#Part 12

[yugogeer012]

Part 11

Part 13

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

Tim was waiting for them at the door, sitting one the steps of the Manor's entrance, when they arrived. He grinned an jumped up when he saw the car, not quite running down to meet them. Danny nearly jumped out of the moving car to catch Tim.

"Hey, Danny!"

"Hey, Tim!"

Dick got out of the car after turning it off. He rolled his eyes at the two kids. "Hey, Dick." Tim and Danny snickered at him, ditching a handshake in favor of a high five. "You two have met in person once, why are you so close?"

"Occupational hazard," Danny answered.

"Why? Are you jealous?" Tim teased.

"I am not!" Dick protested, "I'm just curious."

The two didn't believe him for a second. "Yeah, sure."

"I'm not!"

The large oak doors to the Manor opened slowly, not creaking once, pulling the three's attention to the top of the stairs. Just inside of the open left door was an older gentleman in a pressed, three piece suit. "Master Dick," he smiled, "Welcome home."

Dick smiled up at him. "Hey, Alfred. It's good to see you."

"You as well," he stepped to the side, inviting the three inside. Dick walk in first, followed by Tim. Danny took up the rear.

Holding out his hand, Danny said, "You must be Alfred. I'm Danny. It's nice to meet you!"

Alfred closed the door before taking Danny's hand. "Likewise, Master Danny."

"Oh, please, none of that 'master' stuff."

"'Mister' it is, then."

Danny didn't like Bristol, Gotham, New Jersey. It was plastic and fake and reeked of money. The trees and lawns and bushes were all exactly alike, and each property was marked off by wrought iron fences nearly ten feet tall that stretched on forever in every direction.

Wayne Manor, though, had a different feel to it. It still smelled of old money, and the greenery was all perfectly plastic looking, but it felt warm. No. It was almost as cold as the other properties in the area, but there was an underlying warmth to it that was slowly being choked out. Like red dye in a glass of water.

Alfred, Danny decided, was not human. He was perfectly human in every way, but there was something about him that nudged at Danny. His posture was perfect, his clothing pressed and not touched by even a speck of dust. His shoes were shiny, his gloves whiter than snow, and his hair lay perfectly. Danny knew for a fact that Wayne Manor was this man's haunt, even if the man is still of the living. The building was perfectly cared for, and he was sure that Alfred knows where everyone and everything are as long as they're within the Manor property lines.

"Thank you for having me," Danny bowed his head slightly. Alfred's smile grew ever so slightly.

"Please," Alfred nodded, "I must thank you for taking care of Master Dick while I have been unable to.."

"It's not problem, really," he said, "I like helping people."

"Should we be worried about whatever..that is?" Tim whispered to Dick.

"I don't think so?" Dick whispered back.

"You don't sound so sure."

Alfred was the first to move, stepping naturally in front of the group to take the lead. "If you'll follow me to the drawing room, I will bring in refreshments while you all talk."

Dick laughed politely, "Don't be so stiff, Alfie! I'll come help you in the kitchen; leave those two to chat." He winked like he knew something neither Danny or Tim did. They ignored him.

"Very well," Alfred accepted, "I expect Master Tim to show Mister Danny the way."

"Yeah, sure," Tim nodded, "C'mon, Danny, it's this way."

The Manor was large on the outside and inside. The foyer was easily thirty feet tall, a crystal chandelier and white frosted wall scones brightening up the black marble floors and beige walls. A pristine, dark green rug ran up the stairs. On either side of the stairs, imbedded into the walls under the landing, were birch double doors. Dick and Alfred went through the ones on the left, presumably to the kitchen. Tim led Danny through the ones on the right.

The hallway Tim and Danny were no in was only ten feet tall. The floor had become dark oak planks covered by a long, dark red carpet. The walls were the same beige as the foyer, but these were decorated with pictures and paintings of landscapes and cityscapes. Potted plants on small tables and short benches were spaced along the walls. About fifteen feet from the birch doors was a dark wood archway leading into another room.

"This is the drawing room." Tim introduced.

The room followed a similar theme as the hallway. Dark wood floors and beige walls. There was an unlit, red brick fireplace directly opposite the archway, a TV a few inches over the mantel. Bookshelves that were obviously only decoration lined the right wall. A white, circle area rug covered most of the space, accompanied by dark blue and oak furniture, and scratchy white throw pillows. The decorations all matched the hallway, too.

It was all very impersonal.

"What's wrong?" Tim asked after a moment of Danny looking around.

"Nothing," he said, "it all just seems a bit.. manufactured?" He looked at Tim. "Don't take that the wrong way! It's a beautiful building! I'm just- I'm not used to this is all." A lie, but Tim didn't need to know that.

Tim laughed. "It's not my house, so don't worry about it."

Danny's head tilted to the side. "Oh? Then where do you live?"

"Why?" he smirked, "Gonna follow me home if I don't tell you?"

"Maybe." he shrugged back.

The single birch door on the left wall opened, letting Dick and Alfred into the room. They put two trays on the coffee table, one with different snack foods and the other with a few drinks. Alfred was quick to leave the room again.

"Welp," Dick clapped, "I'll leave you two in here to talk. I'm going to-" Danny leveled a glare at him. "-sit here and join your conversation."

Tim stared between the two for a second before laughing again. "Dude! You have to teach me how to do that!"

"Why? Think it'll work on Bruce-man?" That got both Tim and Dick laughing.

"Only one way to find out."

Danny laughed along with them for a few moments before sighing. "I hate to ruin the moment, but I did drag Dick here for a reason." He stepped back a few feet, motioning to Dick.

"Er- Right." Dick cleared his throat. "Tim, I'm sorry for yelling at you when you stopped by Bludhaven."

Tim blinked, giving Danny the impression that he was not used to apologies and the like. Hm. That'll have to change. "It's, um, okay?"

"Great-!"

"No it's not." Danny interrupted, "He yelled at you. You don't have to say it's okay."

"But it is?" Tim reasoned. "I'm used to it."

That's going to change, too.

Part 11 Part 13

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 12

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

AN: Thank you everyone for your kind words on Part 11! 🥰 It really meant so much to me.

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,800 Tags/Warnings: 18+ just to be safe on this one. Angst, hurt/comfort, minor violence and tension, fluff with a tinge of spice.~

Part 12: “All in the Family”

You didn’t realize until the funeral just how well loved your grandfather had been.

So many of his friends, along with your grandmother’s, came up to you personally to express their condolences even before the church service began. Some were more heartfelt and broken up than that of your extended family members, many of whom hardly checked on him when he was alive, even before his cancer returned.

You had no mascara left by the time the service started. Yet it wasn’t until you had to get up and speak that you noticed something else when you stared out into the crowd.

Almost all of Dean’s friends (and now yours) had come to support you. Meg and Cas, Sam and Eileen, Benny and Andréa, Jo and Ellen…they all sat in the row behind him, even though very few of them had even met your grandfather in person.

“George was born in Lebanon, Kansas in the early ‘40s,” you began. “At the time, its population was about 600. Now, it’s less than 200…and that’s why he left, he told me. I didn’t want to be the last relic left standin’ with the tumbleweeds.”

That bit earned you some laughs. You paused, smiling slightly. With a shaking breath, you managed to continue.

Though it was hard for you to even look at Andréa. It was with a mixture of lingering resentment, tempered only by your guilt at the last words you’d levied at your best friend. A large part of you still felt justified, even today, to hold your grudge. Maybe you were wrong for it, but that was just how you felt.

And right now, you were shaking. You barely managed to get through the speech you wrote down on a notepad. After you were done, you couldn’t force yourself to pry your fingers off the podium. You glanced over at the closed casket behind you, to your right.

The pastor was standing to your left, waiting on you to go back to your seat so he could resume the service. You could sense him watching you, and distantly you heard him call your name. You couldn’t respond. Your voice was stuck in your throat.

Both anxious and panicked, you looked up at the sea of people watching you. Your gaze darted from face to face, until you landed on Dean. He was staring up at you in thinly veiled concern.

You okay? he mouthed.

You shook your head subtly. You had the undeniable conviction that if you let go of the podium, you would fall into a heap. You’d make an embarrassing scene at your grandpa’s funeral—something George definitely would’ve gotten a kick out of, if he was here.

My granddaughter, ladies and gentlemen. She can talk real well, but apparently she can’t walk at the same time.

Before you could choke out a laugh, followed shortly by hyperventilating, Dean got out of his seat and went up to the stage.

His supportive hand came to rest on the small of your back, while the other was offered to you palm facing up, next to where you had a death grip on the podium. You met his eyes, and he gave you a steady look. 

“You got this,” he said in a lowered voice.

You took his hand. He guided you off the stage and back into your seat. His lips pressed to your cheek.

“You did great,” Dean said quietly in your ear. “He’d be proud of you.”

You held onto his hand for the rest of the service.

Your big house was good for one thing: it made for a roomy reception.

Thank God you hadn’t had to cook yourself. Ellen had brought everything you might’ve wanted or needed by way of food and drinks, and true to Dean’s word, she’d given you what you suspected was a heavily discounted price. You’d tried to give her an extra tip earlier, but she’d folded the envelop and stuck it behind the neckline of your dress.

“We already covered payment, and I don’t wanna hear about it again,” Ellen said. “Now help me unwrap these chicken strips.”

You gave a tremulous smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

Later, while Ellen went to grab the utensils and plates, you found yourself side by side with Jo in your kitchen. She gave you a smile that was both kind and reserved.

“I’m sorry about your grandpa,” she said, pausing on uncasing a container of sandwiches. Her blue eyes looked sincere.

“Thank you,” you replied. Your small smile was genuine as well. Until Andréa and Benny came in, with Dean right behind.

“Can we help?” Andréa asked. Her question was pointed, and filled with double meaning as her eyes met yours.

After a moment, you decided to swallow your pride for now. It was only a few more hours, and then your house would be empty.

“Can you get the dining table set up?” you asked.

Andréa nodded, but you stopped her before she could venture out into the dining room.

“Where’re you going?” you asked.

She shot you a frown. “To do what you asked.”

“Tablecloths are in the linen closet,” you reminded her. “You can grab the beige one.”

“Oh, I thought you would’ve taken that out already,” she said. As if you didn’t have a million other things to remember to do today.

“Well, it’s there,” you said, trying to be patient.

Andréa’s lips pursed. “In the linen closet? The one in the hall?”

You sighed as you finished unwrapping the second package of potato salad. Your patience thinned.

“No, the one in the attic,” you snipped dryly. You knew you were kind of being a bitch, but you could’ve grabbed the damn tablecloth yourself in this time.

Andréa agreed wordlessly and left the kitchen with clipped heels.

Meanwhile, Dean surveyed the scene between you and your friend, and sensed that something was off there. Even Jo shot him a subtle brow raise. Dean’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t want to say anything to you just yet. He knew you had a lot on your mind.

Instead, he glanced at Benny, who gave his friend a telling look.

Dean took in a breath. “Okay, uh. What else do you need, babe?”

You looked up at him, softening. “Maybe help Ellen bring in the drinks and stuff? She just went out to her car.”

Dean nodded. “Sure.”

He and Benny left the kitchen, giving Dean a chance to get the scoop.

“Something going on between Thelma and Louise? That was downright frosty back there,” he remarked.  

Benny scoffed. “What, you didn’t know?”

“Know what?” Dean asked.

“They had a big blow out a couple weeks ago.”

“Seriously? I didn’t hear a word about it.”

“Well that’s confoundin’,” Benny said, rubbing at his beard. “‘Cause I certainly did. In excruciating detail.”

Dean’s lips flickered at a smirk, but it soon faded.

After the lasts guests left the house, and the cleanup was done for the night, it got down to you and Dean alone in the house. Your family had never been a large one. Just you and your grandparents. And then, it had been just you and your grandfather for so long…

You now dreaded the moment that it would finally be just you.

At least tonight, you had your boyfriend. The two of you were watching a movie on the couch with another slice of leftover cake split between you. For once, you didn’t have the stomach for it. You let Dean polish off the plate.

He tossed it onto the coffee table and then paused the movie for a moment. He knew you weren’t really watching anyway. He rested a hand on your thigh, earning your attention.

