#you gotta love how every single time i have an empty spot on a canvas i just spell out the name of the character im drawing

[starwhipnspin]

ninja obsessed pie baking child

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

White Lies (Pt. 10 of 21)

Pairing: Keanu Reeves X Reader

Word count: 2.5 K

Summary: Keanu found the girl almost dead, in the wrecks of what was once her car. While she was in surgery, stuck in a coma, he gathered the best doctors of New York to attend to her. They told him she is likely to have some kind of brain damage, what may lead to memory loss. And this possibility added up wit the fact that she's pregnant, made the council come up with an odd idea. They asked Keanu to pretend to be her husband, since the stress of finding out everything that happened could put the baby in danger. He reluctantly agreed, but only if she does has some kind of memory loss. He still goes she'll wake up soon, with her memories intact.

But when you finally wake up, there's nothing inside. You're quick to find your head is empty, void, like a blank canvas. The only thing that brings you some relief, that makes you feel less lonely is the mention of a husband. And you can't wait to meet him, because you know you can't deal with this by yourself.

<- Previous part (09)

Next part (10)->

{Keanu Reeves Masterlist}

{John Wick Masterlist}

×

Candle Lights

Keanu is driving back home after your third antenatal class. You enjoy them, but most of the things they say you already know. But it's not their fault you and Keanu do a lot of reading and research, and your doctors keep you updated. But you want to keep going.

“I'm thinking about a cesarian.” You tell Keanu, both hands cupping your bump.

“What?” He glances at you, and his face makes you giggle. “You have to be kidding me.”

“Why?” You ask, stretching your arm to touch the back of his neck.

“Because labor is something natural. Your body knows what to do.”

“Yeah, it just hurts like a bitch.” You snap back, playing with his hair.

“I know.” He sighs. “It's your call. You're the one delivering the baby.”

“I'm not sure yet. But we still have time.” You're currently in the middle of week 18. You feel more comfortable, and you have more energy now. The bump already shows depending on what you wear, but there's still a long way to go. “And we need to talk names, by the way.”

“I thought we decided on Clarissa or Henry.”

“Yeah, but we gotta be one hundred percent sure. Are you one hundred percent sure?”

“Now that you're talking about it, no.” Keanu giggles, a hand coming to lay on your thigh. “What were the other options?”

“Sophie, Nicole, Ethan, and Liam.” You recite them, looking at the landscape outside your window.

“They're all great. But... Liam. I like Liam. Or Sophie.” He takes a turn left, entering the condo.

“I like them too.” It's always like this. Whenever you bring this up, you just can't decide. “Maybe it'll get easier once we know the sex. Because we're clueless so far.”

“Do you want one of those parties where the sex is revealed?”

“No. It's not like I'd know the guests so...” Pushing this thought back before it starts bothering you, you sigh. “Let's just keep it between us. The rest of the world will find out eventually, but let it happen when it happens.”

“Alright.” As he slows down and stops to wait for the garage door to open, you see Mrs. Jackson walking to her front door. She spots you and waves. You immediately remember the amazing brownies she makes, and you suddenly need it.

“I'll go say hi.” You tell Keanu before leaning for a kiss and stepping out of the car.

Mrs. Jackson is a kind old lady who lives with her husband in the house on the left. When she sees you coming her way she stops, smiling. “Hello, (Y/N). Good morning.” Her long white hair is being blown by the wind, and she keeps it off her face with a hand.

“Good morning, Mrs. Jackson. How are you today?” Smiling, you hug her.

“You can call me Anne, child, it's alright.” She immediately touches your belly. “And how is this tiny little human? Are you eating well, honey? Exercising?” She raises an eyebrow, tilting her head at your house. “Is your husband taking good care of you?”

“Yes, yes, and yes.” Giggling, and blushing a little, you nod. “I have weekly appointments with my nutritionist, Keanu and I take a walk every morning around the neighborhood and he's being absolutely amazing.” You say with a sigh, your heart beating a little faster just at the mention of him.

“Are you falling for him?” With both hands on her hip, Mrs. Jackson inquires, a funny expression on her face. She knows about the accident since she has become a friend of yours.

“I am.” You mutter, biting your lip.

“That's true, genuine love, sweetie. Even after forgetting him, you're falling for him all over again.” She has a teasing look on her face that makes you blush even more.

“Yeah, I guess you can say that. In the beginning, I really thought we'd end up divorced.”

“Honey, you don't know the way Keanu looks at you.” She shakes her head no, taking your arms and pulling you to a seat on the steps that lead to her porch. “When you came for dinner earlier this week, I could see it clearly. He looks at you like you're his whole world.” Running a hand through your hair, you look down. “That man loves you with all his heart, I have no doubt.” She puts an arm around your shoulders.

“Yeah...” You mutter, a low chuckle leaving your lips. “Oh, sorry for yesterday's noise. We're changing a few things in the house for the baby and also working on the decoration. Since we just moved and everything is happening at the same time...”

Anne furrows her eyebrows a little, tilting her head to the side. “Honey, Keanu has been living here for a little more than a year before you came. It was a surprise to me as it was for everyone to find he was married.”

Mimicking her expression, you start thinking, counting. Keanu said you came here only a few weeks before the accident. “Well... We were keeping it a secret. He's a public figure so the goal was to keep the marriage private for as long as we could. But the accident happened.” The words come out slow, as you try to understand what she means by that. A year... It can't be.

“I don't blame you for doing that.” Squeezing your shoulders a little, she smiles. “People can be very intrusive with celebrities.”

“Keanu's fans are great. We bumped into some on our way to the Walmart a while ago. And Ke was kind, as always.”

“That man is a rarity.”

“He is.” Smiling, you look at her, remembering about your current craving. “Oh, do you think you can make some of those chocolate brownies?” You ask, pouting a little. “I hate to give you trouble but I really want them.”

“Don't worry, child.” Anne giggles, taking your hand in hers. “I'm retired for way too many years and I enjoy having something to do.”

“Thank you!” Pulling her into a hug, you place a kiss on her cheek. “I gotta go now.” Pushing yourself up, you jump to the sidewalk. “Important talking about this little one's name.”

“Won't you tell me the options?”

“Nope!” Winking at her, you start walking backward. “It's going to be a surprise.” With another wave, you turn around and head home.

Keanu is in the kitchen, starting with the preparations for dinner. Homemade pizza night, and he's just starting to make the dough. Moving to seat on the kitchen island, you're just about to ask how you can help when what Anne said comes back. That was certainly weird, but you don't think Keanu would lie to you like that. “Ke...” You make a small pause when he looks at you over his shoulder. “Mrs. Jackson said you were living here for like a year. But you told me we came to New York a few weeks before the accident.”

