#yes. they are cats. i had enough of drawing humans and cringe is dead

[sp4mja]

Tazernya, Nyazercraft? TazerCraft as cats!

[delimeful]

to taste your beating heart (1)

warnings: vampires, blood mention, memory loss, mild violence, captivity 

-  

Anxiety watched his target carefully as he trailed him through the rainy city streets, hood pulled over his eyes. 

The man was carrying a cat-patterned umbrella, the brightness of it contrasting with the grey skies overhead and the dull concrete buildings all around them. He walked with heavy shoulders, eyes down, and mind elsewhere. 

Distracted, tired, alone. For a first time hunt, he was the picture of the perfect prey. Anx felt sort of bad about taking advantage of the guy’s obvious bad day, but it wasn’t like he was planning to kill him. There was plenty of humans in the city, which meant plenty of blood. If he was still hungry, he could probably find someone else. 

His coven would make fun of him for being so soft, but didn’t it just make sense? With how often they impressed on him the dangers and mercilessness of hunters, he thought they’d make more of an effort to avoid killing people and leaving bodies. Of course, if one was dead, they couldn’t blab about being bitten to the aforementioned hunters, but… 

Anx shook his head, trying to refocus. It didn’t matter. He would do what was safest in the moment. 

Ahead of him, his target turned into a shortcut between buildings, and Anx let his lips curl with a smirk, hurrying his pace. An opportunity.  

He walked after him into the alley, footsteps almost soundless, and his body shifted into a more predatory stance. He gained ground with every step, and was only a few yards away when the man stopped. Anx froze in response, brow furrowing curiously. Had the human heard him?

“Um,” the man said, turning to face him without surprise. He had clear blue eyes that looked a little sorrowful. “Please stop following me.” 

Anx drew back a little, surprised, but then mustered up every ounce of menace he had, straightening his spine to loom. 

“Don’t worry.” He said, voice gravelly. “I won’t for much longer.” 

The man opened his mouth to respond, but Anx was already moving with inhuman speed, slamming into him and pinning him against the brick wall. The cat umbrella clattered onto the ground. The man wheezed, eyes wide, and Anx couldn’t blame him. He was the fastest in his coven, so to a human, it had probably looked something like teleportation. 

This close, he could hear the man’s rapid heartbeat, and smell the sweetness of his blood. His mouth watered slightly, and the stranger almost managed to shake him off when he started struggling against his grip. “Let go of me!” 

“Hold still.” Anx hissed, drawing in closer and tugging the man’s shirt collar to expose the juncture of flesh between the neck and the shoulder. With how tense the man was, the bite would hurt like a bitch for a while, but Anx thought he’d probably prefer that over a severed artery, so. “I’m not going to kill you, so quit wriggling already!” 

Apparently too scared to speak, the man shook his head vicariously, making it impossible for Anx to duck down and bite him properly. He growled, pulling back for a moment, and only had a second to see the man glowering at him, no fear in his gaze, before he was slamming his forehead against Anx’s. 

He saw stars, stumbling back, and the man charged him, knocking him to the wet, gravel-covered ground and pinning his shoulders down with strength you wouldn’t find in the average human. A hunter? Anx thrashed, his hood falling back. 

When he managed to focus on the man’s face, however, he was met with a stunned gaze rather than malice or hatred. 

“Virgil?” The man whispered, and Anx felt a sharp pain ricochet in his head. He snarled, mind aching.

“Who the hell is Virgil?”

-

Roman paced back and forth in the hall, glancing through the tinted glass of the double sided mirror with every turn. 

They had the basement room installed with what essentially amounted to a police interrogation room, although designed for much stronger occupants. Even thralls, who were the ones that occupied the room most often, had superhuman strength and endurance granted to them by their ‘masters,’ and thus needed superhuman restraints to hold them while they tried to track down the vamp responsible. 

Of course, the one currently strapped to the chair in that room wasn’t a thrall, as much as Roman wished that was the case. It would have been easier to fix than being turned. 

His heart had skipped a beat when he’d answered the phone to the sound of Patton in distress, nearly incoherent through his sobbing. It had nearly stopped entirely when he got to the alleyway and found Patton sat on the ground with an unconscious Virgil, head resting in his lap. Virgil hadn’t recognized his name, and had struggled viciously against any explanation until Patton had been forced to knock him out, and he was still sniffling now, hours later.

Even Logan, who was always the best at keeping his head between the three of them, was stunned into a painful silence at the sight of Virgil’s eyes. Bright, unnatural purple where they’d once been a dark, soothing brown. 

When they’d sworn to find their missing companion, alive or dead, none of them had expected to find him like this.

A cool hand settled on to his shoulder, and he paused, drawn back to the present. Logan had entered without him even noticing. 

“Roman.” Logan said, a subtle reprimand in his voice. “You aren’t going to help Patton calm down by working yourself up.” 

“Who’s worked up?” Roman said, but his voice came out tense, and the joke fell flat. He bit his tongue, looking at the limp form in the chair before them. Sitting on the wrong side of an interrogation table. “Is there even anything left of him in there?” His question came out soft.

Logan’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “I don’t know. We’ll have to see.” Sensing that this wasn’t enough, he turned to facts instead. “He isn’t feral. He can speak, and he told Patton he wasn’t going to kill him. He may not know us, but studies have shown that memory loss due to disease can theoretically be reversed. Don’t give up.”

“Me? Give up?” Roman took a breath, firming his shoulders with bravado. “There’s no chance of that.”

Logan’s face softened in a manner that would have been a smile on anyone else, but before he could respond, there was a harsh inhale. They both twisted to face the window into the room, watching as Virgil- the vampire came into consciousness with a jolt, struggling to look around and wrestling against the restraints ineffectively. Patton had informed them of his incredible speed, but apparently that didn’t carry over to strength.

“I’m going in.” Roman said, immediately, and Logan sighed. 

“Let me get Patton first. He’ll want to be here.” 

He left, and Roman stood close enough to the glass to fog it slightly, staring at that familiar face. The vampire was breathing heavily, the way Virgil would during a panic attack, and his eyes flickered around to different spots on the mirror as though searching for something. Roman’s heart ached, and he reminded himself to focus on the things that were Not-Virgil, like his glowing eyes and the edges of fangs he could barely see past his lips. 

The purple dye Virgil had maintained so dedicatedly was faded now, the pale strands against his clammy skin making him look washed out. If it weren’t for the brightness of his eyes, he could have been mistaken for a corpse. Roman shuddered. 

“We’re here.” Logan announced, and Patton grabbed Roman’s hand like a lifeline, eyes puffy and rimmed with red. 

“Hey, Pat.” He drew the soft-hearted hunter into a hug, drawing back after a moment. “Don’t worry. I promise to be as careful as our emo nightmare would demand.” 

Patton’s eyes grew even more watery, but he let go of Roman’s hand and nodded. Logan searched Roman’s gaze for a long moment and then nodded as well, tension lining his body. No matter how the nerd proclaimed otherwise, he cared about them. The way he’d worked himself to near-exhaustion after Virgil’s disappearance was a testament to that. 

Roman turned to the door, not letting even a smidge of hesitation leak into his body language. Two steps, and an opened door later, he was there. In the same room as Virgil, or, at the very least, Virgil’s body.

The vampire stared at him for a long moment, eyes wide and scared, and Roman closed the door behind him, walking a few steps closer. He could see the way the vampire’s shoulders tensed up, but he didn’t snarl or even hiss, and hope fluttered in his chest despite himself. 

“Hey there, Dark and Stormy.” He said, exhaustion making the nickname come out less menacing than he’d intended.

The vampire blinked once, twice, and then- 

“Roman?”

Roman’s body froze as though he’d been electrocuted, breath catching in his lungs. The vampire- Virgil searched his face as though recalling the features. 

