#&&. again it's for the shock factor and it was probably curfew too but man..not even Heath snuck out to say bye to his bud

[storybounded]

Gathering screencaps for icons and I just... Not me and @starsweepers sad that they didn't talk to each other once, especially in this scene in the second movie where they sat right next to each other but did not say a word 😑😞

[laurawritesandgames]

A Day Late, Sorry!

Title: Reefer Madness

Fandom: Beetlejuice (Musical)

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Beetlejuice/Adam/Barbara, mention of Charles/Delia

Prompt: Parenting

Content Warning: Set during coronavirus pandemic, underage drug use

Summary: When Lydia is caught smoking pot, the Maitland-Deetz household has to come up with a punishment. But how do you discipline a teen during a pandemic? And will Beetlejuice even let the parents (and ghostly parental figures) punish his BFF? 

The door to the Maitland-Deetz home opened. Lydia came in, wearing her mask and gloves, with Beetlejuice hovering beside her.

Barbara stopped mixing cookie dough to say hello. “How did it go?” The Maitland-Deetz adults had agonized about letting Lydia go to a class picnic organized by Claire Brewster’s mother during a pandemic.

Claire’s mother had tried to make the picnic as safe as possible. She and a few other parents were chaperones, everyone was required to test negative for coronavirus before showing up, the picnic was outdoors, everyone was expected to wear a mask and socially distance, and Winter River High’s Grade 10 class was only 20 kids. Charles had gone with Lydia to a few Black Lives Matter protests, and those had had many more people than this picnic.

Lydia had been so bored of quarantine that she’d actually wanted to engage with her classmates, which had been the deciding factor.

“It went well.” Lydia threw her disposable mask and gloves into the trash bin by the door. “It was nice to see everyone.”

Beetlejuice’s smell of rotting flesh was worse than usual. Barbara winced, waving her hand in front of her face. “Can you turn it down, please?”

“Turn what down?” Beetlejuice said too innocently.

“Anyway,” Lydia said, walking up the stairs, “my introvert battery is drained. I need to recharge.”

Beetlejuice followed her. “And I need the hot goss!”

Barbara let the two friends have their time together, though she was a little disappointed she hadn’t gotten more out of Lydia. That’s teenagers, I guess. I’ll try again later.

As Lydia washed her hands, Delia’s voice sounded in the hallway upstairs. Lydia responded back. Barbara returned to the kitchen, and had just picked up the mixing bowl when Delia’s shocked “Lydia Lilith Deetz!” rang through the house.

Barbara teleported up to the second floor of the house to see Delia and Lydia glaring at each other in the hallway with Beetlejuice floating beside Lydia. Adam teleported up a moment later.

“Young lady,” Delia said, “I can’t believe you. Smoking weed? Really? I thought you were smarter than that.”

Weed? Barbara sniffed the air, but couldn’t smell anything beyond Beetlejuice’s stink.

“It’s faint, but it’s there,” Delia insisted. She patted her faintly bulging stomach. “I have smell sensitivity, thanks to the child. And I have certainly smelled enough weed in my day!”

Lydia opened her mouth, closed it, then shrugged. “So what? Weed’s legal in tons of countries except for most of this fascist dictatorship.”

“What?” Barbara blurted out as Adam gasped.

“Where pot is legal, it’s legal for adults over 25,” Delia said. “You’re 16! Your mind is still developing.”

“Because you never, ever did pot when you were my age, Delia.”

“And it’s hardly something I’m proud of! Years from now, do you want to be looking for your underwear after a night with a drummer from a Duran Duran cover band? This is how it starts!”

Lydia snorted while Beetlejuice said, “I mean, if the drummer’s hot, yeah, sign me up.” He paused. “Who am I kidding? The drummer doesn’t even need to be that hot.”

Adam frowned at Beetlejuice. “And you’re covering for Lydia. When did you find out about this?”

Beetlejuice glanced at Lydia, who shrugged and gestured him forward. “Lyds flagged me down when she got near the house.”

“And you helped her cover this up without a second thought.”

“’Course I did! Oh nooooo, a teen did some weed. Who cares?”

“You’re the adult in this situation—”

Beetlejuice floated backward, gasping and clutching his chest. “You take that back, sir! I am not!” He paused. “Well, not an adult like you mean it.” Anxious, he bobbed in front of Lydia. “I’m a cool adult. Right, kid?”

“Totally.” There was a faint sarcastic edge to her voice, but he didn’t appear to catch it.

“You all heard her say it!” Beetlejuice said proudly.

A terrible thought occurred to Barbara. “You didn’t share the joint, did you?”

Lydia looked hurt. “I’m not risking coronavirus to get high!” Reluctantly, she added, “We each had our own joint.”

“And who brought them?” Adam asked.

“A goat-footed man offered them to us for the price of signing our name in his book. He said he would visit us again on the dark of the moon to complete his dark pact.” She smirked. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Lydia….” Delia said.

“Or maybe we found them on the ground and smoked them like the reckless teens that we are. I can’t remember.”

“Where is this attitude coming from?” Barbara asked. “This isn’t like you.”

Lydia glared at her, so angry that Barbara almost took a step back. “’Not like me’? We met four months ago! You don’t even know me. At least this one,” she jabbed a finger at Delia, “was supposed to be my life coach, so Daddy filled her in on the basics. Not that she ever bothered to get to know me, either.”

Beetlejuice laughed. “Aw, man, she burned you guys so good.”

“We’re going to talk with your father,” Delia said, “and come up with your punishment.”

Barbara was touched that she’d included Barbara and Adam.

Lydia laughed coldly. “Good luck getting Daddy to punish his little girl.” She strode confidently over to her room and closed the door.

“I’m gonna grab Lyds some chips,” Beetlejuice said. “She’s probably got the munchies!”

“You know,” Barbara said, “you could stay and—”

“Deuces, nerds!” He teleported away. A few moments later, his voice sounded in Lydia’s room along with the crinkling of a plastic bag.

Disappointing but not surprising. When Beetlejuice returned from the Netherworld, he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in parenting Lydia or any Deetz children that came along.

As they walked downstairs to Charles’s office, Delia said, “My parents never punished me for anything in my life. They let me drink and smoke as long as I was in the basement, where they could keep an eye on me.”

“I went to some parties and stayed out past curfew in Grade 12,” Barbara said. “Mom and Dad grounded me. This one,” she nodded to Adam, “never saw a punishment in his life.”

“That’s not true, honey,” Adam said. “One time, I was doing math homework and I looked up my answers in the back of the textbook. I confessed an hour later and got extra chores for the rest of the week.” He looked thoughtful. “Grounding Lydia seems pretty redundant. Unless someone else holds another picnic, it probably won’t come up. The living are all stuck inside anyway.”

Delia sighed. “I know! And we can’t take away her phone. It’s her lifeline to the outside world! I don’t want to affect her mental health.” She bit her lower lip and stopped walking. “Perhaps we should let this go. She’s still healing from losing Emily. And no way am I going to be the evil stepmother! If Charles punishes her, she’ll probably blame me!” She glanced anxiously between Adam and Barbara.

“We won’t let her do that,” Barbara said. “We’ll be a united front.”

“Using marijuana recreationally is illegal,” Adam said. “I know not all of us agree with that law,” he nodded to Delia, “but it is the law, and she deliberately broke it. She could’ve been arrested! It’s our duty to show her there are consequences for her actions.”

“As soon as we figure out what those consequences are,” Barbara said. “You know, I read a parenting blog that said parents could ask their older teens to suggest their own punishments. Maybe she’ll come up with a good one.”

Delia rubbed her temples. The pregnancy was taking a lot out of her; she was tired and achey most of the time. “Well...let’s go see what Charles thinks.”

She knocked on the door to his office. After a few moments, Charles opened it. Seeing the looks on their faces, he frowned. “What did the demon do this time?”

“Surprisingly,” Barbara said, “he’s not the problem. It’s Lydia.”

*

Charles took charge immediately. After explaining his plan and getting everyone’s agreement, he asked to see Lydia in the living room.

Lydia came downstairs and Beetlejuice phased through the floor to hover by her side. While Beetlejuice slouched and scowled at everyone, Lydia looked totally confident. She didn’t blush or frown as she faced her entire family.

When Barbara had come home from Miranda’s party, she’d frozen and stammered when she’d seen her father in the living room. I wonder what Dad felt when I stayed out past curfew? Did he expect something like this? Was he grateful I wasn’t coming home drunk? I wish I’d asked him. She’d never know, now. It stung, but she had more important things to focus on.

