#With John it'd be like such a heavy weight lifts off of him I think

[highcaliberstupidity]

Whumptober Day 12 The Fall Rating General Audiences CW's/Tags Insomnia, Nightmares, Not so well adjusted Soap, Somewhat well adjusted Ghost, Tactical Cuddling, pre-relationship Characters John "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley Summary

It's kind of shit, any tea is, but Ghost gave it to him, so he won't complain. "Uh…" He licks his lips, eyes turning back down to regard the dark liquid in his cup. Huh, the color wasn't so far off from Ghosts.

He's exhausted.

At this point, he's lost count of the hours he's been awake.

Or should he classify it as days now? He's certainly well over 48 hours.

It must be noticeable too, because Gaz won't stop giving him these concerned looks, And Price has this somber expression every time he sees him.

It looks like understanding, and Soap hates it. Makes him feel… seen

And then, of course, there's Ghost.

Ghost sees it the most, half the time he's sitting in the rec room when Soap toddles in, eyes bloodshot from a scant bit of sleep that ends in nightmares.

At first, he didn't comment, just offered him tea and his presence.

But as it continued, Soap watched his concern grow, becoming more blatant. Until it finally spilled over like a boiling kettle.

"Johnny, how much sleep have you had this week?" Soap blinks, lifting his eyes to meet heavy browns as he cradles a cup of tea that he thinks is Yorkshire gold.

It's kind of shit, any tea is, but Ghost gave it to him, so he won't complain.

"Uh…" He licks his lips, eyes turning back down to regard the dark liquid in his cup.

Huh, the color wasn't so far off from Ghosts.

"Handful of hours, I think." He's not sure what prompts honesty, because he's lied through his teeth to everyone else to avoid medical.

He'll blame it on the exhaustion.

"Nightmares?" Ghost's voice is soft, making something pang in Soap's chest as his head sags further.

Wind, rain, shouting, explosions, American and Iranian, bullets, blood, pain, that terrifying feeling of his stomach rising into his throat from weightlessness.

"Y-yeah." He manages to croak, lips thin as he tries to suppress the tremble in his hands.

Ghost stays silent for a long moment, but Soap can feel the heavy weight of his gaze, and his judgment.

"You need to sleep, Soap." He can't help the way his brow furrows, glaring at his Lieutenant just a bit as he opens his mouth in refute. But he badgers on. "I know you know, but I'm serious Johnny, exhaustion'll kill ya just as fuckin dead as the drop would have." And that stills him, has his mouth snapping shut as he drops his eyes back to the table.

The drop.

It's not, a trigger. But fuck, just thinking about the fall makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

"I-I know." He manages again, hating the way his voice cracks, hating the situation. He's a fucking soldier, for Christ's sake.

Even Ghost, a man with far more trauma than Soap, manages to reign himself in. He sleeps enough to be functional and manages.

Right now it feels like he can't manage anything, not even himself. He's too busy dragging himself through the proverbial mud to notice that Ghosts gone silent again, calculating.

Then, "Up." It's barked, but done so softly, as Ghost pushes himself upright.

Soap can't help himself, a confused noise escaping him as he thinks his cup down and feels a hand clamp around his bicep and lift.

He's practically dragged out of the little chair and then left with a gentle touch toward the couch.

"Lay down." He's pushed, nudged more like, until his ass drops onto the cushions, blinking wide-eyed and confused at his looking Lieutenant. Silence falls again, and Ghost looks almost… nervous.

It'd be cute if the idea of Ghost being nervous didn't terrify him.

"Sir?" That seems to get his attention back, and he blinks, refocusing as he lets out a soft huff.

"Gonna try something, and if it makes you uncomfortable, we'll stop." What? Soap doesn't get a chance to ask what it is, before Ghost lowers himself over him, straddling his thighs before he stretches out, falling over him like a very heavy weighted blanket.

He can help his startled squeak, shrinking himself into the cushions as Ghost bullies his way into the remaining space, laid half over Soap as he curls an arm under his head and lets the other dangle off the edge of the couch.

