#and he will hate crime every other one he sees

[iyohme]

and i know that you mean so well;

but i am not a vessel for your good intent!

("Tongues and Teeth," - The Crane Wives)

my serotonin got jetpack bursted into the stratosphere with this blurb by OP. Your brain is so juicy and moist and wrinkly OP. Godspeed. I'm not even into DC but the whole "Burnt out and neglected, and now a bunch of people driven by guilt guilt guilt want me back so they can feel less guilty?" just made the racoon in me rub its hands menacingly hoho

Just imagine not even living your best life; just a shadow in the lives of the illustrious Waynes, a ghost in a castle, visible only to the loyal servant and the occasional curious paparazzi who shrugs and looks away--after all, there was no mention of you in any occasion: must be the kid of in-house staff. How nice of Brucie Wayne to allow even the children of in-house staff the opportunity to study at such a high-end college! (The reporters chortle and snicker at your barely-passing marks, sighing at such a wasted opportunity. Oh well. And then they move on to the tabloid topic of the week, after the strutting socialites and the rich and the arrested Rogues.)

You gather things.

You gather pieces of a cracked dream, a single plastic teacup you had brought into the cavernous mansion the day you held Alfred's old, gnarled hand. Ears ringing and slippers still stained with your parent's blood as they were gunned down before your very eyes. You gather your things, what made you before you were "Wayne," so to say. Your mother's old cigarette box, smuggled from the crime scene, your one memento of the woman who you could not forget but never forgive.

A juxtaposition of love and hate, forever crucified. The image of the Virgin Mary inside the tin box seems to be a mockery of faith, across from her image lying cheap cigarettes.

You gather test papers, all barely passing and with more reds than blacks, and grind them up into strips with the shredder you had brought; just one time the black card Wayne had given you, and it left the bitterest, sourest aftertaste in your mouth. They burn so cozily on the school Bunsen burners, especially when sprayed with alcohol, immediately immolating like timelapse sparkler videos. You gather your name before the Incident, you cherish it, and you repeat the syllables in the dead of night, spilling past your mouth. Even if it was the name of a child-abusing monster, it was still yours, and it was still of use.

And use it, you would.

While they go and be a family, you work to begin yours.

You gather funds: it's easy to take on odd jobs when people do not suspect you. You tuck away that black card at the bottom of your study table drawers, forgotten there like scribbled-out pages of an essay, an unfinished drawing, and leftover candy wrappers. It's a bit-by-bit work, but you know the Waynes wouldn't even see it happening. Your brothers and sisters (an absurdly alien concept, as they don't even acknowledge you exist ninety-five percent of the time) are prodigies paraded around at every event. You are the unseen ghost flitting through their shadows.

Graduation comes and goes. It's laughably easy to falsify having lost your social security number and other documents--Gotham is that much of a shithole, you suppose. The man in the cowl notwithstanding. His efforts are admirable, but weak. Recidivism is common in this place, as if there were some sort of pull that incited the people in Gotham to cruelty, to madness.

It's absurdly Lovecraftian, in its own way.

You are not even living your best life, and yet you are free. Alfred knows; he always knows. If you are The Ghost, then the aged butler is a man one step between the doors of death, and he sees you every time you move. Your room is empty, and he raises an eyebrow at your satchel: all your items already stored elsewhere or given away.

("I suppose this was a long time coming, Little Master."

Tap tap tap. Footsteps on marble floors, setting sun.

You shrug. "Eh. The Waynes gave me a roof and education. It's all good."

You grunt. "Well, people change. Like you know, how kids being gifted stop being gifted when they grow older." You say, instead of 'Well, if a child doesn't get any praise or attention if they do good and probably even less if they were bad, why even bother?')

A pause. "Your academics were not so lackluster when you were younger."

You promise to try and stay in touch. (You crossed your fingers behind your back.) You leave, sunset on your face.