Like whatever chaos Beetlejuice had in mind. He wasn’t going to take his best friend getting punished without a fight.

“Lydia,” Charles said, “Delia, Adam and Barbara told me what happened at the picnic. You smoked marijuana, breaking both a law and a house rule. I want to see a 5,000-word essay on my desk by the end of the week about the effects of marijuana on a young person’s development. This essay must be the same quality as one you’d do for school. Use the Chicago Manual of Style for reference and citations.”

Lydia chuckled. “You can’t be serious.”

“We’ll just plagiarize it anyway!” Beetlejuice said.

“I can Google an essay just as well as you can,” Charles said, unperturbed. “I’ll be sure to check that your work is your own.”

Her eyes narrowed. “It was just one joint, Daddy. It’s not a big deal. I’m not going to become the school drug dealer or anything—if we’re even going back to school in the fall.”

“Delia, the Maitlands and I disagree. We think it is a big deal. And since you live in our house, you have to follow our rules.”

Beetlejuice turned to Lydia. “Kid, I can get us out of this house anytime you want with a snap of my fingers.”

“And go where, Beej?” Lydia crossed her arms over her stomach. “I know you’re trying, but c’mon. It’s a global pandemic.”

Beetlejuice’s spiky hair deflated a little bit. “Oh, right.”

Charles took a step toward his daughter. More gently, he said, “Lydia, I’m not insensible that you’re facing more stress than anything I ever felt at your age. First, Emily died, then the pandemic happened, and now quarantine…. Not to mention the changes that have happened to our family.” Lydia’s gaze flicked to Delia’s stomach. “If you want to talk about what led you to make this decision, we’d all welcome that.”

Beetlejuice scoffed. “Why she did it? To be a badass!” He held out his fist for a fistbump. Lydia didn’t reciprocate, but watched her father thoughtfully instead. Good. Barbara began to relax. That means she’s listening.

“If you don’t want to talk to us,” Adam said, “we can increase your therapy sessions to two times a week.”

“I’m sick of journaling and breathing exercises!” Lydia snapped. “Nothing works! Even that stupid joint didn’t! I’ve been stuck inside for months because of a pandemic our country’s leaders are too chickenshit to deal with. I’m a privileged beneficiary of a racist, capitalist system that’s destroying the world. And I’ve literally seen what’s on the other side. Nothing gets better. This life is all we get, and it’s shit.”

She stepped closer to her father, her eyes never leaving his face. “And now, I have to do a stupid essay because I did something I thought would make it all bearable for one fucking minute!”

Her family had to do more for her. Lydia had taken antidepressants for months on the advice of her doctor—perhaps she needed her dose readjusted. If this therapist wasn’t helping, they’d find another. Adam and I could make an activity schedule to give her day some more structure, so it’s not just scrolling through social media. And Beetlejuice can probably think of lots of fun things to do—well, fun and slightly terrifying things, but Lydia loves that kind of stuff.

Charles reached out for a hug, but Lydia stepped back, hands out to push him away if he tried.

“Oh, Lydia, sweetheart, I know things are tough right now—” Barbara began.

“Mom wouldn’t do this to me!”

Charles recoiled slightly, his arms dropping.

Even Lydia seemed surprised that she’d said that, but she quickly added, “Mom wouldn’t have punished me for one joint. She would’ve understood me. She would’ve cared. And you know it.”

Charles raised his eyebrows. “Lydia, you’ve built Emily up in your mind as this creative, anarchic madwoman, and she certainly was. But do you seriously think she would be unconcerned if you started doing drugs? We had countless conversations about how to parent you, particularly in those final months when we knew…we knew she wouldn’t be around. This is the punishment we worked out together.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. This is literally what she would have wanted me to do.”

Lydia stared at her father. Her chin began quivering as tears welled up in her eyes. Barbara almost teleported to her, but stopped. Is it my place? I’m just the ghost parent, not her real one….

At some point, Beetlejuice had floated over to her and Adam. He was watching Lydia and Charles intently, as if looking for something.

Lydia sniffled, swallowed, then said, “Fine, I’ll do your dumbass essay.”

“What? C’mon, kid!” Beetlejuice gestured to Charles. “Don’t give in to The Man!”

Lydia gave him a small smile. “Not everyone has the energy of an undead demon, Beej.” She tossed her hair. “Besides, Dad, all the research that’s out there says pot should be legalized for recreational use, anyway.”

“Not for 16-year-olds.”

“We’ll see.” She turned around and went upstairs.

“Bet you loved that, fascists,” Beetlejuice said to the parents and parental figures. But Beetlejuice usually got over things quickly as long as they didn’t directly involve him, so it wasn’t surprising when he slung his arms over Barbara and Adam’s shoulders and smirked. “Babs, Sexy, if you wanna make out to forget your guilt that you made Lydia hate you, you where know I be.”

Lydia stopped halfway up the stairs. “‘Hate you’? God, BJ, you’re so dramatic. I don’t hate them. They’re completely overreacting, but they’re just being parents. It’s their job.”

That threw him—he blinked at her a few moments, then shrugged. “So it wasn’t my best pickup line. Instead of criticizing my game, go…I dunno, cry about your dead mom some more.”

“Beetlejuice!”

At least Lydia didn’t appear hurt. She rolled her eyes and raised her middle finger at Beetlejuice before going upstairs.

Charles huffed. “I think the next thing we’re going to work on is crude language and gestures. I’ve been quite lax about that and someone—” he eyed Beetlejuice “—has been a bad influence.”

“We should also not joke about people’s traumas, Bug,” Adam said.

Beetlejuice grunted. To Barbara’s surprise, he didn’t say ‘She started it!’ He was legitimately thinking about something.

Delia sat down on the living room couch, sighing in exhaustion. “Well! We got through it. Huzzah, everyone!” She glanced at Beetlejuice. “Except you,” she said coolly.

“Things got pretty tense there,” Adam said. “It’s lucky I don’t have a body, or I might have had a small panic attack.”

“Most of the thanks goes to Charles,” Barbara said.

“I was happy to take the lead on this one. I have the most experience, after all. Unfortunately, this is hardly the first time I’ve had to discipline her. She’s not always the most attentive to her studies.”

“Really?” Adam asked. “But she’s so intelligent.”

“Which means she doesn’t always feel challenged, so she puts off her homework and assumes she can complete it the evening before it’s due.”

“Wow, I had no idea.” Barbara had pictured Lydia as a young woman much like Adam, eager to learn and devoted to school. Lydia is right. We don’t know each other that well.

“Do you think we should talk to her psychiatrist again?” Barbara asked.

Charles nodded. “I was thinking that, as well.”

Beetlejuice poofed away in the puff of smoke as the parenting talk continued. Remembering his unusual thoughtfulness, Barbara resolved to speak to him later.

*

Beetlejuice appeared as if summoned when, an hour later, Barbara pulled her chocolate chip cookies out of the oven.

“Ooo! They’re all goopy!” Beetlejuice snagged one, and didn’t seem to mind that it was hot.

“We got some news on where the weed came from,” Barbara said as he ate. “Claire’s mom called Charles during our meeting. Near the end of the picnic, five of the kids said they wanted to check out the empty school. Lydia was one of them. They disappeared from view for around 10 minutes. The chaperones figured they just wanted to get out of cleaning duty, and nobody thought much of it because the party was wrapping up. Claire’s mom apologized over and over again. I don’t think she’s going to be hosting any more class picnics. Poor woman. We still don’t know who brought the drugs, though.

“Er, I hate to ask, but…it wasn’t you, right?” Beetlejuice was quite casual about drug use, and Lydia could talk him into anything.

Beetlejuice didn’t mind being suspected of providing drugs to children. Maybe to a demon, that was a mark of pride? “I was watching Farscape with Adam during the picnic. I only teleported away when I heard Lyds say my name.” He could always hear the living say it, for some reason.

“The person watching Farscape could’ve been a clone, though.”

“Ooo, now you’re thinking like a demon, babe! But for real—no way would I bring joints for some teens and not for myself. Am I really that generous?”

“You’re right. Sorry, I just had to make sure.”

He winked at her. “I wouldn’t trust me either, baby.” He bit into his third cookie.

“You seemed caught off guard earlier when Lydia said she didn’t hate us. What was that about?”

He shrugged. “Just trying to make myself fart to break the tension.”

