond to non-emergency noise complaints. So I return to my bedroom, strip down to my boxers and toss my clothes into the hamper before slipping into bed. I can still hear the noises coming from the unit next door, but thankfully, I’m a patient man. I’m sure they’ll get tired soon and go to bed. Or at least I hope so.

But an hour passes, and the music still doesn’t cease. I groan and roll over on my stomach, pulling the pillow over my head, wishing I had noise-canceling headphones right now. I’m normally against the idea of something that cancels all sounds, because it also cancels sounds that alert danger. Like if a burglar broke into the apartment or there’s an explosion or gunshot. But right now, I’d do anything to get a good night’s sleep. Between arguing with my brother over the phone into the wee hours of the night yesterday and spending all day moving into my new place and unpacking, I’m completely exhausted. Not to mention I always start my day at five in the morning. My classes don’t start until eight a.m., but I like to get an early start to my day. I got up that early when I was in the Marines, and some habits just never die.

I’m about to get up and go down the hall to ask them to turn down the noise, but I’ve already asked her once and she got offended, so I doubt it will do any good.

Chapter Four

Audrey

I’m immediately regretting the two bottles of Barefoot Harper and imbibed last night. My head is pounding, I’m dehydrated, and I have to be at work in an hour. I take some aspirin, drink a full glass of water before jumping into the shower.

When I leave my bedroom, dressed and ready to go, Harper is shuffling out of her room.

“Morning,” she says groggily, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

“Morning, Harp.” I head to the kitchen to make her some coffee. I’m not a coffee drinker myself, I prefer tea, but I know Harper can’t function in the morning without a fresh cup of hot Folgers.

“Why did we drink on a weeknight again?” she groans, taking a seat at the table.

“That’s an excellent question.” I pour water into the pot and place it in the coffeemaker, turning it on.

Harper buries her face in the cradle of her arms on the table as I grab some aspirin and a tall glass, filling it with water. She doesn’t have to work today, but she does have classes. She’s already a registered nurse like me, but she’s going for her master’s degree to open up more job opportunities. And also because she’s an overachiever, when it comes to her career at least. I just wish she were an overachiever when it came to other aspects of her life, like the kind of men she dates. Or maybe Harper was purposefully aiming for Class-A levels of douchebaggery when she started dating Bryce. If that’s the case, then she definitely went above and beyond expectations. And while she is my best friend and roommate, there’s only so much sense I can talk into her. And I'm not willing to let some lowlife scumbag get in between our friendship.

“Here, these will help.”

Harper lifts her head and takes the aspirin and glass. When she pops the pills in her mouth, swallowing them down with a big gulp of water, she already appears to be more human again.

I grab my keys and strap my purse over my shoulder, heading toward the front door.

“Speaking of drinking, are you going to be here Friday night?”

I snort-laugh and turn to look at her, placing my free hand on my hip, knowing exactly where this is going. She’s still recovering from her hangover and already has booze on the brain. “That depends. Is Bryce going to be here?”

When she takes a slow sip of her water, I know what her answer is before she says it out loud. “Well, considering he’s the one who invited a few people over, yes, he’ll be here.”

“Then no, I definitely won’t.” I head for the door, trying to leave again.

“That’s a shame because Bryce has a good-looking friend who thinks you’re gorgeous.”

I spin around, cocking a brow. “Which friend?”

“Treyton. You haven’t met him before, but he saw your pics on Instagram.”

I walk to the table, placing my hands on top of the chair, my key ring dangling from my finger. “How did he find my Instagram account if we’ve never met?”

“Bryce showed it to him.”

What the fuck?

I furrow my brows in confusion. “Okay, why is Bryce showing his friends my Instagram account?”

She smirks. “Because Treyton was asking him if I had any cute, single friends.”

I sigh, not liking the idea of Bryce trying to set his friends up with me. I’ve met some of his guy friends, and neither is one I’d kiss if he were the last man on earth. “Sorry, not interested.”

I remove my hand from the chair and try to leave again.

“Oh, come on, Aud. Give the guy a chance. I mean, I don’t know him that well, but he’s fucking hot.” She picks up her phone from the table and pulls up something before handing it to me across the table. “See for yourself.”

I reluctantly take the device, a heavy sigh leaving my lips. I highly doubt his looks will sway me. Even if is hot, he’s still Bryce’s—

Holy crap.

He’s got those smokey grey eyes, a chiseled jaw and a little smirk on his beautiful face that makes me melt.

Well, fuck.

“So, what do you think?” Harper asks curiously, trying to stifle a smirk as she perches her chin on the back of her joined hands, her elbows resting on the table.

I try not to show how attracted I am to a freaking photo of a guy I’ve never met before, but damn, those eyes are spellbinding, and I’m pretty sure I’m blushing. “Okay, he’s a little cute.”

“A little? Honey, you and I have similar tastes in men, so I know you don’t think he’s just cute.”

“Yeah, that’s true. We usually do, which is why I have no idea how Bryce got your attention. He must have a big dick or something.” I narrow my eyes. “Does he have a big dick? Because that would explain a lot.”

Harper bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, Aud, you know it’s not all about the size! And no, he doesn’t, he’s average, but as much as you hate him, you can’t deny he’s good-looking.”

“Yes, maybe on the outside he’s cute but personality-wise he’s ugly as fuck.”

She sighs in defeat as I hand over her phone. This is just an argument neither of us will ever be able to agree on. Well, until she finally decides to take off those damn rose-colored glasses and sees Bryce as he truly is. But I know it would make Harper happy if I agreed to stay for the party. I know that sometimes she feels out of place considering most of Bryce’s friends are college kids. Normally, she’s the oldest one there, but you could never tell, because she has a baby face and looks at least five years younger than she actually is, so to the other college kids, she's one of them.

“Fine, I’ll be here for the party.”

Harper’s eyes widen in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, but if any of his friends grab my ass, I’m leaving.”

She laughs. “Okay.”

The coffee machine beeps, so she gets up from her seat, grabs a mug and creamer and pours the steaming, hot liquid into her cup. She returns to her seat and sips her coffee as I once again try to leave. “Thanks for starting the coffee, Aud.”

“No problem. See you tonight.” I unlock the door, and when I pull it open, I notice a folded up crisp piece of copy paper taped to the outside. I cock my brow and peel it off, unfolding it. I’m expecting it to be from the building management.

But then I read the first line...

