#an alternate ending would be hunter looking smug and saying

[fastcardotmp3]

Thinking about Eddie and how it probably takes him some time to figure out what he wants from life after having his whole worldview sent toppling and very nearly dying in an alternate dimension.

Like after he gets his GED it's odd jobs and moving town to town looking for a place that isn't put off when they do a background check and find out what he'd been accused of (no matter that he was cleared of all charges) and it's changing his last name and just surviving for a while rather than chasing down any sort of passion projects.

Maybe he tries the music thing out a few years in, figuring people probably care less about who's playing a gig so long as they know their way around a guitar, but he's still young and stupid and traumatized and it becomes very clear to everyone putting in the effort to stay in touch with him that he's about to be taken majorly advantage of by the industry so that's kind of a bust. He gets out as fast as he can, can't face the reality of his name ending up in the press anymore than it already has for Wayne's sake as much as his own.

And it's hard. It's messy and it's survival and it's just a lot for a guy who never really planned to still be alive this many years after that guitar solo in the Upside Down but he has to stop running around the country at some point and hey, Chicago's as good a place as any right?

Robin's working on her Master's out there and Nancy's at the Herald kind of kicking all kinds of journalistic ass. Steve just finished up his degree after floundering a bit like Eddie for a few years there when all the head trauma caught up to him and chronic tinnitus finally started turning into hearing loss and he's working at a school for HOH and Deaf kids now, genuinely actually thriving.

And Eddie feels a little bit like he's still the third-try senior at Hawkins High because what has he done? Lots of false starts and changed minds and spontaneous moves cross-country because he got too restless being in one place for too long, what has he really done?

He moves to Chicago, though, gets a job at a bookstore which is really far from the worst gig he's had in the past five or six years and it also just so happens to only be a handful of blocks away from the Art Institute where he happens to know one of the top undergrads.

The first time Will Byers comes in it might as well be because Steve is dragging him by the ear, because Eddie's only lived here three weeks but Steve has spent every day of that time making sure Eddie is getting settled and acclimated and has people. Almost like he's worried about Eddie leaving again.

Almost like he wants Eddie to stay.

And he drags Will Byers into the bookstore, eggs them into catching up outside of the Monster Hunter Reunions Joyce tries to make happen around major holidays. And then he does it again. And again.

It's Steve and Will bringing him lunch or bringing him coffee when it starts getting cold in the windy city and Eddie is loathe to admit it, but it's nice. It's not some big revelation, it's not Eddie's chance to change the world or anything, but he's got people around who keep making him aware that they're around and he's more settled than he's maybe ever been.

And then one day it's--

"Hey, Byers, you tell Ed about that thing you've been working on?"

If Eddie's hands weren't busy designing a killer fantasy display (if he does say so himself) he would be noticing the sly smugness in Steve's shoulders. He would know this was a set-up. He would just know.

The thing Will is working on is a graphic novel.

The thing Will is working on is a fucking metal ass premise of a graphic novel, taking no shortage of inspiration from the kid's quite frankly too insane for fiction experiences while still somehow putting so much of his own voice into it and Eddie is obsessed, Eddie is enthralled, Eddie is--

"Would you mind giving me feedback sometime? It's just-- I've got all these ideas, but I never know how to streamline them. You were always so good at that as a DM-- making everything make sense, you know?"

On that day, Eddie is mostly just honored that Will sees him for more than a guy without any formal creative writing education and trusts him enough to look at his work.

A matter of weeks later, Eddie is somehow not just giving feedback, he's basically a co-author. They use the big empty wall above Eddie's couch in his tiny studio apartment for storyboards and beat notes and it's on accident, the way Eddie finds this thing he loves.

Except for the fact that it's only an accident for him.

"You're such a fucking meddler, you know that?" he says to Steve over beers at Steve's apartment one Friday afternoon after gushing over Will's new art drafts for the book for approximately 45 minutes straight.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Steve smirks, not even trying to hide it.

"Oh, come on. Will told me he came to you asking if you thought I'd be interested in helping out and you came up with this elaborate slow-burn plan. The gig is up, Harrington, I'm in your head."

Steve just telegraphs his movement as he reaches up and shuts off his hearing aid, "Sorry, I can't hear you, man. Maybe if you wrote it in a book for me, drew some pictures--"

Who would really blame Eddie for kissing him on the mouth?

Someone needs to shut that guy up every once in a while.

[kybercrystals94]

Mundane Injuries

By KyberCrysrals

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2023 | Day 25 | Alternative Prompt: Broken

Rating: T

Words: 470

Summary: Tech is injured and Hunter makes him to go medical.

CW: dislocated or broken fingers…if those things make you squeamish, just skip this story :)

They sit in the waiting room on white benches that match white floors and walls. It is a flawed design, Tech thinks, for an area designed to contain wounded or sick soldiers. However, maybe being able to see the filth makes it easier to keep clean and sanitary.

He opens his mouth to make the observation out loud when Hunter cuts him off. “So help me, if you say you’re fine one more time…” the infuriating threat dangles in the air unfinished.

Tech rolls his eyes. “I was not going to say that. Although it is true. I’m absolutely fine.”

Hunter growls. “Your finger is broken. Your index finger is literally horizontal to your body.”

“Dislocated,” Tech corrects him. “It’s actually quite fascinating.” He gently prods the injured finger.

“Gah, Tech, stop!” Hunter protests.

“I could likely set the injury myself if you were not so adamantly opposed to the idea. Really, coming to the med bay is a waste of time.”

“Tech. You are injured. This is not a waste of time. Stop touching it!”

“But…”

“I don’t care. Stop!”

Tech wonders how the sergeant can possibly be so squeamish about something so uninteresting as a dislocated finger. They see worse in battle on nearly a daily basis, but here is Hunter, face drained of color as he looks away with a barely concealed gag.

“What is your issue?” Tech asks, genuine curiosity overcoming his annoyance. “This is rather a mundane injury…although grotesque. You’ve quite literally seen worse.”

“I don’t know,” Hunter admits, gaze still averted to the far wall. “Maybe because you’re treating it like it’s nothing—”

“Which it is…”

“Not the point,” Hunter snaps, “It looks terrible and you’re treating it like it’s no big deal.”

“It isn’t — and looks can be notoriously deceiving. Internal wounds are often far deadlier than external. This is an excellent case in point.”

Hunter lets out an aggravated huff. “I should’ve made Crosshair bring you to medical.”

“He would have let me pop my finger back, or even done it himself.”

Hunter rolls his eyes. “What did you even do to dislocate your finger like that?”

“Irrelevant,” Tech says evasively.

“I think it is incredibly relevant, and as your commanding officer…”

Tech has never been more relieved to have his CT number said over the speaker calling him back, effectively cutting Hunter off before the order could be made to reveal that Tech dislocated his finger attempting to arm wrestle Wrecker. (The two promised each other they would not tell anyone about the unfortunate turn of events). Tech does not intend to break his promise.

But to add insult to literal injury—Tech’s finger is broken, not dislocated. Having to admit the fact to Hunter somehow hurts more than the injury itself.

Especially the smug look on his sergeant’s face.

END

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[waitingfortheendtocome]

Deceiving Love

This was a request idea send so all credits for the idea goes to @me-goro Thank you for the request and I promise I’ll try my best :)

Request: Enemy to Lovers where Lou meets y/n for the first time while Lou’s trying to be sneaky because she wants to get information o but Y/N is unknowingly in the way of her getting it. 

This is probably not going to be that many chapters maybe a few chapters, more or less fast pace. I tried to get it in a one shot but it would’ve been too long. 

I’m so sorry is so long I couldn’t find a stopping point and wanted to get as much info out there as well as introduction for the first chapter. I promise I’ll try not to make them too long in the future lol. I’m bad at finding good ending spots as well as writing characters hating on each other LOL. Fair warning I went for the crashing into each other cliché to create a bad start between them LOL

I haven’t edited it completely so there might be grammatic error and for that I apologize. 

Also this is my first Ocean’s 8 Lou Miller story so I’m sorry if this turns out bad 😅

Warnings: None yet except Cursing here and there. bad first impressions if you count that (is that under angst????)

Chapter One

~Lou~

Lou parked in front of the warehouse they had rented out for the job. They made sure to rent it out under a false name to avoid backtracking in case somewhere where to go wrong. They all took a flight to France for a job Debbie insisted they should do. She claimed it a really good job and the pay was good. Personally Lou didn’t needed the extra cash and rejected the job a few times over the course of a week before finally caving in due to Debbie’s persistence. Despite her agreeing she wasn’t happy and had been slightly grouchy she wanted to focus on running her club, upgrading it here and there to make it better and maybe open another club so she was very busy. 

If she did this job she had to put all the plans on hold for a while which she was upset about. She had to hire a temporary manager to run her club while she was gone, hell even Tammy tried to tell Debbie to leave Lou be but according to Debbie they’ll get caught if Lou wasn’t there. Lou had been in a bad mood that day and saying a few things that would have hurt Debbie’s feelings if Debbie had been within hearing range only Tammy heard her and the two had a lengthy conversation which made Lou wish she had a strong drink which wasn’t wise thankfully Tammy made her feel better already sensing Lou’s sudden stress. Safe to say after talking to Tammy she agreed on the job better her helping Debbie than having all seven of her friends get caught and arrested. Debbie was more than happy at Lou agreeing to do this job something Lou noticed and had to admit made her happy.

They all walked in the warehouse and looked around except for Lou who walked confidently to a chair and sat down her long legs spread out in front of her. She had already came here a week ago to get the place set up for the team she even set up a spot for nine balls with the equipment the woman needed for the heist so she didn’t needed to explore or look around. Debbie grinned at Lou proud that Lou had set the place up already Lou looked up from her phone giving Debbie a smug smirk before she finished texting her temporary club manager. She put her phone away and looked up knowing the team had gathered and Debbie took the floor.

“So, what are we stealing? You guys haven’t told us.” Amita wondered

Lou lounged back shrugging, “Don’t look at me not even I know.”

“Yo, are they diamonds?” Nine Balls wondered

“Woah, wait you haven’t told Lou?” Constance wondered shocked

“I didn’t wanted her to try and back out if I told her.” Debbie informed them earning a snort from the blonde in question who shoved a piece of gum in her mouth

“Oh now we really wanna know, spill girl what is it?” Nine stated closing the lid of her laptop

Smiling satisfied that she got everyone's attention she turned on the screen projector stating, “Hear me out first.”

The screened turned on and an drawing of three jewels popped up and beside it another image of two crowns popped up. Lou studied the items quickly wondering what was so special about them besides the lack of photograph.

The necklace collar is large and is made out of pure gold hallmarked with roses and harps made out of diamonds put to gatherer alternately. They where tied together with knots made out of pure gold and topaz diamonds. The roses where made out of diamonds and rubies. In the center of the collar was an imperial Jeweled Crown crest surmounting a harp of gold and diamonds. There was a small writing that says they're suppose to be two of them one had the imperial badge crown and the other did not other than that both necklace collars where the exact same.

The second jewel was a Grand Master diamond badge. The badge looked like it was similar to the one hanging off one of the necklaces. the badge is made out of silver containing trefoil in emerald on a ruby cross surrounded by sky blue enamel with rose diamonds writing. The crowned harp was made out of Diamonds and Brazilian stones.

The third Jewel was a simple large star made of gold diamonds and brilliants. it consisting of eight points with four lesser issuing Centre enclosing a cross of ruby and a trefoil of emeralds surrounding a sky blue enamel circle with writing in rose diamonds. The crowns was made out of pure gold, diamonds among with other jewels spread out creating a rather elegant and luxurious pattern.

Lou looked at them than at Debbie and sighed shaking her head looking incredulous. The jewels in the first image where known as the crowned jewels and the crowns where royal crowns from who knows how long ago both of which were stolen at different times ages ago. Lou was very confused as to what Debbie was planning unless Debbie decided to change her profession to treasure hunter.

“Debbie what are those jewels?” Tammy wondered confused

“Yo, what’s with the lack of photo are we downgrading or something?” Nine pointed out

“No we are not downgrading these-,” Debbie began before she was interrupted by Lou

“Those are the Crown jewels that went missing in 1906. The crowns on he right where missing in 1799 both where never seen again.” Lou explained

Debbie nodded slightly surprised Lou knows about them, “Yes, you know what they are?”

“Duh! So Indiana Jones how the fuck are we looking for said jewels are we pulling a Lara Croft or something.” Lou stated sarcastically

“If you would have let me finish Lou instead of interrupting I would have said that there was rumors that the said jewels are no longer missing they supposedly are here in this city in their most popular museum. Unfortunately we need information in order to get it that one one has but probably one person without said information there’s no way we can find them.” Debbie explained

Rose became confused and spoke up shyly, “What are they worth, don’t we usually start off by saying how much the seven of us earn?”

Debbie grinned mischievously and looked at the group proudly, “Today, four-hundred million dollars in today’s money minimum we might easily be able to up the prices due to the simple fact that the they where all stolen long ago and thought to no longer exist.”

“You’re not telling us something.” Lou pointed out casually

Debbie pressed the button on the remote and three pictures popped up, two of them where of two men one older than the other and the third of a woman Lou had to admit was the most beautiful woman she had ever laid eye’s on. She honestly could care less about the pictures of the men she was focused on the woman. Lou noticed you smiled proudly, you eyes shinning with happiness. You where wearing an outfit that was business casual, your hair styled to suit your professional style you where going for. Lou’s eyes flickered to Debbie to find her staring at her smirking smug and Lou cursed softly at being caught she knew that look anywhere. Debbie smug looked at the group and stated casually.

“These three are the ones in charge the younger man is the owner and director his name is Richard Davis, the older man’s name is Liam Moore he is the Curator, and the woman’s name is Y/F/N Y/LN she is the registrar. One or two of them have all the information we need and we need to get it out of them to find it. It’ll be too risky getting it out of Richard Davis and even Liam Moore. Our biggest chances is Y/F/N, she is in charge of what goes in and out of that place. Her job is to literally keep track of all the object, records, authenticity and borrowings so if these jewels are heading to their museum they’ll be passing through her and it'll be her job along with Liam to put them away either on display and hide them.” Debbie explained

“Don’t forget that if she has good relation with the director he’ll be giving her special tasks involving Jewels.” Tammy added earning a nod from Debbie

“So, how do we get this information out of her?” Amita wondered

Debbie grinned eying Lou again earning a sharp glare from Lou which in turn caused Debbie to laugh and look at the confused group who was looking back and forth between them wondering what they missed.

“Well Lou will be getting close to the woman and try to get information out of her she has Lou’s type written all over.” Debbie told them smug

“Like she’ll tell me the information. ‘Hey Miss. Y/L/N where the fuck are you keeping the jewels my team wants to steal them’.” Lou hissed her tone dripping sarcasm

“Please, we need the information.” Constance pleaded pouting Lou narrowed her eyes only causing Constance to pout further finally earning a sigh in defeat from Lou who all but caved she can’t resist Constance pout and she knows it she has a soft spot for the girl.

“Alright, I’ll do it. That was a cheap shot kid,” Lou pointed out getting up earning a beaming smile in return. “How hard can getting information out of her be aren’t people working in museum are boring or uptight as fuck.”

Lou without a word left the building deciding to pay the place a visit she kind of hoped one of the other’s would go in and do that after all Lou’s job was to gather anyone working for them, stealing the objects, making sure everything is going according to plan and have backup plans in case something goes wrong among other things bribing information out of someone wasn’t one of them. Granted a very attractive someone but she wasn’t going to admit that to anyone. Lou sighed realizing is been too long since she’s gotten anyone in her bed and it was starting to show. Lou climbed on a car and drove off following the GPS directions.

~You~

You rushed into the building of your workplace cursing at yourself for forgetting to set up the alarm. You moved to France from your home after finally landing a job that you actually loved for a change. You’ve always been a fan art and Historical artifacts so you began working at a big historical museum in Paris.

You walked into the building passed security and across the huge building waving hi to the security guard. You walked straight to your office that's located towards the back of the building. You barely made it in when your boss who’s also the director and owner of the museum jogged up to you looking like a kid in Christmas and you know something must have happened to get him this excited. The two of you had been friends since you started working there, you where originally the tour guide to the place before he promoted you to the official Registrar of the museum.

"Y/N right on time, we need to talk about something important that just happened." He told you barely able to contain his excitement. You honestly wonder how this man is an adult and owns this place. He is like a child sometimes.

You quirked an eyebrow at him confused, "Sure, what is it?"

He pointed to your office door, "let's go to your office to talk privately. I don't want anyone to overhear.”

Nodding more confused, you opened the door and walked in with him behind you. He closes and locks the door, tugging you into the room making you more confused if possible. The both of you sat across from each other, you barely had the chance to ask again why he was so excited when he handed you two folded piece of paper. Looking confused you opened  the first one and stared at it to find an old drawing of a three jewels. You looked confused when you saw it since it looked like a drawing of the jewels rather than an actual photo.

You looked up at your boss after you studied the two pages and the descriptions of the jewels along with what was used to create them. You remember hearing about these things going missing during a conversation you had with your coworker who was a guide here in the museum. When discussing missing jewelry or historical artifacts he had mentioned several different ancient royal jewels that had gone missing and mentioned these but you weren’t sure what this had to do with anything.

“Richard, do I want to know why you’re showing me these? These aren’t even in our museum I would know is my job to memorize anything and anyone that goes in or out of this place.” You wondered confused

He grinned excitedly, “Yes, They went missing centuries ago and we recently found them again and just so happens that they are secretly on their way here we wont put them on display of course.” 

Your eyes widen in shock, “Really? How the hell did you find them?"

He shrugged grinning, "I honestly don't have a clue how they where found the important thing is I got my hands on them before anyone else did. The jewels where stolen and sold in the 1900s someone must have found them recently the crowns where destroyed but turns out they where stolen and hidden. That's as far as I know."

You nodded processing the information for a moment, "okay that makes sense sort of but wouldn’t they be prone to thieves though?”

He chuckled, “Yes, which is why I have a plan which is foul proof. I did not wanted us to suffer the same fate as the Toussaint so I’m going to change a few things here and there around this place but more importantly only you and I will have all the information and location.”

You shook your head at that. Being the only one with specific information only added more stress on you especially if you’re going to be put in charge of it which you knew you where based on the look you where given.

“I’m listening. What’s this infamous information.” you told him slightly sarcastic earning a chuckle

He looked satisfied with your reply and sat back explaining the importance of having the word not get out that those jewels where discovered. He went into greater details on how they where going to get them in the museum, how they where going to be hidden, secured and how they where going to up the security and his crazy idea of adding a few decoys in other locations when you asked why the decoy he looked at you sheepish and said he took the idea from the Met when it was discovered Klugger was wearing a fake so he was borrowing the idea just in case. After he was done explaining which took up an hour or so you looked baffled.

“This better not backfire on us.” you sighed and got up getting ready for work to distract yourself leaving a smug owner in your office.

************

Most of the morning was uneventful and slightly dreadful. There was a tour by a Primary school which was stressful given how some of the kids wanted to run off on their own when their teacher and tour guide was not looking. At one point one of them almost knocked something over since they went past the security point forcing you to run and steady the item and pointing out to the teacher to keep a better eye on her students. You where of curse polite and respectful about it despite your patience being tested.

It wasn’t until the afternoon where everything started to go south. It was a lot busier an old lady freaked out believing that one of the old priceless painting was hers and tried to steal it not to mention she had a cane and smacked you with it a few times until she was escorted away from the area. You where pretty sure you where going to bruise a little. You could not help but wonder how does an old lady able to swing the cane that forcefully. So is safe to say you where in a really bad mood. You walked past the Egyptian wing and paused when you heard a childlike giggle. You walked over just in time to see yet another child trying to get past the safety line and getting inside the security glass. You ran over and stopped him before something tragic happened and fixed the glass. You couldn’t help but glare at the kid. The kid backed up but you grabbed his arm.

“Where are your parents?” You asked in a serious tone he didn’t say anything only pointed to the other side of the Egyptian wing. You walked him over to them to find them both on their phone you tapped their shoulder interrupting the careless parents.

“Yes?” the arrogant mother asked

“Is this your kid?” You asked trying to not sound rude and snap after earning a nod from both you spoke up before they can say anything, “Please keep your kid close to you I just found him nearly knocking over an artifact.”

The father took the kid and narrowed his eyes scolding his son for walking out of their side and misbehaving deciding to punish the kid by taking him home earning a temper tantrum.

“Bill don’t be harsh he didn’t mean it I’m sure we could have paid for the damages.” The mother scolded her husband

You rolled your eyes at that and said, “Yeah, ma’am keep him close and for the record neither of us can afford that thing. Instead of being on your phone how about showing your kid a good time if you payed attention to him he wont have any need to destroy the place. This is the third time I had to stop him.” you turned around and walked off not even bother with civility anymore.

You turned around and stormed off to keep an eye on the rest of the of the museum hoping nothing more will happen. You where in a bad mood and ready to go home. You walked around the corner only to collide with someone causing you to tumble back at that same moment you felt something cold splash all over you. Looking down you realized it was just water.

“Fuck. Watch where you’re walking.” the woman snapped

You glared up at her to find a pair of light blue eyes glaring right back you belonging to a tall platinum blonde woman. You looked down to find her shirt was also wet and she was holding a half empty cup.

“First of all watch where YOU’RE walking, second of all no cellphones and third off I wasn’t the one walking with a cup filled with what ever that was you’re not allowed to have liquids in this section only the lobby’s lounge area blonde.” You snapped right back

“What the fuck I was walking here you’re the one who crashed into me and be glad it was water and I’m allowed to take pictures what kind of fucking museum is this.” the woman snapped

You rolled your eyes, “That’s what bottles of water are for genius.”

That only pissed off the blonde even more, “First of all this use to be soda before I finished it and emptied my water in here second of all fuck you, you’re rude as fuck.”

Both of you glared daggers at each other clearly pissed off. Any other circumstance you would have admired how attractive and how her closed hugged her body just right but not right now. Right now you where actively glaring daggers' at her for being a rude bitch. Why the hell are the hot ones always rude and obnoxious. You wondered

You saw her unlocked phone and narrowed your eyes pointing to a sign, “You can’t take pictures in this section new rule only certain areas are allowed to have pictures taken put that phone away”

“What the fuck. First of all none of the other staffs have said shit the only uptight complaining is you second of all I only took some pictures.” The woman snapped

“I need to check your phone.” You told her. it wasn’t that you where out to get her but it was a rule and this particular area no one was allowed to take pictures ever since last year most museums and locations holding expensive items became more strict

“NO.” The woman all but growled

 “I need to see it.” You said beginning to loose your patients you said hell with professionalism and snatched it looking through the pictures she took earning a protest trying to snatch it back and you stopped her with a sharp glare and grabbing her free hand. You found a few pictures of statues that are pretty heavy. You looked suspiciously at the glaring woman and handed her the phone back.

“We don’t allow phones anymore miss. Put that away.” you told her for the second time sharply

Lou glared at you not appreciating the bad treatment, “Why not the other museums allow it and I don’t appreciate having my phone snatched from me.”

“Not anymore. Blame the moron who decided team up with Klugger and steal that Toussaint necklace. Lucky them the insurance agent is dumb as fuck. No one allows phone anymore let along pictures being taken. Now either chug that drink or I’m snatching it with your phone and not returning them.” you warned and stormed off to try and clean up your top leaving a very pissed off blonde behind.

What the fuck is wrong with her? Fucking rude. You thought pissed off. You spoke sharply through your walky-talky’s earpiece to have someone clean up the spill and stormed off to your office deciding it was better do paperwork than to deal with guests.

~Lou~

It wasn’t until you stormed away when Lou realized you where the woman Debbie mentioned that had all the information and cursed at that.

Great, Getting information from someone like her will be nearly impossible. Lou thought glaring at the spot you where just in.

Lou stormed out of the building determined to get something out of you but knew it will be impossible since she knew you will probably keeping a close eye on her after that horrible interaction. Lou got even more angry when she remembered you boldly snatching her phone and probably erasing some of the pictures she had taken from the interesting objects there.