“Well, I know that’s a fib. You’re always able to fart.”

He stopped chewing, thought for a moment, swallowed, then said, “Eh…guess I’m just not used to kids and parents not hating each other.”

She touched his free hand. When he didn’t pull away, she wrapped her fingers around it. “That’s awful.”

“That’s life. And the afterlife, I guess, since Ma was there too.” He frowned. The hand she was holding twitched, like he wanted to start fiddling with something like he always did when he was upset or anxious. “Whatever. I killed her with a sandworm, the scene ended on my hilarious joke, and the audience got a happy ending. It all worked out.”

“If you want to talk some more about your mother, Bug—”

“Why, so I can cry about my dead mom, like Lyds? Sing a song about it? Not my brand, babes. I don’t even think about Mom.” He focused very intently on the cookies on the baking tray as he said, “I think about you and Sexy and Lyds, sometimes Chuck and Delia. You’re the people I care about, not that bi—sorry, sorry, that was gonna be a gendered slur, but I caught myself.”

“I’m proud of you.” Barbara leaned over and kissed his cheek.

He grinned. “You know, I don’t think I hear that enough from you guys. I could kill so many people, and I never do. A little more ‘good job, Beetlejuice!’ would be nice.”

“We’ll try.” She kissed his lips. As she pulled back, he leaned closer and kept the kiss going. Then a goopy finger brushed her nose, leaving a trail of warmth down it.

Beetlejuice pulled away, chuckling. “You look like you ate poop.”

She rolled her eyes (was she picking that up from Lydia?) and wiped the melted chocolate off her nose. Beetlejuice hadn’t used the kiss as an excuse to grab all the cookies on the tray, which was surprising.

Not that Beetlejuice was done with the cookies. He grabbed two more then floated out of her reach.

“Do you mind if I tell Adam about this conversation?” she asked. Adam, Barbara and Beetlejuice hadn’t been in a polyamorous relationship long; Barbara wanted boundaries to be extra clear to avoid hurt feelings and miscommunication.

“Girl, you know I love when people talk about me.”

“Even stuff about your mother, which might be a little more complicated than you’re pretending it is?”

“Or maybe it’s not complicated at all? I’m a simple guy, babes.”

“You do like to say that, yes.”

“But, eh, don’t tell Sexy all the crap I said about kids and parents and shit. He’ll just wanna talk. Bleh. Pretend I was always my normal awesome self.”

“Hey, Bug,” she said lightly, “I think opening up to someone you care about is pretty awesome. So, to me, you were always your normal awesome self.”

“Dork.” But he was smiling as he poofed away.

When the cookies cooled, she put two on a plate, poured a glass of milk, and went upstairs.

She checked in on Adam next. She’d left him reading in their bedroom, but now he was staring out the window at the cemetery.

“Hi, sweetie,” she said.

“Hi.” He didn’t turn around.

“Do you want to go visit them?” That cemetery held his parents’ graves. They’d died in a car crash coming home from a Christmas party five years ago.

He nodded. “I know we can’t stay for long because of the sandworms, but just for a few minutes….”

“When Lydia’s done her essay, maybe she could come, too. She’s mentioned wanting to have a solo picnic in the graveyard sometime.”

“That’d be nice. I hope Mom and Dad approved of how we handled Lydia. They probably would’ve liked a good prayer circle, but the Deetzes aren’t that kind of family.” He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “They were good people, in their way. They knew farm life wasn’t for me, and they never made me feel bad about choosing my own path.”

“Your family was so welcoming when we started dating.”

He chuckled, smiling at her over his shoulder. “Most of that was shock, I think. They bent over backwards because they knew you were too good for me.”

They’d told this joke at parties before. Barbara laughed dutifully. “Your mom never gossiped. You’ve lived here your whole life—you know how rare that is. Most people just can’t wait to spill the beans. But I could tell her anything.”

Adam’s smile dropped. “I couldn’t.”

His parents had probably been part of the reason he hadn’t come out as bisexual until after his death. Barbara set the plate and glass down and joined him at the window, resting her hand on his shoulder.

“I have no idea what I’m going to tell them when we find them in the Netherworld,” Adam said. “’Hi, Mom and Dad, here’s my wife and my boyfriend. I have an open marriage now! I’ve slept with a man who’s not actually a man! He’s a demon.’”

“Well, saying it all at once is a bit much,” she said lightly. “You might need to lead up to it.”

A smile twitched the corners of his lips before he sighed and stared out the window again.

She rubbed at his shoulder, tense under her hand. “We have time to figure it out. We’re not going anywhere for a while. And maybe their perspective will have shifted in all those years in the Netherworld?”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t worry about it. And maybe the fact that we sort of have a child now means they’ll overlook a few sins.”

No, we live with a child. She’s not ours in any way. Barbara said, “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

Adam turned away from the window and looked at her, concerned.

*

Barbara and Adam approached Lydia’s room 20 minutes later. Lydia’s door stood out against the pale gray wall; she’d had her door wallpapered to make it look like a dingy, cobwebbed hallway with a mysterious figure at the end of it. Barbara knocked; Lydia groaned.

Opening the door, Lydia looked unenthused. “Is this the real punishment—everyone coming to check up on me?” The cookies didn’t even elicit a smile, though she took them with a curt, “Thank you.” She waved them in. “Shut the door, take a seat. Let’s get this over with.”

Her room was messier than Barbara would’ve preferred, with socks everywhere and a pile of folded laundry still in its hamper. Lydia set the cookies and milk down next to a new pile of books on her nightstand. There were already bookmarks in The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness and Yes You Can! Your Guide to Becoming an Activist. Lydia had been ordering books from local bookstores like crazy during the pandemic.

“You missed Delia.” Lydia half-sat, half-fell onto her bed, bouncing a little. “‘Peep these stones, girl! They’ll unblock your chakras because they’re fire. But they’re actually stones.’ I got her out of here by hissing some words in Klingon over her stomach. She thought I was cursing her unborn child—it was great! And, no.” She swung her legs up to stretch out. “That doesn’t mean I hate the fetus. They can’t help being incubated in the world’s worst person. So you can tell Beetlejuice that, if he’ll listen to you. He thinks he knows me so well.” She chuckled. “He only thinks that because he thinks I’m a human version of him. Everything’s a Mommy-or-Daddy issue with that guy.”

She laced her hands behind her head. Her black dress blended in with her black duvet cover and the rooms black walls, making the pale white skin of her face stand out sharply. “And, of course, Daddy dearest came by. Did we cry a bit over my dead mother? I plead the fifth.” She looked at Barbara and Adam, waving a hand. “Speak! Impart to me your undead wisdom. Cure this troubled child of her afflictions.”

Barbara and Adam had worked on what they were going to say, but it took a few moments to absorb everything Lydia had just said. She’d be good in theatre. Maybe we could look into Zoom classes….

Adam sucked in a breath. “Lydia, we’ve been talking about what you said to Barbara earlier today. About how we’ve only known each other for a few months.”

Lydia’s eyebrows twitched up. “Oh…kay?”

Barbara spoke next. “You’re completely right. We don’t actually know you. And once I realized that, I realized it was presumptuous of us to join in with your father and stepmother while they were disciplining you today. It made me think about how we joined this family in the first place. You agreed to let us stay, and we’ll always be grateful. But you also agreed after a very traumatic experience, and none of us really knew what it meant to share our lives together, living and dead.

“We all sort of fell into these roles after Beetlejuice left. We became like your second set of parents. We’ve been calling you our adopted child and everything. But…well, you’re not. And you already have a father and a stepmother.”

Lydia sat up on her bed, facing the ghosts, her jaw tense. “You’re—you’re not leaving, right? For the Netherworld?” She swallowed, gaze darting between the two of them.

Adam shook his head. “Of course not, Lydia,” he said gently. “Our boyfriend hates that place, for one thing. And we want to be here for you and the new baby.” He nodded to Barbara to continue.

“But,” Barbara said, “that doesn’t mean we need to be in your life as parents. We could just be two roommates. We could chat over dinner, watch TV together, maybe bake something once in a while. But if you don’t want us to be, we don’t need to be so involved in how you’re raised. That’s Charles’s and Delia’s job.”

Lydia was clutching her fingers together tightly. “I never even bothered to ask—did you want kids while you were alive?”

