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chipper9906 · 4 years

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Bound To You - Chapter 11: Always Happy To Bleed For The Winchesters

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WARNING: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 15

NOTE: Pairings and Ratings Will Change As Story Is Updated

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 7,338

Overall Word Count: 84,673

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (11/?)

Chapter Preview:

The smug, knowing look that crossed Claire’s face was not one Dean was expecting at his stuttered answer (if it can even be called an answer), the young woman turning to Kaia with a roll of her eyes and a good-natured slap to the arm. “See, what did I tell you? Knew he’d do it eventually…”

“Uh… do what?” Dean asks.

“Oh, not much,” Claire says with a grin much too sly for Dean’s liking. “Me and Kaia just had a bet going on which one of you would confess to the other first. I bet Cas would do it first. Kaia bet you’d do it first, but I said you were way too emotionally constipated to manage something like that.”

“You just cost me ten bucks…” Kaia mumbled in Dean’s direction.

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Character Key For Telepathic Conversations

'Italic Text' - Castiel

'Bold Text' - Dean

The second time Dean rides as a passenger in the Impala since… the incident… is different from the first time. That car ride home was nothing less than awkward, of stale silences and anxious side glances from his brother.

This time? Dean has a smile on his face. The mood is light, the silence replaced with soft rock blasting from the cassette player, of airy laughs from Eileen whenever he taps her shoulder from the backseat and tries to sign the lyrics to a song he’s taken a particular liking to, and Sam’s grunts of telling him to knock it off and stop distracting him; even when he’s got a smile on his face, too.

To put it simply… the hope is palpable. They’re celebrating like they’ve already got Cas back. Like they’ve already won.

Dean tries his best not to let his nerves at that show.

“You really should have let me call Jody ahead and let her know,” Sam throws at Dean over his shoulder as the sign for ‘Sioux Falls’ flashes by them.

“You telling me you’re not looking forward to seeing the look on their faces when they see me like this? And find out that Cas is chilling up here with me?” Dean retorts.

“But did you have to knock my phone out of my hands?” Sam complains, turning the Impala towards the exit ramp of the highway. “Concrete floors aren’t great for fragile glass screens, you know.”

“Your nerdy ass loves any chance to tinker with toys. I gave you a reason to replace your screen. You’re welcome.”

‘Considering you two live off of scammed credit cards, you’re very care-free with your expensive electronics.’

‘Thanks to Charlie, we don’t have to worry about that kind of stuff anymore. Nothing better than scamming credit card companies, Cas. Bastards do all they can to bleed people dry.’

‘If you say so. Perhaps you’d see it differently if you were actually earning a wage.’

‘Oh God, I forgot you didn’t properly get to ‘meet’ the us from the other world… They got paid to hunt monsters, and you know what? I’d rather live off credit card fraud and be myself than be… whatever the hell they were… assholes had their own damn plane…’

‘Are you saying you wouldn’t want your own plane?’

‘Don’t like flying Cas. Prefer to keep my feet on the ground, thank you very much.’

‘You don’t like flying?’

‘Hell no. Trapped in a stuffy metal tube with hundreds of other people, babies crying throughout the whole damn flight, eating overpriced and stale snacks? Oh, and the fact that I’m not in control of the plane whatsoever? And even if I was - if something were to go wrong? Not much you can do but hope you go quick.’

‘Oh. I suppose it’s different for me. I love… um, I loved flying. Plus there’s the fact that we as angels were designed for flying whereas you… were not.’

‘Yeah… and you have a few billion years’ experience over me with flying. Probably as natural to you as walking.’

‘Hmm… I suppose that’s where angels and humans are different. Our ability of flight… it’s part of who we are. A major part of what makes up our true form is our wings. The ability to travel the entire globe, even to anywhere within the Universe if we so pleased – in the span of a second? I’ll admit, it was something I took for granted.’

‘You still miss your wings, huh? I mean, I know you still have them, but…’

‘But they’re broken. It’s okay Dean, you can say it. And, yes, I still miss them. I always will. But it gets easier. You adapt to these things. You learn… there’s more important things.’

‘Yeah… that’s… that’s some words to live by, Cas. Kind of wish I could have seen your wings. I mean, I know you did the whole shadow puppet thing when we first met to show off – and don’t deny that wasn’t what you were doing; I got that smug face of yours seared into my brain. Hell, not even just your wings. I wish I could have been one of those ‘special people’ who get to see your true form.’

‘You… you do?’

‘Course I do, Cas. Sure, I think of you and I see Jimmy’s face, and… well, Jimmy’s face and his body are you now, in a way, but… I don’t know, you’ve seen both my physical form and my soul, and then… I’ve never been able to see the real face of the angel I’ve fallen for.’

‘I don’t think you’d truly want to see me… an angel's true form is… ‘unsettling’, to say the least.’

‘Cas, I don’t care if you’re really ‘the size of the Chrysler building’ and have multiple animal heads like Zacharia did. You’re Cas. You could be in Jimmy’s body, in some random dude's body, your true form, whatever. It doesn’t matter to me. So long as I know it’s you in there? I’ll love whatever is staring back at me.’

‘…what if I was possessing Sam?’

‘Not only did you ruin the moment, but you made it super weird. I’m kinda impressed.’

“What are you two gossiping about now?” Sam’s amused voice brought Dean back into the present, realizing with a startle that they were already pulling into Jody’s driveway.

“Eh, nothing much. Cas just wanted to know If I’d still bone him while he was possessing you.”

“What?!” Sam spluttered, slamming on the brakes a little harder than he intended.

‘That’s not what I meant!’

“That’s messed up, Cas!” Sam turned wide-eyed to face Dean, his startled and disgusted look boring straight through to Cas. “I hope you told him no, Dean!”

‘Technically, you haven’t said no-.’

‘NO, Cas! I would still love you, but that is a line I am not willing to cross.’

“What the hell is happening?” Eileen had her arms braced against Baby’s dash, not at all expecting the rather sudden stop.

“You don’t want to know,” Sam signed towards Eileen, giving Dean one last offended look before switching off the Impala’s engine.

Sam and Eileen had only just transferred Dean from the Impala into his wheelchair when the front door to the Mill’s home swung open, an already welcoming smile plastered on Jody’s face as she took in the sight of Sam and Eileen.

“I thought I heard the Impala’s obnoxiously loud engine,” Jody joked, leaving the front door open a crack as she steps out into the driveway. “Where’s-,”

Jody’s face dropped as Sam shifted to the side, catching sight of an oddly cheerful-looking Dean Winchester sat within a wheelchair. She hadn’t meant for her mouth to drop open the way that it did, or for her mind to fully expect for Dean to jump straight out of the wheelchair and all three of them to burst into laughter at her reaction in what would be some sick prank. But he doesn’t. Instead, he wheels closer to her, the cheerful smile on his face wavering as the seconds tick by.

“Okay Sammy, maybe you were right… Probably should have warned her…”

“What is…” Is all Jody can get out at first, clearing her throat and shaking her head at the ridiculousness of the situation. “What happened?”

“Now that is one hell of a story…” Dean says with a half-hearted laugh. “And it ties into the reason we’re here.”

“I did want to tell you first, but Dean decided he wanted to be an asshole about it,” Sam offers, giving Jody an awkward wave. “Oh, and… this is Eileen.’

“Hello…” Eileen greeted the sheriff with a wave that was somehow even more awkward than Sam’s.

“Right… well, um… you should probably come in…” Jody says, glancing back to the front door. “I’m guessing you’re not just here to catch up?”

“Afraid not. We, uh… we actually need to speak to Claire, too.” Sam said.

Jody frowned at that, crossing her arms across her chest as she stared them down. Typically, when the Winchesters needed to speak to you, it was either because you were in trouble, or they were about to get you into trouble. “…What for?”

“It’s probably best Claire joins us first. Just so we can get the whole story out in one go.” Sam tells her.

“You’re telling me that the reason Dean is… you know… ties into you needing Claire?”

“Sounds weird, but yeah,” Dean says.

Jody can only sigh at that, uncrossing her arms and waving at them to follow as she turns back towards the Mill’s family home.

“You boys do like to test me…”

* * *

Dean had never felt so out of place. Sam and Eileen were sat comfortably on the couch in the living room whilst he was sort of just… off to the side in his wheelchair. Yeah, he could have sat on the couch if he wanted to, but a) he’d rather not be squashed up against Sam and Eileen, and b) …he’s too lazy to move back and forth from the wheelchair.

Plus, even though he feels bad for how distraught Jody looked at the sight of him, he still kinda wanted to see Claire’s reaction.

Sam’s right, he is an asshole…

Speak of the devil, those bounding ‘taking two steps at a time’ footsteps stomping down the stairs could only be those of teenage angst, two other pairs of footfalls following just behind, though much calmer than the ones of the blonde-haired girl that appears in the doorframe leading to the living room.

“Sup dorks-,”

It seemed that Claire is taking after Jody more and more every time that Dean sees her, considering the fact that her expression is pretty much identical to Jody’s, her eyes drawn to Dean sticking out like a sore thumb in the room.

“I know,” Dean says as seriously as he can. “I just get more handsome the older I get, don’t I?”

Claire was so frozen in place that Kaia, who had been following just behind, nearly ran into the back of her. Kaia’s eyes widened upon seeing them, partly hidden by Claire with a hand hanging onto Claire’s sleeve as what could ever be a comforting gesture for Claire, or an attempt to ground herself.

“Oh my God…”

“Nope, we took care of him,” Dean joked.

“Jack took care of him,” Sam corrected him. “We got our asses handed to us.”

“Whatever.”

“Come on then,” Jody’s voice booms from the bottom of the staircases, striding into the living room and brushing past Claire and Kaia as she went. “Apparently, we’ve got a story to hear.”

Claire finally snapped herself out of her frozen trance, taking a few timid steps into the living room with Kaia following close behind as usual. “How bad is it?” She asked Dean, unable to tear her eyes from his limp legs.

“I can’t walk so, you know, not great. Still got my arms and the use of little Dean though, so-,”

“Let’s not get too detailed,” Jody cuts him off, holding out a hand to stop him with a grimace. “Did you… did you break your back?”

“More like shattered. But, uh… probably best we go from the beginning, like Sam said.”

“Wait…” Claire stopped Dean before he could start, her eyes darting between all three of them. “Where’s Castiel? And no offense, but uh… who’s this chick?”

“Claire!” Jody scolded her surrogate daughter. “It's not a crime to remember manners every once in a while, you know.”

“I’m Eileen,” Eileen answered, the off-rhythm tone of her voice getting Claire to raise her eyebrows in recognition.

“Oh! Are you, um… hard of hearing?”

“Lost all my hearing as a baby to a banshee,” Eileen answers. “I can read lips, though.”

“A banshee? Does that mean you’re a hunter, too?” Kaia piped up, starting to shift away from her hiding space behind Claire.

“Born and raised, pretty much,” Eileen answers.

“We met Eileen a few years go on a banshee hunt – the same banshee, actually,” Sam adds. “She, uh…”

“I was killed by a Hellhound set on me by the British Men of Letters,” Eileen finishes the sentence Sam struggled to say.

“Oh…” Claire is just about able to get out, staring bug-eyed at the female hunter in front of her. “And now you’re…?”

“Don’t worry, she’s alive. And human,” Dean reassured them. “Sam went all witch-mode and brought her back.”

“You… Sam, you did what?” Jody spluttered in her mom voice.

The power of ‘the mom voice’ had Sam instinctively cowering in submission. “The spell was mostly completed already…”

“Okay…” Claire butt in before Jody could scold Sam for dabbling in witchcraft. “So… where’s Jack and Cas? Could they not make it…?”

“Technically… they’re both here, in a way,” Dean says with a grin.

Sam sends yet another classic bitch face his way. “Dean-,”

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop being cryptic,” Dean mutters in defeat. “So… you remember when Jack got sick? After he died… Cas found him in Heaven. Along with the Empty… Cas decided to be a dumbass and make a deal without telling us. Jack came back and… Cas’s life was exchanged for it.”

The grief-stricken look that passed across Claire’s face had Dean scrambling to continue. “He’s not dead! Not right now, anyway. He, uh… he sacrificed himself for me. Death was coming for us – and I’m talking the literal Death here – and Cas used his deal with the Empty against her.”

“Wait, I’m confused-,” Jody interrupted Dean’s story. “What exactly was the deal Castiel made?”

“He took Jack’s place in the Empty. Except, the Empty decided it wanted to be a dick about it. It would only take Cas once he ‘experienced a moment of true happiness’, so…”

“So… Cas forced himself to experience a moment of true happiness to… save you?” Claire asked. “How does that work?”

“The Empty… kinda had a grudge against Death. When Cas summoned the Empty to us, the Empty took Death along with Cas.”

“Oh… and, um… the moment of true happiness? What was that?”

Dean’s words froze in his throat, reluctant to leave his lips. There was something about the fact that he was saying it to Claire… the daughter of the guy his angel wears… he could only hope she didn’t find it too weird…

“Well… uh… he…”

“Uh… do what?” Dean asks.

“You just cost me ten bucks…” Kaia mumbled in Dean’s direction.

“Excuse me-,”

“The only way I could see you making the first move would be to kiss Cas at some random ass time, panic that you did it, and then run away,” Claire told him, counting the events on her fingers.

“I…” Damn, she was probably right… “Uh… you knew?”

Claire scoffed at that, feeling comfortable enough to walk further into the room and drop down into the armchair opposite, leaning back against the cushioned pillow with her arms crossed. “Please. I don’t have many memories of my dad, but I remember the way he would look at my mom. Cas has the same damn look when he looks at you.”

‘Well… it IS his face…’

‘Yeah, and that probably freaks her out a little so… maybe not mention that?’

“Hey, me and Eileen had a bet going too!” Sam says jovially, the amused smile on his face slipping away as he caught sight of Dean’s fiery glare. “Sorry…”

“Alright, alright, everyone knew me and Cas had a thing for each other before either of us did. We got it…” Dean grumbles, copying the moody teenager opposite by crossing his arms, glaring at the concealed smiles of the others in the room.