“You given any more thought to a new car?” he asked. Yours had been totaled in the accident last month. Between Dean and Meg and Ellen bringing in food and supplies, you hadn’t needed to venture out of your house much ever since the accident.

Now, however, you heaved a sigh. You leveled him with honesty.

“Even with the insurance money left over, I’m not sure I can afford one after the funeral expenses.”

Dean inclined his head. “Okay, hear me out…Bobby owns a salvage yard.”

Your brows rose. “A junkyard?”

“Salvage yard,” he corrected. “He occasionally gets some good finds. I’ll comb through and look for something I can fix up for you.”

“Thanks, but…” You were grateful for him trying to help, but you still weren’t sure about adopting a “salvage yard” rescue car.

“You think I’m gonna put you in something that isn’t safe?” Dean asked, squeezing your thigh. The weight in his eyes sobered you.

“Okay, thanks. Let me know what you find,” you agreed. He nodded, but before he put the movie back on, he decided to broach something else.

“So, Benny filled me in on your little fight club moment with Andréa,” he said.

You sighed and leaned back on the couch, crossing your arms. “It wasn’t fight club.”

But an awkward silence fell between you and Dean as you didn’t offer anything more. He sighed and rubbed your knee with his thumb.

“You guys had a falling out?” he asked.

Your brows knitted together. “You want to hear about my girl drama?”

Ordinarily? Not really, Dean could admit. He liked “tea” as much as the next person, but he wasn’t angling for drama so much as for your trust. He was still new to this whole “boyfriend” thing. But still, this felt like something you could’ve come to him with.

“Look, if you’re upset…for any reason, you can tell me,” he said. “Thinking that’s my job as the boyfriend.”

…Well, shit, you thought, as guilt sunk heavy in your chest. How could you argue with that? 

You sighed and threw your hands up, before they landed on his. You took his hand with both of yours.

“Well,” you said, “I broke up with my best friend.”

Dean blinked at that. That would definitely make it awkward to double date.

“Aw, you didn’t break up, did you?”

When you merely gave him a look, he nodded. “All right. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

You sighed, but you explained it to him. You told him about your ongoing frustrations with your friend’s self-centeredness, and her lack of self-awareness at times. And while you took responsibility for the way you’d gone off on her that day on your porch, a large part of you still felt justified. Even if that made you the “bitch.”

“Well, look. If this is something that you can’t get past, then I get it. Sometimes you needa cut people out,” Dean said eventually. “But I’m thinking, right now, you need support. Maybe she didn’t give it when you needed her, but maybe she’s hurtin’ about this too… At least, that’s what Benny says.”

At first, you frowned. Your throat was tight with emotion, probably from today, but maybe because he was saying things you had already been thinking, deep down. You just didn’t want to admit it.

“You just want us to smooth things over so it won’t make it awkward for you with your friend,” you shot back.

Dean frowned, raising placating hands. “That’s not what I said.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Come on. You know that’s not it.”

You wiped at your eyes, as they were starting to sting with unshed tears. You knew you weren’t being fair. He was just trying to help.

“Sorry,” you said, in a calmer voice. “…I’ll think about it, okay? Because you’re right. It’s not just her…I also just can’t shake this feeling. Like my world is getting smaller, and someday I’m going to be the only one left.”

And there it was. Yet another fear you didn’t want to admit. It was your worst fear: being alone.

You were hesitant to let your gaze leave your lap, to meet Dean’s. When you did, you were met by his softened look. He went for your hand again.

“Listen. You still have people,” he said. “Doesn’t matter if they’re related to you by blood or not. Real family’s gonna fight and bitch. But they’re also gonna be there, like your friend was today.”

You sighed heavily. Once again, you knew he was right. Despite the awfulness of your fight, Andréa had come to your grandfather’s funeral. She helped you set up for the reception, and she stayed until the last hour helping with the cleanup, along with Benny, Sam, Eileen, and the rest of Dean’s friends. They were now your friends too.

You nodded. “By the way, it was nice of Sam and Eileen to come. And Meg and Cas.” 

Dean smiled.

“They can be your people too,” he said. “If you want ‘em to be.”

You couldn’t help it. Your tears brewed and bubbled over. And you moved slowly across the couch to twine your arms around his neck. Dean’s lips tugged at a smile, and he welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

Both of you were still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing all day; you in your black dress and Dean in his slacks and white buttoned-down shirt, though by now without the jacket, and the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You were infinitely exhausted. But one thing had become clear to you over the past few weeks.

“Thank you. Thank you for today, and for every day since we met,” you said shakily. “Dean, I love you. I love you so damn much.”

Dean’s fingers tangled in your hair. A sigh expelled through his nose as he pressed a lingering kiss into your neck.

Warm. It felt warm in his chest. Almost overwhelming.

He’d been letting instinct guide him since the day he met you. So even though he hesitated to answer at first, he knew.

“I love you too,” he admitted. You held onto him that much tighter.

In hindsight, he’d already known. The day of the car accident, when you’d called him in tears and asked for his help, he realized just how much he’d do for you. The lengths he would go to make sure you were okay.

That you were safe, and his.

Nick Savage was an opportunist at heart.

Sure, he’d flunked out of college. Big fucking whoop.

Now he stood at the literal head of a multimillion-dollar company. He ruled in the very same office where he once sat on the floor as a ten-year-old kid, playing with his Batman action figure. Out of the corner of his eye, he’d watched his father hook new “clients” between glasses of scotch.

Now, Nick was the one making deals.

He stared out of the immense window of his office as he practiced his putting swing. These golf clubs had been a gift (to himself), and he thought he could’ve pursued it harder when he was younger, if he hadn’t lost focus in high school.

Maybe if his dad had attended even one of his games, he would’ve pursued sports past the varsity level. He had the talent. He could’ve gotten scouted…

Nick blew out a breath.   

“Well, this is what I like to see,” a droll voice said from the doorway. “A man hard at work.”

Nick’s head raised slowly. His brows twitched with surprise, but he soon covered it up with a hint of a dry smile.

“Welcome back, Dad,” Nick drawled. “Where were you? Venice? Greece?”

Daniel Savage was only slightly taller than his son. His build was broader, his blonde hair graying at the temples, but his blue eyes were sharp.

He dressed the part of a wealthy mogul: brown slacks, smart shoes, dark green turtleneck, with sleeves bunched up on his forearms, and a black Rolex on his wrist. Its watch face flashed in the afternoon light as he smoked a cigarette indoors. 

He stepped inside the office, letting Nick’s assistant close the door.

“The hottest fucking country known to man,” said Daniel. He cocked his head as he took in all the changes to his office. He noted the untidy bar area with a critical eye.

“It was fun,” he added. “Got a nice tan. But it was starting to chafe…you know why?”

Nick rolled his eyes and straightened from his putting. He leaned on his club.

“I have everything under control,” he said.

“You see, if that were true,” Daniel said. His slow but measured gait drew him closer to his son. He flicked a bit of ash from his cigarette onto Nick’s shoe. “I wouldn’t be here, now would I?”

“You didn’t have to come,” Nick said, subtly shaking off his shoe. He tried to maintain his nonchalance, but even now, his father’s gaze pinned his feet to the floor. “Everything’s fine. I’m handling it.”

Daniel paused for a moment. The cigarette was poised between two fingers while his arm crossed beneath his elbow. He stared at his son like he was trying to figure out where the hell he went wrong.

“You know how I know you’re lying?” Daniel asked.

He then smacked his son so hard up the head, it made Nick trip over his golf club. It skittered to the floor, and he had to catch himself on the nearby couch. His arm chafed against the brown leather.

“Fuck,” he yelped.

Daniel grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him around, until he was leaning against the couch arm.

“Because you’re single-handedly driving my empire into the ground with stupid. Fucking. Mistakes,” Daniel said. His tone was calm and even, but deep in his eyes was hellfire. “Alastair can only do so much to clean up after you.”

Nick swallowed. “I thought…using your brand would send a message. Remind people that our name still has power.”

By that, of course, he meant the various kills he’d ordered in the past six months. Each marked with a burn on their body—a symbol that even now was etched on his father’s ring: two snakes devouring one another.

“My name,” Daniel corrected. “The problem is, you use my mark, people think you’re me. And…well, you’re not, are you?”

Nick’s gaze cut away.

“And I was on sabbatical for a reason,” Daniel reminded. “I was kinda supposed to be dead.”

He took a long drag of his cigarette. When he blew out the smoke, the smell reminded Nick of nights he spent in the back rooms of old bars and clubs as a kid, watching his father play cards with old “friends of the family.”

But sometimes, family friends shot one another over money owed and disrespected protocols. 

“Never kill your accountant, you idiot,” Daniel said. He punctuated this by tapping Nick hard on the chest, with the same two fingers that held his smoke. “The devil’s in the details. In this case, the numbers.”

Daniel shook his head and blew more smoke. “The cops are onto you…one in particular, in fact, who’s a few steps shy of pinning your ass against the wall.” 

And one step away from mine, his tone implied. Hence why he’d returned from sabbatical, Nick realized, with a sinking feeling.

Okay, maybe he’d fucked up putting the hit on Jerry Stillwell, but the grubby little man had been demanding a bigger cut for his “continuing silence.”

Daniel sighed and raised a hand to rub between his eyes. He turned towards the desk and put out his cigarette on an ashtray. 

“Technology’s gotten too good, Nicholas. It’s not like it was 30 years ago. Nowadays, when you start a damn fire, the cops tend to look at that shit a bit harder.”

Nick straightened up onto his feet. His hands clenched into fists with the same fire that always drove him: the desire to be useful. To be seen by his father. To matter. 

“The cop, I know who he is. It’s the same one that tried to burn you last time,” Nick said. “John Winchester.”

Daniel scoffed, giving a short nod. “I know. The man’s fucking obsessed.”

Nick smiled. “I’ve already been working on a plan with Alastair—”

“You’ll do nothing,” Daniel snapped. He glanced at his son over his shoulder. “From now on, I’m back in the saddle. Nothing happens without my word. That includes this company.”

Nick frowned at that. A trill of anger made his nails bite into his palms.

“Savage & Co. is mine,” he argued. “You gave it to me.”

“That’s right. I’m correcting that bit of oversight.”

“We’ve been margining the best profits we’ve ever had,” Nick said. He mentally scoured your latest sales report in his brain. “Our projections—”

“Don’t mean shit,” Daniel said. He turned on his heel, with a hand in his pocket. “You do realize that this building? It’s just a pretty face. The real magic happens behind the curtain.”

He took note of the gold pen showcased on Nick’s desk. He picked it up…and threw it as hard as he could towards the bar. Nick flinched as glass bottles of fine liquor shattered.

“As we speak, there are deals closing all over the world,” Daniel continued. “Shipments being made back and forth through customs, all perfectly legal, as long as it has this company’s stamp…but that’s all about to unravel. And evidently, the only one who can keep the entire goddamn operation from crumbling into nothing, is ME!”

Nick tried not to flinch again at his father’s raised voice. That brought back memories too.

His gaze lowered. Meanwhile, Daniel took pains to inhale deeply, taking more even breaths. His hand brushed back his hair, as if smoothing down proverbial ruffled feathers.

“It’s all right, son,” he said with a slippery smile. “Azazel’s back in town.”

The next morning marked your official first day back in the office. After a little over a month of working from home, it felt odd to actually get dressed in the “workwear” side of your closet, complete with slacks, blouse, flat shoes, and a blazer.

No more making yourself a nice breakfast at home. No more Dean dropping in on his off days to hang out during the day, making you feel like you weren’t completely alone in your old, too-big house.

Back to the office, where you had to be completely and 100% on your game. Or else you wouldn’t be taken seriously by the would-be Jon Hamms of your office.

However, for every floor that Betsy the elevator climbed, the more your stomach churned. For once, it wasn’t just because you didn’t want to deal with Nick. You genuinely just didn’t want to be here.

“Buck up sweetheart,” as your grandfather would often say, when he watched you pause at the front door, taking a breath before you left for the day.

“Give it your very best, and no matter what crap happens afterwards, you can’t be disappointed in yourself.”

