#HO HO HO HOLY SHIT WHAT THESE TWO DO TO ME IS IN SANE!!!!!!!

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HOLD ON HOLD ON HOLD ON I DIDN'T CATCH COLIN'S CONCERENED LITTLE "penelope?" 🥺 JUST SECONDS BEFORE SHE COLLAPSES TO THE FLOOR IN THE TEASER FOR PART 2. O.M.GGGGG!!!!!!! I CAN'T WAIT FOR HIM TO GO STRAIGHT INTO PANIC MODE OVER HIS PRECIOUS PEN. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[goldenraeofsun]

life is just a classroom

A 6k addition to this verse with Teacher!Cas and Teacher!Dean

Jody has never seen her staff with their heads so far up their own asses. They get one reasonably attractive new hire, and everyone is acting more like gossiping, horny teenagers than sane, I-am-responsible-for-multiple-children, teachers. Luckily, Jody’s the principal and expert in wrangling children and adults of all maturity levels.

But this, as Bobby used to say, is too early for this shit.

It’s 7:00 am, and if Jody has to hear one more word about Castiel Novak and his brooding stare and baby blue eyes, she’s going to dump her coffee all over Daphne Allen’s head. It’s not like the Teachers Lounge hasn’t seen more than its fair share of spilled coffee. The brown-ish grey-ish carpet is more for utility than aesthetics, and is probably older than Jody herself.

“I’ve been trying to find out more about him, but he’s so reserved,” Daphne is saying. She sighs. “I’ve always been a sucker for the strong, silent types.”

Jody rolls her eyes and adds more sugar to her coffee.

“I think he mentioned he was actually a student here,” Kelly says, leaning in conspiratorially, “the same year as Dean.”

“No way,” Daphne breathes.

Jody dumps in more sugar.

“Has Dean mentioned anything about him? Is he single?”

For Christ’s sake. It’s the second day of school - Jody is very confident her teachers have better things to do than cross boundaries with new colleagues.

Daphne frowns. “No, he hasn’t. But Castiel definitely doesn’t wear a ring.”

Kelly rolls her eyes. “Would I even be talking about him if I thought he was married?”

Jody clears her throat, saying loudly, “Well, I’d better get back to work. Morning announcements will start soon.”

Both Kelly and Daphne jump guiltily.

Pleased, Jody strides out of the Teachers Lounge, nearly running into Donna. “Here,” she says, pressing the coffee into her hands. “I put too much sugar in it anyway.”

“Oh, hey, thanks Jody-o!” Donna beams.

Jody jerks her head towards Daphne and Kelly, heads ducked together and clearly already back to it. “Watch out for ‘em. They’ll get you sucked in gossiping about the new hire.”

“That Castiel?” Donna asks, her eyes lighting up. “He’s such an angel.”

“Not you too,” Jody grumbles as she stalks out. She has a school to run.

* * *

“Bonne journée, tout le monde.” Castiel waves his students out. “Etudiez bien pour le quiz la semaine prochaine! Si vous avez besoin d’aide, n'hésitez pas à venir me voir.”  

Daphne lets the juniors stream past her, steels herself, and knocks on the door.

“Oui?” he asks without looking up.

Daphne swallows nervously. “Castiel?”

Castiel straightens, and holy hell, those eyes are so blue. “Hello,” he says, “I’m sorry, I thought you were a student.”

“No worries at all,” Daphne says with tittering laugh. “I was just wondering if you wanted to get a drink?”

“A drink?” Castiel echoes.

“To celebrate the end of the first week?” Daphne adds. “Kelly, Aaron, and I have a little tradition.”

“I see,” Castiel says, sounding taken aback. He fiddles with the strap of his bag before slinging it over his shoulder.

As the seconds drag on without a response, Daphne frowns. Is he going to refuse? Daphne had told Kelly this was a stupid plan -

“Can I bring Dean?” he asks.

Daphne blinks. “Dean? Yes, of course,” she says, mentally recalibrating her assessment of Edlund High's newest Latin/French teacher. He and Dean must be closer than she had assumed from their interactions in the Language Office. Maybe Castiel is less the stoically reserved type and more the shy, socially awkward wallflower. Her heart melts, so she adds, “the more the merrier.”

“Wonderful,” Castiel says, smiling. “What time?”

“We were thinking of leaving in like an hour,” Daphne says, “but you can also meet us there - Fizzle’s Folly? It’s on Water Street.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows at the name.

Daphne giggles. “Garth’s wife - have you met Garth? He teaches Chem - owns it. There’s a whole story there, but I can tell you later, if you like.”

Castiel smiles. “I’d like that, thank you.” He hefts his shoulder bag higher. “I grew up here, but it’s been a number of years since I spent a long time in this school district. I don’t remember a Fizzle’s Folly.”

“It used to be called Fenris,” Daphne says as they walk out.

Castiel’s brow furrows. “Wasn’t that a biker bar?”

“Yup, that’s the one,” Daphne says, nodding to Krissy Chambers and her friend Josephine as they pass by. “It underwent a little bit of a makeover when Garth and Bess took over.”

“So no bikers?”

“Not unless you count Garth,” Daphne says, grinning, as she pushes open the door to the Language Office. “He owns a motorcycle, if you can believe - oh, hey, Dean.”

Dean glances up from his desk at Daphne’s acknowledgement. “Hey,” he says slowly, his eyes flicking from Castiel to Daphne and back again. “What’s up?”

“Daphne invited me out for drinks,” Castiel says as Dean’s eyebrows rise, “Would you like to come?”

Dean’s mouth purses. “Wouldn’t want to be an imposition.”

“I already asked,” Castiel says as Daphne nods once. 

And maybe in a week, once Daphne and Castiel know each other better, they can get drinks alone together. Or Kelly can get drinks alone with him. Daphne won’t fight Kelly for him, and Kelly won’t fight her. He’s not a piece of meat, as Kelly is all too fond of reminding if they go too far after too many margaritas. 

After a beat, Dean says in a funny voice, “Okay then.”

Daphne walks around the both of them to get to her desk. “Aaron’s going to be there, if that matters,” she says without looking up.

“Aaron?” Castiel asks curiously.

“History teacher,” Dean says at the same time that Daphne provides, “Dean’s ex.”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose as Castiel turns to him.

“Not an ex,” Dean grumbles. “We had a thing. Briefly. Years ago. It was before-” he coughs, “anyway.”

“I see,” Castiel deadpans.

Daphne frowns, meeting Castiel’s gaze over Dean’s head. “We are a LGBTQ friendly school,” she says sharply. “Dean runs the Gay-Straight-Alliance. If you have any… issues with that, I’d recommend talking to Jody before we leave.”

Dean looks oddly touched. “Thanks, Daph.”

Castiel just shakes his head. “I’m not homophobic. Dean can attest to that.”

“He had a boyfriend in high school,” Dean says with a grin.

Daphne’s face heats up embarrassingly quickly. “Ah - good for you.”

It’s not the end of the world. He could be bi, like Dean.

* * *

Aaron’s glad Dean and Castiel are here, if just to steer the conversation away from all the boy talk. He always has a good time with Kelly and Daphne, but, damn, they can really fixate. Lately, all they’ve been focusing on is Castiel, which, Aaron can kind of get behind - even though, obviously, Dean is more his type.

Thankfully they’ve cooled it with Castiel actually in the room with them.

Poor dude looks in over his head by the time they’re all sipping their second round of drinks. That’s probably why, when Aaron offers to get refills and snacks, Castiel jumps up to assist, quick on his heels. 

Daphne and Kelly’s eyes follow Castiel’s ass to the bar. Sometimes they really are shameless.

“You doing okay?” Aaron asks after he’s flagged down the bartender. 

“Oh yes,” Castiel says, bobbing his head in a nod. “It’s just… I don’t get out often.”

“I know they can be a bit much,” Aaron says, jerking his head back at their table. “If you want them to cool it with the questions, just say so.”

“I don’t mind.”

Aaron makes a face but doesn’t comment further. It’s Castiel’s funeral if he wants to keep playing into Kelly and Daphne’s hands like silly putty. Aaron warned the guy. He did his job to uphold bros before hos - even if Castiel is barely a bro and Aaron co-ran Kelly's campaign for City Council and let her cry into his shoulder when she lost, and he went to church with Daphne for a couple weeks because she knew her abusive ex-boyfriend was going to be there. 

Mom practically had a heart attack when she heard about the Church thing through the grapevine, which stunned Aaron to no end because, of all his siblings, he was the only one who actually followed up on his threat to get kicked out of Hebrew school. Organized religion has never been his thing, anyway. Two Sundays with Kelly sandwiching Daphne in the pews wasn’t going to change that.

Moreover, it’s not like Aaron's never leaned on the girls for help. Daphne called her second-cousin, the cardiologist, to give a third-opinion on Dad's diagnosis. Kelly let Aaron sleep on her couch for a month because she lived across the street from the hospital. They listened to him whine about his unrequited thing for Dean Winchester when everything else in his life was going to hell. Speaking of-

“So you know Dean pretty well?” Aaron asks casually.

Castiel freezes.

“You keep staring at him,” Aaron says.

“I -”

“Relax,” Aaron says as he leans back against the bar. “Been there.”

Castiel purses his lips. “Daphne did mention you were… involved.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” Aaron says, since Daphne could’ve been a lot more damning in her assessment. “We slept together a couple of times. I was feeling it - he wasn’t - and that was the end of that.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, looking relieved. He glances at Aaron out of the corner of his eye. “And do you still… like him?”

Aaron snorts. “I mean, we’re not in middle school. It’s a little more complicated.”

Castiel’s brows draw together in a forbidding frown.

“I was just gonna say,” Aaron supplies quickly, “do I still think he’s hot? Yes, I have eyes. Do I want to marry him and push my mother over the edge by marrying a guy and a goy? Not anymore.”

Castiel settles back down, and Aaron makes a mental note not to piss him off anytime soon. “A word of advice?” he says as he turns back around to grab their drinks, “Don’t insult his car - or Led Zeppelin - or his brother.”

Surprised, Castiel takes a moment before laughing. “Or pie.”

“No quicker way to get your name on Dean Winchester’s shit list,” Aaron agrees. He surveys Castiel again. “So you know him pretty well already?”

Castiel shrugs. “We went to high school together.”

“Kelly mentioned,” Aaron says. “What was he like?”

“Dean?”

“No, Gary Busey,” Aaron says, rolling his eyes, “of course Dean.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “Very similar to how he is now,” he says, which doesn’t tell Aaron much. “Charming. Caring. Intelligent in the strangest of ways.” Castiel pauses. “Handsome.”

“Yeah, that does sound like him,” Aaron agrees. He’s been on the receiving end of Dean’s charm offensive once or twice. It’s always left his head spinning.

Interrupting his train of thought, “Hey!” Dean calls shamelessly across the bar. “What are you two alte kakers up to?”

Aaron waves him off, unable to hide his smile at Dean’s casual Yiddish. He only picked up two or three words from Aaron, back when Aaron dove head-first into his ill-advised thing with Dean so he didn’t have to think about all the other shit going on in his life. “Here, grab the sides will you?” Aaron asks Castiel. “I think we’ve left Dean alone with them for long enough.”

Castiel dutifully picks up the mozzarella sticks and fries as Aaron double-checks his tray of glasses won’t topple over.

“Watch who you’re calling old men,” Aaron tells Dean as he sets the drinks down at their table.

“You were just gabbing up there,” Dean protests, reaching for his beer, “leaving these two lovely ladies with only little old me for company.”

Castiel snorts as Daphne rolls her eyes above the rim of her drink.

“Then you should’ve gone with yentas ,” Aaron says as he sits down.

“Like Barbra Streisand?” Dean eyes them both up and down. “Can’t say I see the resemblance.”

Aaron runs a hand down his face. “How do you know Barbra Streisand and not what yenta means?”

“Sammy made me watch it,” Dean says into his beer.

Aaron laughs. “Sure.”

“Hey, Castiel,” Daphne interrupts, “Dean was telling us the funniest story about you from way back-”

Castiel shoots Aaron a desperate look, but Aaron just grabs a mozzarella stick and settles in. Let the girls have their fun. 

* * *

“So, Castiel, are you seeing anyone?” Kelly asks after finishing her third whiskey sour. Nine months of sobriety/pregnancy had shot her tolerance to nothing. And, sure, Jack is almost four now, but Kelly still has a hard time knowing when to call it quits.

Whatever. She doesn’t regret the question. It’s been plaguing her and Daphne - and by extension Aaron because he had to listen to them - for a whole goddamn week.

Daphne’s eyes go wide.