He stops, both his hands dirty with flour. There's something in his face you can't read, as Keanu avoids looking at you. “We bought the house about a year ago. I used to come and spend a day or two because of work, but we only actually moved when you found a good job here.” He speaks slow, only lifting his eyes when he's done speaking. You work with social services, and he said that your job is secure for when you're able to go back.

“Got it.” You mutter, furrowing your eyebrows a little. “Are you alright?” Getting up, you walk over him. Once you're close, he has no choice but stares into your eyes. Wrapping your arms around his midsection, you tiptoe to kiss him.

“I'm great.” When you step away, Keanu touches your nose in a quick motion, getting it dirt with flour.

“I can't believe you did that.” You giggle, stretching your arm to shove your fingers inside the bowl before showing them to your husband. “If you don't apologize, sir, I'll paint all this pretty face of yours.”

“Is it a threat?” Keanu inquires, raising an eyebrow.

“It's a promise.”

“Alright then.” He chuckles before cupping your face with both hands, getting your cheeks and jaw covered in flour.

“You're playing with fire!” You shout, running your fingers through your face before reaching for the bowl and taking a handful of flour that you succeed to half throw it at him, with half of it falling on the sink. He holds your dirty hand, some parts of his hair all white. “You're messing with the wrong pregnant lady, babe.”

“I surrender.” He says in between giggles, hands raised. “I'm completely at your mercy.”

Squinting your eyes at him, you only grunt before washing your hands. “Let me help you.” You say as you grab the dishcloth, damping it before starting to clean Keanu's face.

“No. Let me do this for you. Just sit there looking beautiful.” Once you're done with his face, you clean yourself the best you can.

“Only if I get to see you around the kitchen looking handsome.” Sassing back, you leave the dishcloth on the sink and head back to your place at the kitchen island. You love helping him, but you decided to let him do his thing this time.

By nightfall, the pizzas are in the oven. All three of them, despite knowing you won't eat that much. But one is for Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, and the other two will probably cover up all meals for a while. That if Keanu doesn't bug you with eating super healthy on every single meal. The brownies arrive too, and you thank Anne a lot as you bite one of them.

The only thing to ruin the night, well, that got close to, was that the sudden violent wind caused a blackout. You were eating at the kitchen table when it happened, and Keanu left to check if there was anything he could do. There isn't, but he did find some candles and the pizza night became a lot more romantic instantly.

Right now, already satisfied after two slices only, you admire his face in the different lighting, his hand holding yours over the table.

“We should go out. Like a date.” He suggests, and it makes your smile grow wider. “If that's alright with you.”

“Of course it is. We're married.” Shrugging your shoulders, you notice the subtle change on his face. You never get it, it's a mystery. “Ke, what's wrong?” It's not the first time it happens, but even though you're getting to know him, learning to read his expressions, this one is still difficult.

“Nothing, beautiful. It's nothing.” He assures you in a low voice. “Do you wanna head upstairs? A shower lit by candles must be quite an adventure.”

He always does that. He says it's nothing and changes the subject... But you guess it's alright. Maybe Keanu remembers the accident. The wife he lost that day. Or maybe something you shared before that's completely gone for you. “Great.”

“You can go first. I'll clean this up.”

“Leave the dishes to me. I can do them tomorrow.” You say as you walk past him, a hand on his shoulder. “You already made dinner for us.”

“Alright.” He agrees and you smile before going upstairs.

Showering with nothing but candles to light up the bathroom is weird, and you almost slipped. And that you'll never tell Keanu or else who knows what he'll do. But it was different. Once you're done, you leave the bathroom loosening the bun you had your hair in, letting it down. “Your turn with the medieval style shower.”

“I didn't know they had bathrooms like this back then.” Keanu snaps at you, smirking.

“You couldn't just go with it, could you?” Rolling your eyes, you walk over the slide glass door that leads to the balcony, just to watch as the wind still rushes through.

“Absolutely not.” It's the last thing you hear before the door closes.

With your eyes on the street down there, you hope this wind won't bring anyone trouble by tomorrow. At least the news said the weather will get better in a couple of days.

After some minutes watching the threes bending under the weight of the wind, you walk back to the bed, sitting on the edge. This place is feeling more like home as the days go by, and you're falling back into the life you once had. And it's good. Despite all the medicine you still take, the endless appointments, and a very, very overprotective husband, everything is good. More than that, actually. It does bring you relief to know you were this happy before. That you weren't alone, that you somehow managed to find someone so amazing. You know it was probably difficult in the beginning, with him being a public figure, and so many years older, but look where you are now. It was worth it. It ended up in the best way possible. And you couldn't ask for anything else.

“Lost in thoughts?” His voice startles you, as he comes from the bathroom.

“A little.” Getting on your knees on the bed, you cross it until you're face to face with him. Well, he's still taller, but you don't mind. You like it a lot, actually. Smiling you wrap your arms around his neck. “But they were good thoughts.”

“That's good to know.” He whispers, and you can't resist the proximity, so you just kiss him.

It was supposed to be just a quick thing, soft and sweet, but it soon becomes too needy. You shouldn't be this needy, and you don't know where it comes from. But it doesn't take much until you're awkwardly wrapping your legs around his waist, but the sudden change of balance makes you fall back on the bed, giggling through the kiss. But you don't mind. You don't want this to stop.

But you sigh when Keanu pulls away, opening your eyes to look at him, his eyes barely lit by the two candles, one on each nightstand. “What?” You ask, your voice a little weak, you're not sure why.

“If we keep this going...” His voice fades, and you feel when he removes some of his weight from you. He wasn't crushing you, but you were feeling all of his body. “...I don't think we'll be interrupted this time.”

You get what he means. There won't be calls this time, nothing too put a stop to whatever is going to happen. But you don't care. He's your husband, and you're falling for him. You want this. “I don't want it to be interrupted, Ke.” You tell him, thanking the darkness because you're sure you never blushed this much.

“Are you sure you want this?” A thunder almost clouds his voice, but you manage to hear it.

It's kind that he still wants to know how you feel. Keanu doesn't push you, he never has. It suddenly snaps that you love him, that this is right. “I'm sure.” You whisper back, eyes closing again when Keanu leans in for another kiss.

×

@multific @inumorph @aestheticallywinchester @bvbwestfall @liviiii98 @allie1804-fan @gian-giannina @playboygeniusphilanthropist @partypoison00 @mariafetamina @fortheloveoffanfic @trin303

[ask-the-good-creeps]

can we get some of the carney groups interactions

The mechanical whirring was cut short as Davie switched off his tattoo gun. He wiped the latest piece on his newest client a couple times with a clean towel as he set down his supplies and encouraged the canvas to take a look at the finished image. It would need a bit of time to heal, but this wasn’t her first time getting inked - she was well aware of that. She thanked him for his work and told him how much she loved the art he’d permanently drawn into her shoulder, and he finished the administrative tasks associated with her session today before wishing her well and sending her out the door.