“We did…theoretically,” Adam said. “That’s the next step in the life plan once you own a home, right? Some of our friends had four kids already. But in practice, we had a lot of fears holding us back. If we’d been braver….” He looked away, sighing, before he looked back at her. “But we weren’t, and we can’t change that now.”

“Or we might have had a child and hated it,” Barbara added. “Who’s to say?” She patted Adam’s hand. “It’s a bit of a complicated topic for us. You’re a child, Lydia. You shouldn’t have to carry a dead couple’s wishes and regrets.”

Lydia’s gaze dropped to her hands, still gripping each other on her lap. It wasn’t an easy thing they were asking. Barbara gave her silence and space to think.

“You’re not who I want,” Lydia said, looking up at them. “I’ll always want my mother. I apologize for the bluntness, but Mom always made friends with the elephant in the room, and I’m my mother’s daughter.”

“Of course, sweetie—ah, Lydia.” Barbara cleared her throat. “It’s only natural.”

“But you two…. You made me feel normal even when I was so alone.” Her voice was getting quieter and quieter. “You always listened to me talk about her. And you’re…you’re part of the reason I came back from the Netherworld.”

Barbara chuckled softly. “You’re the reason we stayed in the world of the living, originally. We had to defeat Beetlejuice and keep you safe. But that doesn’t mean we need to act as a second set of parents. I’m not sure that’s fair to you.

“Lydia, we don’t have to decide anything right now. We can talk about this tomorrow, or a week from now, or a month.”

Lydia’s dark gaze locked on Barbara. Her eyes shone with tears under a heavy frown. “You probably don’t even want me as a daughter,” she spat. “You probably dreamed of some little girl in pretty pink dresses who played with dolls instead of skulls. I’m too complicated, too messy. But you don’t want to say it. That’s not nice, and you two are nothing but nice. Just stop being cowards! Make it easy on us!”

“Oh, Lydia, honey….” Barbara couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to her. She held Lydia as the girl’s tears started falling. Adam sat down on Lydia’s other side, stroking her back. She rested her head on Barbara’s shoulder.

“I love you guys,” Lydia whispered thickly.

“And here I go,” Barbara said as she started crying, too. “We love you too, sweetie.”

“We would’ve been honoured to have a daughter like you,” Adam said, tearing up. He hovered the Kleenex box over to them, so they could wipe their eyes and noses without breaking the hug.

“I am so fucking sick of crying,” Lydia grumbled as she dabbed her nose.

Barbara wiped her eyes. “Language.”

“Right. Daddy said he wanted to tackle that next.” She smiled. “I’m sorry you got a daughter at this intemperate age, Maitlands. I was a real peach when I was four.”

“You’re perfect,” Barbara assured her. “You make bad decisions sometimes, but you’re perfect.”

Lydia’s eyeroll was somewhat undercut by the fresh batch of tears.

Adam commented, “I guess we’ll need to work on a parenting schedule with Charles and Delia. See what we can figure out.” Adam sounded cheerful at the thought. He always loved making plans.

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “You’re dating Beetlejuice, but you still love rules and order. You’re a mystery, Adam Maitland. In fact,” she sniffled again, “we’re all mysteries to each other. That’s what started this conversation, isn’t it?

“So, hello, Maitlands. My name’s Lydia Deetz.”

“Hi, Lydia. I’m Barbara Maitland.”

It was time for the Maitlands to get to know their daughter.

[the-wiresmarvelau]

T.H.E. W.I.R.E.S.

Chapter 1 Chapter 5

Chapter 6: Arival 1

The first thing he noticed as he slowly regained consciousness, was how soft everything was.

A warm cloud-like texture enveloped his upper body, while what covered his legs was a little cooler, smother and he seemed to sink into the ground underneath him.

His whole body ached, but the pain had lost the sharp edge that he had almost grown accustomed to.

Thinking was too much of an effort right now, so he didn’t. Instead savouring the feeling of cotton in his brain and pulsing in his limbs.

With time though, he got more and more aware of his surroundings.

The air was cooler than what he had had to endure in the dungeons, but he smelled steam and salt waving over, as well as a smell he couldn’t quite place.

Light trickled through his closed eyelids, not very bright but enough to be a little uncomfortable.

He couldn’t quite place what all of that meant though and he made sure not to move or make a sound until the fog in his head cleared enough to know what to do.

Because he sure as hell wasn't alone. Rustling clothes and after a while the clinking of porcelain and metal against each other made it clear that someone was in the same room as him.

Metal….

Only now did he realise that his hands weren't cuffed anymore.

Curious.

It took him a few seconds more until he remembered.

Frigga had broken him out. She had gotten him out of the dungeon and brought him to Midgard.

At least that had been the plan.

Peter had spent hours reading, before he got too hungry to concentrate and decided that cold eggs on toast, wouldn’t be his choice for the first meal after what was probably years of torture.

So, he ate them while thinking of what to do next.

When he saw a slight twitch on the face of the unconscious form, he took that to mean that he would soon be waking up, or at least had gone from being out cold to just sleeping.

Taking into account that the teen really wasn't the best of cooks, he decided to just make some pasta with tomato sauce.

Better something simple then something burned.

About half way in, he noticed a hitch in the god’s breathing as well as a change in his heartrate.

Satisfied that he had been right, he turned his attention to the stove again.

A little more rest surely wouldn’t hurt and he didn’t want to rush the other.

Only when the table was set and the food all done did he speak up.

“Can you move enough to eat at the table or do you want to eat in bed?”

Just as he wanted to raise his eyes, to look at Loki, the bowl Frigga had left caught his eyes again.

About a dozen small vials lay in it now as well as a letter with the God’s name on it.

That could wait until later though.

As he looked over to the bed, he saw its occupant, struggling to turn enough to see him.

With a smile half sad, half relived on his face he went over to help the god into a sitting position.

Exhaustion was written all over his face but one corner of his mouth was slightly turned upwards.

“It worked” he whispered almost deliriously. “You kept your word.”

The brunette nodded and brought over their food, so they could eat together.

Savouring the taste of his first real meal in what felt like forever, the Jotun took his time.

Minutes went by in a strange sort of silence. Peter wanted to make sure he wouldn’t cross any lines or make his company uncomfortable while almost bursting with curiosity.

Loki on the other hand was still out of it. His hands shook and thinking was a chore with how hard it was to grasp anything that was going on.

But he was safe; that much he knew.

When they were finished eating, Peter introduced Loki to the AI, living with him.

It was obvious that the god tried to pay attention but struggled, so the teen soon decided to let him rest for a while longer.

At least the vigilante felt like he could leave the room for a bit without worrying his guest might die while he was out.

He helped the god lay back down and put the fancy bowl with the vials in it into the small, elevated crevasse at the back corner of the bed; since it was meant as a sort of nightstand anyway.

Then he went up to his room to get ready for a patrol.

On his way he made sure, Manuel knew to try and not spook the Asgardian too much and tell him when the hero would be back.

The moment he put on his suit and therefore connected with KAREN she tried to find out why he went out of his way to have Manuel out on his watch, even though he also was in the walls there.

It almost sounded like she was jealous- even though that shouldn’t be possible- giving Peter an opening to evade her question by teasing her, to come up with a lie.

Somehow, he managed to convince her to split the time spent with the AIs along the same lines, he split his life into Spiderman and Peter Parker.

While swinging towards New York City he was finally able to relax and collect himself again.

Knowing the god was safe in his room and nobody suspected a thing, was a huge weight off his chest.

After all, FRIDAY was due to be uploaded tomorrow and the chances of him wandering outside without his suit on were slim enough that it seemed almost miraculous to him that the goddess had caught him in a perfect moment like that.

Luck seemed for once to be on his side, making it impossible to wipe the smile from his face, as he arrived in his normal territory; Not that he wanted to.

High spirited as he was, he followed an instinct, telling him to swing a little farther than usual in the hopes of meeting that devil fella again.

He still hadn't gotten a clear read of this guy.

But he seemed nice enough, and if the spider wasn't completely wrong, the other had a few questions for him.

Right now, he just really wanted to talk to somebody so he hoped that Red would be fine with this.

The next time he heard the tell-tale *whip* again, which gave away the spider themed Vigilante, was when he was just on his way home from a night out with Foggy and Karen.

Matt Murdock had always been hell set on being independent.

Just because he was blind didn't mean that he needed help with everything.

Then again; He had also never been above using his disability and others' helpfulness to his advantage.

So, dropping his cane, he made a show out of cursing and tapping around the ground in the completely false direction to get spiderman's attention.