The nap you had in a dingy hotel with far too many odd stains and not enough locks you could put on was the soundest you've ever slept in years.

Freedom smells like summer air and the last rays of sun, followed by the cold blue hour.

It takes three months for an out-of-state college to accept you. It's far from Gotham. It has a dormitory. Excellent. While you were indeed a mediocre academic student, you had banked everything on band scholarships.

Who knew more than a hundred clarinet players had unclaimed scholarships yearly? Packing up your small life in bags, you take a train upwards to another state.

(Meanwhile, in Gotham, there is an odd sense of unease as Bruce Wayne stops by an inconspicuous door. It's relatively clean, as expected of his manor, but the worn out brass on the handle suggests that someone had lived there before. He opens the door. Steps in. A bed, a dresser, a study table. Bare bones.

The unease intensifies. But who?)

Someone had lived in here, yes.

[spacebagfullofstars]

Evolution X-Men meeting Deadpool for the first time

An idea for the first episode Deadpool would appear in the show. It'd take place during early season 2. I don't have enough ideas to write the whole thing but here's the introduction

After the Brotherhood fled and the old warehouse was empty once more, the X-Men could finally focus on their unexpected guest. Through the darkness where he stood, they could see him sheathing his katanas and stretching his arms.

"Phiii-ew! Nothing like a good workout after a mind-numbingly boring sail home!" He said, rolling his neck and shoulders. "Warms my cold, unfeeling heart to see the streets just as crime-infested as I left them!"

After a second, the man stepped towards them and into the light. The younger members of the X-Men couldn't help, but gasp when he revealed himself to them.

The person who joined their fight was wearing a red and black costume that covered his whole body, including his face. Outside of the twin katanas on his back, he had two gun pouches attached to the sides of a multi-pocketed belt. His white eyes stared at them with unclear intent.

"You?!" While Kitty, Rogue and Kurt were intimidated by his presence, Scott and Jean stood their ground. They appeared to be more disgusted than afraid. Surprisingly, the man seemed to recognise them as well.

"Jeanie! Scottie! Long time no see! Come here and give uncle Deadpool a hug!" He said, spreading his arms. Before he ran at them, Jean used her powers to throw him into the air. His enthusiasm faltered.

"Cold. I guess you don't want all the radical gifts I bough you abroad!" He said, starting to levitate upside down. "Do kids these days still say it? Do they say 'radical'? I hate that word. I hope it'll die out quickly."

"You know this weirdo?" Kitty whispered to them.

"He calls himself Deadpool." Jean stated. "He used to break into the Institute regularly."

"That's all you have to say about little ol' me?" Deadpool interrupted, then traced a line from his eye down his cheek. "You can't see it, but I just shed a sad tear. I thought we were friends."

"We're not-"

"As (I'm pretty sure) my pop used to say, if you want something done right, do it yourself!" The mercenary clapped his hands, interrupting her again. He kicked his legs and pushed himself back up so he could face them properly.

"I go by many names! Deadpool is one, but some prefer to call me the Merc with the Mouth!" He stated, pointing his thumbs at himself. "The world-famous mercenary willing to do any kind of job for a good pay, weapon expert, master of all known fighting styles and three times Champion of Hot Dog Eating in West Virginia! This city used to belong to me, but the merc job is unforgiving and I had to leave it for like twenty years!"

"We haven't seen you in two years." Scott corrected.

"It felt like twenty to me, so it must've been! Now I come back and see that you X-Dorks grew in numbers!" Deadpool continued, then crossed his arms and looked away. "Not that I'm bitter, or anything. I can do so much better than your little rich kid houseclub anyway."

"... Wait, he was an X-Man?!" Rouge asked, baffled.

"Professor tried giving him a chance once." Jean sighed. "He almost blew up the mansion."

"Like that old thing doesn't blow up every other week, am I right, guys?" Deadpool snorted and rose his hand. Outside of the distance between them, no one was willing to give him a high five. He waited a few more seconds and then high fived himself.