"Solid?" Soap doesn't trust his own voice, just nods with reddened cheeks and wide eyes as Ghost's head settles onto the couch arm beside his own, chin brushing the sides of his shorn scalp. The longer he lays there, he can't help but wonder if this is what it's like to be lain on by a big cat.

Heavy, warm, and purring contentedly.

Or, in Ghosts case, a soft hum.

There's a small part of Soap that wants to argue that this can't be comfortable for him, that neither of them are going to sleep this way.

But his eyelids are already drooping, exhaustion finally rolling up and over him in a tidal wave of darkness.

And if Gaz snaps a picture of the sleeping pair before he wakes them the next morning, that's no one's business but his and his password-protected phone folder.

[sankttealeaf]

heavy is the heart (snippet)

small snippet of what i'm working on, but mainly because this bit is one of my favourites. (takes place after 'horsemen, apocalypses' and that's all the context you are getting. also first time writing these guys, scary.)

Dutch excused himself, making a comment on planning for something while giving Arthur a push towards John, who was beginning to help clean up. 

Arthur watched him struggle to lift up an O'Driscoll for a moment before John let the body drop down on the floor and frowned at him.

"Well, ain't you gonna help me?" He asked, causing Arthur to chuckle.

"Thought I'd watch you struggle for a bit longer, just for the fun of it." He stayed still for a moment, hands resting on his gun belt and watched as John’s face scrunched up in frustration. Before he could complain anymore, Arthur grabbed the ankles of the body and lifted it up with ease.

“You’re a real pain in the ass sometimes, you know that, Morgan?” John said through a grunt, carrying most of the weight of the dead body. Arthur shifted his grip, trying to help relieve some of the heaviness. What were they feedin' these fellas?

"You'd miss me if I weren't here to keep you in line."

"You ain't even doing that! You're just laughin' at me all the goddamn time."

Arthur shook his head. "Not all the time."

"Most of the time." John stopped walking, having reached the bank of the swamp. He looked down into the murky water, like he had lost something in it. 

"What're you looking for?" Arthur asked, noticing John frown in disappointment.

"Was hoping there was a gator nearby. We could give it a snack." He shrugged, giving the body a slight swing to get Arthur to let go and throw it into the water with him.

"And you wanted to watch it eat this?" Arthur's eyes widened in disbelief as he let go of the ankles and watched the body fall into the water, some droplets from the impact spraying up at them.

"I ain't seen a gator eat someone before," John replied, taking one last glance back at the swamp in hopes that one was nearby. Arthur waited for him to stop looking, before walking over to where the next body lay. "Thought it'd be fun."

"Almost got eaten by a gator a while ago," Arthur said as the two approached the next body. He gave it a kick so it lay flat and bent down, picking it up under its arms.

"Too bad you didn't," John replied with a laugh. "When was this?"

"A while ago now. Met some fella takin' pictures of animals. Albert Mason, or something like that." He waited for John to grab the ankles, and then they lifted the body up together. "Helped him a few times with his photographs, getting the animals in the right place. He was in the swamps, wanted a picture of a gator, so I had to lure it out."

"Y'know, when you head out for days, everyone thinks you're off being a tough outlaw, killin' people and stuff. But you're just out there… helping strangers take pictures of stuff?" John raised an eyebrow. "Who even are you?"

Arthur shrugged his comment off. "Folks need help sometimes. He gave me one of the pictures, if you want t' see it?"

[derelictdumbass]

Thinking about how the Seeds relationships with Dean could be taken as an act of defiance against how they were raised and a way for them to break out of that restraint and accept the trauma they went through and move forward from it.

[kunt-dracula]

Everybody Loves A Clown

Supernatural Rewrite.

OC, Sam, Dean

TW: Cursing...that's about it.🤣

I pull my leather jacket on as I bound down the staircase, denѕe boots thumping against the old wood. I call out to Sam—repeating his name when I receive no response. He must be out in the yard with his brother.