“Fucking rude uptight b.” Lou complained angrily while driving only to be interrupted by her phone. Lou drove towards the warehouse clearly pissed off evident in her feature, her posture was tense, her jawline clenched and she was gripping her steering wheel tightly. She chose to ignore the phone to annoyed to bother with answering.

[scullysexual]

pirate au fic; i’ll tell you a tale of a pirate queen (5/ )

pirate au | multi-chapter | au | multiple parts | historical au | 18th century | msr | mature | chapter 4 | ao3 | wc: 2,423 |

A tale of a Pirate Queen.

@today-in-fic

- - -

Chapter Five: Here A Man Be Free

The last few men filter through the entrance to the cave, spreading themselves out in the small area. Fifty, Dana counted, of the 300 that mull about the island, only fifty want to continue piracy. Spender keeps watch for any snitches who could’ve followed them here.

“You all know why we’re here,” Mulder asks. He stands near the back of the cave holding the pardon in his hands. “This pardon says we’ll be able to live free if we turn ourselves in but we know that’s not true. We turn ourselves in, when will we ever be allowed, trusted enough, to sail again?” She watches his eyes scan the faces of the men sat listening to him. “When will the likes of Frog, Elias, and Jacko be considered equal in the eyes of white men and gods again?” A murmur begins to rise, mutterings to the person sat next to them. Mulder looks down at the pardon and hops down from the bench he stands upon. “This pardon says all men will be free but what they don’t understand is that here, a man be free. Free from the hierarchy of a naval service, where a man is whipped if he so much as mutters a word, dares to disagree. Free to take as much or little as we want.” A stir begins to form, the mutters and murmurs etch higher and higher as men begin to shout their agreement towards Mulder.

“How many of you have risked your lives on the sea and received nothing but a pitiful handful of coppers?”

The men shout back, banging their hands on the rocks.

“Because that is what you’re asking for when you sign this.” He holds the paper up and points at it. “You’re asking for the whips, for the chains, for the poverty if this is what you agree with.”

All fifty men rise, shouting and yelling in encouragement. Adrenaline courses through Dana as she finds herself swept up in it. She looks towards Mulder who stands there looking pleased with himself. He catches her eye and she smiles.

The cries die down and a slow clap makes its way through the cave. Dana turns towards the noise as the men part and a man she has yet to meet makes his way through the crowd.

“Impressive speech Mulder,” the man says. “How long did it take you to come up with that?”

Mulder sighs. “What do you want, Krycek?”

“Just having a look,” Krycek says. His eyes scan the crew. “An interesting bunch you’ve got here, Mulder. A black man, a psycho,” his eyes finally land on Dana, the look of disgust clouding them. “And a woman.” Dana clenches her fist, staring him down. Krycek smiles and looks back towards Mulder. “Fitting for the disgraced son of a plantation owner.”

“You come to join us?” asks Mulder.

“I don’t think I fit in much,” Krycek answers. “Besides, I haven’t decided if I’m gonna accept the pardon or not yet.”

“Skinner just made you a captain,” says Spender. “Like hell you’re going to accept it.”

“Well, when I decide, I won’t let you know.” Krycek turns away, walking out of the cave.

“Will he tell anyone?” Dana asks. She didn’t trust this Krycek and Spender not stopping his entering worried her.

“No,” says Mulder. “He’s got no love for the British anymore than we do.” He shakes his head. “He won’t say anything.” He shuffles forwards, rising his voice to address the crew. “This is the plan. Tomorrow, Scully will go back to the tavern, be part of the welcoming committee and will sign the pardon on our behalf. It will give us more time to figure a way out of here.” He turns to Dana. “If anyone asks, the rest of us have gone out to sea, you’re not sure when we’ll be back.” Dana nods, it was easy enough. “I want you to report back anything you hear, okay. Anything.”

“Okay,” she agrees.

“The rest of us will camp out here until we know it’s safe to leave,” he addresses back to the men.

“Do you think this will work?” she asks him. It’s not to undermine him, her hope depends on it.

“It won’t be easy but once we’re away from here, we should be okay.”

Dana smiles, hoping that was the case.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Colton is an idiot. Ambitious, smug, carrying an air of arrogance and “I’m better than you” around him. The lower end of the ranking, Dana imagines he volunteered for this job, thinking he was doing somebody a favour. All he’s doing is shovelling the shit in the Navy’s eyes.

She signed the pardon, scribbled her signature on behalf of herself and Mulder’s crew. In three days time, they were to board The Angel and go back to England or, alternatively, they could live on here.

She does as Mulder told her. Sits in the tavern and listens to the conversations around her- one she learns are rumours that Krycek plans to take a ship called The Outlaw as the ships in their harbour would become property of the British. She keeps note of what is important and what isn’t, keeping her ears trained on Colton and Skinner, mostly, who sit on the furthest table in the room.

“There are still people yet to have signed the pardon,” she hears Colton say.

“Look,” says Skinner. “Those who want to sign it, sign it. I can’t make them.”

Colton hums. “One of these people who have yet to sign it is Aleksandr Krycek. He was your Right-Hand-Man, was he not?”

“He was,” answers Skinner.

“And you can’t account for his whereabouts?”

“I made him a Captain,” Skinner explains. “He commands his own ships now, his own crew. If he hasn’t signed the pardon, that’s his reasons.”

Dana tucks that one away; Krycek made his decision.

“Well, I doubt you’ll mind looking for him then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Those who don’t sign the pardon are to be caught and hanged, Mr Skinner.”

“You expect me to become your bounty hunter?”

“The Navy would appreciate it greatly.”

Colton’s footsteps retreat from the table, Dana watches him walk past. He takes no notice of her.

This was interesting.

She downs her drink in one gulp and scurries out of the tavern towards Mulder in his cave.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

“Krycek has gone. I overheard someone say he was planning on stealing a ship called The Outlaw, that all our ships would become property of the British.”

“Makes sense,” says Elias. “Take our ships, we can’t sail anywhere.”

Mulder nods.

“There’s more, too. Colton’s turned Skinner into some pirate bounty hunter. He’s instructed him to go after Krycek and his crew.”

“Traitor!” yells Spender, he kicks the rocks on the ground.

“And once they realise we’re not here, he’ll be instructed to go after us, too,” Mulder states.

Dana nods. Her father told her tales about Walter Skinner, how he was one of the best navigators. There was no out-sailing him.

“We’ll have to leave sooner,” says Mulder.

“How?” Elias asks. “There’s no ships left.”

An idea hits Dana. It might be suicide but it was worth ago.

“What if we took The Outlaw?”

“Steal from Krycek?” Elias laughs, shocked. “That’s the last thing you want to do.”

“It wouldn’t be stealing if we claimed it first,” Dana explains, her eyes on Mulder. “We’ll fight him for it.”

“Krycek isn’t some little amateur sailor, you stupid bitch,” shouts Spender. He stands close to her, peering down at her. “In first sailed with the Imperial Russian Navy. There’s a reason Skinner chose him as his Right-Hand.”

“Alright, back off,” commands Elias, standing between Spender and Dana, creating a wedge.

Spender steps back. “She wants to get us killed,” cries Spender, pointing his finger at Dana.

Dana goes to say something but she’s cut off by Mulder.

“I don’t see you suggesting anything, Spender.” Spender backs down. “It’s worth a shot.” He says, nodding.

Dana smiles gleefully at Spender.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

The ship sits at the bottom of the harbour. Not a soul in sight, it was easy pickings. Something about it didn’t feel right to Dana.

“If Krycek is really gone, why hasn’t he already taken it?” she asks Elias.

“Nobody knows why Krycek does anything,” says Elias. “Get untying.”

Dana nervously looks around. Her stomach twists and turns. Something was wrong about this. She might not know Krycek every well but something told her he wouldn’t just abandon his ship like this, not while knowing they were still on the island. The others, however, seem not to care. She shakes her head, puts it down to worrying about getting caught by the British and sets on untying the rope.

The moment her hands touch the rope, however, there’s a cry from Elias. She turns as he slips and his dragged into the sea by something.

She goes to shout, to alert the others, but they’re under attack, too. Some pulled beneath the pier, others with shadows holding a knife to their necks.

“You really thought it would be that easy, Mulder,” comes Krycek’s voice. He moves from the shadows, a smile across his face.

“You already have a ship Krycek,” Mulder tells him. “Why do you need this one?”

“It’s bigger, better.” He smacks the side of it. “But I am willing to fight you for it.”

The smile doesn’t leave Krycek’s face. Already, he thinks he’s won.

Mulder nods his head, not letting any fear show. “Deal.”

Krycek just smiles some more. “You win, you get the ship. I win, I get the ship and…” his eyes fall to Dana. “her.”

Dana’s stomach drops as she looks at Mulder. She catches the worry in his eye, a reminder that he isn’t a fighter.

.:.:.:.:.:.

She tries not to let her worry show. Soon as she notices her fingers tangling together, she rips them apart, even going as far to sit on her hands.

Mulder wasn’t a fighter. He avoided it as much as he could but now her life depended on him winning. Dana hoped that wasn’t too much to bear.

“I can fight him for you,” she suggests but Mulder shakes his head.

“That would be cowardly. Especially if I was to get a girl to fight for me.” He smiles. “I’ll be okay, Dana. I’ll try my best.”

She nods, knowing he will. “Will he kill you?”

“No. It’s just who gives up first.” They see Krycek ready. “The others will fight. Your going will be the last thing that happens, okay.”

Dana nods again, believing him, believing in his crew.

His lips press against hers. “I love you,” he confesses.

Dana smiles, pushes at him slightly. “Go on.”

She watches him walk away, her arms crossing over her body.

“He’s been in fights before Scully,” says Elias, soaked through yet recovered from his dip in the sea. “He’ll be okay.”

She uncrosses her arms, allowing her fingers to tangle together as she watches. A clanging of swords, near misses from both of them. Mulder tries to keep up but Krycek is too quick, the edge of his sword scrapes Mulder’s side and Krycek knocks him to the ground.

Dana holds her breath, praying for Mulder to get up, her hand subconsciously falling to her stomach.

Beside her, Elias is whispering his own mantra yet Mulder does not get up. He lays on the ground, his hand covered with blood.

“You’re just not good enough Mulder,” Dana hears Krycek say. He turns around, the victor. He’s won the ship and Dana.

“He’s gotta get past us,” says Elias, determined.

Dana smiles, trying to find comfort in that. She doesn’t tell him that the others don’t care for her.

“Or maybe not.” Elias nudges her. “Look.”

Dana looks to see a dagger pierce Krycek’s calf. The other man falls to the ground as Mulder stands up. The tables have turned and it’s them who have won the shop.

She runs to him, gathering him up in her arms. He falls against her, hissing at the pain in his side.

“Let’s get you inside,” she tells him, helping him towards the ship.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Once on board, she helps him with his clothes. The cut is long and nasty. He hisses and winces when she moves the skin.

“Is it bad?” he asks not wanting to look at it.

Dana smiles at him. “You’ll live,” she says. “It’ll scar, though.”

Mulder shrugs. “What’s another scar?”

Dana smiles slightly. She busies herself getting pieces of cloth and bunching them together to press against his side.

“You seem distracted,” he says.

One look into his eyes and Dana knows she can’t keep her thoughts to herself anymore. She drops the cloth and sighs, turning around to sit beside him on the bed.

“You won’t be mad when I tell you?” she asks, looking at her hands, pressing her thumb into her palm.

She waits for him to comment, to offer in this quip or joke. When one doesn’t come, she exhales, her eyes trained above her on the ceiling.

“Mulder…” A shaky breath falls from her lips. The internal struggle of whether to tell him or not. But he’s looking at her expectantly, it’s clear she has something to say.

“You can tell me, Dana.”

And she can. She knows she can.

“Okay,” she says, nodding, believing him. “I…I think I’m pregnant.”

Shock floods his face, then confusion, then awe.

“You’re…” he starts then shakes his head. “How can you be sure?”

She shrugs, unsure herself. “I just…know?” she offers as answers.

He jumps up, the pain in his side forgotten, smiling. Then the smile fades.

“Shit Dana,” he says. “We’re about to go…the men….”

Dana stands, ready to protest.

“They don’t have to know. Not yet.” She grabs his arms. “I’m not even showing yet. Please, don’t leave me behind.”

“Dana, it’s dangerous. This life is dangerous. If something was to happen to you, or…”

“It won’t,” she tells him. “We’re just looking for more crew, right?”

“Right.”

“Then you need me until then. Once I start showing, then you can drop me off somewhere. But until then, I stay here.”

His eyes trained on her stomach, she can see him thinking it over. Finally he nods then laughs.

“A baby…” he says in awe.

Dana finds herself laughing, too. At the absurdity of it all.

Mulder kisses her. Once then twice then once again and Dana laughs some more. She was home. And she was free.

[hellowkatey]

Febuwhump Day 27

Prompt: “I can’t lose you too” (alternate prompt)

Read Part 1: Read My Mind (Day 5: “take me instead”) here! 

Read on AO3

All These Things That I Have Done

When Qui-Gon sees the young Duchess running across the field alone, his worst suspicions are confirmed.

They were gone for too long. Obi-Wan wasn't answering his commlink, which was his first clue. Then, he reached out through their training bond, he was shocked to find his padawan felt faraway. Too far away for him to reach.

His padawan has been distant lately. His shields have been locked tight. Qui-Gon assumed being away from the Temple for so long was getting to him. Long missions can take a toll on young Jedi, and this one has been exceptionally lengthy and unpredictable. Even so, teenage angst is very different than the horrible feeling that fills the Force now.

He runs to meet her. Satine Kryze's eyes are brimmed with red and face flushed with exhaustion when they met one another.

"It's... Obi. Bounty hun...ters," she gasps between heavy breaths.

"Breathe child, breathe and tell me what has happened," he says as calmly as he can manage. Internally, his heart is racing with anticipation.

"Bounty hunters found us. Obi-Wan tried to fight them off, but one took him."

"How many, Satine?"

"Four," she looks past him. "Two are dead. One was near dead when I left him."

Oh, padawan. He should have gone with them. Should have been there to help his padawan and none of this would have happened. Still, something nags him. "Why did they take Obi-Wan?"

The girl's lip quivers.

"He... was very convincing."

The Jedi Master nods. He knows how Obi-Wan can get, and it doesn't surprise him at all that he would sacrifice himself.

"Alright... alright, we must move swiftly." He turns and walks with long strides back toward their ship. The young duchess trails close behind him. He can feel the anxiety radiating off her. But as they run up the ramp of the ship he also feels her draw in her worry, hiding it behind feigned confidence. Satine Kryze is young, but he cannot deny she has the spirit of a leader.

Qui-Gon immediately starts firing up the engines, only noticing that Satine has taken station at the navicomputer.

"Are you entering coordinates?" he asks.

"I'm tracking his location." He looks at her, raising an eyebrow. The young duchess shrugs. "I had a feeling, so I slipped my beacon into his pocket."

Clever one, he thinks, a small smile appearing on his lips. We are coming for you, Obi-Wan.

_________

They're in hyperspace as soon as they clear the atmosphere. The Kiffar bounty hunter has him strapped to the co-pilot chair, his hands now bound behind his back and uncomfortably pressed into the unpadded back of the chair.

While usually, Obi-Wan finds the buzz of hyperspace to be soothing, right now all he can think about is how with every passing second he grows further from Satine and his master. He can feel it in the tug of his training bond growing thinner and thinner, and Obi-Wan squeezes his eyes shut as any feeling of proximity vanishes from his mind.

"You're young," the bounty hunter says, his demeanor much less imposing and even a little awkward now that they aren't in the midst of a stand-off. "But you dealt with my team quite efficiently."

"I have my duty as you have yours," he says, having to choke out the implication that hunting bounties are any type of dutiful career.

"Oh, that's what they're calling it these days?" Obi-Wan opens one eye to see the bounty hunter leaning on the side of his chair, a smug look on his face. "Back in my day, we called it going steady."

Suddenly Obi-Wan wishes he'd been thrown in the brig. "We're not--"

"No need to explain yourself. I knew the Jedi couldn't be complete squares."

Well, this certainly wasn't the post-capture conversation Obi-Wan expected to have. He didn't expect any post-capture conversation, actually. He shifts in the seat, trying to relieve the numbness that's slowly traveling up his wrists.

"Are you hungry?" the bounty hunter asks, pulling out a ration bar from his pocket. Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. "It's not poisoned or anything, I packed this for myself, kid."

"I wasn't worried about it being poisoned until you brought it up. I was more wondering what your motive here is."

He chuckles. "My motive seems to be pretty clear to me."

"I don't know much about being a bounty hunter, but ensuring their marks are comfortable doesn't seem to be part of the job description."

"So you reject a snack 'cause you don't think I should be a hospitable host?" He shakes his head, opening the packet of the protein bar and taking a big bite out of it. "Whatever flies your ship, kid."

But it's not that, and Obi-Wan knows it. He just has this sinking feeling... like something isn't adding up here. It's not the being captured part, or the ration bar... Obi-Wan looks at the bounty hunter and his gaze flickering back and forth between the controls and him.

The feeling of guilt is what is making him feel so uneasy. The emotion is filling this ship, and it's originating from the Kiffar. Obi-Wan looks at the navicomputer, and realizes though the name of their projected location isn't displayed, the coordinates are, and they are not the coordinates of Mandalore... or anything even near that system.

"Where... are you taking me? Who ordered the bounty?"

The hunter goes still, not looking back at Obi-Wan this time. He feels the fields of his restraints increase in energy, digging into his wrists even more.

"I can't give you that--"

"This was never about Mandalore, was it?" he says, his throat tightening when he feels the nervousness radiating off the hunter. "This wasn't about Satine at all."

The Kiffar finally turns around. "A Jedi-- a student Jedi-- is worth the big bucks. Money that I need."

Obi-Wan stares back at him with alarm. "But... who?"

In that moment the ship pulls out of hyperspace. A planet Obi-Wan has never seen before looms before them. He gasps silently. The Force here is greatly unbalanced, making his entire body go cold. Darkness seems to be trying to grab him, pulling him into its icy grasp. He looks at the Kiffar, who seems as unsettled as he is. He puts the ship in orbit, and stands from the pilot chair to work on a panel near the door.

"I'm sendin' you down in a pod."

"You know you don't have to do this. I have other bounties on my head you could take me to. Mandalore--Mandalore would take me."

"The Mandalore bounty is only valid with the girl. Or to bring you in dead..." he glances over Obi-Wan. "I don't kill kids."

"To send me down there would be as good as killing me!"

Truth be told, he hasn't a clue what even is down there, but never in his life has ever felt darkness of this kind. Though the Sith are thought to all be dead, he can't shake the feeling that maybe the Jedi are wrong about something.

The bounty hunter pauses. Just a moment and in that moment Obi-Wan hopes... but his hope is in vain as a moment later he resumes the takeoff codes and turns back to the padawan. Obi-Wan's stomach drops as he grabs him by the arm, pulling him to his feet and basically dragging him toward the back of the ship. He reaches through his bond one more time, but there seems to only be static surrounding him.

Though he promised not to fight back, the situation has changed.

Obi-Wan summons the Force, sending various loose articles lying around the cockpit flying at the bounty hunter. The Kiffar releases him out of reflex to protect himself from a projectile extinguisher, and Obi-Wan jumps out of his grasp and runs out of the cockpit. Heavy footsteps follow close behind as he jumps down into the cargo bay, searching for some sort of weapon.

There's a locked cabinet on the far end. He runs to it as the bounty hunter makes it down the ladder. In his mind's eye he gets the flicker of warning through the Force, and he ducks as a few blaster shots scourch the wall beside him. He reaches out through the Force, and the door of the cabnet crunches, revealing a few blasters and a vibroblade inside. With his hands still tied behind his back he backs into the cabinet and grabs the vibroblade, presses it against his restraints and grits his teeth as he turns it on. The jolt of electricity makes the shackles heat up and burn his wrists, but it also is enough to short circuit the electrical locks. The electrocuffs drop, and Obi-Wan has to dive out of the way to avoid another assault of blasters.

"Nice try, kid," the Kiffar says, as he stands over Obi-Wan. He is about to jump up and continue the fight, but the bounty hunter holds up a remove, and the padawan realizes too late  that though his hands are free, the electrocuffs attached to a waist-lock that he hadn't yet gotten to remove. The button is pressed, and a sudden jolt of electricity courses through his body, making him shake and his muscles sieze. Dark dots dance before his vision, and even when the shock ceases he can still feel his nerves sending prickling sensations up his arms and legs. His eyelids are heavy, wanting so desperately to close, but he knows he mustn't. The bounty hunger scoops him up like a youngling, swatting away Obi-Wan's pitiful attempt to continue fighting back. "You're tough, I'll give you that. Maybe it won't be so bad."

His body is thrown roughly into a smaller compartment, the door closing immediately behind him. Obi-Wan tries to push himself up, but he's still groggy from the electrocution.

The escape pod shutters, and then separates from the ship. His eyes finally close for good as the thrusters kick in, and he begins his descent into the dark planet.

__________

The ship jerks as it suddenly pops out of hyperspace, no usual regard for courtesy braking coming from the distraught Jedi Master. She stares with wide eyes at the planet that did not show up on Master Jinn's star charts when they tried to track the course of the bounty hunter. They theorized that perhaps there was to be handoff.

But no. There is a planet here, and the sight of it makes Satine's skin crawl.

She tries not to think about the fact that had she not slipped the beacon into Obi-Wan's pocket, they wouldn't have been able to find him so far out in the Outer Rim.

"What is this place?" she asks. Master Jinn looks pale, his eyes scanning frantically. Even though he has the face of serenity and calmness, she can see the evidence of his desperation.

"It's..." he trails off, breathing deeply. "It's somewhere we do not want to be, young one."

The beacon is blinking rapidly now-- they're close. Satine presses her face against the front shield, looking for some evidence of the bounty hunter's ship.

"There," she hears the Jedi say softly, and she turns to see he has already begun steering toward a loitering ship orbiting nearby. As though the ship sees it has been spotted, its engines immediately fire up, and it turns in the opposite direction.

"No!" she bellows, pressing her hand against the window. "Obi-Wan!"

"Calm, Satine," Master Jinn says with surprising lack of urgency.

"But he--"

"He is still here." The ship dips, and Satine sees that plummeting toward the surface of the planet is a small escape pod. Master Jinn powers up the canons, carefully targeting, and firing at the pod. She holds her breath as the canon shot masterfully hits the escape pod, making the thrusters flicker out. It is knocked off course, now just floating through the anti-gravity of space. Relief washes through her.

They fly down to the escape pod, picking it up in their tractor beams. Satine jumps up as soon as they receive the confirmation the hatch has secured, running out of the cockpit before the Jedi Master even has a chance to stand. She doesn't care what he may think of her behavior-- she just needs to know he is okay.

Her valiant Jedi-- an absolute imbecile sometimes, but truly the best thing she could have in a time that she has lost so much. Her home is being torn apart and through it all Obi-Wan has been there not just to protect her from the bounty hunters that have tried many times to kill her. He has also just simply been there for her. As a friend. As of recently, more than that.

Maybe that's why her heart is pounding as she presses the button to open the escape pod hatch over and over again, until finally a blast of steam hits her in the face and she has to turn away as the pod depressurizes and allows the door to open. As Satine squints through the thinning smoke, her heart drops to her feet.

Obi-Wan lays crumbled in the corner of the small pod, his eyes closed.

"Obi!" she jumps into the pod and kneels at his side, taking in the burned and bloodied marks on his wrists, the trickle of blood from his hairline that has dripped down his temple traced the contour of his cheekbones. "Obi please," she whispers, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I can't lose you, too."

She can feel eyes on her. And then a hand on her shoulder. She isn't sure how much Master Jinn has heard, but she doesn't care. A large hand reaches over her shoulder, pressing two fingers to Obi-Wan's neck just below his ear, and then stretching his hand over his eyes so his thumb and pinkie finger press against Obi-Wan's temples.