“You- You’re Roman. You are Roman, aren’t you?” He asked, voice dropping into uncertainty. 

“Yes.” Roman choked out, his throat closing up with the emotion he felt. He remembered. “Yeah, I- Yes.” 

Relief flooded Virgil’s face, but only a moment later it dropped away to fearful uncertainty again. He shifted in the chair, restraints chafing against him. “Are… are you going to kill me?” He asked, voice cracking. 

Roman moved forwards as though drawn by a magnet, turning the chair away from the table and grabbing Virgil’s hands in his own. “No, god no, Virgil, we wouldn’t-” 

He paused as Virgil seemed to cringe in pain, not at his proximity but at his... words? “Virgil?” Another wince, accompanied this time with a snarl, and Roman realized the facade for what it was at the same time that the vampire’s pupils contracted to vicious slits.

He threw himself back, and got a perfect view of sharp fangs snapping shut on air with a click, the vampire having lunged forwards as far as he could in the restraints. Trying for Roman’s throat. There were muffled shouts from the room behind the mirror, and Roman realized that the vampire had faked waking up, had been listening to them talk at least long enough to hear Roman’s name and use it against him. 

He rolled to his feet, facing the vampire with a dark expression. The monster was working his jaw after the failed bite. “Ouch.” He muttered, sinking back against the chair in a slouch. Painfully enough, he looked even more like Virgil that way. 

“Roman!” The door to the room was flung open, and Patton launched himself at Roman, checking him over and hugging him. Logan trailed in after him, resigned to the loss of secrecy, and stood between them and the vampire. 

“Sorry, Pat.” Roman responded, still staring at the vampire with narrowed eyes. “He fooled me.” 

“I thought… He fooled me, too.” Patton admitted, turning to face the familiar stranger in their midst. The vampire tilted his chin up defiantly, but his hands were clenched into trembling fists. “You… you really don’t remember us, huh?” 

The vampire looked surprised at being addressed for a moment, before catching himself and baring his teeth with a hiss. “Whoever you think I am, he’s long gone. And I’m not telling you anything. So just get it over with.” 

Patton buried his face in Roman’s shoulder again, and so Logan was the one to respond. “Get ‘it’ over with? What exactly do you think we’re going to do?”

“The same thing hunters always do to us?” The vampire responded, incredulous. “Whatever you’re going to use to kill me, just do it. Even if I was willing to tell you shit, I don’t know anything important, so torturing me is pointless.”

Patton clung to Roman harder, but all he could think about was the way Virgil had referred to vampires.

Us, he’d said. He thought of himself as a vampire, had no doubt been told how evil and cruel hunters were, didn’t even know that he’d been one only a few weeks ago. Roman felt a boiling hatred in his stomach, not for Virgil, but for the vampires that had stolen him. The vampire that had replaced him.

“How many people have you killed?” He asked, voice low. Patton’s grip became painful, and Logan inhaled sharply through his nose, no doubt irritated with his rashness. 

The vampire squinted at him. “Are you stupid? I just said I’m not answering shit.” 

“How would I use that information against other vampires?” Roman countered, unfaltering. “How about this: if you answer, you get to eat.”

“Roman….” Logan said, frowning. Roman turned to him, eyebrows set stubbornly. 

“What? Are you going to leave him here to starve until he goes feral?” Logan looked away. “I didn’t think so.” 

The vampire ran his tongue over his fangs, staring between the three of them with something like bewilderment. “You won’t believe me.” 

“Try me.” Roman challenged. 

“None. I haven’t killed anyone. He,” Here the vampire looked to Patton, “was my first solo hunt.”  

Patton pulled away from Roman, staring at the vampire with heartbreak written all over his face. “You told me… you weren’t going to kill me. Back in the alley.” 

The vampire stared at him for a long moment, face unreadable. Then, he turned his head to the side and a cruel sneer spread across his face. “Yeah, well, I just wanted my prey to stop struggling. Not my fault you believed it.”

The three of them exchanged shocked gazes of recognition at the tell, making the vampire shift with uncertainty from where he was watching them from the corner of his eye. 

“You’re right.” Roman finally said, his heart twisting painfully as the vampire kept his head tilted away. His eyes flicking to the side in the same tic Virgil always had when he was lying. “I don’t believe you.”

Whatever memories he had lost, Virgil was still in there somewhere. 

Roman had to believe that.

[i-llbedammned]

I ended up writing the Good Omens noir fic I talked about about before.  I am excited and nervous as this is a hard pairing for me to feel like I am doing them justice.  You can read it on Ao3 here : https://archiveofourown.org/works/19854631 I will also post it down here:

Light practically sparkled on the grey suit and fedora of one kindly Aziraphale, private eye. It was different being on this side of the pond. Yes, he knew that he could go anywhere in the universe but there was just something so comforting about London that kept him coming back to it. Instead he was here in New York City and even though it was better than dealing with the bombs and the Nazis directly there was something still colder in this city. The roving packs of gangs and the brusk way that everyone talked was just something so unsettling.

He wouldn’t even be here if it was not for a very important mission. Someone had stolen one of his books, you see and it was a first edition of a Charles Dickens novel that he just couldn’t bear to part with. Crowley had given that edition to him shortly after it was published, telling him that reading Dickens was akin to torture so he was really trying to plague him rather than give him a kind gift. The angel was grateful for it all the same.

“What’re’ you looking at?” snapped a man in a flat cap standing near a stoop.

“Oh, ah. Nothing.” Aziraphale gave him a small, brittle smile and quickly looked away.

“Oh I’m nothin’ then?” the man started following the angel, a sour look upon his face.

“I’m just looking for a book shop, I will be right out of your way. My apologies.” He said, looking aside at the man, who had moved to block his path.

“I think you owe me a bit of reparations for the insult sir.”

Oh no. Barely here and it was already leading to a fight. What did he ever do to this man?

“Sir, please just leave me alone and I will be on my way.” Aziraphale tried to move around him and the man stayed with him, blocking his path forward.

“I don’t think I will.” The sharp click of knife sounded from the man and Aziraphale held up his hands as the man brandished a knife.

“The man said he is done with you. Piss off.” Came a deep growl from beside him. A figure with long red hair and a slinky black dress strolled up beside Aziraphale with a swagger that was unmistakable.

“Listen lady, this ain’t none of you-“ the man’s cries were cut off in terror as he beheld the flash of yellow snake eyes and the sharp smell of smoke as his hat began to catch alight. Beating the flames out, the man dropped his knife and began to run in the opposite direction. Cat-eyed sunglasses were placed on her lovely eyes once more.

“Crowley, what are you doing here?” Aziraphale asked as the man fled, looking at his fellow immortal with gratitude. He could have solved the problem easily enough, but he hated having to evoke terror and do violent things. It just made him uncomfortable.

“Saving you, angel.” She drawled, with her eyebrows raised like it was a fairly obvious question.

“Oh of course." The angel grinned in an embarassed way, "Nice dress.” Aziraphale complimented sincerely, taking in her lovely red lipstick and the golden slither of the snake along her back. It really suited her hips and showed off her legs with the long slit up the side.

“Don’t stare too long, I’ll start to think you’re interested.” Crowley laughed as Aziraphale looked up, a small tinge of color staining his cheeks pink.

“I’m not-Not that you aren’t lovely, but it wouldn’t be right.” The white haired man stumbled over his words a bit before finally changing direction entirely, ”What I mean to say is have you seen a first edition Dickens book around?”

“First edition Dickens? You lost the first edition Dickens book?” Crowley backed up, looking hurt. The look almost broke Aziraphale’s heart on the spot.

“No! I didn’t lose it. It was stolen.” Aziraphale extended his arm and Crowley rested long black taloned fingers on the crook of his arm as they walked side by side, now returning to her default moody look. “The shop was broken into and I found a jacket made by an American tailor in New York with some dollars in it so I assumed it would be here.”