To the two hoity-toity princesses,

I immediately suspect it’s from mister grumpy pants across the hall, but the letter is in fancy cursive writing. Who even writes in cursive anymore? Maybe an old lady or mister grumpy pants, I suppose. But he normally doesn’t leave letters. He’ll just knock on the door with his cane and chew us out in person. Harper said the first time he knocked on her door to complain about the noise, he made her cry.

When he tries that shit with me, I give it right back to him and threaten to call the cops on his dog and have her taken to the pound. He tends to leave us alone now. So, I’m surprised he’s resorted to leaving us notes.

Can you kindly tone down your loud music and obnoxious woohooing, laughter and overall commotion that kept me up until 2 a.m.? Some people actually have to work on a Tuesday morning. I, myself, wake at 5 a.m. every single day and am now forced to go to work on three hours of sleep. Luckily the students I teach possess much more class and are at maturity levels you both obviously could never achieve if you actually tried. I know neither of you could possibly understand waking up early for a job or getting your hands dirty, as you’re city girls who probably live on mommy and daddy’s income and never worked a day in your lives, but some people actually have responsibilities and obligations, not just classes they can skip whenever they feel like it. So have a little respect and lower the volume a few notches.

This time you get a warning, but if the noise persists, I will be forced to contact law enforcement. Have a lovely day drinking your Starbucks lattes and trying to get rid of what I hope are nasty hangovers.

Sincerely,

The tired and cranky guy from 8C, thanks to his loud, annoying neighbors

P.S. The blonde who took my brown dress shoe owes me a new pair seeing as it now reeks of Pinot Grigio, thank you very much.

My nostrils flare before I even finish reading the letter. The audacity of this asshole! He doesn’t even know us, hell he hasn’t even met me in person, yet he makes all kinds of false assumptions about us.

I know neither of you could possibly understand waking up early for a job or getting your hands dirty.

What the actual fuck?! Harper and I both wake up at the crack of dawn to go to work at the hospital, and we’re constantly on our feet for at least twelve hours. We only work three days a week, but our jobs are emotionally and physically draining; I mostly use the other four days to sleep, recover, clean the apartment and run errands. So, for someone to say we don’t work or ever get our hands dirty is a blow to the gut. We’re nurses for crying out loud! Getting our hands dirty is part of the job!

Another remark of his that irks me: We’re city girls who probably live on mommy and daddy’s income. My parents would actually laugh out loud if they read this comment. They always tell me how independent I am. Hell, I wouldn’t even allow them to pay for my schooling even though they wanted to; I wanted to do it all on my own, so I had two jobs while I went to college. They also weren’t too happy when I took a job in New York, but they told me if anyone could handle herself in a big city, it was me. Not to mention, Harper had it way worse than me, growing up.

But the fact that this douchebag is so ridiculously wrong about us makes me smile a little. It will feel so goddamn good to make him see the error of his ways.

I’m still carrying the letter with me as I go to my bedroom closet and grab my stationary from the top shelf. I take out a sheet of paper and a pen from the box, replace it on the shelf and return to the kitchen. I hate the idea of using my good paper on this asshole, but if I’m going to stoop to his level and leave a note on his door, I might as well do it with class.

“What’s the note about?” Harper asks with furrowed brows. “I paid the rent just in the nick of time.”

“It’s not from management.” I take the pen and paper to the table and start writing out a letter. “It’s from our friendly neighbor in 8C,” I say sarcastically.

Her eyes widen as she reaches for the letter. “What did he say?”

I look up and hand it to her.

When she reads it over, the sleepiness in her eyes morphs into anger. “What the hell?! Who does he think he is? He doesn’t even know us!”

“Exactly.” I look down again at the paper and continue the sentence I was working on.

I can feel her staring at me as I write. “What are you doing?”

“Replying to him,” I say without taking my eyes off the page.

“What, are we in elementary school?”

“According to him, we are.”

“He’s just a douchebag, you can’t take anything he says seriously.”

I almost laugh. Normally she’s the one wanting revenge when someone wrongs her, and I’m the one having to talk her out of it. “Maybe, but this will teach him not to make assumptions about people.”

After I’m finished, I let her read it before I tape it to his door. I head to work with a smile on my face. This should teach him not to be such a dickhead.