"He's alright," the Jedi Master says softly. "Let me take him into the cabin."

Satine moves, watches as the older Jedi picks up her Obi-Wan in his arms and carry him out of the escape pod. She stays in the escape pod a moment longer, drawing in a deep breath and then letting it out. He's alright... he's okay.

She sits as his bedside as Master Jinn gets the ship back into hyperspace. Gets them out of whatever place this is. He is pale, looks tired and quite young as he sleeps. She brushes his hair from his eyes-- it's grown quite long since this mission began, forming a slight wave at the ends that she likes to curl around her fingers.

"You stubborn, insipid man," she says softly to his sleeping form. "How dare you give yourself up for me? You should have seen the face of your master, he was quite worried," she swallows hard, remembering the look of complete resignation on his face when he offered himself in her place. He did it like it was the most logical choice in the world. She lays her head down on his chest, comforted in the feeling of his chest rising and falling. "I was quite worried... But I will not be going back on my promise to strangle you for your insolence now that I have you back."

"So I should have taken my chances on that planet, then?" a raspy voice rings out, and Satine's head snaps up. Obi-Wan's lovely blue eyes stare back at her, tired but twinkling with his own relief.

"Obi," she breathes, and throws her arms around his neck as he rises to meet her. His lips brush against her neck, his nose nestling in her hair. "You're awake."

"You'll have to try much harder than that to get rid of me, my dear."

She pulls back, unable to help the grin that has broken out across her face. "I'll keep that in mind next time you pull such a stunt."

"Stunts? Oh please, I am only doing my job and you find it incredibly enticing."

"You are gravely mistaken about that."

"Oh, I have seen the way you watch me practice with the lightsaber, you aren't quite as incognito as you believe."

She blushes, shaking her head. Only Obi-Wan would be toying with her as soon as he came out of being unconscious. He smiles back at her, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it softly. "I'd do it again."

Satine nods, reaching into his pocket and pulling out her tracking beacon that he apparently did not find. "I know."

[thran-duils]

Sex and Candy

Title: Sex and Candy Summary: Fem!Reader x AU!Dean (S15), Fem!Reader x AU!Castiel. Based on the alternate universe presented to us in Season 15 with the trust fund versions of Dean and Sam. The reader is married to Dean but is forced to face Castiel again, a past flame from her time at the hunter academy. After a fight with Dean, she finds herself asking Castiel to join her at a hotel, unable to let go of the past. Words: 3,818 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Angst, infidelity, smut Author’s Note: This was purposely left the way it was for you guys to make your own conclusions about what happens! ;)

Masterpost (mobile)

I smell sex and candy here, mmm Who's that lounging in my chair? Mmm Who's that casting devious stares in my direction? Momma this surely is a dream, yeah Yeah, momma this surely is a dream, dig it --Marcy’s Playground, Sex & Candy

Dean’s hand was at your lower back, guiding you through the door. Headquarters were fairly quiet, which was out of the ordinary. Many of the hunters in the area were not around having been dealt with an influx of monsters somehow escaping purgatory. Word was it had something to do with two rogue hunters who had messed around with some extremely powerful supernatural artifact and it had caused a rift in between the two worlds. You detested hunters who had not been given formal training through the academy and kept within the reins of John, your father in law’s, circle. They made your jobs all the more difficult more often than not.

The two of you stepped into the elevator, nodding in greeting at the guard standing nearby.

Once the doors closed, Dean told you, “Dad’s in a bad mood.”

“Oh?” you asked, barely feigning a tone of interest. You adjusted the silver Tiffany’s bracelet on your wrist, thinking to yourself that this was not news; John was usually not in a good mood. He was overbearing to say the least. It had taken everything in Dean to tell him he wanted to move out of the house with you. Luckily for you, John had a soft spot for you due to your hunting skills and had not put up much of a fuss. You had held back a scowl though when he had chirped that at least Dean had a homemaker to take care of him. You did not have to clean up after him, thankfully, considering the staff at your home. You loved Dean, there was no doubt, but his less desirable traits – being dependent and needing to be coddled at times – left you with a sour taste in your mouth more and more often.

Pulling at his collar to straighten it out, Dean sighed, “Yes. Apparently, he’s found out who the hunters are and wants to do something about them.” Your gaze slid to him and by the look on your face, Dean held up his hands, his gold cuff links catching the light. “Sammy refused.”

“Sam always refuses things like this.” Sighing, your fingers dug into your clutch. “He has got to stop punishing you sometime for moving out. He needs to start doing some of the dirty work.”

“I hardly think searching them out to ask them what the heck went wrong is dirty work, Y/N.”

The elevator door opened, and you closed your mouth, not wanting to continue this discussion outside the privacy of it.

You cut in front of Dean, your annoyance apparent. You heard him sigh heavily behind you, but you did not care, making your way down the hall towards John’s office.

Knowing better than to just enter, you knocked on the door and heard John beckon you in. Swinging the door open, you felt Dean at your back as you entered the room.

John was sitting behind his intricately carved desk that he had had imported in. Papers were stacked neatly, him working on one thing at a time. He was adamant about keeping his desk clean and to do so, he would not be rushed. One of the other board members for the academy, Arthur, was sitting opposite John.

Taking his glasses off, John moved to put his pen back in its holder. He gestured at the empty chair beside you, and you sat, keeping your back straight. Arthur was watching you out of the corner of his eye and you stiffened even further. He had been particularly hard on you as one of your mentors in school and you had not forgotten.

“You look upset, Y/N,” John commented.

You waved him off and said, “I am just impatient about learning who caused this latest mishap. And what is going to be done about it.”

“Impatience has always been a fault of yours,” Arthur commented, and you bit back a comment as John continued, “Well, it turns out it was two of the academy’s.”

“Are you joking?” Dean blurted from behind you where he was standing.

John shot him a look and Dean closed his mouth. “That is not something I would joke about, Dean. It was a major, major bungle. Yes, it was two that should know better, but I am not surprised at the same time. Novak and Crowley.”

His eyes were on you as he revealed this and unable to stop yourself, you closed your eyes, letting out a small sigh. Of course, it was. And no wonder Sam would turn this down as he knew yours and Castiel’s history; anything to put Dean and you in an uncomfortable position.

A small smirk on his lips, John told you specifically, “I thought it would be best to send you. And of course, Dean would go as well. You two are partners.”

“Naturally,” you responded tightly.

This was the last thing you wanted to do with your time. Being in Castiel’s presence never ended up being dressed in the past. Circumstances were different now and you were going to have to try to break that trend. You were already on edge and this was not going to help you to keep your composure seeing the smug look on his face.

<> <> <>

“Why am I not surprised they would be in a place like this?” Dean asked as the two of you ascended the short staircase to the bar.

It was a rowdy place, placed in an urban center.

“They are the dive bar type,” you told him, speaking louder as the swell of the music met you at the door. You held out your ID for the bouncer and he quickly waved you through, not even bothering to look at Dean’s considering he saw what your last name was already. Winchester got you into many places and underground establishments without the bat of an eye.

It did not take you long to locate them inside. They were waiting to play the next game of pool; Castiel was leaning back in his chair, legs propped up on the table, drink in hand. Crowley was next to him, dressed in crisp black as usual. Castiel’s hair was loose, his beard growing to a 5 o’clock shadow.

Crowley spotted you and Dean first. He nudged Castiel and said something to him as the two of you approached the table. Castiel turned his head and a smirk grew on his face seeing you, chuckling as he looked back down at his drink. He brought the pint to his lips and took a long swig.

“We need to talk,” you told them over the music, standing beside Castiel, glaring down at the pair of them.

“John Winchester sent his lap dogs instead of coming himself?” Crowley asked, giving you a scornful look.

Your mouth fell open slightly and before you could retort something nasty, Dean stepped forward. “It would be appreciated if the two of you could cooperate. It would make things so much easier. It’s not just my father; it’s the whole board.”

Castiel cleared his throat, moving to drop his feet off the table. “I suppose we are about to get our asses handed to us based on the demeanor here.”

“You’re damn right,” you spat.

“Oh, language,” Dean told you over his shoulder and you did not miss the smirk on both Castiel and Crowley’s faces. “No need to stoop to their level, Y/N.”

Castiel gestured across the table. “Sit.”

Dean looked apprehensive about sitting on the chair, no doubt worrying about his pressed slacks. You on the other hand, did not care in the slightest. You sat down, placing your wallet on the table between you and Dean. Castiel’s eyes were following your movements and you shot him a vexed look and clenched your jaw when he winked in return. It went missed by Dean as usual, him being too absorbed in keeping himself clean.

“So, what does the old man want to say?” Crowley asked, swirling the whiskey in his glass slowly. He was not going to let his disdain for John go.

Clearing his throat, Dean said ignoring the jab – or perhaps it went over his head, which was more likely –, “He wants to know what happened, why it happened, and how you propose to fix it.”

“Well, that is a lot of information and could take some time –”

“Give us the short version,” you snapped, interrupting him.

Crowley cocked his head, drawling, “You’re as charming as ever, Y/N.” You said nothing in response. “Fine. We were trying to send a monster back to purgatory –”

“What?” Dean demanded at the same time you blurted, “Why?”

“Well, if you would let me explain myself,” Crowley said tightly, narrowing his eyes. “We wanted to see if it could be done. Why continue wasting resources killing the monsters when we could just open a rift and send them to purgatory?”

“And you decided to do this without, I don’t know, discussing this with anyone else? Or asking for help?” you asked.

“Didn’t think any of you tight asses would be up to it.”

“And for good reason!”

Holding his hand up at you, Crowley said, “That is exactly why we didn’t ask for help. We researched it on our own, found the artifact we needed, and preformed the ritual ourselves. It did not go as we planned but we did do it. We opened a rift. Now, if we could perfect it –”

Dean cut in, holding up his hand, “Yeah, that’s not going to be happening. The Board wants you to turn over whatever artifact you used so we can keep it hidden to prevent this from happening again."

Crowley and Castiel exchanged a quick look, an entire conversation happening in a matter of moments between the two of them.

“And if we don’t hand it over?” Castiel questioned, coyly.

You exhaled impatiently as Dean scoffed, “You can’t be serious to want to defy the Board.”

“If we give it up to them, they’ll never pursue the idea.”

“That’s not entirely true.”

“But they’ll take our hard work and claim the credit for themselves if it ends up being perfected.”

“That’s the point of the Board and the academy. It is to keep all of our collective research in one centralized place so everyone has access to it.”

Crowley cut into their conversation angrily, “That is exactly why I hated attending that bloody academy. The stuffed up, old pricks—” Dean flinched at the insult. “--there want to keep everything to themselves while the rest of us do the groundwork for them.” Castiel nodded in agreement, taking a drink of his beer.

Dean looked at you for support and you leaned forward, catching both of the men’s attention across the table. “Look. You know there’s two ways this is playing out. You agree to hand it over or we go back and tell the Board they’ve got two hunters they need to get information out of.”

“You mean, you two won’t be the ones shaking us down?” Castiel quipped, a playful glint in his eyes.

You were tired of him flirting, pushing your buttons that he knew how to press all too well.

Annoyed, you retorted, “They’re not sending Dean and I to get our hands dirty by forcing information out of you two. We are here as liaisons.”

“No. No, I suppose they wouldn’t be sending the pair of you,” Crowley said. “You haven’t done hard work in years. That’s for the grunts, isn’t it?”

You had had enough. Pushing the chair back with a loud squeak, you stood up quickly, grabbing your wallet. “I’m finished with this conversation. Dean, if you would like to continue trying to reason with these idiots, I’ll be in the car.”

It annoyed you even further to see Dean quickly get up to follow you. Part of you hoped he would have had the backbone to continue trying to coerce them, but then again, he seemed to always be following your lead.

“No, I see a lost cause when I see one,” Dean said, standing close to you.

You tore your eyes away from him to look at Crowley and Castiel once more. Castiel was taking a swig, his eyes running up your body and you had the urge to smack the glass out of his hands, spilling the contents all over him. You gave a disgusted scoff before turning and storming away from the table. Hearing Crowley crow after you to have a good night made your blood boil even more.

<> <> <>

Dean walked out of the bathroom in your bedroom in the suite, robe wrapped tightly around him. He was brushing his teeth while searching for his slippers. He found them and disappeared back into the bathroom. He had not wanted to go back home tonight, opting to pay for a luxurious room for the two of you to lounge in. You were not relaxing though, still infuriated with the salacious way Castiel had kept looking at you. It had set you aflame to feel those same lustful feelings when you had seen him. The man rubbed you completely the wrong way and yet, you still yearned to turn those feelings of annoyance into passion.

“Well, we tried,” Dean told you, emerging once more.

Rolling your eyes, you said, “Not hard enough. They should not feel the right to refuse a request like this.”

“I don’t know what you thought we could do more.”

He was so ready to give up. Dean typically gave up at the first signs of difficulty and passed the buck to someone else to handle. You had been okay enough with it at first with your brazen personality you had no problem picking up tough situations and making sure they got solved. But tonight, after seeing Castiel, the stress and annoyance was boiling over.

“Are you fucking serious, Dean?” You demanded. His mouth fell open at your cursing and you said, “Oh, come off it! Are you serious? We could have done it ourselves. We could have brought them in. You know I would have been able to get them in cuffs myself.”

“Y/N, that would not have worked. Two on two? And you would have caused a scene in the bar. There’s no reason to get police involved.”

Snapping, you shouted, “Dean, can you just for once do…” You caught yourself, closing your eyes. You had been about to lose your temper and say something you were going to regret. Breathing deeply, you tried to push the anger back below the surface. You needed air; you needed some release. Turning and snatching your purse, you searched for your shoes. “Never mind.”

“Can I do what?” Dean pressed when he recovered from your outburst as you made to go grab your jacket.

“It’s not worth it,” you dismissed him.

Dean stepped closer, concern laced in his features. “Apparently it is if you’re this upset.”

“This is what I’m talking about,” you said exasperated, gesturing at him. “You should be mad at me for being mad at you and yelling.”

“Why would I do that?”

Letting out a small growl, you turned and stormed towards the door.

“Where are you going?” He called after you, worried.

“Out!”

‘It’s late, Y/N!”

“Don’t wait up for me then.”

<> <> <>

Lying on the bed naked, you waited, flipping through your phone. You had gone down the street, paying for a room at a far less extravagant hotel in cash. No paper trail was going to be left for John to find.

When you heard the key at the door – you had asked the front desk to hold one for pick up – you lowered your phone. The door opened and Castiel walked in.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he snapped seeing you and rushing to close the door and lock it behind him.

You ignored his outburst, leaning over and placing your phone on the bedside table. “Figured you would have slowed down on the drinking after seeing me. I like being right.”

“History does have a way of informing my decisions,” Castiel replied, taking a few steps further into the room. He was looking at your bare skin, eyes lingering. You made a hum of approval, lying back on the bed, legs crossed, giving a shielded view of your pussy. Castiel tore his eyes away and asked, “Is this a trap?”

Smiling coyly, you asked, “Do you want to risk the opportunity to find out?”

“I suppose not.” He removed his jacket, tossing it on the chair next to the desk. His fingers hooked into the hem of his shirt and he pulled it over his head. He was not going to waste time giving you the opportunity to change your mind about all this.

“Come here,” you ordered him, sitting up and getting onto your knees at the edge of the bed.

You undid his belt and his pants, allowing him to shimmy to let them fall to the ground. His boxers went next and he pushed you back onto the bed, crawling on top of you.

“You got a condom?” he breathed into your ear, letting out a low groan when your hand found his cock.

Stroking, you whispered back, “No.”

“No?”

“Did I stutter? You’re safe, right?”

“That’s romantic—” Castiel started to say but your hand cupped his balls and he groaned again. “Yes. Yes. I got tested a couple weeks ago, actually.”

“How fortuitous,” you answered, stroking him again. You were rewarded with a throaty chuckle from him and his lips landing on yours. He drug his lips across yours, relishing in the taste.

Castiel growled, losing patience. He pushed your hand away and lined himself up with your entrance. He slid in, slamming his mouth to yours as you opened up for him. His composure was slipping feeling your tightness around him as he began thrusting in and out. You knew he was not this crazy for anyone else. You kissed him back with fervor, falling into the familiar rhythm; you had not felt him like this in over a year. The last had been shortly after you and Dean had gotten married and you had held out for this long by avoiding him up until tonight.

“I missed you,” you gasped, dragging your lips along his jaw before coming back to nip at his lip.

His tongue slipped past your lips and you moved to wrap your arms around his neck as he continued to steadily move in and out, you dripping around him.

You pushed him away and he looked at you momentarily confused. You began to shift position, and he followed your motion, pulling out to let you guide him. Climbing on top of him, you slid down his length. You rode him, each dive pushing him deeper until he bottomed out. Increasing your speed, your hands planted on his chest, moans leaving your throat. Praises fell from Castiel, his fingers digging into your sides.

“You look so fucking sexy, baby,” he grunted, his eyes following your tits bouncing.

You were close and you let go of him to put your hands on the headboard. Gripping tightly, you used it as leverage to quicken your pace, crying out as his cock brushed your core.

“Cum for me,” Castiel said. “Come on, baby, I wanna feel it.”

You cried out, losing your rhythm. Castiel took the opportunity to hold you in place tighter, continuing to plummet into you as you saw stars. You barely registered feeling Castiel fill you up, his fingers bruising with his grip.

Collapsing on the bed next to him, you breathed deeply, trying to calm yourself.

Silence fell between the two of you, both staring at the ceiling. It was becoming too much, being this close to him. You had messed up yet again. You knew the moment John told you who you were going to go after that you would, but you had tried so desperately to lie to yourself about the inevitable outcome. You needed some space or something to drink to make yourself relax.

Clearing your throat, you asked, “You want a drink? I bought a bottle.” You swung your legs over the side of the bed and got out, walking over to the mini fridge. You pulled out the bottle of whiskey, placing it on the counter to be able to reach over and grab two of the Styrofoam provided cups. He had not answered but you were pouring him one all the same.

You tossed a look over your shoulder at Castiel. He was propped up on his elbow, looking at you with longing.

“What?” you asked lightly, although your heart was pounding. You knew that look.

“I still love you, you know.”

The admission made you falter, as you put the cap back on the bottle. Recovering, you quickly screwed the lid back on and put the bottle back in the fridge, grabbing one of the cans of pop to split it between the cups. You tossed the can into the recycling bin.

“I’m fully aware, Cas,” you finally said shortly.

You heard him chuckle behind you. “You were always terrible with affection, Y/N.”

Now you turned to him, shooting him a glare. “Like you’re the poster child for it.”

“Touché.”

Swallowing sharply, you threw your hand out. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Cas.”

“You almost told me earlier. You said you missed me.”

“Well… I do.”

Castiel sighed, “But you can’t just come out and say it.”

Scoffing, you said, “Cas, I’m married.” It was his turn to scoff, and he swept his arm around at the messed-up sheets and the scene between you. “You know what I mean.”

“No. I don’t. Explain yourself.”

“I love Dean,” you snapped, and his mouth formed a tight line. You knew he hated hearing that, despite the fact it was the truth.

“You can love more than one person at a time, Y/N.”

Shaking your head, you told him defiantly, “No. No I can’t. Not for my own sanity.”

“You reached out to me. You cut me out and then the moment you saw me again, all that resolve you tried to have disappeared almost instantly. You know there’s a reason for that.”

Opening your mouth, you closed it again, at loss for words. He was staring at you expectantly, waiting for an answer.

He was right and it cut deep knowing he was right. You had feelings for them both and it was for different reasons. Dean would never be Cas and Cas would never be Dean. Why could you not have them both? It was not possible, but you wanted it. So badly.

Raising your gaze again, you met his burning stare. “Fine,” you whispered. “Fine, Castiel. I do love you too.”