Crowley began to laugh, “So you just miracled yourself over here to look for a book?”

“Well there’s also a lovely Vaudeville show in town that I thought I might pop by and see once I found the book.” Aziraphale wove his way through the city streets, arm in arm with his companion following the strange sort of gut instinct that usually was divine providence at work. He was supposed to be going in this direction, he just knew it.

“Care for a little company for the show? I’m bored and could use something to excite me.” Crowley smirked as Aziraphale’s heart did an instinctual flutter and she laughed.

“Well I can’t promise it will be exciting but-“Aziraphale paused, looking at the window of a bookshop in an alleyway. There it was, his Dickens book on display.

Without a further word he strode into the bookshop. A nasally voice answered his as a tall man with glasses glare at him, “I’m sorry, sir. We are closed.”

“Where did you get that book in the front window?” He demanded.

“It’s from our international shipments, but I told you it’s not for sale. Now scram!” The man spoke in pinched tones, exchanging glances with the other men in the room. All of them looked far too scarred and muscled to be book dealers.

“But that’s my book!” He protested loudly, indignant that these mortals would have the gall to both take his book and then refuse to give it back.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure it is.” A large man with shoulders twice Aziraphale’s width started shouldering him through the door, flinging him to the opposing wall. He could have resisted, but he chose not to. Really. “And don’t come back!” the man yelled after him.

“Oh bother!” he mumbled, picking up his silver fedora and looking ruefully at the door he had just been flung out of. Wait a second, Crowley never followed him out of the door!

Through the glass he could see Crowley slink forward, with all of the men’s eyes upon her hips and chest. He could not make out the words that were being said, but they appeared to be getting into an argument over it, bickering amongst each other as Crowley made flirtatious facial expressions at the big man who had thrown the angel out.

Wait! From behind the counter Aziraphale could see a man raising a gun towards Crowley’s back. The other men appeared to also be drawing up their various weapons as the conversation got more and more heated. Oh no, if that his her she would most certainly be discoporated for a period of time. That would never do. Aziraphale channeled his energies towards Crowley and with a small miracle, the bullets missed her as they flew about the shop knocking the other men dead.

As the various tough guys fell over from their various wounds, Crowley grabbed the book and walked out. “Was all that violence your doing?” Aziraphale tried to look away from all the death and violence, cringing at the thought of it.

“I wish. It certainly would boost my hellish numbers." Crowley looked mock disappointed, "Alas it was just a bunch of normal human violence though.”

“A pity on all accounts then.” Aziraphale sincerely mourned.

“Now what about that show?” Crowley asked, snapping her long black nails as a ripple of power waved over the City that Never Sleeps. “I think a private box just opened up for us.”

The box seat was lovely with red velvet seats and curtain to close them off from the world should they so choose. It just so happened that everyone who was supposed to have those seats got food poisoning and would be quite unable to attend that night. Poor things.

Aziraphale and Crowley sat next to each other, their arms barely touching.

“Angel, I do believe I owe you something,” Crowley whispered into his companion’s ear as on stage they did some sort of clown act.

“Whatever do you mean?” He responded, turning away from the act to face Crowley. Her face was very close to his all of a sudden, her heavy grey shadowed eye lids and full red lips standing out against the pale of her face in the darkness.

“You saved my life back there, don’t think I didn’t notice.” She grinned at him, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were falling a bit for me.”

“Oh not falling. Never that. But I didn’t want to see you discorporated.” Aziraphale smiled.

“You’re not falling, not even a little?” Crowley’s hands stroked Aziraphale’s arm, tracing patterns on his suit jacket.

The angel swallowed hard as his nerves began to pound, “I’m not sure this is a good idea, my dear. They could be watching us you know.”

“You know, no one can see us here.” Crowley whispered into the angel’s ear, nipping at his lobes with her teeth sending a shiver through his body. He made no effort to pull away from her actions, “And if someone was going to stop us from above, they damn well would have by now. What’s say we really enjoy the show?” “What do you have in mind?” Even though angels were not supposed to enjoy this type of behavior, Aziraphale had allowed himself to be drawn into Crowley’s actions time and time again. After all, he could just blame it on the demon should he ever be brought up by his superiors and claim that he had some sort of magic used on him.

“I ride you til neither of us can move in this dark little box while the clowns play below.” Crowley’s lips had moved to his neck and were beginning to kiss it slowly, licking along the path of the neck. Her fingers loosened his tie so she could better reach his neck.

Aziraphale cast an eye at the show below. It didn’t appear that this show was exactly the type of high art that he was going to truly enjoy as they did yet another slapstick routine. With one hand he lifted Crowley’s face to meet his, pressing his lips gently to hers as he undid his tie fully with his other hand. She moaned softly, abandoning her seat to sit on his lap.

With a flick of his fingers Aziraphale closed the curtains, throwing his hat to the ground. He ran his hands along the black satin of the demon’s dress, tracing soft swirls along her back. Crowley snapped her fingers and suddenly there was a change in her and Aziraphale’s bodies. The angel felt a quivering starting in his loins where previous to that he had been just as sexless as the day he was born.

Instincts took over as Crowley straddled Aziraphale, now kissing him deeply and letting her forked tongue explore his mouth. He responded back in kind, running his hands over every bit of skin he could reach along her back. The angel wondered which set of human sexes they had been granted this time, excited to try something new. This was all so public, even though no one was watching them from the darkness. He felt his own begin to rise as Crowley rolled her hips aggressively over him. Biting his neck rough enough to bruise. Pain, just the right amount sent a wonderful shudder through him. His hands wound underneath her skirt, feeling the garters and silk panties that were beyond her stockings.

Nothing was there to rise, feeling over the mound there. Good to know. Aziraphale unhooked her garters to let her stockings fall to the wayside and unclipped the belt they were attached to.

“Oh angel, the things I will do to you. Tell me, how much do you want me?” Crowley whispered furtively, her breath becoming thick with lust. Her forked tongue flickered out of her mouth.

“I want you more than I want to actually read the Dickens book that we saved today. More than an actor wants attention.” The grinding was doing its job and Aziraphale could feel his cock stiff against the suit pants. White hot need burned in the pit of his gut. He covered the demons mouth with his, reaching under her skirts to stroke at her clit through the underwear.

He needed release and he needed it soon. The pressure that was building up within him was going to be too intense and soon he would be able to bear it no longer. Crowley was relentless, unbuttoning the fly of Aziraphale’s pants and pulling them down just enough that the long length of his newfound cock could be released from within after a quick tug took down the underwear. With a decisive hand, Crowley reached under her skirt to peel the high waistband downward on her own underwear. A flick of the wrist sent it flying.

“How much do you want me again, angel?” She purred, as his fingers worked a steady pulsing rhythm on her clit.

“I swear, I will explode right here if I don’t get a chance to bed you immediately,” Aziraphale moaned as the demon’s fingers slowly ran up and down his shaft, his cock twitching in her hands helplessly.

“Oh but what is in it for me?” She guided his fingers towards her opening, putting in one of his fingers, followed by a second.

“I will make you feel…pleasant?” Aziraphale blanked, the length of his dirty talk coming to an end and just knowing that he wanted to feel her upon his lap riding him right now. To feel her breath on his neck hitch and her whimper as she struggled not to scream in the middle of the theater. “Please, I don’t have words for it, but I’ll show you.”

“Oh close enough, angel.” Crowley conceded, climbing on top of him once more and thrusting his length roughly into her. Her hips rolled and it was Aziraphale who had to fight back the urge to scream. To muffle himself he flew forward, pressing his lips into her neck and his hands into her hips. He felt her rump as she moved and undulated for a moment before she moved one of his hands to move down her dress. Soft breasts met his hands and the angel moved his fingers underneath the bra to massage them as they rolled together.