Off to the side, Aaron slaps his hand to his forehead.

Dean turns to Castiel, his gaze piercing.

Castiel goes bright red. It’s a good color on him. Brings out the blue in his eyes. “I - well, that is to say - I am not - it’s complicated?” he fumbles.

Dean snorts as he picks up his beer to take a long pull.

Kelly frowns. “It’s complicated?” she repeats, disappointed. “How?”

“I am not comfortable discussing my personal life with colleagues,” Castiel says stiltedly.

Dean thumps him on the back. “Good move,” he says, “these three are the worst gossips in the school.”

“Hey!” Kelly protests automatically although Dean is, unfortunately, right. But it’s not her fault everyone else on staff at Edlund High doesn’t know how to have a good time.

Daphne knocks back her cosmo murderously.

Aaron shrugs.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Dean adds, “definitely has its uses. Just something for the newbie to know, right, Cas?”

“Of course,” Castiel says, sounding like he doesn’t know what exactly he’s agreeing to. 

What a cutie. Kelly grins as she leans in over the table. “You want to know which students are the worst?”

Dean frowns. “Come on, there’s no need to dunk on minors.”

“Who’s dunking?” Kelly asks innocently. “I was going to warn him about Max Banes.”

“Oh, yeah, you should know about him, Cas,” Dean says with a laugh. “Kid’s a horndog. Gives my libido a run for my money.”

Castiel blinks. “Does he… pursue teachers?”

Daphne pats his hand. “Not yet. These three think it’s only a matter of time.”

“Oh,” Cas says, “That was very frowned upon at Carver Preparatory.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “It’s frowned on here too, asshole. If he makes any… advances, just let Jody know. She and Donna - the guidance counselor - can handle it.”

“If I was going to put my psych degree to good use,” Daphne adds, “I would read into his lack of father figure. Their mom’s great, but Max doesn’t have a lot of male role models in his life.”

Kelly scowls.

Dean huffs into his beer. “Single parents have it rough, though.”

“Of course they do,” Daphne says with a significant look at Kelly. “Nobody’s saying they don’t.”

“I was raised by a single dad,” Dean protests, “and he raised me and my brother right.” He holds up a hand, and Castiel snaps his mouth shut before Kelly had even noticed it opening in the first place. “Don’t you start. I know you have thoughts about Dad, but that’s a conversation for another day.”

Kelly eyes them both curiously, but before she can ask, Aaron interrupts, “Did you guys hear about Krissy and Aidan? I think they are finally going to-”

“No way!” Daphne says, shaking her head. “She’s clueless. And he’s inept. The worst combination.”

“I believe in them,” Kelly announces. “What’d you hear, Aaron?”

As Aaron launches into the latest installment of their favorite will-they won’t-they senior couple, Kelly can finally appreciate the lazy smile Castiel wears as he settles in to listen. Maybe Aaron was right, and she and Daphne came on a little strong.

Whatever. No regrets. She wouldn’t trade that valuable intel from Castiel for anything. 

* * *

That was Kelly’s last night out for a solid month. Every other weekend, her usual babysitter called in sick or said she was busy. And usually Kelly would be happy to spend more time with her son, but come on. A month with no breaks? 

Christ, she’s such a bad mom.

Times like this don’t help.

“Jack?” Kelly calls, spinning around in the department store. Panic races through her veins. “Jack!”

She had turned her back for one minute to grab a set of towels from the highest shelf, and by the time she turned around, Jack was gone. She scans the surrounding racks of linens, her eyes peeled for any sign of Jack’s Spider-Man shirt. Heart beating erratically, she pushes her shopping cart back towards the bedding aisle - Jack had been enamored with a set of hideous, bright orange sheets, and Kelly had only gotten him away by bribing him with a piece of nougat.

“Jack!” she shouts again, going a bit red in the face as people turn to stare. 

“Kelly?” 

Shit. How could she miss Dean Winchester standing right in front of her?

“Dean!” Kelly greets, pasting on a fake smile as she cranes her neck around to scan the aisles behind him. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“It was recently brought to my attention I needed a bathmat,” Dean grumbles, “and a shower curtain that doesn’t have the Scooby Gang on it.”

Kelly laughs, a tad hysterically. “Probably. I - well, nice running into you. I need to go - my son’s wandered off, and I need to find him because I am not a terrible mother.”

But instead of standing to the side, Dean adopts a pained expression. “He’s four, right?”

Kelly blinks. “Yes.”

Dean jerks his head for Kelly to follow. “I think I know where he is,” Dean says griml

Bemused, Kelly pushes her cart after Dean, back to the display beds. Her eyes zero in on the orange eye-sore, currently occupied by a jumping toddler. A dark-haired man perches on one edge with his back to them, apparently trying to communicate with Kelly’s wayward son.

She all but sprints forward, nearly bumping her shopping cart into several bed frames. “Jack!” she says loudly, and Jack stops at once. 

“Mama!” he calls back delightedly.

“What are you doing?”

“Jumping.”

Kelly resists the urge to facepalm. “What did I tell you about wandering off? Or talking to stran-” She backtracks, finally focusing on the man. “Oh, hi, Castiel.”

“Hello, Kelly,” Castiel says, his deep voice sending a frisson down her spine like it always does.

“You know Mama?” Jack asks, looking from Kelly to Castiel and back again.

“We work together,” Castiel explains.

“This is Castiel,” Kelly introduces, and Jack wastes no time in chirping out, “Nice to meet you Castiel!’ 

Castiel sticks out his hand like he’s greeting the President instead of Kelly’s four-year-old son. “You as well, Jack.”

“What’re you doing here?” Kelly asks as Jack gives Castiel’s hand a theatrical shake. 

Castiel’s brow furrows. “Purchasing home goods?” He gets to his feet. “I was searching for a suitable bathmat when I found Jack.”

“A bathmat,” Kelly echoes, whirling in place to see a red-faced Dean a few paces away, apparently enthralled by a set of outrageously mundane pillows.

“Yes?” Castiel confirms, following her gaze and blushing furiously. “Ah, hello, Dean. I - I didn’t see you there?”

Dean throws his hands in the air, giving up on all pretenses. “You’re impossible,” he says to Castiel.

“You’re buying a bathmat together?” Kelly asks, confused.

“Dean doesn’t have one,” Castiel says promptly. 

“I didn’t need one until-” Dean closes his mouth with a snap.

Kelly stares at the pair of them. “Do you two live together?” she demands.

Castiel opens his mouth, but no words come out.

Kelly turns to Dean, who is rapidly scanning for the exits.

“Are you the ‘it’s complicated’?” she asks curiously, only looking away as Jack pats her knee determinedly, his face hopeful.

“Up?” he asks.

Kelly sighs and hefts him into her arms. “You’re getting too big for this.”

“Am not,” Jack mumbles into her shoulder.

Kelly presses a kiss to his forehead and turns back to Castiel and Dean, who look more like two students caught passing notes than fully grown men. “Well?”

Dean shares a loaded glance with Castiel, and Kelly has no idea how she missed the whole couple thing. Eventually, he says, “After two f-” he glances at Jack, “-friggin’ years, he finally got sick of cold feet in my bathroom.”

“Two years,” Kelly gapes.

Castiel sighs. “Three.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t start sleeping over at-”

“Dean,” Castiel interrupts in a growl.

Dean rubs the back of his neck. He coughs. “Anyway,” he says, “Yes, we’re dating. No, it’s not really that complicated. Cas just doesn’t like to talk about it at work.”

“Hm,” Kelly says neutrally.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t spread it around,” Castiel says as Dean snorts derisively.

“Hey,” Kelly says, defensive, “I can do that.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “You can?”

“Sure, if you ask, Jesus,” Kelly says, rolling her eyes. “I’m not a monster.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says gratefully.

Kelly grins. “But if I can’t spread it around, Daphne’s still going to go after him like he’s a prize heifer at a state fair.”

Castiel squints at her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “She was pursuing me?” 

Dean guffaws. “Don’t ever change, man.” He claps him on the back while turning back to Kelly. “We can handle Daphne. Don’t worry.”

“Whatever, boys,” Kelly says as she pushes her cart back towards the linens, “it’s your funeral.” She hefts Jack higher in her arms. “Say goodbye to Dean and Castiel, Jack.” As Jack waves goodbye, she calls, “See you Monday!”

Sure, she’s a little disappointed Castiel is clearly off the dating market. But, bonus, she has blackmail material on not one, but two Edlund faculty members, and possibly a pinch-hitter babysitter waiting to happen. Not bad for a shopping trip with a four-year-old in tow.

* * *

Donna’s surprise party at Fizzle’s Folly is well underway by the time Aaron extricates himself from a lively discussion with his Head of Department and Rowena MacLeod, Edlund's chemistry teacher. Aaron will never, ever miss an opportunity to talk to a drunk Eleanor Visyak, and Rowena turned out to be surprisingly knowledgeable about 17th century English politics.

Still, he’s taken all the history talk he can stand, especially after teaching it for four hours to a bunch of high schoolers with varying degrees of interest. 

He finds Daphne in one of the far booths, tucked away with Castiel and Dean, surprise, surprise. After snagging another beer at the bar, he slides in next to Daphne. “What’s up?” he asks the three of them.

“Hey,” Dean greets with a toast of his glass.

“Hello, Aaron.”

“Budge up, you’re taking like three quarters of the seat,” Daphne complains.

“Daph was just telling us about her plans to do a joint project between GSA and the Amnesty International club,” Dean says. “Cas says he’ll come to GSA next week.”

“Yeah?” Aaron asks as Castiel nods in confirmation. “That’s great! I’d go check it out, but the Debate club meets at the same time.”

Castiel frowns. “Maybe I should run a club? Daphne has Amnesty International, Dean runs GSA, and you have Debate.”

“You can always ask Jody about forming a new one in January,” Aaron says. “Honestly, the hardest part’ll be finding a time to meet. Don’t go for afterschool Thursdays, or Benny will kick your ass.”

“Why?”

“He has his cooking club,” Dean says with a grin. “And, like, half the student body goes. I sometimes go and help out too, if he needs extra hands.”

“You’ll go if he’s making pie,” Aaron corrects.

“It’s for the kids!” Dean protests over Castiel’s chuckles. “Benny’s got a lot of skills, but he has a lot to learn when it comes to pie. The kids need to know how to make a good pie.”

“If only to feed you later,” Aaron mutters.

“You’ll also want to avoid Tuesdays afterschool,” Daphne tells Castiel. “Jo’s self-defense club meets then, and it’s also got a large following.”

“Yeah, all the girls who wanna be like Jo sign up, and all the boys who want to see Jo all sweaty show up with semis,” Dean says with a shudder of revulsion.

Aaron kicks him under the table. “That’s sexist. How are you forgetting all the lesbians?”

“Ah, yes, can’t forget the lesbians,” Dean agrees sagely.

“Does this school have Model UN?” Castiel asks. “I was looking to set up a chapter at Carver before I switched positions.”

“No, we don’t,” Daphne says eagerly. “That’s an excellent idea.”

Dean drains the dregs of his beer. “I’m gonna get another, Cas? Daph? A-Game?”

Aaron rolls his eyes at the nickname. “I’m good,” he says, holding up his three-quarters full glass.

“Another cosmo, please?” Daphne asks.

“Sure.” Dean salutes.

“I’ll go with you,” Castiel says as Daphne’s face falls. “I need to stretch my legs.”

They leave, heads already bent together to hear each other over the dull roar of the party. “They seem close,” Aaron says, jerking his head.

Daphne sighs. “Yeah, they do,” she says morosely. She twirls her empty glass between her fingers. “Kelly’s given up on him. I think you might be right - he definitely has a thing for Dean.”

Aaron sips his beer. “I don’t blame him.”

“Of course you don’t,” Daphne says with a small grin, lightly kicking him under the table.

Before Aaron can think of anything else to say, Kelly appears over Daphne’s shoulder, her face flushed as it always gets when she drinks too much red wine. She slides into the side of the booth vacated by Dean and Castiel. “Some party, right? Did you see Garth doing shots?”

“No,” Daphne says, nose wrinkling. “And I don’t want to. I’ll stay here, out of the splash zone, thanks.”

Kelly giggles. “Why d’you think I’m over here instead of egging him on like Jo and Charlie.”

By the time Aaron finishes off the rest of his beer, Daphne’s still one cosmo short, and it’s been at least twenty minutes since he saw Dean and Castiel.

“Hey, I’ll go check up on that drink you’re waiting for,” Aaron says, getting to his feet.

“You sure?” Daphne asks, blinking hazily up at him. And okay, it’s probably good she had a breather between rounds.