“Then do something about it.”

~~~

CASTIEL FOREVER TAGS: @willowing-love @perseusandmedusa @greenappleeyes @afanofmanystuffs @earthtokace @shikaros-blog @marisayouass @splendidcas

[rabble-dabble]

The Cancer King's Court ~ The Scourge Sisters

Vriska Serket/The Pirate Queen

Everything in this timeline goes the same as in our timeline up until Terezi confronts Vriska. Terezi can’t bring herself to kill her and Vriska goes off to fight Noir. Noir ignores her and proceeds to slaughter her entire team. Vriska is narrowly able to kill Bec Noir, but it’s too late. Everyone else is dead.

Vriska is overtaken by remorse. Stranded alone on the meteor in a Doomed Timeline of her own making, Vriska is left alone with her thoughts. She tries to make conversation with the humans, but she finds she can’t confess what she did. Eventually, the humans start asking about the other trolls and Vriska stops talking to them.

After a few weeks of stewing in her own grief, Vriska gets an idea. If she can’t fix this problem, then her ancestor surely can. Everything Vriska did was done in a failed imitation of her ancestor’s exploits. Surely the person who did it right would have an answer for this problem. She could fix her mistakes. She could get her friends back. She could fix everything. Vriska dedicates her every second of sleep to finding her dancestor in the dreambubbles.

Vriska eventually tracks down the legendary Marquise Spinnerette Mindfang….. only to find her living in a regular hive. Sure, it was a fancy hive, but that’s every Cobalt’s hive. When she finds the ghost of her ancestor… she finds her lazily writing in her diary. Turns out, Mindfang’s journal was just her own self insert fanfiction. Everything Vriska had imitated, looked up to, and based her own self worth on was a lie. 

Vriska wanders the dreambubbles in a depressive slump when she’s approached by a cloaked version of Aradia. Vriska basically blows up at her, profusely apologizing for everything she did before trailing off as she realizes that this isn’t her Aradia.

“well, this pr0bably d0esn’t mean much t0 y0u, because i’m n0t y0ur aradia, but f0r what it’s w0rth, i f0rgive y0u. we’ve b0th made s0me pretty big mistakes, but it’s n0t t0 late t0 c0rrect them.”

“welc0me t0 the cancer king’s c0urt, vriska serket.”

This Vriska is almost unrecognizable next to her canon counterpart in terms of attitude. She’s here to make amends, but with her confidence smashed and no one to look to for guidance, she doesn’t really know how to do that. That’s why she’s willing to go along with the Cancer King’s plan, despite moral reservations. Honestly, that’s why everyone goes along with what Karkat says. They want the happy ending they were robbed of or they want to fix some huge mistake, they just don’t know how to do that. If Karkat, the guy with the huge heart hidden under all that bluster, says everything will be fine then it surely will right? More pertinent to Vriska, ignoring her friends concerns got everyone killed last time. She’d best listen to the leader of the group this time.

That said, she’s still Vriska. Sweeps worth of ego don’t just vanish. When she goes to apologize to Tavros, Tavros bites back. Vriska angrily points out that she’s not the same Vriska that hurt him and things nearly escalate into a fight until Aradia steps in. After a few rounds of mediation from the Red Death, tensions calm down a little. At least the Pirate Queen is trying to make amends, which is more than can be said for the Beast Master’s Vriska. Neither version of Tavros owes either version of Vriska any kind of forgiveness and they both acknowledge that.

Vriska actually sympathizes with her main timeline counterpart. She gets it. She was there. Literally the only thing that separates the two is a split second decision and a punch to the face. Out of everyone in the Cancer King’s Court, the Pirate Queen is the one who comes the closest to turning her main counterpart over to their side. 

But, while Tavros would never forgive Vriska, Terezi will. Both Terezi and Vriska admit that a relationship between the two of them isn’t feasible. They aren’t the same people from their alternate timelines, so continuing where they left off isn’t really feasible. Instead, Terezi makes a point of keeping Vriska from turning completely self destructive. Yes, she fucked up, but suffering does not equal redemption. Getting herself killed won’t fix the damage she did. 

“TH3 PROS3CUT1ON F1NDS GU1LTY VR1SK4 S3RK3T. BUT YOUR S3NT3NC3 1S COMMUN1TY S3RV1C3, NOT D34TH.”

The two are able to build a genuine friendship, something like what they could’ve had had they grown up somewhere other than Alternia. Vriska even serves as Terezi’s wingman regarding a certain feline hunter, but more on that later.

In combat, the Pirate Queen is the Magnificent that canon Vriska thinks she is. Now that she’s not glory hounding and us just trying to get the job done, she’s dangerously effective. She’s consistently misjudged by the Condescension’s forces as that same smug brat who keeps getting her team into trouble. Then they’re caught flat footed when Vriska fights smart and doesn’t take obvious bate. On the manipulation side of things, Vriska’s able to play up her remose and genuine desire to atone to earn people’s trust. It’s all technically true, they just don’t know how she intends to atone. It’s far more effective than the blunt mind control past Vriska would’ve gone for.

Vriska is every bit the dangerous, competent, complex, anti-villain she used to think she was. Difference is, now she doesn’t enjoy it.

Terezi Pyrope/The Hung Jury

Terezi’s timeline was exactly the same as ours up until one crucial point. Terezi was quick to notice when Vriska went God-Tier, so she decided to preemptively go God-Tier to match. Once immortal, Terezi’s precognition goes into overdrive and she’s able to instantly see into the future where Vriska makes the choice boost up Bec Noir and get everyone killed. She realizes that, for whatever reason, she doesn’t actually want Vriska dead, so she dedicates herself to trying to reason Vriska down. She sees the negative impact it would have on her to kill Vriska, after all. Vriska is confused by this abrupt change in behavior and so her responces are a mixed bag. As such, she ends up getting a lot closer to Vriska a lot quicker than in our timeline, but she isn’t quiet able to deter her either. Terezi understands what makes Vriska tick, far moreso than in canon, but she doesn’t understand how to rewire her. It doesn’t help that, from Vriska’s pov, her rival and kismesis is suddenly pale flirting with her.

So, when the time comes for her to kill Vriska to stop Bec Noir, Terezi can’t go through with it. Then the predictable happens. Vriska dies fighting against Noir, but Terezi manages to best him while he’s weak. Doesn’t change the fact all of her friends are dead because of her failure to act. Terezi isn’t sure what to make of her failure as she’s stuck floating on a meteor in a doomed timeline. She can’t think that killing Vriska would’ve been the right thing to do, because she was so close to redeeming her. But, her failure to do that got everyone killed. She starts to miss the days where Vriska was just the person who blinded her. When Vriska was just someone she wanted dead.

So, when the Cancer King approaches her about fixing her mistake, Terezi counters that she doesn’t even really know what her mistake was. She tried her best, made logical choices, tried to save everyone. What went wrong?

Karkat tries again. Saying that it’s unfair that she arguably tried to do everything right, but inexplicably failed anyways. Again, Terezi shuts him down. She’s getting the vibe that the only reason he’s having this conversation is because he fucked something up and, knowing Karkat, it probably wasn’t his fault. So she presses at his motive and Karkat explains his plan. Terezi remarks that it’s… incredibly cruel by his standards. Realizing that she’s unswayed, Karkat tries to drive his point home. He takes them to doomed, hopeless timelines that otherwise can’t be salvaged. If he gains control over the narrative, he can fix these. Terezi just asks him to take them to the timelines he’s already visited, see first hand what kind of damage he’s doing. This back and forth continues for awhile.

At one point, Terezi closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Words start to spill out. Words that seem wiser than her. Above her somehow.

She briefly wonders if the Terezi from Karkat’s timeline is speaking through her somehow. She’s more right than she realizes. 

“K4RKL3S… OK4Y, NO. DROPP1NG TH4T. K4RK4T. 1 DON’T KNOW WH4T H4PP3N3D 1N YOUR T1M3L1N3. 1 DON’T KNOW WHO D13D OR 1F 1’M 3V3N 4L1V3 1N YOUR T1M3L1N3. BUT, 1 KNOW TH4T NON3 OF US, NON3 OF TH3M, WOULD W4NT TH1S. SO WHY DO YOU W4NT TH1S? NO M4TT3R WH4T H4PP3N3D, NO M4TT3R WH4T YOU D1D, W3 WOULDN’T W4NT YOU TO HURT 4NYON3. 1 KNOW YOU'R3 TRY1NG TO S4V3 3V3RYON3. 1 TR13D TO S4V3 3V3RYON3 TOO. BUT 1T D1DN’T G3T M3 4NYWH3R3.

1 GU3SS WH4T 1’M TRY1NG TO S4Y 1S, SH1T H4PP3NS? TH4T F33LS L1K3 SOM3TH1NG TH4T D4V3 WOULD S4Y H3R3 4T L34ST. BUT, NON3 OF TH4T W4S YOUR F4ULT. YOU DON’T H4V3 TO BL4M3 YOURS3LF FOR G3TT1NG FUCK3D BY F4T3. 1 SUR3 WOULDN’T 4ND 1 KNOW TH3 M3 FROM YOUR T1M3L1N3 WOULDN’T. B3C4US3 W3 KNOW YOU TR13D YOUR B3ST. W3 KNOW YOU C4R3D 4BOUT US, 3V3N B4CK WH3N YOU W3R3 TO B1G OF 4N 4SSHOL3 TO S4Y 1T OUT LOUD. YOU D1D WH4T YOU COULD 4ND YOU D1D 4S W3LL 4S YOU COULD. 1SN’T TH4T 3NOUGH?”

Karkat stands there, far off in a way Terezi couldn’t quiet imagine. For just a minute, it looked like he might walk away.

There was still time. He could find an easier solution. He didn’t need to hurt anyone. 

…Karkat dismisses it as wishful thinking.

The Cancer King gives her a glimpse of the main timeline and the ruined state that it’s in. He shows her everything that’s been lost. Everyone who died. He shows her the image of a bloodparched Empress tearing through reality. 

“I KNOW… THIS PROBABLY ISN’T THE RIGHT THING TO DO.“ 

He chokes on the words, taking a deep breath before continuing. 

“BUT IT’S THE ONLY CHOICE I HAVE.”

Terezi’s gaze into the future reveals nothing. There’s only so far a doomed Seer of Mind can see. So her only choice is too believe him.

As a member of the team, Terezi serves as Karkat’s moral conscious even more so than Aradia does. Aradia keeps things in perspective for the group as a whole, while Terezi forces Karkat to consider his motives. Why are we going after these people? They aren’t God-Tiers and you swore you’d only absorb God-Tiers to keep from becoming as bad as the HIC. It helps that it isn’t just The Hung Jury that’s speaking to Karkat. Main Terezi, after dying and appearing in the Dreambubbles, has found a way to speak through her alternate timeline counterparts via a Heart artifact she got from Nepeta. She’s been trying to use The Hung Jury to redeem Karkat, but the Jury is becoming increasingly aware of her interference and is starting to hunt her down.

Terezi is a bit awkward around the Pirate Queen at first. A Vriska who is looking to atone for everything she did is uncomfortably close to what Terezi almost achieved. Still, she doesn’t hold that against her. Honestly, the two tend to act as moirails here. Terezi keeps Vriska from turning into a self loathing mess, while Vriska keeps Terezi distracted from her own guilt. Killing so many people in the name of the greater good weighs on her mind, and the only way Vriska knows to handle that is too keep her distracted. This has the added benefit of making main Terezi rethink her relationship with her own Vriska, seeing how comparatively healthy this one is.

At the advice of Nepeta (who I can assure you has been taking notes on this entire relationship), Vriska tries to help Terezi fill her other quadrants. Karkat is an immediate no, as his fuck ups with his own Terezi are still fresh in his mind. The others on the list turn her down for other reasons. Lack of interest, already taken, or have other quadrants to maintain. At Vriska’s suggestions, Terezi constantly ends up going back to Nepeta for advice about her latest target. Nepeta happily lists all the pros and cons about that particular relationship, points out all the things they might, and even roleplays with Terezi to practice her confession. Those meetings keep getting longer, Nepeta’s advice keeps getting more detailed. Nepeta starts slipping out of character in their roleplays more. Meanwhile, Vriska is watching from a distance with a shit eating grin and giving herself the greatest wingman award.

…Main Terezi is in denial about this having any effect on how she views her Nepeta. Not developing a crush, no siree.

As an active agent, Terezi tries to only target people she views as actively guilty. Not only will she set up large swaths of the Condescension’s army to be absorbed by the Cancer King, but she actively tries seeking out evil people so that she can bring justice down upon them. It helps her head rest easier. Terezi’s a consumate manipulator already, conning doomed players is a cinch. When The Hung Jury isn’t doing that, she’s actively hunting for her main timeline counterpart. Main Terezi knows better than to tango with a God-Tier version of herself, so she stays one step ahead. 

The Hung Jury is the King’s conscience and right hand strategist. A force to be reckoned with and a mind few can match.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO THE WAY THIS HINTS THAT THIS VRISKA IS FROM THE DOOMED TIMELINE THE OG TEREZI CREATED AND ALSO GOD TIER TEREZI ALMOST BEING THE PERSON CONVINVING KARKAT 

THIS IS TASTY OP THIS IS TASTY!!!

Also that neprezi - GOD YOU GUYS ARE ACTIVELY JUST THROWING THAT IN NOW HUH. should I just declare it the next ship on my list?? its the one that snuck its way up there. evil john anon this is SO good this is REALLY good I’m just AAAAAAAAAAAA

Anyway here are your outfits: 

Here’s your Pirate Queen - I imagine with Vriska’s assured blinding confidence gone and the image of her hero being shattered, she’d attempt to find herself while also still trying to seek that familiar ground. She doesn’t look like an awe-inspiring pirate adventure seeker anymore but she still has a fashion sense. What scored me this was this line: 

Vriska is every bit the dangerous, competent, complex, anti-villain she used to think she was. Difference is, now she doesn’t enjoy it.

Like OOF that just hits the mark!!

Terezi’s was more thoughtful, as she is - I imagine she finally takes up that fucking Lady Justice pose and setup but more like morally for Karkat, and I REALLY love what you did with her. I like how she’s the most pressing about his objectives here, because of course she would want to sniff out what this Karkat’s deal was, offering something of this magnitude, and then seeing the damage he caused to the main timeline. This Terezi doesn’t feel like a normal God Tier (although her outfit is heavily inspired so) but rather like a very ultimate mistress of Justice. 

Doesn’t change the fact all of her friends are dead because of her failure to act. Terezi isn’t sure what to make of her failure as she’s stuck floating on a meteor in a doomed timeline. She can’t think that killing Vriska would’ve been the right thing to do, because she was so close to redeeming her. But, her failure to do that got everyone killed.

Everything Vriska had imitated, looked up to, and based her own self worth on was a lie.

The sense of loss and hopelessness in this really drove it home.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Big Damn Heroes

A Supernatural / Buffy the Vampire Slayer crossover! 

Characters: Sam, Dean, Cas, Charlie, Buffy, Willow, Spike, Xander, Giles, Anya, Faith

Word Count: ~4930

Warnings: Flirting, play-fighting... it’s sexy but not smutty. 75% banter, 20% geeky references. (No, seriously, SO MANY. If anyone can spot all the easter eggs/quotes from Supernatural, the Whedonverse, and beyond, I’ll give you a cookie.) 

A/N: For @impala-dreamer​ and @deanwanddamons​, and the I Do Understand That Reference Challenge! I’ve been wanting to write a SPN/BtVS crossover since I first started watching Supernatural; I’ve been imagining some of these character interactions for a while. Thanks for giving me an excuse to finally do it! 

Major thanks to @stunudo​ and @thoughtslikeaminefield​ for the reading and cheerleading. This was the most excited I’ve been about writing in a hot minute and I was so happy that you guys were excited to read it. 

This bears very little resemblance to either show’s canon/timeline. No Dawn, no Tara. Just go with it. 

“Okay, stand super still for me?” Charlie asks apprehensively. She twiddles a few knobs on the gadget she’d built, and a little fan of laser beams shoots out one end. She points it at Dean, who grimaces and shields his junk protectively as the lights sweep up and down his body. 

Sam rubs at the tension headache that’s developing between his eyes. “You sure about this?” 

“No?” Charlie says, voice squeaking slightly, and Sam’s headache throbs again. “But… I think so. It should work. I don’t think you understand how ridiculously complicated this whole thing is.” 

“You are bringing their alternate selves here from an entirely different universe,” Cas says skeptically, arms crossed as he looks critically at the scene. “There are a lot of variables at work.” 

Charlie points the device at Sam and scans him as she nods firmly. “Yes. Thank you. What Cas said. What’s the worst that can happen, right?” 

Sam raises his eyebrows and sees Dean and Cas making near-identical expressions of disbelief. 

“Right. Probably not a good thing to ask around here, huh? You guys are like the living embodiment of Murphy’s Law. I don’t think I’m gonna, like, blow anything up though, so that’s something!” Charlie cuts off her own nervous babbling and takes a deep breath. “Well, here goes nothing.” 

Sam's ears start to ring, and he feels a tug somewhere in his chest. The bunker fuzzes and fades around them. 

The last thing Sam hears is Cas saying flatly, “Well that can’t be good.” 

***

Dean’s drawing his gun before the room even comes into focus, fighting a dizzying surge of nausea. He looks around wildly, turning to scan his surroundings. There’s a redhead in an eye-poppingly colorful sweater sitting on the couch, looking at him open-mouthed; a cute, tiny blonde at her side; a cozy, utterly suburban living room; and most importantly, a total lack of Sam, as far as he can see, and that’s a problem. 

“Whoa, hey, take it easy,” the blonde says sharply. “Drop the gun.” She’s standing, coming toward him with her hands raised, and she’s clearly not a threat, but Dean’s not letting his guard down yet. He eases his finger off the safety but keeps it pointed at her. 

“Where’s my brother?” Dean snaps. 

“You just Apparated into the middle of my house, buddy, how ‘bout I ask the questions?” she says, unfazed. Which. Fair. Dean lowers the gun slightly. 

The second he starts to relax, the blonde is whipping around like a goddamn ninja and kicking the gun out of his hand. She settles back into a fighting stance, looking way more serious than anyone wearing sparkly lip gloss has any right to look. Dean’s so stunned he doesn’t even try to fight back; he stares for a second, torn between the urge to pull his other gun out of the back of his pants, just to make a point, and the urge to propose on the spot, because wow. 

“Um, hi, answers now?” the redhead says, still sitting on the couch, staring incredulously. 

Dean takes a deep breath. “I’m Dean Winchester. I’m pretty sure this was a fuckup of gigantic proportions. Where am I? Who are you? How did you…” 

“Sunnydale, Buffy, and mystical forces-of-evil-fighting Slayer powers,” she rattles off, with a little smile at the look of astonishment on his face. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” 

“Buffy?” Dean says, smirking, and she raises an eyebrow. 

“That’s really not the part most people fixate on,” she says bemusedly. There’s a phone ringing somewhere in the next room, and Buffy shouts without taking her eyes off Dean: “Xander? Would you get that?” 

“I’m not most people.” 

***

“Yes, quite. We’ll be right over,” Giles says, and he hangs up before turning back to Sam with a long-suffering expression. “Your brother is safe and sound. I’ll take you to him and we can try to sort this mess out.” 

Sam lets out a long sigh of relief, following Giles to the door. He looks down at his phone again as Giles locks up, but it still displays “no signal.” Sam frowns. 

“Where are we?” he asks. 

“Sunnydale, California.” Giles leads the way to a tiny European car. Sam has to fold up like a pretzel to get in the passenger seat. 

He watches out the window as Giles drives, frowning to himself as he tries to figure out why they’re here of all places. He’d been so busy with the whole Apparition thing that he didn’t question Giles’s initial reaction to a stranger materializing in the middle of his living room, but his expression had definitely been more resigned and exasperated than astonished, like maybe this sort of thing happened to him a little too often. 

“Is there such a thing as magic in this world?” Sam says, with a sneaking suspicion that he already knows the answer. “Or… ghosts? Demons?” 

Giles blinks a few times. “Magic, yes. Demons, quite. Ghosts… not that I’m aware of, but stranger things have happened on a Hellmouth, I’m sure.” 

“A what?” 

“Hellmouth. Sunnydale sits on top of a literal gate to hell, and as such, there is a convergence of mystical energy here. It tends to draw monsters and… well, general disaster.” Giles sounds like he’s repeated this little speech a few times before. 

“Averted any apocalypses lately?” Sam asks wryly, and that does get him a very polite, British expression of surprise. 

“Well, yes. A few, as a matter of fact. Buffy does stay busy.” 

“Buffy?” 

“Yes, the friend I called when you arrived. The Slayer. Do they have one of those in whatever world you’re from?” 

“In my world, Slayer is a band,” Sam says with a shrug. “So… you’ve never heard of me? Or my brother? Dean Winchester?” 

Giles gives him a skeptical sideways look. “Should I have?” 

“I think I have a theory.” 

“It’s not bunnies.” 

“What?” 

“Never mind. Go on.” 

***

“This is where you live?” Dean asks, looking around at the big windows and unlocked door. “Are there protective spells or anything, at least?” 

“No. And thus, the neverending construction,” Xander says mournfully, nodding toward an unfinished window frame. 

Dean’s still processing how normal it is. They’re all sitting around in the incredibly ordinary living room on comfortably mismatched couches, and the coffee table in front of him has a copy of Cosmo on it, for fuck’s sake. He’s never met a hunter of any kind who’d be reading about “Why Wet Kisses Make Men Horny.” 

He looks up hopefully when he hears the door, but it’s not Sam; there’s a bleach-blonde guy coming in, shaking off the ratty blanket he’d been wearing like a cape. 

“Oh, great, you’re back,” Willow grumbles. 

Buffy gives him a look that’s borderline murderous, which would be about as threatening as a newborn kitten if Dean didn’t know what she’s capable of. “Why, exactly, are you back?” 

“Bored. Not much to do in a crypt.” The guy shrugs, looking Dean up and down with an appraising gleam in his eye. “Who’s the pretty boy?” 

Dean’s still processing “crypt.” Before he can decide how he feels about the flirtatious tone, Buffy answers for him: “Spike, this is Dean. Dean, this is Spike. Spike, you can fuck right off now. Dean, you want a glass of water or something? Sorry, all the alternate universe talk made me forget my manners.” 

“Got anything stronger?” 

“If by stronger you mean orange juice?” Buffy offers apologetically, but Spike pulls a flask out of the inside of his long coat and passes it to Dean with a smug half-smile. Then he makes himself at home in one of the armchairs, raising an eyebrow at Buffy as if to make it extra clear that he has no plans to “fuck right off” any time soon. 

“Cheers,” Dean says gratefully. 

Spike winks at him, obvious and shameless, and drawls, “You just let me know if you need anything else.” 

Buffy’s got her arms crossed, glaring daggers at Spike, and Dean can tell there’s something going on there, but he can’t really resist flashing his most charming grin in Spike’s direction.  

The front door opens again, and Dean breathes a long sigh of relief when he sees Sam. 

***

“What makes you think there’s a version of you in this universe, anyway?” Willow asks, and everybody pauses to think about that one for a second. “I mean, if there are all these different worlds, why are you guys the heroes in every single one?” 

“Bit bloody full of yourselves,” Spike says. There’s no reason for that sentence to sound as suggestive as it does, but that seems to be his default tone. Sam tries not to notice the way Spike’s staring at his brother. Not like Dean is aware of it; he’s too busy staring at Buffy. 

“There’s a world with nothing but shrimp,” Xander chips in unhelpfully. Sam shakes his head like that might clear his ears. 

“Chuck said -” Dean starts, and Sam cuts him off with a gesture before anyone can ask who “Chuck” is. That seems like a surefire way to derail this barely-coherent conversation, and Sam wants to figure out how to get the hell home. 

“It’s not a bad point,” he says. “So if Charlie programmed the thing -” Willow opens her mouth like she really wants to interrupt, but Sam plows on, “- to bring us from a world that didn’t have an us, maybe that’s what made it glitch. It couldn’t bring anyone to us, so it brought us here instead.” 

“But why would it drop you with us?” Buffy asks. 

“You guys seem to be the ones who deal with the apocalypses around here,” Dean says, shrugging. 

“We are the local experts at the saving people and the hunting things,” Buffy agrees. 

Spike smirks. “Big damn heroes, is what we are.” 

Buffy shoots him a withering glare. “You are not included in this.” 

“But why split us up?” Sam muses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His headache has not improved in the slightest. When he looks up, Dean’s eyes are darting between Sam and Giles, who has his glasses off and is pinching his own nose in the exact same spot. 

“Wow, Sammy,” Dean says, an infuriating grin spreading over his face. 

“What?”  

Dean turns to Buffy. “So this whole Slayer thing. Kind of a birthright? Destiny?” 

She shrugs. “I guess so. There was this whole group of old British guys with sticks up their asses, but... ” 

Sam rolls his eyes, starting to see where Dean’s heading with this, and asks Buffy, “Ever died, by any chance?” 

“Twice, actually,” she replies, without batting an eye. She looks back and forth between them. “Wait, have either of you -” 

“Trust me, you don’t wanna know,” Dean says ruefully. “Sacrificed yourself to save someone, I’m guessing?” 

“That’s me, self-sacrificey girl,” Buffy says, matter-of-fact and borderline chipper. “Kind of my specialty. That and the quipping.” 

“Let me guess, you handle the research,” Sam says to Giles. 

“Well, yes, I suppose. Although I’m not exactly helpless in a fight. I do know a bit of magic as well.”  

Sam buries his face in his hands for a second. 

“So when the program couldn’t find a match for either of us, it sent us to… someone as much like us as it could find,” Dean says. 

Willow jumps in quickly. “What sort of computer -” 

“What was that about shrimp?” Dean asks at the same time. Everybody starts talking at once, and Sam sighs heavily. He almost rubs his forehead again, but he stops himself when he notices Giles doing the same thing.

***

Dean’s trying to explain the whole Chuck situation when he sees the distortion in the middle of the room, and he trails off in the middle of the sentence, watching anxiously as Charlie blurs in and out a few times before solidifying in front of them. 

“Okay, weird,” she blurts out, looking around wide-eyed and overwhelmed. 

“Holy fuck am I glad to see you,” Dean says fervently. 

“Right back atcha,” Charlie says. “Somebody want to tell me what the fuck is going on?” 

“Ooh, are you the one who beamed them up?” Willow asks excitedly. “Actually… you look weirdly familiar, have we met before?” 