Crowley’s breath became more strained as she moaned, “Teeth. Bite me angel. On the neck. As hard as you can.”

“But won’t I hurt you?” Concern flashed across Aziraphale’s face.

“Yes, that is the point.” She growled, her hips moving faster and faster til he felt like he was about to explode.

Aziraphale obeyed the orders gratefully, biting her hard enough to bruise on the right side of her neck as he felt the sharp wave of an orgasm wash over him. Crowley’s body tensed him as he bit and she whimpered into his ear as she rode him hard.

That was not to be the end, mind you. The cycle continued three more times, til both of them felt exhausted and were very done being human and messy. With a flick of her talons, Crowley dismissed the sexual organs. Aziraphale focused very hard and they were both in a bedroom, a familiar bedroom that was draped in black.

“All the way in London, angel?” Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale’s neck as the angel laid down next to her on the bed. They could have miracled off their clothes, but even that felt like too much of an effort after the show they had just put on. They were cleaned up and that was really what mattered. And he had his book, which was promptly placed

“Well I wasn’t going to sleep in New York. It’s the City that Never Sleeps after all.” Aziraphale joked, feeling his eyelids be awful and heavy. With drowsy hands he moved the covers over both of them, glad that Crowley had invested in soft blankets despite the fact that both of them only slept as a hobby.

“Remind me to yell at you for that joke when we wake up,” mumbled Crowley, nesting closer to his angel. Aziraphale certainly didn’t mind considering how warm he was.

“I still wonder how they got my book.” Aziraphale queried as he draped his arms around the lovely demon in front of him.

“Oh that. Right. I arranged it. Figured it would be a good way to get you in the Vaudeville show and actually in New York. You’d never go to New York otherwise.” Crowley mumbled as Aziraphale nuzzled her ginger hair.

“Oh that’s wicked.” Aziraphale answered, but without any venom to his voice.

Crowley smirked, lazy and satisfied, “It worked didn’t it?”

The angel demurred softly as they both drifted off to sleep, the sound of bombs echoing in the London skies.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

The Self-Indulgent Holiday Special

The best way to celebrate a holiday is clearly to write a thing where your persona meets the characters made by your favorite YouTuber. Trust me, I’m an expert. 100% real authority on writing

‘M posting this super late at night after I felt the sudden need to write it, so forgive any mistakes I may have made. Also if you give me any sort of trouble for putting myself in the story.......whatever. It’s nearly 2019, I’m ignoring the connotation of cringe

There’s a rooftop garden in the city. Trees and flowers of all kind, just sitting on top of a ten-story building. Of course, it being the middle of winter, most of the plants had died out, though there were some stubborn coniferous trees and red flowers still growing. An iron railing surrounded the garden, keeping people from falling off.

Sitting on a wooden bench, looking over the setting sun, is a girl. Or, not a girl. They weren’t quite sure in recent times.They have red hair, vibrant and shoulder-length. They wear a set of glasses—they have multiple, and had decided on the black pair today. The evening is cool, but not cold, so she’d forgone her coat and wore what she usually did: a blue hoodie with a bright yellow smiley face in the center. By her side is a purple backpack, containing, as it usually did, her laptop—complete with headphones and mouse—the book she was currently reading, and her bag of colored pencils. They sit on the bench with their knees pulled close, their black sketchbook propped so that she can draw easily. She had some ideas she needed to get out.

“Hypocrite.”

It always surprised her, even though she knew who it was and what he wanted. She turns and sees Abyss, one of her characters. He looks like he always does, silver hair, red old-fashioned coat, brown eyes with stars in the pupils. He's staring at her, but that was to be expected when one didn’t blink. “Why do you say that?” she asks.

Abyss rolls his eyes. “You tell me I can’t visit this set of universes, at all, 100% forbidden, and now you’re here. Drew yourself up a portal. Therefore, hypocrite.”

“This is different,” they explain.

“It always is with you, Ms. Creator.”

Honestly, when they created a character with the ability to jump universes, she hadn’t expected to ever actually meet him. Hell, for the longest time, they hadn’t realized any of their ideas could spawn another world. But that was irrelevant. Abyss, though annoying and way too powerful for anyone’s good, isn’t antagonistic toward her, not anymore at least. “No, I mean, it-it really is different this time,” she insists. “This world in particular, it’s...I-I mean, it’s not mine, I don’t-I don’t think I can count it that way—”

“Hmm, I thought I recognized the feel,” Abyss interrupts. “This universe has your stamp on it.”

“They’re, um, not my characters—”

Abyss laughs. “That’s never stopped you before. You have your own little versions of worlds scattered all about. I never would’ve met Dani if you didn’t get obsessively attached to stories you like and made your ‘headcanons’ into your ‘canon.’ What’s so different about this one, this multiverse?”

She frowns. “I think it’s that...the creator of the original, he’s not-not, like, distant. I see him as a person and not as a-a-a, I dunno, a faceless maker of content. And all the people who are, like, inspired by his work are, they’re, like, people I know, you know? It’s really a community...like they say. And it feels mo-more special...personal, I guess.”

“I see...” She knows that Abyss is lying. She knows him better than anyone else; she’d created him, after all. He struggles with empathy, though he’s learning. And the idea of community, that you could somehow relate to people all around the world based on this one thing...it was a very empathetic, human experience. “Ah, would you look at that,” he says. “You plan this? It’s why you showed up here, isn’t it?”

They look up. The rooftops of the city had been empty a moment before. Now, there’s someone running across them, expert parkour-style. He’s wearing a red and blue jumpsuit, and a hood hides his face from view. But they know who it is. “I mean, I kinda planned it,” they say. “I wrote that this was a regular thing. And I decided to show up here at this moment, so...”

“You have a little crush on a fictional character? I understand that’s something that can happen.”

“What?! No! He’s like twenty-eight. I’m nineteen. I don’t do that. I just...friends are nice too.”

“Yeah...they are...” Abyss nods. “I’m starting to get that. So, I’ll leave you to it.” There's a flash of dark blue, and he’s gone, leaving nothing but a blue mist-like substance that quickly disperses.

“Hey there!” The man in red has landed on the rooftop with the garden, and caught sight of the artist sitting on the bench.

For a moment, she thinks the words will get caught in her throat like they always do. But...she knows him. He might not be her original character, but he was her version. “Hi,” she says. “You’re, um, Jackie, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am!” Jackie puts on a dramatic voice, and strikes a pose. “I’m the one and only Jackieboy Man! Protecting the city from crime, day and night!”

“I know,” they say, laughing a bit. “I’m-I guess you can say I’m-I’m-I’m a fan. My name is—” they hesitate for a moment. Should they give him their real name? Most of their characters know them as Brigid...but people had started calling them a nickname, of sorts, since they started becoming more active in the community. It feels...right, somehow, to use that instead. “I’m Crystal.”

“Crystal, huh?” Jackie tilts his head. He gives her a warm smile. “That’s a nice name. A, uh, fan, huh? I don’t really deserve that, you know. I’m just a guy in a mask and jumpsuit.”

“But you’re, like, a superhero!” Crystal says. “That’s so cool!”

“Well,” Jackie’s eyes light up. He thinks it’s very cool indeed. “I guess, but it’s not like I have powers. My friend—I mean, I have friends just like anyone else. I’m trying my best.”

“But a lot of people, um, you know, they don’t do the things you do. Even if-if they can. So, that you’re trying, you know, that’s important.”

Jackie considers this for a moment. “Yeah, you’re right. I can see that. Have a good night, Crystal.” He starts to turn away.

“Wait!” Crystal stands up, fighting down a surge of panic. “I just—um—I’m—did-did-did-did you know it’s Yule today?” She cringes internally. Stupid stutter.

“Really? Christmas isn’t for another few days.”