"Is it bad that he kinda reminds me of Kurt when he has too much sugar?" Kitty snickered.

"Don't even joke like that!" Kurt didn't like that.

"The only difference is that Kurt isn't..." Scott began, then whistled and swirled his finger around the side of his head.

"I believe the term you're looking for is 'able to think outside the box', three eyes." Deadpool overheard them and air quoted. Without any warning, he disappeared in a small flash of energy.

"What the-?!" Kurt cried out as they all stepped back in surprise. After a second, the mercenary reappeared behind them.

"And who those adorable new faces might be?" His voice startled them all. "No, no, don't tell me! You look like Jessica," He said, pointing at surprised Kitty. "Your super power is shrinking. You look like Bridget and you love being different!" He pointed at Rogue, making her scoff at him. "And you look like Elvis! You have an eternal bad hair day!" He said, pointing at Kurt.

"What?" The blue boy squinted.

"Deadpool, stay away from them!" Scott warned, flashing his visor in readiness. "Whatever you came here for, you're not getting it from us!"

"Look at you all grown up and shouting orders like a boss man! Relax, kid, I have no quarrel with you today. I just wanted to catch up and meet new people! Speaking of..." Deadpool said, then reloaded his gun that he suddenly grabbed. Something darkened in his eyes. "Where's Wolverine?"

The other X-Men could see Jean and Scott getting tense. It seemed that despite their distate, they were scared of the man after all.

Suddenly, Deadpool seemed to hear something and his head perked up a bit. They could almost see a smirk forming on his face.

"Right on the clock." He mused. He spun his gun in his hand, then without any warning, whipped back and fired a single shot.

Wolverine had entered the warehouse and managed to sneak behind them. He quickly released his claws and slashed the bullet mid-air. Before other X-Men could stop him, Deadpool switched, pulled out his katanas and teleported again. He reappeared right in front of Logan and took a swing at him. His weapons and the mutant's claws clashed.

"Kurt, get everyone outta here!" The X-Man shouted. The boy nodded. The kids came closer and he teleported them away, leaving the two alone.

"I had a feelin' I smelled a rottin' brain somewhere!" Wolverine growled.

"You're the one to talk, dog-breath!" Deadpool retorted, trying to slash him again. Wolverine blocked him. "Dog, or bear, or some other animal that smells bad! I don't want to say badger, because I feel like I'd be beating a dead horse at this point-"

"I miss the silence already!" Logan said. He roared and tried to throw a punch.

Meanwhile, the group reappeared outside.

"What does this Deadpool guy want with Logan?!" Rouge couldn't help, but grow concerned.

"They have... history." Scott explained. "I'm pretty sure they hate each other."

"Like he and Sabertooth?" Kitty asked.

"Honestly? We have no idea." Jean admitted. "It's best to just stay out of the way and let Logan handle it. He always does."

As soon as she said that, they heard an explosion that made them jump. Suddenly, Wolverine fell out of a window with a trail of smoke following him. Deadpool jumped after him and skilfully landed on the ground. When he stood up, the kids saw that he was holding a bomb with his face painted on it.

"He has explosives?!" Kurt shouted, tugging his hair. Logan returned on his feet, smoke from the explosion still dancing on his body.

"I thought you were done takin' bounties on me!" He shouted.

"I am, but it's an emergency!" Deadpool said, throwing the bomb from hand to hand. "I need this money more than I need food and water!"

"A sellout through and through!" Wolverine said, then charged back. Deadpool let him get close, teleported, and then tried to throw a bomb at him from the distance. Logan kicked it right into the ocean and it exploded in the water.

The mercenary quickly switched back to his katanas and charged with full force at his opponent. There was a lot of slashing, dodging and rolling involved. Neither of them managed to reach each other for a good while. Finally, Wolverine used an opportunity to pin Deadpool to the ground with one arm behind his back.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!" He cried. "That's foul play! You're disqualified for being a bad sport!"