Charlie blinks at her a few times, a smile spreading across her face, and shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Pretty sure I’d remember you.” 

“This is Charlie, she’s our resident computer genius,” Dean says, and they make the rounds of introductions yet again. 

Charlie gives everyone an awkward little wave. “Charlie. Um. I like LARPing, pretty women, and long walks on the beach.” 

Dean doesn’t miss the way Willow perks up at that, and he bites the inside of his cheek to hold back his laughter. 

“Hey, where’s Cas?” Charlie asks, finally tearing her eyes away from Willow long enough to look around the room, as if Cas might’ve hid behind the bookshelf when he arrived. 

Dean’s stomach sinks. “He came with you?”

“Yeah, we -” Charlie starts, but she’s interrupted by the door opening, and much to Dean’s relief, Cas is walking through it next to a frazzled-looking girl. 

“I’m hoping one of you can explain why this man materialized in my car?” the girl asks irritably. “As if parallel parking wasn’t hard enough without surprises.” 

“Hi to you too, Anya,” Buffy chirps. “Glad everybody could join us for what was supposed to be my relaxing day of solitude.” 

“I’m not a man, exactly,” Cas interjects. 

Anya tilts her head to the side inquisitively, glancing very blatantly down at Cas’s crotch for a second, and Dean snorts. 

“Would it be rude if I asked -” Anya starts. 

Giles answers before she can finish: “Yes, it undoubtedly would be.” 

“I’m an angel,” Cas says nonchalantly. 

“Judging by everyone’s faces, Anya’s not an angel, then?” Sam asks, looking between the two of them. 

“Only that one time, for Xander’s birthday,” Anya volunteers, and Xander splutters an incoherent protest. “But that was a sexy angel, not a real angel. I don’t think we have those here.”  

“She used to be a revenge demon,” Buffy explains. 

“Used to be?” Cas asks. 

“Oh, I’m human now,” Anya reassures him.

Spike adds, “Not that you’d know it, talking to her.” 

“Considering how primitive and strange humans are considered to be by most of the known universe, I wouldn’t say that’s a bad thing,” Cas says mildly. “Some of your customs are utterly incomprehensible to an outsider.” 

“That’s what I keep saying!” Anya exclaims. “I mean, how am I supposed to know exactly which reproductive habits are acceptable for public discussion?” 

“They do have some very arbitrary rules about appropriate behavior,” Cas says. Dean notices Sam and Giles rubbing their foreheads in tandem again. 

***

By the time they finish asking all their questions and comparing apocalypses, Sam’s actually kind of having fun, but he knows it’s time to get back to work. 

“You ready to get out of here?” he asks Dean, during the next lull in the conversation. Dean looks more than a little put out as he sneaks a glance at Buffy, but he shrugs. 

“Probably should. Charlie? Hey, Earth to Charlie.” 

Charlie looks pretty dazed as she turns to face them. “Hmm?” 

“We should probably get home,” Sam says apologetically. 

Charlie’s face falls. “Really?” 

Dean gives her a sympathetic look. “Worlds to save, and stuff. Still need to find a way to warn all those other Sams and Deans. Sorry, kiddo.” 

“Maybe you can come back sometime, if you… y’know, survive the apocalypse?” Willow says, with a hopeful smile. Charlie grins at her. 

“We also have places to be,” Anya says cheerfully. “Very important things to do.” 

“Subtle,” Xander mutters. They wave their goodbyes and head for the door, followed by a somewhat sulky-looking Spike. Then again, that might just be Spike’s face; Sam can’t really tell. 

Cas, Charlie, Sam, and Dean huddle in the middle of the living room, and Charlie says resignedly, “Strap yourselves in, I’m gonna make the jump to lightspeed.” 

“You don’t have to scan us again, do you?” Dean asks, eyeing the gadget with some mistrust. 

“Nope. We’re all saved in the system. Ready?” 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Dean says, with one last half-smile in Buffy’s direction. Charlie hits the button. 

Nothing happens. Charlie frowns and hits it again. 

“Charlie?” Sam says hesitantly. 

“No, obviously that’s not supposed to be happening,” she retorts. She fiddles with a couple knobs. “I think I know what it is, though. There are all sorts of parameters for, like, which Earth you’re coming from and which Earth you’re going to, and I think the weird glitchy thingy might’ve scrambled the algorithm.” 

Dean leans in to look. “Did you try hitting it?” 

“It’s quantum physics, Dean, you can’t just keymash until it works,” Charlie says, rolling her eyes and holding it away from him. “Unless you want to be stuck in shrimp-world or something.” 

“How long do you think it’ll take to fix it?” Sam asks. 

Charlie shrugs. “Could be a couple hours, could be a day or two.” 

“I could help you,” Willow offers. Charlie looks like Christmas came early. 

“You guys are welcome to stay, it’s no biggie,” Buffy offers. “Not like you’re the strangest thing that’s ended up in my living room.” 

“I’m flattered,” Dean says with a grin. 

Sam sighs, but he can think of worse worlds to be in for a day or two. At least they’re not surrounded by shrimp. 

***

“So this is what you do every night?” Dean asks, as Buffy hops the fence with zero visible effort. He might have actual hearts in his eyes. 

“Pretty much,” she says cheerfully. Dean follows her. He does okay, even if he doesn’t stick the landing like a Russian gymnast. 

Sam had stayed home, after some silent pleading in eyebrow-speak, so it’s just the two of them, and it’s nice, for a graveyard. There’s something about the idea of “patrolling” that Dean likes. He imagines coming here night after night, recognizing the mausoleums, getting familiar with all the paths. It sounds stable.

“Do you like it?” Dean asks. “The whole Slayer thing.” 

Buffy wrinkles her nose adorably at him. “I’m not sure like is the word I’d choose. What else would I do, though? Not like I could just walk away from it. I tried, once. The weird follows me wherever I go.” 

“Sorry, if you don’t want me to follow you any more I can just…” 

She laughs at that. Dean feels butterflies in his stomach, like he’s just a middle schooler with a crush. It’s been a minute since he put actual effort into flirting with somebody, beyond the easy one-liners. Dean fiddles with the stake she gave him, twirling it in his fingers, trying to keep an eye on his surroundings instead of just staring at Buffy. 

“Sometimes I wonder,” she says softly. “Y’know? Like, why me?” 

“You’re basically a superhero,” Dean says. She can probably tell how hard he’s geeking out about it. “That’s what heroes do.” 

“It’s not just that, though! Like… I was bored out of my mind trying to be normal.” 

Dean laughs. “Normal was a disaster.” 

“So even if the weird wasn’t following me, I’d go find the monsters myself. Who does that?” 

“Crazy people,” Dean agrees. “I can’t imagine doing anything else, though. Never gonna have a normal job, never gonna have a normal relationship, and yet.” 

“So you’re not - there’s no relationship?” she asks, exaggeratedly casual.  

“Nah.” Dean tries to hide his grin, and then he asks cautiously, “What’s up with you and Spike?” 

She stops dead, mouth open, staring at him. “Wait. Oh god. Please don’t tell me Faith is already running her mouth, I told her -” 

“No, it’s cool, I just… guessed, earlier,” Dean says sheepishly. “Don’t worry, I don’t think anybody else noticed.” 

Buffy makes a face and rolls her eyes, and they start walking again. “It’s complicated, the… thing with Spike. It’s definitely not a relationship though.” She stresses that last bit, and Dean really shouldn’t feel relieved, at that, but he does. 

“Isn’t it always complicated?” 

Buffy sighs. “There’s the whole undead creature of the night thing, for starters, which. Oddly enough, seems to be a type for me?” 

“Yeah?” 

Something must show on his face, because Buffy frowns. “Oh, Jesus, don’t tell me you’re some sort of demon too.” 

“Would that help my chances?” Dean asks wryly. “Cause I kinda used to be.” 

She stares for a second. “You’re joking, right?” 

“Really not.” 

There’s a moment where she’s clearly deciding whether she wants to go there, but then a familiar voice rings out behind them and interrupts: “Thought you were heading home, pretty boy.” 

Dean turns, grinning in spite of himself. “Change of plans.”  

“Lucky us,” Spike drawls. “Mind if I join you for a walk, pet?” 

“No,” Dean answers, just as Buffy lets out a resigned, “Kinda.”  

Spike catches up to them and slings an arm around Dean’s waist, pulling him against his side. Buffy lets out a huff, but she’s laughing too. 

“Are you really trying to make me jealous?” she asks Spike.  

“Is it working?” 

Dean disentangles himself and looks back and forth between the two of them. “Yeah, this is obviously healthy.” 

Buffy laughs, but Spike just retorts, “Like you would know a healthy attachment pattern if it bit you in the ass.” 

Dean considers protesting, but he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on there. 

“Guess it’s in the job description. Are we gonna go fight some monsters, or what?” 

“Yeah, let’s go find the monsters,” Buffy says, grinning at Dean. “That’s what heroes do, right?”  

***

Sam zones out of the discussion around the time Cas and Giles start talking comparative theology through the millennia. He slouches back on the couch and watches them fondly as Cas answers question after question. His eyelids feel heavy and he’s comfortable, and even though he knows he should take the opportunity to learn more about this totally new Earth, all he really wants to do is sit, and breathe, and rest. 

Cas and Giles end up heading back to Giles’s house for tea and… something about an old book of etchings? Sam can’t really follow Giles’s breathless, excited rambling. He waves them off, thinking that he might actually go to sleep early, for once. 

Sam goes to the kitchen, chugs a glass of water and then fills another, and he just stands there for a moment, one hip leaning against the counter as he looks around. It’s such a normal house. Even on their most domestic days, they’re still in a bunker. Must be nice to have a little bit of normalcy, no matter how crazy life gets. There’s faint music and the occasional giggle from upstairs, but otherwise, the house is quiet. 

Of course, just as he has that thought, the front door slams open and someone shouts, “Yo, B! Ready to go?” 

“She went out already,” Sam says, bemused. 

He gets an impression of red lips, dark hair, and leather as the girl closes the door behind herself, moving whirlwind-quick. She plants her feet (loudly, in big stompy combat boots) and crosses her arms, looking at Sam suspiciously. Neither of them move for a second.  

“I’m Faith,” she announces eventually. “Who the fuck are you, why the fuck are you in B’s kitchen, and where the fuck is she?” 

“Sam, and… it’s a long story. She’s out patrolling with my brother, they left about an hour ago.” 

Faith seems to make some sort of decision about him, and suspicion turns to mischief as she gives him a broad grin. “If your brother looks anything like you, can’t blame the girl for ditchin’ me.” 

Sam’s mouth twitches as he tries to hold back a smile, and he takes a sip of water to cover it. 

“Aww, you shy?” Faith teases. Her voice is low and raspy, kind of absurdly sexy, and she clearly knows it. “Must be one of those nice guys I’ve heard so much about.” 

Sam doesn’t answer. He watches Faith stalk toward him. 

She’s a fucking force of nature, Sam can already tell, all aggression and attitude as she comes at him with a challenge in her eyes. He doesn’t move when she gets up in his space, looking Sam up and down like she’s inspecting him. He has a feeling she’s used to people backing away before they let her get this close. 

“Sam, huh? What brings you to Sunnydale?” 

“Just passing through,” Sam says calmly. “What about you?” 

“How do you know I’m not from around here?” she asks, looking up at him coyly. 

Sam doesn’t dignify that with a response, just smirks and waits. She takes a step back and leans against the counter, mirroring his pose. Her eyes are sparkling. 

“Fair enough. I’m a Slayer, figured I’d stick around in Sunnydale and help B for a while. Always seems to be somethin’ around here that needs its ass kicked.” 

Sam cocks his head to the side, considering her. “So you fight vampires?” 

“And whatever else is askin’ for a fight,” she retorts. “Why, is your brother a vampire?” 

“What?” 

“Buffy’s got a type. A demonic kinda type, if you know what I’m sayin’. Don’t worry, I won’t stake him.” 

Sam laughs. Figures. “I wasn’t worried. Just curious if the superpowers are all they’re cracked up to be.” 

“You better believe it,” Faith says proudly. “Strength, speed… stamina.” She says the last with a sly, unsubtle smirk, watching Sam to gauge his reaction. 

“Show me,” he challenges. He doesn’t specify which one he means, and Faith raises one eyebrow. 

“Right here? I figured you’d be the candlelight and Al Green type.” 

Sam smiles. She’s not the first person to make that assumption. 

The first punch is light, and he lets her see it coming; she dodges it easily, without so much as blinking. Sam’s left hand snakes out, lightning-fast this time, and she sidesteps neatly, grabbing his wrist instead and holding his arm in place. She’s stronger than he expected, and she’s grinning like this is the most fun she’s had all week. 

“Sure about this? I wouldn’t want to hurt you,” she says, sugary-sweet. 

The next punch is in earnest. She blocks it, throws one of her own, and then it’s a blur for a moment, a flurry of blows one after another, none of them landing. Neither of them are moving their feet much, trapped in the narrow space between the counter and the kitchen table; they’re just testing each other. 

“Not bad,” Sam admits. 

“Right back atcha.” 

She takes a couple steps backward, out into the open space, and Sam follows, watching closely. This time she lets loose with a flashy spin-jump-kick thing like something out of a cheesy action movie, and Sam’s laughing as he ducks. 

“Points for style, but not for substance,” he teases. 

She comes back at him twice as hard and almost gets him this time, but then he snatches her wrists and slams her back against the wall with a thunk that’s a whole lot louder than he expected. They both wince and freeze. 

“Everything okay?” Willow yells from upstairs.

Charlie’s pissy voice adds, “Please don’t tell me that was a monster.” 

“Just tripped,” Sam shouts back. He looks down at Faith, taking a half-step closer so that there’s maybe an inch of space between their bodies. He’s still got her wrists pinned over her head. She’s definitely not trying to get away. He has a feeling she could, easily, if she wanted to. 

“Not so nice after all, then,” she purrs, looking up at him through her lashes. 

Sam shakes his head slightly. “Not so much. You giving up, then?” 

“Not a fuckin’ chance. Just thinkin’ maybe we should have the rematch back at my place. You know, in case you ‘trip’ again.” 

“Sounds like a good idea.” 

***

Probably good they only stayed for a day, Dean thinks, looking around the room. Nobody, from either world, looks particularly happy about the departure, but they’ve all said goodbye often enough that they don’t draw it out. Charlie gives Willow one last little wave, and then she hits the button. Everything goes fuzzy. 

It’s disorienting, for a moment, but the bunker comes into focus around them. After the dizziness has passed, Dean gives Charlie a wordless hug. 

“I’m gonna go read a book with pictures in it,” she says glumly, and shuffles away. “And eat ice cream.” 

“Research time, I guess,” Sam says. “Back to work.” 

Cas heads to the kitchen to make some coffee as Sam starts flipping through his notes. Dean settles down at the table and looks at the nearest book without really seeing it. He feels fucking off, almost sad, as if he could’ve possibly gotten attached to that other world in less than twenty-four hours. 

“That was… kinda a nice universe, right?” he says. “I dunno. There was something about it.” 

Sam gives him a knowing look. “Yeah.” 

“Ever wish we could just… stay somewhere else?” Dean says, and he can’t keep the bitter note out of his voice. “I mean, why do we keep coming back to this world? What’s so great about it?” 

“It’s ours,” Sam says, with a shrug. “I mean, the other one wasn’t our responsibility, you know? Of course it was nice, not having to worry, but… this one’s ours. Gotta take care of it.” 

Dean twirls a pencil between his fingers and wishes it was a stake. He smiles, slightly, as he remembers. 

That’s what heroes do. 

.

.

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a note here! 

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[damianwaynerocks]

Ghosts in Gotham

Danny Phantom / DC Comics

Dedicated To: @psychovigilantewrites​

Description: The Batfamily has been through their fair share of the supernatural. That’s why they originally weren’t worried whenever ghosts started showing up in Gotham City. Until one day, something happens; Batman is captured and taken into the Ghost Zone. With no way to go in there themselves, with no way to fight the ghosts inside, the bats decide to call the person who can; Danny Phantom. Together, Danny takes Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown and Damian Wayne into the Ghost Zone before the Batman is lost forever.

Word Count: 3523

Ch 1 Ch 2 Masterlist

Chapter 3:

_

Danny could deal with a lot.

He'd dealt with dying. He'd dealt with becoming a ghost. He'd dealt with ghosts trying to kill him. He'd dealt with finding out that his dad's best friend wasn't only a halfa like him, but that he wanted to get with his mom. He'd dealt with ghost prison. He'd dealt with finding out he'd been cloned. He'd dealt with finding a future in which everyone he loved was dead and he himself was evil. He'd even dealt with girls.

He thought he could deal with anything.

But being stuck a small space with Damian Wayne and Tim Drake?

He wasn't so sure he could deal with that.

"You incompetent creature, why on earth are you listening to a C-average oaf instead of me?"

"Because the 'oaf' has been here before. We haven't."

"I possessed more intelligence than you and Fenton combined whenever I was four years old, and I have memorized the Infi-map. I am completely capable of commanding this voyage."

Danny's eye twitched at the arguing. It was worse than he and Jasmine. "Does it ever end?" he asked Stephanie through gritted teeth. The blonde sighed.

"Damian feels like he has to prove that he's superior to Tim," she explained. "It's not my place to tell you exactly why, but it's true. And he knows exactly how to get under Tim's skin."

"So.. no?"

"No."

Danny groaned. "It's giving me a headache." He perked up as he saw the island in front of him. "Hey, guys," he said, "We're here."

They had reached the lair of Clockwork. Clockwork was the master of time and could see into any timeline and all of the possible outcomes. Danny had the idea of asking him if he could show them the moment in which Bruce Wayne had disappeared, in the hopes that they could see which ghost it was.

It was a long shot, but it was the only idea Danny could think of.

Tim and Damian had stopped their arguing, unbuckling their seat belts as Danny landed the Speeder on the grounds of the lair.

"So this guy can tell us who took Bruce?" Stephanie asked as she opened the door, stepping on to the ground. Danny nodded.

"Yeah. I can't promise he'll help, but it's our best bet."

The foursome walked towards the massive clocktower, Damian walking in step with Danny as he gripped his sword. Danny knocked on the door, and it opened with a creak.

"Hello, Danny," a voice said. "And hello, Bats." Clockwork floated down. He was a small ghost, purple in color with a darker purple cloak.

"Whaddup, Clockwork," Danny greeted. "Long time no see." He heard Stephanie laugh at the pun behind him and then heard her grunt as Damian elbowed her.

"It has not been long to me, Danny," Clockwork replied. His eyes drifted over the group. "What do you want?"

"I assume that you know, Time Master," Damian answered before Danny could open his mouth, stepping forward until he was right beside a swirling vortex, although his eyes remained on the ghost. "We are looking for my Father, and Phantom says you can help."

"Damian Wayne," Clockwork said curtly. "Son of Bruce Wayne and Talia al’ Ghul. I understand that you are worried about your father, but I would suggest you step back before you see something you don't want to."

Danny was surprised to see that Damian obeyed. He narrowed his eyes. Clockwork almost seemed... nervous? "What aren't you telling us?"

"You are indeed a smart boy," Clockwork chuckled, "I hope you also can deduce that you were not brought here on accident. I was originally going to go and tell you myself, however, I have seen that it would be better for you to have Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake and Damian Wayne at your side."

"What's wrong?"

"Something has happened," Clockwork turned around, clasping his hands behind on his back as he floated further off. "The Observants have underestimated your power," he turned back around, locking his gaze with Danny's. "The power you have not yet gained."

Danny's face paled. "You don't mean-"

"That is all I can say," the ghost interrupted. "Leave now. I have work to do. I have to stop a little boy with a powerful watch from destroying his timeline."

Danny, however, couldn't move. He was frozen, his eyes wide. There was no way. He was locked in a thermos, with no possible way for a ghost to escape.

Although, that ghost wasn't just any ghost.

"What do you mean by that?" Damian demanded. "Tell us more. Now."

Clockwork looked at the boy with humor in his eyes. "Mr. Wayne, you should not threaten me." He waved his hand. "Now go. You do not have much... time."

Danny shook his head and turned around, walking towards the exit in a trance-like state. With a glance at Clockwork, the others followed, with Damian at the rear. Before he could leave, Clockwork called his name.

"Damian, listen closely," he said, shifting into an older ghost as he spoke. "You will one day get an offer. It will be a tempting offer, one that you will not want to refuse," his eyes darkened. "Do not accept it."

Damian blinked, before strutting outside to follow the others, not responding to Clockwork's warning.

Tim, Stephanie, and Danny were already on the ship as Damian walked out. As he opened the door to step in, he tuned into the conversation.

"So, you're telling us that an evil version of you exists outside of time, and it has Bruce," Tim said slowly. Danny nodded.

"We call him Dark Danny. In the alternate timeline, he- or, I, I guess -watched our family die. He couldn't handle the pain and guilt, so he had Vlad Masters- bad guy, by the way, deck him if you ever see him at a rich-person party -turn him into a full ghost, getting rid of the human side completely. It drove him mad, and without his human side, he was the most powerful ghost in the Ghost Zone. He destroyed the world."

"How did you defeat him?" Damian asked, pulling a capri-sun out of his cooler as he listened. Danny ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't know. Dumb luck, honestly. I guess I have a power that he didn't get until years later, and it knocked him off his game so I could take him down." He grimaced. "I probably wouldn't have beat him if I hadn't surprised him. He took down all of the other ghosts in the Ghost Zone by that point,"

"He must've taken out the Justice League, too," Stephanie mused, crossing her arms. "You said you didn't see them anywhere, right? The only reason they wouldn't have been fighting him is if..." she trailed off.

"We can defeat him," Damian said, crushing the capri-sun in his hand as he finished. "If Phantom can defeat him, then with our help, we can, too."

"Yeah, but like I said, it was only because I surprised him," Danny pointed out.

"Then let's surprise him again," Tim said. He took out the Infi-map. "Danny, who's your worst enemy here? If we can get them to help, and that might knock Dark Danny off his game."

"Pariah Dark," Danny answered instantly. "But that's a terrible idea, trust me," he paused, thinking. "We do need backup, and I know of at least two who could help." He turned his body intangible before Tim could respond, and flew out of the Speeder. He landed in front of it, and putting both of his fingers in his mouth, he whistled. "Come here, Cujo!"

It took a few seconds, but a small green dog zipped in front of Danny, jumping in his arms and knocking him over. Danny smiled widely as he scratched behind Cujo's ears.

"Hey, little guy!" he laughed as the dog licked his face. "I missed you too! You down for an adventure?" Cujo barked, wagging his tail. "I'll take that as a yes," Danny said, phasing back into the Speeder.

"Guys," he said, setting the dog down. "I'd like you to meet Cujo, the best boy in the entire Ghost Zone."

Damian's eyes lit up behind his mask, kneeling down and hugging Cujo as the dog barreled into him, not paying attention as Tim spoke.

"Don't get me wrong, he's adorable, but he doesn't look like he can pack a punch," he said, watching the dog fondly.

"Trust me, he's a fighter," Danny assured him. Tim nodded.

"If you say so, but man, I wish I had a dog," He walked over to where Damian was, scratching Cujo's back. Damian scowled, pulling the dog closer.

"Get back, Drake, Cujo clearly prefers me over you."

"Damian, come on, you have so many pets and I don't have any-"

"You have Bart."

"Bart is not my pet-"

"He is the human version of an Australian Shepherd minus the intelligence-"

As the two bickered, Danny looked at Stephanie. "Damian likes animals?" Stephanie laughed.

"Oh you have no idea, he has a dog, a cat, a cow-"

"A cow?"

"His name is Bat-Cow!" Damian snapped from where he had begrudgingly let Tim hold the dog.

"I love everything about that," Danny laughed. "That's the best name." Damian looked at Tim with a smug look on his face.

"See, Drake? Bat-Cow is a great name."

"I never said it wasn't!"

Danny started to ask Stephanie a question before he heard a crash and the Speeder lurched to the side.

"We've been hit!" Tim yelled, jumping off of the floor and grabbing the Speeder's controls, trying to steady the craft. Danny merged out of the Speeder and narrowed his eyes as he saw the culprit.

A gray ghost in black armor with flaming hair sneered, his arm smoking from where he had shot the Speeder. "Whelp," he growled.

"Nice to see you too, Shorty!" Danny said in a mock-cheerful tone. "Here to kill me? Because you didn't have to shoot the ship, you could've just yelled 'I am Skulker, and you are my prey! Prepare to die!'" he lowered his voice as he imitated the bounty hunter. "And then I would say something witty back, and I would pound you into the ground."

"You aren't the only prey this time, Ghost Child." Skulker answered with a menacing grin.

"You after the Bats?" Danny asked with a raised eyebrow. "If you were trying to kill them, you did a crappy job of it. That blast didn't kill anyone."

"That's the point. I think it'd be fun to beat the proteges of Batman, so they need to be alive and able to fight." he pointed downwards, and Danny followed his gaze, before swooping down to follow.

Somehow, he hadn't noticed that the Speeder was plummeting down to the island below. While the Specter Speeder was durable enough to keep from dying on impact, he didn't want them to crash.

He hurled himself in front of the Speeder, and crossing his arms, made a force  field that surrounding the Speeder. Danny grunted at the exertion, gritting his teeth as he tried to keep the force field surrounding the heavy ship.

The ship still crashed with a loud bang, leaving a large crater around it, but the ship itself was intact. Danny dropped his arms and fell to his knees, exhausted.

The door opened, and his three companions stepped out. "Nice one!" Stephanie praised, and Danny gave her a thumbs-up as he tried to catch his breath. He felt somebody nudge his shoulder, and he saw Damian standing above him with a capri-sun in his hand.

"Drink this," he said, handing Danny the drink. "Do not waste it. I can destroy you."