“No, it’s the winter solstice. The twenty-first. That means it’s Yule.” She feels her face growing hot. Unconsciously, she starts picking at the binding of her sketchbook. “It’s a, uh, pagan holiday. I’m Wiccan. I mean, I don’t practice it as much as I should, but if there’s any religion I can say I’m a part of, it’s that, you know? My-my family doesn’t celebrate it. And I mean, I love our Christmas celebrations, and the season is-is great. But I’d like to celebrate it and I was thinking—I mean—um—you seem nice. Can I, like, be with you? Like, hang out? I mean that!”

This couldn’t have gone any worse if they tried. They fully expect Jackie to just walk away. But, to their surprise, he stops, and consider. “That...maybe...” he muses. “...I mean, I can’t take a civilian out on patrol. But my friends are having a get-together tonight. I wasn’t expecting to be able to make it...but the question is, can you be trusted? I’ll be taking off my mask.”

“That’s fine!” Crystal assures him. She knows all the details anyway; she wrote his backstory, after all. “I won’t even be in this wor—in this town for long.” Yes, great idea. Tell your local superhero you’re a universe-hopping artist/writer with the ability to make anything with the power of drawing and words. He may or may not think you’re crazy, honestly hard to tell.

Jackie smiles, relieved. “In that case, feel free to come along. Though, my friends probably won’t be that happy about it. Don’t worry, I’ll convince them. Now come on!”

Smiling to herself, Crystal grabs her backpack and hurries to catch up.

The house looks exactly like she’d pictured it. A regular suburban sprawl with a big yard and two stories. Much bigger than her own, which was much too small for five people, two cats, and a tortoise.

“Ready?” Jackie had changed into his civilian clothes, ducking into an alleyway with a “no peeking!” Like she had any interest in things like that. Now, in his comfortable red hoodie and completely mask-less, he leads the way up the path and knocks on the door. A moment passes, then it’s opened by a man with a face just like his, hidden mostly under a gray baseball cap. “Jackie!” he says, excited. “We thought you weren’t coming!”

“Decided the city was safe enough for one night,” Jackie shrugs. “Oh, and I brought a friend!” He stands aside, and gestures at Crystal.

“Oh! Uh, hi. I’m Chase.” Chase can’t hide his surprise, though he’s trying his best. “We...weren’t expecting anyone else. We weren’t even expecting Jackie.”

Crystal laughs nervously. “Yeah, it just sort of...happened. It’s Yule.”

“Huh. Well, you’re welcome inside. Come on in!” Chase stands aside, allowing Jackie and then Crystal herself to enter the house.

Crystal’s eyes widen at the sight, and they can’t stop a small gasp from escaping their mouth. It was...all of them. It's kind of trippy, actually, seeing five versions of the same person, wearing different clothes, standing with various postures. Like that one project they tried to do in senior year film class, where they played all the characters. They never got around to finishing it, mostly because about a third of the footage went missing somehow.

“Hey everyone, Jackie’s here!” Chase announces.

“Ah, Jackie! We thought you weren’t making it tonight!” If she couldn’t tell from the glasses, the voice is a dead giveaway for who that is.

One of them waves. The clothes and the silence are also dead giveaways.

“Who’s the kid?” Process of elimination leads to the obvious conclusion for the last one.

“Oh, uh, guys, this is Crystal,” Jackie introduces her. “I ran into her on patrol, and she said she was a fan, and so I invited her to come.”

“They,” Crystal whispers, forcing the single syllable out.

“Hmm? What was that?”

“I’m, uh, good with ‘they’ too. If you don’t mind. ‘She’ is good too. But, um, just...so you know...” Crystal trails off. It’s the first time they’d ever, in person, made that point clear. She’d never even told her family. The only people who really know are the people who read her blog description and maybe some people on Discord.

“Well, okay then!” Jackie smiled. “Don’t worry, I get it.” She knows he does. This is a world where her headcanons are canon. And damn the canonicity of the SP playthrough, a queer hero is cool. And maybe...there were personal reasons why she thought that, but...it doesn’t stop it from being cool.

“Yeah, okay, whatever makes you comfortable. I’m Marvin, that’s Henrik, call him Schneep, and Jameson. You already know Jackie and Chase.” He points out each one as he says their names. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”

“Hey! Who’s the host here?” Chase sounds indignant. He turns to Crystal. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”

Schneep and Marvin roll their eyes in perfect unison.

Jackie gasps dramatically. “Snacks!” He runs towards the coffee table, which holds a variety of sweet and salty foods. “We got chips, we got chocolate, we got other foods starting with the letter C...”

“Hey, dude, can you leave the plain candy bars alone?” Chase asks. “Bobby’s allergic to nuts so she wants those.”

“The kids—I mean there’s a kid here?” Crystal asks.

Chase nods. “Yeah, I, uhm, got my kids, Bobby and Trevor, for the weekend. They’re in their room right now, but they told me they might come down later.”

“That’s cool,” Crystal says. “I like kids. I’m kind of good with them, I think. I mean, my sister is better, kids just love her.”

“Chase, if you ever need a babysitter, I think they are volunteering,” Schneep says lightheartedly.

“What?! I—uh—no, I can’t. I won’t be in town for long, I’m just here for Yule.”

“Isn’t that, like, a witch holiday?” Chase asks.

Jameson shakes his head, then makes some quick symbols with his hands. Not for the first time, Crystal wishes she’d fully learned sign language. Even ASL could help in a situation like this. The others understand, nodding.

“Pagan, huh?” Marvin plops down onto the couch. “Interesting. What made you choose that?”

Crystal thinks. “It seemed...the most right. It makes the most sense with my...worldview. And I like magick. That’s the kind with a K, but if regular magic existed I’d like that too.”

Marvin chuckled. “Well, keep your hopes high, kid.”

Crystal smiles softly. She feels a bit...giddy inside. Marvin was her second favorite, and here she is, talking magic with him. Kinda. More dancing around the subject. But it would be weird to let on that she knew everything about these guys.

Time passes. The five fall back into their comfortable back-and-forth banter, the sort Crystal loves to write. Hearing it come to life, and more importantly, actually sounding like something they would say, made Crystal feel full of joy. But even more so, the fact that these five characters who she’d held so close to her heart seemed to incorporate them into their dynamic so easily...even though Crystal was just jumping into conversation occasionally, they felt a ball of light and fuzziness inside themself.

Eventually a small brunette girl and a tiny blonde boy came out and joined for a while. The two are greeted with familiar enthusiasm. Bobby and Trevor are clearly well-known and well-loved among the group. After a while, Chase herds them back upstairs for bedtime. Marvin and Schneep get into a competitive Mario Kart race, which ends in controllers being thrown across the room. Jackie convinces everyone to watch Spider-Man: Homecoming for a while. The snacks are devoured. Then, it’s one o’clock.

“We should probably all go to bed soon,” Schneep says, looking at the clock.

“Oh, so says you, Mr. All-nighter,” Marvin laughs.

“I have work to do! You have no excuse and needs your rest!”

“Except you have a day off tomorrow, so you have no work and also no excuse,” Jackie points out.

Jameson signs something, and Crystal vaguely recognizes one of the signs, though she doesn’t remember the meaning. Luckily, the others are not so inhibited. “Alright, dude,” Chase says. “You want us to walk you there?”

Jameson shakes his head. “Are you going home?” Crystal asks. When Jameson nods, they continue, “I should probably go to. You, um, don’t mind if I walk with you...for a bit? Not all the way?”

After a moment of consideration, Jameson nods. A chorus of goodbyes follows the two of them out the door.

It’s dark. Crystal can’t help but be a bit scared, though she knows that with her sketchbook and pencil in hand she’s well-prepared for any threat. If she has enough time to draw something to defend herself, that is. Jameson doesn’t seem worried. Then again, he’d faced worse than street criminals.