You remembered his encouragements. His smile. The way he subtly reminded you not to be so hard on yourself. The way he always knew how to make you laugh when you were at your most exhausted, or discouraged. The way he’d been your best friend and your father all at once.

You let out a shaky sigh, and you stopped the elevator three floors before the 22nd.

Before you fully realized what you were doing, you found yourself standing in the doorway of Andréa’s cubicle. She looked up at you a bit startled at first. Her brows drew together, but then, she seemed to soften.

You must’ve looked like hell.

“Hey…is it your first day back to the office?” she asked.

You nodded, because you weren’t sure what would come out if you spoke. Your hands were shaking, you also realized.

Andréa’s hazel eyes gentled. She stood and went over to you, resting a hand on your arm. After a beat, she just took your hand. You bit your lip, and your eyes watered, meeting hers.

“You’re not ready to be here, are you?” she asked.

After a beat, you made a negative sound and shook your head.

“Okay. Let’s get you back to your office so you can put in your PTO. I know you’ve got days racked up, since you’re a workaholic.”

You gave a tremulous smile. You let her lead you out of her cubicle and back towards the elevators.

“Nick is going to be an asshole about it,” you said weakly.

Andréa threw her head back and scoffed. “Nick can suck my dick twice on a Tuesday.”

She had you laughing through your tears. Then laughing until your stomach hurt.

She chortled, though she shushed you when you two walked out into the main hallway. A couple of guys from Legal shot you strange looks, but you ignored them. The lawyers at your company were starch-pressed assholes. 

“Wanna grab brunch?” Andréa asked, when the elevator opened up for you two. 

I’m sorry, her gaze said. You gave her a softer smile, accompanied by a nod.

Me too. You squeezed her hand. You two could talk the rest out later, but for now, you just wanted peace.

“Yeah, but for the love of God, not Geraldo’s,” you replied. “Last time, I think I got food poisoning just from the salad bar.”

Andréa laughed and pressed the floor for your office.

“Oh, hun. That’s what you get for eating rabbit food.” 

Bit by bit, you started to pick up the pieces of yourself.

You ended up at Dean’s apartment more often than not, as being at home made your skin crawl with loneliness most nights.

He and Sam always welcomed you. In fact, Dean got a kick out of trading off cooking dinner with you. And you had to admit, he made a damn good burger.

So you decided to do something you hadn’t done in months. You grabbed every pan the brothers had, flour, eggs, sugar, salt, and the two leftover apples that looked like they were just about to turn. You started peeling them.

Meanwhile, Dean watched you spark to life as you baked in his kitchen. He sat from his corner at the dining table, still able to see you with his iPad in hand. A slow smile grew across his face.

“Apple pie?” he asked.

You looked up at him. “Apple cake. I don’t think I can compete with your mom’s recipe.”

“Damn, I really wish we had it,” he said. “I’d trust you do to it right.”

You tossed him a smile back. “Well, that’s high praise. Maybe one day I’ll give it a try…I don’t think I’ve made pie in a while.”

Dean watched you mix ingredients, whipping up a storm with the wooden spoon in the bowl. You dearly missed your Kitchen Aid mixer.

“You guys really need a better arsenal up in here,” you muttered. “Feel like I’m a damn Quaker churning butter over here.”

Your boyfriend burst out laughing. You looked up at him, your lips tugging back into a smile. You hadn’t even meant to make him laugh, but at least someone thought you were funny.

Dean tilted his head thoughtfully while he scrolled through football highlights on the small screen.

“Well, if you’re going to be over here more often, guess I’m gonna have to step up my game,” he said, “hit up a Homegoods.”

Your smile started to fall, as something occurred to you. “Oh, you don’t have to do all that.”

Dean noticed the shift in you, with a frown of his own.

“What?” he asked. You glanced over at him.

“Nothing, just…” You sighed. Hands on your hips, you paused in your churning to turn towards him. “It’s okay that I’ve been hanging out here more often, right? I mean…you’ll tell me if you need space. Or if Sam—”

Dean held up a hand. “Hold up. I’m gonna stop you right there.”

He set down his iPad on the table and got up from his seat. He joined you in the kitchen, letting his hand skim the counter as he drew into your personal space. You looked up at him and unconsciously held your breath.

Dean stroked your cheek with his thumb. “Have I said or done something to make you think I don’t want you here? Has Sam?”

You frowned, but you shook your head. “No, baby. I just want to make sure I’m not…I don’t know, overstaying my welcome.”

His eyes met yours frankly. “You’re not.”

His hand fell from your face, just to bring you in close by your waist. He dropped a kiss onto your forehead.

“I’d just be worrying about you over there anyway. Alone in that big house,” he admitted.

You blew out a breath and leaned into him, resting your hands against his chest.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Grandpa told me to sell it, but…I don’t know if I can do that.”

Dean didn’t want to tell you what to do here. Personally, he thought you’d be better off selling it, both for practical reasons and for your own wellbeing. But he could also understand the sentimental side of it too.

“Well, you’ve got time to figure it out,” he said.

You nodded. A smile returned to your face, and you looked up at him.

“But first, cake,” you said.

Dean smiled down at you. He could certainly live with that.

He later moaned while sampling said confection. The apple and spices were the perfect ratio of sweetness to softness. The cake was buttery and delicious. And you really were talented, he thought.

“I’m telling you, babe, you really need to get back into this,” he said around another bite. “I mean professionally. Who needs corporate assholes when you’ve got cinnamon apples?”

Sitting across from him at the dining table, you giggled at the sight of this massive man child with his mouth full. Though he might’ve had a point…maybe it was time to revisit your “pipe dream.” Or at least the very thing you went to school for.

If only working at a bakery slinging pastry dough paid the same as your sales job.

“This was my grandma’s recipe,” you told him. “She’s the one who taught me how to cook, how to bake.”

Dean made a “top notch” symbol with his hand. “She sure knew what she was doin’.”

Your good humor soon faded, though you tried to hide it. You were tired of bringing down the people around you. You wanted to just be yourself again…but it seemed your heavy heart wouldn’t let you.

You realized you hadn’t succeeded when Dean’s hand fell over yours. You looked up and met his eyes. They asked a question without speaking as his thumb rubbed over the back of your hand.

“My family’s gone, Dean,” you said wearily, fighting the tears stinging in your eyes.

You still technically had extended family members, but most of them had always looked down at your grandparents, after seeing how they’d “failed” with your mother, then raised the daughter she’d had from a one-night stand she’d met in a bar. Those same people had pitied you when you were young, and barely looked you in the eyes at both of your grandparents’ funerals.

So in your mind, the only real family you had was gone.

But Dean squeezed your hand.

“No,” he said. “They’re right here. In these hands.”

Once again his thumb swept across the back of your knuckles. “You’ve still got what they gave you. Your mind, your spirit, and a lot of other things that make you, you…”

His lips pulled at a smile.

“And you’ve still got me,” he added.

Slowly, you smiled back. You leaned over and held his face in your hands, stroking his stubble covered cheeks.  

“That I do,” you said, and your voice only shook a little. “Thank God for that.”

When you kissed him, it felt as natural as taking a breath. You two had shared tender moments in the past few weeks, born of pain and comfort. But this time had a spark of hunger as your hand drifted down his neck.

Dean kissed you back, pleasantly surprised by the demand of your tongue. He hummed in question, though he gripped your arms to keep you close.

You answered him by licking further into his mouth, kissing him deeper. You broke for a moment, just to meet his eyes. The heat in his was familiar, prickling delightful sensations across your skin. Especially when he dragged you into his lap and continued to devour you against the kitchen table.

Your hands slipped under his black Henley and between the muscles in his back. Some of them twitched under your touch, and you let your nails drag slowly back down his spine.

Fuck, he shuddered. It felt nice (and arousing), but it reminded him of other times your nails had raked across his back.

He gripped your thighs tight, and he contemplated laying you out right here on the dining table, for all he cared. Matter of fact, he’d eat apple cake off your body, if you were down for it.

Unfortunately, that was when Sam finally unlocked the door and got home from work. He caught you and Dean breathless and pupils wide, your hair frizzy and your shirt halfway up over your bra. You hastily tugged it down, while he did the same for himself.

Meanwhile, Sam just rolled his eyes.

“You do have a room, you know,” he said wryly.

Dean cleared his throat and shot you a meaningful look. You nodded, slipping off his lap. But you grabbed his hand and pulled him up with you.

Dean shot his brother a wink over his shoulder. “When the room’s a rockin’, don’t come a knockin’.”

Sam scoffed. “As if I’d give myself that kind of family trauma.”

“Leftovers are in the fridge, Sam!” you called, even though you were halfway down the hall with Dean on your heels.

Sam huffed as he heard your squeal, followed by a door slamming shut. And yet, he smiled. His brother might’ve become part of the “happily committed,” but some things just didn’t change.

Afterwards, you really felt nothing but peace.

Your head rested on your arms, across Dean’s lap. You were comfortable and naked and tangled in his sheets, while he soothed a hand through your wild hair. Ace Ventura played on the TV, and you enjoyed listening to him laugh.

You were too tired, physically and emotionally, to be as vocal. Your body shook in silent laughter, goaded on by his. And that was enough for Dean.

It was enough for you too.

AN: 🥹 I hope you enjoyed that bit of hurt/comfort at the end there, but really throughout this. Dean's really proved himself, hasn't he? But let's talk about "Azazel"...

Did you like the reveal? It changes how you look at Nick, huh?

Well, he's about to get worse.

(Don't worry too much though. There will be protective!Dean.)

Next Time:

He grabbed your arm. “Hey, we didn’t get a chance to catch up tonight.”

You shoved his hand off of you.

“Don’t you ever in your life touch me again,” you warned him. Your eyes were as hard as your voice. “I don’t think there’s anyone on the planet—no. In the whole damn universe who sickens me more than you, Nick Savage.”

Nick straightened a little, frowning at you. Whatever he saw in your gaze, he didn’t seem to like the challenge.

Keep Reading: PART 13

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

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[forgers-therapist]

tinyyyy peopleeee (part 12)

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Apple Seed 12: It's Time

Charlie: (sleeping soundly for the first time in months)

Vaggie: (leaning against the doorframe to their room and just staring at Charlie with the biggest smile) Te amo, querida.

Charlie: zzZzzZzz.....

Razzle: (nestled in on the other side of the maternity pillow) ZzZzZ... Baaaaa.... ZzZzZ... Baaaaa....

Keekee: (curled up against Charlie's shoulder) zzzzz... zzzzz... zzzzz...

Vaggie: (hums fondly as she quietly slips out of her uniform, into her nightgown, and gently crawls into bed - kissing Charlie on the cheek and the swell of her belly and whispering) Buenas noches.

....

......

........

..........

Charlie: (gasps as she springs up into a seated position and grabs her belly) Oh.... oh..... oh-oh-oh-oh-oh.... (throws the blankets off of herself and sees a large puddle of wetness underneath her) Oh....shit! Vaggie?

Vaggie: (grumbles mostly asleep)

Charlie: (shakes Vaggie) Vaggie!

Vaggie: (startles awake) Huh? What is it? Another craving from Taco Hell and Billy Bongs?

Charlie: (shaky) I think my water just broke.

Vaggie: ............ (blinks and rubs her eyes before slapping herself) Say again?

Charlie: My water just broke!

Vaggie: (sees the mess in the bed and leaps into action) FUCK!!! Okay! Okay! Don't panic! We have a plan for a reason. Home birth! I'll go get your dad to call Sloth ring to get a midwife! (sprints out of the room)

Charlie: Okay. Okay. Okay. Deep breaths, Charlie. (breathes in and out slowly)

Razzle: (stares at Charlie with worry and puts his hoof on her thigh) Baa?

Charlie: It's okay, buddy. (slowly scoots to the middle of the bed and makes herself a comfortable nest of pillows) It's okay. (contraction hits) OOOOooooOoooooooooOOOOoOh.....

Vaggie: (sprinting to the Morningstar wing of the hotel and bashes against Lucifer's door) LUCIFER!!! LUCIFER, OPEN UP!!!

Lucifer: (opens the door groggily while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes) What? What? Where's the fire, Maggie?

Vaggie: Baby's coming!