Chapter Five

Brady

Dear self-righteous butthole in 8C,

~~~

Stay tuned for more...

If you would like to be tagged or untagged, please let me know

@onceuponaprincessworld @teamhook @artistic-writer@ilovemesomekillianjones @hollyethecurious @gingerchangeling@ultraluckycatnd @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @snowbellewells @let-it-raines @wellhellotragic @itsfabianadocarmo @lfh1226-linda @sophiaaz @becausetheyrehappythisway @thislassishooked @hookedmom @resident-of-storybrooke @kateroselin @chamomileandmint @kday426 @sals86 @lawgeeks @yasbio2015 @xsajx @delightfully-difficult-pirate @wanderingjpg @squidvisious @tenaciouskittynight @biefaless @animatedshorts @lassluna @ejunkiet @melsbels @meat-pie-with-sauce @roseyflush @ivalane @tiganasummertree @nowforruin @qualitycoffeethings @nikkiemms @oncechicagolove @theonewiththeory @lostinwonderland314 @darkcolinodonorgasm @arshini01 @companion-mala @carpedzem @youareafeverdream @maguilar1028 @mayquita @courtorderedcake @shady-swan-jones @timeless-love-story @laschatzi @officerrogers @spartanguard @andiirivera @ouatpost @jarienn972 @winterbythesea @winterbaby89 @distant-rose @xhookswenchx

#my book #sneak peek #self-promotion #hannah writs

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shipaholic · 4 years ago

Text

Omens Universe, Chapter 14, Part 1

Warnings! Asphyxiation, child endangerment.

Link to next part at the end. (From the beginning)

(last part)

(chrono)

---

Chapter 14

Oh.

Shit.

Zadkiel grabbed Adam. His hands engulfed the boy’s shoulders. Had he always been this tiny? Focus, focus -

“Adam, reality will listen to you. You are in control. Anything that you believe will come true.” Desperation tried to worm into his voice. He held it at bay. “Listen to me. You can hear me talking, right? That means there’s air. You can breathe, you just have to believe there’s air. Come on now.”

Spacedog was hollering. Adam clutched the dog to his chest, painfully tight. His arms were as pale as death.

Zadkiel made a strangled noise. He pulled Adam into a bear hug and dived.

Proxima Centauri B rushed up to meet him. He was breaking most laws of physics right now. He punched through the atmosphere, and didn’t bother to slow his descent as they streaked to the ground, miles of hard earth and marbled mud coming in fast -

Zadkiel burned through the alien sky, flaming like a meteor, and pasted himself on the rocky landscape.

His one safety protocol was to make sure Adam landed on top of him.

With a small explosion, Crowley and Aziraphale were flung apart like rag dolls.

Spacedog wriggled free and tried to lick Adam’s face. The space helmet got in the way. Spacedog pushed it into Adam’s cheek and frantically licked the glass. He whined, a piteous, unbroken sound.

The sprawled bodies did not move.

Then Adam’s face gave a twitch.

“Stop that, you silly Spacedog.”

Spacedog yapped his head off and ran around in circles.

Adam flexed his fingers, experimentally. They still held the Book.

Crowley and Aziraphale realised they had escaped being discorporated. To their dismay, this meant they had to move. They managed to roll over and flop towards Adam and each other. Sitting up could wait.

“You alright, Adam?” Crowley said without moving his lips.

Adam got the gist, even with none of the consonants. “Yeah. Thanks. It’s cool that you did that without being in a rocket.”

“Hell yeah,” Crowley managed.

“I’m so sorry, my dear boy,” Aziraphale said to Adam, just slightly more coherently than Crowley. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“He’s fine, children bounce,” Crowley said, his eyes closed.

Aziraphale tutted. “You’re incorrigible,” he said. Or tried to. It proved a little too difficult in his current state.

Crowley cracked an eye open. “Did you say I’m ineffable?”

“In. Corri. Gible.”

“Good. We don’t use that kind of language in front of the kid.”

Adam sat up, wincing. Spacedog leapt into his arms and tried once more to mash the fishbowl helmet into his face.

~*~

When they’d all recovered a bit, they took in their surroundings.

Crowley had been to the Grand Canyon. Proxima Centauri B was like that, but stranger. Its winding rock tunnels and quarries were an odd, half-melted brown. The sun was low in the sky, either setting or rising, no-one was sure. It was a shockingly pinkish-red, in a night sky tinged a deeper, richer purple than any twilight on Earth.

Crowley tried to appreciate it. It was home, now. And presumably, forever.

Perhaps he just wasn’t in the mood. They were all a bit on-edge. Aziraphale kept sneaking glances at Adam to check he was still breathing. The damn green dog seemed perfectly at home, but that just put Crowley in a worse mood.

He skulked at the back of the group, hands in his pockets. Aziraphale fell back and stood beside him.

“You changed back,” he said, nodding to Crowley’s outfit.

“Eh, yeah. White was never my colour.”

“I suspect it isn’t mine, either,” Aziraphale said, softly.

Crowley’s gaze slipped over the brown and blue and gold of him.

“No. You’ve a bit more character than that,” he said.

Aziraphale smiled up at him from under his lashes. There was a flicker of intent to that look. Heat crawled up Crowley’s neck.

Adam giggled nearby as Spacedog swam laps around his head. They turned to watch him.

“Do you think he’s still the Antichrist, out here?” Aziraphale said.

“Is that a, strand the King of Spain in outer space, is he still a King, kind of thing?”

“I suppose that’s an interesting question. Although I meant it more in a, does he still have his powers out here, kind of thing.”

Crowley’s eyes lingered on the frolicking dog. He sighed. “I think he probably does.”

Aziraphale looked grim. “Poor old Earth,” he murmured.

Crowley shook his head. “If we’d just got on the portal and not let him yammer on about the dog…”

“I didn’t think,” Aziraphale said, sadly.

“Me neither. And I’ve got no excuse. Beelzebub briefed us on that hellhound for an entire Thursday afternoon.”

They watched the boy and dog in silence.

“I suppose it is the Earth that will still - ahm. Be affected by his powers?”

“How do you mean?”

“There’s no chance he’s brought Armageddon with him?”

They stared at each other. They peered at the sky. No sudden rains of blood or other omens appeared.

“Nah, reckon it’s probably still going to happen on Earth.”

Aziraphale looked miserable.

Crowley put a hand on his arm. “Hey. All we could do was get out.”

“I know.”

“Don’t torture yourself.”

Aziraphale mustered a weak smile.

They watched Adam rooting around for a stick to throw for Spacedog. He found a sturdy one right at his feet that was the right size and hurled it across the marsh. Spacedog took off after it, yipping. It was unclear how, in the helmet, he was going to bring it back.

“There isn’t any wood on this planet,” Aziraphale said, carefully.

Crowley nodded glumly. “Guess that confirms it. Reality still bends to his will.” He thought for a moment. “Come to think of it, I doubt this planet has much of an atmosphere.”

“Mmm, yes. That should have been our first clue.”[1]

“I think a regular child would have frozen to death while he was floating in space.” And/or exploded. Crowley felt he’d seen something like that in a film once.

“...This wasn’t a very child-friendly plan, was it?”

“You’re just noticing this now? We kidnapped an eleven-year-old from his parents.”

“You talked me into it.”

“Of course I did. Demon.”

“A temptation worthy of a commendation,” Aziraphale said, with only a trace of a scolding.

Crowley turned and slipped his arms around Aziraphale’s neck.

“They’ll have to put it in a cannon and fire it into space. Hope it reaches me in a few thousand years.”