Emma had been his last appointment for the day seeing how the guy who had been scheduled after her had suddenly called it off. Davie was both disappointed and relieved that the man had quit on him; he was glad he didn’t have to work with someone so difficult, but at the same time...strange things tended to happen when he was the only one in the shop. Things that nobody ever believed him about when he tried to tell someone. He found himself hoping for a surprise walk-in as he began doing random housekeeping around the place.

Be careful what you wish for.

The little silver bell on the door rang out. Davie called out a quick greeting to whoever entered as he threw out some garbage in the back room. He heard conversation as he walked back out to the front, and he felt a sinking unease in his gut when he entered to find the front room empty...but the conversation didn’t stop. That could only mean one thing...he was back, and he must have brought a friend this time.

Davie felt sweat start to bead on his forehead as his eyes scanned the room. The voices seemed to be coming from all around him, but there were no people in sight to attribute them to.

“H-hello?” Davie called shakily. The conversation paused for a moment - that was all it took. Oh no.

“Hello!” He appeared out of nowhere, leaning down so his eerily-grinning face was both level with and inches from Davie’s own. The tattooist was almost glad there wasn’t anyone else there; a grown man shrieking like a child and falling back on his ass was usually cause for a little light-hearted ridicule from his coworkers.

“Ah, sorry about that! I always forget how easily startled you are.” the jester laughed and though Davie didn’t think he intended to sound like a maniacal villain, he most definitely did. 

“Are you sure he’s alright with us being here? Are you really sure?” Davie turned his attention to the blue-haired maniac’s friend. If his eyes could’ve bulged from his skull and exploded like in a cartoon, they would have. 

This questionable character was taller than his already-too-tall companion. The greyscale scheme of his outfit seemed to have leaked out into his very being, as if the clown had been soaked in a vat of magic bleach. His black lips were set into a frown as his creepy eyes bore into Davie’s soul. He had a single black brow raised in question, and his seemingly boneless arms were loosely crossed as he waited for the jester’s answer.

“Of course it’s fine with him, Jack! I’ve been here at least three times already - he knows me!” Candy Pop offered Davie his hand, and the artist reluctantly took it. Pop hauled the man to his feet and turned to face a still-skeptical Jack. Davie’s throat was so dry it hurt to swallow, and he was sure the clown saw him shaking before he realized it himself. The jester had never seemed determined to harm him on any of their previous encounters, but Davie was reluctant to drop his guard around a creature of supernatural origin...especially one capable of things like Pop.

“W-what can I do for you?” Davie asked with a forced smile. He didn’t want to offend these two. Pop opened his mouth as if he intended to answer, but the clown - Jack - beat him to it.

“We can leave if you don’t want us here. It isn’t our intention to terrify you, but this unholy cretin,” Jack gestured to Pop, “has a habit of not knowing when he’s crossed a line with people.”

“Oh, but lines are meant to be crossed, old friend! Life is so much more interesting outside our comfort zones!” Pop laughed again and did an exaggerated spin before looking back at Davie. “I don’t trust anyone else to mark up my skin anyway.”

Davie was too focused on the painfully-wide smile splitting Pop’s cheeks to see Jack roll his eyes. The jester started to tell him about the latest art piece he wanted on his back, but Davie wasn’t paying much attention to his words at this point. He nodded his head almost reflexively until the jester stopped talking.

“Can you do that?” Pop asked at the end of his explanation. Davie snapped back into reality.

“Y-yeah, sure, I just gotta get a sketch down...” he mumbled. Pop clapped his hands in excitement as he turned to head to the chair he always sat in here to get work done. Davie turned to follow him but was stopped. A cold chill ran down his spine as he saw the long, dark claws resting over his shoulder.

“You sure you’re up for this? We’ll leave if you say so.” Jack rasped behind him.

“It’s f-fine,” Davie gulped, “I just...didn’t know you were real before this, that’s all.”

“Pop told you about me last time he was here, then?” there was a curiosity behind the clown’s words. It didn’t sound malicious, but it was hard to tell with how creepy his voice was.

“He, uh...he did a little more than that.” He heard a confused hum from behind him as the sharp-tipped fingers disappeared from his shoulder.

“Did I forget to tell you about that?” Pop was already sitting shirtless on the chair, even though he didn’t need to be for the next half-hour at least while Davie sketched the design he wanted.

“What did you do?” Jack’s voice sounded exasperated, tired, somewhat defeated in the face of his jester friend’s ever-present smile.

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter now, all things considered, but...”

“But...?”

“But I may have gotten a picture of you feeding little ducks inked into my back a couple visits prior.” Davie heard a sound behind him akin to a hard slap, followed by Pop’s echoing laughter. He risked a glance over his shoulder to see Jack with his palm covering his face. The demonic clown seemed completely fed-up with Pop’s antics; having dealt with him a few times now, Davie could easily understand where that sentiment came from.

“Are we going to get this show on the road or not, boys?” Pop asked in a light, sing-song voice. Jack sighed as he and Davie both went over to get started. The tattooist wasn’t surprised to see the jester’s back completely blank. Every tattoo put on this guy faded away after a little more than a week, and it seemed even Candy Pop himself didn’t know why that was. Davie wondered why the guy kept getting tattoos if they weren’t even going to stay for long. What was the point of doing all that work only to have nothing to show for it later on?

He sighed quietly as he grabbed his sketching tools. He remembered the first tattoo the jester requested. A rainbow unicorn that took up his whole back. At the time, Pop had really creeped him out in general, but he hadn’t known the guy wasn’t human. The next tattoo was a snake slithering up his arm, and Davie still hadn’t suspected supernatural issues.

Then, Pop came in for his third tattoo...a full back tatt of Jack feeding ducks. Davie had tried to say that he didn’t think there’d be any room around the unicorn piece, only to stop mid-sentence when Pop exposed his tattoo-less back. His jaw had dropped when Pop responded by saying, “That would have been a really cool idea for my first tattoo, but I’ve got my heart set on this one.”

He had done the piece while doubting his own sanity. 

It was the fourth time that started to make him afraid. Pop had come in with a cardboard mustache photo-prop held in front of his face to ask for another full-back tatt. The jester tried to deny he’d been there before when Davie mentioned their previous interactions, and seemed genuinely upset that Davie ‘saw through his clever disguise’ when he finally admitted his identity. And of course, his back was blank again that day.