Crystal tried to think of something to say. Come on, this should be easy. JJ is their favorite, and they really wanted to talk to him. But...this was good too. The two of them walk in silence, but it’s a companionable type of silence. Crystal isn’t really comfortable with being the shorter one of the two, even though they’re shorter than most people. Maybe because they’d always thought of JJ as the small one, even though his height is basically the same as the others, give or take a centimeter or two.

Still, Crystal has something they need to say. “Can I call you JJ?”

A nod, accompanied by a friendly mustache wiggle. Crystal laughs. “Thanks. I...” she swallows nervously. “I just want to say I’m sorry.”

JJ looks at her, confused. “For all you’ve gone through, I-I mean,” she elaborates. “It’s-it’s awful and-and-and you’re so nice, um, you know? So you didn’t deserve it.”

JJ can’t hide his confusion. He’s stopped walking, directly under a street lamp. It was very dramatic. He knows that Crystal can’t understand BSL, but he makes some vague gestures that she takes to mean, what are you talking about?

“I know a lot,” Crystal says simply. “And I...have my own demons to face...actually I, um, just realized that one of her names also starts with A.”

Jameson’s eyes widen. He starts to gesture again, but Crystal shakes her head. “No, we—um, I don’t want to. Not now. And you’ll-you’ll-you guys’ll probably never see me again. I need to go back home. I have stories that I need to work on. But...I’m really sorry.” She feels tears in her eyes. “I’m really so sorry.”

Still confused, but understanding a bit more, Jameson nods. Crystal gives a watery smile. “Goodbye. Tell the others I said bye too.” She turns to leave, but JJ taps her shoulders. He spreads his arms wide, almost questioning. “I...don’t do hugs,” Crystal explains. “Not always. But, um...this is going to sound weird, but give me your hand.” JJ complies. Crystal grabs it with both of her own hands and squeezes tight. “This is the same thing to me,” she explains. “But it feels better. You don’t mind, do you?” JJ smiles, shaking his head.

After a moment, Crystal lets go. She backs away. “Goodbye!” she calls one last time. JJ waves. She turns and dashes away, eventually turning down an alleyway.

The downside of her creations coming to life? It makes the painful parts of their stories so much harder to write. Crystal can feel a hard knot of guilt and sadness in their chest. But without despair, there can’t be any bliss. Without struggle, there would be no peace. And they always ended stories on a hopeful note. They always wrote a happy ending that made everything worth it.

The creator presses her pencil to a fresh sketchbook page and quickly draws an outline of a door. It’s familiar to her, a white rectangle with a silver doorknob. When she looks up, it’s embedded on the nearby wall like it’s always been set there. She steps forward, pulling it open. On the other side is a well-lit basement room, a bed and two overflowing bookshelves, tan walls hidden by posters. She crosses through, closing the door behind her. It fades away.

[avocadean]

An Eye for a Styne

A/N: ...Oops? 

Feedback is always appreciated! If you would like me to add you to the tags list, let me know and I’ll happily do so!

Title: An Eye for a Styne

Pairings: just sister!reader and the boys. kinda. 

Warnings: Canon-typical supernatural stuff. MOC!Dean. Slight death(s) (I mean, it’s MOC!Dean). Angst.

Words: Around 2,200

Tags List: @graceb200371 

A loud bang woke you from your nap, and your hands wrapped around one of the guns you have stored in your room.

Dean was out, and so was Sam and Cas. You were alone. Quickly, you checked your phone.

“Shit.”

No texts or calls from anyone. That could mean one of two things; they were back and just forgot to let you know, or someone broke into your home. You went with the later.

You hurriedly sent a text to your brothers and Cas.

In bunker. Something broke in. Come quickly.

You shoved it back in your pocket and listened. There wasn’t much to hear, though. Until footsteps came towards your door. Instinctively, you backed away and squared your body. Arms relaxed, gun ready, and legs stock still. You were ready for a fight. Though, your confidence faded after hearing another pair of feet.

Then another.

You were outnumbered. Usually, you could beat any monster to a pulp. But when your door was slammed open, you were smart enough to know that this was not going to be an easy fight.

Eldon and two of his other clan members stood at your doorway, blocking the only exit. Before you could even raise your arms to shoot, there were two other guns pointed at your head. All but one; a young one, had weapons at the ready.

“Hey, beautiful,” Eldon smirked, then continued in his southern accent, “...why don’t you come with us. Let’s have fun, shall we?”

“Piss off.”

“It sounds like you need to be taught how to talk like a lady.”

You scoffed, and your face was filled with disgust, “It sounds like you need to be shot.” And you raised your gun, but you were quickly stopped. The bulkier guy shot you, right in the leg.

You fell to the floor and your gun clattered away. Your hands went to put pressure on your leg, but again you were stopped.

Eldon picked you up by the arm and practically dragged you through the halls and into the library. You glared at him as he shoved you into the chair, and tied you to it.

“Now, listen, little girl-”

“I’m 24, you asshole.”

“Hey!” he screamed in your face. Some spit splattered onto your face, making you cringe back. In a normal voice, he continued, “I warned you about that language… We will just have to fix it, won’t we.”

“Bite me.”

“Roscoe, do please fine me something to shove in her mouth.”

Roscoe chuckled and looked at you like you were a piece of meat. “I could think of a few things.”

Eldon looked back at him in disgust, promptly scolding him, “Stop being a pig. Now make yourself useful and find something. And Cyrus,” he looked at his cousin, “...stay here with this one. I’m going to get started.”

Cyrus nodded his head in a quick, but meek, manner and Eldon walked away. You stared at Cyrus, and he was looking anywhere but you. This caused you to roll your eyes.

“Hey, kid.” his head snapped up and looked at you like a deer in headlights.

“Uh-uh yeah?”

He was scared. You looked at his quizzically but continued. “Why don’t you come over here and untie me.”

Just then, the other minion walked into the room.

“Oh, yay. You.”

He grumbled a shut up, and tied a rag around your head, making sure it fit snug in your mouth. You couldn’t talk, but if looks could kill, he’d have been dead five minutes ago.

“Cyrus, you stay and watch her. I’m gonna help Eldon,” and he sauntered off.

“Yeah, I’ll be...here.”

You looked at Cyrus, who looked back at you. He had an apologetic aura, and you knew he was a good kid. You knew he didn’t deserve the family he got. There wasn’t anything that you or he could do, so you just sat there, embracing the other’s presence.

It wasn’t until half an hour later when the three of them stood around a big pile of books in the middle of the floor. You had tried to scream out them when they haphazardly tossed pictures and other valuables of yours and your brother’s in the pile as well.

Eldon held up a match box after dousing the collection with gasoline and was stopped by Cyrus.

“Eldon, we don’t have to do this,” he said in a sincere way, “...we can just leave.”

“You’re right. We don’t have to do this,” relief washed over Cyrus’ face, but was short-lived, “...We get to do this.” He smiled a wicked smile. “But first, we gotta make sure our guest is comfortable, right?”

He crawled over to you, and reached out and tucked a stray hair behind your ear. You seethed with fury and growled.

“Now, I’d expect that from your… animal of a brother, but you? Well,” he thought for a moment, “...coming from a Winchester... I guess you all are animals, aren’t you?”

Cyrus looked at you in remorse and tried to get Eldon to stop, but it was futile. Roscoe looked on in the background with a sickening look on his face.

‘I think that’s just his face,’ you thought.

Eldon continued, “Now, Cyrus, what do we do to animals?”

“Eldon, stop. She hasn’t done-”

“I said, what do we do to animals!” he roared. His voice boomed through the library and the war room, and out through the blown out door, where another was getting ready to join the fiasco.

Cyrus shied away but answered anyway. He tried to say strongly, “We play with them,” but it came out weak and shaky.

“That’s right,” Eldon leaned down, his face mere inches from yours, “They become our lab rats. And you, Miss Winchester, will be just fine for that. In fact, I really like your eyes… I want them. Cyrus, go fetch me a spoon, will you?”