Claire perks up as she picks out something Dean had just said. “Uh… did you just say we?”

‘Time to shine, Cas…’

Jody, Claire, and Kaia startle at the piercing blue light that overtakes Dean’s eyes, unsettled by the unnaturally blank and tense posture that comes over Dean. Three pairs of frantic eyes shift over to Sam and Eileen, only relaxing marginally when they see the two aren’t phased by what was happening.

The blue slowly fades away as Dean slumps back into his chair, shaking his head and blinking sluggishly as the disorientation of possession switching clings to him. He raises his eyes up, settling on Claire with a light smile that was oddly familiar to the teenager, yet looked so foreign on Dean…

“Hello, Claire.”

She didn’t know how, but she knew straight away. Perhaps it was the strained, constipated sounding way he spoke, or his voice dropping deeper (which she thought was impossible already), or the way Dean’s eyes had lost that playful and joking edge they usually held with her, replaced with a much softer and more… more fatherlike look.

“Castiel? Is that… is that you?”

“It is for now, yes,” Castiel answers. “Dean and I… we are currently sharing possession of his body. To repeat Dean’s earlier words, Dean decided to ‘be a dumbass’-,”

‘How dare you-,’

“-during a hunt and got himself injured.”

“Like… ‘shattering your spine’ injured?”

“More than that,” Sam says darkly, gritting his teeth against the harsh memory of that night. “It was a pack of Vamps that had been around for a while. And when I say a while, I mean our Dad once tried hunting them. One of them managed to get ahold of Dean and it… it shoved Dean into a rebar.”

“The rebar pierced through his back and into his chest,” Cas embellished, the others grimacing at the image. “It punctured his heart, along with a lung. And, as you can imagine, it did some devastating damage to his spine. Fortunately… Dean made the decision to pray to me. Dean saved me from the Empty, and in return, I saved his life. But… my grace is running low. I used a majority of it healing Dean’s wounds, but it wasn’t enough-,”

“I thought your grace recharged itself?” Claire asks.

“It does, usually. I’m not entirely sure the reason for it, though I believe it may be connected to Heaven’s weakened power… Either way, it’s still not replenishing itself. In fact… it’s doing the opposite.”

“You’re running out of your grace?” Claire leans forward as she says this, her brow pinched in worry. “What does that mean for you? Will you…”

“I could die. Or I may live in Dean’s body, forcing him out and killing him.”

“Oh… And, um… what happened to… to my dad’s body?”

Castiel frowned at the way Claire’s voice seemed to shrink on itself as she asks him this, for a moment seeing the frightened little girl that stood in the doorframe, asking for her daddy as an alien being takes him away from her forever.

“That’s the reason we’re here, Claire,” Castiel tells her. “I know I’ve taken so much from you already. And now… I have to ask more of you again.”

Claire shuffled uncomfortably under Castiel’s intense and sorrowful gaze. Kaia is by her side within seconds, hovering near the armchair as she senses Claire’s clear discomfort. “Is this going to be dangerous?” Kaia asks on Claire’s behalf.

“No, it shouldn’t be,” Cas answered, unable to see Sam looking uneasily at him in a quick side-glance. “I am asking you… for your permission; your permission to use your father’s body once more as my own. We believe it might be the only way to keep me alive, as transferring me to another vessel may just use up the last of my grace, but seeing as I already had your father’s permission…”

“Right…” Claire mutters, clearing her throat and dragging her line of sight back up to face Dea- no, Castiel. “I’m not going to lie to you Castiel, it’ll always be kind of weird for me. But… I know Dad’s up there with mom, and that they’re happy, and… asides from my actual dad, you’re the closest thing I have to one, so… If this means I don’t have to lose you too, then yeah. You have my permission.”

Claire stubbornly fights back the burning tears in her eyes at the watery smile Castiel gives her, always taken aback to see the once stoic and hard-ass angel showing such raw emotion.

“Thank you, Claire. There’s… one more thing I need to ask of you.”

“Actually-,” Sam interrupts, much to Cas’ surprise. “There might be two things…”

Both Eileen and Cas frown up at him, racking their brains to try and remember the extra ingredient that they apparently needed from Claire.

“We found a spell that might be able to re-create your dad’s body without needing his soul,” Sam begins to explain to Claire, ignoring Eileen and Cas’s inquisitive stares. “One of the ingredients requires a vial of blood from a relative of the vessel. And… you’re the only surviving relative that we know of.”

“That… seems easy…” Claire says, suspicious at how simple this was all sounding.

“That one should be no problem, but uh…” Sam sighs, switching his gaze over to Castiel. “Listen Cas, I didn’t want to bring this up back at the bunker because I kind of had a feeling you’d shoot it down before I could even ask Claire.”

“…Sam…. What are you talking about?” Castiel asked, already dreading the answer.

Sam sighs deeply once again, tearing his gaze away from Cas and back to Claire. “Thing is, we need to use Cas’ grace for the spell. Problem with that is that there’s not much for us to use, and… we don’t really know what could happen if we don’t use enough. The last time this spell was used, the spell caster used pretty much all of the angel’s grace. I’m guessing we need all the grace we can get, and um… I was thinking about it, and… you see, the thing about possession is that the angel typically leaves a piece of their grace behind inside the previous vessel. And, if I remember right… Cas once possessed you.”

“No,” Castiel said sternly, the harshness in his tone making everyone in the room startle at the reminder of the powerful angel in their presence. Castiel knew what Sam was getting at. He knew what this was leading to.

“It’s worth a shot, Cas,” Sam argued, not backing down from Castiel’s ticked off glare. He holds Castiel’s gaze for a few moments before breaking it, turning back to Claire as he continues. “There was a time when I was possessed myself by an angel. We were able to use a, uh… kind of like a big needle to extract the grace from me-,”

“And it nearly killed you!” Castiel spat out. “We might not even need that much of my grace for the spell. Sam, it is not worth the risk-,”

“We don’t know that. And we won’t go all the way, Cas,” Sam assured him before turning desperate eyes back to Claire. “We won’t, Claire. I promise we won't. We managed to extract some grace from me without killing me. It won't extract all of Cas’s grace, but… that extra bit of grace from you could be the difference between this experiment failing, or saving Cas’s life. It’s all up to you, okay? If you don’t want to do this, we won’t force you into it.”

Nearly everyone in the room looked uneasy at Sam’s plan. Hell, even Sam didn’t look like he liked his own suggestion, but mostly… it was a look of desperation, of understanding, patiently waiting when you’re on the edge of your seat waiting for the answer. Claire got to take this all in, along with Dean’s – or Cas’s, she supposed – conflicted grimace, unable to meet her eyes.

“What about this makes it dangerous?” Jody’s voice broke the tension. “You mentioned a needle?”

Sam nodded his head, reaching down to the duffel bag by his feet and unzipping it. All eyes in the room focused on him as he rummaged through the bag, their faces paling at the imposing metal syringe Sam held in his hands.

“The Grace has to be extracted from the neck…” Sam tells them, his own face twisting into a grimace at the reminder of his own experience. “That’s what made it dangerous. To get all the grace… you need to push the needle in further and further. But we’re not going to do that, okay?”

Sam placed the syringe to the side, picking up on how Claire was unable to tear her gaze away from the menacing instrument. “Cas can monitor you the whole time, right Cas? We’ll keep to a safe level, extracting what we can.”

Claire nodded her head, just barely noticeable, her eyes drifting across the room as she sits, lost in thought. “And… doing this… it’ll help you?” Claire directed the question at Castiel, her eyes briefly flickering up to meet Dean’s.

“I… I suppose so, yes,” Castiel begrudgingly admitted. “Every piece of my grace would help, but Claire-,”

“Then I’ll do it.”

Castiel’s mouth swung shut at her answer, taken aback by the assured confidence in her voice.

Kaia looked to Claire, torn between wanting to say what was on her mind, but also wanting to respect her decision. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Claire insisted with a soft smile at the girl behind her. “I’ll be fine, I promise. Cas is looking out for me.”

‘Huh… you know, you and Claire have the same smile. I mean, I know it’s Jimmy’s smile, but… you smile at me like that, too.’

“I can’t say I’m feeling all that jazzed about this decision,” Jody says. “But… I also know it’s not mine to make. Just… be careful. Please.”

“I’ll intervene before even the slightest bit of harm could be inflicted,” Castiel assured Jody in that sincere grovel of his that the Winchesters know mean he’s ready to sacrifice himself if it comes to it. “I give you my word.”

“Okay, let’s just…” Claire tried not to shudder at the thought of what that needle would feel like in her neck… “Let’s get this over with…”

* * *

Claire was able to hold back a wince as the marginally smaller needle slid out from the crook of her elbow, barely even able to get a glimpse of the puncture wound it left behind before Jody was swabbing at it with the gauze from the first aid kit.

She did get a glimpse of the small glass vial filled with a dark crimson liquid that was once running through her veins, now held in Sam’s hands. He carefully screwed the lid back on the top, avoiding spilling any of what was – technically – a precious ingredient to them now.

“Never liked getting blood tests taken…” Claire mumbled, rolling her eyes at the brightly colored care-bears band-aid that Kaia stuck over her arm.

“Better than having to slice your palm open a few thousand times for spells,” Sam said, handing the vial over to Eileen for safe storage. “Makes handling weapons a pain for a few weeks…”

“Maybe you guys should just keep bags of your blood around or something for that,” Claire joked from the couch. “With how often you guys get injured, it would probably be useful.”

‘Doubt a bag of blood would have fixed my heart, but it’s the thought that counts.’

The joking smile on Claire’s face disappeared the second the ridiculously big syringe was back in Sam’s hands, the sight of that long and sharp needle sending chills up her spine.

A small smile of sympathy hitched at Sam’s lips at the clear apprehension on Claire’s face. He takes the few steps over to the couch where Claire was sat, followed closely behind by Cas as he wheels himself next to Claire.

“You might want to lie down for this,” Castiel tells her. “The procedure is… unpleasant.”

Claire swallowed nervously at his warning, shifting around on the couch until her head was resting against the mountain of pillows that Jody had quickly built for her, placing trembling hands across her stomach as she waits for something that’s going to be – well, ‘unpleasant.’

Her eyelids flutter shut at the comforting touch of Castiel’s hand on her forehead, able to feel the gentle hum of Castiel’s grace just beyond the skin of his hand. It was weird to think that it was searching through her body, taking account of her pulse, her rate of breathing, the smallest sign that something was amiss.

“Are you ready?” Sam’s voice filters through her thoughts. Keeping her eyes firmly shut, she nods her head. She didn’t want to see the needle again. She especially didn’t want to see it going in her neck…

‘Unpleasant’ was not the right word, she very quickly decided. In fact, ‘unpleasant’ was pretty damn far from the word she would use to describe the burning pain that takes over every other sensation in her body. ‘Unpleasant’ was a word used for heartburn, or when you scrape your knee falling off your bike as a kid.

She finds her hands digging into the couch underneath her, gripping onto the soft material in a vice-like grip. She has no doubt that Jody isn’t going to appreciate the gouge marks she makes in the expensive leather with her nails, but that’s a problem for future Claire. Right now, present Claire has to focus on remembering how to breathe, on keeping the scream that wants to burst out from her lungs settled in place, on easing pressure in her jaw as she clenches her teeth in case she ends up biting her tongue.

The needle slides in further and, somehow, the pain gets worse. She didn’t think it could, but oh boy, was she wrong. It’s a damn miracle she’s able to bite back the scream, but even her tightly clenched eyelids were unable to stop the few tears that squeezed their way out. There’s a hand brushing through her hair – likely Jody’s – and another hand gripping onto hers almost as tightly as the other is burrowing into the couch – one she knows for sure is Kaia’s. She almost can’t feel them, but… they’re distractions. They take away from the pain in just the slightest, but quite frankly, she’ll take as much as she can get.

“That’s enough.”

Dean’s voice had never been so relieving to hear, even if it was in that freaky deep voice that sounded like Dean trying – and failing- to mimic Castiel’s. You wouldn’t think the feeling of a needle slipping out of your throat would feel good, but anything was better than the agonizing pain she had just been going through.

“There. It’s over.” Sam’s relieved voice finally gets her to pry her eyes open. The sight of the wispy, cloud-like blue gas shifting around within the syringe is almost mesmerizing to see. That grace was inside her – still inside her, in fact – and she had no idea. She can never feel it, it’s just… there.

Seeing five heads peering down at her was rather jarring, even if she knew they were doing it out of worry for her. “Jeez, could you guys back up a bit? I promise I’m not dying…”

“Technically, she’s telling the truth,” Castiel said, his hand slipping away from her head. “I can’t sense any permanent damage done. You might feel somewhat weak for a few hours, possibly a day, but you should recover fairly quickly.”

“How are you feeling?” Jody asks, the worry in her eyes remaining despite Castiel’s diagnosis. She offers a hand to Claire, who gladly takes it, allowing herself to be pulled up into a sitting position.

“About as well as you can after having a needle in your neck…”

‘I think she takes after me more than you, Cas.’

‘You passing on your sarcastic deflections is not something to be proud of, Dean…’

‘Hell yeah it is. Being honest is for losers.’

‘Huh…. For so long, I worried that Jack was going to take after Lucifer… I should have been more worried he’d take after you.’

‘Damn. Don’t get me wrong, that was a great burn, but also… screw you.’

‘Actually, I was waiting for you to do that.’

‘Ha, that’s… Wait, wha-,’

“This spell of yours better work after all that…” Claire tells Sam, getting one last look at the vial of Castiel’s grace before it joins the other vial of her blood that’s tucked away inside Sam’s duffel.

“Thanks to you, it just might,” Sam responds with a grateful smile.