Aziraphale chuckled. It was a wonderfully warm, wry sound. It always sounded like he knew he was getting away with something. Crowley watched the tips of his hair stain pink in the alien sun.

Suddenly, Aziraphale’s face fell.

“Crowley, we don’t have to teach him maths, do we?”

~*~

Half an hour later, the euphoria wore off.

Adam trudged across the squishy, marshy ground, investigating his new territory. Spacedog trotted at his heels. Aziraphale and Crowley stood and kept an eye on him from a distance. It was nice, like an amiable family walk across a muddy field in late September.

And then, like an amiable family walk across a muddy field in late September, the mood soured. The mud that had been fun to tromp through sunk through the soles of the walking shoes that were supposed to be waterproof. The rustic landscape grew dreary. That cow had a mean look in its eye.

In other words, it dawned on Adam that he hadn’t eaten for hours, the alien planet all looked the same for miles around, there was a shocking dearth of cinemas, sweet shops or comic books in this area of the galaxy, he would never see his family again, and he had very recently almost died. Also, he forgot to bring snacks.

A suspicion had brewed at the back of his mind for a few hours now. It bubbled away, growing, gaining certainty. Now, grubby, cold and hungry, it was time to ask.

“Are you two actually aliens?”

Aziraphale and Crowley were having a murmured grown-up conversation behind him. They stopped. Their faces went blank in the way grown-up’s faces went when they were thinking how to lie to him.

“Perhaps it’s time to drop the pretence,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley frowned. “It’s not like the truth is any less weird.”

“I dislike lying, on general principle.”

“I’m in favour of lying, on general principle. Let’s compromise and say nothing.”

“You know full well that would be a lie of omission. Don’t think I’m going to start falling for tricks like that after six thousand years -”

“Would you both just stop talking?” Adam said loudly.

They shut up.

“You’re always talking rubbish and I don’t understand it.”

Adam frowned. He held the Book under one arm. For a moment, he heard its pages rustle.

“My whole life is just everyone talking rubbish at me, all the time. Nothing anyone’s ever told me made any sense. Like the stuff about how I was going to destroy the world. And then you two, with the alien stuff. I just believed it because everything was so weird, it’s not like aliens could be any weirder. The only person I’ve ever met who seemed like they properly knew what was going on was that woman back in the car. She’s the one who left me this.” He hefted the Book in his arms. “I’ve got more proper answers from this than I’ve got from anyone, ever.”

“What is that?”

Aziraphale took a step towards him.

Adam’s arms tightened around the Book. Spacedog leapt in front of him and growled.

Aziraphale blinked and halted. Crowley held out an arm.

A chill wind picked up.

“That woman was the only person who seemed like she wanted to help me and tell me what was really going on, and she said I shouldn’t leave. She said it was a mistake to leave. And I didn’t listen. And you zapped her away.” Adam pointed at Crowley.

Crowley inched backwards. “Hang on, I was under a lot of stress…”

“And you grew wings and flew around that bookshop. Aliens don’t do that. You didn’t look like an alien, back then, you looked more like…”

Adam stopped.

“I shouldn’t have come with you,” he muttered.

Aziraphale and Crowley stared at each other.

“You remember you forced us to bring you, right?” Crowley pointed out. “Just saying.”

Aziraphale frowned and nudged him.

The wind whipped at them. Adam was only in a t-shirt. He wasn’t cold.

“I want to go home,” he said.

It was not the lament of a lost child. The words resonated around the landscape. Aziraphale and Crowley felt them down to the bones.

A whirring pulse sounded from high above them, faintly. Nobody glanced up, but a prickle of warning ran up their necks.

“I don’t have to be here. You said reality will listen to me. She said the same thing. In this book.”

An emerald-green spotlight shone down on Adam. The wind became a roaring gale. It whipped Adam’s t-shirt. He stared down Aziraphale and Crowley through eyes that were suddenly dark under the livid green light.

Crowley squinted into the sky.

He said, “What.”

Aziraphale kept his eyes on Adam. Carefully, as though the boy were a skittish animal, he raised his hands towards him.

“Adam, we were not honest with you. I apologise. It is our fault you are in this mess. There are forces at work that it was too difficult to explain to you. You see -”

“Angel, you should take a look at this,” Crowley interrupted.

“Not now, Crowley!”

“Aziraphale, it’s a goddamned flying saucer.”

Aziraphale looked up.

A round, whirring alien spacecraft hovered in the sky above them.

“What,” he said.

Adam stood in the disco-glow of the green spotlight. Furious pulses of wind flapped down on him. He met Crowley’s eyes with a long, hard stare. Spacedog’s hackles rose.

Crowley blinked first. He edged back, one hand on Aziraphale’s arm.

The flying saucer whirred and spun. In a series of loops, it meandered down to the surface of Proxima Centauri B. It let out a gust of steam as it settled like a soggy cake.

A door opened in its side with a hiss.

A ramp descended, and three aliens got out. Two of them were green. The third was a small hump with wheels and an egg-whisker sticking out of it. It quickly got stuck in a marshy patch and made some angry distress noises that the other two ignored.

Adam stood like a king greeting foreign dignitaries as the remaining two aliens walked over to him.

“Hello,” he said.

The alien leader, who had a face like a duck,[2] approached first. “Adam Dowling?”

Adam squinted up at her. The spotlight was still blinding. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“All right, sir. I believe you called for a taxi service.” The alien looked slightly put out to be used as such, but she hid it well. “We’re here to take you back to Earth.”

“Erm,” Crowley said. “Hang on.”

Everyone ignored him, to his relief. He had no idea what he would have said next.

Adam followed the aliens back to their saucer. The slightly taller alien helped the pepper-pot alien back up from where it had tipped over in the mud.

“Wait - Adam -” Aziraphale called.

Crowley put an arm around him. Neither moved to follow. Without speaking, they conceded that this was going to happen whether or not they found it plausible.

The three aliens shuffled back up the gangplank. The round, beeping alien left a long streak of mud as it trundled inside the spaceship. Adam and Spacedog walked behind them.

A scrap of paper flapped loose from inside the Book. The wind carried it directly to Aziraphale. He caught it reflexively.

Adam reached the top of the gangplank and vanished without a backward glance. The spaceship door sealed shut.

The spaceship made a Whomm Whomm Whomm noise and floated into the air. It wobbled a bit, and then streaked into the stratosphere, leaving a green comet trail behind it.

The howling gale abruptly blew itself out. The planet’s surface was deafeningly quiet.

Nothing broke the calm but a tiny green speck in the sky, already winking out of sight.

---

[1] When you only breathe out of habit, you stop thinking about things like oxygen.

[2] “Ducks,” Crowley almost blurted, as a Pavlovian response.

(Link to next part)

#omens universe fic #omens universe #good omens fic #good omens #ineffable husbands #steven universe #ahhhhh the most batshit chapter of all #bless #I enjoy those aliens #the Dalek-y one is from Book Omens #I'm pretty sure I stole all the jokes about it from there but it's been a little while since I read it #I'm sorry about how hard I went with the cartoon physics I don't know how space works and none of these idiots do either