The jester always requested the strangest, most outlandish things after that. There was a piece of a female version of himself flipping the bird and saying ‘fuck off’, an upside-down giraffe with green square spots wearing a yellow bandana, what could only be described as an alien lifeform offering a striped banana to a faceless cow...his requests never made sense or seemed to have any meaning, and Davie had never expected to see a physical manifestation of one of those images here in his little shop.

He set to work sketching his otherworldly visitor’s latest request, and wasn’t surprised to Jack hang his head in his hands after Pop approved the sketch. Davie found it interesting to know that Pop’s ideas were odd even by the standards of other creatures like him.

The tatt took about six hours; they finished an hour and a half after closing time, but Davie hadn’t been willing to ask him to come back and finish it another time. He could suck it up. Jack had been quiet through the whole thing, while Pop had been his usual chatterbox self. The jester admired his back in the mirror for a few minutes before snapping his fingers. There was a puff of blue smoke, and his shirt was back on. 

“I can’t wait to show Jason.” Pop smirked mischievously. Jack had shaken his head in disapproval, but didn’t say anything.

The two entities thanked him for his time, paid and tipped well, and headed out the door into the night. Davie wondered as he locked up the shop later why they didn’t just teleport away. Part of him hoped he’d never see the two living examples of nightmare fuel again, but part of him didn’t mind the thought of it so much. Sure, they were terrifying, but they never hurt him...and he couldn’t deny they looked familiar somehow. 

He briefly wondered who Jason was...and why the nude redheaded woman Pop had inked into his back tonight was important to him.

[theshopislocal]

corinth rains

New and improved Heaven may well be the Happiest Place (not) on Earth. But Dean, it turns out, is still Dean.

(also on AO3)

chapter eight

Funnily enough, the wings in Heaven aren’t anything to write home about. 

Dean glances down at his half-eaten lunch, licking Buffalo sauce off the side of his thumb. He’s pretty sure the plate - with its lopsided tower of wings, side of celery, and little cup of chunky bleu cheese - is meant to replicate one he’d had at a greasy spoon sixty odd years ago. To the naked eye, the place had looked like a shithole - just another offramp dive in B.F.E., Nebraska. But the wings - damn, the wings - had been out of this world; crunchy and greasy, sour and salty, and drenched in sauce hot enough to make his eyes water. 

Dean sucks his teeth and grimaces. He’s not sure what it is, but Heaven missed the mark on this one. He’s sure it’s the same recipe as the roadside joint, but there’s something not quite right. It certainly doesn’t help that his pint glass keeps automagically refilling with Stella Artois instead of El Sol. He grumbles with every sip and pretends like the mild flavor isn’t growing on him. No way in hell is he letting Charlie turn him onto her trendy lesbian beer.

“Hey.”

Dean’s head snaps up, shoulders going tense. They loosen a bit as Sam slides into the other side of the booth. He’s wearing a denim button-down that Dean’s pretty sure was one of his, and his stupid hair is extra floppy. He slides his dorky messenger bag off his shoulder, settling it at his side. 

Dean knocks back the rest of his beer in a thick swallow and sets his little cardboard coaster on the rim. “Heya.”

Sam gives him a smile, all white teeth and deep dimples. Dean tries to give him one back, but it feels more like a grimace on his face. 

Sam notices, of course. “You alright?” he asks, dipping his head to meet Dean’s lowered eyes. 

Dean shakes his head, then corrects it to a nod. “Yeah,” he grunts and nods toward his plate. “Ate too many wings.”

Sam’s eyebrows climb his forehead, smile going crooked. “Didn’t think that was possible for you.”

Dean splays his hands in a shrug. “I contain multitudes.”

His stomach chooses that moment to grumble ominously, and Dean hunches forward, pressing his forearm across his belly. 

Sam, the little shit, smirks wide. “I’m sure.”

Dean rolls his eyes and reaches for his glass. He tips the little coaster off and watches as the glass refills itself. It’s a darker orange-ish color now, rather than light blonde. He takes an experimental sniff: El Sol, this time. He feigns relief in case anyone’s looking (no one is), and peers back up at Sam. 

He’s holding the little laminated sample menu, eying over it while his fingers drum a beat against the tabletop. He chews his lips, eyes a little wide, and Dean recognizes the expression in an instant: Sam is Up To Something.

Dean sighs and sets his beer down with a thunk. “What.”

Sam’s head pops up like a frickin’ meerkat, all innocence and feigned confusion. “What what?”

Dean arches an eyebrow in a glare. “You’ve got excited puppy face,” he grumbles and ignores Sam’s snort. “What is it.”

Sam huffs a fake laugh and shakes his head. “I don’t...” he starts, then cuts a considering look at Dean. Dean stares back, blank-faced and expectant, and Sam blows out a sigh, eyes downcast. “Yeah, okay. Look, I was—” he cuts himself off, pulling his lip through his teeth. “... I was thinking about Cas.”

Cas. 

Cas.

Dean probably should have seen that coming. 

Sam had been rather circumspect in those few months between Cas’ death and Dean’s own; no offhand utterances of his name, no needling questions about how exactly Cas had summoned the Empty, no mention whatsoever of the bedroom door he’d often found Dean stood in front of - unable to open, unable to turn away. 

Sam had been kind in his silence. 

But if Dean knows Sam at all - and he certainly does - the silence wouldn’t have lasted forever. Kid’s too smart, too curious, too empathetic by half; sooner or later, he would’ve broached the subject - for Dean’s sake, if not his own. 

And if Dean’s being entirely honest with himself - which, frankly, isn’t really his game - he can acknowledge the inherent unfairness of it. For all Dean prefers to bottle things up until they ferment in his belly, Sam is (somehow) a well-adjusted adult with proportionate emotional intelligence to boot. Sam had deserved to mourn Cas - whether or not Dean had allowed himself to do the same - and Dean hadn’t let him. 

So, of course Sam is thinking about Cas. After all, he’d loved him nearly as much as—

Dean winces hard, eyes squeezing shut for half a second. “Yeah?” he asks. His eyes flick back open, and he stares down at his plate. The wings have gone cold, the celery warm and floppy. 

Sam nods. “Yeah. I mean,” he gestures vaguely with the little menu, “Eileen says he does a lot of work for the Arch, but...” He trails off for a short moment then shrugs. “We’ve been here for a while. I sorta figured he would’ve... dropped in by now?”

I’ve been busy. 

I have responsibilities. 

I’m needed elsewhere. 

I’m sor—

Dean hunches forward, and his stomach grumbles again. “Yeah,” he murmurs, and he feels nauseated, hollow. Too many wings, indeed. 

Sam tilts his head in a crooked nod. “Yeah, it’s kinda weird that he hasn’t, right?” He doesn’t wait for a response, and Dean doesn’t interject. “So,” he goes on, leaning forward across the table, “I did a little digging.”