A flash of blue pulls Claire’s gaze away from Sam, glancing over to see the last second of Castiel before being greeted by eyes she knows belongs to Dean Winchester. She can only grunt in surprise when Dean’s arms are wrapping around her back, yanking her towards in a rather clumsy and awkward hug.

“That’s from both of us,” Dean says quietly in her ear, his arms tightening around her side.

Claire chuckled at the unusual softness Dean was displaying, along with the fact that Dean was very nearly dragging her off the couch with his hug. “You went back into the bad place to get Kaia back, so… only fair I did what I could to get Cas back to you.”

Another laugh bubbled out as she felt the heartfelt hug turn into more of a tense hold, patting Dean’s arm in sympathy at what she knew was going to be an awkward question from Dean once he pulled away from the hug.

“Uh, actually, about that… Me and Cas were kinda wondering…”

“Just try and reduce the number of times you two suck faces around me once you get Cas back,” Claire tells him, much to Dean’s – and Cas’s – horror. “It’s gonna take me a while to not see it as you kissing my dad…”

“I’m not too sure what I just walked into, but it sounds like a juicy topic.”

The new voice in the room gets everyone to jump, those with weapons tucked away pulling them out in a smooth practiced motion, training them on the unexpected newcomer. Sam’s eyes widen over his pistol’s iron sight, lowering the gun instinctively once his brain registers that the woman smirking over at them was someone he knew.

“Rowena?” Sam splutters in surprise, gesturing for Jody to lower her own gun – which she did somewhat reluctantly. “How did you-,”

“Just a heads up deary, your devil's trap has been damaged. Think you might have some little micey’s nibbling away at your floorboard.” Rowena tells Jody with a sweet smile and an equally sweet-sounding voice.

“Who the hell are you?” Jody asks, pistol still held firmly in hand.

“Rowena. As Samuel over there just stated.”

Jody’s eyes narrow at the stranger in her living room. Sam’s judgment was the only reason she had her gun pointed to the floor, and not at this fiery woman. “Okay, I’ll be more specific; what are you?”

“Centuries-old witch. Freshly created damned soul. Demon. The Queen of Hell.” Rowena’s impressively fake friendly smile only widens at the discomfort that washes over Jody with every new title she provides. “Take your pick.”

“Sam...” Jody takes a step back from Rowena, instinctively moving closer to where Claire and Kaia were – nearly bumping into Castiel in the process.

“What are you doing here, Rowena?” Sam asks her, sensing the need to defuse the situation before Jody starts shooting.

“What I said I would do,” Rowena answers, sauntering over the armchair Claire was occupying not long ago and dropping into it like it was her own home. “Imagine my surprise when my demons pick up on an angel's grace on Earth that’s not occupying a vessel. I sent some of my men to investigate and… what do you know, they report back to me that the Winchester’s are involved. I could only assume this is a part of your little plan to save the angel?”

“I have a name,” Castiel grumbles from his spot by the couch, mostly blocking Claire and Kaia from view.

“Oh! I suppose that means Dean’s been placed in the timeout corner for the time being?”

‘…the timeout corner…?’

“If you’re asking me if Dean is currently the one not in possession, then yes.”

“Uh, I’m sorry, you guys are friends with a witch?” Claire leans away from Castiel to try and get a better look at the witch that was currently sitting in her favorite chair.

“Ah, well, you know the saying,” Rowena mused out loud, leaning back against the comfortable pillows of the armchair. “Keep your friends close…”

“Yeah… and I’m guessing you’re a powerful enemy to have?” Claire asks.

“Good instincts, that one,” Rowena notes to Jody.

“You still haven’t explained why you’re here,” Eileen interrupts, bringing Rowena’s attention over to her. “You were able to sense Castiel’s grace and… then what?”

“As I said, I can only assume this is a part of your plan to bring back Castiel here. I did say I’d help, didn’t I?”

“You? Are willing to help them?” Jody asks incredulously.

“Aye. It’s only fair I help them after they got me killed.”

“Um… you say that like you wanted to be killed?” Kaia asks.

“Oh no, not in the moment, heaven’s no. But it turned out that dying was the best thing that ever happened to me. No mother should outlive her child, but… it’s only right that I should take over my son’s throne, isn’t it?”

“Your son? Your son was the former king of-,” Jody stops as her brain makes the connection, looking between Rowena and Sam in disbelief. “Crowley? Crowley was your son?”

“You’re acquainted, I presume?”

Jody huffs out a laugh at that. “If you call trying to kill me on the first date ‘acquainted’, then yeah.”

“Ah, that sounds like my son… Both the ‘killing’ part and the ‘trying’… poor boy had so many ambitions, just always failed to reach them…”

“Are you saying your son ‘trying to kill me’ is an ambition-?!”

“Alright, alright, let's -,” Sam quickly jumped between the two ladies to defuse the tension, sensing an argument that could only end poorly. “Yes, we found something. One of the Men of Letter’s – our grandfather, actually – managed to create a spell with the help of a witch back then, uh… Anikka Whitmore?”

“Ah, Anikka…” Rowena drawls out the witch’s name, shaking her head in what Sam could only assume was fake pity. “Shame what happened to the poor girl… She just needed to help people… had a soft spot, you see… Every witch worth her money knows that helping the needy just attracts unwanted attention. She found that out far too late, I��m afraid…”

“Yeah, we… we found the pictures…” Sam says with a wince. “Actually, I have the spell on me right now…”

Sam hurriedly searched through his jacket pockets, pulling out the little folded square of delicate paper and rushing over to Rowena to hand it over. Rowena took the paper with careful hands, long nails unfolding the old paper before taking in the written spell.

“Hmm… Ah, that makes sense… perhaps a bit risky using angel's grace, but… the human blood should help to temper the grace’s volatile power…”

“Does it… does it seem like it will work?” Eileen asks, unable to stop herself from worrying over the fragile paper crumbling away in the witch’s hands.

“I don’t see why not, considering it says here that the experiment was ‘technically’ a success… just not in the way this poor lad was expecting…” Rowena tells them, handing the spell back over to Sam – much to Eileen’s relief. “Except…”

‘Ah, dammit. Of course there’s an ‘except’. Another ‘but’, or ‘however’. Always something… ’

“I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, boys. But I have to say it. The amount of grace is… it’s a problem. The grace is essentially the power of this spell. It’s… it’s almost like the glue that puts the body back together. Creates new atoms, replicating DNA from the blood, then binds it all together. And since you said Castiel doesn’t have much of his grace left…”

Rowena’s sentence drifts off at the sight of Dean’s eyes flaring blue, watching as Castiel fades away behind green eyes. Those blank, unoccupied eyes quickly shift to ones of worry, of impending doom as Dean Winchester once again takes control of his body. “It’s not going to work…?”

“I’m not saying that,” Rowena said gently, keeping her gaze focused on Dean alone despite the four other pairs of eyes staring at her. “It’s hard to know for sure when I have never performed the spell myself – as well as it only being done once. There’s every chance this could work with the grace you have, but…”

“Don’t sugar coat it for me,” Dean insisted, his voice coming out weaker than he intended. “We need to know the risks.”

“If it’s not enough… the spell will break apart mid-way through. The body will begin to disintegrate back to nothing as the grace burns away, and once it's empty? That will be it. Castiel will be gone.”

“Is there anything you can do?” Dean asks. Though, ‘pleads’ would probably be a more apt word… “Something that can boost the spell?”

“There’s nothing I can do myself, no. The spell is simple enough, able to be cast by whoever. I’m afraid it won’t matter who casts it, as the power of the spell all comes down to one ingredient: the grace.”

“What about using another angel's grace, or-?”

Rowena stops Dean's blabbers with a shake of her head. “It has to be the grace of the angel that possessed the vessel. Unless another angel possessed the vessel?”

“Uh… that would be Lucifer…” Sam mumbled uncomfortably.

“Ah. Probably best not to go down that route…”

“So… how likely is it that… that this isn’t going to work?” Dean asks Rowena. “What’s the chance that…”

‘That I’m going to lose him,’ Dean thinks the words his mouth can’t voice.

“There's a chance,” Rowena's answer doesn’t make him feel any better. “But you want my honest opinion? Make sure you say all you need to before the spell. Don’t leave regrets.”

Rowena stood up from the armchair, feeling an unusual pang of sympathy in her chest at the crushed look on the elder Winchester’s face. “If you do make it back to the land of the living, Castiel? I expect an invitation to the wedding.”

And with that, Rowena was gone as quickly as she had come, leaving behind a room of uneasy stillness. Perhaps, in another world, Dean would roll his eyes at Rowena’s parting comment. He'd brush off whatever snarky comment Sam would add, perhaps even make a joke of his own, pretending he wasn’t picturing what that would be like; a private wedding, most likely, small and familiar, just the people he cares about most.

He doesn’t want to picture that in this world, though. Maybe even just a few hours ago, he’d let himself delve into such dangerous indulgences, of things he never thought he'd have. Hell, things he didn’t even know he wanted.

Now, though… what was the use of imagining such things, when in a few weeks he might just be falling asleep clutching the trench coat of who was once the husband in those dreams?

Next Chapter - - - >

#destiel fanfiction #Destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #destiel fixit #destiel fix it fic #fix it fic #castiel/dean winchester #castiel/dean #casdean #supernatural spoilers #season 15 spoilers #angst #fluff

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cryptids-and-muses · 6 years

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I had a weird and/or awesome idea for a bat family story.

I don’t think I’m gonna actually write it but I felt like sharing the outline and ideas for the story. This is a mix of a few continuities because I do what I want, and have trouble keeping everything straight. Feel free to add stuff or make suggestions. Now strap in cause I have some thoughts.

So this guy in Gotham is experimenting with transdimensional technology. Oracle discovers what he’s doing and how dangerous it is so she sends the bat family after him. Nightwing, Red Hood, Spoiler, Red Robin, Black Bat, and Robin go after this guy but he sets off a machine and transports them to a different dimension. The main difference of this dimension is that the Graysons never died which set off quite the chain of events, but our heroes don’t know that yet. Cut to this universe’s Batman finding a gaggle of people ranging from early teens to their twenties dressed in weird costumes smoking in a crater. Not to mention a few of them have bats on their chest. This Batman never had a partner outside of Alfred so when they try to explain who they are it doesn’t go great because Batman can’t even imagine working with one kid let alone six. Then he starts to realize a few of these people seem familiar.

In this universe, Dick would have lived with his parents a bit longer but would have eventually been taken by the Court of Owls to become their Grey Son and new talon. Bruce recognizes him after a while because he’s fought him before. It takes a little because he acts drastically different from his unfeeling counterpart in this universe but Bruce probably figures it out after seeing him do some acrobatics, or hears one of the others call him ‘Grayson.’ The realization is pretty jarring for Bruce and it’s really unsettling to see the cold soulless assassin he knows so full of life. He doesn’t tell the bat family that he knows his universe’s Grayson, because that's totally something Batman would do and fun plot stuff later.

He doesn’t know who Jason is AT ALL. He still meets him the same way in this universe but doesn’t take him in. There’s no role of Robin to fill and he has no idea how to care for a child. Bruce does send him to the wayward school for boys but doesn’t really check up on him after that. The whole event becomes a sort of weird story like “remember that one kid who tried to steal tires off the batmobile?” What happens Jason afterward is harder to figure out. Maybe he became a low-level street criminal or a gang leader or ended up in jail. I can’t quite figure it out. What Batman does know is that the boy he meets is using the Joker’s old alias, carries a lot of guns, and looks like he won’t hesitate to use them. None of which is painting a very good picture. This could lead to a cool moment where Bruce, unaware of Jason’s Tragic Backstory™ and fragile truce with his family (Jason is gonna be a lot closer with his siblings in this au), yells at him for this and the others defend him.

Batman probably recognizes Spoiler first. Stephanie would have still gone after her father and created the spoiler persona, even without the inspiration of Robin. However, she wouldn’t have anyone to train her and Batman would be actively discouraging her from going out as Spoiler. That’s not going to stop Steph from being Spoiler but she probably doesn’t operate on a large scale like she does as part of the batfamily. Not only does she have to avoid villains in this universe but also Batman because he doesn’t think she should get involved in vigilante work and tries to stop her when he can. So he sees this version of Steph in a higher tech version of her Spoiler costume and is just so exhausted.

Tim still totally knows who Batman is in this universe. He may not have had Robin to compare to the Grayson’s acrobatics but he would have figured it out somehow. That's where a lot of the similarities end though. Tim would still live with his parents (who are alive) and never really get involved with Batman directly. He became a vigilante because Batman needed a Robin, but here the role of Robin never existed. Tim probably still takes pictures of Batman and that hero worship never really went away. He’s also still an amazing detective even without any formal training. Bruce knows of Tim but doesn't figure out how much he knows, or that Red Robin is an alternate version of him.

Bruce also doesn't know who Cassandra is because he never met her. Her origin stays pretty much the same except she never joins the batfamily. She’d just be out on the streets doing her own thing, on the run from David Cain.

Now with Damian, things get interesting. Another slight change I’d like to make to the universe the batfamily land in is that Damian never left the League of Assasins. Damian has met and fought Batman on a few occasions but Bruse doesn’t know that Damian is his son. Partly because Damian keeps part of his face covered so he can’t see the resemblance. When he meets Robin he has a feeling he’s familiar but can’t quite place it. He realizes this is Talia’s son a little after he recognizes Grayson. Then there's the really intense exchange of “You’re Damian Al Ghul” “No I’m Damian Wayne!” This is extremely shocking for Bruce because of the realization that he has a son. That son is in the League of Assassins! His mother is Talia al Ghul! He has met said son and didn’t even know it! It sets off all sorts of emotions.