"Thanks," Danny panted as he poked the straw into the pouch. Damian nodded stiffly.

"Hate to interrupt," Tim said, helping Danny to his feet. "But that that Iron Man wannabe is headed this way."

Danny finished his drink and threw it over his shoulder as his fists lit up with a green aura, ignoring Damian's huff of protest at the littering.

Skulker chuckled as he cracked his knuckles. "Well, look at that," he sneered, "Not a scratch on you! I'm impressed."

"You? Impressed? Who would've thought," Danny said, narrowing his eyes.

Tim pulled out a bo-staff, twirling it around as Damian unsheathed his sword. Stephanie moved to stand beside Danny as she gripped her eskrima sticks.

"Oh, you will soon be impressed yourself," Skulker said as his arms morphed into guns. "You see, I-" he was cut off with a grunt as Danny rushed forward and sent a strong right-hook into his face.

Skulker flew back a few yards before finding his feet again. He glared at Danny. "That was low even for you Ghost Boy. Interrupting me I monologue."

Danny shrugged. "What can I say? It’s the same reason why I’m failing Chemistry; I have a short attention span.” He grinned. "But he doesn't!"

While they had been talking, Damian had managed to get behind Skulker. He jumped into the air, drop-kicking the ghost, sending him to the ground with a thud. Danny picked Skulker up and gave him an uppercut, launching him into the sky.

Skulker shook his head, steadying himself, and shot a barrage of ectoblasts at the four heroes below. Danny made his body intangible while the others, used to being shot at, dodged the blasts with ease. Tim shot his grappling hook at Skulker, wrapping the cord around his leg and pulling him back to the ground.

Tim swung the cord, launching Skulker to the side where his body was met by two hits of Stephanie's eskrima sticks. Skulker merged through the cord and landed on the ground, his teeth grinding together in fury.

"Enough!" he shouted, and sent a shock wave from his arms that blew them back. "I am sick of your pathetic attempts at besting me, whelp! When will you learn that you cannot best the Ghost Hunter!"

"Uh, kind of hard to learn that after I've beaten you, like, every single time we've fought," Danny retorted, putting his hands on his hips with a smirk.

Skulker's eye twitched. "My employer said to bring you in alive, but I don't think he'd mind you all missing a few limbs." His arms morphed into missile launchers, and he held them out at the four.

"Phantom, you possess electrokinesis, correct?" Damian asked quietly, tensing his muscles. Danny nodded.

"Yeah." He met Damian's eyes and smirked as he realized what the younger boy had in mind.

Damian grabbed on to Danny's arm, and, turning them both intangible and invisible, Danny carried Damian into the air, right above Skulker. One of Danny's hands crackled with electricity, and the tip of his fingers brushed against Damian's sword. The blade lit up like a taser. Damian and Danny exchanged a glance and, using Danny's shoulder for leverage, Damian jumped, free-falling towards Skulker.

By the time Skulker saw Damian, it was too late. Damian jabbed his electrified sword into Skulker's armor.

"Oh, crud," Skulker muttered as his armor crackled with electricity, before short-circuiting and launching him into the sky and out of sight.

"Nice one, Damian!" Danny floated to the ground, a wide smile on his face. He raised his hand for a high five. "Up top!"

"Tt. The act of high-fiving is such a ridiculous notion," Damian muttered, but he smacked his hand against the other's anyways. "You did quite well yourself."

"That guy-" Tim popped his shoulder back into place, wincing. "-does not pass the vibe check."

Stephanie snorted. "That guy is the vibe check, Timbers."

Damian sheathed his sword. "I assume that we all have gathered that his employer was Dark Danny?" It was more a statement than a question.

"Oh, for sure," Danny said, before stumbling as Cujo barreled into him. Danny huffed as he lifted the dog to his face. "Where were you, big guy?"

"Are you sure this dog can help us take Future-You down?" Stephanie asked with a raised eyebrow. "A fat lot of help he just was."

"I think he was just sleeping," Danny said as he sat the dog down. "I promise he'll be useful."

"Ship looks pretty good, considering," Tim said from where he was looking at the Specter Speeder. "I think whatever he hit us with just killed the engine. It should start back up."

Danny frowned, a finger on his chin as he pondered aloud. "So if Future-Me has employed Skulker, then he's gotta be somewhere that Skulker has access to. His lair, maybe? But I doubt it. They'd need to be somewhere with some pretty high-tech stuff if they're keeping Batman hostage."

"Are there any technology-related ghosts?" Stephanie asked. Danny didn't answer at first as he watched Tim switch the Speeder on.

"Yes," Danny finally answered. "There is, but I doubt he knows who he's working for. Skulker probably doesn't know either." Danny paused, and the smallest hint of a smile ghosted across his face as another thought struck him. "And I bet Skulker's girlfriend knows even less than that."

_

"So you're tellin' me Skulker's working for Future You? Who took away my voice and my beauty?" A ghost with pink, flaming hair in a high ponytail asked. "Now why the heck would you do that for? I thought we were cool."

"We are. This guy is me from another timeline. He isn't me." Danny explained to Skulker's girlfriend. Ember McLain, the Ghost of Song, crossed her arms, her lips turning into a frown.

"No way he would work with someone who wronged me like that. He would never."

"He doesn't know," Tim spoke up. "He probably just offered him money, or whatever currency you use, in exchange for taking Danny and us."

The Infi-map had taken the four to Ember's lair. If anybody could convince Skulker to stop, Danny had reasoned, it would be her.

"With you, Skulker, Cujo and Wulf on our side, we can beat him," Danny said. "Seeing Skulker and I work together might trip him up," he paused. "You do want to beat this guy, right? I mean, he will end up destroying your voice." Even though Ember might not care about the human world being obliterated, she would definitely care about the same thing happening to her voice.

Stephanie and Damian had stayed in the Speeder with Damian. Stephanie's eyes were wide behind her cowl. "Damian, that's Ember McLain," she whispered. "Remember that song Remember from a couple of years ago? The one Jason wouldn't stop singing on patrol? She sang it! And she's a ghost!"

"Of course she is a supernatural being, Brown, I told you she had the voice of a siren," Damian whispered back.

"I'll talk to him," Ember agreed. "He'll listen to me. You guys go find Wulf, and we'll meet you at Technus' place."

"Great." Danny smiled. "Thanks, Ember. I owe you one."

"Well, I might just take you up on that sometime, Ghost Kid."

"So, Wulf," Tim began as the two walked back towards the ship. "He's like a werewolf? You said?"

"He isn't a werewolf, but he looks like what you'd expect a werewolf to look like," Danny explained. "He's a beast, literally and figuratively. And his claws can tear open a portal to our world, so once we get Batman, we can get out of the Ghost Zone fast."

"Great. Where is he?"

"That's the fun part," Danny replied as he got into the Specter Speeder. "We have to break him out of prison. And the people who own it do not like me.”

[marril96]

When in Rome...

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Your and Rowena’s moment of fun is ruined when an alternate world hunter starts making unreasonable demands.

A/N: Set after 13x21.

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian​

*****

Things were hectic at the bunker, and if it wasn't for your and Rowena's tiny, same-private space, you would have gone insane. The two of you settled on a pair of chairs by the library, invisible to the swarm of people around you. It was more for your benefit like hers; Rowena could handle herself amongst people just fine, having done so for almost four hundred years.

As an introvert, you were finding it difficult. There was too much noise, too many people. They were like ants, swarming you, surrounding you, technically harmless but not enough for you to let your guard down. They may not have wished you harm, but the majority of them were still hunters. As such, they couldn't be trusted. Just because Rowena had helped them didn't mean they posed no threat. The two of you were witches, and that was enough for them to want you dead.

You were supposed to be on your way home by now. With the rift taken care of and everyone back home and safe, you and Rowena had done your part. But there were still a few things the Winchester needed help with and Sam had asked Rowena to stay for a while longer. She agreed, and thus you were stuck. You weren't going to leave her here alone, the only witch in a sea of humans. Leaving her alone had gotten her brutally tortured and murdered by Lucifer the year before, and from then on the two of you had agreed to stick together as much as you could. Where one went, the other followed.

"You have to work on your pronunciation," Rowena said. You were having difficulty with a spell and had asked her to help you out. Anything to pass the time.

"Gaelic is hard," you said.

"It is," Rowena agreed, sympathetic. She was a great teacher, endlessly patient, quick to calm you down every time you got into one of your I-quit moods. "Would it help if I wrote down the phonetics for you?"

"Yes, please!"

She smiled. "Alright." You handed her the piece of paper the spell was written on. She took a pen from the coffee table and started scribbling on the back. "When we get home, we're starting Gaelic lessons again."

"Okay." You'd handled Latin just fine, but could never grasp Gaelic. It was a difficult language to learn. Pronouncing it was all but impossible. "There's a language school in town. Maybe I should sign up for Gaelic lessons."

Rowena looked at you, deadpan, serious. "Don't insult me."

You grinned, which prompted a smile to break free on her mouth. "Just kidding. You're a good teacher."

She raised an eyebrow. "Just good?"

"Great. Awesome. Gorgeous." Her face lit up; the way to Rowena's heart was through flattery. "Sexy. Lovely. Adorable."

"Adorable?" she questioned.

"Most adorable." You booped her nose, and she scrunched up her face, confirming your words. Adorable. Adorablest. Goodness, you loved her! "God, you're so precious!"

She playfully smacked your arm, cheeks flaming, red as her hair. "Am not."

You pouted. "Ow! No violence!"

"Then behave."

"So mean."

"That's right. I'm mean. Not adorable, and certainly not precious."

"Sure." Your tone was dripping with sarcasm. Rowena rolled her eyes with all the drama of a theater actress, a practiced, seasoned one. "Think I'll ever be as powerful as you?"

The thought came to you out of nowhere, though it wasn't the first time you'd pondered it. Rowena was a powerful witch. One of the most powerful witches in the world. Was it possible for you to acquire such power? Birth hadn't gifted you nearly half of it, but was it possible to amplify what you had? Was practice and studying enough? Or would you forever be a regular witch, no different than any other in the crowd?

You were okay with being ordinary, but it would be a lie to say you didn't aspire to be like Rowena. The woman could make gods fall to their knees, could make archangels tremble in their vessels. One word, and what she wanted was hers. Who wouldn't want to be like her?

Many witches would kill for a chance to study under her. You were dating her. All you had to do was ask, and all her knowledge, gathered through centuries of hardship, was yours.

You just needed skill to harness it.

"Aye," Rowena said without a moment's hesitation. Completely and utterly sure of her response, as if you'd asked if the sky was blue or if bees made honey. She just knew it, and she was certain of it, and it made your heart swell up with warmth. "You're a natural-born witch, just like me. You're skilled, and you work hard." A smirk grazed her lips. "You have a great teacher, after all. I don't see why you wouldn't be like me. Power is taken, not given. Remember that, dear. I was born with potential, just like you. It was up to me what I did with it, and I made the most with it because why wouldn't I? It was mine for the taking."

She made it sound so easy. So effortless. Want? Take. Have. The end. If only you were gifted with such confidence. If only you were so sure of your capabilities. You weren't a bad witch by any means, but your power was still raw. Untamed. You still struggled. In comparison to Rowena, you were a peasant.

To be fair, almost every witch was a peasant in comparison to her, but that didn't make you feel any better about yourself.

"You're really good at pep talks, you know that?" you joked, trying to lighten the glum mood that befell you. No use beating yourself up over something trivial. After all, it was just magic. Your magic, that worked perfectly fine the way it was. However much you wanted it, you didn't need limitless power. You weren't helpless; you could defend yourself if you were in need. You could fight. You could have fun. So what if you couldn't seek out and kill reapers? It didn't make you any less of a witch, no matter what your insecurities said.

"Shut up!" Rowena said, a traitorous giggle — one of the most adorable, precious sounds she could make — escaping her mouth.

"You should pursue it as a career," you teased.

It earned you a glare that had to have killed before. The kind that scared everyone but you because you knew her enough to know she was all bark and no bite. A yappy puppy that loved to put on an act in attempts to be tough, all the while melting into a puddle at the softest touch.

You pecked the tip of her nose and blew her a kiss as she shot you another glare. The corners of her mouth twitched; she kept it shut, lips a thin line, giggles begging for freedom that would never come.

"You know what my favorite spell is?" Your eyes wandered to a bookshelf across from you, right behind Rowena. You focused on the spine of a random book; a leather-bound one, with neat writing and intricate lines trailing around the letters. As old as you and Rowena combined, possibly older. Beautiful in that way old, well-loved books were. Your hands rose up in the air, palms open, and you said, "Liber."

Magic stirred within you, a warm, comforting rush of delight, and the book shot out from the shelf, straight into your waiting hands. Your mouth dissolved into a grin as you clutched the book to your chest, heart brimming with pride, with wonder. No matter how many times you performed the same spell, it never ceased to amaze you.

"Lazy-arse," Rowena commented.

You shrugged. "Why should I get up when I can just say the word — Liber—" you glanced at another book, and it, too, jumped into your hands "—and voila! It's here."

Rowena shook her head. "I should have never taught you that spell."

"Hey!" you protested. "I'm a practical girl."

"You're a lazy girl."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

She sighed, shaking her head.

"It's fun and you know it! Liber!" This time it was a journal, written almost a century ago by some Man of Letters. You set it on your lap, atop the other two books. Rowena couldn't help it — she chuckled, and you shot her a smug glance. "Told ya."

"It's not—"

"Could you stop?"

The two of you looked up, startled by the unknown voice. A man was staring at you. He was tall, hair a scruffy brown, clothes hanging on him like curtains — Sam and Dean's borrowed flannel, too big for his skinny frame.

Rowena frowned. "Beg pardon?"

"Could you stop doing magic?" His voice was strained. Politeness as fake as the smile he was trying to put on. "Please."

"We're not doing anything bad," you said, baffled by the request. Unsure how to approach it. "We're just having fun."

He swallowed. Cleared his throat. Swallowed again. "Could you please not do it?"

Why did that please sound so accusatory? So insulting? As if he wanted to call you a bad word and opted for a pleasantry instead, hoping you wouldn't notice.

"Why should we not?" Rowena asked, daring him to shed the mask and say exactly what was on his mind. Challenging him the way she always did, never one to back down.

"It's making me uncomfortable," the man said.

Rowena raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"We're not doing anything to you," you said. You didn't even know his name. Up until now, you'd never seen him before in your life. Plenty of people had rushed in through the gate; you were more focused on Rowena, tired, at the end of her strengths, than the swarms of strangers bursting in through the rift.

"I don't like magic."

The man's cheeks flushed, a faint tint of shame staining them red. It was hard to believe he had any shame, saying things like that. For all you knew, it was as fake as everything else about him.

"Or witches." Instantly, pulling on a ridiculous smile, he added, "No offense."

People always said that, as if the phrase somehow made the blatantly offensive thing less offensive. As if it made it okay just because someone said (and lied through their teeth) they didn't mean it.

You stared at him, flabbergasted. Rowena's face was the picture of offense, but there was a flicker of amusement in the small smile on her mouth. She'd heard it all before. All the worst insults, she knew by heart. Nothing surprised her anymore. The audacity of the man, though, made her want to curse him right then and there (you could see it in her eyes, the desire to let her magic roam free, to unleash it upon him), but she kept herself in check. No need to make a scene — yet — over an insolent man.

"I don't mind you… doing whatever it is you do," he said. "Just, please, don't do it in front of me."

"Then don't look," Rowena said simply.

He tilted his head. "What?"

"If our magic bothers you so much, don't look at it. Surely you are able to look away?"

A nervous smile. "In my world, witches—" the word was spat out as if it were dirty, foul "—don't hang around hunters. And they don't use their magic around us, if they know what's good for them."

Was that a threat?

"This isn't your world, is it?" Rowena said, cold as ice. Tone a thinly-veiled threat.

"I'm just saying I'm not used to seeing magic being used so openly," the man said with an innocent shrug.

You couldn't resist a retort. "And we're not used to being threatened so openly." Two could play this game.

"I'm not threatening you."

"Yes, you are." You weren't going to back down, either. Rowena had taught you well. Alone, you would have cowered, maybe ran away, but with her there, you had nothing to fear. She wouldn't let anything happen to you. She wouldn't let a stranger — an ungrateful hunter — lay a finger on you. "Leave us alone."

He held up his hands, a feigned surrender. "I'm not doing anything to you. I just want you to stop using magic around me."

Looking him straight in the eyes, you held out a hand to your side and exclaimed, "Liber!" The book — a random paperback — flew perfectly into your palm. Not taking your eyes off the man, you laid it on the others in your lap. Does this bother you? your gaze said. Challenged. Dared. Does it make you uncomfortable?

It apparently did for he shifted his feet awkwardly and took a large breath. "Please, don't do that. I don't want you any harm. I just don't want to be around magic."

"You're the one who approached us," you pointed out.

A gulp. "Like I said, in my world—"

Rowena cut him off. "Shall we find you a way to go back?"

He stared, baffled. "What?"

"You seem to miss your world. Would you like us to help you go back?"

"Wha-that's not what I'm saying!"

"Witches fear you in your world, do they not? Isn't that what you want?"

"I don't… that's not what this is about. I don't want you to fear me!" The tone of his voice, his demeanor, the flicker in his eyes said otherwise. "Just stop using magic! How hard is that?"

"You didn't mind our magic when it kept the rift open for you and your people to come here," you said. "Maybe we should've let it close and left you in that war-torn shithole."

A vein on his forehead popped, face flushing an angry red. "I didn't ask for your help!"

"Why'd you come here, then? You could've stayed home. No magic there."

"You don't know what it's like to see everything you've ever known destroyed. The people you grew up with dead. Your home shattered to pieces."

"Sounds horrible." It truly did. "Seems you're better off here. With witches."

"I'm not used to your kind."

"Get used to us, then."

"Your kind is unnatural." He spat it as if it were filth.

There we go. "So you do have a problem with witches." Surprise, surprise.

"I don't want you here," he said. As if his opinion held weight. As if he had any say in the matter.

You couldn't hold back a laugh. "Sam and Dean are our friends." Acquaintances? Allies? Who was counting anymore? "We've been here long before you. If that bothers you, why don't you leave? You're living here for free. You're wearing Sam and Dean's clothes and eating their food. You don't get to make any demands."

"Who are you to talk to me like that?" he spat. "You're just a witch!"

"And you're an ungrateful bastard!"

"Watch your mouth!"

"Or what?" Rowena said. "What are you going to do, boy?"

The hunter leaned in as if to whisper a secret. "Sam and Dean won't always be around."

"That's right," Rowena told him, looking him straight in the eyes. Making her own threat clear. "They won't."

He laughed. "You're pretty feisty for a witch. Knew a few of them just like you. At the end, they were all begging for mercy."

"I don't beg."

"Yet."

"Leave us alone!" you shouted, purposely loud, having had enough of this. You'd agreed to stay on Sam's behest, but you'd never signed up to be harassed. You weren't going to let some lowly hunter threaten you.

All the chatter in the Bunker instantly stopped. Heads turned your way. Eyes observed you, curious, confused. The hunter froze at the sudden attention, caught off guard.

"Is everything okay?" Sam asked, walking over.

"This guy's threatening us," you said.

"What?" He eyed the hunter, who put his hands up.

"She's lying."

"She is not," Rowena said. "This nit won't leave us be."

"Is that true?" Sam asked him.

The hunter sighed. "They were using magic. I just told them to knock it off."

"We were just having fun," you said.

"And I told you I don't want you to use magic around me!"

"It was a simple bloody spell to pick up books!" Rowena snapped. "We weren't hexing anyone!"

Sam looked from the two of you over to him. "What's the problem?"

"The problem is, they're witches!" the hunter said. "How can you let them into your house?"

"They're friends," Sam said defensively.

"They're witches." His face twisted with disgust. "And they were using magic. Doesn't that bother you?"

"No. They weren't doing anything wrong."

"Their entire existence is wrong."

"Fuck you!" you spat.

"Okay," Sam said, holding up his hands. "Okay, let's all calm down."

It was easy for him to say. He wasn't the one being insulted.

"I want them gone," the hunter said.

Sam turned to him. "They're not going anywhere. Like I said, they're friends, and we need them."

"I don't need them."

"That's fine, but this is Dean and I's home. They're welcome here." He pointed up the stairs. "If you don't like it, there's the door."

Warmth swelled in your chest. Rowena smirked victoriously.

The hunter was flabbergasted. "Are you seriously siding with witches over a hunter?"

"Yeah," Sam said without a flicker of a doubt. "I am. They've helped us a lot. If it weren't for them, the rift would have closed and none of us would be here right now. I understand your reservations, but they're not bad people."

"You're crazy! This world is crazy!" Sam shrugged. The hunter rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself. I'm not hanging around witches."

He slid up the stairs and slammed the door on his way out so hard the walls shook. You sighed in relief. Good riddance.

"What was that all about?" Dean asked, emerging from the kitchen with a sandwich in his hands.

"One of the other world guys didn't like our rules," Sam said.

"Sucks to be him," Dean commented, took a bite out of his sandwich, and went back to the kitchen.

"You guys okay?" Sam asked.

"Aye," Rowena said. "A wee hunter doesn't scare us."

"Sorry about that. Most of the guys are really nice. I swear, this won't happen again."

You sure hoped so.

"Don't worry about us, Samuel. We're big girls."

You nodded, though it felt nice to know the Winchesters — for once in your life— were completely on your side.

"You're always welcome here," he said.

"We know," Rowena said. "Do you happen to have any more of that scotch from last night?"

Sam laughed. "Sure. I'll get you some."

"It would be much appreciated."

You quirked up an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

She shrugged. "That nincompoop exhausted me. I need a drink."

You supposed that was fair. Maybe you could snag a glass as well.

And, hopefully, you could head home soon.

As welcoming as the Winchesters were, there was no place like home.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie​ @oswinthestrange​ @songofthecagedmoose​ @apurdyfulmind​ @getthesalt-sam​ @metallihca​ @salembitchtrials @jay-eris​ @hellsmother​ @elizabeth-effie​ @shadowgirl-vsb​ @rowenaswife​ @wonderifshelikesroses​ @xfireandsin​ @liddell-alien​ @hotdiggitydammit​ @lae-lae​ @darkhumorsblog​ @angel7376​ @cherrypierowena​ @evil-regal-vampiress​ @collectorofsecretsandsouls​ @angel-e-v-a​ @a-queen-and-her-throne​ @carryon-doctor-lock​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @rowenaslilwitch​ @midnight-lestrange​

[bssaz97]

Post RWBY AU: Training Pains Part 1

* I decided to make another post in this AU as I’m captivated by it at the moment. Hope you guys will like more of Rowan.*

There was a time in everyone��s life where all their hard work was rewarded with either victory, accomplishment, or satisfaction.

...Today wasn’t one of those days.

- Signal Academy, Training Room -

Rowan: Aaaahh! Oof!

Rowan was thrown across the stage and landed on the ring’s wall. A buzzer goes off signaling the end of a sparring match. A match Rowan lost.....again. With a grunt the young red head got up off the floor and picked up his practice scythe. The instructor, a older woman in her mid 60s with graying black hair. She walks to the center stage with a clip board and a smile on her face.

Mrs. Hutchison: Very good. Another excellent match for you Peri, you saw your opponent’s openings and you made swift advantage of them.

Peri: Thank you mam.

The young boy named Peri, who welded dual swords sheathed his weapon with a smile. When he looks at Rowan his friendly smile was replaced with a smug grin. This was his third match with Peri and boy did his fellow classmate loved holding that over his head. Like it was an accomplishment for him.

In front of instructors, Peri was an obedient and excelling student, but when they weren’t watching his personality changed and he had the tendency to act like a...what was that word Mr. Whitley would call people who are arrogant and rude...‘duckhead?’ Yeah something like that. Anyway, Peri was one of the top students in the class and had won five fights in the first month of his first year, three of which were against him. Peri made it a point to hold that over his head and call him a ‘second rate’ fighter and a huntsman wannabe. Well he wasn’t wrong about his fighting ability.

Rowan was not a bad student academically or physically during his first month at Signal, but he was ashamed to admit that he was...‘trash’ with a scythe. Rowan only wanted to be like his mom and started to train with a scythe but while training with her was good, it became apparent that he was not as making any progress with her teachings. What made today worse was that his aunt was overseeing the match from the back of the class. Something about being there for moral support but he had the suspicion that she had an alternative motive. Especially since she’s been eyeing Peri after he did a certain maneuver that flips him on his back.

Mrs. Hutchison: Rowan, Mr. Rowan!