"Cry me a river, Wilson." Logan tsked. "Whoever hired you must've not known that you always lose to me."

"Yeah. That might be true." The mercenary said, another almost visible smirk appearing on his face. Little did Wolverine know, his free arm was trying to reach for a hidden pocket in his costume. "By the way, don't think that I forgot to bring a souvenir or two for my bestest friend. Why don't you let me go so I can show it to you?"

"I ain't lettin' you go that easily, bub. You're gonna tell me exactly who sent you and what kinda money made you break your promise."

"Oh, I love to talk! Especially with you!" He quietly unzipped the pocket and reached inside. "But you know I can't talk about my employers. Merc 101. Buuuut, I can tell you all about the crazy places I've been to for the past two years! I learned like three different languages! Do you want me to say something in Chinese?"

"If you're tryin' to make me angry, it ain't gonna work. We've been doin' this song and dance long enough for me to know when you're lookin' for a distraction."

"Awww, you care about me enough to know my strategy! You so deserve that little treat I bought you!"

"Logan, look out!" Rouge shouted, but she was too late. Logan felt a sharp sting in his leg. He gasped and quickly pushed himself off Deadpool. He looked down and saw a dart sticking from his thigh. The X-Men were ready to intervene.

"Do not get involved!" Logan snarled, sensing their intent. His head was already beginning to spin.

"Yeah, you better listen to Papa Wolvie! This is between us adults!" Deadpool shouted, looking at them as well. The mutant suddenly fell to his knees, trying to fight whatever Deadpool injected into him, but it seemed stronger than his healing factor. His eyes started feeling heavy, and finally, he fell lifelessly on the ground.

"Logan!" The kids yelled. Jean was already floating whatever she could to throw at Deadpool.

"Don't worry, X-Kids! I promise to give him back as soon as I get my money! Follow your dreams and stay in school!" Deadpool gave them a peace sign before he kneeled in front of Wolverine and teleported away with him.

[artyandink]

amoralism | sixteen

SUMMARY: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Dean’s the mole, gunfire, angst

SERIES MASTERLIST

Song Inspo: I Love You, I’m Sorry by Gracie Abrams

symbolism

Gunfire echoed down the narrow alleyway as you ducked behind a dumpster, your heart pounding in time with the chaos around you. The tang of gunpowder filled the air, sharp and bitter, while shouts and the whir of bullets slicing through the air surrounded you.

Dean Winchester. You hadn’t seen him in months—maybe even a year—but there he was. The same cocky grin, the same dangerous gleam in his eyes as he fired off rounds at you and your team. It should’ve been impossible. This was the man you once knew like the back of your hand, the one you trusted with your life. Your partner, your lover, the man who could light your soul on fire with a glance.

But now? Now, he was a ghost—a rogue agent for a crime syndicate that called itself "Hell." And you weren’t just chasing a man who’d betrayed the FBI. You were chasing a Knight of Hell, a force to be reckoned with. Dean Winchester had fallen, but the pull between you both had never quite broken.

"Clear!" came the shout from one of your fellow agents. You broke from cover, your legs moving on instinct as you sprinted after him. You knew where he was going; you could feel it, as if some invisible tether still tied the two of you together. The beat of your shoes against the cracked pavement mirrored the frantic pace of your thoughts. You shouldn’t care. He was a traitor, dangerous. But damn it, you needed answers.

The alley split, and you turned down a narrower path, barely able to keep Dean in your sights. His broad frame vanished behind an old, weathered warehouse door. You hesitated for half a second, heart pounding in your throat. This wasn’t protocol. Going in alone? Chasing a Knight of Hell with nothing but a gun and a grudge? But the FBI had never prepared you for this kind of battle—not when it was personal.

You slammed through the door, gun raised, but the room you stepped into was quiet—eerily so. The smell of rust and old wood filled your nose. You spun around, searching every corner, every shadow.