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the-firebird69 · 2 years ago

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We're opening another lawsuit on these people here and we have to they're obnoxious losers and they keep on yapping at me and saying stupid things and bothering me and bothering our son and harassing him they said that the letter and the response was is how can they enforce this what exactly can they do to enforce it and what measures can they bring and we said what your problem is is it says for you to stop doing it not to do an assessment of how you can stop us from enforcing it they start looking around to see who it was and I couldn't find anyone but really it's the local court and it's the county everybody is starting to get hang up on these westborough assholes everybody and we need it too you're a pile of a****** s*** he doesn't like you and didn't like you in the first place you went ahead and ruined his life on purpose so you can say that everyone else sucks and you're from the same neighborhood with life is not that great he told you a million times you act was not right and you hit each other and you're spoiled and you're all done so we issued the papers and you were disgruntled and started saying all this stuff and ciao I was supposed to be impressed are you a little poor people cuz we know what we do you we flatten you and your cousin from been Zimbabwe looks just like you takes your role. But there are things that we can do about it and you asked and you're going to find out the hard way cuz you did not cease and decist like the letter said. Stan says it they're not allowing me to fix the septic and they're not allowing me to live here and are not allowing me to be decent in a screwing around with everybody that goes there including themselves they're a bunch of miscreant losers and some of them are Tommy f and some are Mac Daddy and some are from DC it's like these people who had some kind of common experience I noticed that you're from westborough but it looks like it sounds like it was before westborough and stow it's not really right for him because he doesn't know anything about it and he said he was a child a baby so I figured out what it is some of you think you're from the past or from the future it's like wacko stuff you say here he is again coming back at us is it him is it a second or third him and he knows what it is the death of Tom favino is still a question but it's also for all those with him including Trump and otherwise asses who are out there Charlie Sheen as a matter of fact and it is about Vietnam and if they don't go out there and injure him and yeah our boy thinks he was moved to another person then he'll be destroyed by a large bombing campaign not a small one we saw where it hit and it would have been golfed the area he was in even though they said not to hit it so they hit a huge area so it's still a question as to whether he passed away and we don't know what we're dealing with with him so we send them back and we pull them out and the two crews go separate ways on the same ship one is from the future and I got it and a lot of people say we need Tommy f out and you humanize him and also the jackasses around and think they're invincible and just die and yeah you're like me but you don't understand your human so that's gross and you have to transference is what you needed I think from the movie it hasn't started yet they say it has and you need to transplants and you took it from a Mac and he has to find a clone he says so staying away from him and he's taking a lot of hits a lot of you guys are because you're out there and you swallow the worm like it is and went around and did that and you have to find a clone so nobody wants to be near you and you're getting arrested

I'm sending out warrants for people who are not adhering to it and we're sending them out now and we're sending out teams and we're assisting Charlotte county sheriff anywhere in there we have to be and they don't know who we are there's tons of people around here and new everyday giant cruise to sheriffs are going around and grabbing you for real on warrants based on you bothering the s*** out of him and stopping the money and trying to pass through anything that has to do with that and having his possessions and really the diploma was a big one everybody's pissed off about it and Stan was involved in it and doesn't admit it and he's a shrieker what is that guy it's really ridiculous there's no place for childish behavior it might be a communist territory and everybody's getting beaten up and he has a screaming at night like no one's listening I mean you want you want to have recognition for screaming you're going to get it cuz it happens every time you're stupid

Bitol and Goddess Wife

0 notes

hornyorca · 7 years ago

Note

In a modern au, how do you think the ragnorssons would react to their partner bringing home a stray animal? Like maybe they found a puppy caught in the rain and brought it home

Modern!Ragnarssons.

(I’ve actually never written any of the boys besides Sigurd and Ivar, so this should be fun. I actually might consider the Bjorn one... I’d love to rile him up like that Fifth Harmony song. Sending him nudes while he’s aT WORK SORRY NOT SORRY).

Bjorn:

His threats were more panty-dropping than brilliant towards your plan. But either way, you had hoped It’d work. The texts he had been sending you; the delicious promises, the nasty threats that had you quivering on your couch.

You had gotten husband riled up for more of a distraction than you probably needed too by sending him your thoughts a few overly-suggestive selfies, but either way, you knew he’d be hauling you up the stairs over his shoulder tonight.

Another hour later, Bjorn was bursting through your front door and on your waiting form like a dehydrating man who had just found a pond of water — hands, tongue and teeth, and you were one-hundred and ten percent right on him carrying you up the stairs.

Your back hit that mattress with so much force, you bounced in the air, only to have his large hands slap you back down, followed by his body covering you instantly.

“You have no idea how much trouble you’re in, baby,” He murmured dangerously, but the delicate touch of his calloused hands made you shiver. The contrast was head-spinning. “Saying things like that, sending me those pics? Thinking you can drive me crazy all day and get away with it? Bet you wanted someone else to see those —”

A loud bang from downstairs cut him off, causing him to pause as he was making his way down your body, ready to rip your pants off.

This was it.

This was the moment, but as he turned around quickly, he looked ready to fight off an intruder, despite his eyes being lust-filled. You were sure his face went to shock as a golden blur jumped on the both of you, tail wagging, yapping and licking all over his face and large beard.

The look his blue eyes shot towards you was even more dangerous than before, and not as exciting.

“Surprise, boo!” You shouted, throwing your hands up into the air, the puppy howling with your excitement. “I found him on my home from your mom’s house today!”

“You have no idea how much trouble you’re in.”

Ubb(a)be:

Ubbe would watch you walk through the front door, water dripping from your clothes as tried to shake off the cold. He would stand up, ready to help you by gathering a blanket, and cranking the heater up, but it was not usual for you to completely ignore him — no hello, honey i’m home.

Nothing.