Dean’s head pops up, and he finally meets Sam’s eye. Sam’s brow is raised, the puppy expression back at full volume. Dean frowns, wary. “Digging?”

Sam nods excitedly and turns to his bag. He unzips it, sticking in a freakishly large hand to rummage about, and pulls out a thick book. 

A beige leather book. With gold insignia on the spine.

“I checked this out,” he says and sets the book on the table with a soft thunk, “from the Library.”

Wait. What? “You- the Library?” Is Charlie making magic plutonium bombs for everyone now? “How’d you get in?”

Sam gives him a funny look, squinty-eyed and confused. “I made an appointment.”

Of course he did. “Right,” Dean grunts, folding his arms on the edge of the table. 

Sam leans closer, and he smiles almost comically wide. “Dean, the Library? It’s awesome,” he gushes, and Dean chews on a smile. “They’ve got everything ever written ever,” Sam crows. “Literally every single—”

“Kevin sign you up for a library card?” Dean interjects with a crooked smile. 

Sam’s face freezes, eyes darting away in mild embarrassment, and Dean snorts a startled laugh. “You’re shittin’ me.”

Sam rolls his eyes around a tiny smile. “Shut up.”

Dean gives a bark of laughter. “Man, you’re a nerd.”

“Anyway,” Sam says and gives Dean a mild glare. “This,” he begins, smoothing a palm over the front of the book, “is the history of Heaven. Since Jack remade it.”

Dean cranes his neck to read the upside down lettering, and Sam turns the book toward him.

Recens Historia Caelorum Vol. I.

Dean frowns and gives a little shrug. “Okay.”

Sam nods and sucks in a breath, one hand coming up to tuck his hair behind his ear. Dean’s eyes soften at the gesture; for all he’d wanted to be a lawyer, or a hunter, or a freakin’ superhero, Sam had always been a Man of Letters at heart. 

Sam plants his hands flat on the table - the final step of his pre-lore ritual - and Dean suppresses a smile. “Okay, so,” Sam starts, and Dean settles in. “Basically, Jack arrives in heaven with the seraph Castiel.” Seraph? “Presumably, he—”

“Pulled him out of the Empty,” Dean offers. 

“And restored his Grace,” Sam nods. “So. They get here and start fixin’ the place up. Opening up all the personal heavens, getting rid of the whole greatest hits shtick, right?” Dean nods along; Bobby had told him this much. “Then, get this,” Sam continues, leaning ever further forward, “Jack leaves.”

Dean frowns, and his eyes flick up from where they’d been staring sightlessly at the book cover. He shakes his head, lips pursing. “He leaves?”

Sam quirks a brow and tips his chin down in a nod. “Yeah. Apparently he decided he wanted to rebuild all the universes Chuck destroyed. Not just ours.”

Dean’s eyebrows pop up, and he feels a sort of mild, obligatory guilt uncurl in his stomach. Frankly, he’d all but forgotten about the infinite other universes that Chuck - in his epic, cosmic bitch fit - had dusted just for kicks. 

Dean shakes his head. “Shit.”

Sam huffs a laugh. “Yeah. But,” he says and raises a forefinger, “Heaven’s not finished.” He makes a vague gesture towards the nearby window overlooking the forest. “Still isn’t.” 

And Dean’s noticed that, too. Spending hours (or minutes, or maybe decades) on the highway, Dean’s come across some odd spots: places where the grass is un-trampled and a little too green, the ground too flat, the trees too young. Whenever he passes one, he gets a strange feeling, like he’s watching a silent movie, or staring at a blank canvas. He feels it at his little bunker out in the greyscale marsh, and he felt it at the tiny forest in the endless yellow field. Like a song without a refrain, something is missing - unfinished. 

“So,” Sam goes on, and Dean glances back up at him, shaking off the odd sensation, “Jack’s gotta leave someone in charge of the place, right?” Sam pauses for a moment, brow raised, and Dean nods belatedly. “Right,” he continues. “But it’s gotta be someone who knows Heaven’s ins and outs. Someone who can defend its weak points. Someone who actually—” Sam tilts his head with a dry smile, “—cares about its inhabitants.” He gives Dean an expectant look, brow raised and lips sucked in. 

Dean frowns. Someone who understands Heaven and knows how to protect it; an angel, certainly - maybe a strategist or a soldier. But someone compassionate, too - someone devoted the people here, these wandering wayward souls. 

Because you cared, I cared. 

Dean blinks hard - once, twice - and something rattles in his chest. “Cas,” he whispers. 

Sam gives a slow nod. “Right,” he murmurs back, face going oddly soft. Dean frowns up at him, and Sam schools his expression back into business mode. “Right,” he repeats and licks his lip. “Problem is, Cas is just a seraph. He doesn’t have the juice to run this place. So, Jack—” He reaches across the table for the book and turns it towards himself, flipping it open to a page bookmarked with a gold ribbon. He smoothes his pointer finger over a line of text and reads, “—imbued the grace of Castiel with His divinity, in excess.”

Jack imbued... what?

Dean shakes his head. “The hell does that mean?”

Sam tilts his head in a crooked nod and flips to the next page. “I was confused too,” he offers, “until I read this.” He flips the book toward Dean and taps two fingers over a block of text near the top of the page. 

Dean frowns and looks down, squinting at the small font. The top left corner reads Chapter XV, the text near Sam’s finger marked with a tiny superscript, 21.

Dean hunches forward, eyes tracing over the words in the dim light. 

And the Lord God summoned into His hands four blades, twisted and golden, hilted in black. He cast His holy gaze upon them, and they were dissolved. Let all instruments return to dust, as all mortal flesh keeps silent.

Dean rereads the words, and rereads them again. Something is growing in the back of his mind, spreading against the inside of his skull like feathered shadows—

“Four knives with twisted gold blades,” Sam posits, leaning forward. “Sound familiar?”

I’m not just powerful now, Lucifer had said, beating Dean bloody, suspended in the air. I am power. And I don’t need a blade to end you, pal. 

Dean had clung to the last vestiges of consciousness, had felt his destiny - Chuck’s shitty Joseph Campbell knockoff - rising to meet him. Sam had called his name, all fear and desperation, and Dean had extended a bruise-knuckled hand to catch—

“The Archangel blade,” Dean whispers. 

Sam gives a solemn nod and taps his finger on the page. “Jack destroyed them - all of them - the same day he—” Sam angles the book towards himself and turns back a page, neck craning around, “—imbued Cas’ Grace.”

Dean feels his spine go stiff, brow furrowing low. 

“Dean,” Sam murmurs, “I don’t think Cas is a Seraph any more.” 