“Eldon, don’t do this, not here-”

“I’ll do it myself, then,” clearly annoyed with Cyrus, he stood to his full height, his knees cracking a little.

“Actually, you won’t.”

All four of you whipped your heads around and ended up looking at Dean. Normally, you’d be relieved to see your brother; your hero.

But right now, you’d kinda wished Eldon had scooped out your eyes. What you looked at made you very uneasy, and caused your skin to crawl in slight fear.

Dean was covered, head to toe, in blood and it wasn’t his own. It dawned on you then that he had fulfilled his promise to Charlie; he killed the Stynes. And he wasn’t stopping.

“Ah, Dean. How nice of you to join the party. I hope you brought marshmallows. It is gonna be a full show tonight.”

Quickly, Cyrus ran over to you and untied you from the chair. You pulled the gag away, and thanked him, but stayed where you were.

Dean stared straight at Eldon. There was no emotion in his face, yet it was the scariest you’ve ever seen him. Yes, he was a demon, and yes, he did try to kill you, but this… he was supposed to be human right now.

There wasn’t an excuse for this.

“Save it.”

“Oh, straight to the point, then? Nice. I respect that. But, I need to finish up on good ‘ole Y/N. We were just about to start the… oh, let’s say the previews. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds fine,” you were shocked. This was not Dean. This was not your Dean. “...but,” he pointed his gun at Roscoe and applied just enough pressure on the trigger to fire a bullet. He didn’t bat an eye. “I don’t like movies.”

And then he shot Eldon and looked at Cyrus.

“Please, don’t! You don’t have to do this, I’m not-”

“You’re going to tell me that you’re not like them? That you hate your family?”

Cyrus was caught off guard. “Yes. Exactly, right! See, you understand. I’m not like them at all,” he was frantic, and you stared on in shock.

Was Dean actually going to kill a kid?

Cyrus continued and pulled up his shirt, “See? No stitches! I’m not them. I never will be. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to kill me.”

Dean released his stare and dropped his arm. You subconsciously released a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Dean?” you tried to get his attention, but he only looked at you for a second, then back to Cyrus. You knew what was about to happen, “Dean. Dean! Don’t.” you got up as fast as you could, the bullet still in your leg limited your ability to move quickly without pain.

You stood just within feet of Dean and the boy he was about to kill.

He looked at you again, and got irritated, but was still a little concerned about your injury. The blood had long seeped through your jeans and followed you like a breadcrumb trail.

“Y/N, go sit down,” there was no gentleness in his voice. He was set like stone. Cyrus was confused, but he thought he was off the hook. He started to get relieved.

But then Dean lifted his arm, gun still in hand, and scratched his head with it. He looked at Cyrus and was focused on him only.

He sucked in a breath, as if this was just a little blip in his day, then said, “Yeah, but I do,” and fired his gun. He shot at point-blank, aiming for the head. Only, he didn’t hit Cyrus, who stood in his place in shock.

Your eyes were wide in pain. It was searing, it was unbearable. You let out a guttural cry.

Dean stood in his spot too, also shocked. 

Cas then walked in and took in the scene. Upon seeing you, crumpled to the floor with a pool of blood forming around you, he rushed to your side. He tried to put pressure on your wounds, but there was too much. It was too close.

“Dean, what did you do?” When he didn’t answer, he screamed at him, his emotions stepping into control. “What did you do!?”

“Y/N…” Dean stared down at you, his humanity coming back to him slowly. Until a small whisper of concern came from another mouth. And then, faster than a cat could catch a mouse, Dean raised his gun and shot.

Cyrus’ body fell to the floor, almost perpendicular to yours. Dean was then focused back to you, and your pain.

You were drawing in sharp breaths, trying to preserve some of your time, but the anger that filled you carried most of your energy away.

“Dean, you damn idiot… Why did you do that!” you wanted your voice to come out big, and threatening, but instead it was mere coughs between every three words and shuddering breaths.

“You’re the idiot! You pointed my gun at you-”

“Dean!” Cas’ voice was harsh and unforgiving. “Not now.”

“Dean, look at me,” but he didn’t. He couldn’t. You took matters into your own hands, and weakly lifted one of your hands that were holding the bullet wound, and pulled Dean’s face towards you with a bloody hand, forcing him to look at you. At his baby sister.

Red liquid was starting to leak out of the side of your mouth, and your face was paling. Dean knew that this was it. You did too. He took your hand in his and held it like his life depended on it.

“You tried, okay? You tried.” he subtly shook his head in disagreement, and closed his eyes as tears started to fall. “Dean, hey, look at me. Please,” he slowly opened his eyes, regret filled them. “...Don’t beat yourself up, o-okay?”

“Y/N…”

“No, Dean I,” you had to cough, which ended in even more blood leaving your mouth. “...I mean it. This was the mark. Not- not you.”

The life started to fade from your eyes, and Dean was desperate. “Cas, please, do something!”

You looked at Cas, and he to you. It was too bad to fix, you were too long gone.

“Dean, it’s okay,” you tried to console him.

“No, it’s not okay, Y/N! I just-” he stopped when your hand went limp in his. His face dropped. “Y/N? Sweetheart?” he tried to wake you up, but nothing happened. “No.”

He couldn’t hear the footfalls behind him, but he clearly heard Sam when he reacted to the sight he was greeted with.

“Oh my god,” Sam let out a sharp breath, and then took another one in, “Not- not again,”. he felt the panic rise up, and he placed his head in his hands and squatted to the floor. Repeatedly, words of disbelief fell from his mouth. His heart was shattered.

Cas stayed in the same spot; next to you with his hands trying to stop the bleeding. He just lost his best friend, and there was nothing he could have done. The damage was too great.

Dean stared at you, hoping that you’d wake up at any second, and say that it was all a prank.

Instead, he, Sam, and Cas were left staring at a burning body on a pyre.

[enkisstories]

The android cemetery (Ch. 26)

The trio enters the beach, two pairs of feet made of flesh and bone, one of plastic. The snow scrunches below their soles as they walk. It is pure white, untouched, pristine. The wind has given it a wavelike texture, like an ocean that you can walk on. Silence hangs over the beach. The world’s hectic is far away. Out here everything is calm, serene. In short, this is a place that has waited for somebody entirely else than these people! Tina picks up a handful of snow.

“Not much to work with, but serviceable.”

At this point Gavin shook his head in irritation. How different from how he usually heard it had Tina’s voice sounded in the video! But of course it would. Daniel’s acoustic module was different from natural hearing. Connor’s hearing was probably even more different and strange. Definitely strange! Gavin had never given that much thought. He knew he should feel appalled, but what he did instead was hugging Daniel tighter. What would his own voice sound like through his partner’s ears, the man wondered?

*Splash!*

The first snowball lands with precision, albeit less force than a human could have put behind it. And this is the only reason Daniel has dared toss it: Without his weighted gloves the former household android’s hands couldn’t seriously harm anybody even if Daniel wanted to. But his manual dexterity is near super-human and his agility considerate.

Tina: “Whoa, Sardines! Gavin’s not joking when he calls you “killer android”!”

A short hesitation, just long enough for Gavin to “revenge” Tina with a surprise shot. His next throw misses.

Daniel: “Just you wait! I’ll get even!”

The next snowball hits Gavin in the chest. Daniel dances across the beach now, dodging snowballs and returning the favor. A heavy baggage drops, to be buried in the sand under the snow. Until this moment the deviant hadn’t been sure if this little “wargame” would not trigger some sort of killer reflex. Not even when the two humans gang up on him or when Tina goes to her knees for a moment does Daniel experience anything different than a playful mood.

Can he trust these humans? Probably not. They may yet backstab him some day. But one thing Daniel is sure of now: If nobody else, he can at least trust himself again.