“Yeah,” Aaron says, jerking his head towards the bar. “I need to piss anyway.”

“Gross,” Daphne says, nose wrinkling.

Kelly giggles, “If you think a little pee is gross, you don’t want to hear what Jack got up to with-”

Daphne actually places both hands over her ears and goes, “Na, na, na.”

Aaron leaves the pair of them laughing, with Kelly trying to pry Daphne’s hands away and Daphne getting louder with each tug.

He makes his way through the thinning crowd, waving to Eleanor when he spots her getting ready to leave and nodding to Charlie as she adjusts the empty shot glasses in front of her, Jo, and an impossibly red-faced Garth.

Aaron slides between the thinning crowd to duck out into the hallway leading to the bathrooms. As he gets closer to the men’s room, he slows. There are sounds coming from behind the door. Not like the pained bathroom sounds like Great Aunt Rachel gets after too much dairy. Porn sounds.

Aaron, torn between finding out who’s getting down and dirty at Donna’s surprise party, and getting Kelly and Daphne so they can witness the big reveal with him, is still rooted to the spot as the door bursts open and Castiel and Dean stumble out.

Cas’s hair is a bird’s nest of bedhead that would probably drop Daphne’s panties in a heartbeat. Dean’s cheeks are flushed, and Aaron definitely recognizes his immediate post-orgasm face.

“Fuck,” Dean swears as he finds his footing. He stares at Aaron, and Aaron stares right back.

“Aaron,” Castiel says breathlessly, temporarily drawing his attention. “You’re… here.”

“I had to pee,” Aaron says lamely.

“Oh, well, it’s all yours then,” Dean says, blushing to the roots of his hair as he gestures to the now available men’s room.

“Fuck no.” Aaron automatically recoils. There’s no way he’s touching any surface in that bathroom until it’s been scrubbed and bleached. He has some goddamn standards. He’d rather pee in the alley out back.

They linger awkwardly until Aaron speaks. He eyes the pair of them, his gaze ping-ponging back and forth. “So… you two are finally together?”

“Finally?” Dean echoes.

“Uh yeah,” Aaron says, confused. “Castiel clearly has a huge thing for you. Not to spill the beans or anything.”

A beat.

Dean cracks up.

Aaron, almost offended on Castiel’s behalf, opens his mouth as he catches sight of Castiel’s face, lips pressed tight together like he’s trying not to laugh. “You knew?”

Castiel slowly shakes his head as Dean leans on him for support, gasping for air. “Oh my god, Cas, that’s fucking embarrassing. D’you have a crush on me?”

“Shut up, Dean,” Castiel grumbles, shoving him off. To Aaron he says, “We’ve been dating for three years. He’s known about my feelings for a while now.”

“Oh,” Aaron says, drawing the syllable out as Dean composes himself.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean says, wiping at his eyes, “I thought I was going to give it all away, but turns out you’re just as obvious as you were in high school.”

Castiel sighs. “We were trying to not spread our relationship around.”

“Cas wanted to get settled in before people started saying he was my trophy husband,” Dean says with a wink.

Horror seizes Aaron. “You’re not married, are you?” he blurts. He glances down at their hands - no rings - and he would never forgive himself for missing something that obvious.

“No,” Castiel shakes his head, “we are only dating for now.”

“Not yet.”

Castiel turns to Dean in surprise, and Aaron really doesn’t need to be here for that conversation. “Oh-kay,” he says, sidling around them, “I still gotta,” he jerks his head towards the men’s room. 

“Right!” Dean says, grinning. “We should get back to the party. Say hi to Donna.”

Aaron makes his exit, sighing in relief as the door closes behind him. He should be fine if he doesn’t touch anything. Or look at any shiny surfaces too closely. Once upon a time, he lived with a dozen Alpha Epsilon Pi brothers. He can do this.

* * *

Daphne has had it up to here with her juniors. Yes, Homecoming is this weekend. No, their essays aren’t due until next week, but that doesn’t excuse their behavior this Friday afternoon. Nobody wants to be in class at a quarter to three. High school juniors don’t. Daphne sure as hell doesn’t. They can’t cut her a little slack?

When the bell finally rings, Daphne sighs in relief. She dismisses her class with a terse, “Aufiderzein.”

She gathers her files together, grumbling to herself about stupid staff meetings on Friday. It’s like Jody wants them to surreptitiously play games on their phones and text each other when she’s looking the other way or yelling at Rowena for blowing up the Chemistry Lab again. 

At least Benny always brings snacks from Thursday’s Cooking Club. 

Daphne glances at her watch. Jody gives them a half-hour to get their affairs in order, but Daphne doesn’t mind staking out her seat in the Teachers Lounge early. She can save spots for Kelly and Aaron and stake out the precious few non-wobbly chairs.

She stops by the Language Office, pleasantly surprised to find it empty. No Dean, Kelly, or Castiel in sight. Daphne quickly gathers her freshmen pop quizzes to grade this weekend and her copy of Die Verwandlung.

She rounds the final corner before the Teachers Lounge and stops dead. Because Aaron and Kelly are hovering outside the door and spying through the slim glass pane. Without her.

“What’s going on?” Daphne asks curiously.

“Ah!” Kelly whirls around, clutching her heart.

“Daphne!” Aaron says loudly. “What’re you doing here?”

“Saving us a seat for the meeting?” Daphne says, crossing her arms over her chest. “Like I do every month?”

Aaron and Kelly share a loaded look. Aaron is the first one to speak, “I think we’re good this time.”

“Why?” Daphne asks, stepping closer. She frowns as Kelly and Aaron automatically stand shoulder-to-shoulder, blocking her view of the narrow window.

“Students are in there,” Aaron blurts.

“Puking,” Kelly adds.

Daphne doesn’t believe them for a second. “And you’re just standing there watching it happen?”

“Schadenfreude?” Aaron tries. “It’s the mean ones. You know. The kids we don't like.”

Daphne rolls her eyes, pushing them aside and standing on her tiptoes to see.

“We tried,” Aaron grumbles to her right.

“They can’t fault us for that,” Kelly says to her left.

At first, it looks like the Teachers Lounge is empty. Most seats are unoccupied, and nobody’s loitering by the coffee machine. One of the tables is strewn with three mostly-empty mini pie tins. Cherry, by the color. Movement catches her eye, and, woah how did she miss that?

“No way,” she breathes, glancing at Aaron and Kelly for confirmation.

Aaron scuffing his shoes against the floor, nods sheepishly.

“They made me promise not to tell,” Kelly says ruefully, lips pursing. 

“Dean and Castiel?” Daphne gasps, squinting to better see Edlund High’s newest hire and favorite English teacher (no offense, Kelly) getting at it on the lumpy couch in the back that no one sat on because of this very reason.

She rounds on them. “You knew?” she hisses.

Kelly huffs an impatient sigh, blowing a few brown strands of hair out of her face. “I ran into them shopping together a few weeks ago.”

Aaron grimaces. “I nearly walked in on them having sex in the bathroom at Donna’s surprise party last weekend.”

Daphne blinks at the pair of them, hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Kelly opens her mouth but no words come out.

“This is the first guy since Mark you showed an interest in,” Aaron rushes to say.

“We didn’t want to ruin it,” Kelly says.

Daphne’s eyes narrow. “And you didn’t think the fact that he’s clearly taken would ruin it?”

“I don’t know,” Kelly says, throwing her hands in the hair. “Sue us, we liked seeing you happy for however long it lasted!”

Daphne softens. 

“We thought,” Aaron says, glancing at Kelly for support, “You were getting over Castiel, anyway.”

A small, petty part of Daphne is tempted to deny it as punishment for keeping this from her. But mostly she’s relieved. “Yeah, mostly,” she mutters.

“So… we good?” Aaron tries.

Kelly loops her arm around her in a one-armed hug. “Of course we are.”

Daphne rolls her eyes. “Of course,” she echoes as Aaron pats her on the back, a wide grin spreading over his face. And, yeah, this is why she has the two best friends on Earth.

“What are you three up to?” 

The smile slides off Kelly’s face. “Jody!” she says, spinning around to meet their Principal, holding a paper cup of coffee, and trailed by what looks like half the Edlund High teachers.

Oh shit.

Aaron not-so-accidentally knocks his elbow, loudly, into the door as he turns to face Jody et al. “We didn’t see you there,” he says conversationally.

“Hm,” Jody hums as she reaches past them for the doorknob. “Meeting’s going to start in ten.”

“Can we make it fifteen?” Aaron asks desperately, shuffling to the side so he better blocks the way in.

Jody shakes her head, throwing him a bemused look. “I’m pretty sure everyone wants this started with and over as soon as possible.”

“If you need to urinate, Bass, do it now,” Rowena sniffs.

“I don’t-” Aaron starts, breaking off as Jody finally opens the door. 

She stops dead in her tracks.

“Jody!” Dean’s voice carries through the doorway, uncharacteristically high. “’S it time for the meeting already?”

Jo elbows her way to the front. “Goddammit,” she says, sounding completely unsurprised as she stands next to Jody. “Really, guys?”

The rest of the staff curiously filter in.

Behind Daphne, Benny surreptitiously slides Charlie a few bills, muttering, “I told them this was stupid.”

Charlie laughs. “But you still thought they’d last until Homecoming.”

“What can I say,” Benny says, shrugging, “I’m an optimist. And I was so close.”

Daphne meets Charlie’s eyes, asking in a low voice, “Did everyone know?”

Charlie see-saws her hand back and forth as they take their seats. “About half,” she says, glancing behind them to where Dean and Castiel are attempting to make themselves presentable. “Turns out, they’re really bad at keeping the whole ‘Destiel’ thing under wraps. It’s adorable they thought they could try.”

Daphne looks too, and there’s no mistaking what Dean and Castiel were doing. Their lips are swollen from kissing, and, weirdly, Castiel’s tie faces the right way. Daphne snorts. Probably because he didn’t tie it himself, for once.

Jody clears her throat. “Alright, settle down, guys,” she says with a sharp glare in Dean and Castiel’s direction. “As you all know, Homecoming is next weekend-”

* * *

Jody pinches the bridge of her nose. “Okay, that’s all that was on my agenda for today’s meeting-” she waits for the cheers to die down “but, Dean and Castiel, can you stay for a sec?”

Castiel visibly swallows.

Dean scowls.

Jody waits for the rest of the staff to leave.

Nobody moves a muscle.

“Jesus Christ,” Jody swears under her breath. She’s managing children. Horrible, gossipy children. “Okay, I guess everyone could use a refresher.” She clears her throat. “PDA is strictly discouraged among faculty. It’s in the goddamn handbook, people.”

“Really, Jody?” Dean complains.

“I’m not saying you can’t be in a relationship,” Jody says with a sharp look. “Just don’t… advertise it.”

“You got something against two dudes making out?” Dean demands, half-getting up from his seat.

“Of course not, you ass,” Jody says in a long-suffering voice, “I do have something against teenagers making out in every hallway and empty classroom, which they will if they see their two favorite teachers doing it.” She shakes her head. “If you want to hold hands or take an ad out in the school paper, be my guest.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Castiel says hesitantly, wasting no time in reaching for Dean’s hand.

“Plus,” Jody says loftily, “I’ve been dating Donna for six months, and you don’t see me dragging her into supply closets, do you?” And into the stunned silence, Jody stands up to leave.

There are various cries of, “Donna?”

Donna throws her hands in the air as Kelly, Daphne, and Aaron converge on her like piranhas tasting blood in the water. “Jeez Louise,” Donna grumbles, “a little warning wouldn’t kill ya, would it Jody-o?”

“Probaby,” Jody says, giving them all a jaunty salute. “Enjoy your weekends, everyone!”

[noythe]

Burial

First of all, HO BOY. I didn’t know I was capable of writing anymore. Mental Health is so damn important if you want to create. Don’t let anyone tell you something different. Second. This is literally a fanfic to a fanfic. Cause I am dumb. Or in love with the setting. And my mind drifted of during work and I just had to write it down. My writing is FAR from as good as the goddess @the-darklings​ , so this entire thing feels more like me. But I had to write it down. In one go. Cause we die like men. Ehem. Yeah. This a little OS to the Children of Ares fanfiction, playing the Universe of John Wick. Check the original out and take your time for that. It’s worth it. Every word of it. Warnings: Angst? Blood, Violence. The bad stuff, you know.

Words: 3428 ( HOLY SHIT. IT’S BEEN SO LONG THAT I WROTE MORE THAN 5!!! Words AT ONCE)

What do you want from me? Why don't you run from me?