I make my way into the kitchen upon hearing clinking plates.

"Sam outside?"

Bobby doesn't look up from his aggressive scrubbing of a cast iron pan. "Nope. He and Dean left."

I raise my brows. Hm. Guess they caught wind of another case. Hey, if it means I don't have to drag them along with me on mine, I'm not complaining at all.

Without asking any further questions, I hoist my backpack further on my shoulder "Well, guess I'll see Ellen and Jo by myself."

"And while you're there tell those boys that the next time they eat here they gotta wash the dishes. At least then they wouldn't be completely freeloading."

I twist my body back to Bobby. "I thought you said they left?"

Bobby shuts off the faucet. "They did leave. They went to the Roadhouse."

"What!? Dammit, I told them to wait!"

Instantly becoming angry I spin on my heels and rush to the door, swinging it open. I hear Bobby yell something behind me, but I can't hear him over my feet stomping against the gravel in addition to my heavy breathing.

I yank the other strap of my backpack on the other arm, securing it. Since the case was in-state, I decided on riding my bike.

I throw my leg over the pillion of my 2005 Triumph Rocket III and drop my weight onto it. Keeping it up is pricey; hell the bike itself is expensive, but I managed to do both for free.

-

How I got this piece was I took it from the leader of this werewolf biker gang. After I killed him and a few of his goons, I looted them for some things. They were too nice to go to waste. The dead gang members didn't have much honestly. There were three of them—with the exception of the leader— and I only got a little less than three hundred bucks. But the leader...oh man, a holy grail.

I couldn't boost the fairly nice house from him. But not only did I get this motorcycle off him, but I also got this badass 2005 Dodge Ram 1500—as well as some nice jewelry. I could tell it wasn't his, so I instantly concluded that he had done some stealing himself. Not being aware of who the owner was I pawned the jewelry off under a false alias and got a few stacks for it.

Shoving my right foot against the kick-start lever—undoubtedly using more than likely with more force than necessary—the bike roars to life. Fairly new motor purring loudly, vibrating vigorously between my thighs.

I snatch my helmet off the front of the bike—almost forgetting to put it on—pushing my head into it. I kick up the kickstand with the heel of my boot, and peel through the yard, leaving a trailing cloud of dust behind me.

*12 MINUTES LATER*

Upon turning into the parking lot, I spot the beat-up, poorly maintained minivan I gave Sam the keys to earlier this morning. It was the only functioning car Bobby had. It was bad off, but I had fixed it up to where it'd get you where you needed to be.

Haphazardly parking my bike, I shut off the engine and remove my helmet—hanging it from the right handle. 

The wood groans under my weight as I ascend the few steps to the paint chipped door. I push it open, only a fraction surprised at what I see.

Jo was holding a rifle on Dean, who was holding his nose, and Ellen had a handgun pointed at Sam.

"See this is why I told you to wait." I couldn't help but sound 'matter-of-fact.' Hell I told them, but they didn't listen, and I knew how Ellen and Jo were with strangers showing up unannounced.

Four pairs of eyes instantly snap to me. "Hi Ellen," I nod "Jo."

"Hey sweetie, don't mind us, just some guys wandered in, looking to score probably." Ellen narrows her eyes at Sam who was looking back and forth between the 9mm pointed at his face and me, a pleading look in his eyes.

I shrug my bag off, setting it on the table. "They didn't come to steal. I know them. They're Sam and Dean, or dumb and dumber—which is quickly becoming a good replacement."

"Sam and Dean? Winchester?" Her face softens. I nod, confirming.

"Son of a bitch." She mutters.

"Mom, you know these guys?" Jo asks.

"Yeah, I think these are John Winchester's boys." She lets out a laugh, lowering the gun. Jo slowly does the same. "Hey, I'm Ellen. This is my daughter Jo." She gives Dean a smile.

"You're not gonna hit me again, are you?" Dean questions, nasally. She fills a hand towel with ice and offers it to Dean, without saying a word.