Rowan: Huh?

Class:(Starts uproariously laughing)

Mrs. Hutchison: Well Rowan, have you been paying attention to what I was saying you would have heard that while you are an a quick to your feet against your opponent, you are lack skill in landing a hit on your opponent. Also your scythe technique is...less to be desired. I would suggest that you either spend time after school in the training room or change to another weapon choice.

Rowan: Thank you mam.

*Riiiiinnnnggg*

Mrs. Hutchison: Alright children remember that your other classes will begin their first exams in two weeks so it’s advisable to study for them. You’re all dismissed. Well, except you Mr. Rowan I need to have a brief word with you and your aunt in my office, if you would please. Your mother will also be here shortly.

Rowan: ....Yes mam.

- Mrs. Hutchison’s Office -

Ruby walks into the office of the older teacher and sees her sister and son there waiting for her to arrive.

Mrs. Hutchison: Ah Miss Rose thank you for coming it is a pleasure for you to join us today.

Ruby: Thank you Mrs. Hutchison, it’s good to see you too. Wish it was during different circumstances though. You said you had something to speak to me about Rowan’s performance in combat class?

Mrs. Hutchison: Yes, I’m afraid it’s not good news. You see Rowan here has lost three matches in the first month of the class since he started. While he is academically excelling in the lecture side of this class, I’m afraid that if he loses another match, he could be at risk of failing my class.

Ruby/Yang: What?!

Ruby: But I thought the total number of lost matches for a student to fail was five. There must be a mistake.

Mrs. Hutchison: I wish there was, and you are correct that the original number was five while you two were students was five. But the school changed that rule when the council amended new regulations to the combat school curriculum. Unfortunately, the changes that came saw fit to create more effective hunters by lessening the number of loss matches from five to three.

Yang: Create more eff-they want to make better hunters by increasing the chances of failing. That’s stupid!

Mrs. Hutchison: I agree, I tried to have Signal request a appeal for the amendment to be revoked or at least changed but I was out voted. I’ll be honest with you ladies, I don’t want to do this to your son, he is a very sweet boy, very honest and hardworking. However, if Rowan does not improve in his combat class it could cost him his grade for the first year.

Both Ruby and Yang look at each other, showing much concern about the situation. They would have to think of something if they wanted to help Rowan get through the first year.

Yang: When will his next match be?

Mrs. Hutchison: ...two weeks.

Ruby/Yang: *thinking* ‘Shit...’

- Rose Household -

Yang had given her scroll to Ruby to look at the footage she took from the fight and both watched how the fight went down. Ruby wanted to be supportive of her son in all things that he did, but this was particularly difficult to watch. Her maternal instincts were telling her that she should have prepared Rowan better from his training with her and Yang. However, her huntress side was critiquing on how her son had missed many of his attempted strikes and was lugging his practice scythe all over the arena. Eventually she reaches the end of the video, Ruby gives Yang back her scroll and presses her finger tips together to gather her thoughts.

Ruby: ......I didn’t want to believe it but she’s right. Rowan’s fighting skills are not up to par.

Yang: Yeah, I don’t even think you had it this bad when you first started.

Ruby: Yeah....Hey!

Yang: Ruby if anything that was a compliment. I’m looking at this and I can already tell that Rowan’s getting his ass whooped every match. Especially with that Peri kid. He’s not great, but with Rowan’s fighting it makes him look good.

Ruby: Oh my poor baby, he’s probably feels so discouraged right now. But I don’t know how to help him, I’m doing everything that Qrow taught me when I was doing badly but it doesn’t seem the training is transferring as smoothly to him as it did me. What could I be doing wrong?~ (Places head in her arms on the table)

Yang: Look I know this might not be something you want to hear but, maybe we should get an outside opinion.

Ruby: What? What do you mean?

Yang: Well, what I’m saying is that maybe the reason he’s struggling so hard is because ...we’re going soft on him.

Ruby: Wait, are you saying that the reason Rowan is losing his fights is because we’re too soft in training? That’s ridiculous!

Yang: Look Sis, I don’t want to admit it, but I have seen how you’ve been training him. I can assure you that you are not going as tough as you should be.

Ruby: That’s.....ok maybe I have been taking it easy on him but it’s only his first month. I didn’t know I’d be setting him back this much. Oh, maybe you’re right, we should get a outside opinion.

Yang: And I know just who to call!

*3 hours later*

Whitley: ....Yeah the kid sucks. (Gives Yang back her Scroll)

Ruby: You could have sugarcoat it a little.

Whitley: I was sugarcoating it.

Ruby: Oh...

Whitley: Look I’m just going to provide my honest opinion. I think you’re not pushing him as hard as I think you should be. It doesn’t mean that Rowan is a lost cause or that you are entirely at fault. It’s still early in his training so he can get caught up still. Speaking of Rowan where’s he now?

Yang: Oh he’s doing his training exceeises.

Whitley: Show me.

Yang: Ok, follow me Shrimp boy.

Whitley: I’m over 30 and you’re still calling me that.

Yang:(Singsong) And I’m not planning to stop.~

Whitley: Sometimes I think she’s doing that on purpose to rile me up.

Ruby: Why don’t you tell her to stop if it bothers you so much?

Whitley: You and I both know that by doing that it would acknowledge she is winning, I refuse to give her the satisfaction.

Ruby:(Places hand on his shoulder) Truly you are a brave soul.

Whitley: Don’t patronize me. Now come on let’s fix the mess you made.

Ruby: Hey! I’ll have you know that my training is not that bad. It ensures that Rowan gets the training he needs and he’s safe while doing so.

Whitley: Oh this’ll be good to see.

*Five Minutes Later. Outside of Rose House*

Whitley: I was wrong. This is so much worse than I thought.

Yang: It’s not... that bad.

Whitley: Yang please don’t try to sugarcoat this....mess. I mean come on, what is he even wearing?!

Before the three of them was Rowan who was wearing his ‘training armor’. Said training armor consists of a football helmet, a chest protector, shin guards, hockey gloves, and finally multiple pillows for extra protection. His practice scythe being made of wood with styrofoam on the edge. The only way one could tell it was Rowan wearing the gear was the silver eyes peeking out of the protective visor.

Ruby: I personally don’t see what’s wrong with anything here.

Whitley: You-You can’t be serious Ruby. How can you not see what’s wrong here. I can see now why he’s having such a hard time with combat class, it’s because your training the poor kid like this!

Yang: Whitley...

Whitley: Alright look, sorry for the blunt criticism, but there will need to be serious changes to the boy’s training routine. That means no more ‘training armor’.

Ruby: What?! But he’ll be vulnerable without the armor.

Whitley: He’s vulnerable with the armor on! Look, Rowan do a turn around for me.

Rowan: Ok...just give me a minute...eh! (Rowan waddles around but he eventually gets to turning in the span of 20 seconds)

Ruby: ...Ok I think I see what you mean. (Looks down dejected)

Whitley: ‘Sigh’ Look Ruby, you want your son to pass right.

Ruby: Of course I do.

Whitley: Then the first thing you do is to stop treating him as a child and as a young hunter who needs training to survive.

Ruby: Ok, that’s a start. Any other advice.

Whitley: Yeah, maybe change his weapon. I get the feeling a scythe is not the best weapon choice for him.

Ruby:(Dead Stare)...Excuse me.

Whitley: Ok hear me out first, I think some of the problems that we’re having here is not just due to having poor training......What I’m saying is that he sucks at using a scythe in general. I mean.....like a lot.

Ruby: ... I’m giving you a five second head start. (Cocks Crescent Rose)

Whitley: Oh fuck me. (Starts to run like mad)

Rowan: Mr. Whitley where you-?

Whitley: CAN’T TALK GOTTA RUN! (Running past him)

Ruby: RRRAAAAAAHHHHH!!! (Chasing after Whitley)

Rowan: ...Are they gonna be ok?

Yang:(Walks up to her nephew and rubs his helmet) Don’t worry kiddo they’ll be fine. Your mom just needs to let out some steam on Shrimp Boy.

Rowan: Oh... you mean like how you say you’re gonna go let out some steam when you and Mr. Whitley go to town and don’t come back until the next night?

Yang:(Blushes) Um... No that’s, uh, that’s different. What I mean is your Mom and Whitley just need to fight it out.

Rowan: Oh... what’s the diff-?

Yang: When you’re older, Rowan.

Whitley: WHY ARE YOU BITING ME!!!

Ruby: TAKE IT BACK!!!

Whitley: GET OFF ME!!!

Ruby: NOT UNTIL YOU SUFFER!!!

-End of Part 1-

A/N: Made a few edits.

[deviant3lover]

Hopeless Garou is my fave Garou. Imagine Badd (or whoever you ship him with) flirt with him, but with terrible cheesy line. Other people around will be like rolling their eyes or pitying them internally 'coz nobody will fall for such a trick these days, ESPECIALLY NOT the ex Hero Hunter himself. But then Garou is totally flustered and people just go "WTF?!".

Continuation from previous ask. Sorry had to make it two parts. Alternate scenario where Garou is still totally flustered but try to flirt back with even more terrible line. If he manage to make a sentence that is.HAHA YESSS. I LOVE IT WHEN PEOPLE DESCRIBE GOOD VISUALS. THIS IS GREAT, ANON!!

And don’t be sorry! I have the bad habit of sending long, long asks myself. Just see some of the old asks I sent to Raya and you’ll see. Especially the soulmate one. Whew. Sorry about that, @rayadraws!

Thanks for waiting for this one to be answered, Anon! I worked a little too hard on it, and I’m not sure if I’m all too happy with how the fic turned out, but here you go!

(Putting this under Read More because again, I have the tendency to go on a tangent lmao-)

Garou can recover from basic corny pick up lines with relative ease once he gets used to them. But it’s the real intimate AND corny ones that get him to be the flustered wolfboy that ties his tongue together, his wittiness coming to a halt.

“I’m fighting the urge to make you the happiest man on earth tonight.”

The low, breathy, intimate lilt to their voice as they say that to him? Whispering it into his ear to make sure nobody knows what they’re saying? To make sure that their words are meant for him and no one else? That they mean it, and that this isn’t a prank?

Imagine that when they’re in private. Garou would try and bark out a laugh and taunting remark to cover up how flustered he is. But if they kept going, kept smooth talking him, tell him how much they loved him…

God knows how red Garou’s face would be. That bravado would slowly break apart until you have Garou hesitantly, but not unwillingly, be quietly more submissive. You order him to cuddle you? He’ll let out a half hearted huff, eyebrows furrowed down, eyes not looking at you, and nuzzles into your hand. Praise normally feeds into his ego, but heartfelt whispers about how sweet he is, how handsome he is, how he’s such a good boy?

Garou pretends that they’re cheesy lines that makes him groan in exasperation and tells them to stop, just like any other guy who hates corny stuff. But only part of it is true. One of the reasons he hated them was because they reminded him how alone and alienated he was from the status quo- he never particularly wanted a relationship himself, but with the way that the people around him kept cooing over their loved ones, a part of him knew that he was never particularly liked enough to have a sweetheart if he wanted a relationship. It’s just one of those things that made him bitter about what the popular can have but the hated cannot.

He’s witty enough to respond to cheesy lines over time, but the ones that really get him are intimate ones whispered only to him. Those ones aren’t challenges or playful teasing, but ones that cherish him.

Garou can act like the tough guy all he wants, but he’ll turn away so they don’t see his face. Way too embarrassing. ;3

(Audio CD’s are his guilty pleasure huehuehue-)

“Hey baby, I lost my number, can I get yours?”

Garou freezes, whirls around and sees a cute teen around his age asking for his number. Garou has a bit of a blush on his face, but it’s only a bit. Hell, no one hit on him before, so that must mean the lovesick sap meant that for someone else.

Garou turns around and keeps walking, scoffing to himself. Probably for one of the people in front of him.

“You don’t want my number, hero hunter?”

Garou chokes on his words and turns around again, the same guy/girl looking at him with a bit of a mischievous glint in their eyes, laced with a bit of confusion at him leaving.

Garou furrows his brow and slowly walks over to them, the visual not unlike a wary stray dog coming over to greet a human offering food.He stops right in front of them, glowering. “Look, you. I don’t know who put you up to this, but you’re messing with the wrong guy. Do you know who I am, dumbass?”

The offender just smiles, and takes a step forward. Garou’s glare intensified as a result of him not wanting to take a step back in response, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little wary of the look that they’re giving him. Scowls, glares, empty looks hiding disgust or rage, fear stricken eyes, he’s seen them all in his hero hunting career.

There’s no trace of it here. He can’t bargain to get them to leave him alone when they aren’t afraid of him or when they don’t want to capture him for some sweet, sweet cash.

He’s out of his element, but he’s survived worse, didn’t he? He can take out a squad of heroes while severely injured- he sure as hell can adapt and learn from a new threat.

The teen laces their hands together behind their back, and Garou’s eyes flick to them. Their clothing didn’t exactly have any pockets, and on this warm day, the material was pretty thin. The weapon they’d be hiding would be thin and all too easy to block or dodge. If they knew who he was, odds are that it’s going to be poisoned. Something powerful enough to kill him.

But they didn’t pull out a weapon. Nothing up their sleeves or from their pants.Their hands just laced together and their posture relaxed into a more coy demeanor. Garou’s eyes flicked back to their face, and holy-

“Everyone knows your name, Garou. But I want to be the only one who knows how you scream mine in bed.”

“WHA-“

Garou hisses in shocked mortification and bolts from them for a good foot or two. They were in a public space god damn it! There were only a few people around, but even they were starting to stare and whisper to each other. That little outburst got him more than a gasp from their ‘audience.’

Wait a fucking second.

Garou’s shock twisted into a hatred. No wonder they were acting so cutesy.“Real fucking classy, amateur. You think you’d have the balls and the wits to humiliate me in front of your fans?”

The teen’s eyebrows shot up to their forehead. Suddenly, the recognition sets in as they look to their sides, a few housewives whispering to each other in their doorways, quickly looking away when they catch them.

But none of it registers to Garou. The hatred- the self hatred- boils under his skin and wrenches his heart as an ugly feeling washes over him.

—

Memories of being torn down and humiliated as a kid- a girl who was the leader of her group laughing after revealing that her confession was a lie, her friends capturing it all on video. Memories of angry tears running down his face when they mock him for being such a sissy for blushing and smiling the way he did, and giving a heartfelt thanks for the beautiful bouquet of flowers she gave him.

The same one that was snatched from him and given to her boyfriend, who walked into the room upon her giving the cue. Taller, older, and playing for the school’s football team. A smug smile was the last thing Garou saw from her before a swift punch to his face from her boyfriend knocked his gaze to the floor, the aching, bruising feeling, the iron taste on his tongue, the loose tooth waggling from its place- it was all too much. He ran away from the little birthday ‘party’ he was invited to, the video and its views online acting as her sick present.

He didn’t bother coming to school that day. Tacchan would’ve seen it too.

—

But the H.A. was after his ass, and they’d do anything to pin any blame on his name for any sort of crime- misdemeanor or not.

He spat at the person’s feet and stalked away into the crowd, not noticing the apology on the tip of their tongue, the sorry look on their face, as he bit out some sweet, parting words:

“Piss off.”

——

Oh god, I really went into a tangent there didn’t I? And on an unhappy ending at that! I could’ve kept on going, but then I would have never finished it. ^^;; Anyway, hope you enjoyed~ :3

[womanoflettersinthebunker]

Dean started to lead them back to the bunker. They got onto a road and street and Dean hotwired the first car he saw for them. Sam stayed by his side the entire time, despite the look on his face that he was about to bolt at any second. 

The sun was slowly rising as they drove, just hours ago it had been dying and there it was again, strong and warm. Dean couldn’t help himself from reaching out to take Sam's hand in his. 

It took Sam a moment but then he gripped back. 

The kid wasn’t just fresh from dead, he was still from his own time where he couldn’t handle what he was feeling and as a result internalized everything until it overcame and destroyed him. 

Dean had something Sam hadn’t, time. He had time with his emotions and desires and worst of all, he had time alone. Alone in the world without the brother he loved so damn much. 

Sam had no time to get over his internalized shame. Dean had the time to destroy it with his mourning. 

He tightened his grip on Sam's hand, almost afraid to let go. Sam wasn’t looking at him, he was looking out the window in wonder as the world woke up, but he held onto Deans hand tighter. 

Dean drove them to the first thrift store he could remember that was in Lebanon. Thankfully it opened early in the morning and they were able to go in. Dean didn’t want to leave Sams side, all but reaching out and holding onto his arm as they walked. He barely restrained himself from doing so and just settled for trailing closely next to him as Sam moved over the racks. 

The first thing they got him was a pair of sneakers, Sam had been in the middle of a growth spurt when he had killed himself, and Dean remembered how much Sam would grumble either in pain or annoyance when none of his clothes fit anymore. 

Dean grabbed them a pair of sneakers and socks which Sam gratefully put on, flexing his feet for a moment. They quickly gathered him a small selection of various other clothes, he pulled the jacket on immediately, and bought everything. 

They drove the rest of the way to the bunker and parked the car in the garage, not getting out yet as Sam looked around. 

“You live here? In a bunker?” Sam asked, turning his body to face Dean who had reached out to take his hand once more. 

“Yeah, its underground and everything.” Dean told him, entwining their fingers together. “It's actually from our grandfather, he belonged to a thing called the Men of Letters and he time traveled to escape a demon. Ended up dying by the demon but gave me the key to the place.”

Sam looked dubious but didn’t say anything about that absolute insanity. “Guess it makes about as much sense as being brought back to life by God's sister.” he finally said. 

Dean smiled at him, the action was almost foreign to him but it was slowly coming back to him, and squeezed his hand. “Guess so.” he said softly. “But it's safe, it's one of the safest places in the world. And it's filled with things and books.”

Sam brightened at the mention of books and Deans smile widened, he had kept all of Sam's old books in the impala's trunk, never being able to bring himself to move them or, worse, throw them out. 

“It's pretty big, lots of rooms.” Dean said, rubbing his thumb against Sam's hand. “You’re going to love it.”

“It's a home.” Sam said simply. “Sounds like it anyway, and that’s...that’s kinda what I always wanted to have with you.” his eyes widened then. “Is the impala okay?” he quickly asked. 

Dean laughed, it was rough and out of tune, he hadn’t laughed that much for years, but it came to him and relaxed him, making everything okay. “The impalas fine.” he assured him, warmed at the knowledge of how much Sam really cared about the car. “She's in the garage, she’s fine.”

Sam nodded, a sad look on his face. “You said that dad was dead.” he said softly. “What...when did that happen?”

Dean hesitated, letting out a deep breath. “It happened in 2006.” he said. “We were hunting a demon, the demon that killed mom, and it got us into a car accident. I was laid up at the hospital and dad sold his soul to save me.” he never mentioned it but he was sure that dad couldn’t handle being the only one left of the four of them.

John Winchester had already had to burn one sons body, he’d rather damn himself to hell than burn the other one. 

Sam blinked rapidly and turned his head, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. “Oh.” he whispered. “And...mom was killed by a demon?”

“Yeah.” Dean said, tightening his grip on his hand. “His name was Azazel and I killed him.”

Sam smiled at that, turning back to him. “I have a lot to catch up on, don’t I?” he asked, only half rhetorically.

Dean nodded. “Let's get you settled, pick out a room. Get some food in you and maybe a shower.” he said. “Then I’ll tell you everything that’s happened.”

Sam nodded, just staring at him and letting out a deep breath. “Okay.” he whispered, hand shaking but still gripping at Deans hand. 

Dean smiled once more, unable to keep from doing so. He also couldn’t help himself from leaning over and brushing his lips against Sams. It took a moment but Sam relaxed into the kiss as well.

“C’mon, lets get inside.” Dean murmured against Sams lips, kissing him one more time and just marveling at the feeling and the knowledge that he could now. 

Sam nodded and grabbed their bags, sliding out of the car and following Dean, looking around in wonder. Dean pointed out a few rooms as they passed as they came upon the main room.

"Hello, hello." came a British voice. Dean immediately was on alert and Sam stepped back, keeping to the shadows of the hallway and staying out of view. 

Dean tried to move forward, trying to get to the table where he kept a gun strapped to the underside of it when he heard a gun cock at him and he stopped, turning to glare at the woman. 

"Don't." she warned him, a small smug tone to her voice. Hated coursed through him and he slowly moved to straighten up, glaring at him. From the corner of his eye he could see Sam slowly move back and away, going to the other room they had passed. 

Another different way to get into the main room without anyone seeing them. 

"Dean Winchester." the woman intoned, keeping the gun on him. "Toni Bevell. Men of Letters, London Chapterhouse."

Dean narrowed his eyes at that. "Thought all the letters were killed off." he said lowly, hands all but shaking in desire to shoot her. 

"Oh, you won't have heard of me—us." Toni said, her voice taking an almost mocking lecture tone. "We're very traditional. Keep out of the way, keep to our studies."

She smirked at him, eyes glittering slightly. "They sent me to take you in."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "To take me in?" he repeated. "Take me in."

"Assuming the world didn't end, and— Yay." she smiled at him once more and it nowhere reached her eyes. 

Dean didn't say anything, moving his jaw from side to side and hoping that Sam would find the right way, and more overall, to find one of the many weapons that Dean had stashed around the bunker.

"We've been watching you, Dean." Toni continued. "What you've done, the damage you've caused—archangels, Leviathans, the Darkness, and now, well— the old men have decided enough's enough."

She smirked, it almost looked like she couldn't decide between a condescending smile or smirk, alternating between the two as she almost was vibrating with excitement. 

"I mean, let's face it, Dean." and there was the condensation again. "You're just a jumped-up hunter playing with things you don't understand and doing more harm than good."

“You don’t know a damn thing about me.” Dean said lowly, warningly. 

“Oh I know all about you.” Toni said, keeping the gun aimed at him. “Now. You’re going to come with me, I have more than a few people that really wish to...speak with you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Dean told her, not looking away despite the small shadow that was creeping closer to her. 

“You seem to be under the impression that you have a choice.” Toni said patronizingly. “Now come, or else I will have to force you.”

That was all that they needed and Sam shot forward from the shadows, having the dark and the surprise on his side. He moved quickly, grabbing her wrists from behind, kicking the inside of her knees to force her to her knees, and grabbing the gun from her before she could even move and pressing the barrel to the side of her head. 

Dean came forward as well, grabbing one of the guns from under the table and aiming it at her. 

“Like I said.” he said lowly, enjoying her new glare at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[idreamofhazel]

All Work, No Play

Requested by @murielthemagicalgirl​: Reader crushes hard on Sam and works from time to time together with the boys. And she's introverted and a usually mature and serious person. But when she accidentally sees Sam without his shirt she gets hella flustered and awkward and Dean grins from ear to ear and teases her because of it until she confesses maybe that she indeed likes his brother, not knowing that said is standing behind her

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: just fluff

Your machete sliced cleanly through the neck of a falling vampire. As the body thumped to the floor, you drug the blade across your jacket with two quick swipes.

“You’re going to need some tide pens for that.” Dean Winchester stood behind you, chuckling to himself.

A quick glance around the room showed you that the last of the nest was fallen. The bloody mess had splattered and pooled on the victorian rug beneath your feet. There might have been some pieces of salvageable furniture elsewhere in the house but none in this room. Four dead vampires had stained the parlor with red. It was very Addam’s Family meets The Walking Dead. You picked up the arms of a vampire who fell across the velvet footrest and drug it across the floor. You dropped her on top of the one you just killed and headed for another one.

“What’s up with the pile? Or vamp-ile, if you will.” Dean couldn’t contain the pleasure he derived from coming up with that joke.

You dumped another body in your pile. Out of the corner of your eye, Sam knudged Dean with his shoulder and began to help you with the clean up task. When you thought no one could see your face, you smiled to yourself. You appreciated the help.

“I never knew a hunter that could smile about their work like that.” Dean was suddenly beside you, his voice in your ear.

“I never knew a hunter that cracked so many jokes on the job,” you said.

“Jokes keep the sanity alive, sweetheart.”

“Dean,” Sam chided from across the room.

“She’s worked with us enough times to know my style,” Dean said.

“And you’ve worked with me enough to know mine,” you shot back.

That elicited a smug smile from Sam.

Your cheeks grew hot as Sam looked at you with pride. Your cleverness was instantly cut back. No matter how confident you were, one look from Sam turned you into a stuttering mess.

“I know you won’t come celebrate with us,” Dean said, “All work, no play. It’s really sad.”