Dirty streets and abandoned buildungs, the scent of grilled chicken and some pastry in the air.

It wasn't vacation. And most importantly it wasn't safe.

The place you were heading to was not the Continental. It would take days to reach it. Even if you knew that Santino wouldn't be far. Rather under the protective wing of the Camorra, like he always insists worldess and yet you never gave in.

What are you wondering?

No, your goal was different and much less known. An old abandoned hospital somewhere in the italian lands, far off from anyone who could know your name or face. Besides those who were living inside.

A few you had saved – somehow – and others.. were spies, dealing.. Whatever you requiered at that moment. Loyalty was a rare thing, but it could be found in the darkest places.

What do you know?

You took easy steps, a simple coat and set of clothes, bulletproof anyway. Afterall you still were searched for. And you needed time to breathe. Time to fix this. Time to keep Santino and John out of this. At this rate you were pretty sure both would take a bullet for you – which was the least thing you liked. An old set of headphones was helping to make you look like a harmless stranger, a beanie on top of your head and a belt with more options to kill an army than some could imagine. There was no room for a gun, neither for the full inventory of poison. But it would work in case it was requiered.

With a heavy thud your boots came to an halt in front of the ruin. A few dim lights were burning in the cracked windows and you frowned, dusk was just aproaching with eagerness, some street lights were flaring with a buzz as they tried to lighten up the main street around the corner.

Perhaps you could just stay here for a few days, maybe weeks. Recover, think. Be for yourself without any pressure. Without the presence of anyone who clouded your mind over and over again. It was hard enough. And no one seemed yet to understand what their words meant. Either crushing you down with their weight or lifting to you heights you never thought you could reach.

The steps on the stairs were well taken care off, yet the sound of rotten wood or dust was heavy in the air. The building was huge but not as haunting like your first visit. You had been on the run then and somehow you were on the run once more. But times had changed, You had changed. Now you were known, feared and hunted.

Vipress.

Even with all your training and experience, you were glad to have reached one of the upper floors and give your legs a rest. The room you stopped in was locked, only your key was fitting.

A soft click and the security door opened, giving way for a rather comfortable but simple room. A bed, a safe, chair and table. The most necessary things that sometimes felt like you had no right to own them.

Why aren't you scared of me? Why do you care for me?

Shrugging of your coat you walk over to the window, absently playing with the ring under your short, pulling at the chain now and then.

Somehow those two idiots didn't ever leave your side, did they?

It was dark outside, the street seemed empty for now. Rats you surely would find, looking for food or rotten bodies.. But there was none.

With a frown you decide to let go of the ring and leaned your forehead at the cold glass, the sight in front of you getting dark as your forced your eyes to close.

A even heartbeat was unable to help you calm down.

Perhaps some sleep would do.

The mattress wasn't comfortable. The blanket cold and dusty. But for today it had to do. Tomorrow you might be able to see a few of the Stray's how you remembered to call them. You needed information, tools. A plan. But now.. Now you just wanted to have some good rest. Perhaps with nightmares, perhaps with the pain of the past. You had too much going on. Too much that needed to be solved to save your skin. You couldn't just shed it as some assumed. But you could bite. And you always clawed yourself a way out.

When we all fall asleep...,

It was rather restless sleep. You barely could remember some good old rest, without waking up sweaty and hitching breath. Sometimes it was too much. Unlike today. You were scared, worried. Perhaps overwhelmed with emotion. That was something you simply had no time for. They still tried to kill you.

You stared up to the ceiling of the room, pretending to see a map to follow. Where to go next.

Thoughts came and left, now and then a few steps echoed through the hallway but never someone stepped at your door. A small little haven.. even if just for this while. A saddening thought.. Your aching muscles were asking for attention anyway and you started to think about something else. Wounds. Medical help. Rubbing your shoulder you flinched at the still sore spot and gritted your teeth. With your lifestyle it might take a few centuries to ever fully heal. It had been good for a while..

„Okay brain. What about some sleep, huh?“, talking to yourself wasn't that rare. Keeping a cool head, focus. Count. That much for relaxing.

Pulling one of your throwing knives out of the belt hanging on the bedframe, you start to turn it around in your hand, over and over again, watching the reflection whenever it got hit by ray of light. Ever so restless.. Hours passed but at least you finally fell into a light but recovering slumber. Something you deserved. Like peace. Or that piece of cake you had seen three weeks ago.

...where do we go?

A hissing noise errupted your sleep. Sitting up on the bed in a breath your mind worked slower than you needed right now.

Your skin felt odd, your ears like they were stuffed. What in hell..

It was your instinct that made you roll to face the wall and cover your head, curled up like a child as the first wave of heat hit. You heard the shattering sound of glass, the rubbish from tiles and walls hitting the ground. Something sounded like it was breaking.

Get up. Get up.

You rolled down the bed, going for your belt to strap it back in place, but you were too late.

You didn't even manage to grab your stuff, just went for the door and ran for your life. Jumping out of the window? No option. You would most likely break every bone in your body. Chances of survival far too low.

More stuff was blowing up in the distance. More and more. The time between each explosion always about the same time. This.. this had been planned. Just your hell bit of luck? No. You didn't believe that anymore.

Today, I'm thinkin' about the things that are deadly.

It was impossible to walk in a straight line. Whenever you thought you reached a hallway that lead to the emergency exit – it was either burning or broken. Or both.

People were running, people were screaming.

You couldn't even pinpoit the location of the next explosion. They seemed random but effective. The entire building was shaking. And the flying parts set rooms on fire. This was just a low hideout.. That made no sense.

Run.. Get to lower ground. If you made it down two or three levels.. You could risk to jump out of the next best window if there wasn't another chance.

Run. Run! Too bad you had no use for the layout of this place anymore. Dead-End. Shit. Turning around you looked for cover in the room to your left,  A small window to look outside. The park of the hospital was already painted orange by embers and flames, smoke forcing it's way through windows and creaks, through holes and doors. You could see people run through flames, bodies burning and shrinking down as they gave up. Dying, burned alive. Perhaps suffocated by the smoke before that..

It was only a faint second, then the building was shaking again – the wall to your right bursting into million pieces, the pressure forcing you against the wall.

Aching pain marked your temple, the rubbish buried in your skin and dust forced a cough out of your lungs.

Screams continued as you regained your focus slowly, having a look at the hole that explosion left on the floor. You could see the room beneath. Burning.. But still safer than this one up here.

Someone at the room next door decided to jump through the glass, while you took a deep breath, pulling up your shirt a little to cover up your nose and let yourself fall down to the next room.

Smoke was already heavy. There was little choice but to keep yourself low. Smoke would always find a way up. Everything seemed to be burning, still the building was errupted by explosions. Why didn't it stop? Who would cause this? And why now?

Bury a friend,

It was war. War to get outside. War to remain conscious or able to walk.

You were so tired. Tired of running, tired of surviving.

And yet you had reasons to move on. There was no other choice. Either John or Santino would kill you if you stopped right now.

After all you were the one who left without a word.. For their own safety. Now that you thought of it, it might have been a little foolish. But honestly? Was it the first time you did something you.. rather wouldn't have to do?

Thinking about this kept you sane.

You stepped over broken bodies, some were reaching out for your feet as you passed them. But you just kept moving on. You couldn't save them all. Not this time. You had to save yourself. You had to survive.

Your shoe got stuck on something and you looked back through the darkness, noticing the small shoulder that was buried beneath the missing wall from the room beside you. Someone might say that killing would change people at some point. It did. But it never made it harmless to see children die. Innocent. It could've been you. You so long ago.

That it had been a mistake to stop, would pay of right away. Not even the lump in your throat could be swallowed as something rained down your spine. The floor above you was giving in. And there was little space to dodge. Kicking and rolling and pushing you tried to get out of the way. Burning pieces of something crashed down and all you could do was to hurry. Pray that you were faster than whatever was coming down. This was a nightmare.

You missed death by a hair as you turned around to press yourself flat against the next wall, holding your breath to not cause any disturbance or extra weight to the wall you were leaning on.

What if this was happening because of you? But if was impossible. No one could possibly know about it. Maybe just coincidence.

The police didn't try to blow this place up. This was bullshit.

You needed fresh air. And you needed it badly. Your eyes were burning, your lungs aching already.

If you would pass out..you wouldn't make it. You would die. Just like everybody else here.

Try to wake up.

Groaning you made your way further down. Bulletproof clothing didn't protect against flames. Maybe you should ask for something that was heat resistant next time..

A dry chuckle left your chapped lips and threw yourself against the next door. Trying to open this exit that got you trapped inside for now. It didn't even move.

Well planned explosions.. To weaken the structure of the building. Panic. Fire. People that would kill for survival.. locked emergency exits.

Reaching for your phone you hoped to reach someone. Santi had been your last call that would wo-

Whatever was your phone before, was nothing but rubbish now. Cursing you threw it into the next best flame and moved on once more. Options were running low.

But if you just knew.

If you just knew that familiar eyes were watching the building from afar in blank terror. If you just knew that phone calls were made.

If you just knew that hell was being unleashed.

You couldn't move on. Your legs did no longer carry your and your lungs asked for oxygen. But all they got was smoke. No antidot you had with you could help – if the vials were still intact, that was.

Coughing you sat down in a hallway, lowering your rate of breaths as good as possible to win some time.

Always on the run..

Your head swayed to the side and you tried to focus on something in front of you, the  blood on your face not as dominant as the ashe that coated your skin now. The pain was even getting less.. Or you just were getting numb.

I wanna end me. I wanna, I wanna, I wanna end me.

Everything seemed to happen so slowly. As if it was wrapped in cotton candy, just like you.

More and more from the buildung was collapsing. Pulling more into the hungry flames that licked your boots and skin already.

If there was at least time to look at the damage and figure out how to fix yourself and this situation.

Dying here wasn't a great option either.

You didn't know where that strength came. Or who pulled you up and through the hallway. It just happened and you were allowed to witness it. A woman. About your age, you later noticed.

She was speaking to you, you could see her lips move, her hands searching you for wounds. But you heard no longer. All was..quiet.

Focus on her lips. Read them. Focus. Focus. Foc-

She gently tapped your face a few times and held your in a steady grip, repeating something over and over again.

You didn't even notice that you nodded, but she pulled you up once more. And you walked. Walked through death and flames.

It felt like eternity. But all that happened, passed in so little time that your brain couldn't really catch up with it.

You crashed against the womans back as she stopped and she pulled you into another direction, your legs aching as they were forced to move on.

You weren't the Vipress right now. You were a suvivor as long as you weren't dead.

Black dots were sprinkling your sight, sometimes you saw a flash of white as you turned your head and it all spinned. Deeper..deeper.. Pass flames and death.

Pass it all and leave it behind. Fall into darkness and embrace it.

Honestly, I thought that I would be dead by now.

The last time you remembered something to happen, you were somewhere under the earth. Buried alive.

You had survived for so long by now. Tricked and killed, escaped and lived on. Day after day. It always could have been your last. You always managed to slip through. Always found a way. This time it was someone else who pushed you through. But did you notice?

You just went through something that was hell on earth. The building had collapsed entirely. Flames had eaten everything away. And survivors? Impossible.

So you were most likely in your own underworld, stuck in darkness.

Someone forced water into your mouth and you started to fight, it felt as you were drowning once more No. No. NO! . Fight for your life as you didn't want to be brought back, back to another hell. Your hand connected with skin, your eyes meeting a terrified shade of green that belonged to that woman from before. Her neck was so thin.. So thin. The skin broke so fast. It broke so easy. Your knife never missing a mark. Never would you go back into that hell. Never. Never.. Never.

Maybe you should be sorry.

For the debt I owe, gotta sell my soul.

Time didn't mean a lot in darkness and smoke. The plastic bottle with water was empty beside you, two puddles of blood already dry as you moved your head around a little.

Was she alive? Did you kill her by accident?

You couldn't see her breathe. But it was too dark to see much anyway.

Fuck this..

'Cause I can't say no, no, I can't say no.

Besides a ringing in your ear, there was not much you could hear, but you forced yourself to get up anyway. Deaf. Great. Fantastic. Couldn’t get much worse.

Everything was hurting. Skin was burned and cut. Something probably broken or..just not in place anymore.

But as long as you couldn't get any clear thoughts you couldn't figure that out. Right now everything that mattered was.. to get out. Find a bit of strength. Somewhere.

Then my limbs all froze and my eyes won't close.

It took you an eternity to figure out that you weren't underneath the earth. You really had been buried alive the building. Hard to tell with all that darkness around you. But now and then.. There was light. And light was hope.