Jack has put a great deal of faith in me. Cas’ voice echoes through Dean’s head, and his jaw clenches tight, throat constricting. 

Sam continues, voice pitched low. “And I don’t think he just... works for the Arch.”

I have responsibilities, Cas had said, just before his wings had painted stark shadows on the walls. Massive and fluttering, they’d shifted Cas’ posture, like he wasn’t quite used to them, their heft a foreign weight at his back. 

Dean had known in that moment that something was different, had felt it in the buzzing electricity of Cas’ presence, the way the little hairs on Dean’s arms had stood up. 

Dean swallows, hard and dry, and says simply, “He is the Arch.”

Sam raises his eyebrows and hums. “Mm. The Arch...” he shrugs with bemused smile, “...angel.”

Dean blinks several times in succession, eyes falling back to the bookmarked page. Let all instruments return to dust, as all mortal flesh keeps silent. 

Cas is an archangel - the Archangel - immortal and adamantine, now that God himself has destroyed his only weakness. And Dean is an eternal soul, freed from the bonds of his mortal body - limitless and enduring in the endless expanse of Heaven. They’re stood now on evener ground than they’ve ever been before. 

Dean glances towards the window, casting his eyes out to the distant mountain - jutting up from the ground, imposing and unscalable like a border wall.

Sam huffs a short laugh. “Explains why he hasn’t stopped by for a beer.”

Dean turns back toward his brother, but Sam’s eyes are fixed on the little plastic menu. 

Dean harrumphs - sharper than intended from the tightness in his throat - and reaches for his beer. His stomach grumbles as he takes a gulping pull. It’s skunky and flat, bitter and watery, and he doesn’t taste anything at all.

chapter seven | chapter nine

table of contents

[yoichooseno]