Last time they spoke, almost everything about the other had been puzzling to him.

While they had been fighting, his reflexes had been unnaturally accurate, and at times it had seemed like electric shocks cursed suddenly through his body, eliciting a little jerk of his head as if startled.

But the strangest thing was that, technically, a heart rate as fast as his resting one, should have him hyperventilating.

This irritated him to no end, because it meant that he couldn’t accurately figure out if he was being lied to like he could with others.

Especially when taking into account that his heartrate had been actually slower while he was fighting, then when afterwards, instead of the other way round.

As he listened closely for the other vigilante’s heartbeat right now, it was the same. Much too fast to be normal, even factoring in the adrenalin from his method of transportation.

Careful to keep his act up, he flinched back at the sound of feet hitting the ground right beside him.

“Excuse me, sir. It’s Spider-Man, ‘you want me to help you?” the masked man asked in a chipper tone.

“Yeah, uhm” He cleared his throat while shakily standing up. A bit worried if he was exaggerating a little too much “That would be great.”

While the other bent down to pick up the cane, Daredevil thought of what to say. How straightforward could he be about this?

“What brings you to Hell’s kitchen, if you don’t mind me asking? As far as I know the Devil is pretty territorial.” Way to go Murdock; Not at all suspicious.

“Well, that’s not at all concerning.” He raised an eyebrow at the choice of words, coupled with how nonchalantly they were spoken.

How young was this guy?

A subtle touch of the handle against the back of his hand alerted the blind man of his cane’s position.

”But I was only here to talk anyways. You haven’t by chance .. uh… heard?.. Of any sightings today?” There it was. The awkwardness around the topic of his vision.

At least he tried.

“I didn’t...” His head leaned to one side, angled up a bit; his hands both resting on his cane in typical Murdock fashion. “I also never heard you guys were buddy’s”

That’s what people did, wasn’t it? Jump to conclusions? Hopefully it would keep him talking.

“It’s not like we meet each Wednesday for a picnic on the rooftops or anything. And even if we knew each other that good it’s safer for us the less people know anything about that sort of thing.”

Clever of him.

He didn’t really reveal any clear information. Everything could mean one thing or it’s opposite without him having to tell a lie.

“I guess so, after all, if you knew him that good, you would know that he isn't out at this time of day. He goes around in the evening or the night, mostly.”

The vigilante coked his head to the side inquisitively. “Is that so? Good to know.”

Luckily, it didn't seem to damp his mood that much.

“You wouldn't mind escorting me home, would you?” The blind man asked, after a moment of hesitation.

“Sure, why not?” Daredevil wasn't anxious about being found out by this younger hero.

He knew surprisingly little about his alter ego. And for some reason, he trusted that the other wouldn't rat him out. Having his own secret identity.

So they chatted on their way back to Matt’s flat before Spider-man took off in the direction of queens again.

The rest of patrol consisted of the usual: a few muggings, a few cats in trees and old women to be helped over the street.

He broke up one thing that looked like an attempted rape and escorted the frightened girl to the police station.

As his curfew grew nearer, the closer he stayed to the tower. He had to let himself be seen there, soon Mr. Stark would assume something that happened to him.

When he decided that he was out long enough, he stuck to the side of the building and asked Karen to contact Friday to open a window for him.

She opened the window to the former Avengers common room.

It didn't get used much now that the rogues were on the run, and Tony preferred to use the common rooms in his own penthouse.

Since Friday had opened the window there, Peter was pretty sure that Mr. Stark was in the labs, which he wasn't allowed to climb into from the outside.

On his way to the kitchen area, he got rid of his mask.

Nobody who didn't already know his secret Identity had enough clearance to come up here anyway, not since the rogues hadn't been pardoned yet.

That was also what he didn't already panic when he heard the elevator come up to his level and people talking inside.

Tony had probably been notified of his arrival and came up from the lab, talking probably to Friday or Pepper.

As the elevator opened, however, he didn't recognize the footsteps next to the mechanic, and it was definitely not Pepper speaking up.

“That... was a lot. Though I can't say that I'm really surprised; you too always had this… quarrel going between you two.”

Panicked Peter Scrambled for his mask, glad about a super hearing, which was the only thing giving him enough time to put it on before the two men stepped into the room enough to see him.

He carried on ruffling through the pantries, as if he hadn't just had a heart nearly had a heart attack.

He may have just eaten a few hours ago, but he had had exercise and his super metabolism demanded sustenance.

“Yes, well then it will surprise you even more, that I am the one who is trying to mend the accords so everyone can agree to sign them.” The much more familiar voice of Tony came from the door; then: “oh. Hey Spidey”.

“Morning, Mr. Stark.” The addressee answered, head still in a pantry, searching for his favourite flavoured pop tarts.

That seemed to startle the unknown man, for he gave out a little squeak, as if surprised that somebody else was present.

“Well, you didn't say that Spider-Man would be here.” He led out just as Peter found what he was searching for, and pulled the box out along with a bag of Doritos.

“That's because I wasn't until two minutes ago.” He quipped as an answer while turning around and promptly almost dropping everything he had in his arms to the floor.

At the entrance to the kitchen area stood, no none other than Bruce freaking Banner, seven PhDs, a master of science and most renowned researcher of gamma radiation with a sheer endless number of articles published under his name.

The youngest had read all of them, soaked up every single world, in the hopes of finding out more about what had happened with a spider bite.

After Tony Stark, Banner was this greatest idol in science - not to speaker of the scientific miracle that was the Hulk.

But at this first reaction, Banner’s face dropped.

He really shouldn't be surprised, every time he got recognized for who he was, people reacted in fear; if they even recognized him.

But the very next second he was proven wrong.

The vigilante came over in a few long strides  and began to excitedly chat at a near inhuman speed.

“Oohmygooodd.It’syouIt’sBruceBanner. I’msuchagreatfanofyourworkwithgammaradiation. And how you managed to trace the energy signature of the sceptre?!? It’ssoocooltomeetyou!!”

As he looked to his mentor with stars in his eyes, all he could do was break out laughing.

Tony knew that his protégé was excitable but right now that trait had reached an all-time high.

When he had himself under control again, he looked up at the others; almost losing it once more at the furious blush spreading over Bruce’s faces and the comically large eyes of the mask Peter was wearing.

Upon seeing that Peter pouted.

Even without seeing his face Tony seemed to pick up on that, as he put an arm over his shoulder in the way he always did when trying to console the boy.

“Breath, kid. Or I might get the impression that you like him better than me.”

“Oh, don't worry, Mr. Stark. You will always be my favourite, but this is Bruce Freaking Banner we’re talking about. You cannot tell me that his work on the effects of radiation on electronics isn't credible?!”

The billionaire just laughed as an answer. While the aforementioned scientist, blushed furiously.

“That was ages ago. You really read all of those papers?”

“Of course, Dr. Banner. I read every single paper you have published.”

“He isn't joking either,” Mr. Stark added ”I’ve quizzed him once because I couldn't believe it, but he really did read every single one.”

“I'm flattered,” Bruce muttered, for lack of better words.

Peter flushed a tooth to grin which couldn't be seen by the other two, but he knew Mr. Stark would catch up on that; he had become good at interpreting his body language.

That theory was promptly proven right by Mr. Stark saying, “wipe that grin off your face, it makes me jealous.”

“Alright, your right. Mr. Stuck.” Peter answered. “But for the much better question, not to be rude or anything, but where were you? You were like untraceable for several years now. It must be so weird to come back after all this time.”

The concern was audible in his voice, and it made the man beside him chuckle.

“The kid has a point. Care to explain Brucey-bear?”

“Well, you know how the hulk kind of got his hands on one of Tony’s quinjets?” Bruce asked. Still a little shy.

Peter nodded in confirmation.

“Well, somehow it got us out of earth’s atmosphere and onto an unknown planet. It was some kind of post-apocalyptic hellhole... all full of ruins, not a living soul. And the big guy didn't let me have a turn in the body to go and fix a jet.

“He had his fun on the planet for over a year at which point I kind of manage to take advantage of the times you slept to take a look at the quinjet and try to repair it. Considering the limited supply of materials and tools I had, it took quite some time.

“But I managed as you see, and I somehow found a way back here. Once in the small shuttle, it was much easier to convince the big guy to stay down, and let me take control.” While Bruce had been speaking, they had all sat down on the table while Peter had gathered all he had dropped.