Lucifer: (eyes snap open) Baby's coming?

Vaggie: Baby's coming!!!

Lucifer: Oh, shit- (snaps his fingers and instantly gets dressed in his typical suit) BABY'S COMING!!!! What do we do?! What do we do?!

Vaggie: Call Sloth Ring to get the midwife, dammit!!!

Lucifer: Right! Right! I got it! (turns around to run into his room so he can grab his phone) I can do that- (runs headfirst into the door frame) OUCH!!!

Vaggie: UuUuuuuUUUUuUUuggGGgGghhhhHhhh......

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Swallowed Whole by The Flame (Messmer the Impaler x Tarnished! Reader) 12

MASTERLIST

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Summary: Avoiding Messmer in his Keep comes with some difficulties, however, the Tarnished finds more answers that she was not ready to hear.

A/N: Ah, so Tarnished fucked up… I wonder if Messmer will ever forgive her? On with this chapter! Enjoy!

A03 link

Chapter 12: Insurrections

Your bedchambers have become familiar to you for some days now: a mess of what you once were. It is uncertain how long you've stayed in your one spot, staring idly out your window, wondering if one day you may gain the courage to apologise to Messmer.

You knew that it would never happen. His Lord had not come to see you, and you had not gone to face him. By the third day in your confinement, tiredness stings at your eyes. Your lack of awareness of time gives you no indication of what time of day it is. You stay up most of the night, starve and sometimes sleep, all the while looking like the mess you see yourself as.

Staying in your bedchambers felt as familiar as when the Impaler had imprisoned you, but this time, you knew you deserved it.

You don't wish to think of confronting Messmer, for he would not accept or listen to your endless apologies. You're worried he would burn you in the very spot if you dared even look his way. You're, however, thankful he didn't kick you out of his keep and burn his allegiance and protection away like cinders in your face.

It was perhaps wrong of you to lash out at him, for you had a guilt that you knew somewhat more than he.

Queen Marika was imprisoned in the Erdtree and you didn't have the heart to tell him.

Sitting up from your spot by the window, you brush your hands along a rigid object, looking to find a hairbrush, golden as Queen Marika's grace. It takes some effort to brush through your locks to untangle the knots and control the frizz, but you think you look presentable.

I must redeem myself in his honour. You tell yourself as you try to dress: simple trousers, boots and a shirt, one with red thread that loops through the buttons. 

You think back to his challenge: to bring Redmane Freya's head as an offering. To wish to return to that time, to be the feral Tarnished he thought you were.

If there was a way... you think to yourself, and the idea that springs to mind is one that only you can conjure. To meet face-to-face with someone you should've confronted ages ago.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Lady Tarnished, it has been some time since we last spoke."

Sir Ansbach looked up from his book to greet you, though you're certain he is inspecting you of your drab attire, your dour look and the sunken skin that seems to make your face look sallow and worn with age.

"Ansbach, I must tell you of something. You mustn't tell a soul." Not even Messmer. To think if he found out, what he'd think of you for seeing hallucinations of his half-brother.

"You can tell me anything, Tarnished." He says, but you're certain your next words to come from your mouth will deem you in his eyes as one marked with insanity. Maybe pledging a deal to the Frenzy Flame would've been a better idea than this. "What troubles your mind?"

"I..." you swallow a thickness in your throat, and your heart hammers, "What would you do if you were seeing the ghost of someone?"

"It depends who it was," he strokes his grey beard, "A loved one? A close friend perhaps? Who is it you see?"

"The long-dead form of Prince Godwyn."

Ansbach takes a long pause, though it seems, he's not surprised by your words. "You too, are plagued by a long-forgotten Lord?"

You try to dismiss your feelings about it all, the confusion still plagues your fragmented memories of the past. "It seems so. But I do not know what he wants of me, why he's coming to me to give me vague and cryptic words." You laugh to yourself wryly, "Forgive me, you must think I've lost my mind."

"Not at all, Tarnished." Ansbach's warmth in his voice does show some concern for you. "Dreams make most of us think of our realities differently. Some dream of greatness, others madness. It is what makes us. St. Trina traverses in our minds, giving us the path ahead."

St. Trina is not who we think she is. You scoff. She appears as a girl, and sometimes a little boy. It brings something to click in your mind. "St. Trina is seen as a little boy in dreams, a little boy who was cursed with eternal youth."

Ansbach peers at you quietly. "You think this is Miquella's doing?"

"He is oddly quiet in all of this. His followers, walk his path and we hear nothing of it. Why did Leda ask me to find Messmer? If not from her, it was from Miquella." You think. She asked that you had to deal with him, which could mean they needed something from his corpse. Could it have to do with his curse?

Ansbach sighs whilst you think, endless mutterings are ceased as you turn back to him. For the first time since meeting him, he looks... terrified. "Tarnished, I ask this of you carefully. Miquella is not what you think he is."

"I'm aware. If not for his loyal devotees and changing identities, Miquella is more cunning than we think."

"Are you aware that he had been Mohg's consort?"

Did he have a choice? You question. "Mohg desired him for greatness."

"No, he did not," Ansbach's voice is gravely low, "he did not even need Mohg in the long run. It was his body he needed."

You squint your eyes at his words, "What do you mean his body?"

Ansbach gives a weary sigh, resuming, "The Lord of Blood was merely a diversion to Miquella's schemes. It was not Mohg who needed Miquella but Miquella in search of a vessel, a consort to call his own."

"It was Mohg who stole Miquella though? He was his consort."

"That is what is known and what is falsehood, Tarnished. It is Kindly Miquella who twists and warps our reality, our bonds, our love." That's impossible. You tell yourself: another ploy for Miquella's allies, but what if they too, had been swayed by his twisted games?

"What of Mohg?" He was another of the Demigods who felled by my hands. "He has been... dealt with."

"Aye, but do you recall where his body lies?"

Your heart thunders deeply, your skin feels as if it's sticking to your clothes. "Last time I checked, still where I remember."

"His body was missing from the Mohgwyn Palace."

No, this can't be. "You're saying-"

"Miquella is using it for a greater purpose, even better than his mother's."

Your thoughts are racing but you only have one person on your mind. "So, when Leda asked that I dealt with Messmer-"

"She meant for you to bring back his flame, his kindling."

It feels as if the ground tilts you, your world seems to be spinning with questions that are screaming over the others to be answered. There is no way of knowing if they can be, but all you can think of is Messmer; who broods in his Keep unaware of the danger he's in.

"Tarnished," Ansbach grabs you by the arm to pull you back. You don't realise you've turned away from him, walking with a purpose to find the Lord of the Keep and set things right. To tell him everything. "Miquella is a monster, who must be stopped."

"I know," you whisper so low that you don't recognise your own voice, "but what I am if I cannot get Messmer to heed my warnings?"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The door to your bedchambers shudder as it collides with the stone-brick wall, groaning as you barge through. You're keen on finding weapons, armour, anything to help you in this fight. It was enough playing coy and hiding in the Keep, it was time you had to face Miquella and whatever vestige he had made of Mohg's body.

The wind is dead as you rush around the apartments, with no luck finding anything useful to you. You felt useless: running around without decent clothing, no food packed or no idea how you'd find what you were looking for.

You're so wrapped up in your little mind, that you don't seem to spot that the room has grown cold spots, and the outside world diminishes into darkness. Candles blow out themselves as you scramble to the wardrobe when you notice. You know something is in the room with you: the air is so silent that you cannot concentrate on your breathing. 

You wring your eyes shut before a ghostly hand plays with your curls from behind you.

"Show yourself, Godwyn."

You spin around on your heel to face the monster head-on, coming face to face with the golden eyes you had grown to despise, to fear. "Now, where are thee running off to?" He toys with you as if you're his plaything, coyly smiling down on you as if nothing is the matter.

You clench your jaw as well as your fists. "I will not play your games, Godwyn," you dryly laugh, "or shall I say St. Trina? Or how about Miquella?"

The golden prince plays docile with your confrontation, a victim in your outburst. He keeps some distance between you two for now. "Always playing the knight, aren't thee?" 

"I am stopping Miquella." You don't have a weapon, but you're not afraid to fight him -or whatever this thing was- dirty. "Step aside. I will not ask you again."

"He hates thee. For speaking ill of his mother." Godwyn says, his voice is honeyed and sweet but his words are sinister. You know exactly who he's talking about and it frightens you to your core how he knows. "Why would he wish to be with thee?"

"He shouldn't," you answer, though you try to hide the pain in your voice, "he does not need to forgive me at all. All I want is to set things right. Not be seen as a lowly Tarnished that no one can trust."

"But that's all thee art," Godwyn says as he circles you, "A lightless creature, devoid of love, and compassion, afraid to even seek simple friendships without knowing it will end in heartache."

You shut your eyes, but even still, you can feel his presence. "You are not here. Get out of my head." You hiss.

"Spat out over and over again to live and die." His words echo like the chiming of bells in your head.

"You are dead. You are not here to torment me."

"I died the day thee didst." You feel his hand ghost over the nape of your neck, gracing your jawline as you feel his cold breath on your skin. You grimace from the deathly touch. "T'is why thee feel such guilt. Thee wished thee hadst stayed."

You blink back the tears when you open your eyes, finally facing him. "It never would've happened. Not then, and not now." You begin to bend your knees slightly, positioning yourself as if ready to fight. "Will I have to get through you?"

It seems his mask finally slips. No longer playing the charismatic eldest son that you could remember, nor the one who could win anyone over, he stares down at you with the coldest eyes, unfeeling and detached. He is quiet for once, and what feels like forever, neither of you speak, his soulless eyes bore into your soul, with no warmth, no love. 

Finally, he answers you, but it is not his voice anymore, no, it's the voice of many. "No," he sighs, before he catches you off guard, by grabbing your face, pain erupting from the contact. "Let me aid thee."

Your scream seems to be cut off, your body is pushed through complete darkness, flying like a ragdoll through matter of space with no stopping. Your head hurts from where his hand came into contact with you, similar to thousands of tiny needles piercing your skin all at once.

The spinning finally stops, you think, and when you blink, you're not in the apartments of the Shadow Keep, but rather in the middle of a field, surrounded by bodies of millions. You look down at your clothing, surprised to find yourself once again in Leyndell armour. The armour feels heavy on you as if trying to weigh you down.

You squint over the horizon of corpses to see what stares back at you: Godwyn in his full glory and what would've been him in his prime. Dressed decadently in the finery of golds and blues. He carries his infamous halberd as he stalks his way towards you. His face has morphed into something you don't recognise as being him anymore, gone is his fine flaxen hair, now a dull faded hue. His face is half covered by his hair, but you can only see one eye staring back at you: white with black sclera.

"I will not fight you, Godwyn!" You scream, but your words fall quiet with the roaring of his armour clanking as he charges, weapons clashing with a force that you're almost knocked to the ground.

Godwyn fights with the strength of his father, weaving to knock you back as you can only dodge his swings and stabs. Some get you in the joints, but you're not expecting the pain that comes from them. They burn with a far greater pain than should come from a stab or slice. You grimace, and a wave of weakness takes over you, sudden that you almost fall to the ground. You try to compose yourself, pulling back the layers of protection to stare down in horror. Your skin protrudes with black veins, spreading further across your flesh. 

Death blight. You have experienced it before, but not to this strength. More stabs from him and it will be an instant end. You would rather not be stuck in an endless life-death cycle with the Golden-haired prince, not when you needed to get out of this dream-like state.

You dodge another swing, narrowly missing as he strikes a corpse instead. Think, think! This simply is all an illusion! Remain calm! You tell yourself, avoiding more hits as you try to concentrate on where you should be. My chambers, the Shadow Keep. 

From behind Godwyn, like a mist in the air, it dissolves to reveal that you're surrounded by a veil of delusions. Now! You roll out the way, running as fast as you can to reach the broken part of the veil. Your body feels weakened from the death blight, but it's enough for you to reach for your escape.

You crash through darkness once again, with no Godwyn to be seen. You look around yourself for his sudden appearance, finding no sight of him. Feeling some relief, you think how will you escape this next illusion. Your breathing echoes as you're standing in a large chamber, your footsteps the sounds you hear.