Clawing your way outside, only driven by the will to survive, to fix this, you found loose rocks and pulled and pushed. You kicked and you screamed, your body calling once more to give up and rest. You couldn't. You should be dead. There was no way you were alive. It was your imagination. The..after.. Was there such crap? Sure. You didn't expect heavenly choirs and silver gates.. But this did look like shit, even for hell.

And I can't say no, I can't say no.

There was a lot that still needed to be fixed. And you wished that you had more time.

Maybe even a chance for a normal life. As foolish was this thought was. But some could dream, right?

You no longer had to run. Your journey was over.

A last push and you gasped for air, nearly choking on it as it filled your lungs. You didn't have to see a doctor to know that you were suffering from smoke intoxication and most likely would die from that. If not the bleeding or lack of water. Your hands were bleeding, nails chipped. Dirt and blood everywhere. Help. You needed help.

What do you want from me? Why don't you run from me?

Turning on your back you watched the sky.

It looked..lovely. The aftermath of the fire, you assumed. Or the dawn. You couldn't tell. A few faint stars.. At least a nice last view.

Your shaking arm reached up, trying to grab a handful of the little suns.. But as it sank back lifeless your palm was empty, safe for the blood that had collected. Dry and fresh alike.

What an odd price to pay for..freedom. But sooner or later, it would have happened anyway. There was no other way out.

Yes. Perhaps you were sorry for all the things left unsaid. But they surely would forgive you at some point. If they ever..ever would know. Not exactly heroic. The great Vipress.. died because she didn’t manage to escape a collapsing building in time. You were smart. But also just..human.

What are you wondering? What do you know?

Frantic was the search, the signal lost. But hope? Hope did exist. It never truly faded.

Sometimes all that was left was a signal, a chain.

Perhaps a ring. A trail of blood. Tracks that could be followed. Marks so clear and yet hard to read.

There were people that knew you. Knew you better than anyone else. Those who had your trust. Those you trusted. Who would unleash hell if that meant to keep you safe, who wanted to run with you from this life.

If you would have accepted. All those doors, open.

News could spread like fire and unleash something worse than hell.

Why aren't you scared of me?

„That's impossible.“

Why do you care for me?

„Dio mio!“

When we all fall asleep,

„ She’s alive.”

 where do we go?

[kaspbrak-tozier-reddie]

Prompt list 30 with bill? Maybe someone (richie or stan) said that abt his stutter in the middle of a fight sorta angst?

30. “Oh my gosh, you’re so annoying!”

Prompt List

———————————————————————

At the inn, 6 Losers were sitting around continuing on with their reunion. Eddie, Bev and Richie snuggled against each other on the couch while the others stood around.

Bill was talking to Mike on the many ways they could potentially kill IT. Ben was talking to Richie and Eddie and Beverly were complaining about their spouses.

Bang!

The sound of a door being thrown against a wall made all the Losers jump. Mike was ready to use an empty whiskey bottle as a weapon but in walked Stanley.

“Sorry I’m late. I was um, I didn’t want to come but I figured that I’d be killed if I didn’t.” Stan explained.

“Good to see you, Stan the Man,” piped Richie being the first to engulf the thin shaken man in a hug.

“You too Richie.” Stan whispered as he returned the comforting hug.

The group of friends caught up with Stan, telling him what they’ve been up to and them learning that Stan was happily married and that she was a teacher and he was an accountant.

All of his doubts and fears went away and was comforted by his old friends. Just like he was when they were kids.

Not once did any of them hammer him on not wanting to come. They knew what happened down in the sewers 27 years ago. If there was going to be one person that didn’t show up, it was Stan and everyone understood if he didn’t.

****

At the Neibolt house, the following day, Eddie and Stan tried to keep each other safe and siking themselves up. As much as they waned to believe that they could face the clown again, they didn’t want to die. Stan loved his wife and his job, he didn’t want to lose that.

Eddie on the other hand, wanted to file for divorce papers so he didn’t have to put up with Myra and tell Richie how he truly felts.

The two walked side by side into the house, Eddie took a shaky breath but continued forward. Stan on the other hand, stopped dead in his tracks.

He had not gone into this place voluntarily, the first time he went in was because Eddie, Richie and Bill were attacked. The second time he was forced in because of Bill wanting to kill the clown. Now he walked in voluntarily and his fear rose.

Everything came back.

****

As they dropped down into Pennywise’s lair, in the heart of the sewers. Eddie freaked out, which inevitably made Stan panic.

If Eddie can’t, then I can’t, Stan thought.

He watched as Richie stopped him, “You’re braver than you think, Eds.” Richie said.

“You too Stan. You both can do this.” Beverly said. Stan gave her a weak half smile and forced himself through the hole in the floor.

It was just as dark, cold and wet as he remembered. He held the flashlight up in front of him and slowly followed Ben and Mike into the lair. Squeezing through two rocks, he hauled himself with the help of Richie.

But the fear caught back up with him. “I’m sorry guys but I can’t do this.” Stan panicked.

“F-f-for gods s-s-s -” Bill paused. “For. Gods. Sake. Stan.”

“What Bill? Say what you have to say to me then I’m leaving!”

“Y-y-you l-leave, y-y-ou will d-die. I-It’s the w-ay that IT w-works.”

Stan refused to believe that. He refused to accept the fact that if he left Derry he’d be killed by IT ... somehow.

So he was still going to leave, he’ll just stay put in the shitty, asbestos ridden inn.

“Oh my gosh! You’re so annoying!” Stan yelled. Knowing that he’d gone too far but he didn’t care. He wasn’t hoing to put himself in harms way and for what? So a psychopathic clown could potentially kill him? No!

“Stan.” Richie warned.

“No Richard. I just shouldn’t have come. This was a fucking mistake. Hope you kill IT.”

With that Stan left Neibolt and stayed at the inn waiting for the Losers return but they never did. When he checked himself out a day later, he saw that their cars were gone, all except Eddie’s.

****

As they all watched Stan leave, Bill was almost in tears. His stutter was something that he was ashamed of and was insecure about. Stan knew that, yet he still said those 3 words.

“Bill, let’s kill this motherfucking clown.” Richie bellowed.

“We don’t need him Bill.” Mike said placing a hand on Bill’s shoulder.

“Ignore him Bill, he’s in fear and pissed off. He probably didn’t mean it. Forget about him. We’re here for you.” Beverly soothed.

Something in Bill’s mind snapped he took everything from Mike and set up the ritual like Mike had shown him. One by one, each club member placed their token into the can.

*

“Yippee Kayay motherfu-“ Richie said before falling into the deadlights.

“Hey dickwad!” Eddie yelled, drawing Pennywise’s attention towards him.

Bill didn’t like what he was watching and as soon as Richie was brought out and Eddie celebrating. He knew what was about to happen.

They helped him and he was going to return the favour. He ran towards the and just in time too before Pennywise’s claw penetrated Eddie.

“Holy shit, you save me.” Eddie breathed.

“Yeah, you saved me last time Rich, you too Eds.” Bill said. “Shit, sorry, Eddie.”

“Nah, I actually liked being called Eds. Myra called me Eddie or Eddiebear so Eds feels right.” Eddie explained. There was a look in Richie’s eyes that Bill had seen before and knew all too well.

Hope.

“You’re a fucking pussy!” Bill yelled at the clown.

“Nobody likes you.” Ben fired, not wanting to curse.

“You’re just a clown.” Beverly said to really finish the job and that’s when Bill reached into Pennywise’s chest and pulled out his heart.

The heart still pumped in the palm of his hand. With one final cackle from the deflated clown, Bill squished the heart.

****

They all ran out of the house as it started collapsing. Just as they watched it fall, the unknown weight and stale air that they all subconsciously had, lifted.

Even though they lost 22 years, they had each other now.

“Why don’t we all go and get our cars and meet at the Quarry?” Bill suggested.

“Yes!” Richie said pumping the air. “Actually once we get through town, Eds and I may be a little late. I wanna show him something.”

“You’re gonna show him that thing?” Bill asked, Richie nodded joyously.

*

The walk through town was calming and felt nostalgic. As they passed an old window front, they all stopped, just like they did 27 years ago.

Except this time Eddie didn’t have vomit on him, Bev didn’t have dried mud covering parts of her face and stan wasn’t in the picture.

The dead streets were once again filled with life. unlike a day ago when the streets were literally dead. This was what freedom felt like. Nothing holding them back, minds completely filled with childhood memories and the confidence to remove themselves from situations that they hated.

But the weight of losing a dear dear friend laid heavily on each Losers’ shoulder. Stan was Richie and Bill’s oldest friend, Stan was the first to know about Richie’s crush on Eddie and had helped Bill maintain his stutter to a couple a words a sentence.

Stan was everyone’s go to guy when they needed help. Any sane person would hate it but Stan loved it. It made him feel loved and wanted.

But when those words fell from his mouth, only moments ago, everyone stood behind Bill. If anyone picked on one of their friend’s insecurities, they’d stand by that person and shun the person that attacked them. It killed everyone to shun Stan but especially Bill.

****

Stan didn’t know whether or not Eddie survived until one day he was scrolling through Facebook and saw a post from Richie announcing his engagement to Eddie. As well as Eddie announcing that he and Richie had adopted a beautiful baby girl. Every Loser was there at the engagement party but Stan. All because he left them to face a killer clown with out him.

He knew he deserved it and all he said on both Facebook posts was congratulations Reddie.

———————————————————————

A/N: I meant for this to go down another road but I deeply apologise for a shitty Stanley.

[reignsrkive]

‣ Exes Prompt List

4 ⌜You get drunk on our ‘would be one year anniversary if we didn’t break up’ and show up at my brother’s birthday party. You start spilling everything whilst balling your eyes out⌟

‣ Genre; Angst

‣ Word Count; 1,9k

Today could have been way easier for you. Easier, more fun, enjoyable, actually happy. It really could have been if it wasn’t for that one minor detail that to you, seemed way more important than it could be for others. Even if you told yourself it’s over, that it’s not that important, all you could think of was it. Despite wanting to have fun on your own brother’s birthday party, you sat at the corner of the couch with some whiskey in hand, swirling it around in its red solo cup, thinking of him.

It would have- or better, could have- been your one-year anniversary with Hoseok. Someone that you had planned this party with a long time ago, someone you wished to spend this day with, you had to call him your ex. You still remember planning this party two months ago, each detail perfect, because the two of you had the best teamwork, you couldn’t even deny that. And then, you had to work on your own. You only planned it through stupid cold emails you sent to each other.

You shouldn’t be feeling like this anyway, this was mostly your fault. No- in your head you had made it seem as if it was his fault for letting you decide. But truly? If it wasn’t for you being too overprotective and scared, you would have still been together. You just had to act as if you’re not good for him and his career as a dancer, you just had to push him away because you were scared. He kept pushing and pushing for you to change your mind, kept telling you how you’re actually the one keeping him grounded and sane through all of this process of working hard to get a job, to do gigs and train.

Yet he at one point broke, only because he felt as if you didn’t want him anymore. As if this was your way of saying, ‘I’m tired of you, this constant back and forth of giving more attention to your work and being too exhausted every day is making me feel sick of you and I don’t think I love you anymore’. You couldn’t be wrong, either of you with your silly assumptions. Breakups can occur from big things, things that actually need to be solved with a breakup and true, actual separation and space. Nevertheless, this was a prime example of how breakups can be big mistakes and a result of not expressing your feelings and worrying too much.

You knew your brother was going to be out for a little while before actually attending his own party, and it was already 2am until he arrived. The people had started coming around 11pm and you had to host it on your own. He claimed that he wanted to get a little “tipsy” with his best friends before coming home to have the actual fun, whatever that meant.

The door was mostly forced open as your brother opened it with force and yelled like the drunk animal he was. Yeah, just a little tipsy, as he said. You rolled your eyes at the sight, taking a sip of your whiskey, only to choke slightly on it when you witnessed a tipsy Hoseok walking in, a funny smile ghosting over his lips, patting your brother on the back. “Holy sh-”

You chugged the rest of your whiskey and stood up from the couch, getting into the crowd as you saw Hoseok scanning it, trying to avoid his gaze. “Sorry,” You told someone you accidentally bumped into. “Sorry,” You said to another person. “Ugh fuck, sorry!” You said but realized you bumped into your brother.

“Heyy, sis!” He yelled at you over the music. “Good job, this shit is fucking awesome,” He said. You widened your eyes and nodded at him, cautious of how loud he was. ‘Hoseok could hear, and he could find me, shut the fuck up you idiot’, you thought.