“That is so cool, Dr. Banner. But what made it so hard to change back on the other planet? Could it have been a difference in gravity and atmosphere, which made it harder to get control for yourself.

“Maybe the other planet had a different form of radiation level. Which would have killed a human, which would have been dangerous for a human, so the Hulk stayed?

“Mr. Stark once told me that he is able to take control if you’re in dangerous situations; to keep you to your life.” The boy had become noticeably more hesitant towards the end and Bruce appreciated the consideration of a mental state, though he couldn’t help wondering just how much Stark had told the kid.

“It could be. I can't be sure since I wasn't able to measure anything. As I said, limited access to tools.”

The boy just nodded and his mentor could see the millions of theories floating around the boy's head from the way his fingers seemed to pluck on visible strings in mid-air. While his palms dragged over, his suit over and over again.

He had witnessed the sort of movement quite often from his protégé. It seemed to help him think or calm down after a nightmare.

“I think that is enough about the big guy for now.” The engineer interrupted. “But now that Bruce will be living with us again: How far you with a compound kid?”

Peter only reacted with a slow turning of his head.

His mind still a million miles away. So, I took him a few seconds to come back in the real world.

“Yeah, I'm finished with most rooms by now.. I think. If you're coming soon there. But your room is finished already.” He said, distractedly at first, before shaking his head and coming to his senses.

“We only have to install Friday and we're good to go. Well, as I said, a few rooms need a little bit of touching up, but I get that done in the next few days.” Peter reported truthfully.

“Sounds lovely. We're going to come over tomorrow some time.” Tony said, shooting a questioning glance at the other scientist. “That is if his lab is ready.” He finished. And Peter shook his head.

“I still have to install a thing or two, but I should be done sometime in the afternoon.”

“I'm not planning to be awake any time before noon anyway. And I assume Bruce over here can deal with a little bit of sleeping in, too.” He just got a nod in response from the two.

“You're going to say in for the night?” Tony asked the teen beside him.

“No, I'll get back to the compound and make sure I haven't forgotten anything. Still have to finish the lab tomorrow. And I don't want to stand up too early either.”

With that, he stuffed a pop-tart in his mouth and went to the next window, which Friday already opened for him, once she noticed what he was about to do.

“See around” he said, flinging himself out of the window, prompting a groan from his mentor and a frightened squeak from the other scientist in the room.

“Jesus. This kid! The bane of my existence - and the cause for all of my grey hair.” Tony commented before showing his guest to the room he’d be sleeping in for the night.

Chapter 1  Chapter 5 Chapter 7

[justanotherwaywarddaughter]

Hell On Heels

Characters: Cas x Sister!Reader, Sam, Dean, and a bit of John

Word Count: 4443

Warnings: Sassy reader, Cas is an awkward little nugget, canon typical violence

Summary: This is part two to “Spread the Word Around– the Girl’s Back in Town”. The reader reveals a bit of her history. Meanwhile, Team Free Will, along with its newest member, set out to take on what should be a relatively easy case.  Things do not go as planned, which works to the benefit of a certain shy angel.

A/N: So this is long overdue. Sorry. It’s a bit disjointed because I started it and then stopped and worked on something else... Apologies for that. I started out with this imagine in mind, and it kinda grew from there. Italics are reader’s thoughts. Thinking of making this a series. Let me know what you think. Hope you enjoy! As always, thanks for reading! Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated.

Read Part 1 here.

The protesting creak of a nearby door coupled with the muted sound of feet thudding down the hallway pulled you from your midnight reverie. Making your way quietly to the open doorway of your room, you scanned the hallway for the source of the noises, your eyes landing on a retreating figure of over six feet. With an annoyed groan, you made you way closer to the hulking mass that was trying to sneak down the hall like a teenager after curfew.

Let’s play guess the idiot. Too tall to be Cas. Can’t tell if it’s Sam or Dean yet from this far away, though he’s stumbling, whoever he is. Most likely Dean, in from a night out that hopefully won’t make me an aunt.

“Have a good time, did ya, brother mine?” you asked with a smirk, switching on the overhead lights. At the sound of your voice, the figure spun, albeit clumsily, to see who made the noise. With one hand to his head and the other groping the wall for support, Sam took a less than elegant stumble backward.

“Y/N? What’re you doooin up ssso late?” he slurred with a bleary smile. Sam was apparently a happy drunk, you mused, shaking off the surprise of being met by your youngest brother rather than your oldest one. Moving toward you, the moose of a man began to teeter.

“Whoa, there, Sammy. Slow your roll. There’s no way I can pick you and me both up off of this floor if you go all timber on me,” you cautioned. “Let’s get your ass to bed. I’ll lecture you in the morning.”

“Mmmm’kay, Y/N. I’m ssleeepy anyway,” he said in an exaggerated whisper.

How much liquor does it even take to get Samsquatch here drunk? Dear Lord, I hate to even imagine.

You trailed a tromping Sam back to his room, made him take off his shoes before he got in bed, and sat the ibuprofen he kept in his nightstand out for him when he woke up.

Damn grown man needs to be told to take his shoes off before he gets in bed. How the hell did he even get this drunk? And how can a guy that hits his head on ceiling fans regularly look so much like a little kid?

Sam was snuggled under the covers with a peaceful look on his face. Cracking one eye open, he attempted to whisper again, “Y/N, why were you even up? Ssssssssomething wrong?”

And on that he chooses to have a little clarity. The man that didn’t even remember his head­­– not his feet– goes on the pillow has the sense about him to ask why I’m up at this ungodly hour. Figures. Intuitive little shit.

“Shut up, Sammy. You’re drunk. Go to sleep,” you grumbled, hating that your little brother, even in his inebriated state, had managed to see that something was wrong.

Sighing, you made your way back to your room and plopped down face-first on the bed. You’d had a lot of these nights lately.

I am normally not a philosophical person, but there’s something about randomly escaping hell that makes a person ponder a few things. It all started when I was born… Kidding. Kinda.

Mostly, you thought about what had gotten you to this point. As Dean often reminded people, hunters never got to be kids, and you were no exception. From the moment you’d been big enough to carry a sawed-off, you’d been sleuthing, shooting, and salting. That’s not to say you didn’t enjoy it– most of the time.

Despite growing up a hunter, you’d been relatively sheltered from heartache until your mom had passed. She went down in typical hunter fashion, sacrificing herself to kill the demon that had possessed her. I come by this hero complex honest.

You did the best you could after her death, giving her a hunter’s funeral in the sticks somewhere in Alabama. It was the first time you were truly alone, and you didn’t know how to handle it. Cue obligatory reckless streak.

Amidst said reckless streak, you’d come upon daddy dearest. Yes. None other than John Winchester. You’d planned to ignore him, laying low until you knocked off that vetala. Well, as per usual, things didn’t go as planned; one vetala turned out to be two, and you were in need of a little saving.  Enter John. He’d been on the same hunt­­– Shocker– and had come prepared. Curse you and your research, John Winchester. Needless to say, he saved your ass. What stung was that he had no clue who you were.

Well, as the whiskey got to flowing that night– Don’t judge me. I had a rough day. Whiskey is the grownup version of a blanky– so did the truth bombs. One right after the other. By the end of the night, you were both spent. He had a daughter. You had a near-death experience. I feel like we were pretty equal there. You know, on the whole shock factor thing. You agreed to stay in touch.

And so you did. You’d occasionally update each other on your cases, swapping information and tips, sharing about your lives and the years you’d missed together, and growing comfortable enough to joke around. It was all fine and dandy until your old man called you up for a little help on a case. Sam and Dean were in school, and he needed an extra pair of hands.

Probably just a couple of vamps, he said. Probably new changelings, he said. We’ll probably be done before lunch, he said. It’ll be easy, he said.

Turns out John was wrong. What he thought was a small nest– one, maybe two, tops– turned out to be about fifteen. Why they were all together and how they managed to tolerate each other is still a mystery.

Nest, my ass. Frigging hive is what it was.

You two gave it your damnedest. You held your own for a while, the quick movements of your machetes creating a steady rhythm of whooshing sounds  punctuated by the sickening crunch of metal on bone as they sliced through the air and hit their targets. The two of you moved in tandem, as though you’d been working together your whole life.

Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I suppose.

Things were going great. Until they weren’t. All it took was a slight hesitation; one small slip of the hand. You were down to the last two; one for each of you. You squared up to smaller of the two, leaving John with his more even match. The fights that ensued were anything but easy. The two of you were already exhausted, covered in blood, and running on fumes. To say you were less than sharp was more than fair. You were both sloppy, but you managed to get the job done.