You're ready to call out when something catches your peripheral: a small dim light, glowing softly. An escape! You draw in close to it, like a moth to the flame, and you follow until you come across a room you recognise. There are candles dimly glowing in the room, giving a dark blue-ish hue to the room. It's cold, colder than you think it would be. You look around yourself when it dawns on you.

This is where you first fought Messmer. Everything looks exactly how you remember it to look, and you swear you must've traversed the entire keep to reach here under some spell. You're about to call out for someone, hoping that this was all some way of testing your patience when something else catches your gaze. Marika's statue stares down at you, coddling the clothed babe of Messmer in her arms. However, it is the figure that lies just by the statue's feet.

Walking cautiously closer, you hear the softest of whimpers, sobbing. It is when this figure at closer inspection seems familiar. You see a little boy, with hair so red that it looks so similar to burning flames. Serpents curl around him as he lies beneath Queen Marika's intense stony gaze. He looks up at her with an innocent look, his eye glassy and golden as the seal that holds the twisted one inside glows. "O prithee," you hear his tiny voice, "let me see mine mother again."

"Messmer." You call out to him, running to reach him. The boy does not seem to spot you, still, he watches his mother's statue like a loyal hound, hoping for her return. "Messmer!" You don't seem to be getting any closer to him, seeingingly, the room grows larger and darker, and his small body seems to grow smaller and smaller the closer you move.

It's when you hear the many voices again, all burning in your mind with a screech that you collapse to the ground. Bastard born. Corrupted one of ill-making. You push to stand, looking around you to find no sight of anyone but young Messmer. He has still not spotted you, so intently focused on his mother that he does not hear your screams of agony and your shouts to gain his attention.

The voices grow in numbers until you think your head will explode. No, I must save him. You tell yourself, pushing forth as you take painful steps towards the red-haired child. 

"It wasn't your fault she left!" You shout into the void, and it's only with that, Messmer's little head perks up, his golden eye wide in fear. Looking around him, you know you must try again. "You are not the monster you think you are. You are far greater than any of her wishes, her goals. All-- all you wanted was your family, your life, and you got sent away."

Messmer is still scanning the room, his fearful look is slowly melting with some semblance of hope. You try reaching for him, despite the screams, the agony and the death blight. "Messmer." You call to him softly. "Messmer, please." You call again, and it's with this clearer call that his eye locks with yours. They don't look at you with fear or hatred, no shock.

You wonder if this is your sin, replaying to you over and over again your mistakes. Dying to relive it all.

A tear slips down your face as you smile over to him. "Forgive me."

It is with those two words that you realise the ringing has stopped, the screaming and voices have ceased. You think you know of peace, as you blink and find yourself back where you were before. In the comfort of your chambers, pressed into a wall with the confusion of everything melting away from your mind.

You think you can finally breathe a sense of relief when you notice that there is no silence in the Keep. There is a distant sound of something, constant and growing larger in sound and numbers.

You move to the window, surprised to see nothing, but only when you hear more that joins with the sounds of what sounds like a stampede. The ringing of a bell. The shouts of soldiers from afar. The sound of burning wood.

"Messmer." Your heart leaps from your chest. You have no idea where he could be, nor do you know how long you've been stuck in that spell. You look down at your simple clothing: you cannot change in time to reach him, and you don't want to imagine what carnage awaits.

They knew to distract me. How did they know to find me here? You wish to answer, but you don't know yourself. You look back from the door to the window, and an idea comes to mind. I do hope Messmer isn't too angry about what I must do.

Bypassing the idea of using the door, you find the heaviest item you can: a candle holder, a book, the vanity if you can muster to pick it up, smashing each thing against the window, until it causes the vanity to show some signs of cracks. A small opening is all you need as you use your elbow to smash through the rest, glass sticks into your skin as you bleed, but you continue until the opening is large enough to slip a hand through.

You crack the window open, and you hurry to climb through. A gust of wind greets you and reality hits you with how high your chambers were above the Keep. The barren wasteland greets you below, and you contemplate if you have lost your mind.

No time to think. You tell yourself, as you shuffle your way along the thin edge. Jump.

With no time for cold feet, you release yourself from the wall you're holding, pushing yourself as far away from the rooftops as you begin to plummet. You know where you will end up, and where you will find yourself when you wake up.

The sky grows smaller the quicker you fall, but the noise surrounding the Keep grows, a commotion festers, a siege. 

You shut your eyes as you brace for what waits, hoping you're not too late to find him.

-

A/N: I do like to imagine Tarnished is a "ask questions later, got to leap off this building first, see where I land" type of gal. I do love writing feral, himbo women, and I can only imagine Messmer may have a type growing when he sees her again.

[deteyshipper713]

"We stumbled out of Murder’s hideout like survivors of a storm—exhausted, bruised, but alive. And not just alive—together. That was the part that made it all feel unreal. Even the three orphaned kids, who’d been so engulfed by Murder’s darkness, were practically glowing now, their laughter shaky but real as they followed us back home. Free. Finally free.

Dogman supported my weight as we walked out of the hideout. He was just so happy even though that absorption must of took a lot out of him. But he didn’t seem to care. He just looked happy and relieved that he managed to save me. And Li’l Petey? Gosh, he was a mess. Clutching onto me like I might vanish, tears streaking his fur, but he wasn’t even trying to hide it. Just kept whispering, ‘You’re okay, you’re okay,’ between hiccups, like he was convincing himself.

And me? I should’ve been making a snarky remark, playing it cool. But for once, I didn’t. I just let myself feel it—the warmth of Dogman’s side pressed against mine, Li’l Petey’s grip tight enough to bruise, the orphaned kids’ giddy chatter and tears of joy. For the first time in years, I breathed easy. ‘It’s over,’ I told myself.

I was wrong.

Author’s note:

[ I chose to color in the three orphans this time to show their true designs: a black cat, a gray fur pitbull, and a white fur red-eye rabbit.

I chose a cat, dog, and rabbit because they have been known to be the top three most abandoned pets sadly.

And these three have a stigma that prevents them from being adopted. A black cat which some people consider bad luck, a pitbull for people’s misconceptions that they are just naturally violent canines, and a white red-eye rabbit which some people consider evil or ugly to look at.

Owned all three of these types in my lifetime and I can honestly say that they have been the most wonderful and loving companions of my life.

So please, never try to own a pet if you are unsure of the care and commitment you’re willing to give them, always adopt, don’t shop, and never dismiss a pet for their looks or misconceptions about them, their personality is more valuable. ]

[bobadila]

After procrastinating and laziness, I finished part twelve!! Haha. Im tired, I’ve been working a bunch, trying to fix my fucked up sleep schedule, and just doing stuff and doing nothing. And I still need to finish all the other things I’ve started. Fantastic. Guess I’ll start working on part thirteen

[feletida]

ultramarine what

[trnktgh0st]

john accidentally getting scared by their reflection in the bathroom is so fucking funny

[arthur-lesters-tummy]

i love that when they're sitting in the crowd in the dreamlands (part 12), John says "everyone is staring at you" in that ominous voice and Arthur says "me?" in a tone that is just surprise without a trace of horror behind it. "everyone's looking at lil ol' me? gosh. guess i better give them something worth looking at" and walks onto the stage with no prompting. social anxiety fears this man.

[angelynmoon]

Eldritch Steve

Part 12

-

Steve makes a nest after Wayne talks to him, it's not something he's compelled to do, just something he wants.

He steals Robin's vests and her pillows, because they smell like her, anxiety and excitment, they smell like sister. He steals shirts from the children, all their left socks too, just because, the shirts smell like home and family, they smell like his, even with the undertones of betrayed and abandoned that Will, Jonathan, and El's clothes leave from Joyce.

Steve can tolerate it because there is also understanding and argument and acceptance in the trace that Hopper leaves on the cloth.

Argyle brings him blankets for the Wheeler home, where he and Jonathan are staying until they find a place of their own with Nancy, Steve is especially pleased wuth the way they smell, like love and comfort and family, not like his kids but still family, and just a tiny hit of Other, not unlike the way Wayne smells, just not as deep, like it has been bred out for too many years tobe like them.

Argyle just smiles and helps him build his nest, fixing parts when Steve gets frustrated with the edges and telling his stories, and Steve knkws that there is at least one Other, all the way out in California because Argyle speaks of his grandmother, whise age no one in the family seems to know and who changes it everytime she's asked, sometimes she's 90, other she has lost count after all tbe centuries that have passed.

"You remind me of her." Argyle tells him as they finish the nest and move on to making an overhang to hid it, "She'd make nests like this whenever the moms would get pregnant, and she'd lay with them inside until the babies were two weeks old, the babies were kept there, not presented until that time."

Argyle looked at Steve, "We always had home births, I helped with my mom's last one, nothing came of it, the child was not born alive, but I know what to do."

"Why wasn't it alive?" Steve asked, curious.

"These things sometimes happen, the first generation of a crossbreed always has more dead children than live." Argyle said gently, "It's why there are no multiples in my family, because it was better to make one at a time."

Steve paused as he held a blanket.

"But my family only had Grandmother, you have Wayne too. I think, I think your kind is not meant to be alone, not really." Argyle said softly with a smile, "You have all of us too."

"Yes, yes, I have all of you." Steve smiled back and nailed his blanket up before going to retreive the blankets he and Eddie had been using for the last few days, spreading them over the nest beneath the tent of blankets, so his scent of warmth, love and home, home, home was the most prominant, and them he went and dug out the work shirt he'd stolen from Wayne and tucked it into a corner of the nest, he wanted their eventual children to know Wayne's scent, but most importantly he wanted them to know it as a safe one, like the others in the nest, to know that he was not a danger to them, but a protection for them.

"I think I'd like to meet your Grandmother." Steve said as he a Argyle finished the nest, Steve would drag the children to sleel there for the night, in order to embed their smells a little more secrurely.

"I think she'd like to meet you, too." Argyle said, "But the moms are getting ready for the next baby back home, so it may take a few months before she comes out here."

Steve nodded with a hum, children first, he'd neet her eventually, maybe she'd even come out to stay, it would be nice to have others of his ki d he could trust to help keep his family safe.

-

A/n: so, a lot of people seemed to want Argyle to be the Other, well, he's not completely Other but rather a few generations removed, because why not.

His grandmother came through one of the cracks, ate a few towns, and then fell in love with one of the natives tasked with killing her, he married her instead and they had to flee the tribe when she spawned and ended up in California where she had three live children(girls all of them, Argyle is the first boy born in the family because he's the first one that also has two moms, the others chose a male partner.)

Because it amuses me to think that all the of decendents of Argyle's Grandmother are female and can therefore Spawn without a male presence, which some of them have, so Argyle has practical Spawning knowledge because Wayne has never Spawned in his life and Steve needs someone that will make sure his hybred babies live.

Have a happy unbirthday(it's my actual birthday so I'm making like a Hobbit and giving you a gift.)

@addelyin @merricatty @lesbiabrobin @apuckishwit @0o-mushroom-o0 @starlight-archer @darkwitchoferie @just-a-tiny-void @swimmingbirdrunningrock @intergalactic-president-awesome @vampireinthesun @goodolefashionedloverboi @adhdsummer @purpleanimeoverart @space-invading-pigeon @lilaclilyroses @nohomoyesbi @plantzzsandpencilzzs @korixae @subversivecynic @flusteredcas @persnicketysquares @freddykicksasses @little-trash-ghost @cupcakesnwhiskey @cats-ate-all-of-my-pasta @planetsoda @paintsplatteredandimperfect @irregular-child @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @steddieassheg0es

[thevoidstaredback]

“Is that how you came outta the wall when we met?” Billy asked as they walked down the hallway.

“Yeah,” Danny answered, “why?”

“Dude, that’s wack.” Billy grinned.

Danny grinned back. “You ever been inside the House of Mysteries?”

“Nope!” A gasp, “Is that where we are?”

“Yep,” he smirked. The two stopped outside of a door. “This is my room. You’ll want to transform before we go any further. I don’t know who all is here, and the House likes to mess with me specifically.”

Billy opened the door, walking into the room. He whistled as he looked around. “What’d you do to piss off a house?”

“‘House’.” Danny corrected, closing the door behind himself.