It was very rare you did that actually, and the moment you caught him in your peripheral vision, turning to the side slightly, and you(?) squeaked, he knew immediately something was up.

Tilting his head to the side, he cautiously approached you, watching as you tried to sneak up the stairs after already being seen. Grabbing you before you’d make it, he’d spin you around despite your protest. “Oi!”

He’d shoot a knowing look to the kicking bundle under your drenched jacket, before giving you the same glance. “Really now?” He’d ask, amused. You always had a new way of trying to do this.

“It’s your fault!” You shouted, wrapping your arms protectively around the bump under your jacket. “You should learn to keep your hands off me better.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, but he refused to smile just yet. “I should be happy then!” He commented, watching your eyes narrow in suspicion and you shouted again as he rudely unzipped your jacket and the furry brown and white puppy flopped to the floor, yapping and jumping around excitedly.

It was not the cutest thing he had ever seen — long floppy ears that it tripped over, droopy eyes, stubby legs, and a large nose.

Ubbe smirked, speaking softly from the corner of his mouth: “But I’d say it’s got more of your looks.”

“Because it’s so cute?”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

Hvitserk:

From: Ice Bear —

‘I’m gonna be home in a little bit! Had to stop and help with something!’

His brows furrowed at your text message, wondering what you were even talking about, but when he tried calling you, it went to voicemail every time. Figuring you’d be fine, he tried to let it go.

An hour later, his leg was bouncing up and down as he tried to sit still on the couch. Twenty calls and thirty texts. Still no answer, and you had even read his texts. He wasn’t sure which would of made him worry more — no answer and being left on read, or no answer and you not reading them at all? Either way, he wanted to scream when you finally sent him a vague message, simply telling him you’d be home in ten minutes tops.

The moment you walked through the front door, Hvitserk was on your ass like a hovering mother, scolding you for not answer him, and hugging you, checking you over for signs of injury like you had just gotten back to his arms from being kidnapped. “Babe, I’m fine.”

His eyes narrowed, inspecting you one last time before they stopped dead on your arm and you paled, instantly covering it up. The man pointed at you. “Then what’s that?”

“T-this?” You stuttered, cursing internally. This was not how you wanted this to happen. Not how you wanted to introduce this. “It’s nothing, it’s just —“

A really loud barking cut you off, and you whipped your head around, looking back towards your car and through the back windows that now had water running down them, you both watched the dog in the back seat shake it off . “No!” You whined, knowing you’d have to shampoo the car now.

“Is that a dog?” Hvitserk asked, taking a quick step closer to the open door, narrowing his eyes to see better.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Hvitserk!” You pouted. “He was alone, in the rain, and hungry, and crying, and he was begging me to take him home.”

The look on your face and the story almost seemed to break him, his stern face falling slowly until he sighed, slumping over. “A dog..” He echoed, running a hand over his face. “He’s gonna need food — “

“Got it.”

“A leash, a bed — “

“Got both of them.”

“Shots — “

“Seriously?” There was shock on Hvitserk’s face as he look over at you, his brows furrowed.

Rolling your eyes, you gave him a hard stare. “Why do you think I was gone for so long?”

A small silence fell over the both of you.

“Do we really need another animal in the house?” He asked, confusing you. You were going to ask him just what the hell he meant until he gave you a cheeky smirk, looking your soaked body up and down and a flush came over you cheeks.

Sigurd:

Sigurd really couldn’t help it, honestly, he couldn’t. His brothers would always tell him that he was too soft, let you worm your way into his heart too deep. But you were too adorable in his eyes, like a child who looked at the world with wide-eyes and excitement. Like a baby seeing Christmas lights for the first time.

To him, your happiness was better than any art he had ever admired in a gallery, the sound of your laughter being better than any music he had ever heard, and the way you would chatter vividly with your hands about what you had just done despite the fact he had been there the entire time would always make his day a lot brighter.

But when you came home that day from a simple trip to the grocery store, sopping wet and dripping onto the carpet, no groceries in sight but a tiny fuzzy ball wriggling in your arms, he was a little skeptical about having a dog in the house. You were both very busy people — him helping his brothers run their family company, and you at your own profession.

A pet might be too much for the both of you at the moment, he decided, ready to tell you.

That is, until you turned around with a smile so big he thought your face was going to split open, and immediately everything he was going to say, every reason he had to argue with just flew out of his mind.

He watched the little spotted puppy jumped in your lap, licking your chin and how you laughed, giving it kisses and rubbing your hands all over it.

You didn’t even need to open your mouth and his arms were up in the air. “Fine!” He sighed, a smile fighting on his lips. “We’ll take it to the vet tomorrow.”

“Yes!”

“But it’s sleeping on the floor.”

“But, the bed —“

“Ew, absolutely not.”

Ivar:

There was barely enough time for you to get into the house before Ivar opened his mouth, his eyes narrowed and his mouth set into a frown. “Hell no,” He was not going to have it, watching that soaked mutt jump around the living room like it already owned the place, sniffing everything and getting familiar. He already knew what you were doing, and he was not going to let it happen.

Not again.

He was not losing another couch, or another one of his crutches to a dog. And a very embarrassing experience he preferred to not ever talk about.

“But, Ivar!” His eyes snapped up to you, practically rolling his eyes at your begging. “He has no home! He was wondering around in the rain!”

“Uh, take him to the pound.” Ivar commented, waving his hand lazily as he went back to reading his book until he noticed the animal getting to close to the shelf and he snapped at it. It turned quickly and yapped at him, wagging it’s little nub of a tail.

“The pound is a horrible place for animals! Please, just one more try!?” You bounced on your heels, trying to give him your biggest eyes to which he just ignored, keeping a death glare on the little animal.

“You don’t even have enough time for a fucking do — “ Ivar stopped, jerking his head down as it began licking the hand that was dangling off his thighs. Hissing at it, he yanked his hand back, but it wasn’t scared at all, something he was a little impressed by. It continued to try and gain his affection.

It was almost as annoying as you.

“Awh! Look, he likes you!” You squealed, dropping to the floor and holding your arms out for it, wiggling your fingers and it jumped on you. “You’re such a good boy, aren’t you!? You just wanna give grumpy daddy some love, don’t you?”

“I hate you so much.”

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caranfindel · 7 years ago

Text

Fic: Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death

Gen, angst | About 3100 words | Light R or hard PG

Something bad happens when you break a blood oath with a reaper. Sam and Dean have to fix it.

My first attempt at Summergen! Thanks to crowroad3 on LJ for being such an inspiration.