You got all the way back to the impala, congratulating yourselves on a job well done, before you noticed the blood seeping through the left leg of John’s jeans. And, holy hell, was there a lot of it. Femoral artery injuries can be a bitch. Exsanguination is not a painful death, but it’s a slow one; a death that fills its victims with a sense of hopelessness.

No matter how tightly you compressed. No matter how many layers of bandages and fast food napkins and shirt hems you piled on. No matter how fast you drove. It didn’t make a difference. That was the palest you’d ever seen him, his head lulled over, his short, rapid breaths creating little puffs of fog on the window. Your first thought was about the boys. You thought, I can’t let them go through what I went through. They already lost their mom. What’ll happen to them?

In your muddled mind, there was only one valid course of action. You found the nearest crossroads and did what had to be done. You made a deal– his life for yours. And the hero complex rears its ugly head, yet again. Here’s to hoping Sam and Dean never find out. But, if we’re being honest here, I was pissed as he– well… You get the point. I was really mad when he ended up down under literally right after me. I mean, how is that fair? To him, to me, to the boys? Fate has a twisted sense of humor.

This hunt and the literal hell you’d gone through after plagued your dreams when you did sleep. 

When you couldn’t sleep, which was most of the time, you wondered who pulled you out of hell and why. At the same time, you were trying to adjust to life with your two hulking brothers and their ever so heavenly resident angel.  

My brain has too many tabs open. I even think about overthinking.

Sam and Dean were loud, obnoxious, and messy. The bunker had been their man cave until you came along, and they were still getting used to how the fairer sex preferred to live. You know, sans unpleasant aromas, constant nudity, and leftovers that could be mistaken for a science project. I know, I know. It’s a lot to ask. Apparently I’m high maintenance.

To add to your frustration, Cas would not speak to you. Would. Not. Do. It. He still popped in from time to time. He just never spoke to you.

Okay, buddy, I’m not sure what your definition of ‘later’ is, but it’s been like a month, and I still have no clue who this damn pizza guy is and what the hell he taught you. Am I allowed to cuss at a celestial being? Ah, well. Who cares? What are they gonna do, send me to hell?

You snorted at your own joke, noticing the time flashing on your alarm clock. It’s an acceptable time for a normal human being to be awake. I need coffee.

You padded down the hall to the kitchen, grumbling greetings at a half-asleep Dean. You sat down with your oversized mug of coffee– Ah, sweet nectar of life–and skimmed the local newspaper. Seeing an article detailing a possible serial killer that had targeted upper-class men in swanky bars, you sighed, thunking your coffee cup down on the scarred table. You read further into the article, which chronicled methodology– cracked chests, hearts squeezed to mush, and bodies drained down to the last pint.

This is our kind of weird. At least this one is close to home.

“Sam. Dean. Wake up. Rise and shine, boys!” you shouted from your seat.

“What the hell do you want at seven in the morning on a Saturday? This is my day off,” Dean grumbled as he entered the room. Sam, who had skipped his morning run– probably because of the massive hangover he had. No judgement. Just saying.– came in just moments after, his hair sticking up in wild tufts, eyes matted and sleepy.

“Do you have to be so loud? Let’s all use our inside voices today,” he suggested, moving to the coffee pot.

“I think I have something. It could be nothing, but it’s at our back door, so I’d rather be safe than sorry. Police are investigating a possible serial killer, but I’ve never heard of a serial killer that squeezes hearts and sucks blood just for shits and giggles,” you explained.

“We can think about it when we get there. We need see more of what’s going on before we jump to conclusions anyway,” Dean replied, leaning on the door jamb.

“Finally learn your lesson about being prepared, eh, Dean?” Sam mocked, wincing at the bitterness of the brew in his cup.

“I HAD THE DAMN SIREN I WOULD’VE BEEN FINE,” Dean insisted. Seeing Sam’s wince at his volume, he asked with a smug grin,” DOES MY YELLING BOTHER YOU?”

“Boys, boys. Settle down. If you keep this arguing up, I swear to you, you’ll regret it,” you cautioned, your lack of sleep causing your already thin patience to wane further.

“Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do?” Dean tossed over his shoulder as he went to get his grab bag.

That is it. Last straw. Overgrown brats of brothers. You will rue the day you didn’t heed my words, Winchester. You asked for this.

Seeing your glare morph into a smirk, Sam must’ve known you were planning to make Dean pay in a big way, because he said, “You two are so much alike.”

“I know. It’s like we’re related or something,” you quipped, jumping up from the table to stash your go bag in Baby’s trunk.

How can two people make such a short car ride so unbearable?

From the second you shut the car doors– slammed, according to Dean– your brothers had been bickering. The music was too loud. The sound of Sam’s keyboard clicking was annoying. The heat was too hot. The air was too cold. Dean’s driving wasn’t up to par. The list goes on. Any attempts from you to referee were promptly shut down with a double brother glare.

Oh, Castiel, mighty angel of the Lord, with your majestic and fluffy wings, please, if it’s not too much trouble, CAN YOU GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE AND USE YOUR PROFOUND BOND WITH DEAN TO MAKE HIM SHUT THE HELL UP? Thank you.

You praised the gods when you pulled up in front of the county courthouse, parallel parking on Main Street. Gee, thanks for the help, Cas. 

You stopped and spun around, taking in your surroundings. Blink and you’ll miss downtown.

Putting on your best confident I-belong-here-I’m-in-charge look, you strode purposefully through the door, approaching the sweet-looking old secretary sitting behind the front desk. “Hi there… Margery,” you said, reading her nametag. You flashed your forged credentials. “I’m Special Agent Page, and these are my associates, Agents Bonham and Plant. We’ve been called in to have a look at this series of murders you have. Could you please point me in the direction of some case files? We just need copies. We wouldn’t want to trouble you all. Be in your hair and all that.”

“Why, of course I will. Let me just grab those for you. It’s no trouble at all,” she said with a smile.

You twiddled your thumbs waiting for Margery to come back, hoping the bickering would hold off at least until you left the courthouse. No such luck. Apparently, Sam was too close to Dean and was breathing down his neck. Amidst their squabble, Cas decided to make an appearance, earning a muffled scream from you. Margery chose this moment to reappear.

“Weren’t there only three of you before?” she asked, beginning to look suspicious.

“Yes, ma’am, but this is our new trainee, Agent Jones. He was letting our supervisor know we’d arrived. Isn’t that right, Jones?” you replied, elbowing the angel in the ribs to cue his response.

You honest to God chose this moment to show up? Say something, dammit. Before she realizes we’re frauds and calls us on it.  It’s not that hard. Open your mouth. Use your words.

“That is correct,” he grumbled.

“I’ll just take those files from you. You should hear back from us within a few hours,” you said, prying the files from her still suspicious hands and making a beeline for the door.

“The next time you all pull something like that, I will end your lives, bring you back, and end them again. Am I clear?” you huffed, slamming the door to the impala, on purpose this time. Seeing Cas reluctantly slide in beside you, you addressed him. And you! I asked for your help earlier, and you left me high and dry. They are driving me insane in the membrane. Insane in the brain! Shit, now I have that song stuck in my head. Now see what you’ve done?

The car ride to a local diner was blissfully quiet. Apparently, death threats have a calming effect on this crowd. Duly noted.

After poring over the files Margery had been so kind as to give you, you all decided you were dealing with a lamia. You discussed the best means of disposal over your pie, ignoring the stares of the other patrons. Your rag tag little team had noodled out a tentative plan: you’d get all dolled up and go into the bar, look around, and signal the guys when you saw anything suspicious; one of the guys would act as bait, luring the lamia into a conveniently secluded alley, and the other two would be ready with a blessed knife and some rosemary, just in case. Sounds simple enough. I am gonna need some supplies though. I tell ya. I can’t even remember the last time I got all dolled up.

“Oh, brother mine!” Your sing-songy tone was bound to get on Dean’s nerves, but you needed a ride. “How much do you love me?”

“Depends on why you’re asking,” he said hesitantly.

“Oh, it’s nothing major… I just need a ride to town. I have to grab a few things before we head back out for the hunt tonight,” you said sweetly, twirling a lock of hair around your finger, trying to look innocent. Okay. Cue puppy dog eyes.