“What?”

“You’re missing the capital H in ‘House’. It’s picky.”

“Really?”

The walls creaked and the closet door opened before slamming shut. Billy jumped and Danny chuckled.

“Told ya.”

“Right… Apologies, House. How..are you?”

The drawers in the bedside tables opened and closed softly, the light flickering.

“I assume that’s good?”

“Yeah,” was the answer, “Congrats, kid, the House likes you.”

“Is that a good thing?”

Danny shrugged, “Usually.”

The rug shifted under his feet, making him wobble.

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry! It’s a good thing that the House likes you.” He glared at the ceiling. “Are ya happy?!”

The light flickered again.

Danny huffed. “Stupid House.”

The rug was ripped out from under him, knocking him to the floor. Billy laughed at him.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” Danny huffed, the smile on his face betraying him. “Now, transform, I wanna show ya around but we can’t do that in civvies.”

“Right.” Billy whipped the tears from his eyes. “Shazam!” In a flash of sound and lightning, Captain Marvel was now standing in the room. “It’s all so small now.”

Danny pouted, letting his own, much less showy, transformation wash over him. “Not all of us grow two feet every time they activate their powers.”

Now that both were letting their powers cover them, they could both hear the footsteps pounding through the House. The closer they got to the room, the bigger their matching grins grew. Without a word, Phantom turned himself and Captain Marvel invisible for an impromptu game of Hide ‘N Seel with the Justice League Dark.

***

Bruce ws watining in the Batcave when Tim got back. He’d sent the other three back to wherever they wanted to go and had gone straight to the Batcave from the nearest ZETA from the park he’d met Phantom and the kid in. The kid that he outed Phantom to. The kid that Phantom outed him and his friends to. The kid that now knows five hero identities.

Bruce was so gonna kill him. Or worse, bench him!

“Is there something you want to tell me, Tim?” was the damning question.

The rest of the Cave was empty, leaving Tim and Bruce alone. Bruce was at the Battable, meaning that he was blocking Tim from the main four entrances to the Manor. There were several others, but he had the feeling that Bruce was cornering him alone out of courtesy. He took a seat directly opposite Bruce at the foot of the table.

“Well?”

Tim was trained by the best of the best. He is the best of the best. He did not let his emotions show as he sat and prepared a response. “There’s a lot of things you could be asking about, B. The case from three weeks ago, the case from yesterday, why Jason’s kitchen was painted neon pink, why my spleen’s missing, why Damian has a bull in the stables, how Dick became a dog-father, et cetera. Take your pick.” Good. Give him options. Throw him off.

Bruce didn’t even blink. “While all of that is going to be addressed sooner rather than later, it can all wait. I want to know what you were doing in Fawcett today.”

“Fawcett?” Tim asked, “I wasn’t in Fawcett.”

Bruce’s expression was unamused.

“Okay, so I was in Fawcett for a little while. What does it matter? Conner, Cassie, Bart, and I were just hanging out in a park.”

“Really?”

“Yep!”

“How are you going to explain this to literally anyone?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were seen in public today here in Gotham. An hour later, you were seen in Fawcett, Pennsylvania.”

“Um..oops?”

“Tim-” He breathed deeply. “I’ve covered for you already, but the ZETA Tubes are not for recreational use. They are to be used in costume and only while in costume unless there’s an emergency. Now, unless you can giveme a good explanation, you’re benched for a week.”

“You can’t-!”

“Then you’d better start talking.”

This was so not fair! Tim decidedly did not sink into his chair or huff or cross his arms. He sat like he was in a business meeting at WE because he’s above pouting, thank you very much. “I wanted to talk to Phantom.”

Bruce didn’t speak. He didn’t even twitch more than to blink.

“I wanted to apologise for the last time I saw him.”

“And?” he raised an eyebrow.

Tim sunk further down. “...and ask what was in his coffee from the meeting.”

“Tim.”

“It’s not my fault! That shit’s addicting and I only had a tiny sip, so I can’t recreated it based on taste alone!”

“That’s not what I’m upset about, Tim.”

He paused. “Then, what are you upset about?”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, a show of relaxation, but Tim knew he was ever so slightly uncomfortable. Being a father is way out of Bruce’s depth, but he’s doing his best. “Phantom hasn’t ever been seen outside of accompanying the JLD on their missions. And even those sightings are few and far between.” Tim looked away. “You tracked him down in civvies, right? That’s why you were in the park.”

Tim didn’t answer. It was answer enough.

Bruce sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the ridge of his nose. “I don’t share my civilian identity because that would endanger not only myself, but you and your siblings and everyone we know and care about. Everyone in the Justice League has similar reasons. Phantom is not an exception to this.”

“I know-”

“You confronted him in a public area with witnesses, Tim!” Bruce didn’t yell, nor did he actually move. “Now we have a civilian who knows five hero identities! Not to mention, you’ve given Phantom more than enough reason to use your name against you.”

“B-”

“No.” He breathed deeply and stood. “I will talk to Phantom when I can. In the meantime, you’re benched for two months. Dick and I will be taking your cases. Aside from school and work, you’re effectively grounded. Do you understand?”

“Bruce-!”

“Do you-! Understand?”

A beat, then, “Yes.”

“Go to your room.”

Part 11 Part 13

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 12

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: And here we go, with our Avengers: Civil War moment…

Song Inspo: “I Go to Extremes” by Billy Joel

Word Count: 5.1K

Tags/Warnings: Violence, blood, and death. Angst, peril, hurt/comfort, and fluff.

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

🎙️ Series Masterlist

Part 12: A Fire in the Blood

Ben walked into the kitchen the next morning in search of coffee and food. He added some grounds to the coffeemaker on the counter and grabbed a bagel from the fridge, then slammed the door shut.  

“All right, get the fuck out,” he said, as if to an empty room. “I’m gonna lose my breakfast before I even eat it.”

Slowly, Charlie and Donna stood up from behind the kitchen island. Both of them looked wrecked. Her hair was wild and disheveled. He had dark red lipstick smudged all around his mouth and neck. Their clothes were bundled in their hands, but they needed no further prompting to run butt-ass naked out of the kitchen. Ben shook his head.

“Fucking animals,” he muttered.

But he didn’t blame them for being bored.

Meanwhile down the hall, Donna pulled Charlie into the shower with her. She got him to start washing her hair while she bathed the rest of herself with a bar of soap.

“He took it a lot better than I expected,” she said.

“Well, he’s probably known since at least last night,” Charlie said, smirking. “The man’s got super hearing, and you didn’t exactly keep it down.”

She reached back to smack his thigh teasingly. “That’s not what I meant. I just thought he’d raise more hell.”

She actually frowned at the thought. Part of her had indulged with Charlie because she thought it might piss Ben off, but to her surprise, he didn’t seem to give much of a fuck. In the past, he once snapped a man’s wrist for touching her ass at a gala. In fact, he’d ruined a lot of perfectly good hookup opportunities for her by being his jealous, caveman self, even though he was whoring himself out with any willing female.

So now, either Ben hated her that much, or…he actually did care about you.

Ben answered his cell when it rang. It was a familiar number.

Arthur. This better be fucking it.

“Did you find her?” he asked.

“Yeah, I found her,” Arthur said, with a grim sigh. “You’re not gonna like it.”

“Where?” Ben demanded. His hand clenched on the phone, threatening to crack the frame.

“Nottingham, West Virginia. It’s one of Vought’s most high-security labs. I didn’t even have clearance to know about it when I worked there,” he said. “It’s easy to miss though. Somewhere between a national forest and a couple of cemeteries.”

“Good enough for me,” Ben said. He finished his coffee in one quick slurp and headed over to his room to get the rest of his suit on. He was only half dressed.

“I hope you find her. Now I’ll be fucking off to Belize. Stan’s probably already got eyes on me,” said Arthur.

“Don’t you worry about Stan. After I get Sirena, I’m chopping the head off the fucking snake,” Ben said angrily.

“Okay, well, good luck to ya.”

After hanging up and lacing up his boots, Ben headed out of the room and down the hall. He banged a fist on the bathroom door, hard enough to rattle its hinges.

“Suit up, kids! We’re headed out.”

Arthur’s directions were direct enough. Donna had to park her car somewhere along the main road, but it was another mile or so before Ben finally found what they were looking for: a solitary building that looked like a nondescript farmhouse from the outside.

“This is their top secret high-security lab?” Charlie said. “Looks abandoned.”

“That’s exactly how they want it to look,” Ben said. It reminded him of the lab in Siberia. He was willing to bet that the lab itself ran several stories and floors underground.

Once they stepped out from the safety of the trees, gunshots rained from above and up ahead. There was a line of armed guards emerging from the front and the back of the building, while a helicopter descended from above.

Donna took out most of the guards on the ground, while Charlie shot his guns at the helicopter and took out the glass in the windshield. Ben threw up his shield at it, causing irreparable damage to the vessel. The pilot was forced to initiate a crash landing.

The helicopter doors opened, revealing Black Noir. He grabbed another man and jumped from the helicopter. The other man screamed, but the landing was swift. Noir made sure that Mindstorm landed on his feet, more or less, while the helicopter carved into the ground behind them and combusted.

Ah, the gang’s all here, Ben thought grimly. It saved him the trouble of hunting those two down as well.

“So it’s true,” Mindstorm said, taking in the sight of Ben with both astonishment and dread.

“Hey, Dan,” said Ben. “Looking rough.”

It was true. The man appeared to be a shell of his former self; thin, with lines of age around his eyes and across his forehead, his skin pale and splotchy. A decade of paranoia and reclusion hadn’t done much good for Dan. Noir must've scrounged him up from his hiding hole, like fishing out a rat from the sewer.

“Look, we don’t have to do this,” Charlie tried. “Just let him get Sirena out of there. After what you guys did, she doesn’t deserve that.”

Ben glanced at his former sidekick. He actually seemed sincere.

Too bad Noir wasn’t about to go for it. He had Vought’s dick so far up his ass, he wouldn’t likely take a shit without Stan Edgar’s say so. He crouched into a fighting stance and unsheathed his katana. The rest of the guards poured in to flank around him and Mindstorm.

Ben rolled a crack out of his neck.

“Fine. If it’s a war you want, it’s a war you’ll fucking get,” he said.

Noir started charging at him first, but Donna shot off a fireball in his direction.

Chaos ignited from there.

Something’s wrong. You felt it, with so many energies converging high above you. It must’ve meant that you were underground, yet again.

There were still men in the compound itself. You now felt their energies being stuffed out, closer and closer in your direction.

Ben? You wondered. You stood up from your cot in nervous anticipation, wrapping your arms protectively around yourself. After Vogelbaum dropped his news, you’d spent the entire night battling your shock, followed shortly by your panic.

No matter what they did to you now, there was no way you were going to let them hurt your child.

Ben…

More than anything, you wanted to see him. You wanted to tell him that his dream was coming true, whether he was ready for it or not…

But there was something coming, and it wasn’t him. You would’ve felt it if it was him. By the rate the men were dying somewhere outside of your cell, however, it was getting closer to your cell. For some reason, you just couldn’t identify the energy signature itself.

You got your answer when your cell door forcibly opened. You gaped in shock.

“Countess?” you said.

She was panting for breath, but she whipped a sweaty lock of red hair out of her eyes and reached out a gloved hand for you.

“Come on, before I change my fucking mind,” she said.

You were still in shock, but you managed to break yourself out of it to follow her out of the cell. You had to stop short though, as an entire unit of Vought security came pouring into the hall with raised guns.

You opened your mouth and began your siren song. Within seconds, every man curled in on themselves as they screamed in pain. Some of them managed to rip their helmets off as they gripped their heads. Tears of blood dripped down from their eyes, and they all soon fell into lifeless heaps.

You stopped singing, and your eyes faded from glowing violet to their normal hue. Donna looked at you, both stunned and wary.

“Don’t worry. It doesn’t work on women. Even frigid cunts like you,” you said with a grin.

She smirked back. “Come on then.”

“Where’s Ben?” you asked, joining her in hastening down the hall.

“Up there fighting,” she replied, pointing up to the ceiling. “You’re about fifteen floors down from the outside world.”