~~~

They leave the Impala at the Timber Lake Trailhead. Dean slams the trunk closed, shoulders his pack, and raises his eyebrows at Sam, as if to ask you sure about this? Sam shrugs. He’s as sure as he’ll ever be. It’s not like there’s anyone they can ask. Not like he has one of the most powerful witches in existence on speed dial any more. Not like there’s any real way of knowing if this is going to work, if the weeks of sweat and blood prepping for this are actually going to pay off.

He unfolds the map and lays it across the trunk. “If we head straight east, we’ll pick up Route 34 at Farview Curve, and we’ll miss all this.” Sam runs a finger along the switchback twists and hairpin turns of a section of Route 34. “Or we can go northeast, between these two creeks. It will take a little longer, since we’ll have to backtrack some once we get to the road, but we won’t have to cross a creek without a bridge.”

Dean squints up at the cold morning sky, down at the frozen ground. Scuffs at the hard crust of snow with his boot. “Creek’s probably frozen, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. Okay. East it is.” Sam folds the map and keeps his face neutral. Doesn’t want to reveal how relieved he is that Dean actually… spoke. Contributed. Acted like he gives a shit, about this job or literally anything else. He threads his arms through the straps of his own pack, checks his compass, and starts down the slope away from the trailhead.

There is no trail between Timber Lake and Farview Curve, and Sam’s too distracted by the rough terrain (and other things, maybe) to be bothered by Dean’s silence. He was right about the creek being frozen, although Sam tests the ice with a kick of his heel a few times. More than strictly necessary, probably, judging by the look Dean gives him. Maybe it’s hit him already. Maybe the trepidation spilling out of that breach on Route 34 has already reached him, is already sinking into his bones. Maybe he’s crossed the line between cautious and fearful.

Or, on the other hand, maybe Dean just doesn’t give a shit if they drown in the icy water. Maybe despair is having its way with him.

What they need, right about now, is a reliable narrator.

The forest is thick along the creek and Sam feels closed in and claustrophobic (not caged, don’t think about a cage.) He’s relieved when the trees start to thin out closer to Route 34. When they finally reach the road, he stops to stretch and take a drink. Dean stares up at the sky, checking the weather or estimating how much daylight is left or just avoiding eye contact.

“Fucking Cas,” he mutters.

Okay then. None of the above. Sam motions toward the water bottle hanging off Dean’s backpack. “You should stay hydrated.”

Dean keeps his eyes in the distance. “I’m fine.”

“Are you? Are you doing okay?”

“Told you, Sam. I’m fine.”

“Okay, but… I mean, you know. We need to pay attention to -”

“Sam. I am fine. End of discussion.”

“You know,” Sam sighs, “it would be easier if you’d just talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Dean finally turns to look at him. “Actually, it probably wouldn’t.” He turns away and starts walking along the snowy ribbon of road.

~~~

A couple of miles later they come across a crude wooden cross peeking out of the snow. “That would be Corinne Treadwell,” Sam says, making a note on the map. “The one who drove off the road… straight into that pine tree, I imagine. Not much of curve here or anything. She must have been going pretty fast to lose control like that.”

Dean nods at the scarred tree but doesn’t comment.

“So, uh. She was… we know it goes at least this far.” Sam clears his throat, feeling inexplicably nervous. (Nervous? Or afraid?)

“Yeah, and you knew that already,” Dean says. “You mapped out all the deaths. You know how far they are from the… epicenter. You know the radius.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is, why are you bringing it up? Why are we standing here talking about this? We know what we’ve gotta do, and we know where we have to go to do it. So let’s just go get this over with.”

“I’m just saying, we’re definitely in the affected area now. We don’t know how much it’s grown since Corinne died, but we know it’s at least this far out. We need to be careful.”

“And the more time you spend yapping, the more time we spend in the affected area. So can we get a move on? We’ve got at least a mile to go, and I don’t want to get stuck out here after dark.” He stares at the sky again, as if Cas is up there, and where do dead angels go, anyway? It seems like Sam knew the answer to that once.

Dean clenches his hands as he turns and heads back to the road.

~~~

“Is this what you thought it would be like?” Sam asks, readjusting his pack.

“What, the Rocky Mountains? Been here before, in case you forgot.”

“No, I mean. What Billie said. Cosmic consequences. Did you ever think about what that could mean?”

Dean’s only response is a derisive snort.

“Just seems like it’d be something… bigger, you know?”

“People are dead, Sam. It’s fucking big enough.”

Which is true, but it still feels too contained, too quiet. There should be flames and brimstone and dark shapes blotting out the sun, a fiery opening torn out of the sky. Not just this quiet miasma of trepidation and fury and dismay. Not this small (but growing, don’t forget it’s growing) area of contagion so fierce that everyone who survived exposure reported feeling terror, hatred, a bone-deep urge to either kill or die.

On the other hand, the gateway to Hell was just a hole in the ground, so. There’s that. Sometimes the worst thing on Earth is actually pretty subtle.

Sam has to stop for a minute and work very hard at not thinking about a hole in the ground that leads to Hell. Dean walks ahead. The tense set of his shoulders doesn’t look fearful or vigilant, it just looks… angry. Sam trots to catch up with him. “How are you doing?” he asks, trying for nonchalant and not quite reaching it.

“Peachy.”

“Would you tell me if you weren’t?”

“Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” Dean nods once, the way he does when he’s shoving something down deep, then looks at Sam thoughtfully. “Why’d you save the rest of the blood in the first place, when you were done rehumanizing me?”

Okay, that came out of nowhere. “Just seemed useful,” Sam answers carefully. He’s not sure where Dean’s going with this. “Sanctified blood. Lots of spells call for blood. Seemed like it would be good to keep on hand.”

“Not because you were waiting for me to go black-eyed again.”

“No. I never. No.”