As for the actual story, aside from just the general shenanigans of Bruce interacting with the children of his alternate self and trying to get them home, I was thinking that it would start with the alternate universe’s Tim. In this universe Tim is still a genius detective, he’s just not as good because he doesn’t have the training. So he would start poking around in Gotham and discover a huge conspiracy linked to the Court of Owls and decided to figure out just how powerful they are and how deep the conspiracy runs. Cause investigating an all-powerful organization completely on his own with no training is the type of stuff Tim does Batman or no Batman. He only recently discovered the court and is still investigating it when the batfamily show up so Batman isn’t aware Tim knows about the Court or that he’s been looking into them. The Court finds out about Tim’s investigation and send Talon to kill him. The bat family then have to protect this universe’s Tim from Talon, who is Dick. This causes a lot of angst, drama, and family bonding as the batfamily figure out how this universe is different from theirs. I’d love for the other members of the batfamily to get roped into the story somehow too but I’m not sure how. I feel like this story has a lot of potencail and couldn’t just leave it in my head.

Random Funny Stuff for this au

Dick named a lot of the equipment and stuff Batman uses so in this universe things would probably be named very differently.

Tim: We’ll need to use the bat computer.

Alt Bruce: The what computer?

Tim: You know? The large computer set up in the cave?

Alt Bruce: Yeah but you called it the bat computer.

Tim: Well what do you call it?

Alt Bruce: The computer.

Tim: …..that just feels wrong.

Damian: Yes I know this part of the cave. This is where we keep Batcow.

Alt Bruce: Where you keep what?!

Alt Barbra: My name is Detective Barbra Gordon. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t arrest you all right now.

Jason: Looks like Babs is a Badass in every universe.

Dick: Did you expect any less?

Jason: Honestly? No.

Alt Jim Gordon: *Sees the batfamily* Oh dear god they’re multiplying.

During the Talon fight

Talon: I am the Grey Son of Gotham.

Stephanie: Dick, sweetie, I know you like wordplay but this is low even for you. Get some better material.

Jason: Damn Goldie! When you go dark you don’t fuck around!

Tim: I thought if one of my siblings was going to kill me it’d be Robin. But not you Nightwing, never you.

Dick: I appreciate the attempt at humor but can we please focus.

Alt Bruce: I think my alternate self has a problem with adoption.

Jason: THAT'S WHAT WE KEEP SAYING!!!!

Alt Damian: I heard the bat was working with new warriors but looking at you now I doubt you are even worthy to die by my blade.

*Entire batfamily is silent for a moment before bursting into uncontrollable laughter*

Damian: Do I really sound like that?

Tim: He’s even worse than when the brat first showed up! I didn’t even think that was possible!

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fundeadasylum · 6 years

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Phanniemay 2018 Day 10: Crossover

The three teenagers watch with curious interest as a string of cars pulls into the parking garage across the street. A line of well-dressed looking figures are making their way from the garage to the convention hall nearby, gesturing and strutting like a pack of gossiping peacocks. Sam is giving them all decidedly sour looks.

Tucker lets out a low whistle, “Must be some big rich guys thing goin’ on. That was a luxury car worth more than even Vlad could afford.”

“There’s stuff Vlad can’t afford?” Danny looks genuinely startled by the idea.

“He’s a millionaire, sure, but these guys are probably like…like 50 billionaires or something. Waaayyyy out of Masters’ league.” Tucker smirks at the thought of something being even out of Vlad’s reach, “If anyone in this town would hope to clink glasses with those guys it would be Sam’s—“

“Don’t. Say it.” Sam growls through clenched teeth.

Danny chews on his lip for a moment and then stands from his chair around the outdoor table, “I’m gonna go check it out.”

“Danny—“ Sam begins to protest.

“Relax guys, I’m just gonna pop my head in for a minute. I’ll be back before my ice cream melts.” Danny grins and ducks around the corner, out of sight of the rest of the ice cream shop’s patrons. One flash of light later and he’s in ghost mode and dropped into invisibility. He sours over the roof tops and follows the trail of rich folks to the convention center, dropping intangibly through the roof when he’s close enough. The air conditioning is cranked high and the place is chilly enough that Danny feels downright comfortable. He lingers in the air, invisible, watching the throng of people move about below him, before he swoops down for a closer look.

The people are dressed well but there’s something…off about them. Danny can’t quite put his finger on what it is but there’s a metallic taste in the air and the sense of things a lot bigger than he is crowding his senses. He flits away to search for a more open space where he can parse things better and rounds a corner into a mostly empty hall.

There is a scattering of people, clustered into groups of two or three, and far enough apart that they wouldn’t be able to pick up each other’s conversations. Danny hovers closer to the nearest group, still invisible, curiosity about that unsettling sensation growing.

There’s a man in a dark suit with a top hat and a polished black cane speaking in a low, growling voice to another man dressed in jeans and a lab coat who—Danny blinks and shakes his head. He can’t focus on the man’s face, can’t make out any defining features. His eyes refuse to stay and keep sliding away to something else. It had been hard to notice in the large crowd but now, with these individuals, he finds that he can’t really focus on any details about them. There are generic things like what clothes they’re wearing or how tall they are, but nothing defining like the structure of their face or the color of their eyes. Something is definitely not right here.

That’s when he feels eyes on him.

He jerks and looks down by the suit-wearing man’s feet. There is a young woman sitting on the floor, her back against the wall, legs criss-crossed and head titled ever so slightly to one side. Danny still can’t focus on her face but he knows, without a doubt, that she is looking at him. He checks and, no, he’s still invisible. But when he drifts to the left, she definitely turns her head to follow him. She’s watching him. He’s invisible and she’s watching him.

“Hay un espía invisible mirándonos.” She says and the other two instantly turn to face her. The man in the suit looks up, following his companion’s gaze, and Danny’s stomach drops because the man is looking right at him.

“¡Demencia! ¡Cosiguele!” The man in the suit snarls. Before Danny can blink the girl has launched herself off the floor in a whirl of bright colors and tackled him out of the air.

Danny struggles as he’s hauled backwards, trying to get a bead on his attacker. But she’s fast and lithe and moves like an eel through water, twisting out of his reach and slithering around him even as she drags him across the floor on his back. He doesn’t dare try and fire blasts off willy-nilly for fear of hitting an innocent or accidentally bringing the roof down on their heads.

He’s jostled over a threshold, a door slams, and the room is dark. His arms are yanked over his head, wrists pinched together. He prepares to fire an ecto-blast but yells in pain as someone—probably the girl—sits down hard on his arms, grinding his elbows into the floor. Florescent lights flare to life, momentarily blinding him as he bucks and kicks and struggles. There’s a sound like a nerf gun being fired and his ankles are bound with something so heavy it feels like a planet is strapped to his feet. He can’t phase through whatever it is and it makes his panic spike. He yells and struggles harder. Until something small and hard presses into his chest and, for whatever reason, makes him freeze.

Danny’s gaze travels up the silver end of the cane poking right into the middle of his DP symbol, up the polished black beam, up until he sees the black, gloved hand holding the cane in place.

The man is no longer keeping up his façade of pretending to be human.

His skin is dark grey and there’s and unnatural look to it, like something that doesn’t fit quite right in the dimensions of this universe. Only one of his eyes is visible, the other hidden behind a polished monocle, and it burns red with curious sort of anger. And his teeth…his teeth are dagger sharp and a pale, acidic green. Everything about him screams evil.

And for the first time in a very long time, Danny is afraid.

“Now, what have do we have here, hm?” It’s perfect English coming out of the creature’s mouth, not a hint of an accent. And he’s grinning, showing all of those horrible teeth, smug, confident, and utterly in control.

“An ectoplasmic entity of some kind, jefecito.” Danny’s head snaps away from the man in black to the man standing at his weighed down ankles. There’s…a paper bag over his head? Maybe it’s not paper because the goggles he’s wearing over them aren’t bending or tearing the material like it’s normal paper, “Though it doesn’t look like it’s the same as other ghostly creatures we’ve come across.” He peers closer at a device in his hands, the glint of his eyes through his goggles narrowed, “Hm, it appears to also be exhibiting mortal traits…odd…”

There’s a gun-like device dangling at the man’s (scientist’s?) side and from this angle, Danny can barely make out the thick, viscous substance clinging stubbornly to his feet. It shimmers like oil in the florescent lights.

“Señor Black Hat, puedo comerlo?” Says the girl presumably sitting on his arms. Danny doesn’t know exactly what she says but he recognizes the word “eat” and wonders just what the hell he’s stumbled in on.

“No, Demencia, I don’t think so.” The creature—Black Hat?—leans over Danny, his shadow blocking out the lights, his eye bright and glaring, “You’re a sneaky little brat, poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. But you’re strong. Stupid, but strong.”

“Who are you!? What are you doing here!?” Danny’s glad there’s bravado in his voice because there’s none in his hearts. Something about this terrifying being is filling him with an intensely cold and almost irrational fear that he wants nothing more than to run home and hide under his bed. This is a thing of nightmares and Danny knows, deep in his core, that this thing could erase him from existence before he could blink.

Black Hat cackles, a deep, throaty laugh that makes Danny’s head swim with images of snapping bones and slowly churning meat grinders.

“Ah, sir—“

“What, Flug?” Apparently Black Hat doesn’t like being interrupted while he’s gloating.

Flug shrinks back into his lab coat, “Ah, sir, sorry to interrupt, but I think that’s the local town hero. Danny Phantom.”

Black Hat grins and this time it’s predatory. He looks back down at Danny who has never felt more like a prized turkey ready for the oven, “A hero, eh? A child who thinks he has the power to save everyone? How cute.” He grinds the end of his cane into Danny’s chest, making the boy squirm, “If this were any other day, I might have let Dr. Flug here have some fun with you. But we’re here on business and at the graces of a potential client. Wouldn’t want to get on anyone’s bad side now, would we~” Black Hat removes his cane and steps back. At the same time, Demencia leaps off Danny’s arms and Flug dissolves the restraints with a shot from his gun. Danny is instantly in the air, fists clenched and teeth gritted. Ectoplasm swirls around his hands, blobs of energy gathering and dispersing as he struggles with himself.

On the floor, looking up at him without a trace of worry or fear, Black Hat says, “Run along home, little ghost boy, I’m sure there’s someone waiting for you.”

His grin and the tone of his voice make Danny feel sick. He rockets up through ceiling, zig-zagging through the sky and dropping back into the alley beside the ice cream shop. When he’s human and gravity is holding him down again, he almost collapses onto shaking legs. Taking several deep gulps of air and struggling to compose himself, Danny carefully makes his way back to where his friends are sitting. They notice him immediately and Sam half rises from her seat but Danny waves a hand at her as he flops into his. The ice cream in the bowl in front of him is mostly sugary blue soup by now.

“Dude, you okay?” Tucker asks, “You look like you’ve seen a—I mean, uh, you look…not good.”

“Um.” Danny says. The gears of his mind groan with ice from the cold fear still nestled in his chest, refusing to turn. He can’t tell them about those three in the convention center, they can’t know. Because Danny knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that it would get them killed.

“Danny?” Sam says softly.

“Oh, uh, it was…really freaky old rich people stuff.” Danny manages to push the words out, squashing the tremor that wants to sneak into his voice, “Like, really freaky. Gross freaky. Zero out of ten, would not recommend finding out what is happening in there.”

“Whoa, musta been bad if it left you lookin’ like that!” Tucker laughs. Sam looks doubtful but when Danny laments his melted ice cream, she scolds him for taking too long. And then gets him another one.

That night, when he can’t sleep, Danny uses his phone under the bedcovers to search the internet for any mention of Black Hat or this Dr. Flug. A page only half loads before his phone screen cracks on its own, starts leaking something sticky and dark, and dies.

He chucks it in the bin and tells his parents he lost another phone to a ghost attack.

He never tells anyone about that day and he never goes looking for Black Hat ever again.

-------

I admit, this one got away from me a bit and it ended up going in a direction that I really did not expect it to. Dang thing wrote itself. Ah well.

Not my best Villainous work but I’m not used to writing the Black Hat crew from an outside perspective. Anyway, this was fun to write even though it’s not what I initially wanted to do with it.

Also, sincerest apologies if my Spanish isn’t correct. I’m not the best Spanish speaker and I hardly ever deal with it in written form.

#pbbbttttt #phanniemay #phanniemay18 #danny phantom

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v-writings · 7 years

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The difficulties of knowledge Part 3 of The troubles of miscommunication

Word Count: 8K+ Pairing: Peter Parker x Female Reader Summary: You’re happy to know something so important about Peter’s life, but learning to deal with being aware of him being in danger might be a lot harder than you thought. Rating: T Warnings: None. A/N: This does not cover the entire movie, as a matter of fact it covers like, 20 minutes of it. I would like to eventually write the entire movie as part of the universe of this fic though so if you like how it’s going, don’t hesitate to let me know ♥

You love what Peter does for the city and the people when he’s out as Spider-Man, you really do— but the truth is that it’s pretty hard for you to not feel incredibly worried now that you know it’s him who’s out doing superhero stuff. You know that every time he does that he’s in danger, no matter how good at what he does he is. Hell, only yesterday he could’ve easily died during the bank robbery.

You talked about this morning on your way to school and he promised to do his best to reassure you and communicate with you to tell you he’s doing okay whenever he’s out, but even then you can’t stop the unsettling feeling that makes its home in the pit of your stomach—a feeling that refuses to leave until you know that Peter is safe in his home, or in your arms.

Still, you know that it’s only natural to worry, and you know that as time passes you’ll start to get less and less worried about him and you’ll trust his skills more than you do now… or maybe not.

Your phone vibrates while you’re in the middle of your English class, and you stealthily take it out of your pocket to see what the text says.

I can’t wait to see you in gym class

You bite the inside of your mouth to stop yourself from smiling, and type a quick response while pretending to read the text on your desk.

Ditto 🕷💗

You block your phone and put it in your pocket again, but when you feel it vibrate several times after that you simply resist the urge to grin and continue reading your textbook like nothing happened.

😮 😮 😮 😮 😮 😮 😮 😮 😮 😮 😮 😮 😮 😮 😮 😮 😮 😮 😮 😮 😮 I feel like you’re LAUGHING AT ME

“Parker, no phones during class. Thank you.” The teacher calls out, giving him a sardonic smile before continuing with what he was just saying— but Peter simply can’t concentrate.