“Fucking figures,” you muttered, but your heart swelled to know that Ben was here, and he was all right. Your hand went to your lower belly on reflex.

“Wait,” you gasped, as something occurred to you. “We need to find someone.”

“What the fuck do you mean? We need to get out of here!” Donna said.

“There’s a kid somewhere in here, and I’m not leaving without him,” you snapped. You began opening doors where you sensed a presence inside. Most often it was a lab technician or other employee, and Donna vaporized them.

You opened one door and found Dr. Vogelbaum. Finally, you saw him react with widening eyes. You felt his fear.

Donna eviscerated him too, in a bloody mess of limbs.

You grimaced at the gore, but you paused, noticing a thick file on the man’s desk.

THE HOMELANDER PROJECT was stamped at the top in large red letters. You picked your way through the mess and grabbed the file. Then you and Donna continued heading down the hall.

There at the end was a red door. Something about it called to you. You reached out with your awareness, and you felt a familiar male energy, young and scared and alone.

You beckoned Donna over. The door was heavy and locked, but the two of you worked together to twist it open by its large circular handle, like the hatch on a submarine. It swung open with a creak, and inside the room was a bare white cell, not unlike yours.

A young boy sat against the wall, arms wrapped around his knees, wearing a white shirt and plain gray sweatpants. He was blonde and blue-eyed, and he felt familiar to you on-sight.

“John?” you said, stepping inside the cell.

He tilted his head, like he recognized your voice. He said your name uncertainly as he got up to his feet. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” you said, approaching him with cautious steps. “I’m getting out of here, but I want you to come with me.”

John looked reluctant, even as he glanced at your outstretched hand.

“Vogelbaum is gone. He can’t hurt you anymore,” you said. “John, please, let me help you.”

After a moment of his indecision, John reached out and carefully grasped your hand. You led him out of the cell, and encouraged him to stay close to you when you and Donna started back towards the elevators.

The three of you rode all the way up to the top level, where the sounds of an epic fight raged behind the doors of the building. Still, it was a familiar balm to your frayed mind to step outside those doors and find a bright sun beating down on a dusty clearing. Beyond it was layers of forest trees.

Donna said that her car was about a mile in that direction, but before you guys could attempt to get to safety, Noir landed right in front of you.

“Irving—” you said in warning.

Donna raised her hands, prepared to blast him into pieces, but John threw the first punch. It landed squarely in Noir’s chest and had him flying several feet away, into a nearby tree. Your mouth fell open in shock as you gave the kid a wide-eyed look.

John smiled up at you, in a—Did I do good?—kind of way.

“Holy shit,” Donna muttered.

You huffed a short laugh and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Good job, bud.”

You shifted your attention to the rest of the battle, and it caught on Ben with a gasp. He was striding toward Mindstorm with his shield held in front of him. He backhanded Mindstorm in the face and quickly got him pinned on the ground.

Charlie was already lying unconscious, trapped in his own mind. Donna went to try and help him, while you started running headfirst toward the other two men.

“Ben!” you shouted out.

He glanced up at you on reflex, but it proved to be an unfortunate distraction, giving Mindstorm the opening he needed to reach out a hand and touch Ben’s forehead. His eyes closed and he collapsed to the ground.

“No!” the ragged yell tore from your throat. You knew full well what Mindstorm was capable of.

You rushed forward and tried to capture Mindstorm with your siren song. It managed to hold him in place, making him grip at his temples with strain. You knew you didn’t totally have him under your spell, however. Not until you knelt down in front of him and grabbed his face with both hands. Your eyes illuminated brighter as you focused all of your power on him.

Mindstorm fought it tooth and nail, but ultimately, the pull of you was too much. He screamed as blood trailed down his face from his eyes, nose, and ears, until his voice faded, and his blue eyes became unseeing. When you released him, he slumped into a heap.

You fell back onto your ass and heaved for breath. All the while, you stared at his unseeing eyes. Part of you felt sick with yourself. The other part felt vindicated, and a little more free.

With a gasp, you remembered Ben. You turned over and crawled over to his body where he laid unconscious in the dirt and dead leaves.

Fuck. You shouldn’t have killed Mindstorm. He was the only one who could’ve brought him out of this.

Unless…

An idea struck you, and you knew you had to try. You shuffled onto your knees and took Ben’s face carefully in your shaking hands. You closed your eyes.

Focusing your powers on his being, you entered his mind. You waded through waves of darkness as they lapped at you, trying to draw you in. But you were a brighter light. You went deeper, layer by layer.

You began to see moving images, like scenes from a reel. You saw his father, berating him. You saw the moment Compound V was injected into his arm, immediately filling his veins with pain. You saw his mother’s funeral, a day marked by falling snow and a stoic set of Ben’s young shoulders.

You saw so many days and nights at the facility where you both were kept, but one in particular struck at your own heart—the day Dr. Eisenstein had you brought you into Ben’s cell and slammed you down on the table in front of him, prepared to inject an unknown experimental serum into your body.

Ben’s face seemed angry on the outside, but this deep inside his mind, you felt his anger, as well as his fear, and his desire to protect you.

You weren’t sure it would work, but you needed to get his attention somehow. You needed to wake him up.

“Ben!” you shouted to him.

To your relief, he actually looked over at you, meeting your gaze with surprise in his own.

Until you were ripped away from him, out of his mind and into the waking world. Your bleary eyes eventually focused on the dark shape above you. On Black Noir.

He hauled you up by your arms and began to drag you across the clearing, away from Ben.

“Stop!” you struggled. Noir ignored you, just tightening his hold.

He dragged you past Donna’s body. She was dying on the ground, with her throat cut and bubbling with blood. Your eyes widened, but you quickly took in the rest of the clearing.

John was trapped under the massive trunk of a fallen tree, struggling to get up. He was being swarmed by Vought security guards.

Just over Noir’s shoulder, you caught sight of Ben. He was starting to wake up, and he turned over and pushed himself up onto one knee. Relief filled your chest.

In a fit of desperation, you dug your heels into the ground. “Let go! Let go of me!”

You opened your mouth and took in a breath to sing, but how quickly Noir’s hand wrapped around your throat, choking the breath right out of you. He tightened his hold, little by little, until you began to feel lightheaded. Panic gripped at your heart.

“Stop, Noir, please! I’m pregnant!” you pleaded, with tears in your eyes.

Beyond him, you met Ben’s gaze. His mouth fell open as he stared at you, after half scrambling to his feet.

You returned your attention to Noir when you realized you could feel his shock, and the tension through your hand on his glove. He glanced over his shoulder at Ben, then back at your tearful eyes. You felt Noir’s disgust, swiftly followed by his anger.

You gasped when he let you go, just so he could unsheathe his weapon. Ben gritted his teeth in anger. Before he could throw his shield, Noir swung his katana down on you.

You instinctively raised up your arms to protect yourself, but the blade only shattered against your skin. You raised your head, blinking in shock. You clenched your fists, and you realized that you felt different, somehow. You were strong.

You shoved Noir hard in the chest, and he flew several feet away, rolling in the dirt as he landed.

Ben ran over to join you. He wrapped his non-shield wielding arm around your waist and pulled you tight against him. You melted into him in relief, resting your head against his chest.

“I don’t know how I did that,” you admitted.

“Looks like knocking you up comes with some added perks,” he said, grinning down at you.

Once you understood what he meant, another wave of shock hit you. The life inside you was not only carrying his genes, but some of his power as well, making you strong.

You looked up at his smug grin and rolled your eyes in amusement, but you also wanted to grab his face and pull him down for a kiss. The look in his eyes told you he wanted to oblige, but you both stopped short, coming to attention when you saw Noir picking himself up from the ground.

“I’ve got him,” Ben said darkly. He let go of you and took a step toward Noir, putting himself in front of you.

Two old enemies faced each other. This time, Ben began to make the first move.

Just then, a pair of red laser beams broke through the clearing and cut through Noir’s mask and skull. He dropped to his knees, and then fell to the ground.

What the hell…

Slowly you turned back to see that John had broken free of the guards. All of them lied either passed out or dead at his feet. He stepped over them and went to your side with shaky hands, shocked at even his own power. Had he known he could do that?

“Are you okay?” he asked you in concern.

You were still reeling, but you nodded and grasped his shoulder. Ben was unsettled looking at John. You knew the look on his face. He wasn’t sure whether the kid was a threat as well. Ben slid an arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him.

“Ben, this is John,” you explained. “He was a ‘guest’ in the lab, same as me.”

Ben seized up the kid. Eventually he rested his shield on the ground and reached out his hand.

“John, huh?”

The kid nodded and shook his hand. “Y-Yes, sir.”

“That’s a strong name,” Ben said. John smiled.

With that small peace won, you slipped away from Ben and went to Charlie. You knelt down and felt for his pulse at his neck. You shook your head in sadness.

“He’s gone,” you said. Ben helped you stand again.

You were disappointed about Donna too, even knowing she was the one who helped sell you out in the first place. You were sure it was probably under duress, but she had saved you today.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Ben said. You agreed, but first, you looked back at the lab.

“They took vials of my blood. God knows what else they have in there,” you said.

“They took your fucking blood?” he said, through furrowed brows.

“Yeah, that’s how I know I’m pregnant,” you said, again, holding a hand to your belly. Ben softened slightly at that.

He blew out a breath and nodded. “Okay, you and the kid hang back. Far back.”

You grasped John’s shoulder and led him over to the dense line of trees. You both hunkered down behind a fallen tree trunk and watched Ben approach the lab.

He set a firm stance and concentrated, until his chest glowed with power. Letting loose a yell of strain, he summoned a blast that destroyed the entire building. It not only created a backlash of debris and flames, but it also shook the earth. He stalked forward and angled the blast downward, so that it would consume the floors below as well.

You had to duck down further as the impact of the blast was too much. John covered you with his arms around your shoulders.

When it was over, Ben struggled to regain his breath. He even stumbled a bit on his way back to you, but he kept a steady pace, until he found you and the kid again. Ben reached a hand for you and once again helped you up from the ground, guiding you into his arms.

His chest still felt hot, but you didn’t care. You curled a hand around the back of his neck and brought him down to you for a kiss. It was relief, it was passion, and it was home.

You parted slowly, his forehead pressing against yours.

“I love you,” you whispered into the small space in between.

Releasing a subtle breath, Ben nodded. You opened your eyes and cupped his cheek.

“You can say it,” you prompted, teasingly. “It’s not gonna kill you.”

You could hazard a guess at what he was thinking. This close, you could feel him, and his reluctance. But his lips hinted at a smile.

“Yeah, I fucking love you,” he said. He thumbed at your chin, his gaze roaming over your face before he met your eyes. “I love you.”

Tears made your vision blur a little. You nodded, smiling, and reached up on your toes for another kiss.

“Are you guys done yet?” John asked. He shifted on his feet, all antsy and tired. “Can we go?”

Ben’s face fell into annoyance at the kid. You gave him a rueful smile, and one last stroke of his cheek.

“The car’s about a mile out,” Ben said.

“Yep,” you said. “I guess we start walking.”

John slept in the backseat of the car while Ben drove down the highway going northeast. His gaze roamed over you as you stared out the window, seemingly calm with that file you stole from Vogelbaum’s office resting on your lap.

With a sigh, you turned your attention to it. Ben couldn’t help but distract you first. His hand reached over to rest on your thigh.

“Hey,” he said. You perked up at him.

“You okay?” he asked. You smiled a little and slipped your hand over his.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Considering.”

He alternated between watching the road and watching you a bit closer.

“Did they hurt you?” he pressed. You shook your head, squeezing his hand.

“No. They pretty much left me alone,” you said, though his concern warmed you. You also sensed something else underneath…the sting of regret. It took him a few beats, but he eventually spoke.

“I shouldn’t have let you go out alone,” he said, briefly meeting your eyes. “I should’ve been there.”

It was as close to an apology as you’d ever gotten from him. You almost smiled.

“Look, we’re here now,” you said. “Pretty soon, this is all just going to be a bad memory we can put behind us, like everything else.”

You rubbed his arm and glanced down at the file sitting on your lap. Your curiosity had you flipping it open. The more you read over its contents, the more your face slackened in shock.