“Yeah, yeah” I nodded. “Right. Uh, what the fuck is Hoseok doing here?” You asked him, completely forward.

“I went out with my best friends. Why do you keep forgetting he’s my best friend, dumbass?” He laughed at you. “He’s kind of out of it today though, I don’t know why. Asshole should have been pumped for his bro’s birthday!” He yelled, his loud words followed by another drunk laugh. “Anyway, I know he’s your ex boy toy, but like, he’s here for me, not you. Don’t get dramatic,”

You rolled your eyes at how much of a dick your brother was when he was drunk and left, seeing Hoseok moved towards your direction. “Yeah, yeah bye have fun!” You yelled back at him and moved around the house, getting yourself another drink. You chugged down a full cup of beer before pouring more whiskey and going to sit on the secluded stairs of your brother’s apartment. Once again, you sat swirling your drink in your cup, but this time anxiety slowly made you deteriorate inside.

If he finds you, what would you do? You weren’t sure if he remembered anyway. It’s been around a month ever since you last saw him, that day being the day of your breakup, and you ached to see him drunk. You didn’t think he had gotten drunk because of the day- if he remembered. How could he be, it’s not like you were a significant loss, right? That’s what you kept thinking.

But of course, fate couldn’t hate you more than you already thought it did. He just had to get more and more shit drunk and go over the stairs and trip on you and fall on his butt right next to you. “Oh fuck, shit, so-” He looked down with a small giggle, before his lips turned into a straight line, his wide eyes showing shock. “Fuck, y/n,” He said. “I can’t see well”

“I can tell,” You took in a sharp breath as he just kept on sitting there, staring at you.

“Happy anniversary” He mouthed, basically rambling without wanting to, the alcohol working its wonders.

“W-what?” You asked, gulping down.

“It would have been our own year today. You know, the big 01″ He said. “But it’s not” He laughed coldly.

You nodded, biting your lip. “I didn’t expect you to actually come”

“He’s my best friend,”

“Right” You nodded. “Right”

“This is shit. Yeah, it couldn’t be worse than how you’re making me feel at this moment” He said, shaking his head. “Like, you’re so frustrating I could bang my head on the wall, and not because of the booze in my system. Because of you and how fucking good you look and how my chest actually fucking hurts. Because of who? You of course. Like, who do you think you are?” He trailed off.

“Hoseok, how much did you have to drink?” You asked him. He only got so aggressive with his emotions whenever he had a little kick of alcohol in him.

“Does it matter? What matters is that I should be celebrating today with my fucking girlfriend!” He groaned in frustration. “But no, I’m not good enough, so I most likely don’t deserve that happen, do I?”

“Maybe you should go home, Hoseok. Should I call you a taxi? Or crush at the spare bedroom” I sighed loudly, listening to him ramble on his drunken state.

He laughed coldly and as he looked at you with frustration, a small tear trickled down his cheek from his tear duct. “I know I wasn’t the best, y/n. I know I probably didn’t deserve you, I wasn’t enough, I know it. But I never wanted to say yes to you breaking up. I never ever wanted to let you go. But there you were, pushing me to do it and I fell for it” He said, fully in tears. “I had it planned out, the anniversary. I’d take you with me to the studio and surprise you, dance for you, I had a whole thing planned out. And then we’d have take out like we always loved to do and talk, laugh, play games. Just be us. You’d look so fucking gorgeous and I’d end up making you feel so good”

“Hoseok...” You trailed off hesitantly as you stood up and stuck your hand out. “Come on. Stand up”

In his state, he just listened and took your hand, the touch making you both feel electricity. You dragged him to the spare room and put him on the bed, looking at him with your arms crossed. Sure, you had him in here now, safe and sound before he did anything stupid. But what were you supposed to do now? “Just close your eyes. Sleep and sober up”

He frowned, his dimples popping out on both of his cheeks, something that always made your stomach flip. It still did, maybe even a little more. “Only if you lay with me. And don’t say that bullshit about exes having rules and shit. Just sit your ass down and cuddle me, I don’t care if you hate me. I need you. Right now” He said, his last few tears falling, his eyes red.

You nodded with a small soft chuckle at how drunk he was, laying down next to him in your dress, taking your heels off. “Sleep”

“If you let me cuddle,” He said. He was drunk, but he sure as hell knew how to act smart when he was.

“You’re not being fair” You rolled your eyes. “And I don’t hate you”

“Sure,” He said, grabbing your waist and pulling you towards him, his chin resting on your head. He breathed in, taking in your scent, reminiscing moments like these. Where he would just hold you, the both of you sitting in your comfortable silence and feeling how much love there was between the two of you. It wasn’t a surprise that it felt just the same. To both him and you. Just a little bitter, knowing you aren’t his and he isn’t yours.

“Sleep”

“Kiss me first,” He answered almost immediately.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “No?”

“Kiss me,”

“Hos-”

Before you could speak, he leaned in, his touch so soft but taking you in entirely. It wasn’t harsh at all, it was like a could touching your lips and moving on them, making you feel all sorts of emotions. And you just accepted it. You missed it too much to say no. Your hand moved to his cheek to ghost over it slowly, your thumb caressing his jaw as he pulled away and looked at you in the eyes. “I miss you so goddamn much. You were so wrong when you kept saying you’re going to be a distraction. It feels like hell. I miss waking up next to you, y/n”

You nodded with a sigh, feeling just the same. “Here’s this. Close your eyes, and I’m going to stay here, just like this. I’m going to sleep next to you and we’re going to wake up tomorrow and maybe... maybe talk about it”

“You want to?”

“If you remember this, that is” 

He nodded and kissed your lips one more time. “Trust me. I never forget”

⁝ Masterlist

[cielizzydefencesquad]

Oooo ho ho Former playboy turned single mum Seb is the best. What does he do for a job? :D does he have Finny too in your AU? For how long? And most importantly, does Agni have a role? :3 he’s a fellow single parent, with Soma, after all, lol.

Ahh thank you so much for giving me an excuse to dig into this AU ヽ(^◇^*)/

Because yessire bob, in this universe Sebastian Michaelis is a devil-may-care hedonistic playboy with a penchant for scotch whiskey, midnight rendezvous with women (and men) whose names he won’t remember, Parliament cigarettes, and absolutely no desire to integrate another human being into his life that he can’t kick out in the morning. 

The setting is luxe and blue-blooded NYC, with Sebastian working as Vogue’s chief fashion photographer and the city’s biggest source of scandal and heartbreak. 

Imagine his complete and utter bewilderment when he learns that his estranged younger half-brother Vincent Phantomhive has up and died, thus leaving Sebastian the guardian of his two twin boys, RC and OC. 

And Sebastian’s reaction be like, 

“The sheer audacity - ” He sneered, glaring down at the paper with burning mahogany eyes. “He bloody goes and dies without consulting me before throwing two brats my way?” Sebastian exhaled, harsh plumes of pale grey smoke leaving his downturned lips. “Well of course my dead sainted brother must find all this bloody hilarious.” He glared at proprietor. “And this,” he gestured towards the will, “is an act of hellish spite.” 

The plump older man blinked. “Well, I - I suppose you might see it that way but um, Mr. Michaelis you see - “

“He couldn’t have left his unfortunate offspring to his shrew of a sister?”

“Er - I mean, that is,” he fumbled for a moment before producing a letter from his righthand breast coat pocket. “Vincent Phantomhive specifically stated that should anything happen to him or his wife, you, sir, would be the guardian of his two sons.” He paused for a moment. “And the Phantomhive ward, Finnian.” 

“Who the hell - “ 

So basically in this AU, Finny is the random orphan kid OC befriended out of the blue one day, eventually taking him home, and going “This is big brother Finny and he’s gonna be staying with us from now on!” 

And Vincent’s all “yeah sure, why not, I could use a sane son around here” and that’s how Finny was indoctrinated into the Phantomhive family XD

Agni is the single dad Sebastian meets while dropping the three whelps off to school. Out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of this gorgeous caramel skinned, snow-haired Indian gentleman and Sebastian - being the unabashed man-whore that he is - all but throws the kids their bagged lunches before getting ready to flirt with this tall amber-eyed beauty.

But to his complete and total shock, Agni all but ignores Sebastian, yes Sebastian, to kneel down and hug the purple-haired snot-nosed brat clinging to his knee. He wishes the kid a wonderful day, hands him his lunch, and sees him off with a warm smile.

It’s only after Soma’s safely inside the school building that Agni turns and notices Sebastian. 

“It’s always difficult to see them go isn’t it?” He chuckles ruefully and for a minute, a brief surprising minute, Sebastian is spellbound. 

It made him feel strange - as if roses are blooming in his chest.

“My name is Agni,” he holds out his hand and nods towards the playground. “Which ones are yours?”

(And that was when Sebastian realized oh shit…I’ve caught monogamy.)  

But it’s through Agni that Sebastian slowly learns that hey, spending time Brat I, Brat 2, and Brat 3 isn’t half bad. Because sure, RC’s a mischievous little scoundrel but he’s also a natural leader of men and Sebastian’s so frickin proud when he sees RC holding court in the school playground, boys watching with wide-eyes and girls swooning at his feet. And yeah, OC’s an introverted and shy kid but he is also undeniably clever. So clever, with a fierce ambition just waiting to be brought to the surface and shit, doesn’t OC remind Sebastian a little bit of himself when he was first staring out? An unknown photographer with not a penny to his name, disowned by his family and treated as a perennial outsider? How he only had his wits and unflinching resolve to get by? And how the fuck did all that get distilled into one frail, asthma prone kid like OC? But even more curiously, when the hell did Sebastian begin making room in his schedule to kneel down on a patch of dirt with the golden-haired Finny, teaching him the basics of botany and gardening, secretly marveling at how warm and genuine the boy was, how earnest and  - 

Holy fucking shit, when he did he start using their actual names?! 

And then…disaster. 

A telephone call after at 2 AM in June, right after a weekend of total exasperation (Sebastian bringing along his Canon EOS 5D camera and secretly snapping candid shots of his three boys in the teacup rides, eating cotton candy, pointing at the starry sky while sitting atop the Ferris wheel. Sebastian carrying along baby wipes, hand sanitizer, antiseptic spray, band-aids, and gauze because Finny’s a little accident prone and Sebastian always makes sure to give the young blond’s hand a gentle squeeze after he finishes bandaging him up because while Finny will never say it out loud, that little gesture means more to him than he can ever possibly express. Sebastian carrying OC on top of his shoulders because his asthma and allergies makes it hard for him to run ahead with RC and Finny to see the baby tigers so Sebastian stands back, carries OC on his $1200 shirt shoulders, and finds that he doesn’t mind when he finds scuff marks from OC’s shoes on his pristine white Brooks Brothers), he gets a call from an unknown number.

Blavat Sky.

See you in court, Michaelis. 

Aaaaand I have so many more headcanons but I’ll stop here because this post is becoming obnoxiously long and people are probably going “wtf, does this bitch ever shut up?!” XD

Thank you so, so much for this AU prompt Anon - you da real MVP! 

- mod Nina 

[iphoenixrising]

Justice is Blind AU: V

I’m alive, I swear. This is the next thing in the Blind!Tim au @satire-please started.

**

The Black Bird is a rough and tumble design. Close to a year and a half of work into making the car his new ride (because, you know, not that Robin anymore). It's the biggest pre-Iraq project, started shortly after he left Gotham and realized he'd probably never be welcome in the Cave, the Manor, or in with the Bats again (it wasn't…fine at the time. Fuck it was a painful realization, one hovering in the back of his brain pan while adapted to the nefarious side of the Force—stealing and then returning Bat-shaped artifacts and such).

Naturally, it’s the first project he picked-up in the transition period—the one after the Mission: prove the Bruce was still alive and fucking find him. After he’d done the job, sent Bruce back to Gotham to recover, to get his own orientation, Tim had packed up the Red Robin costume and returned to Gotham City. While adjusting to his ever-sharpening senses (and yes, Tam even toned down the light but cloying perfume once she realized it gave him migraines within the first five minutes) and trying to determine his next steps in the whirlwind of holy shit his life had become (who was he kidding? When was his life not a shit storm of ‘what next’?), he’d put up the suit until he made his choice about where to go from there.

Of course, once he had nothing to focus on, no reason to keep moving, the eventual fallout of oh God, how can I do this? Fuck that, I am doing this. I’m going to figure out how the fuck to do this came with the determination to finish the half-assed projects he’d left the night Dick took Robin and handed it over to Damian. The projects became something important, something so crucial to proving he could still get his shit together.

The Black Bird was the first on the list.