Dean’s hands curl into fists (fleeting thought of that fist slamming into his own face, those fingers curled around a wooden handle, no, no, don’t think about that), then release. “Okay then.”

~~~

The sun is bright in the cloudless sky, but with every step, Sam feels colder and colder. “Damn, it’s really… weirdly cold.”

Dean shrugs. “Mountains. Winter. Do the math.”

But it’s not winter cold. It’s not the external temperature. It’s something inside leaching the warmth out of his flesh; it’s ice water flowing inside his veins, a cold fetid mist pooling in his gut, frozen bones ready to shatter on impact. It’s a cold he’s only felt in Hell. He watches Dean’s hands, watches them spasmodically clench and release, and he knows he feels it too. The wrongness of it.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine.”

Something snaps; something deep inside lets go and Sam can’t control his fight-or-flight response any longer. He grabs Dean by the shoulder, whirls him around to face him. “Goddammit. You’re not fine. You are very, very not fine. What I need to know is, is this your normal level of not fine? Or is this some cosmically fucked-up level of not fine?”

Dean swats his hand away, his eyes suddenly wild. “I’m fine. You need to back the fuck off and worry about what’s happening in your own head. You think I haven’t seen the way you’re looking at me? Like I’m gonna throw you on the rack and peel your fucking skin off? You think I can’t tell what you’re thinking?”

(Oh god the rack don’t think about being on the rack don’t think about what Dean could do to you don’t think about Lucifer’s cold fingers peeling and scraping and prying and breaking…)

“I’m not gonna do it, Sam. I promise.” Dean lifts his hand, as if he’s going to touch Sam’s arm, but pulls it back at Sam’s involuntary flinch. “I’m not gonna do it to you. I know I did it to them, but I’m not gonna do it to you.”

Shit. Whatever it is, whatever is seeping out of that breach created by the broken blood pact, it’s wormed its way in. “Dean. This is it. It’s getting into our heads. We just gotta get through this.”

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Sam. I won’t. No matter what they say.”

Sam swallows, fairly sure Dean’s actually trying to convince himself. “I know.”

(But he would, wouldn’t he? He would and he did and he’ll do it again and there’s nothing you can do to stop him; if Dean really wants to hurt you there’s nothing you can do about it and there’s no one else to stop him, everyone is gone, it’s just you and Dean left in this world and he’s itching to kill you already, watch his fingers, curled like he’s holding a blade, a hammer, a scythe, ready to swing, eyes flipping black -)

“Stop!” Sam shouts. Dean stares at him, green (green) eyes startled, and Sam shakes his head, as if any amount of shaking could clear away the fear and despair. “Don’t listen to it, okay? We’re almost there. We can do this.”

Dean nods and takes a deep breath, pulls himself under control. “We got this.”

A hundred yards farther and they’re at the spot, the spot where the car stopped at midnight and everything went to shit. But it’s too clean. Too normal. There should be downed trees and scorched earth (don’t think about angel wings splayed out beside Cas’s body, scorched into the earth, don’t don’t don’t), there should be fire, there should be blood.

Oh, fuck. Fire and blood. “Dean. We gotta do the thing.”

Dean stares at him for a second, shoving his own demons down. Then he takes off his pack and retrieves the silver knife, hefting it in a trembling hand for a moment before he digs out the rest of supplies - the metal bowl, the dried herbs and kindling, the holy oil. From his own pack, Sam pulls out the carefully sealed container of blood, blood of the many, and is struck by the sudden terror that he interpreted the spell wrong, that this effort will fail, and who would have ever thought he’d miss Rowena, but if she were here, she would know. Rowena would know. But even their occasionally helpful enemies-of-my-enemies are gone, there’s no one to help, no one to ask, and they’re going to fail and they’re going to die here and the breach will get bigger and the contagion will spread and it will never, ever stop -

“Sam!” Dean is kneeling at the bowl, mixing the oil with the dried ingredients. “You okay? You with me?”

“Yeah. I’m good.” Sam runs a hand down his face, surprised to feel perspiration on his forehead. He’s so cold, cold down to his bones, Hell cold, Lucifer cold, and each bead of sweat should be a droplet of ice. He opens the container of blood and gently tips it into the bowl. As Dean mixes, Sam pulls a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket. He used a marker to write out the spell, bold black letters that are easy to read under less-than-ideal circumstances, but the strokes stare at him like hard black eyes and he shoves it back in his pocket.

Dean digs in his own pocket for a pack of matches and sets them carefully next to the bowl. He takes up the silver knife and cuts a neat slice in his palm, holding his hand over the bowl, and Sam expects frozen crystals to tumble out (so cold, he’s so fucking cold) but it’s just his brother’s completely normal blood, trickling onto the mixture below. Dean looks up at Sam, raising his hand to offer the knife (still gripping the handle tight, his hand trembling slightly, poised to cut, close enough to tear through Sam’s flesh), then he shudders and tosses it onto the ground instead, like he wants it out of his own reach. “Your turn.”

But as Sam reaches for the knife, there’s a sudden gust of cold wind and a sneering laugh and a familiar icy voice.

What are you boys up to? Do you have any idea what you’re doing?

Sam closes his eyes but he can’t shut it out, can’t unsee Lucifer standing there, pale eyes and chilly smile, standing in the forest like an average guy in jeans and a faded shirt, because sometimes the worst thing on Earth is pretty subtle. “No,” he whispers, “no, no, no,” but even his loudest screams were never able to drown out that voice.

You don’t even know what your pet angel unleashed, do you? You have no idea what’s oozing out of that hole. What do you think happens when you break a blood oath with a reaper and tear open a hole in the world? What did you think would be on the other side?

It’s not real, he’s not real, it’s just the breach. It’s just the evil and the fear seeping out of the breach, seeping into his brain. Sam turns his head toward Dean because Dean will know, Dean won’t see him, and that will prove he’s a hallucination. But when he opens his eyes, Dean is staring in horror, and oh, God, no.

“Dean? You see him too? Lucifer?”

Dean blinks at him, confused. “Not Lucifer. Alastair.”

Lucifer chuckles. Everyone’s got their own personal version of Hell. Most of them aren’t as literal as yours, granted. He leans in, conspiratorially. I wonder what ol’ Alastair’s telling your brother to do to you right now? Think he can fight it off?

Dean’s shouting at him but his words are lost under the roaring in Sam’s ears and Lucifer’s cold laughter and he watches, frozen, as Dean lunges for the knife and whirls toward him, cries out and flounders helplessly as Dean wrestles him to the ground and then Dean’s above him, hand raised, flash of light on the silver blade (swinging a knife toward his throat a hammer toward his head a scythe toward his neck) and please, God, no, but there is no God, and even when there was a God it didn’t matter, God never listened to Sam’s prayers and he’s not going to start now and there is no angel behind Dean, no Cas there to stop the killing blow, no one but Sam and his brother who’s going to kill him and he failed and he’s sorry, he’s so sorry, and he closes his eyes because he doesn’t want to see his brother’s eyes go black, he doesn’t want that to be the last thing he sees, and he stops fighting because it doesn’t matter any more, they’re both going to die and then everyone’s going to die and he didn’t save them and he’s sorry.

But when he finally feels the bite of the knife it’s on his palm, not his throat, and when he opens his eyes, Dean’s holding his hand over the bowl. “Stay with me, Sam,” he mutters. “If I’m seeing Alastair and you’re seeing Lucifer then neither one of them’s real, and we just gotta ignore ‘em. You can do this.”

Yes, fuck, yes, he can do this. He set up the spell; it needs his blood. Sam rises to his knees and bleeds into the bowl, then wipes his hand on his jeans and digs the spell out of his pocket. The paper rattles in his quaking hands, but the stark black letters are legible enough. Sam speaks the words as Dean lights the pack of matches and tosses it into the bowl. There’s a gentle whoosh and the air abruptly feels warmer and lighter and not wrong. And Sam’s not afraid.

He collapses into the snow, face up, eyes closed, and hears a muted grunt as Dean does the same.

~~~

“You okay?” Dean asks, a few minutes later.

Sam takes inventory. Everything seems to be in working order. “Yeah, I’m okay. What about you? And don’t say fine or peachy or I swear to God, I will stab you in the face.”

Dean huffs a dry little laugh. “I’m good. I mean, shit was messed up for a while, not denying that. Hell, shit’s still pretty messed up. But it’s all right. We got this.”

Sam turns to look at his brother, who’s staring up into the sky again. Cas is out there somewhere, unreachable, gone. Mom is out there somewhere, unreachable, but… but not forever. They’ll get her back.

“Yeah. We got this.”

#spn #summergen #my fic #sam winchester #dean winchester

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