"Bobby called said you had a case for me. You needed help with something?"

"Yeah," she leans an elbow against the bar. "Demon. Heard he was closing in on it."

"He? He who?"

"John Winchester. I actually called you when he didn't return my calls."

"Ah. I see." Aware of where she kept files, I rounded the bar and slid the file cabinet drawer open. Flicking through the row of folders until I found what I needed. I open the Manila folder and frown. A lot of the writing from these newspaper articles are small. And I don't have my reading glasses. My vision is really good when pin pointing objects or when something's out of place but if it's words? Sometimes I catch hell. Glancing over at the drying rack an idea pops into my mind, and I lift a small shot glass from the rack.

"What, was there an article in the Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed? I mean, who are you? How do you know about all this?" Dean demanded.

I slam the drawer closed with my hip. "The same way you do, genius. She's not new to the world of hunters." I circle my way back from behind the bar. I'm rewarded a dirty look from the man.

"I just run a saloon. But hunters have been known to pass through now and again. Including your dad, a long time ago. John was like family once." Her lips curl up into a small smile as she reminisces.

"Oh yeah? How come he never mentioned you before?" Dean questioned, skeptical. Ellen's response was a mere shrug. "So why exactly do we need your help?"

"What's with mister moody over there?" I glance up from the open folder in my hand to see Jo slinking to stand next to me. She mirrors my position of leaning back against the hard wood of the bar.

"Their dad got off'd by a demon a few days ago," I whisper back, my eyes falling back on the newspaper article. "I'm not sure they know it was a demon though. Dude reeked of sulfur, but I'm pretty sure I was the only one that could smell it." I run the glass, rim-down across the page, the words becoming magnified.

"Have you told them about your 'abilities'?"

"Hell no! I barely know them. The only reason I'm around them is that Bobby wants me to. The old geezer's suddenly scared something's gonna happen to me."

"Well, you are like his daughter Essie." God, I hated when she called me that. "From what you've told me, he doesn't have anyone except you." I huff. I'm getting lectures left and right.

"Ash!" Me and Jo can't help but jump at Ellen's abrupt shout. Ash, who was asleep on the pool table jerks up with a start. Honestly, I'm not surprised I didn't notice him before. I've been coming here for years, and I'm so accustomed to seeing him drunkenly sprawled out, I just consider him furniture. "What? It closing time?" He grumbles, looking around in a daze.

"That's Ash?" Sam questions in disbelief.

"Yep." I walk past him, plucking the thick folder from its spot on the table in front of him before he has time to react.

"He's a genius." Jo smiles, pushing off the bar and walking behind it. I snicker.

"No," I grab the glass of water from the bar and saunter over to where he was. "These guys and I need your help with some info." I slide the water to him, and he looks up at me, his lips spread in a lazy smile. Here it comes.

"Well for you I'll help any way I can, Darlin'." As always, his eyes almost instantaneously fall to my breast. He goes to lean an elbow on the table but, misses and begins to fall until I grab his forearm--steadying him. "See I'm fallin' for you." I can't help but break into a smile at his cheesy flirting.

"Stop flirtin' with Essence and read the damn notes." Ellen scolds, but it's obvious she's amused as well.

"You've gotta be kidding me, this guy's no genius. He's a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie." Dean states.

Ash smiled. "I like you."

"Don't doubt him." I did the same when I first met him, and he shocked the hell outta me. "Just give him a chance." I add.

"Alright. This is about a year's worth of our dad's work, so uh, let's see what you make of it." Dean watches as Ash opens the folder and skims through it.

"Come on, this crap ain't real. There ain't nobody that can track a demon like this." Ash scoffs.

"Apparently so, their dad seemed to be able to do it." I shrug.

"There are non-parametric, statistical overviews, prospects, and correlations, I mean, damn!" He wheezes.

"These are omens." A piece of paper catches my eye, I drag my fingers across the lines.