He’d originally worked on the specs, did the heavy lifting between finding frustrating clue after clue (the Bat symbol on a cavern wall, made into an earthen pot, a wax stamp to mark documents). He’d even been mid-way through programming the massive computer system, one similar to the one in the Batmobile (the last one he’d actually ridden in that is) so he could calibrate it to lock on to his homing signal in the utility belt and auto-pilot itself to his location.  The coding alone had been extensive, especially considering he’d started from literally scratch, refusing to access the Batcomputer to get the initial set-up from Bruce’s mainframe. At the time, he hadn’t wanted to trip any of Dick’s instincts, hadn’t wanted to give himself away, hadn’t wanted to talk or swing or what-the-fuck-ever (but secretly he’d been pretty damn sure all his access had been revoked from the big system anyway, he just hadn’t wanted to face that finality, the proof of ‘you don’t belong here anymore.’ Fuck, he’d already gotten that message loud and clear.)

Working on the Black Bird was the only thing keeping him sane, keeping him from running further away, from believing Dick had a fucking point and maybe he might just be having some kind of psychological break. When none of them believed in him, it's the only thing that kept him moving.

He'd only finished the body work and undercarriage before he'd been blinded and going back to it immediately had been... a reminder of what he’d lost (another thing he’d had to sacrifice). The damn car sat up on the automatic lift until he came back to Gotham a month after he’d sent B back to Dick, Damian, and Alfred, getting through that little meet-and-greet without giving out too many details but satisfied and terrified at the same time since, well, Mission accomplished. Now what?

Finding B lost in time had been the real clincher in the whole should I stick with it? mentality. Even though no one but Ra's, Shiva, and Tam knew, it was always on the tip of his tongue, in a puddle at the bottom of his brain pan when the rest of his contingencies mapped out exactly how to get through things like space/time.

Find Bruce, get him back, and then what?

Safe answer: go to college, say “fuck this lifestyle.”

But…but—

Instead of feeling like his last action as a crime fighter would be a big send-off, a final win for their side, and the last blast before he gave up the cape, the part of him, the part that pushed him to be ROBIN rose up to sneer Give up? Be a normal guy? College? A 9-5 job? What the utter fuck, dude?

So, he'd taken the time, jumped in with both hands all over again (and it’s just like when he was on a train to Haley’s Circus at twelve years old, hoping to convince Dick Grayson to take up the Robin mantle again and save Batman. Welp, we all know how that little situation panned out, don’t we?). Getting his projects done, getting the tools he’d need to function, getting a network established, setting up shop again so Red Robin could throw out his own safety net in the instance of shit, shit, Plan X failed (thus, the Black Bird). Honestly, he’d made the decision before he’d even realized it himself.

And nope, he hasn't regretted it yet.

Well, once he realizes someone breached the upstairs of the Perch, there might be just a small smidge after all since very, very few people knew how to find him and, even better, how to get in.

Straightening from his place at the hidden workbench in the sub-basement level, several vertebrae in his spine crack sharply, telling him how long he’d been bent over the stack of whirlybirds, taking his time to solder new microchips under the insignia and Plexiglas casing. These were marked with a niche on the bottom, a groove deep enough for his gloves to catch when he’s in the suit; he’d also made them much smaller than the usual palm-sized— rather, almost the size of a silver dollar and with a low-frequency output most people wouldn’t even detect, but could give him placement in places with high ceilings or echoes (you know, when the baddies hold up in shitty warehouses and such). He stands up to stretch while his phone gives off a specific beep, one to indicate the Perch’s motion detectors had been set off. Snagging the device, he leaves his progress where it is, minutely adjusting the tools so he could come back to it. Barefoot, he pads out through the hidden door of the inner workshop and onto the plush, vinyl mats of the functional gym, takes 36 steps to the side area with workbenches along one wall to keep his suit stocked with the usual toys. Finally another 18 to the hidden staircase and up the back passage to the penthouse apartment.

It took him long enough for the smell of fresh coffee to waft halfway down the stairs and set off his inner caffeine sense. While the fingertips of one hand run along the wall absently, automatically, his stomach rumbles in reminder of how long it’s been since he’s tried to do, you know, real people things like sleep and eat.

(It’s fine, his guest probably already knows)

And it’s finely honed instincts that allow him to backbend slightly before he’s even a step through the hidden staircase to avoid the hot mug of coffee being shoved directly in his face.

“I’m going to need you,” Tamara Fox starts out in that patiently irritated tone, “to get Bruce Wayne the hell out of my office. And I need you to do it yesterday.”

Well. Shit.

“Hi Tam. Nice to see you too,” he takes the mug gratefully as he straightens up, steps out to allow the wall to slide closed and hide the stairs again. He checks the level of liquid pointlessly while the rim is already at his mouth and just perfect. Of course it is because Tam is the quintessential perfectionist (and nope, she can argue all she wants about reckless decisions and such—again, sorry you almost died. Really, it’s my life, so I can totally sympathize). But he smiles around the first mouthful and moves to the kitchen table so she can pace and rant at her leisure and he can enjoy a few minutes of sitting upright.

“Bruce has been at WE I take it?” He starts the train rolling even as he pulls out a chair to make himself comfortable.

“Has Bruce been—are you kidding me?”

Choo-choo, allll aboard

“He’s been there all week, Tim. Not in his office, not with my dad, not with the board. He’s been literally in my office. I’ve given him stacks of paperwork for the last three days and he still isn’t leaving. Monday? He had a champagne fountain in the middle of the office and invited everyone from Accounting to come up for a drink.”

Oh. Oh no.

He makes a positive noise for go on while the coffee sits warm in his stomach and he cracks the knuckles of one hand absently.

“Tuesday? He brought two models up for a photo shoot, including equipment, backdrop, and whatever the hell they needed for a magazine cover!”

And Tam takes six long strides to cover the kitchen before she turns and takes six back, always more at ease to talk while she’s doing something. That’s her, someone who is in perpetual motion. Slight sighs are her hands and arms moving to gesture without a hitch in her step.

“And it was for Forbes, Tim. He had half-naked models posing with him for the cover of Forbes.”

He enjoys breathing enough that he doesn’t snicker, he might choke a little on his coffee, but really, not laughing here at all.

“Bruce was always a little…quirky. All rich guys are.”

She pauses long enough to face him, gritting her teeth, “most rich guys don’t do their own brand of crazy in the middle of my office, Tim.”

Just a slight wince, but, well, Tam. “Well, he’s also Batman, so that should factor in to his brand of crazy.”

A slight noise is a wave of her hand, “I’m not worried about the scary man that breaks faces for a living. I’m worried about the former-CEO who is going to be back in my office Monday morning with God know what else unless he gets some information on how you’re doing.”

Damn. He’d hoped B would leave Tam out of anything unrelated to WE—

Wait. What now?

“Wait. You’re telling me he didn’t come to you to get his company back?”

His mug makes a sharp noise on the table from force because he had certain expectations on how that little situation was going to pan out for everyone.

The chair across from him pulls out with a soft scratch, and his spine straightens when she slides into the chair. Papers flutter and clack when they’re straightened, slide across the table in front of him.

Tam not talking means not good.

His fingertips are already moving over the soft line of dots across the top of the pages, moving from the usual WE headers and down to the bulk of content:

I, Bruce Thomas Wayne, assign all duties and responsibilities of Chief Executive Officer of Wayne Industries and Wayne International to Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne—

His jaw drops, hand stutters across the braille line.

Tam hums just slightly and the sound of her drinking her own mug (and it’s probably the special one he keeps for her, the whole You don’t have to be crazy to work here, but it helps one).

His fingers skip down, move across the page slowly in shock, his brain coming up with what fucking reason Bruce would just—

“He did that playboy moron thing he’s got going on for a while, but—and I’m not sure where he got the right forms—but, he brought them to me signed and notarized on Friday. We…well, we talked a little. I mean, like people, not like you kind of people about bad guys and fighting, but like real people. The real guy is kind of…intense?” Tam sighs a little and the noise is heavy in his ears, stressed. Without thinking, he raises his head slightly and slides his free hand across the table, seeking until he gets the bump of her knuckles, wraps his hand around hers, runs his thumb over the back of her hand in a soothing gesture. It did wonders to calm her down when they were in the belly of the proverbial beast, the League of Assassins’ Cradle.

Okay. This could be not good.

“He wants you to stay as CEO and for me to be your I don’t know second-in-command or something? Dad wants R&D back because he says he’s getting too old to keep up with running the company, and Mr. Wayne doesn’t seem to want the controlling interest in his company back, so I don’t know what else to tell you to do, Tim. Only that you have to address the company in person eventually, do a formal introduction to the Board. Start coming into an office somewhere so people can see you once in a while.”

He has nothing but changing thoughts and motivations running through his brain at high speeds and keeps listening, his reading hand absently skimming through the rest of the page, turning it over to start scanning the next. He takes everything into account since Tam must have already started planning the next steps in what was supposed to be a strategic move to keep the company from falling into Ra’s al Ghuls’ grubby, immortal hands. He wasn’t really supposed to run Wayne Industries.

Just, nope. (Bruce really doesn’t expect him to do this, right?)

“He did…He asked for you to call him. Soon. Just to talk, he said.” And she sighs a little, gripping his hand back when he hadn’t realized he was squeezing a little tight.

Next page. Job description. Pfft.

“I think…” it’s a pause where her eyes are probably on his, where she’s probably biting down on her lower lip before she comes out with it. “I think he misses you, Tim.”

He stops reading long enough to pick up his coffee again and drain it to get rid of the lump in his throat.

“He has a Robin,” is the right response (or, well, it was). “Now he wants a CEO. I get it. It’ll take the pressure off of him to be a constant figure. He can still do the ‘Bruce Wayne’ things for the society sections without being tied down to the company. It’s…a smart move for a caped crime fighter.”

And then something she said resonates in his brain, makes him perk slightly.

“Wait. He said he wants to talk?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, he said he wanted to have a talk. Maybe about the company—”

“Where’s your purse?” And he’s already half-standing, reaching out a hand.

Tam (who got a first-hand view of his inner vigilante sense during go-time) goes with it, the noise of it coming off the back of another chair and delivered right into his hands.

Tim sets the heavy thing between them on the table, fingers moving to the delicate stitching all over the thing (and it’s one of those ridiculously expensive ones, a Marc Jacobs or something), and—

Yup. Fuck.

Few, if anyone, would be able to pick out the slight bulge of fabric on the underside, but he picks the seam with a fingernail because, of course, the tiny, Bat-shaped device is just right there.

“That is a Four. Hundred. Dollar bag, just so you’re aware.”

He holds out the device in the center of his palm, and deadpans, “I’ll buy you a new one. Apparently, I’m a CEO now.”

Tam blinks down at the blinking red device and back up at Tim’s grim expression and off-focus gaze when the realization sets in. “He played me? I got played by Bruce Wayne?”

“Technically, you got played by Batman. That should actually make you feel better.” And he gets only slightly pissed off that B went there. He’s more concerned knowing B is aware of their connection—his and Tam’s—since he’s never been necessarily happy when civilians find out their identities.

“This is a little much, isn’t it?” And yup, someone messing with Tam’s one obsession. Now he’s really hoping B shows up in her office on Monday so she can chew his ass right the fuck out (mental note: check the live feed from her office while that little discussion is going down. Also, make popcorn)—that is, if he can get out of Gotham before a whole bunch of crime fighting wingnuts decide to descend on his Perch.

“I…haven’t talked to him since I left the Manor last week.”

“Really? You don’t say? Well, isn’t that a perfectly reasonable justification to cut a hole in my Chanel handbag?”

Tim blinks as his inner sense kicks the tension in his shoulders and back up a notch just before his phone chirps again with the motion detector warning, this one outside the front door.

“I may or may not have mentioned,” he deadpans, waiting for it, “he’s Batman.”

The doorbell is unassuming while he’s already moving on silent feet. He doesn’t bother with glasses because he already knows who’s out there anyway.

He cracks the front door just slightly, frowning. “Sorry. We’re not buying Girl Scout Cookies today. Thanks.”

“Not even coconut ones?” Bruce’s voice is only slightly deep, so probably in his day ware, not the nightfall outfit (so…not a case?).

“Not from cheaters,” he returns while still opening the door. After the effort, Bruce isn’t just going to go away, that much is pretty damn clear.

“It’s not cheating. I worked for it fair and square since you won’t pick up a phone, Tim.”

He closes the door behind Bruce’s massive figure, closing his eyes for a second to steel himself for whatever this might be.

A plastic noise from Bruce’s right hand, “Nice to see you again, Miss Fox. I hope Prada is to your liking?”