“Dean!” His name left your lips like an accusation, sharp and cutting. The room echoed in response. “Stop running! You owe me an explanation.”

Silence answered.

You turned again, and suddenly, there he was. He emerged from the shadows like a predator stalking its prey, his green eyes dark, unreadable, but that smirk—God, that same smug smirk—played on his lips.

“An explanation? That’s what you want?” His voice was low, gravelly, laced with something darker, more dangerous than the Dean you used to know.

“Damn right I do,” you shot back, your pulse quickening, but not from fear. Anger, frustration—something else entirely. “Why are you doing this? Why did you leave? And why the hell did you—" You stopped yourself, but the words hung between you like a loaded gun. Why did you kiss me?

Dean’s jaw tightened, his smirk faltering for the briefest moment. “You shouldn’t be here. Go back to your team, pretend you didn’t see me.”

Your finger twitched on the trigger, but you knew you weren’t going to shoot. He knew it too. “You think I can just walk away? You think this is something I can ignore? You kissed me, Dean. Then you disappeared into Hell’s little army. Now you’re working for the same people we used to hunt down. What happened to you?”

He stepped closer, and you felt the space between you shrink, the air thickening with a tension you hadn’t felt in months, maybe years. "I told you," he growled, his voice like gravel, "I don’t owe you anything."

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” you snapped, refusing to back down. “If you didn’t owe me anything, why’d you come back the last time? Why’d you—” You caught your breath, your heart hammering in your chest. “Why’d you kiss me?”

Dean’s eyes darkened, his jaw flexing as he took another step toward you. “You really want to do this now?” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it was the storm beneath it that made you shiver.

“Yeah, I do.” Your voice trembled with equal parts anger and desperation. He was so close now, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that you could see the war raging behind his eyes.

Without warning, Dean surged forward, pushing you back against the cold, rough wall. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, but before you could react, his lips crashed into yours, hard and unyielding. The kiss was angry, desperate, full of everything unsaid between you. It was fire and fury, passion and regret, all colliding at once.

You gasped into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his jacket as you kissed him back with equal force. It was too much, too fast, but you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. This was what you had been chasing, what you had been missing.

Dean’s hands roamed your body, gripping your waist, pulling you closer as if he needed you, craved you, in a way words couldn’t explain. His touch was rough, desperate, as though he were trying to erase the space that had grown between you. You felt the cold metal of his gun brush against your side as his fingers slid under your shirt, and you couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips.

You should stop. This wasn’t the time, the place. But the logic in your mind was drowned out by the heat building between your bodies. His lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, biting and sucking, leaving marks that you knew would be visible later, but you didn’t care.

“Dean…” you breathed out, your fingers tightening in his hair as his hands traveled lower, pushing past the waistband of your pants. “This—this doesn’t answer anything.”

But your body betrayed you, arching into his touch, craving more. He groaned against your skin, his breath hot and uneven.

“You want answers?” he growled, his voice low, dangerous. “This is your answer.” His hand gripped the back of your neck, tilting your head up so his eyes bore into yours. “This is all there is left.”

You shook your head, even as you clung to him, even as your body screamed for him. “That’s not true. I know you, Dean. I know there’s more than this.” Your voice cracked, and his expression flickered with something—regret, pain—before it hardened again.

He kissed you again, slower this time, more deliberate. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but there was something else too—something raw, vulnerable. His hands slowed, tracing the contours of your body like he was memorizing you, like this was the last time.

Your back hit the wall again, and you felt the cool metal of his gun holster pressing into your hip, a sharp reminder of who he was now—what he had become. But in this moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way his lips moved against yours, the way his hands pulled you closer, the way he made you feel alive in a way you hadn’t felt since the last time you were together.

It was messy, frantic. Clothes were pushed aside, discarded haphazardly as the heat between you both became unbearable. Dean’s hands were everywhere, roaming over your skin, his lips never leaving yours for long. The desperation was palpable, both of you clinging to something neither of you could name, something you both feared losing.