Thankfully, that is not really a problem for him because he has no troubles with this subject, so he can simply look forward and act like he’s paying attention when in reality what he’s doing is think about you.

Peter is almost counting the seconds until he gets to see you in Gym class, because today is one of the days in the week when, besides that class, he only shares lunch with you.

He hates days like these.

When he enters the gym with Ned by his side, he sees you’re already sitting down on the bleachers and by the looks of it, you seem like you’re about to fall asleep. You don’t even register him sitting down next to you until he greets you, and even then you only manage to give him a sleepy smile and a quick kiss on the lips before closing your eyes again. As the other students sit down as well, Peter pulls you closer and you rest your head on his shoulder, not saying anything else. He feels incredibly guilty, because he knows this is happening because of last night.

“I’m sorry about earlier this morning. I should’ve let you sleep.” He apologizes in a whisper, looking sideways at you.

“It’s okay.” You shrug him off. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” You accommodate your head on his shoulder a little better, and he just lets you be without saying anything else.

Once the Captain America video is done, Peter shakes you softly, but you just groan and bury your face on his neck.

“Come on, we have to start.” He whispers, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

“I hate this class.” Peter feels the vibration that the sound of your voice creates against his skin, and it makes the hairs of his arms stand up. “I’m not doing anything today.” You finally move away from him and drag yourself down, but coach Wilson stops you both before you can get anywhere.

“[L/N], ropes. Parker, mats. And you better stay away from each other from the rest of the class or I will send you to the principal’s office for inappropriate behavior.” You simply stare at him with your mouth open in disbelief, as if what he just said is completely unjustified.

“What? Why?” You ask, lifting up your arms dramatically. Peter doesn’t say a word because he knows he’ll only make it worse, given the fact that you both know very well why the coach is telling you this. He just stares at you with a blank face without saying anything— staying silent long enough for it to become really awkward. You don’t seem to care, though, and you continue looking at him questioningly like he has no reason to make sure you two aren’t close to each other during this class.

Since the last time you managed to let him pair you up with Peter you ended up kissing him every time you did a sit up, Peter knows for a fact that he’ll never trust either of you again.

“Ropes.” He deadpans, and you let out an exaggerated sigh before turning around and doing as told. You turn around to look at Peter with a forlorn expression, and he just smiles and mouths “see you later” before making his way towards the mats with Ned in tow.

“I’m gonna die. I can’t do it. I’ll die.” You groan, face down on the floor. “Actually, I would rather die than do this.” You add, almost as an afterthought.

“[L/N], for the love of God, climb the rope.” Coach Wilson tells you, and even though you aren’t seeing him you know he just rolled his eyes at you. He does it all the time.

“I would love to, it just so happens that I’m physically unable to.” You answer, lifting up only your head to look at him. “What if I die, huh? What if I have a heart attack from the strain of trying to do something I’m unable to and then you get fired because of it?” You lift your eyebrows at him and he just stares at you without any emotion in his face, while simultaneously looking like he’s so done with you he’d jump out the window if he could, just so he doesn’t have to keep talking to you.

“I definitely don’t care enough to deal with this.” He shakes his head and turns around, leaving you lying there feeling victorious.

“Check and mate.” You whisper to yourself, turning around to lie on your back. You cross your legs and place your hands on your stomach, closing your eyes and getting ready to take a nap for the rest of the class. Coach Wilson cares so very little about anything that has got to do with you that he’ll pass you all anyway, because if he didn’t it would mean he’d have to deal with more work later.

You don’t normally get to sleep during Gym class because of the noise, but given the fact that you’ve been awake since five in the morning it actually doesn’t take you too long to start drifting away. Yesterday you found out that your lovely, sweet boyfriend is actually Spider-Man, and Peter spent the night at your place after you had a long talk about it. Afterwards you had to wake him up so no one would find out about what you did, but that meant that afterwards you were unable to fall asleep again. So, you came to school having barely slept, and even though at first you didn’t really feel it, now it’s hitting you pretty hard.

“Peter knows Spider-Man!” You were so close to falling asleep, but Ned’s familiar voice pulled you out from your daze rather violently. Your eyes open wide and you sit up, turning your head around until you find him and Peter.

What the actual fuck did he just do?

“No, I don’t. No. I— I mean—” Peter stutters, and you just manage to stare at him and Ned with wide eyes.

Oh no. He’s nervous and embarrassed.

That’s it. You’re killing Ned.

“They’re friends. Yeah, like Coach Wilson and Captain America are friends.” Flash interrupts him, and you wish he was just a few inches closer so you’d be able to kick him in the shin and pretend it was an accident.

“I’ve met him, yeah. A couple times.” Peter says, and you know he’s making it really hard for anyone to believe what he’s saying. He’s definitely not the best liar in the world; he’s not a good liar, period.

“Oh my God, is that true?” One of your classmates asks you, mouth open in surprise.

“Uh… yep.” You manage to say, trying to think of a way to get out of answering if someone asks a question. If you say something different to what Peter says, people will call him a liar until you graduate.

And then in your 10 year high school reunion they will still call him a liar.

“Through the Stark internship.” He nods, and you curse under your breath and how obvious it is that he’s not telling the truth. “Yeah, well, I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“Well, that’s awesome. Hey, you know what? Maybe you should invite him to Liz’s party. Right?”

Oh, shit.

It’s no secret that a lot of people believe that the Stark internship is a lie that Peter tried to use to become more popular— and while it is a lie, they are completely wrong on the reasoning behind it. In the end even if Peter had wanted to use it to become more popular it completely backfired, because Flash made sure 95% of the student body were certain that he was lying, and now he teases Peter about it relentlessly.

You really want to punch him in the face for it.

“Yeah, I’m having people over tonight. You’re more than welcome to come.” Liz clarifies— being an absolute sweetheart, as usual.

“Having a party?” Peter asks, and all of a sudden you’re filled with an incontrollable urge to choke Ned for putting Peter in this situation.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be dope. You should totally invite your personal friend Spider-Man.”

“It’s okay.” Liz cuts in. “[Y/N] knows about it already and I assumed he’d go with her if he wanted to but I know Peter’s way too busy with parties anyway, so…”

“Come on. He’ll be there. Right, Parker?” Flash challenges, and you struggle with the decision of who you want to punch first: him, or Ned.

Him, probably.

The bell rings, and you get up as inconspicuously as possible and make your way towards Peter and Ned, trying to count to ten so you don’t strangle the latter as soon as he’s within arms’ reach.

“What the hell?” You ask Ned through gritted teeth, trying to keep a smile on your face as to not draw unwanted attention to you three.

“Did you not hear what Liz said?” Ned’s excitement shows that he’s ready to completely ignore your anger over what he’s just done— as usual.

“I was actually on the verge of falling asleep, thank you very much. At last until you screamed that Peter knew Spider-Man. What the hell were you thinking?”

“Liz said that she likes Spider-Man.” Peter explains, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously. Your eyebrows nearly rise to your hairline, and you look at Ned incredulously.

“And you’re trying to set them up? You do realize that Spider-Man has a girlfriend already, don’t you?” Peter laughs but covers it up with a cough, and you glare at him. He mumbles “I love you” and you melt, becoming unable to do anything but smile softly at him in response.

The question was rhetorical, but Ned answers anyway.

“God, are you two telepathically connected or something that you think the same? No. I’m not trying to set anyone up. Can’t you see what’s happening? If we go to that party and Spider-Man shows up and he’s all like ‘what’s up, I’m their friend’ we’ll be made for life. No more teasing, no more anything. We’ll be like, royalty.” You just stare at him and then at Peter, because he cannot be thinking about using Peter to become more popular.

“Ned, I don’t think—” Peter begins, and you know he thinks the same thing you do.

This is not a good idea.

“Flash will never tease you again.” Peter, who was previously looking down at his feet, immediately lifts his head up and you see a spark something in his eyes— and then his expression becomes almost hopeful.

“I—” He’s still doubtful, but you know that the possibility of finally shutting Flash up awakened something inside of him. “[Y/N]? What do you think?”

Well, fuck. If he’s asking you what you think you know it’s because he’s considering it, and knowing that he’s considering because of how much he wants Flash’s constant teasing to stop makes you unable to tell him that he shouldn’t do it.

“It’s your choice, babe. In the end, you do know Spider-Man pretty well, don’t you?”

We’re outside

Peter’s phone buzzes almost immediately after he hits send, most likely because you were already waiting for his message.

On my way down

A minute later Peter sees you opening the door of your building, and as soon as you see him your face lights up with a wide grin. You look beautiful in your outfit and it does take his breath away, but that smile… he can’t compare the feeling he gets in the pit of his stomach when you smile at him with anything else.

Knowing that you smile at him because you’re happy to see him, because you love him— that’s simply the best feeling in the world.

“You’re just two seconds away from drooling, it’s adorable.” May suddenly says, pulling him out from his thoughts. He makes eye contact with her through the rearview mirror, and he can see the slightly pronounced laughter lines in her eyes.

“I’m not going to— hi.” He greets you when you open the door, scooting over to the side to make more room for you.

“Hi.” You greet back, pecking his lips quickly before closing the car door. “Hi, May.”

“Hi sweetie. You look beautiful.” She says with a smile, turning around for a moment. “You both look very good.”

“Aw, thank you.” You say, looking down at your clothes while smiling bashfully. “You do look really nice, as usual.” You add in a whisper, moving your hand until it finds Peter’s and your fingers interlock together.

He doesn’t answer not because he doesn’t want to, but because he can’t. He’s just grinning at you like the lovesick puppy he is, and the fact that you’re holding his hand only makes it worse— or better, depending on the way you look at it.

You always know how to leave him speechless.

“Let’s go get Ned, then.” May says, starting the car. “Seatbelts on, please.”

“Bye May!” You say, waving at her as she drives away. “Well, that definitely wasn’t awkward as hell.” You say sarcastically, shaking your head to try and get rid of the memory of what just happened inside that car.

“I know it’s really hard, trying to fit in with all the changes your body’s going through. It’s flowering now, and when you have a girlfriend you love…”

No. You’re just never going to think about Peter’s aunt talking about Peter’s body going through changes ever again.

The inside of Liz’s house is filled with people, and you look around and wave at a few of your friends who are scattered around.

“Okay, we’re gonna have Spider-Man swing in, say you guys are tight, ask [Y/N] to tell you hi for him, and then I get a fist bump or one of those half bro hugs.” Peter looks extremely nervous, and you hold his hand and give him a reassuring squeeze.

“I can’t believe you guys are at this lame party.” Michelle suddenly says, appearing out of nowhere. Well, probably not out of nowhere, but you didn’t notice her until just now.

“But you’re here too.” Ned retorts, frowning in confusion.

“Am I?” Michelle asks cryptically, and you snort before shaking your head at her.

She’s a delight.

“Oh my gosh, hey guys. Cool hat, Ned. [Y/N], you look great.” Liz says, walking up to you with a bright smile. You smile back in response, but Ned and Peter just stay silent. “I’m so happy you guys came. There’s pizza and drinks. Help yourself.”

“Thanks Liz.” You smile, and squeeze Peter’s hand rather tightly to get him to say something instead of just standing there in awkward silence.

“What a great party.” He blurts out, and you smile and nod in agreement.

“Thanks.” Liz says with a grin, and just then you hear something breaking and Liz’s expression turns into worry. “Oh— I— my parents will kill me if anything’s broken. I gotta—”

“Go ahead.” You say, and Peter nods in agreement with a small smile.

“Have fun.” She says right before leaving, and once she’s gone, you turn to Peter expectantly.

Earlier today when you were getting ready, Peter called you and you had a talk about him not being sure about appearing as Spider-Man at Liz’s party, and while you told him that it was his choice to do whatever he felt comfortable with, you also told him that the best thing he could do was to be himself, always.

“Come on Peter, Spider it up.” Ned whispers, looking at Peter with eyebrows raised in excitement. Peter looks at you, and you give him a reassuring smile and rub the back of his hand with your thumb to let him know you support whatever he decides to do.

“No, no, no, no. I can’t— I cannot do this. Spider-Man is not a party trick, okay? Look, I’m just gonna… be myself.” You smile and kiss his cheek right after he says it, because you’re really proud of him for making that decision in the end.

“Peter, no one wants that.” Ned retorts, staring at him like he just said the stupidest thing ever.

“Dude.”

“Excuse me?” You and Peter both talk at the same time, but he’s nowhere near as offended as you are by what Ned just said. “How dare—”

“You’re biased because you’re in love with him, your opinion doesn’t count.” He dismisses you, and your mouth opens in disbelief.

“Are you serious? I— what— you—” You scoff and turn to Peter instead, grabbing his face in your hands and squishing his cheeks. “You.” You press a kiss to his puckered lips. “Are.” Another. “Perfect.” And another one. He giggles adorably at that, and you press one last kiss just because you can.

“You are an asshole.” You say through gritted teeth, jabbing a finger at Ned’s chest. Peter grabs your hand again, but you don’t get too far before hearing the voice of the Devil Himself— also known as Flash Thompson.

“Penis Parker, what’s up?!” He yells through a microphone, and Peter’s hand squeezes yours almost instantly. You know he didn’t do it on purpose, it’s because he tensed up at that fucking nickname. “So, where’s your pal Spider-Man? Let me guess, in Canada with [Y/N]’s higher standards?” People laugh at that and his hold on his hand becomes tighter, but this time you’re squeezing him back just as tightly.

You’re going to kill Flash.

“That’s not Spider-Man, that’s just Ned in a red shirt.” People continue laughing, and your anger continues to rise at the speed of light.

“Come on, let’s go.” Ned says, pushing you both forward to get you out of there. Wise choice, considering that it seemed like both you and Peter were rooted at your spots— albeit for different reasons. Flash says something else neither of you pays attention to as you leave, and you search for a place less crowded outside the house.