**

More coffee is made and consumed until Tam (the traitor) leaves the penthouse with her new bag in tow and a litany of praises for Bruce’s sense of style. The Chanel is still a point of contention, though, he can hear it in her voice when she thanks Mr. Wayne for his thoughtfulness (like she’s saying you ass hat instead…and will always be why Tam is one of his Top 5 favorite people of all time).

They’d (B and Tam) spent a little over an hour discussing the state of the company with B giving him some surprised kudos when she mentions a few of the projects he’d initiated in his first few months of being a CEO; the reality of the situation (of which he failed to mention) is he’d given their engineers and scientists a few inventions and software designs to tinker with to cement himself in the role, so as few questions as possible would be posed as to why is that guy up in this business? At the time, he was just seventeen, barely managed to get his GED, and was an adopted son—the backlash from the media had been enough to keep him moving between trying to find Bruce, stay out of Dick’s Bat-Radar, and keep the stocks from literally plummeting.

The first MedPod had hit the market, and all those critics started to take fucking note.

(Because really LexCorp’s Medical Supply line was absolute shit, so a self-sustaining medical pod for emergency transports was really just the way to go for the Armed Forces—considering they’d beaten out several other big names for the contract was enough to prove he might just be all right for this job other than, you know, keeping it out of the hands of bad guys.)

Through the back-and-forth about the company, he’d kept his opinions to himself, waiting for something to catch him up; something like “that’s amazing. I’ll know when I’m getting back into.” Or “Once I’m back in the saddle, we’ll keep that project going.” Or, “You’ve done some amazing things, Tim, thanks. I’ll take it from here.”

He gets nada. Absolute fuck all.

Sitting on his left with Bruce across from them, Tam had nudged his knee, her way of telling him to please say something or I’m burying you in paperwork hell, but honestly? He’s pretty much at a loss.

Making non-committal noises around a fresh cup of coffee is really all he’s got at this point.

He shows Tam to the door leaning in slightly out of the doorframe to assure her in a low voice he’d already checked the Prada bag and it seems clean enough.

She sighs at him (again) and makes the usual demands, “Eat something. Sleep for God’s sake. I’ll…see you at work, boss.”

He feels his face pull with the automatic smile (because it’s Tam) and has another moment of regret when they couldn’t make it work—the two of them would have been good together. Too bad for things that had never-been (too many, he’s lost too damn many to make that leap again).

Coming back to the table is the hardest part of his day, knowing Bruce is probably watching him for all possible ticks, is probably staring at his dead eyes with that shitty self-recrimination happening in the background, that the Dark Knight can find him now (and fuck, he doesn’t want to have to move his things to a new safe house. Dammit, he likes it here).

And once they’re alone, he gets the first one in, “tagging Tam was shitty, you know.”

A shift of movement, a nod while a heavy sigh probably lifts Bruce’s shoulders and chest, and he can remember the moments when the Bat needed to be called back, reigned in so the man behind the cowl didn’t drop from exhaustion and injuries, from the sheer weight of things he’d taken on his shoulders to bare. The noises, even without the visuals, are so damn familiar, a basis for the layer of Robin instincts that are honestly a part of his chemical make-up at this point. His instincts to pull B back from the edge of the abyss when the Dark Knight was taking him farther than any human being (ever Bruce Wayne) could handle…and stay sane.

He hadn’t been fucking kidding when he told B “Batman needs a Robin” all those years ago.

“I know.”

“There some kind of unstated rule we have about not treating other Bats like—” criminals but oh yeah, forgot for a second, didn’t you?

His mouth shuts with a sharp clack of his teeth coming together before the sentence gets out (and yes, Bruce caught it).

“If you stayed anywhere near the radar, or had at least picked up the phone, I would have left Tam alone, I swear.” Bruce fills in smoothly, filing away the aborted statement.

“Emails have been fine up until now, you know.”

And just like the usual, B has something to keep him on his toes. “Just emails have never been fine, Tim.”

So…maybe the undercurrent of it would be nice to see you back in Gotham once and a while, you know, when you have time and shit might not have all been lip service after all (but he already has a Robin, right?)

Instead of voicing it, giving old hurts a space in reality, he goes with the automatic defense, “the accident didn’t make me an invalid, B. I’ve still been vigilantie-ing it up, blind or not.” The hard edge to his tone implies no one else picked up on it so I must be doing something right.

Another shift, a shrug, and just like Batman, he drops something completely fucking unexpected, “I never stopped keeping track of you, you know.”

Is…not what he expected to hear, just like with the CEO thing.

In true Bat form, B starts rattling off longitude and latitude, one set, two sets, three sets, four sets (and fuck, apparently he had been keeping track. The realization is jarring, a bucket of cold water over some of his previous notions of not a Bat anymore).

“Those are the ones I can think of off the top of my head.”

“I…”

“The point of this is the same one I gave you at the Manor.” Bruce tries to say it softly, take the hard punch out of his words. “You’re one of my Robins. You always will be. That’s what happens when you agree to take up the mask.”

He draws himself up a little because the implications (the I’ll have your back, all you need to do is call and I’ll come). And just like he was still that teenager in the tunic, Tim feels the heat in his chest, the undeniable feel of comfort, safety B has always brought forth in him. Even when they worked their own cases, were continents away, he knew, had believed, B would come running, B would still need him—

His face turns away, scarred fingers tapping lightly against his coffee cup, an automatic response (and he doesn’t even realize he’s tapping out R-O-B-I-N in Morse code) to keep motion while his brain works.

“I appreciate it,” is finally what he can give back, soft and firm. “It’s…it hasn’t been… easy. Acclimating, I mean, to this,” and a general wave at his face. “But, I’m…better now. Better than I was. It’s—” and he almost, almost falls back on his usual diversion, his absolutely bullshit when he’s got nothing left.

It feels out of place here, in the space of his sanctuary, the place he had to make useable without the Manor, the Cave, Titans Tower to fall back on— it feels out of place because Bruce…still doesn’t pull any punches.

The hand, that hand, the one that’s caught him countless times over the years, pulled him back in so fucking many ways—from over the edge of buildings, from his own recriminations, his own failures, from blood loss and sleep dep, from working himself into a coma, from—

That hand can still wrap around his wrist with room to spare, a thumb rubbing easy circles over his pulse, a reminder.

When he swallows, his throat is thick again, his eyes heating up just a little, just enough for him to chuff a laugh, a half-hoarse, rusty sound.

If there’s one thing the Batman and the real Bruce have in common? They don’t bullshit the good guys about the important things. If B came here to say it, went through the trouble of finding the Tim’s rabbit hole, he meant every damn word.

The litany of things he might have said fades down with the realization, and Tim raises his eyes, tries to make sure he’s looking at Bruce when the genuine half-smile is almost a wince.

“Do you…do you want to come downstairs and see the set-up?” (And no, his voice doesn’t break a little, his chest doesn’t lurch with the familiarity of it all.)

But he can hear it in Bruce’s tone, stark relief. “Yes actually, I do. Very much so, Tim.”

**

And outside, Gotham City breathes as day gives way to night; the Birds of Prey step out, taking their time to work. Nightwing and Robin fill in the gaps, moving like they’ve fought together their whole lives, and it gives the Batman time, time he so obviously needs.

Once N splits up with him, plans to meet back at the Mylar Building at two-thirty, Robin makes an impressive leap, launching himself through the sky.

Robin ends up in the Narrows, jumping around the old theatre where O used to make herself comfortable. He grapples up to the Queen & Sons headquarters, the tallest building in this part of the city, and makes himself comfortable between the feet of his favorite gargoyle. He idly listens to the back and forth between O and N, O and Batgirl, Black Canary and the thug she’s beating the shit out of, Black Bat and O, all the sounds of family.

(Speaking of which)

All-in-all, he does not have to wait very long for his next appointment of the night.

Anyone else not in the cape and cowls would have missed the soft boots striding across the roof, but Robin has been meeting here the last few months, attempting to make something in their world right again—to give something back.

And perhaps because he is no longer under the delusions of the League, perhaps because he is getting older, perhaps because he is Robin and the symbol of his chest means so much more than it meant when he first desired it, perhaps because now he better understands making the right choices for the right reasons, he has continued to attempt these interactions.

The taller vigilante ducks under the wing of the gargoyle, sitting on the ledge of the building rather than back under the statue. A careless toss of the greasy paper bag lands the offering right in Robin’s lap, and the smell is not…necessarily terrible.

A bottle of his preferred Vitamin Water is tossed at him as well, and he has it open, drinking it down while his eyes slide to the side behind the whiteouts. The soft noises, metal on metal, are indeed a testament to how far they have come in the last few weeks.

The red helmet is left on the roof between them and a small flame flickers behind a gloved hand, lighting a casual cigarette while Robin hands over the chicken burrito and takes the veggie one for himself.

“I call this meeting a’ the Dead Robins Club ta order,” the Red Hood smirks at him through the shadows, lenses up on his domino so his eyes are just as jade as the waters of the Pit, “all right Demon. Gimmie the skinny, yeah?”

[rottenbrainstuff]

The Lying Detective: thoughts

Well I quite liked that?

spoilers below.

See like, when you say something is going to be sad, THIS is the kind of sad I appreciate. It was so hard to watch Sherlock in this ep, so sad to see him in such a poor state. Hand shaking, sniffing all the time, looking like hell, barely sane. I know he was trying to make John come save him (btw, wtf?) but it’s not like you can just do enough drugs that even your junkie friend gets disgusted and not have that only be for show? I really don’t think Sherlock is all better just like that?

God it was sad to watch him in the hospital.

So! Mary! Oh my god, how amazing was it that Mary managed to remain such an important character? That she still managed to be in the episode, and get a proper send-off? I still think Six Thatchers was a stupid, badly-written episode bit this makes up for it a little. I *STILL* have a strong emotional reaction to John cheating, I think it was handled very badly in the previous episode, but I think I’m at peace with it, and not so angry anymore.

I hardly even know what to say about Mrs. Hudson. It’s like all of our headcanons and secret wishes came true. Jesus.

SO amused with the Trump parallels.

Holy shit the sequence with Sherlock wigging out was amazing. Reminded me of the breathless reaction I had to Sherlock being drugged by Irene. Amazing.

In general this episode was great, this is what I was expecting. Great character development, good pacing, good writing, witty, beautiful visuals, all good. All exactly what I was hoping for.

There were still things I didn’t like though.

I was not really impressed with the big Sherrinford reveal. I think it’s kind of a boring twist. There’s a third Holmes sibling and they’re insane! Muahahaha! I do wonder how it is that Sherlock doesn’t recognize his own sister? If “you know what happened to the other one” refers to Sherrinford, then it seems Sherlock is aware he has a sister? Has he never met her? Why? Anyway I thought it kind of a “ho hum” reveal and I don’t really care. I’m more interested in what kind of messed-up family they have.

I did not like that the whole thing with Culverton was just this great big plan to try and get John to come and rescue him in the hopes that in the process John would cheer up a bit. I don’t know. For a start, it’s awfully contrived, that’s a whole lot of ifs and maybes is it not? And doesn’t it feel like it cheapens the emotional effect a bit? Oh, we’re not seeing Sherlock slowly self-destruct because he’s grieving the loss of his two best friends, it’s all just a big game! Meh. Didn’t quite like that.

Lastly, perhaps more of a matter of personal opinion and something I’m sure my mutuals all agree with:

I was pretty damned sad about Molly’s scenes. That’s two eps so far this season and she’s basically back to being nothing but an occasional stand-in character, with nothing important to do. What was even the point of her scene with Sherlock at the therapist? “Christ Sherlock, it’s not a game!” well apparently it was? I don’t know. Sigh. I know I said I would rather Molly not be in it at all than have her be written badly, so I guess this is me getting what I wanted, but. I still wished she could have been more important. And then to have Mrs. Hudson say “oh, she’s not important!” Wow, that stung. That was an insult. “The person who mattered most” but we’re back to “she’s not important.” Ok.

And I mean, I don’t, I don’t even care about this in the context of sherlolly, guys. I honestly don’t think it will ever be canon, and I don’t care. I think Molly is too weary of Sherlock’s shit, I think she will always be his friend but I don’t think, in canon, she loves him the same way anymore. I’m ok with that. (that’s what fanfiction is for!)

But I *DO* dearly love HER, just her, as a character, I think she’s lovely and rare and I wish I could see more of her. We had such amazing Molly moments in some of the previous eps, and I guess she’s not interesting anymore.

Whatever.

At least John mentions that the THREE of them are going out for cake. If I don’t get to actually SEE Molly being important, at least I can know that it’s being implied.