“I’ll go.” You faced the opposite direction of the Winchesters, bagging a vampire head. You could feel their wide eyes on the back of your head.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to take your notes or, or clean your knives?” Sam didn’t mean his question as a jab.

You smiled at his memory of your habits before turning around. “No. I’ll just do it tomorrow. Come on,” you said, slipping your knife into your boot and throwing the garbage bag full of heads over your shoulder, “It’s time to have some fun. Let’s party. Or whatever you do.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance as you walked out the stained glass door. The tattered blanket covering the glass gave up and fell to the floor as the lock clicked into place. Dean mouthed Fun?; Sam shrugged. Sam had never seen you with a drink in your hand, let alone in a bar. The thought of it made him worry that something else was going on. He’d have to ask you when Dean wasn’t around.

Being in a bar was an uncomfortable experience. You could handle hunting challenges with tact and grace but the dynamics of the drinking scene disoriented you. You alternated your attention between the stray threads on your shirt and taking sips of your jack and coke. Dean played pool for gas money while Sam sat next to you, finishing his second beer.

“So, honestly,” Sam said, “What made you decide to come out here? You trying to prove something to Dean?”

His smile was teasing and overwhelming.

“Uh, no. I,” you began, your cheeks growing hot, “I guess I-”

“Hey Sam!” Dean called out. You both turned your heads to the sound. Dean motioned Sam over from across the bar, “New game! Teams!”

“Hold that thought,” Sam said apologetically.

He took off towards the pool table, leaving you with the rest of your answer hanging on the tip of your tongue. The Winchester Pool Games lasted as long as Dean felt a winning streak. You’d have to explain another night, whenever you ran into Sam and Dean again.

You sucked your jack and coke dry, staring down the barrel of the straw until the last drop was gone. Dean whooped behind you. Maybe it was time to join the fun.

You grabbed a handful of peanuts, swung around on your stool, and hopped off. Sam was leaning over the pool table, the arch of his back displayed gracefully. He adjusted his pool stick with deliberation, his shirt hovering over the edge of the table, his hair falling over his cheek. He hit the cue ball with accuracy, sinking in two of the opponent’s with one strike, then stood proudly.

The other two men grimaced, unaware that Sam had such precision. There was a fair amount of money on the line.

You wandered over to a table with a satisfactory view of the game. Sam winked at you as one of their opponents tried to sink a ball but grumbled when he missed. The alcohol in your system gave you the sense to smile back with a laugh.

The stolen glances continued and ended when Dean declared victory with a sunken eight ball. They had played four games and won each of them. Sam bought three victory beers and handed one to you. Your eyes fell to the floor as the confidence you had wore off.

By the end of the beers, exhaustion had creeped up on all of you. You unanimously declared the night over, getting up to leave the bar in unison. Dean grabbed your shoulder from behind before you reached the door. Sam kept walking.

“Hey, you’re staying at the same motel as us, right?” he said, glancing over as Sam walked out the door.

“Yeah, why?”

“Can you come to our room? I wanna talk to you about something. I’ll send you a text when we’re decent.” He added a smirk but his request seemed off.

“Uhh, sure.”

“Cool.” Dean patted your shoulder then let his hand fall as he took off after Sam.

He left you standing in the middle of the bar without an explanation but with a hoard of questions. A deep voice slurred from across the bar. “You all alone now?”

There could only be about two reasons why Dean would ask you to his room. One, he was going to play a prank, or two, he or both Winchesters had been keeping a secret from you that had life-or-death ramifications.

The voice called out again. “He-eey you wanna drank I sayd?”

You were in the mood for none of it. You stalked out the door, letting it bang loudly behind you. Dean, or both, would hear it from you if one of them had decided to do something stupid again like sell their souls.

The text came shortly after you brushed your teeth and changed into sweats. You knocked four times on the thin, wooden door and waited. Dean took a long time to answer for someone who was expecting a guest.

The door flew open and instead of Dean’s face, Sam’s bare chest greeted you.

“Hey Y/N, what’s up?” Sam said.

“I, uh, Dean said he’d be here, but I guess I, I heard wrong. Sorry.” You kept your eyes anywhere but on his freshly showered six-pack. You noticed his pajama pants were plaid but you had to be careful where you looked there, too. You looked up but darted when you met his eyes. Then you moved down to his feet. They were bare.

“You can come in and wait for him if you want.” Sam was acting nonchalant. Way too nonchalant.

“No that’s ok.” You turned on your heels and fled.

Well that was stupid! Could you have handled that situation any more poorly!

“Hey Y/N!” Dean.

You stopped next to a row of vending machines, the light from their displays revealing Dean’s smug face.

“You said to meet you in your room. I went to your room. You were not there.”

“Well I’m here.”

You glowered at him. “I think you know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do.”

You threw back your head and sighed. “You knew Sam would be there by himself.”

“Why is that a problem?”

“Because he was shirtless when he opened the door!”

Dean chuckled to himself. “I can’t say anything about what Sam chooses to do when I’m not there.”

Your cheeks grew hot again. “That’s not the point!” you sighed, “I can tell by the look on your face that you orchestrated this whole set up.”

“Set up for what?”

“You know exactly what.”

“Ooh, because you have a massive crush on my little brother?”

“Yes! Fine! Ok? And you knew he’d be there, probably shirtless, and you knew I’d answer the door completely unprepared and make myself look like an idiot!”

“You didn’t look like an idiot, Y/N,” Sam said.

Sam.

You spun around. Now he wore a gray t-shirt paired with his sneakers and a facetious grin.

“Why are you here!” you cried.

He chuckled. “I wanted to get a snack.” He gestured towards the machines.

“I’m sorry.” You shook your head. “I didn’t really know what was going on.”

“So you don’t actually have a massive crush on me?”

“Well I-”

“Because that would be disappointing,” Sam said. His eyes never wavered from your face.

Your heart picked up speed as if it were going to fly out of your throat and the butterflies in your stomach felt more like a flock of hummingbirds.

Sam reached his hand for your elbow and pulled you close. You didn’t protest.

“I’ve actually waited a long time to do this,” he whispered to you.  

“Me too,” you breathed out.

Sam responded with a beaming smile before his lips met yours. The kiss wasn’t perfect; there were nose bumps, but it was everything you imagined it would be. You melted. Sam was a great kisser.

“Uh guys, I’m still here,” Dean said.

Sam didn’t stop so neither did you. You wiggled your arm out of his hold and waved Dean off. This is what he wanted after all, for you and Sam to finally admit your feelings for one another. How it was happening was all his fault really. You felt Sam smile against your lips and you mirrored him, putting your arms around his neck and pulling him closer, basking in the glow of an off-brand soda machine and a blinking vacancy sign. Having fun was the best decision you ever made.

Tags:

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[eisforeidolon]

Episode: Nihilism

Then: Michael gloats about how no one spent any time questioning why he previously vamoosed for no reason. It's such a clever gotcha … for the writers to lampshade their own incompetence of making the characters somehow ignore a giant plot hole anyone who isn't permanently concussed questioned endlessly. One I still question, because Michael's “plan” to leave and then arbitrarily come back to break Dean's will … somehow … makes no sense and screws around with angel lore yet again.  

Anyway.

Now: I did actually mostly enjoy this episode, aside from a few not-entirely-minor quibbles.  

First, I have to say:  Wow, the actress who plays Pamela looks almost exactly the same.  Also, this is the kind of cameo I actually really love when the show does!  It doesn't make death meaningless or have the characters accept a replacement goldfish substitute from an alternate universe as the same person (as creepy as that is).  Yet it still allows us to revisit old favorite characters.  

I liked the smug – almost gleefully so – way that Jensen played Michael.  It actually largely mitigated how easy it was for the rest of the team to capture him for me, which I kind of expected to be annoyed by.  He's exactly the kind of villain to monologue instead of just getting on with killing everybody.  It also mostly fits that he doesn't take them terribly seriously and so isn't prepared for their alternate holy oil molotov plan.  As well as how he's more vaguely interested in examining the cuffs than actually concerned when they do bind him – and not only in light of how he has his own backup plan.  There's still the slight hitch that having been in Dean's head, he should realize just how many other villains have gone belly up from not taking the Winchesters seriously?  But then, he is exactly the kind of villain that would think he's so far above all of them that he's obviously different – even when them includes an alternate version of himself.

That said, I was not impressed that inexplicably Castiel can no longer see reapers.  I swear, he gains and loses more powers on an episode by episode basis ... ffs.  Nor did I appreciate that said reaper suddenly was willing to act as a get-out-of-monster-hell free card.  Billie and the reapers wouldn't even step in to save their own from being killed in Funeralia (13.19) but now, LOL NON-INTERFERENCE?  NEVERMIND!  I mean, it just feels so lazy.  I give Yockey more credit than a lot of the current lot, and in the end it's partially a season-size pacing problem, but?  Imagine if instead they'd stretched this out to another episode and given Sam and the others the time to find a legitimate, clever way out of being trapped, with Michael taunting them all the while.  (I could happily watch a couple episodes' worth of just Michael mocking them all, tbh.)  Instead, they're cheat-teleported back to the bunker.  Heck, Yockey could have just gone with Michael being too smug to have bothered to have sufficient backup monsters!  That would work perfectly well, too.  I get maybe it was partially meant to bring reapers back to the audience's attention to prime us for the reveal at the end with Billie?  And maybe we’re meant to forgive it because the threat from the monsters is still on in the background?  But it just doesn't work for me.

Another thing that I actually can forgive because I think it fits with Michael's ego is not having enough imagination to give Dean more than one night at his fantasy bar that repeats over and over again.  Even if Cas and Sam hadn't broken in during this episode, Dean had already noticed having deja vu.  So on the one hand, it fits how smugly overconfident Michael is, on the other, it really is a stupid plan.  I did actually like that Dean's fantasy did still involve killing monsters – since I've always felt like his desire to be out of hunting was more tied to all of the issues with destiny and the apocalypse and all of that manipulation from cosmic forces and weight of the world stuff than the old-school routine of just saving individual people from individual monsters.

Ugh, Maggie.  Her being in charge for reasons here really is one of the dumbest things they've sprung on us yet.  The only good thing about the whole side meander with the AU!hunters is that I had been cringing at how, once again, I expected the mystically warded bunker to suddenly be just that easy for monsters to waltz into?  Yet instead, they actually weren't able to break in without having a turned hunter on the inside.  I really did appreciate that!

I'd seen several complaints about saying Dean “thrives” on trauma was annoying and insulting.  I kind of get that, especially in light of Ross-Leming's obtuse comment about Dean having antibodies against evil so they never have to deal with him being traumatized?  However, while I think perhaps there might have been better ways to phrase it, I think the meaning – that given something he actually knows to fight against, Dean is irrepressible – is clear enough from the context.  I did appreciate Sam figured out that's why Dean wouldn't be fighting, because he’d been put in a comfortable fake memory, as well as how he was able to identify which memory was the false one so quickly.  I thought it was a nice touch that the music went wonky in the background as Dean remembered what they were saying about Pamela was true.  As well as that it was Sam saying their code word that was the final clue slotting into place rather than Castiel's overblown speech.   While I can see where it might come off as a rip-off of the Ezekiel thing, I think the situations are sufficiently similar that it only makes sense for them to sort out in a similar way.  

Michael's imitation of Castiel was just as funny in context.  From what he said to Jack to what he said in Dean's head to Sam and Castiel, I think Michael was telling the truth, or more accurately, a version of the truth.  We all have certain nasty thoughts that linger in the back of our heads – resentments, annoyances, uncharitable thoughts – the ugliest version of ourselves.  I think Michael was picking and choosing out of that part of Dean to find the things it would hurt the most to say; not thoughts Dean never had, but thoughts that clearly didn't encompass what Dean felt overall.  Carefully chosen partial truths without context, specially tailored to hurt those they were aimed at as much as possible that would therefore also make Dean feel guilty, too.  If Michael had felt like this much of a character from the beginning...  Also, regular world Michael acted like allowing Dean to survive the experience of being possessed intact was some special boon, so this one making a point to say he's going to rip Dean apart on the way out being an additional consideration fits well enough.

While I like a good fight scene as much as anybody, if they're on equal footing because they're all just projections in Dean's head?  I actually think it should have been easier for them to take down Michael.  Sam, Dean, even Cas?  They all have plenty of experience getting their hands dirty in physical fights, whereas we've seen this Michael spend a lot more time actively avoiding them.  That, and I did actually find myself kind of mildly annoyed it was Sam and not Dean that was the one to physically shove Michael into the freezer.  Yes, the fight was a joint effort, and yes, Dean is the one actually keeping him contained in his mind when it comes down to it. However, with all that we got in the previous episode of Dean really wanting to personally strike back at Michael and how Sam had already played such a major part by figuring out how to get into Dean's head and drag him back to reality?  I felt like perhaps it would have been a more powerful moment if Dean had actually done the physical shoving as well.  I don’t think it was a big deal or anything, but ... meh.

Likewise pretty ambivalent about all of Michael's monsters just wandering off rather than continuing their attack at the end.  I get that they were all supposed to be under some kind of control, but it's just so very convenient.  When it's put on top of the teleport home earlier in the episode (and how they're such crappy monsters they couldn't even kill Maggie, dammit) …  Again, it didn’t ruin the episode for me, but after Michael was previously shown negotiating with certain monsters or offering them boons, but actually here it’s that he’s controlling them?  Michael’s plans and motivations have generally being fairly nebulous and vague all along, so this is just so par for the course I can’t even get that annoyed about it.

Similarly, while I appreciate them trying to tie the invasion of AU!Michael in as the consequences Billie warned Dean would come from universe-hopping?  It also seems like a fairly flimsy hand wave.  It's better than no attempt at all, leaving it as a hanging thread that was just dropped, but “this whole multi-versal quantum construct we live in, it's like  a house of cards and the last thing I need is some big dumb Winchester knocking it all down” seems like it should refer to the potentiality of something a little more colossal than yet another archangel with daddy issues.  Maybe that's just me.

As to the end where all the books about Dean's death have changed to have the same ending bar one?  Well, by the very concept, all the books can be changed.  So, when that one alternative to Michael destroying everything is clearly also awful, it seems the more prudent route to go would be to figure out how to make all the books change again as Plan A rather than going directly for Plan Horrorshow.  Not only have the Winchesters made a long-term habit of changing fate, but they've already done it in this specific way once – granted for the worse, but still, it's clearly possible.  

I feel like there was something else I meant to address about this one, but I didn’t make a note of it and I actually watched this a couple of days ago and I’m coming up completely blank. 

In the end, i feel like what really made me like this episode despite some obvious flaws was Jensen’s portrayal of Michael and the other characters’ reactions to him.  Which, honestly, just makes the fact that the season took so long to actually get here and give us something meaty from this storyline feel even less like any kind of reasonable choice. 

[carryonmywaywardcaptain]

Star-Spangled Douchebag--  Part 3

CarryOnCap Masterlist

Series Masterlist

WC: 1,695

Warnings: some language and implied unwanted advances from a stranger? Adorable Steve as usual.

A/N: This takes place immediately after Part 2, still leading up to Part 1. Google told me that the Avengers Tower would basically be where the Metlife Building is, so that’s what I’m rolling with. For the sake of this story, assume the ground level of the Tower has offices for S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who filter calls and take care of things that Tony doesn’t feel like dealing with. They don’t have clearance to higher floors where the Avengers are actually at. I’ve never been to NYC, so I pieced the “logistics” stuff together through lots of random searches, just in case some things don’t quite match up.

[edits made 8/4/2020]

After some input from Lieutenant Hunt and some searching online, Sam found a decently affordable hotel in the Lower East side near Chinatown. It was about a 20 minute drive to the Avengers Tower or about a half hour commute by subway. It wasn’t ideal, but you were only 10-15 minutes from the 5th Precinct of the NYPD where Lieutenant Hunt was based and he’d seemed more than willing to work with the three of you. When he called early the next morning to let Sam know they’d found the body of the S.H.I.E.L.D. woman from the bank robbery, you knew you needed to kick the investigation into gear.

“So we’ve got a bunch of robberies, a dead cop, and two dead S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Obviously we’re dealing with a shifter here and he ain’t afraid of getting caught. Sam, I say you go check out the body and see if it’s the real agent. I’ll head over to the Tower and see what I can find out from her coworkers and, Y/N, you do some digging here and see if you can make any connections the cops and the papers might have missed,” Dean said as he strode around the room and began gathering his gear.

“Uh, no.” He turned to give you a stern look, but you continued. “Look, Dean, just think about this. You guys have gotten screwed by shifters how many times now? We can’t take the chance of someone recognizing you two and there’s no telling what kind of fancy tech or face recognition stuff Tony Stark might have in the Tower. They may have wiped you guys from whatever criminal databases, but I bet his system is a little more thorough. I get that I’m not as experienced as you guys and you’re trying to protect me or whatever by leaving me here, but I can blend easier. I really am under the radar. If I have to talk to a girl, I can sympathize or ‘gossip’. If I have to grill a guy, I can flirt or hold my own. Sam already has some rapport with the lieutenant, so he should definitely go check out the body, but Dean...sometimes you have trouble keeping your patience in check and I don’t think that’ll fly on this one.”

Dean set his jaw and kept his eyes fixed on you, while Sam let out a muffled snort. “You always said you loved that she’s not afraid to speak her mind, Dean. Besides, you never made a big deal out of it before-- if we had to split up once in a while to investigate. Not until you two started dating...”

“Okay, alright. Just-- shut up, Sam.” Dean huffed in frustration and dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t like it.”

You crossed the room, a smile playing on your lips, and wrapped your arms around his waist. “But you know I’m right.”

“Yeah, well...I don’t like that you’re right. I still think I should at least come with you.”

“I know you do. But if this shifter has already moved on to someone else in the Tower, it’ll draw less attention if I go in alone rather than having two of us asking questions. Go with Sam, okay?”

He kissed your forehead before slowly pulling back to look you over. “Alright...but keep your phone on you. And call the second things get hairy.”

“Deal.”

You gave him a quick peck on the lips, then sidestepped around him to grab your purse. Normally you didn’t bother carrying one because it wasn’t practical for hunts. But, considering the fact that you had to wear your Fed suit instead of your usual Hunter attire that made it easy to carry your gear, it had seemed like a logical and inconspicuous alternative.

“Got your silver bullets?” Dean asked.

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “What do I look like, a rookie? I’ve got silver bullets, a knife, and cuffs.”

“That’s my girl. And Y/N?” You were already halfway out the door when you turned back toward Dean. “Be sure to record it if you end up having to flirt. Me and Sammy could always use a good laugh.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Stay out of trouble boys,” you called over your shoulder as you shut the door.

***

“Look. I get that you’ve got your protocol shit to follow, but I’d like to speak to someone higher ranking than you, Agent.”

Fortunately you hadn’t had to flirt, but you were one more pickup line away from knocking Agent Toolbag flat on his ass. You were seething and this macho moron was really testing your patience with his cocky attitude and condescending remarks. The lower level of the Tower was bustling with agents, but this particular douche wouldn’t let you passed the front desk-- and he made no move to call someone else for you to speak with.

“Sorry, gorgeous. As you can see, we’ve got a lot going on and not a lot of time to answer questions from a fresh-faced Fed right out of school. Besides, we’re conducting our own internal investigation. But I’d be happy to answer any other questions you might have. How ‘bout we sort it out over some lunch and then you can thank me with dessert.” 

When he actually had the nerve to wink at you, you scoffed and leaned on the counter.

“You’ve got to be shitting me. Listen up and listen good you smug son of a--”

“Whoa, language.”

Grinding your teeth together, you whirled around, ready to give another smooth talking hot shot a piece of your mind. You paused when your eyes were met with a gray t-shirt hugging a broad, muscular chest.

“Captain,” the agent behind you said in greeting.

After reluctantly tearing your attention away from the gray clad torso, you found the bright blue eyes of Captain America staring back at you. He wore a friendly, crooked smile and every chiseled aspect of him seemed to resemble a statue of some Greek god. Finding yourself at a sudden loss for words, you were relieved when he spoke first.

“What seems to be the problem here?”

“No problem at all, sir. I was just helping this FBI agent with some questions she had about an investigation. I informed her that, unfortunately, she wouldn’t be able to speak directly with someone in charge because we’ve got certain protocols to follow. I told her I’d be happy to assist with any questions she has regarding--”

“Yeah, because you hitting on me and hoping to get lucky has been extremely helpful to my investigation,” you retorted.

The agent’s “paraphrasing” of your conversation had irritated you enough to speak up again. When you turned to glare at him, you had to stifle a smirk at his flushed expression. Apparently he hadn’t thought you’d have the guts to call him out in front of Captain America.

“I’ll take it from here, Agent Ward.”

You watched with satisfaction as the agent nodded and excused himself. When he was finally out of sight, you exhaled sharply and turned back to the Avenger.

“Boy, he was a peach.”

“Sorry about that.” He leaned toward you and lowered his voice. “Between you and me, I’ve never been the biggest fan of him.”

“Well, between you and me, I was about two seconds away from grabbing him by the tie and slamming his face into the counter.”

He laughed. “I'm sure he was asking for it, but I’m glad it didn’t come to that. So, uh, is there anything I can help you with, Agent…”

“Collins.” You extended a hand to introduce yourself.

“Agent Collins. Steve Rogers, pleasure to meet you.”

“I, uh, know who you are.” You laughed nervously and snatched your hand away when you realized you were shaking his hand a little longer than needed. “Um-- Some of my associates and I are in town investigating a number of robberies and there’s been some ties to a couple of...newly deceased S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. I just had some questions regarding the individuals we’ve connected to the incidents so far.”

“Of course. I’ve actually got some time between meetings. I was just heading up to my office-- you’re welcome to walk with me and I’ll do my best to answer your questions.”

“Oh, uh, sure, if you’re not too busy. That would be great, Mr. Rogers--er, Captain Rogers?”

“Steve is fine,” he smiled again. “And it’s no trouble at all. If there’s something I can’t answer, I can at least direct you to someone who might be able to help.”

“Perfect.”

You started to follow him toward the elevators, but you stopped short when you noticed you’d have to go through metal detectors. What if they made you leave your purse behind? Or what if they escorted you out as soon as they discovered your gun and knife?

You mentally kicked yourself for dropping your guard so easily, but there was just something about Steve that you were drawn to. He seemed legit enough, but you couldn’t afford to take any chances. Who was to say the shifter you were after hadn’t already worked its way up the ranks?

“Everything alright, Agent Collins?” Steve had a look of genuine concern on his face as he backtracked to stand beside you.

“Of course.” You began digging in your purse. “I was just thinking I should have my notebook ready in case I need to jot anything down before we get to your office-- can you hold these for a sec?”

You dug out your silver handcuffs and handed them to Steve. He raised an eyebrow in amusement but, ever the gentleman, nodded politely and took the cuffs from you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you carefully watched for a flinch or any sign discomfort, but he simply stood patiently as you continued digging in your purse. Satisfied with your test, you withdrew a small notebook and smiled as you took the cuffs and returned them to your bag.

“Thank you. Shall we?”

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