“I’m going to do it.” Peter suddenly says once you three are somewhat alone, and you stare at him with a frown until you realize what he means.

“Peter, you don’t have to.” You say, pulling him towards you and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Yes!” Ned shrieks happily, looking like he’s just been told the best news of his entire life. “This is going to be amazing. Just do as we planned.”

“I know I don’t have to.” Peter says, ignoring Ned. “But I’m just… I’m so tired of Flash teasing us and maybe if I do this he’ll finally leave us alone. Can you imagine?” His hopeful look is all you need to simply nod in agreement to this, because even though Flash does tease you too, it’s nothing compared to what Ned and Peter have been going through for the past years.

Flash’s teasing when it comes to you boils down to him basically telling you that you could do better than dating Peter and being Ned’s friend— but when it comes to them it’s way, way worse.

“Okay, we’ll wait for you inside.” You say, kissing Peter on the lips before pulling away. He nods and smiles, and you let out a breath while hoping that this doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass.

“This is the best day ever!” Ned whisper-shrieks, doing a little victory dance.

“Come on Ned, let’s go.” You grab him by the wrist and pull him with you while he’s still dancing, waving at Peter and leaving him alone to sort himself out.

“How long do you think he’s going to take?” Ned asks once you’re inside while you scroll through your Twitter feed, looking out the windows to try and see if he can find Peter.

“Dunno.” You shrug your shoulders. “A few minutes, I guess.”

As it turns out, more than a few minutes pass and now you’re past the point when you think Peter simply decided against appearing as Spider-Man because he’d be back as himself already if that were the case, and he’s not.

“Where the hell is he?” You ask Ned, biting your thumb nail nervously. “It’s been way too long.”

“I’ll call him.” Ned says, pulling his phone out. A couple seconds later he rolls his eyes and sighs, and you know he went to voicemail. “Where are you? We’re waiting for you, dude. Call me back.”

More time passes, and there’s still no sign of Peter. By this point, you’ve got no more thumb nail to bite on, and now you’re biting your lip.

“Fuck, I’m freaking out. I mean, I have a feeling that he’s out somewhere doing stuff but also what if something happened to him?” You say this while texting him to please tell you if he’s okay ASAP, and wait for a reply anxiously. Ned pulls his phone out and tries calling him again.

“Voicemail again.” He complains out loud. “Peter, where are you? The hat’s not working. This is not cool. Also, [Y/N] seems to be on the verge of a breakdown because she’s worried about you. Can you get here already?”

Peter feels like shit.

No, scratch that. He feels like less than shit. He really wants to know why Tony is now treating him like he’s some useless child when just months ago he himself found him and took him to Germany to fight for him, why he made him feel like he considered him something resembling an equal when it now seems like that’s not the case at all.

What did he want from him if it wasn’t to include him in his team from now on? What was the point of taking him to Germany if he didn’t really think Peter could handle serious stuff?

During the middle of his reverie, Peter’s eyes catch a distinct purple glow, and he quickly realizes that it seems to be part of the weapons those guys were selling earlier. He confirms it on closer inspection, but before he can really see what’s up with it his phone rings.

Ned’s calling him, again.

“Hey man, what’s up? I’m on my way back.”

“Actually, I was calling to say maybe you shouldn’t come. Listen.”

“When I say Penis, you say Parker! Penis—”

“Parker!”

“Penis—”

“Parker!”

“Sorry Peter, I guess we’re still losers.” Ned says in a resigned tone, sighing in defeat.

“SHUT UP, YOU LITTLE—” That’s your voice, Peter has no doubts about it.

“What was that?” Peter asks, straightening his back and focusing on listening what’s being said beneath the sound of the music of the party.

“Oh god, I have to go. I think [Y/N]’s going to punch Fla--”

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH OR I’LL MAKE YOU REGRET IT, TRASH THOMPSON! MARK MY GODDAMN WOR--” The line suddenly goes silent, and Peter just stares at the background image of his phone —a picture of you and him kissing on the lips a couple months ago— for a moment, before a laugh escapes his mouth and then he shakes his head, smiling at the thought of you screaming at Flash because he was teasing him.

It feels really good when you’re protective of him.

He opens his conversation with you on his phone, and seeing the messages you sent asking him to tell you if he was okay both make his chest feel warm and soft, and like it’s being crushed under an immense pressure; that part is probably the guilt of not replying to you sooner. He starts typing faster than usual, almost feeling as if he doesn’t say this right in this very instant it’ll somehow physically hurt him.

I’m so sorry I made you worry and for not replying I’m okay I love you with all my heart

Peter waits for a message in response, but instead your smiling face appears on screen, signaling he has an incoming call from you. He looks around to see if it’s safe to remove his mask, and once he confirms that there’s no one around that can see him he takes it off and presses the green button.

“Hi, I’m sorry.” He says, looking at the ground.

“Hi, it’s okay. I love you too. Are you really okay?” He smiles at the question, and something in his chest feels a little lighter just because he’s talking with you.

“Yeah, yeah. I just— I heard you screaming at Flash and Ned said you were worried and I felt like I really needed to say it.” There’s a prolonged silence on the other side, and he looks at his phone thinking that maybe the call ended without him realizing it—but it didn’t. It’s still going. “[Y/N]?”

“Peter, Jesus. You’re so cute I can’t take it. I love you so, so much.”

“Yeah, well…” He sits down and starts tracing random patterns on the ground. “Did you leave the party? I can’t hear any sounds.”

“Umm…” You’re avoiding his question, which makes him roll his eyes because it means you did something you’re not too proud of. “Yeah… we kinda had to.”

“What happened? I only heard part of what you said.”

“Ugh. Yeah.” You take a deep breath and then let it out, and Peter knows he’s in for a story. “Okay so everything was fine, right? Well, okay, as fine as it could be because Ned is glaring at me because he thinks everything went to shit but anyway—”

“Everything did go to shit!” He hears Ned scream in the background, and then he hears a muffled ‘shut up’ like you pressed your phone against your chest so he wouldn’t listen.

“Anyway, Flash had been a little shit since you left asking me why I was dating you and saying that you were a loser, you know, the usual stuff. And at this point I’m super stressed because I’d realized you left and I’m wondering if you’re alright and my patience is like, gone. It ceased to exist. And then he starts with the Penis Parker stuff and I’m just ready to knock his goddamn teeth out, so I tell him ‘talk shit, get hit. Shut the fuck up or else’ but of course he doesn’t listen, he made it worse. And now he’s making people join in and I’m stressed and pissed and I want to call you to see if you’re okay and Flash is fucking looking at me while he says Penis Parker and I’m this close to losing it completely, I just need him to say one more thing… and then he does and then everything else is a blur.” Peter hears some shuffling and muffled words, but when he’s about to ask what happened he’s interrupted by Ned’s voice.

“What actually happened was that— Jesus Christ, let go of me— Betty was holding her back but she’s so small that she couldn’t do a lot, and Michelle was like ‘yeah [Y/N] defend your man’s honor! Screw gender roles!’ and Liz was like ‘oh my God please don’t break anything’ and Flash was literally screaming and running away from her and it was the most amazing thing ever.”

“Give me that! Ned for fuck’s— Peter? Wait, are you laughing?” He is, because the entire situation is ridiculous and great and he really wishes he’d been there to see it. Although, had he been there maybe it wouldn’t have escalated to that because he would’ve been able to calm you down, but still. It would’ve been great to see it.

“I’m sorry—” He apologizes, trying to regain his breath. “It’s just— I had a bit of a rough night and this really helped me. Thank you. I love you.”

“Wait a sec.” You say, and suddenly he hears a very muffled ‘walk ahead’ said by you followed by a ‘seriously? Okay, fine’ said by Ned. “Peter?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Do you wanna talk? Like, in person? Look, I’m home alone tonight and if you want to you can—”

“Yes, I do.” He quickly answers, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I told May I was going to stay over at Ned’s anyway. Where are you right now? I’ll meet you and we’ll go together.”

“Umm… I think there’s a park like two blocks away? I don’t know the address so I’ll look it up and then I’ll text you, okay? We’ll wait for you there.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you there. Love you.”

“Love you too, bye.”

“Do you want something to drink? I think I should make you a tea to help you relax.” You say as soon as you lock the door, leaving the keys on a bowl and turning the lights on.

“Sure, thank you.” Peter says, and you realize he’s acting a little off. You actually noticed it already while you were coming here, because he didn’t talk much besides answering the things you asked.

“Okay, uh… you can sit on the couch if you want, I’ll be there in a sec.” He just nods and turns around to walk towards it, but you catch his wrist and stop him from doing so. You pull him just a little towards you— only enough for him to decide if he wants to get closer or not. He walks back towards you and rests his forehead against yours, and you stare at his eyes for a long moment before breaking the silence.

“There’s a lot going on in here tonight, isn’t it?” You ask in a whisper, rubbing slow, small circles on his temple. He closes his eyes and nods, rubbing your nose with his own softly before his mouth finds yours.

The kiss is really gentle and sweet, and you lower your hand from his face so you can wrap your arms around his waist. He wraps his own around your neck, and you deepen the kiss a little while trying to not ruin the tender atmosphere that’s been built around you both. Peter lets out the softest whines every once in a while, but other than that and separating to take a breath for a moment in between kisses you don’t stop until several minutes have passed. You can’t know how many, but when you pull away Peter is breathless and his cheeks are flushed deep red, making him look like he just ran 100 meters in 10 seconds.

“Come here, I’ll make you that tea.” You say, pulling him with you into the kitchen by the hand. As you busy yourself preparing the cups for the both of you, Peter sits on the counter and observes you silently, fiddling with his hands on his lap.

While you wait for the water to boil, you walk up to Peter and place yourself between his legs, trapping him in place with your hands on either side of his thighs. He doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, because he leans forward and rests his chin on your shoulder before wrapping his arms around you. You return the hug, rubbing soothing circles on his back while you wait for him to talk first.

“I’m not sure that Mr. Stark likes me after all.” He finally says, and there’s something that resembles resignation in his tone that makes your protective side overcome you completely.

“Why do you think that?” You ask, as calmly as you can. It’ll be counterproductive to start insulting Tony Stark if you want Peter to talk to you about this as honestly as possible.

The kettle whistles before he can answer your question, and you pull away from him only enough to extend your arm and turn the stove off. Resuming your previous position, you repeat your question.

“Because—” He sighs. “You know how I told you that this empty suit rescued me after I fell into the water?” You nod and he sighs again, which can’t be a good sign. “Well, after that he sort of, called or something and he was talking to me through it, and he was saying things like… like he didn’t think I was good enough to get those guys.” He pulls back only enough to look at you, and his in his expression you can see clear confusion. “But he is the one who came to find me because he needed my help in Germany. And today he told me that if Captain America had wanted to he could’ve easily won the fight with me but… but why would he take me there if I didn’t— if I wasn’t—”

“What, baby?”

“Why did he take me to fight by his side against Captain America if he doesn’t think I can do this? What changed after Berlin?” His lost expression breaks your heart, and you wish you’d had the answer he wants to hear— something that would make everything better and it would make him stop feeling bad about himself.

Sadly, you don’t, because you have no fucking clue what was going through that old man’s mind when he took Peter with him without telling May and put him in danger. And now he’s responsible for making Peter feel like he’s not adequate for what he wants to do, while simultaneously being the reason behind’s Peter need to do things like that. After Berlin, he simply cannot settle for doing only small stuff— he craves something bigger.

If you ever get the chance, you will punch Tony Stark in the face.

“Look, baby…” You measure your words carefully, because the last thing you want is to make him feel even worse. “I’ve told you before that I think you need to be careful, and especially when it comes to these people because it seems like they are not playing around.” He nods and looks at you attentively, almost like he wants to memorize every word you say. “But also… look. Tony Stark doesn’t know you, okay? You’ve spent what, 6 hours in total in his presence?” His face tells you it’s probably less than that. “He may think he knows you, but he doesn’t. And I know you respect him, but maybe… maybe don’t take his opinion of you that seriously, okay? He knows little to nothing about you and who you are.”

Peter doesn’t say anything at first— he just stares at you for a while, seemingly pondering what you just said to him. It’s only after you feel like an eternity has passed that he finally nods in response, chewing on his lip like he does whenever he’s thinking deeply about something.

“I get what you’re saying, but it’s just—” He laughs, but there’s no humor behind it— there’s only bitterness. “It’s really shitty to know for a fact that Tony Stark thinks you’re useless, you know?” His eyes glaze over and he quickly looks away with his jaw set in frustration. You cup his cheek and move his head towards you again, making him look at you.

“I doubt he thinks that or else he wouldn’t have taken you to Germany, but I get what you’re saying. He’s being an asshole about this.” You press a soft kiss to his lips and when you pull away, Peter’s mouth seems to chase yours for a second until he opens his eyes again. “Let’s drink that tea now, okay?” He smiles at you and even though it’s small, this one seems much more genuine than any other he gave you earlier.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s do that.”

Usually, the steady rising and falling movements of your chest when you’re asleep are a guarantee that Peter will fall asleep too, but even with your arms around him and his ear pressed right above your heart it’s still not enough. Any other day it would be more than enough, but today it isn’t.

He has too much going on in his mind to be able to fall asleep.

Still, there’s something that naturally relaxes him whenever you’re together like this; maybe it’s your heartbeat, or the fact that he smells your scent every time he inhales, or your arms around him making him feel safe and protected.

Maybe it’s all of that, or maybe it’s even more.

The truth is that being like this also helps him focus, and that means that he can’t stop thinking about what happened earlier today with Mr. Stark. He understand what you mean about maybe not taking whatever he thinks about him too seriously, because it’s true that he doesn’t know Peter or who he is, but he also is probably the only person who can get him to be part of something bigger, and he has to make sure Mr. Stark knows Peter is ready for the real stuff. He thinks he proved himself in Berlin, but if Mr. Stark needs more proof, he’ll give it to him.