Your breath hitched as he lifted you, pinning you against the wall, his body pressing into yours in all the right ways. It was fast, rough, the way you both needed it to be. You bit back a cry as he pushed inside you, the sensation overwhelming. Your fingers clawed at his back, holding him closer, pulling him deeper. His mouth was on your neck again, his breath hot against your skin as he muttered your name like a curse, like a prayer.

For a moment, everything else disappeared—the shootout, the lies, the betrayal. It was just you and Dean, tangled together in the heat of the moment, desperate for something you couldn’t quite define. It was messy and chaotic, but it was real.

As the tension in your body built to an unbearable height, you felt his hand cup the back of your head, pulling you into another kiss—this one softer, slower, as if he was trying to savor the moment. Your body trembled as you came undone beneath him, and Dean followed soon after, his grip on you tightening as he buried his face in your neck, his breath ragged, uneven.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The room was silent again, save for the sound of your labored breathing. Slowly, reality crept back in—the sound of distant sirens, the cold air against your sweat-dampened skin, the feel of Dean still pressed against you, his arms caging you in.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours, and for a second, you saw the man you used to know. The one who made you laugh, who made you feel safe. But it was fleeting, and soon the mask slipped back into place.

“You’re still not answering me,” you whispered, your voice hoarse, shaky. “Why?”

Dean’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes hardening once more. “Because it’s too late for answers.”

The night was quiet, save for the soft rustling of leaves and the distant hum of traffic. You sat by the window, the glow of warm light spilling out onto the street, painting everything in soft shades of gold. Inside, laughter echoed through the walls. The clink of cutlery and the muffled sound of conversation drifted into the night air. It was the kind of evening that felt like home—safe, comforting, everything you deserved.

But you couldn’t see him.

Across the street, hidden in the shadows beneath the towering oaks, Dean Winchester stood still, watching. His breath misted in the cool air, his heart a heavy weight in his chest. He shouldn’t be here. He knew that. Every instinct screamed for him to leave, to turn away before the sight of you, so close but so impossibly far, tore him apart. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

Beside him, Sam shifted, the quiet gurgles of his newborn cradled in his arms cutting through the silence. Little Dean—his nephew, named after him—slept in the back seat of the Impala, his soft snores barely audible over the gentle hum of the engine. Sam cast a glance at his older brother, his brow furrowing with concern.

“You sure about this?” Sam asked quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile stillness between them.

Dean didn’t answer right away. His eyes were locked on you, on the way you smiled at something one of your family members said, your laughter so genuine, so light. It was a sound he hadn’t heard in too long. A sound he hadn’t been the cause of in far too long.

You looked happy. You looked… content.

And Dean felt like he was dying inside.

“She’s better off,” he said finally, his voice rough, raw with emotion he couldn’t quite choke down. “She doesn’t need me messing things up.”

Sam frowned, shifting the baby in his arms. The newborn stirred slightly but settled when Sam gently rocked him. “You don’t know that. You haven’t even talked to her since…” His voice trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence, but Dean didn’t need him to. He knew exactly what Sam meant.

Since he’d left. Since he’d decided that the only way to keep you safe was to cut you out of his life completely. Since he’d broken his own heart—and yours—in the process.

Dean swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing heavier with every passing second. “She’s moved on, Sam. Look at her.” He gestured to the window, where you were pouring a glass of wine for your sister, laughing again at something her husband said. “She’s happy.”

Sam followed his gaze, watching the scene unfold. It was the picture of domestic bliss—the kind of life Dean had always told himself he didn’t deserve. And maybe he didn’t. Not with the blood on his hands. Not with the weight of his sins pressing down on his shoulders every single day.

But it didn’t stop the ache in his chest, the one that pulsed with every beat of his heart, telling him how wrong this felt.