“Oh my God, Ben,” you whispered.

“What?”

“Pull over for a minute.”

“We can’t stop here. We need to get to the airport.”

“This is important. Stop the car.”

He huffed in annoyance, but he pulled the car over. He left the car running and got out along with you.

You later leaned against the passenger side while he read the file. You watched the shock descend over his face as it all began to click together in his mind. He turned and pointed at the backseat of the car.

“He’s…”

“Yeah,” you said.

“Christ on a damn cross,” he said.

“Yeah,” you repeated. You covered your mouth with a hand. “And the poor kid’s been kept in that basement his whole damn life… It was Vogelbaum’s project, but how did he do it?”

A realization fell over Ben. He joined you in leaning against the car. The file fell to his side.

“Back in…’81. No, beginning of ’83, before you joined up. Vogelbaum wanted a sample of my swimmers for an experiment. Something about genetics,” he said. He still remembered the Penthouse Forum he used to give his “sample.”

June. Danielle Deneux. Bush like a Pomeranian. He almost smiled at the memory, but the rest of it soured that part for him.

You gave him an incredulous look. “And you didn’t ask questions about what they were going to use your sperm for?”

Ben rolled his eyes and gave you the file. You shook your head.

“The point is, John is…more or less your son,” you said.

“What?!” John exclaimed. He spooked you and Ben when he popped up in the car window.

You should’ve known he’d have enhanced hearing. Just like his father.

John came out of the car, and both father and son looked at one another in assessing ways. Even though they had different coloring, you started to notice the similar shape of their jawlines, the line of their noses. John soon had tears in his eyes.

“You…you’re my dad?” he said.

Ben’s hands went to his hips. His posture was stiff and awkward.

“I guess I am,” he said.

He didn’t expect the way John literally flew over and hugged him with a strength that impacted Ben. He grunted and grabbed the kid’s shoulders.

“Okay, all right, lock it up. Don’t be a little girl about it.”

John’s face fell with dejection, but he dropped his arms and took a step back. You became both dismayed and angry.

“Ben!” you said sharply. “Let your son hug you, for fuck’s sake.”

He shot you a warning look, but you had your hand on John’s shoulder as you glared back at Ben. He crossed his arms.

Then he uncrossed them with an exasperated huff. He went to John and dropped a hand on his shoulder. Smiling in satisfaction, you moved back to give them a moment.

Ben looked down at the kid’s face. His blonde hair and blue eyes weren’t his. He must’ve taken after his mother, whoever she was, or whatever genetics Vogelbaum manipulated, but he did see his own strong jaw in the kid.

“Well, it’s unfortunate that we couldn’t meet sooner, but…looks like you’re my son,” said Ben. “I'm thinking you want to stick around with us.”

John nodded vigorously.

“All right,” Ben said. “Then let’s get going.”

John nodded again, quickly wiping at his face to clear away his tears.

Good, Ben thought with a quirk of his lips. He squeezed John’s shoulder and let him go, so he could return to the driver’s side of the car. You gave John a warm hug. Ben saw it through the window and almost shook his head. He could already tell that you were going to try to mother that boy.

Somehow, that thought just softened him, at least a little. Because it reminded him that you were carrying his child as well. Not to mention, his blood was making you nice and strong.

When you slid into the passenger seat, he grabbed your hand and pressed a kiss over your knuckles. You smiled at him.

“Where are we gonna go?” John asked.

Ben glanced at him in the rearview mirror. Ben's brows drew together as his expression firmed.

“To finish what we started,” he said.

You knew what that meant. He wanted to go to New York to finish off Stan Edgar, Stillwell, and anyone else who had a hand in their capture.

“Ben, they’ll never stop trying to get him back,” you said, gesturing at John. “And…when Vogelbaum took my blood, he said they wanted to monitor me. Apparently this has never happened before…a supe getting another supe pregnant.”

Ben paused.

“He talked like I was a rat in his lab, and he wanted to document the findings,” you said, as tears welled up in your eyes and made your throat tight with emotion, and the remnants of dread.

Ben frowned and squeezed your hand.

“That’s not fucking happening,” he said. You sighed and wiped at your cheek. After taking a few steadying breaths, you managed to get a hold of yourself.

“If we go back to New York, it’s a big risk,” you said.

This time, Ben actually considered what you were saying. He was stubborn though.

“I can’t just fucking let it go. What Stan Edgar did, what they all did—”

“If you take out Stan, they’ll just put another one in his place. I doubt it’ll ever end,” you said. You moved his hand to your stomach. “But if you want this. If you want a family, this is it.”

Ben glanced down at his hand under yours, and then your face. As much as he wanted the rest of his revenge, he also wanted, and needed to protect you. He couldn’t make another mistake like last time. If you were taken from him again, he’d have no one to blame but himself. 

That also posed a harder question. Where the hell could he take you where you’d be safe? Even Arthur had fucked off to Belize.

Ben stroked your hand in contemplation…until an idea came to him.

A grin raised his lips.

“All right,” he said. “How do you feel about Colombia?”

AN: Lol! Suffice to say, there's going to be a big BMD easter egg in the Epilogue, but did you like how the final battle shook out? Was there anything that surprised you? Do you wish some members of Payback had lived?

I went back and forth on how some characters would meet their end, but I felt that this is the story I wanted to tell, with her, Ben, and John escaping together and forming their strange new family. 😂💚

Next Time: The Epilogue...

A phone dock rested on the coffee table. The call was on speaker.

“That child represents a multi-million-dollar investment,” said Stan Edgar.

“You should’ve thought about that before you shipped us off to motherfucking Siberia,” Ben snapped. “Hell, before you decided to steal my goddamn DNA. But guess fucking what. He’s my son. He belongs with me.”

You gave him a look of pride, resting a hand on his thigh in support. He glanced at you and grabbed your hand.

“You’re not leaving me with much recourse here, Soldier Boy,” Stan replied.

Ben leaned forward. He took that as a very real threat.

▶️ Keep Reading: The Epilogue

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[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 12!!!

This post features the way I think renting cars works. I'm very sure it doesn't actually work this way, and I could have researched it, but the image is in my head and I thought it was funny having cars on shelves with little description tags like some kind of Automobile Costco Warehouse.

Also, I'm gonna link my playlist because I feel like you all might be interested to see the list of songs I'm working from lol.

Fun fact, the playlist used to be called List of Holding and was meant to be a small collection of songs that I wanted to hear REALLY often. But, um...well, I've since had to change the name :P

This is All Good Omens Now Who Am I Kidding

And yes, I'm very VERY picky about my Queen songs.

OKAY here we go.

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In the end, it was surprisingly easy to find a rental company willing to loan you all a car (considering that three out of the four of you have no identification, documents, credit score, valid driver’s licenses, etc.). Deciding on a car, on the other hand, was a bit more complicated.

“I don’t understand why I can’t just miracle the Bentley over,” Crowley whines as the four of you wander the aisles of cars.

“Well for starters, the steering wheel is on the wrong side,” Anathema reasons.

“The wheel’s not on the wrong side! All of these have steering wheels on the wrong side! They drive on the wrong side of the road here too! Americans!” He shoves his hands in his pockets, practically spitting the last word like it’s some kind of curse. Anathema raises an eyebrow at him, but otherwise says nothing.

“Ooh!” Aziraphale calls from further ahead, “Look at this one! The description says that it’s very good for the environment. I mean, aesthetically speaking it isn’t anything extraordinary, but I do like all of these things written on the tag.”

“What kind of car is it?” Anathema asks.

“I believe it says it’s a...Tesla?”

You snort a laugh. “I am NOT getting into one of those things,” You say between giggles.

“Why not?” Aziraphale’s confusion is genuine – you can see it in his face.

“Well,” You begin counting on your fingers, “It farts, it can see ghosts, and it may or may not explode while we’re in it, SO!” You see Crowley’s face light up.

“Sounds like my kind of car!” He says, making his way towards the car that Aziraphale is inspecting.

“No,” Anathema sounds like she’s talking to a child. Or maybe a dog. “No, we are not riding in a Tesla. I’m with you on this one,” she says in your direction.

“I have a suggestion,” You pipe up, raising your hand.

“Oh-ho!” Crowley calls. He leaned slightly to the left, and took off between the aisles. All three of you have to jog to keep up with him. He’s stopped in front of an enormous Hummer. “Now THIS is a CAR!”

Anathema is shaking her head.

“No, wait, listen, I have it,” You say, and everyone turns to look at you expectantly. “It’s the only logical option here. It fits the vintage vibe that you two like, and it’s the most reliable car I know of aside from Bentley.”

“Well go on,” encourages Anathema, “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“What we need is a 1967 Chevy Impala!”

And THAT, dear Reader, is how you find out that none of them have seen Supernatural. Or heard of it, even. Criminal, really. You resolve to make them watch it next chance you get. In the end, Anathema suggests a very practical SUV and well, you’ve all learned not to argue with her by now.

Honestly the woman needs a cake for putting up with the three of you.

Also, as it turns out, one of the perks of having a current car model is that you can sync up your playlist to the bluetooth. So guess who ends up in charge of the music.

“And THIS one,” You say, flicking through your playlist, “Is a song that was suggested for the Season 3 playlist by Neil Gaiman himself!” And you press play on The Book of Love. And you watch their faces. You want to see their reaction when it gets to the part about wedding rings.

“Are all of your songs for us love songs?” Aziraphale asks. He stopped complaining about your taste in music an hour ago. Crowley is driving, and Anathema has been zoned out for a while now.

“Uuuummm, the ones that aren’t breakup songs you mean? Pretty much yeah.”

Crowley groans.

“Except for like, Queen and Hozier.”

Crowley groans again.

“I thought you liked Queen,” You are shocked and alarmed. Crowley rolls his whole head (probably because you wouldn’t see him roll his eyes behind his sunglasses).

“Go on then,” he says, “Which Queen songs do you have on that playlist of yours?” He glares at you through the rearview mirror. Suddenly, you hesitate.

“Um...Somebody to Love, and Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy,” You finish meekly. Crowley nearly crashes the car. Whether it was on purpose or not doesn’t matter. Anathema takes the wheel and he gets demoted to the back seat. Next to you. As a peace offering, you hand him your phone with your spotify open, and let him take charge of the music. You feel that you might not survive the ride otherwise.

Google Maps pegs the estimated driving time from NYC to New Orleans at 19 hours. Splitting the driving between a demon and a responsible human woman, the four of you manage a respectable 12 hours including a number of breaks to: use the washroom, get coffee, get food, look at the view, poke around a used bookshop, pick some apples, eat the apples, and buy some fudge. Crowley refuses to admit that he may or may not have stopped time once or twice, and Aziraphale refuses to account for your sudden bursts of energy from time to time (conveniently and suspiciously whenever there was a stop he was interested in).

So, having made excellent time, all four of you arrive in New Orleans. Crowley is back at the wheel now, and he pulls the car into the parking lot of The Ritz. Because of course it’s The Ritz again. Anathema doesn’t even comment this time. You figure she was probably expecting it. Learning fast, that one. You check in, and aren’t all that surprised to find that you’ve been booked into the fanciest suite in the place once again. According to the pamphlet at the front desk, this suite is supposed to only be two rooms, but when you arrive, you find that it actually contains 3. Why? Supernatural beings who influence their surroundings.

“You really do have some expensive taste,” You say casually to Aziraphale as you place your bag on the floor.

“It was Crowley who booked this one,” the angel replies, inspecting the knick-knacks on a shelf to his left.

“Crowley? Trying to impress you, no doubt.”

“Pft!” Comes Crowley’s response from behind you, “Right, and not at all because to get up here you need a special passkey, which keeps unexpected guests few, far between, and easy to notice.” He gives you a pointed look over his sunglasses. “We’ve been lucky so far that we’ve been left alone since Heathrow. But don’t think for a minute that he won’t be back.”

“That’s...fair.” You pause and think for a minute. “Then we should probably limit going out too. Unless we really need to.”

“That would be best, yes,” Anathema agrees, “But please, leave the hotel staff alone.”

Well, honestly she could only expect that request to go so far once Aziraphale found the room service menu.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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[crowely-632]