Maybe it’s even because he doesn’t truly know Peter that he thinks he’s not capable of handling a situation like this one— but Peter knows he can do this, and the missing piece of alien tech currently sitting on the floor of your living room is the best place to start working on his plan to prove himself.

Going back to school on Mondays is always the worst, but today you actually have a reason why you wanted to be here as soon as possible. Peter complained the whole weekend about not having what he needed to properly analyze that piece of alien high-tech he found after the mishap with those criminals while you were at the party, and he’s finally going to be able to check it out properly with Ned.

Are you busy right now? Me and Ned are going to the lab to run some tests on the thing if you wanna come and check it out with us

You’re on the library when you get Peter’s message, and as much as you want to ditch what you’re doing and join them, you can’t.

I can’t 😭 I’m tutoring today Keep me updated? Will do Love you 😘 Love you too

You put the phone in your backpack to make sure you don’t get distracted if Peter starts sending you messages, and then spend the next hour helping two freshman with Algebra. By the time you’re done and waving them goodbye, you pull your phone out only to discover that you have seven unread messages from Ned and one missed call from Peter.

“Oh, fuck, what happened?” You mumble to yourself, opening the messages and reading as fast as you can.

OHMY GOD THE WILDEST THING JUST HAPPENED YOU WON’T BELIEVE IT PETER SAYS I SHOULDNT SNED IT OVER TEXT JUST IN CASE SO I WONT BUT YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE IT OH GOD WE’RE AT PETER’S COME BY THE MOMENT YOU’RE FREE Also Peter said to tell you that we’re okay and you shouldn’t worry because nothing bad happened and that he loves you 🙄 g r o s s

You laugh at the last part, but also speed up your walking because now you want to know what the hell happened for Ned to be so excited. It has to have something to do with the thing Peter found the other night, but you can’t possibly know what, exactly.

You send Peter a quick text while you’re on the elevator of his building, telling him that you’re almost there, and when you get out of it on his floor you see his head poking out of the door of his apartment.

“Come! Quickly!” He whisper-screams, sprinting towards you and grabbing you by the hand after kissing you so fast your lips barely felt it.

“What’s going on?” You ask when he closes the door, following him to his bedroom. Ned’s inside holding what looks like Peter’s web shooters, but they’re projecting some sort of hologram of something you’re not able to make out yet.

“Okay so, remember the guys who were selling the weapons the other night?” You nod and sit down on his chair, leaving your backpack by your feet. “Well, before we could go to the lab we saw them, inside the school.”

“What?!” You shriek, body lurching forward as you grip the armrests of the chair so tightly that some of your nails actually pierce the fabric. “Do they know it was you? Do they know you’re Spider-Man?” You say the last part so lowly you wouldn’t be surprised if he couldn’t hear it at all, even with his enhanced hearing.

“No, no, babe, it’s okay. They don’t know anything.” You let out a breath and Peter grabs your face before kissing you softly, and you immediately feel better.

“Okay, and then what?” You ask, sitting back on the chair again while Peter sits on the bed.

“And then Peter went woosh--” Ned interrupts, imitating what Peter does to use his web-shooters with his own hand. “And shot a little spider to one of the guy’s feet and now we’re tracking them.” Ned looks like he’s having the time of his life, but you feel like in the last five minutes you aged ten years.

“That’s basically it, I’ll explain it better later.” Peter says dismissively, and you simply nod because this was an emotional rollercoaster and for now you feel better knowing only the bare minimum about this.

“So, where are they now?” You ask, leaning forward to see the hologram a little better.

“They passed Staten Island a little while before you got here.” Ned says, completely focused on the movement of the image. “You want a Dorito?” Without looking away he offers you the bag, and you shrug your shoulders before taking one.

“Where do you think they’re going?” You ask, rolling the chair forward until you can prop your feet up and rest them on Peter’s lap.

“Dunno.” He says, eating the last Dorito from the bag. “But it doesn’t look like they’re stopping anytime soon.”

He’s spot on—and you try and make yourselves busy while you wait for something else besides these guys driving around to happen.

At one point you and Ned decide to continue rebuilding the Death Star, while Peter fiddles with his other web shooter.

“Leaving Jersey.” Ned reports monotonously, as he’s been doing for the past hour every fifteen minutes or so. You stopped paying attention a while back, because it got boring pretty quickly.

You spend a while longer building the Death Star but that also bores you both, and you end up lying on your back on top of Peter’s carpet staring at the ceiling.

“Can I try the mask on?” Ned asks, and Peter just throws it at him. “This is so cool.” He says, moving his head around to try and take everything in. “Do you wanna try it on too?” He asks you, but you shake your head.

“I already did, the other night.” Ned shrugs his shoulders and starts looking at his own hands, looking like he’s high and seeing things that aren’t there.

You and Peter start throwing a tennis ball at each other, but like everything else you’ve been doing for what it seems like a goddamn eternity, you get bored of that as well.

“This is the worst.” You complain, leaning back on Peter’s desk chair.

“Are they still going?” Peter asks, walking across the ceiling of the room. Even though you’ve seen him do that before you think it’ll never cease to amaze you— except for right now because you’ve basically stopped caring about everything.

“Yep.” Ned confirms, throwing himself back on Peter’s bed.

“God.” You groan, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

“Are you okay?” You nod in response at his question, but when you look up again you find him right in front of your face, staring at you with a little frown. You realize that if you sit up straight your mouths will get aligned perfectly, and an involuntary smile takes over your face at the thought of an upside-down kiss. “What?” He asks, smiling too just because you’re doing it.

You grab the sides of his face and he gasps, blushing deep red when he realizes what you want to do. You roll the chair forward until you’re so close that the tips of your noses touch each other’s chins, and Peter grabs your wrists gently— almost like he wants to make sure you won’t let go of him.

Maybe it’s not the most appropriate time to kiss him because Ned is literally two feet away from you, but you care about that a lot less than you probably should when you close the distance between your lips and kiss him like you’re completely alone. Peter’s grip on your wrist tightens just a little when he opens up his mouth and you deepen the kiss, but before you can really get into it a beeping sound startles you both and you pull away immediately.

Ned sits up and you move your head to the side to see what’s happening. Peter’s web-shooter is doing something— most likely related to the guys being tracked.

“They stopped.” Ned announces, and Peter turns around immediately.

“Maryland?”

“What’s there?” Ned asks.

“I don’t know. Evil lair?” You snort and shake your head at how ridiculous that sounds, but then you realize that while they probably don’t call it that, they most likely just arrived to the place where they do their business.

“They have a lair?”

“Dude, a gang with alien guns run by a guy with wings? Yeah, they have a lair.” Well, when he puts it like that you can see how it would make sense, but you still wouldn’t call it that. Something like base of operations sounds a lot more reasonable than evil lair.

“Badass.” Ned compliments. “But how are you gonna get there if it’s like, 300 miles away?”

The three of you automatically look towards Peter’s wall, where a poster you all know very well has been hanging for quite a while now.

“It’s not too far from D.C.” Peter says; and just like that, a solution is found.

The Academic Decathlon.

Tagged: @5-seconds-of-magcon-sausage; @andreuskystuff; @angel-starbeam; @animexchocolate; @argentinemango; @bluebears315; @blumarvel; @burrbbery; @callmecowchop; @cassiestars; @corruptedlungsandblackwings; @cracraforfandoms; @deanskitten; @dragon-chica; @enthusiastic-french-toast; @eurydicerr; @fangeekkk; @friceaurelia07; @girlofallthefandoms; @headvsheartz; @holycow75; @hrkanje; @humansyes-humanityno; @iamplaugedwithlies; @irelandlover21; @justwantablog; @kaidad; @keepcalmandeatsomefood; @kierieriersten; @laura888b; @leavingtonight-1967; @lightningheart; @lordevoldemcrt; @mariam1692; @marvelousmimi; @masqueradingstray; @meandmystrangehabits; @miubebe; @official-morgan-m-steele; @pascalpedro; @pato-el-cerdito; @pederol; @peggsycarter; @peteparke; @philipshaaayyyy; @poptartcalum; @purelittleblueberry; @queeengeeek; @realistically-optimistic-18; ; @ringsawakened; @sarcasticdorkk; @sassy-stilinski; @shadyenthusiastchaos; @stephie-senpai; @strangerconstellations; @supernovares; @thecatcherinthepie; @tol-sam; @ucchan71; @unsailedships; @venaripythonissam; @whatwoulddaisyjohnsondo;

#peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #spider man x reader #spider man imagine #my writing

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nightlight-daylight · 7 years

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c o l l e g e a d v i c e

Original Poster - Bengali Princess

Dorm life, class things, social life nonsense, and mental health stuff

dorm life

don’t like insist on being best friends with your roommate(s). like you might end up friends and that’s great for you, but don’t try to force a friendship because if it doesn’t work out then it’ll be like impossible to recover from that. you can live together and be nice to each other without becoming besties

establish ground rules early about having people in your room (what time, how many people, sex, stuff like that)

respect the quiet hours. respect the fucking quiet hours. down the hall someone is trying to study or skype their long-distance significant other or cry over homesickness. respect that.

don’t date anyone on your floor because if you break up you’re still going to have to pass them in the hall when you need to pee at three in the morning

do your laundry in the morning on a weekday. everyone in the entire universe tries to do laundry on sunday night and then there are no machines left available.

do your best to make friends with people who don’t live in your building or who commute to campus or whatever else because then your like whole entire life isn’t restricted to just that building

your RAs are students before they’re your RAs. don’t like be malicious in your attempts to prank them, because they also have finals during finals week, and midterms in the middle of the term, and shit like that.

for the love of god, hide your alcohol

don’t be the asshole with the guitar in the lounge. everyone hates that asshole. everyone.

class things

don’t sign up for a class that starts before 9am. i don’t care if you took a zero period in high school. you will not want to show up for an early class especially because in college classes do not meet every day.

figure out a note-taking process that works for you early on, and be consistent about it. me, for example: i don’t like writing in books, so i take notes in a spiral-bound as i read, and then i continue taking notes in the spiral bound during class. but i had friends who read while highlighting and annotating the text and then took notes on their computers during class, and that worked for them. cool. awesome. you do you – just make sure that you always do it.

you’re going to have a lot of awkward pockets of free time in the middle of the day. make sure you always have some reading or something school-related to do with you – this will decrease the number of all-nighters (and like seriously try to get at least six hours of sleep a night. more coffee is not actually the same as enough sleep, oddly enough)

sit in either the first or second row. in fact, what usually worked best for me was sitting in the front but off to the extreme side.

go to office hours!!! go to office hours with prepared questions for your professor or TA, because a) this can sometimes earn you participation points, and b) you’re going to need recommendations at some point – for jobs or graduate school or leadership positions. make sure your professors know who you are, and like you as a person as opposed to just a student.

everybody blows at least one class freshman year. it’s okay, i promise. your gpa will have time to recover.

buy nine or ten blue books or scantrons early in the term and keep them with you at all times. the number of times that i’d forgotten to buy a blue book and i had to run out of the classroom and buy one and run back to the exam late is kind of ridiculous.

absolutely go to your advisor for help planning your courses – not just for the immediate future, but for all four years. requirements change sometimes, and you could get screwed if you try to go it alone.

yes, take that elective. don’t get pigeon-holed into only taking major-related classes. you’ll get bored and burned out, and through taking electives you might find another thing that you’re really passionate about that can shape what you want to be when you grow up (that’s how i accidentally turned into a triple major)

try not to buy your books from the bookstore. they’re overpriced. buy your books online.

carry around a mini stapler. this is a good way to make friends.

social life nonsense

the thing about freshman year is that early on (especially during orientation) you’ll make friends with like a ton of different people. you’ll find yourself part of at least two massive friend groups. that won’t last. when you throw a bunch of young people into a new place we all just try really hard to form connections with each other, and then gradually through freshman year those groups break off into like smaller, closer friend groups as you figure out who you actually like and who you have stuff in common with. that’s okay. it happens.

don’t walk across campus in large groups. don’t walk to parties in large groups. don’t walk to the dining hall in large groups. that’s how everyone knows you’re a freshman. related: don’t wear your lanyard with your dorm key around your neck. don’t do it.

drink at least a cup of water between every alcoholic beverage. do not go to parties alone – use the buddy system, and keep track of your damn buddy. at all times.

yes, join that club. join a lot of clubs at first and then figure out what’s actually important to you and then get really invested in like one or two student organizations. but at first, yes, join that club.

i would advise against dating at all freshman year, just because everybody is feeling new and unsettled, and it’s unlikely that you’ll have a good dating experience in that environment.

find off-campus study spots – coffee shops, bookstores, parks, whatever. go study with friends because it’ll feel more like hanging out, and it gets you off campus. it’s easy to fold yourself into the campus life bubble at college, and college is supposed to be about experiencing the world.

on that note, definitely take a couple of days every term and wander around the city you now live in. go with friends or go alone, but like get on a random bus line and go to a part of the city that’s not within walking distance of campus.

prioritize schoolwork over socializing. yes, i’m serious. i know that friends are really really important in college, but you’re in a lot of debt for this education, and it would be nice to pay for passing grades.

don’t be the asshole with the guitar in the quad. everyone hates that asshole. everyone.

mental health stuff

get enough sleep. oh my god i cannot stress this one enough. make sure you are sleeping enough. less sleep weakens your immune system, and it makes it harder for you to keep up in class, and it leaves you with less energy for your friends. sleep. i’m serious. again, you cannot replace sleep with coffee. coffee is a diarrhetic and it will dehydrate you more if you drink too much of it (i know these things)

i would advise against getting a job for at least your first quarter/semester if possible. i know that’s not a thing everyone can do in school (i worked almost full time for pretty much my entire run through college), but give yourself a least that first term to get used to the environment before you go job-hunting

if you find yourself dealing with a serious mental health issue (depression, an eating disorder, anxiety, etc), get help early. your school probably has some sort of counseling and psychological service center; go to them. but be aware of the fact that those offices are understaffed relative to the size of the population they serve and are designed for short-term, emergency care. that said, they’re really good about referring you to an off-campus therapist or clinician, so make sure you know the ins and outs of your health insurance policy.

talk to your family and friends from high school on the regular. you’re building a new community with your college friends and that’s great, but sometimes you need to talk to people who know the person you used to be.

friends are amazing, and it often can be helpful to talk to them if you’re struggling, but they’re not licensed mental health professionals. it’ll be better for both you and them if you seek support from a therapist or psychologist. i have been on both ends of that mistake and it’s not fun.

take one night a week, every week, as your self-care night. this is the night you don’t hang out with people, you don’t have study group, you don’t pressure yourself to be in contact or company. just take a night to decompress.

i had a pretty good time my last two years of college, because i’d figured most of this stuff out by then. trust yourself to know your limits, and trust yourself to know when you need other people. it’s totally normal to be nervous. everybody is nervous and nobody has any damn clue what they’re doing. you’ll be fine.