“Now that’s a kind thought about the man you had just kissed for the first time!” Gavin snorted.

“What thought?”

“Me backstabbing you!”

“Well, I was kinda right, wasn’t I? Given what happened two weeks later… wait, did I say that out loud? The part about trusting you and Tina?”

Only now Daniel realized that he had commented the scene the whole time. Not the Daniel standing here in the apartment, but his older self from January. His thoughts from the past had turned into a narration that accompanied his memory-video now.

“What’s happening?” the deviant gasped. “That’s not what I wanted to show you! That’s not what I wanted to happen!”

The screen flickered, then the snowball fight faded out, to get replaced by different scene: A black cat wearing a collar of green climbed onto Gavin’s lap. Daniel watched as the cat licked his partner’s face. The image blurred, then new scenes followed the ones before in quick succession. Sounds and images, some heartwarming, others disturbing, but many of them too short to make anything out of them. There was something about… salmon grind on sliced bread?

“Nooooo! Not that!” Daniel cried. “That’s private!”

Connor noticed Gavin lick his lips. The particular way the human was looking told Connor that Gavin’s thoughts were not food-motivated, but connected to another kind of hunger. Not in the least interested in the erotic application of salmon breadspread (or anything erotic in regard to Gavin Reed) the android shouted: “Yes! Let’s keep that private! Very private!”

Daniel tried to disconnect from the TV. Jacking out took what felt like an eternity and even afterwards what had been uploaded already was still running its course.

Suddenly the onlookers saw Daniel looking downwards into Connor’s eyes. One eye, more precisely. The other was dead. The deviant hunter was asking questions… something about a place called Jericho…

Emma screamed and the scene changed again. A dark sky… blood in Daniel’s face… the cityscape tumbling over, no, that was himself, falling. Falling…

“And that particular gem I only ever showed Connor!” Daniel whispered.

“Well, this is how memories work for humans”, a visibly shaken Jason Graff said. “Via associations. We cannot shape them into a family movie and obviously a deviant’s brain works exactly the same.”

“So I cannot lie in this mode?”

Jason nodded. Having worked in the Humanization department for years, his grasp on general android coding was a bit rusty, but this was what he felt right at home at. Professional interest had also allowed the man to realize that he was dealing with one, maybe two, deviants here, but just file the discovery as another fact to work with instead of freaking out.

“Worse”, Jason said, “you cannot keep anything private. An interrogator might say “relax” and the next thing he sees is your last lovenight with Mr.  Reed here.”

“Shit…” Daniel muttered. He covered his eyes while the TV screen was running the last of the uploaded material for all to see:

It has come down to it. Two days left of 2039 and then we will have seen the last of Detroit for a month. It will be good to see something different, even though the reason for us leaving is… less than flattering. But here we are, still understaffed and not even a PM700 is left idle in the charging boxes.

Gavin: “No chance but to take you with me today into a city where a mystery android killer’s on the loose…”

Not much of a mystery, Daniel thinks. The android killer is another android. The thought is sickening. Even if Brandon is killing his kin on the Villareal mob’s behalf, as they suspect, it is a fact that he has joined the syndicate out of his free deviant will, knowing full well what he was getting into. Gavin spits on the pavement, then draws a pistol.

Gavin: “Take this! And if you see a suspicious LED, shoot before asking! The gun probably doesn’t outrange Brandon’s sending range, so take it out before it can even think of initiating contact!”

Daniel accepts the pistol without thinking at first. Then he remembers getting handed a similar one by Lieutenant Anderson three months ago, when they had rescued Connor from the vice-mayor’s home. Daniel hadn’t used the weapon, not even on Connor. Alright, he had tried using it on Connor, but only to wound, of course!

Or had he?

Back in fall the android had been little more than a talking household appliance indeed, still shocked into submission and dropping the occasional sarcastic comment at best. Ever since, Daniel has re-won his former confidence. And it dawns to him that holding a gun again is probably a very bad idea. Because what will stay his hand this time, now that his fears have left him?

Daniel: “Take it back, please! I couldn’t accept a weapon even if I was a human! I’m just an auxiliary, no officer.”

Gavin: “Pfft! At this rate you’re going to make Captain before I’ll be Sergeant! Did you know our beloved inspector bitch sent Hank and me each a certificate for exemplary success in android training? So today we’re going to practice walking the neighborhood without killing people, acting patrol officer Phillips!”

Daniel: “No! I can’t… really not! Damn you, Gavin, couldn’t you at least have given me an empty one?! Take it back! Take it back, take it back, take it back!”

But exactly that Gavin cannot do, even if he had wanted. There is no telling if not some reflex might kick in, causing Daniel to shoot at the human who attempts to disarm him. They all have noticed Daniel wince when Gavin suggested paintball as a teambuilding project the day before. The prospect of holding a weapon, even a toy, is frightening Daniel for good reason. With his weighted gloves the household android can hit as hard as a human. With a firearm, to the contrary, he is vastly superior. And with his temper you never know what might happen.

The way the android is shivering, the most likely outcome is an outdoors lamp in the second floor needing to be replaced within the next two minutes.

Standing… Staring…

Then a quick action and then an android head sinking down on the detective’s shoulder.

Gavin: “Congrats, Sardines, you shot the perennial dandelion. I agree it was loitering there in a provocative fashion.”

Daniel: “I cannot do this… Please don’t make me!”

Gavin: “If I step aside, you’ll fall.”

Daniel: (no reaction) Gavin: (steps aside)

Daniel (falling): “Damn you!”

Sitting… still staring, but decidedly not each other.

Gavin: “I’ve talked to my parents and to Hank, yes, to Hank! And we agreed that you’ve come a long way already. Not the whole distance, though. You want to belong, but that goes two ways. We need to be able to trust you, too. And inevitably there’d have come the day to take it to the test. Today seems as good as any other. Come on, man up!”

Daniel: “Hear, hear! It must be dawn - the apes in the jungle start clamoring!”

Gavin: “I don’t have time for your insults - I dropped my pocket calculator!”

Daniel: “Right… about that…”

Daniel wriggles out of the embrace and rams his fist hard into Gavin’s stomach. Then he sits upright and watches with satisfaction how the human is cringing, still holding the officer’s pistol loosely in the other hand.

Eventually they grab each other’s hands and stand up again.

Gavin: “I’ll tick “correctly judging the appropriate level of violence” off your list of lessons.”

Daniel: “Looks like it. Got a holster to go with the gun?”

Gavin: “Yep. Here! - Oh, and one more thing: when the Andersons ask how it went, you tell them we had an enlightening talk consisting of reasoning, respect and all that other mature crap!”

“So that’s how it happened? But you told us you had an enlightening talk cons…” Connor started to protest back in the present. When he saw Daniel and Gavin grin, he stopped. “Ah. Right. I see. Suckers.”

On the android’s lap an eggshell-colored cat with a blueish grey mask was kneading his legs while wearing a world-removed expression. Nobody had noticed it making itself comfortable there, not even Connor. Sometime during the video the android had realized that he was stroking something and just continued doing so. Loki purred, but stopped whenever he realized what he was doing.

“We are even now, Con’”, Daniel claimed. “Next to lie to the other pays a thirium sherbet.”

And that was it. They had reached a point where they were seriously considering sitting down together and having that sherbet, even throw in a blue smurf ice cream for Hank, Tina and Gavin, none of which had exactly made their life easy in 2038. But everything they had achieved might still get invalidated by a single phone call of Mr. Graff’s. Emma and the androids turned towards the CyberLife employee. Tense, disdainful, even daring him to give them a reason to slap him. Violence was still an option, Jason realized. The deviants certainly were not choir boys and neither were their human allies preaching sunshine and photosynthesis. But even if the worst would come to pass, it would be the result of a conscious decision, not because some lines of code had corrupted and were forcing the android into a killing spree.

That much Jason understood now.