“Fine,” he huffed. “Let me get my keys. Sam! Ca–“ He cut off abruptly when Cas, ever ignorant of the concept of personal space, popped up comically close to Dean’s face. I thought I was your favorite Winchester? Too bad, angel boy. We could’ve had some fun.

Apparently Cas hadn’t headed your warnings to stay out of your head. He turned a deep crimson, cleared his throat, and stepped back from your eldest brother, leaving a very confused but relieved Dean to wonder what could possibly make an angel blush. Still, all you got was side eye.

“You were about to call for me?” Cas asked Dean, his gaze flitting around the room, landing on anything but you.

So that’s how it’s gonna be. Alright. Let me think about what I want to get while we’re out. A short dress? I think yes. Tight or loose? Who am I kidding? Tight it is. I’ll need some new underwear… These aren’t really suited for a tight dress– unsightly lines and all that. Where will I keep my gun?

The angel’s complexion rivaled that of a tomato at this point, and bless Dean’s soul, he spoke up. Spontaneous combustion isn’t easy to clean up, and you didn’t relish the thought of scraping bits of Cas off the wall. “Yeah…” he started hesitantly. “I just wanted to let you and Sam know Y/N and I are headed to town. Keep us posted if anything changes.”

“We will. I believe Sam and I are about to depart to ask for the blessing of a priest on your knife,” Cas said in reply.

As Dean nodded and turned to go, you mirrored his movements, throwing a wink over your shoulder at the flustered angel. I’m on a roll. Got Cas on my way to get Dean.

The unshakeable, unphasable Dean Winchester was shell shocked by the end of your little trip. He’d been subjected to horrors even his stint in hell hadn’t shown him. The dad bench at Victoria’s secret? Yeah, he’d been plucked from that with an, “I need your opinion, little brother.” The lounge chairs outside Sephora? Yeah, he’d been jerked from those to “help swatch”. The cologne display in your favorite department store? Yeah, he’d been yanked from there to assess which dress was “sexy but not slutty”.  Even the sanctuary of the food court, practically holy ground, wasn’t safe. Apparently, a sale on shoes trumped his nachos. He drove home on autopilot, eyes focused on the road, doing the speed limit for once. You chuckled to yourself. Serves him right.

As soon as you pulled in the garage, you hopped out of the car, dashing toward the bathroom with your new purchases. So much to do, so little time. I’m not usually a frilly person, but doesn’t every girl get a little excited when she has an excuse to shake it up every now and then? You passed a very confused Sam and Cas, who questioned Dean about the haunted look in his eyes. Putting on your playlist and laughing when “Hell on Heels” came on, you settled in for the long haul.

Three hours. Three hours is how long it took to create your cascading ringlets, to carefully carve your face with the sticky tubes and pots you’d tested on Dean’s forearm, to strap on those ungodly undergarments, and to stuff yourself into a dress that left very little to the imagination. Now if you could just figure out how to fasten your shoes without busting out of said dress like biscuits out of their can. “Help! I need someone to…” you trailed off, seeing your brothers, shadowed by their angel friend, come crashing through the door.

“You said, ‘help’ and we assumed the worst,” Sam shrugged.

Dean let out a whistle. “Damn, Sam, our sister is a girl after all. How nice. Now cover up.” His glare rivaled the one he’d had in place when you dragged him to look at earrings, insisting he hold them up to his ear so you could see how they hung. He shed his outer shirt, wrapping it backward around your chest.

“This is the point, Dean. Gotta blend in; make ‘em think I’m a working girl,” you chuckled, tossing the flannel off. “You know, the classy kind.”

“Can you even sit down?” Sam asked.

“No. Sitting is for quitters.” You snatched your shoes from the box, and asked sweetly, “Now, who will be a dear and help me put these on?”

How many Winchesters does it take to get a pair of shoes on?

Castiel did his signature head-turn-squint, and you exasperatedly answered his nonverbal question, “It’s a joke, Cas. Take my word for it.”

You shakily walked around, testing your balance. You know how sailors get sea legs? I think women get heel legs. Someone make me one of those honorary pins.

Meanwhile, the heavenly being in the room had yet to take his eyes off you. You’re giving me siren flashbacks here. Stop being creepy and say something, weirdo. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, my fine feathered friend. This confused squint you ignored, opting to hobble to the garage.

You piled into the impala, praying the whole way the stitching in your dress was as strong as your love of your modesty, what little you’d preserved, anyway. The ride there was short and silent, oddly enough. You’d been over the plan at least a hundred times in your mind. You knew exactly what to do.

But, because nothing can ever be simple, especially when Winchesters are involved, things got messy. Long story short, you ended up flat on your ass in the alley behind the bar, the lamia above you. “Come on, now. Let’s settle this like adults. Woman to woman,” you choked out. It’s rather hard to speak when there’s a Grecian monster limiting your air supply.

“I can’t let some hunter ruin my fun, now can I?” she trilled, releasing her grip by a fraction of an inch.

“I mean, you can do whatever you want,” you said with a wink.

“What I want to do is this,” she said with a crooked smile. You could feel the skin on your chest tightening, being pulled taut as your chest began to crack open, ribs straining and bending before snapping. You choked out a half-formed scream as your air supply was firmly cut off. The edges of your vision tinged black as you struggled to hang on to consciousness.

The cavalry has arrived! Your little team made quick work of killing the lamia, Sam landing a solid stab to the back of her neck while she was focused on you, Dean and Cas not far behind.

“Damn it, Sam! Did you have to go for the throat? I’m covered in blood,” you grumbled as you swiped at the sticky rust colored liquid before deciding it was hopeless. “Where were you all? Better late than never, I guess.”

“What a shame. I guess that means your dress is donezo.” Dean grinned at the thought, ignoring your question.

You just rolled your eyes, and hopped up, taking inventory of your injuries. Seeing that you’d only sustained some broken ribs and shallow scratches, you celebrated. “Bam, bitches! Me, two. Death, ZERO. Sorry I couldn’t be your main squeeze, sweetie,” you spat at the lifeless lump of a lamia.

“SHHH DON’T SAY THAT HE’LL HEAR YOU!” Dean cautioned with wide eyes.

“Good. We can go for pizza. I hear he’s into that. I’m starving,” you replied, kicking off your shoes for the walk back to the car.

“When are you not starving?” Sam and Dean asked in unison.

“Stop that. It’s creepy. Just shut up and feed me.” You looked around, wondering aloud, “Where’d angel boy go?”

“Guess you scared him off, Y/N. Shame. I’d like to have him for a brother-in-law,” Sam teased, attempting to ruffle your hair.

Joke’s on you, dude. My hair is so full of hairspray and blood, I’m pretty sure you couldn’t get it to mess up if you took a belt grinder to it. You chuckled, seeing Sam’s disgusted look when he pulled his hand back and wiped it on his shirt. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Seriously, though, we’re getting food, right?”

Post pizza pitstop, Dean, who was keyed up from the hunt and his near death experience at the mall, decided to burn some rubber. Partially to burn off steam; partially to get back at you. You were white-knuckling it on the bench seat. Cas, take the wheel.

“I do not understand why you feel as though I should pilot this vehicle,” your resident angel said dryly, appearing in the seat next to you.

“God! You scared me,” you squealed, your fist connecting with his upper arm, your attention quickly returning to your brothers in the front seat when Dean swerved in reaction to the new addition to the car.

This is it. This is the end. It won’t be a monster that gets me. It’ll be a damn tree.

“We have been over this. I am no longer God,” Castiel huffed, rubbing his shoulder. You looked over to him, catching a glimpse of the look he was giving you.

Did he just roll his freaking eyes at me? Are you serious? Like, I’m the one that taught him that. Oh, he’s gonna pay for that one. And not in the good kind of way.

At that, the angel blushed, turning his head to look out the window, his hand tentatively finding yours in the backseat. You laced his fingers with yours, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

Sure took you long enough.

At that, Cas laughed, bringing the back of your hand to his lips, earning a groan from both of your brothers.

“Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives,” Dean mocked.

“Wait, how do you know that quote? It’s from a daytime soap opera. Dean, are you cheating on Dr. Sexy?” Sam snickered.

“You realize that understanding the reference indicates that you also enjoy daytime television, right, Sam?” Cas interjected.

“Sometimes it pays to know a guy that can read minds,” you said with a smile, bursting into laughter, stopping short when your ribs protested. It was worth it. High five for making them squirm.

Your brothers in the front seat and your angel in the back. What more could a girl ask for?

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