“You think she’s better off without you?” Sam asked quietly, his tone gentle but firm. “Do you really believe that?”

Dean didn’t answer right away. His eyes were still on you, on the way you seemed to glow in the warmth of the room, surrounded by people who loved you. It was everything he wanted for you, everything he’d fought so hard to protect you from losing.

But damn, it hurt. God, it hurt so much to see you like this, to know you were living a life he could never be a part of.

“Yeah,” Dean muttered after a long pause, his voice thick with emotion. “I do.”

Sam sighed, shifting his weight as he glanced down at the baby in his arms. “Dean, I know you think you’re doing the right thing. I know you think you’re protecting her. But… are you sure this is what she wants? Have you ever stopped to think that maybe she’d rather have you in her life, even with all the danger? Even with everything?”

Dean clenched his jaw, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. Of course, he’d thought about it. It was all he ever thought about. Every night, when he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, your face was the first thing he saw. Every morning, when he woke up to the empty space beside him, the space you used to fill, it was your absence that weighed him down like a stone.

But every time he thought about picking up the phone, about calling you, about telling you how much he missed you, how much he needed you, something stopped him.

He was too dangerous. His life was too dangerous. And the last thing he wanted was for you to get caught up in it. He’d already lost too many people he cared about. He couldn’t lose you too.

“She’s safer without me,” Dean whispered, his voice breaking. “That’s all that matters.”

Sam was quiet for a moment, his gaze softening as he looked at his brother. “Is it, though? Is that really all that matters?”

Dean didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His throat was too tight, his chest too heavy with the weight of everything he was trying to hold back.

Sam shifted again, glancing back at the house. The soft glow of the lights illuminated the scene inside, casting you in a warm, golden light that made you seem almost ethereal. You were smiling, laughing, surrounded by the people you loved.

But Dean couldn’t stop the thought that crept into his mind, unbidden and unwanted.

Was this happiness real? Or was it just a mask, something you wore to hide the pain he’d caused when he walked out of your life?

“Dean…” Sam’s voice was gentle, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure how far to push. “You’re not failing her by wanting to be in her life. You’re failing her by staying away.”

Those words cut deeper than any blade. Dean flinched, his breath catching in his throat as the truth of Sam’s words hit him like a punch to the gut. He’d been telling himself for so long that he was protecting you, that staying away was the right thing to do. But what if Sam was right? What if, by pushing you away, he was hurting you even more?

What if, all this time, he’d been lying to himself?

Dean blinked, his vision blurring as tears welled up in his eyes. He clenched his jaw, refusing to let them fall, but it was no use. The emotion he’d been bottling up for so long was finally breaking free, spilling over like a dam that had been holding back a flood.

He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, but the tears kept coming. He tried to swallow down the sob that threatened to break free, but his chest was tight, his throat raw with the weight of it all.

“I’m failing her,” Dean whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own ragged breathing. “I’m failing her, Sammy.”

Sam didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes said everything. He understood. He always understood.

Dean pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to stop the tears, but it was no use. The sob he’d been holding back finally broke free, his shoulders shaking with the force of it. He hadn’t cried like this in years—hadn’t let himself feel this much in years.

But now, standing across the street from the woman he loved, watching her live a life without him, the dam had finally broken.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Dean choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought I was protecting her. But all I’ve done is… all I’ve done is hurt her.”

Sam reached out, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “It’s not too late, Dean. You can still fix this. You can still—”

Dean shook his head, cutting him off. “No. I can’t.” His voice was firm, but it was laced with a deep, aching sorrow that felt like it was ripping him apart from the inside. “It’s too late. She’s… she’s happy now. After I fuckin’ ruined her She doesn’t need me anymore.”

But even as he said the words, they felt like a lie.

Dean didn’t know what was worse—the idea that you had moved on, that you were living a life without him, or the fear that maybe you hadn’t. Maybe you were just as broken as he was. Maybe you were putting on a brave face, pretending to be okay when inside, you were just as lost, just as hollow as he felt.