"Basically if you can track these, you won't have much of a problem tracking the demon behind it." I glance up at the boys to see a mixture of both impressed and confused expressions. 

"Yeah." Ash nods in agreement. "You know like, crop failures, electrical storms...You ever been struck by lightning? It ain't fun." he trails off, picking up another sheet.

"Can you track it or not?" Sam asks.

"Yeah, with this, I think so. But it's gonna take time, uh, give me," he ponders briefly. "Fifty-one hours." He stands to leave.

"Hey, man?" Dean stops him.

"Yeah." He turns to face us again.

"I, uh, dig the haircut."

"All business up front, party in the back." I chuckle as he flips his hair and shrugs before leaving the room.

"Hey, Ellen, what's that?" Ellen looks back at the space behind her before looking back at Sam.

"Well, that's Essie's police scanner she left here a year ago and never took it back." I scrunch my face.

"Hey now, first of all, I left it because I got a new one. Secondly, I left it so you could be more aware of what's going on and keep tabs on things."

With Ellen's folder still in my hand, I move over to the bar and slide on the stool next to Sam. "Hey, look at this, " I open the folder and place the first few pages of the article between us. I could see that in big red marker it had written on it:

COUPLE MURDERED

CHILD LEFT ALIVE

MEDFORD, WISC.

"Read over this again. I already did but, I don't have my reading glasses, so my vision is fucked up when It comes to words. You might see something I missed." He nods and grabs the sheets.

I fixate myself with something I have no problem seeing clearly. Photos of the victims, their information, etc.

The bar was all-around quiet. Except for Dean and Jo who were having an indistinct conversation on the farther side of the room, next to the windows.

"So uh," Sam starts. "How have you been. Its been what... five or six years since we last saw each other?" He asks with humor.

"Seven actually," I respond dryly, not lifting my eyes from the photos. "We were freshmen." I flip one and move to the next. "As for me, I've been fine. Grown accustomed to being alone." I murmur adding a shrug, more than likely to keep from visibly cringing at the statement I had unintentionally let slip from my lips. I could hope he hadn't heard me, but I already know he has by the way he's looking at me. Although I've still failed to make eye contact with the guy I can still feel his eyes staring at the side of my face.

"Dean," I call him over, not quite because I wanted too but, I needed to change the subject before it progressed any further. "Come take a look at this." At this statement, Sam leans closer to me, and Dean stands next to me, leaning his body against the bar. I frown at the uncomfortable closeness. "Too fucking close." I shake my head. They both mumble a 'sorry' and put some distance between them and me.

I roll my eyes. "A few murders not far from here Ellen caught wind of. And with my expertise, this damn sure looks like a hunt."

"Since when are you an 'expert' in hunting?" I turn my head towards the eldest and shoot him a harsh glare, before shifting my expression into one of smugness. "Since I saved your tight ass—not once but twice since we met less than a month ago." I slide off the stool and brush past him to the table I left my bag on, but not before gauging the look on his face. I can tell Dean's taken aback by my response at the way his brows furrow deeply. He clears his throat, crossing his arms. "So what's your point?"

"My point, Sweetcheeks, is that we're taking the case." I stuff the folder in my bag and pull out my Mossberg 500 12 Gauge Shotgun. Although I had intended on riding my bike to—what I thought was a nearby town in South Dakota but is actually a town in Wisconsin, I should go and swap out for my truck. Another good reason is the center of what's going on isn't really familiar to me at first mention, so who knows what and how many of it am I going to need to take it out.

"No, absolutely not." He protests. "You're not tagging along with us. Give me the folder." With my instincts, I hear his heavy feet approach me, and I turn, gun in hand. I grip the pump and flick my wrist harshly, gun clicking as it cocks. He immediately stops in his tracks.

"You really wanna try taking it from me?" I tilt my head. He's highly annoyed but shakes his head regardless. "Smart boy." I smile and the bag over my shoulder, shotgun still in my right clutch.

"Now come on," I pat his stubbled face with my hand and walk past him yet again. "Got a lot of work to do."