#college #mental health #recovery #college advice #university #repost

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storyunrelated · 7 years

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Colder, Harder Hugs #3_Unwanted Words

I did more of this?

What even was an ordinary life at this point?

I mean, things were fairly mundane, just with this odd tinge of unreality that made everything feel a touch surreal. Like, I was still a slovenly, lazy bastard slouching my way through low-level academia but now people looked at me even more funny then they had before and every so often I’d turn to see people pointing.

That was legitimately unsettling the first few times, then just tiring. How many people were aware of this odd ‘living-machines are an issue’ subculture? Lots, apparently. Maybe it was bleeding into the mainstream. Perhaps it was just culture now. I should probably pay attention to this sort of thing now that it directly affects me.

Hah! That’s the spirit. Ignore everything until it affects you. Become interested in a problem once it is your problem! There might be some kind of backwards nobility in continuing to be ignorant in spite of becoming affected, really. You’ve gone this far, why not a little further?

It helps that I’m lazy. It’s really, really easy to keep being lazy once you start being lazy. Try it, you’ll see. Tricky habit to break, especially if you can see no reason to break and nothing to break it for.

Who am I talking to?

An additional layer of oddness with life now was, naturally, having someone around who’s express job was protecting me from people who wanted my life to be unsafe. This was a twofold layer. On the one hand it’s unusual knowing that this person is being follow you around and that YOU are their job. On the other hand it’s super-unusual thinking about the world now holding people who know who you are and who do not like you without ever having met you. This must be what being a famous lady is like.

Morley was the one following me today, at a discrete distance of course.

I settled in a seat towards the back of the room, because that’s what I always did. I knew Morley would be outside. Her being in the room had been deemed a little beyond the pail by university authorities and she’d been fine with it. Apparently she didn’t need to be in the room with me to know if I needed her. That��s not alarming or anything.

Since I’d showed up a little early there were not as many people around yet as there could have been. I had the distinct impression they were trying to not pay me attention, while also doing their best to pay as much attention to me as they could. This impression only got worse as the room filled up and more people did it. I wasn’t sure what they expected me to do. Dance, perhaps? I have a dearth of rhythm though, so more fool them. It’d be underwhelming at best.

Eventually the place became what you might legitimately call ‘full’ and someone actually sat next to me - most had been avoiding this up until then. Oddly, he could have sat further away (I saw free seats) but he did not, instead choosing to sit right slap-bang next to me. Unusual. Like sitting next to someone on the train when the chair on the other side of the carriage is free. Like picking the urinal next to the man already peeing. Why would you do that?

He also smiled at me. Why would you do that, too? What an odd thing to do.

To be fair I always feel that way when anyone smiles at me. Typically I shrug it off as it being down to someone else being behind me. It is them, not I, that is the intended target of the smile. Sometimes though there is no-one behind me, but it still happens. Weird. This would be one of those times.

“You’re that guy, right?” The guy asked. First sitting next to me, then smiling, now talking? What sort of monster in human form was this?

“No. Yes. Maybe,” I said, as his question left of a lot of other, smaller questions in its wake. He seemed to think I was making a joke because he chuckled at this, accepting my answer as a simple ‘yes’. I think this said a lot about him.

“I thought it was you. Seen you around before and then I heard about all the stuff online. So yeah. How is it?”

“You might have to narrow that down a little,” I said and he properly laughed that time, making at least one person turn and look to see what the deal was. I wasn’t trying to be funny, honest.

“You’re a funny guy. Going out with a robot, man! How is it? Like, tell me everything.”

“You... you never had a relationship before?” I asked.

“What? Oh, yeah - yeah yeah yeah. Just with real girls! Robots gotta be better than all THAT,” he said emphatically. I had a feeling this guy and I would not be friends once this lecture was over. I cast an eye around for the lecturer or anyone willing to help but was still on my own.

“To my knowledge Tillie is actually a girl and something with thoughts and agency so it was a lot like any other relationship you might imagine. Just with a few less soft spots and a few more hard edges,” I said. I could think of no better way of summing up my feelings. I mean, that was all of it, to my knowledge. Tillie was a person, so here we were. What else did he want from me?

“All I know is that it’s gotta be worth a shot. Never had much luck with real girls, you know?”

Something about that sentence seemed insulting, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It might have been all of it. Might have been every last bit of it from start to finish. Not sure. Difficult to pinpoint.

“And so you’ve decided...what exactly?” I asked. Would have been rude not to reply, and would have been ruder to reply with one of brusque things the rat-bastard in the rear of my skull suggested I should say. Things like

“Define a real girl, shitheel.” “Could your lack of luck be a result of your unpleasant nature?”

And:

“Go fuck yourself.”

But I had not said any of those things, which was probably just as well. Things like that are fun to say in the short term, but really they just cause more trouble than they’re worth. At least for me. But I’m risk averse! Someone else likely would have said something better and said it better, too. But here I am, braced for his reply.

“I decided, right? This is genius - I decided - real girls are out, right? Too picky. Bitchy. Can’t ever please them. These, uh, robots though? You see ‘em sometimes, you know? And they always look like they’re lonely. If you get me. Lonely is an opening.”

This was vile. This was legitimately vile. Why was he sitting next to me and saying this? What could he hope to gain from this? Was this how he hoped this conversation would be going?

“Living-machines,” I said, doing my best not to grit my teeth. Wasn’t a lecturer supposed to be coming in sometimes soon? To talk so this guy can shut up and I can leave as quickly as possible once it’s over? And forget this ever happened?

“What?” He asked, his momentum halted and his frustration obvious.

“Living-machines, not robots.”

“Whatever. Same thing, right? Point is, there’s not many of them. They don’t have many friends, they don’t have a lot of competition, see? So they’re not as fussy! I get a chance.”

As the horror of this type of thinking sunk into my very bones he shuffled in his seat and leaned in closer to me. His proximity was offensive.

“She ever do anything with her tail?” He asked, quietly, conspiratorially. I knew what he meant. I know I knew. I just chose to pretend that I did not. I decided that I had no idea what he was talking about. This made me feel a bit better.

“Uh, I guess? I mean, she tripped me up once or twice,” I said. Honestly most of the time I forgot it was there until she actively did something to make me notice it. Like trip me up. She hadn’t done that in a while though.

“No no not like that. I mean did she ever do anything, you know, fun?” He asked, smiling in a way I assumed he thought meant something to me. It did not, and left me blinking. I really put effort into pretending I had no idea what he could be driving at, as he was obviously driving at something.

“She always seemed to think tripping me up was pretty fun,” I said.

“Come on, you know what I’m saying.”

This was a line of questioning that was making me uncomfortable. It was steering my mind in directions that were unfamiliar and in which it did not want to go. I may have grimaced. I did something rash.

“Could we not talk about this?” I asked. My equivalent of the nuclear option. I don’t think I’d ever asked anyone ever to stop talking about something. It didn’t make me feel good, especially when I saw his face fall. Sure, I hated this line of conversation but I hated him knowing that I hated it more.

I also was starting to hate him, but that was a side-note. I’ve loathed people in the past and still listened to them speak. It’s just how I’m wired. This though was too much. I could feel my desire for this conversation to stop by any means necessary. It bubbled beneath my skin. Obviously I have a limit. Who knew?

“Oh. Okay. That’s okay. It’s just, you know, you’re the only guy I know who I could ask about this…”

This hung in the air for a moment or so. It was unbearable.

“Well apparently I’m the first so yes, that would make sense,” I said, eventually.

This investigation into uncomfortable territory looked set to continue when the door to the room opened. Oh my God. The lecturer. Thank you. Thank every conceivable and possible being who might have intervened on my behalf to bring this conversation to a close. You all have my eternal thanks. I will track you all down and personally shake each and everyone one of your hands. Assuming you even have any, you ineffable, unknowable beings, you.

Of course my being saved also involved my being in a lecture, but that was no bad thing. Learning is good, right? I even took notes, which is unlike me. I’m not good at writing things down while paying attention, typically I prefer to have things happen in little stages. This time I made an exception as it gave me a great excuse to pay as much attention to something else as possible.

And so it went. Never in my life had a lecture gone quite so slowly but it did eventually end.

I practically ripped the desk from the floor in my haste to pack my bag and leave. It was an effort not to trample the slower-moving members of the class on my way out and I burst through the door with the force of a thunderbolt. In my head, at least. In reality I probably just looked like a pushy, hasty bastard. This was an acceptable price to pay. It’s not like these people are going to remember me in a few years anyway, and I’d had enough for one day. Enough of everything.

I felt an urge to violence. How unlike me! I really did though. Something coiling thick and angry in my gut. The sort of thing that demanded immediate, uncomplicated resolution to frustrations! Which is to say, I rather wanted to punch that guy in the face. Repeatedly, if possible. Over and over again until whatever noises he happened to make came to an end.

But what had that ever solved? Very little. It would cause more problems! I wanted less of those, not more

I wouldn’t even know how to go about beating someone to a pulp in the first place. It’s just not something I’ve ever done before. Never even taken a swing in anger. Does this make me less of a man? Probably not. What even is a man? Many things. All of them subjective. So no, probably not less of a man. Silly question anyway.

So many questions though. Was I wrong to get angry about this? Or was I supposed to get angry about this?

No, wait, I got this one.

I’m angry that this guy is saying and thinking disgusting things about a friend of mine. That wasn’t so hard! It’s got nothing to do with me, but I can feel angry about things relating to someone I care about! Ah! That was easy once I thought about it, actually.

That’s a question answered then, and I remain angry.

Oh that guy though. That guy. What might he deserve? What would anyone deserve for such conduct? What would fit the bill?

Typically, this was where my anger starts running out of steam. Not that it comes upon me often. In the heat of the moment (which never last long) thoughts of vengeance are abundant and inventive but as temper inevitably cools some rationality sneaks in and everything suddenly seems so useless.

What positive benefit would doing horrendous things to someone actually bring to me? None. Not even satisfaction, really, at least not for me. Maybe that’s my fault. So my anger starts nowhere and goes nowhere, going around in ever-decreasing circles inside my head.

And anger without release sours to sadness. Or something a lot like sadness. This heavy, smothering feeling of uselessness that seems to blanket everything and make it impossible to so much as lift a finger without effort. Or maybe that’s just me? Other people seem to get along with their lives just fine so it might just be me. Nothing would surprise me.

So no. No anger please. Even though I know it’s too late. No more dark thoughts of what unpleasant people might ‘deserve’. No good will come of it. Though it’s far too late. Far far too late. All smothered now. Oh well. Best to soldier on. No other choice, really.

There was a lot of talk these days about ‘deserving’ things, I’d seen. Though usually the context I’d seen it in recently was considerably less threatening than the use of ‘deserve’ I’d grown up seeing. Which was a good thing, I guess?

Nowadays it was more like people assuring other people that they deserved this nice thing or deserved that nice thing. Happiness, love, appreciation and things of that nature. Warm, fuzzy things. I didn’t really want to argue the point with the sort of people who said this - because they’d be articulate and able to easily best me and I’d just go away feeling worse - but this was not something I agreed with.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the idea. It’s very nice and comforting to think that people have something innate and inborn within them that as intrinsic worth and value and which cannot be harmed or dampened or reduced by whatever happens in the outside world. That anyone can be loved, can be happy, and that nothing standing in the way of this cannot be overcome. I just don’t really think it’s true. Though I am using myself as the basis for this, so I could just be an outlier.

No-one deserves anything, you see? As that implies the universe owes people or that people are endowed with something intangible but which somehow still has value. Which is cobblers. People are meat - or in the case of living-machines, metal. Everything after this is invented. These inventions have value, sure, but no true power. They have as much power as people are willing to put into them.

Which I suppose gives them power? What point am I making here? Uh. Power as far as it runs up against reality, at which point it may well crumple. Yeah.

A boat is meant to carry you across water. Saying this to yourself while it sinks is not going to change that it is sinking. Saying that someone deserves to be happy while they are miserable is a lovely gesture but ultimately meaningless. Of course they deserve to be happy. Of course they do. Everyone does. But the universe does not care. These nice things aren’t due to come to you, you have to get them. And sometimes you can’t. And that’s not your fault, though it may well actually be your fault. If you’re me, for example.

I think the reason why I wouldn’t argue with these people is because I’m arguing with them while mostly, obliquely agreeing with them. That’s always a good way to lose an argument before it starts - agree with the other person. I think I’m just arguing to hold onto an excuse to feel miserable.

What am I even talking about.

Maybe I’m just unhappy. I doubt I’m thinking clearly.

I kind of want everything to just stop.

I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.

I don’t want to admit I’m sad because then I’d feel obliged to do something about it. I can’t tell anyone I feel sad because then they’d know and they’d feel obliged to help me and then when they failed it would be my fault. Not fair to put anyone through that.

So no. Relentless positivity. That’s me. Not sad at all.

Time to go home.

#Colder harder hugs #cold hard hugs #amwriting #writing #writeblr

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