Jaytim Soulmate AU

Inspired by the AU where anything you write on your skin also appears on your soulmate' skin (you know the one. Wink wink, nudge nudge) Tim sat in the lecture hall, leaning over his keyboard and typing quickly to keep up with his professor's lecture. "Hey," whispered the girl to his right. Steph, a pretty blonde with big eyes and an inability to sit still. "Can you send me the notes after class? I can't write and listen at the same time or I fall behind." Tim nodded, already opening the key to share the document with her. She grinned. "Thanks." "Me too?" Whispered the dark haired boy to his left. Connor, the exchange student, Clark Kent's son, was looking at Tim with his startlingly blue eyes. Tim shared the document with him quickly, and then began to type twice as quickly to catch up. Steph and Connor smiled first at Tim, then at each other, before settling into their seats to listen to the rest of the lecture. When it ended, Steph grabbed her bag and stuffed her notebook inside. She made to put away her pen, bit her lip, and turned to Tim. "Hey, so, I feel bad for mooching notes off of you all the time. I mean, we have three classes together and I've already asked you for notes in all three of them. Can I take you for coffee some time to make it up to you?" Tim grinned. "I would never turn down a free coffee." Steph laughed. "I know," she said, pointing to the two empty coffee cups on Tim's desk. "Here, gimme your arm." "Don't you have a pad of paper?" "Tim," Steph said seriously. "If you think I'm going to pull it out of my bag again, you are wrong. Besides, I've never once seen you even hold a piece of paper. How do I know you won't lose it?" Tim sighed, holding out his arm. She had a point. He was rather prone to losing papers. Behind him, Connor grunted. "Don't worry, she does this with everyone-" he held out his arm to show Tim the very number Steph was writing on his own arm as Connor spoke- "She's taking me for coffee tomorrow to thank me for lending her the change to buy tater tots." "Oh, hey, that's right! Tim, you should come with us. Then I can hit two birds with one stone." "You mean paying us both back at the same time?" "No, I mean coffee and making new friends." Tim sighed dramatically, teasing Steph. "If I must." Steph giggled. "Great! I gotta run now, boys. See you two tomorrow!" And with that, she ran from the lecture hall, bag bouncing against her hip as she went. Tim turned to Connor. "Is she always so... sociable?" Connor shrugged. "Beats me, dude. I've only known her two days. It's only the second day of the semester. If she IS always so sociable, I may regret spotting her on those tater tots." Tim laughed, smiling down at the phone number scribbled on his arm under her name, which she had written in bubble letters. That night, Tim ambled down to the communal bathroom to take a shower. Unfortunately, the showers were halfway across campus from his dorm. There was no longer such a thing as a "quick shower" in Tim's life. It took fifteen minutes just to get there, he may as well stay in a little while longer than usual. On his way over, he pulled out his phone and dialled the number written in blue ink on his skin. It rang twice. "Hello?" "Hey, Steph, it's Tim." "Tim!" The phone made a noise like wind in Tim's ears as Steph shifted her phone around. "How's it going?" "Pretty good. I'm just on my way to the showers, I thought I should call before your number washed off." "Ah," Tim could hear her smile as she spoke. "Okay, so- coffee tomorrow. It's a Friday so we won't have classes in the afternoon. I was thinking we could go at, like, 12:30? You and I will just be getting out of biology so I was thinking we could pick up Connor and take my car over? I know this great little cafe. Kind of a hole-in-the-wall joint, but great coffee." "Yeah, that sounds good. See you then?" "You betcha!" The phone clicked as Steph hung up. Dick will be so proud of me for making friends, Tim thought. Dick Grayson was Tim's legal guardian. Although he wasn't many years older, fewer than ten, he had battled for custody of Tim after his parents had tossed him out at the ripe old age of 9. Dick had always been a big brother figure to Tim, having grown up down the street from him, and it was a big Fuck You to the Drakes when the 18 year old boy down the street got custody of their young son. They had to see him each and every day, but they couldn't do anything about it. They would be charged if they tried to harass Tim the way they had when he still lived under their roof. Today, Tim still lived with Dick. He was 17 years old, and Dick was 26. Now that Tim was starting college- a year early because he skipped a grade, and holy shit was Dick ever proud of him- he lived on campus with the promise that he would return home on holidays. Of course, it wasn't so much Dick that Tim had promised, but Dick's girlfriend, Koriand'r. Tim really liked her. Kory wasn't from Gotham and she spoke somewhat broken English, but she was sweet and kind and mothered Tim in a way that Dick, as a young man, could not. She made Dick happy, she made killer cupcakes (if nothing else), and knew all sorts of great bands. Plus, she had bright pink hair. What's not to love? Tim slipped through the door into the bathrooms and found an empty shower stall, shaking off thoughts of his family. His strange, loving family. Inside, he shut the door, flung his towel over the top, and undressed. He let the water run over him, warm and soothing. He should call Dick when he got out. He should go grocery shopping tomorrow. He should remind his roommate not to leave his dishes in the sink. He should... He should... The warm water ran these thoughts from his mind. The warm water, and the singing from two stalls down. Whoever was in there had the voice of a rock god and was singing one of Tim's favourite songs, It Has Begun by Starset. Tim swayed on his feet as he listened, scrubbing down his body with soap and water. The singing abruptly stopped, interrupted crudely by a loud, "Aw, fuck!" Tim couldn't help but laugh. "What're you snickering about over there? I just lost a clue to finding my soulmate!" The guy who had been singing had an equally mesmerizing speaking voice. "I'm sorry," Tim said, still trying not to giggle. "You were singing so beautifully and then you just- 'aw, fuck!' And it was hilarious. Sorry about your soulmate, man." "Nah, it's my fault. I knew I should've written it down as soon as it showed up on my arm." And then the stranger continued singing, although a little more aggressively, and Tim continued to sway under the spray of the water. Jason Todd was 19 years old and attending the college of his dreams. He was a little late, due to the delay in his schooling after he had ended up on the streets, but now he was back on track and holy shit was he ever excited to be here. He owed the opportunity largely to his adoptive father, Bruce Wayne. Bruce was Gotham's richest, most elite gothamite and, as Jason saw him, the biggest badass around. Bruce had two kids- Jason, and a younger, biological son named Damian. Despite being hugely busy with running numerous businesses, he made all sorts of time for his two sons. That was not something Jason had ever known. When his mother was still alive, she was working four jobs to pay for the bills and couldn't afford to make time for Jason, regardless of how deeply she loved him. But Bruce made time for Jason, cared for him, loved him, and even payed for his college education. And because of this, it was Jason's mission to do well and make Bruce proud. He wouldn't allow himself to be distracted by trivial things. When the ink had started to bleed into his arm from an invisible pen, the tripping of his heart beats told him that the mysterious writing was coming from his soul mate's skin. Jason had immediately called Bruce. This was not trivial, and he was definitely distracted. "Come on, come on, pick up." Jason bounced on the balls of his feet in the courtyard. Bruce answered on the fourth ring. "Jason? Are you okay? Did something happen?" "It happened." "What did?" Damian asked in the background. "Wait, am I on speaker?" Jason stopped bouncing. "Yes." "Hi, Jason!" "Hi, Dami. Dad, can you take me off speaker? Please?" "Sure, Jay." A pause. "Okay, go." Jason resumed bouncing like one would breathing after holding their breath. "It happened. The thing. On my arm. It's there. It's-" "You mean your soulmate finally-?" "Yes! I'm freaking out, Bruce, I don't know what to do. This has never happened before." Jason chewed nervously on his lip. The thing was, Jason's soulmate wasn't one to use their skin as a canvas. They never made notes, never drew pictures, never tested pen ink, nothing. In fact, they never even got graphite smudges on their fingers. Jason guessed that they typed things, mostly. A few times he had written notes on his leg, or other discreet places people wouldn't see (afraid an outsider would see the note on Jason's skin, or on his soul mate's) , asking if they could see his writing, but they never replied. Jason worried that, maybe, they were his soulmate, but he was not theirs. Perhaps that was why he never got anything special on his skin. Or worse, what if he didn't have a soulmate? But now, now he knew that they were out there. "Well, does it say something?" Bruce prompted. "It's a girls name- Steph- and a phone number underneath." Jason spoke on a single exhale. It was quiet on Bruce's end of the line for a second, and then, "can you call it?" "What?" Jason stopped bouncing again. "Call the number. If someone picks up, ask if it's Steph that you've called, and explain." Jason took a deep breath and held it. That could work. The problem was, his next class started in two minutes, and he wouldn't be released for a couple of hours. From there, he would have to head straight to work. There wasn't time to make that kind of phone call, and even if there was, Jason wanted to be ready for any kind of let down. Suppose the number was a dead end- he couldn't go into work after that. "I'll have to call them later tonight, after work..." "Call me when you know something, okay, Jay?" "Will do." Jason could hear the smile in Bruce's voice. "Good. Now go get to class." "Yessir." And that had been the end of that. Jason had hurried off to his next class and struggled to stay focused through the whole lecture. How could he focus on WWII when his soulmate had just inadvertently sent him a message? He couldn't help but stare at the blue ink. Was this his soul mates writing, or someone writing on their arm? It didn't matter. It was on his soul mates skin, somewhere in this world, and that alone made it the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. At work, Jason was a space case. He was relieved when his shift finally ended. He had barely gotten his apron off before he bolted through the door, buckled his helmet on, swung a leg over his bike, and kick started the engine. He was tearing down the street to get back to the dorms before anyone could even ask him why he was in such a hurry. Unfortunately, upon returning to his dorm, Jason realized that his nerves were too shot to try and call anybody. He couldn't even call Bruce due to the violent shaking in his hands. "Dude, go take a shower or go for a walk or something. You're acting like a crazy person." His roommate, Roy, was sprawled on the couch with a bag of popcorn. "You're gonna pace a hole in the rug." "Shower. Right. A shower would be good." So Jason ducked through the dorm, grabbing his things, and headed out for a shower to calm his nerves. He wasn't worried about washing the number off. It wouldn't come off until it came off of his soul mate's skin, and it couldn't possibly be gone by the time he was out of the shower. But it was. Jason looked down at his arm as he belted out his favourite song, hot water from numerous showers filling the room with steam. "Embracing it's starlit fate as we wait in the night, It's written in the- aw, fuck!" Someone a couple of stalls over laughed. "What're you snickering about over there? I just lost a clue to finding my soulmate!" Jason hadn't meant to snap at the stranger, but he was tremendously upset. "I'm sorry," the stranger said, obviously holding back laughter. "You were singing so beautifully and then you just- 'aw, fuck!' And it was hilarious. Sorry about your soulmate, man." The stranger's voice was oddly soothing, but Jason couldn't focus on that now. "Nah, it's my fault. I knew I should've written it down as soon as it showed up on my arm." Jason ran a hand through his wet hair, sighing loudly. He wouldn't cry here, not if he could help it, but he just met cry when he got back to his dorm. He had been so close. The next day, when Tim's biology lecture ended, Steph grabbed his arm and dragged him out to her car, chattering the whole way. Tim wanted to listen, to chat with her, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the guy who'd lost his chance to find his soulmate. He sort of knew how the guy felt. His soulmate used to write to him all the time, but he could never read the notes through the gnarly bruises his parents left on his skin. There would be more bruises if he tried to tell his soulmate so. By the time Dick had him and the seemingly perpetual bruises finally faded, his soulmate had stopped writing and Tim had forgotten all about it. Occasionally, Tim wanted to write to his soulmate to explain to them why he never wrote back, but he wasn't sure how to go about it. "Hi, it's me, your soulmate. I never replied to you when we were younger because I couldn't actually read your notes since you always wrote them in the places my parents beat me. Also, they would have beaten me twice as hard if I tried to tell you so. I'm not being beaten now so I'll see the thing you send me, but-" he wasn't sure how to continue. Besides, the whole thing was so awful that he wasn't sure he should try. "Okay, seriously, what's with you?" Steph snatched Tim's attention from the drivers seat as Connor leaned forward in the backseat. "Do... Do you guys know your soulmates?" He expected Connor to scoff and Steph to immediately gush, but he was surprised by their reactions. "No," said Steph simply, starting the car. "They've never responded to my notes or anything. I think maybe there may be a language barrier because I always get random little words and reminders in Portuguese." She shrugged as she began to pull out of the parking lot. "I'm trying to learn the language but so far I haven't got enough to talk to them." "I do," Connor said. He sounded surprised at his own words, like he hadn't expected to have an answer to the question. "I know my soulmate," he continued. "Her name is M'gann." Steph squealed. "Oooh tell us more!" Connor blushed, an odd look for his stoic face. "She's not from around here either, but her English is pretty good. Actually, I'm meeting her in person for the first time on Sunday." Steph screamed. Both boys stared at her. "Sorry," she apologized sheepishly. "I'm just... Really excited for you." She was fighting back a huge smile and losing. "What about you, Tim? Do you know your soulmate?" "Hold that thought, Tim. We're here." The odd group piled out of the car and entered the cafe, the delicate bell on the door chiming as they did so. The barista was a tall man, approximately 20 years of age, with dark hair and broad shoulders. Tim recognized his voice, but couldn't put his finger on where he might know the man from. Steph spilled into a booth, Connor following her, so Tim slid into the booth seat opposite them. "So, Tim, tell us about your soulmate." "That's the thing," Tim complained, "I don't know them!" "You mean you never...?" "They used to write to me, but I could never read what they wrote because-" Tim swallowed, backtracking- "I could never read what they wrote, and my parents would beat me if I drew on myself, so I couldn't write back. Eventually, they just stopped writing to me." Steph frowned and Connor took a long pull from his drink, eyebrows knitting. "So what got you thinking about it?" Tim relayed to them the story of the night before. Steph's face puckered. "And I thought my soulmate situation was crappy." "No kidding. So now I can't stop thinking about that guy and his soulmate. What if he never finds them?" Connor spoke up. "He will, Tim. They're literally made for each other. If they weren't meant to find each other, they wouldn't be soulmates." Oddly enough, the brooding boy across the booth made Tim feel a lot better about the whole situation. A lot, but not enough. Jason looked up from the mug he was washing as Roy entered the small cafe. "Hey, Roy." "Hey, Jason. Feeling better today?" Jason sighed. "Not particularly." "Well, when's your shift up? We can hang out when you're off the hook, maybe take your mind off things." "Sounds good. I'm off in ten. You want something while I'm still behind the counter?" Roy grinned. "A large coffee and a pen." "A pen?" Roy smiled devilishly. "I have a plan." When Jason's shift was up, he made himself a coffee, slipped off his apron, and joined Roy at the small table in the far corner of the cafe. "What's this master plan of yours?" "You'll see. Give me your arm." "No, I'm not giving you my arm. You could be planning to draw penises for all I know." Roy snorted. "That's exactly it. See, if I draw enough dicks on your arm, at some point your soulmate has to pick up a marker and tell you/me to fuck off, am I right? So when they do that, we write up all your info on your arm and bam, there you are." Jason sighed. "I guess." He hated to admit it, but the plan was genius. Nothing would get his soulmate's attention sooner than a shit load of dicks drawn on their arm. He held out his arm to Roy, who began to draw. Steph and Connor were trying desperately to distract Tim. Currently, Steph was telling the boys about her vacation in Vancouver a few years ago. "- and they had this epic bioluminescent exhibit. Tim, you would've loved it. Seriously. They had hundreds, if not thousands of jelly fish and all sorts of little bioluminescent fish and- holy shit!" A few people paused to glare at Steph. Connor winced. "Please do not scream in my ear." Steph ignored Connor. "Tim, there are dicks on your arm!" "What the fuck?" Now Connor was leaning forward to take a closer look at the tiny dicks crawling up Tim's arm in purple ink. "Woah. That's a lot of dicks." "Are you fucking kidding me?" Tim groaned. "Nothing for years, and now this shit?" They all paused to watch as more and more tiny dicks appeared on Tim's skin. "WHO THE FUCK IS DRAWING DICKS ON MY SOULMATES ARM?!" The entire cafe quieted at Tim's outburst. Forks clattered on plates. Cups hit tables, spilling. A few patrons giggled. Then, finally, after what seemed like an eternity of awkward silence, "That would be me." A ginger man with tattoos up his arms stood from his seat at the other side of the cafe. The man with him, whom Tim recognized as the barista, was blushing furiously. "And this is your soulmate." "Hi..." The man was tomato red and struggling to lift his eyes to Tim's. "I'm Jason." Steph squealed in her seat, wanting to push Tim toward his soulmate but trapped in the booth by Connor, who was sitting with his mouth open and his eyes wide. "Go!" She yelled, gesturing wildly. With all the speed and elegance of a zombie, Tim hauled himself to his feet and shuffled across the cafe. The ginger man beamed at the two young men and side shuffled away to join Steph and Connor in their booth. Tim took the empty seat across from the barista- his soulmate- Jason. "I-" the boys both began at the same time. "Sorry, you first," Tim whispered. "You're here. You're actually here. You- why didn't you answer me when I wrote to you?" Tim blushed furiously, his cheeks an angry shade of red. "I wanted to. I really, really wanted to. But- see, I couldn't read what you wrote to me because my biological parents- well, anyway, I couldn't read it. And I wasn't allowed to respond. But I wanted to. I did." Jason nodded slowly. "You were the guy in the shower yesterday. The one who laughed at me. I thought I lost you again, but you were right there." Jason was right, of course. That was where Tim had known his voice from. He was aware of the eyes of every person in the cafe on them. "Yeah." All of a sudden, Jason pushed himself from his chair. In a single, fluid movement, he had wrapped his arms tightly around Tim. Tim, shocked at first, gasped. But he immediately knew this embrace to be safe, and he felt warm and happy. And he snaked his arms around Jason's waist, pushing his face against the taller boy's chest, and sighed. The entire cafe burst into applause. Steph and Roy climbed up onto the seats of the both and cheered. Dick will be so proud of me, Tim thought, holding Jason tighter. Dick will be so proud.