And the worst part? He would never know. Because he was too much of a coward to find out.

Sam watched his brother, his heart aching for him. He knew how much Dean had sacrificed, how much he’d given up to try and protect the people he loved. But sometimes, the cost of that sacrifice was too high. Sometimes, the people you were trying to protect didn’t want to be saved. They just wanted to be with you.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered, his voice cracking. He wasn’t sure who he was apologizing to—Sam, you, himself. Maybe all of you.

Sam squeezed his shoulder, his eyes full of understanding. “You’re not alone in this, Dean. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Dean nodded, but the tears still fell. He didn’t feel strong. He didn’t feel like the hero he was supposed to be. All he felt was tired—so damn tired of fighting, of running, of pretending like he could outrun the weight of his own heart.

Across the street, you laughed again, and Dean’s heart shattered into a million pieces.

He wanted to believe that you were happy, that you had moved on, that you were living the life you deserved. But deep down, he knew the truth.

He wasn’t protecting you. He was failing you.

And the worst part?

He didn’t know how to fix it.

You sat at the edge of your bed, staring blankly at the wall in front of you. The house was quiet, the soft hum of life outside the only reminder that the world kept turning. But in here—in this room—it felt like time had stopped, like every second stretched into an eternity of silence, and your thoughts were the only thing filling the space.

Dean.

The name lingered in your mind, a familiar ache that never quite faded, no matter how much time passed. It had been months, maybe even longer now, since you’d last seen him—since he’d walked out of your life with that devastating finality. Since he’d left you standing there, heartbroken and confused, trying to piece together what had gone wrong.

The truth was, you had never stopped thinking about him. About the way he used to make you laugh, how his smile could light up a room. How, despite everything, there was always this fire between you both—a pull so strong it felt like gravity. It had always been more than just a relationship. It had been a force of nature.

But now, all that was left was the empty space beside you and the echo of his name in your head.

You shifted on the bed, curling your knees up to your chest as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to find some semblance of comfort. But it didn’t work. Nothing did.

The guilt was always there too, creeping in whenever you let your guard down. It whispered to you in the quiet moments, telling you that you hadn’t tried hard enough, that you hadn’t fought for him the way you should have. If you had—if you had—maybe things would be different. Maybe he would still be here.

A single tear slid down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away, but it didn’t stop the flood that followed. Your chest tightened, the weight of everything pressing down on you like a vice.

You’d been so stupid, so naïve to think that Dean would always be there. You’d thought that the connection you shared was unbreakable, that no matter what, he wouldn’t walk away. But he had, and the worst part was that you couldn’t even blame him. Not entirely.

Maybe you hadn’t done enough. Maybe he had been slipping away for a long time, and you just hadn’t noticed. Maybe you’d been too focused on your own life, on trying to keep your family together, that you hadn’t seen the cracks forming in the foundation of your relationship.

You could still remember the last time you saw him—the way he’d kissed you like it was goodbye, like he already knew he wasn’t coming back. You’d asked him what was wrong, why he seemed so distant, but he hadn’t answered. He’d just kissed you again, harder this time, like he was trying to memorize the way you tasted.

And then he was gone.

You hadn’t heard from him since. No phone calls, no texts, nothing. It was as if he had disappeared into thin air, leaving you to pick up the pieces of whatever it was you thought you had.

Your breath hitched as another sob escaped your lips, and you buried your face in your hands, trying to muffle the sound. You didn’t want anyone to hear you crying. You didn’t want anyone to know how much it still hurt, how raw the wound still felt.

But the truth was, you missed him. God, you missed him so much it felt like a physical ache, a hollow emptiness that nothing else could fill.

A soft knock on the door broke through the haze of your thoughts, startling you.

You quickly wiped your face, trying to compose yourself, though you knew it was a losing battle. Your eyes were already red and swollen, your breath still uneven from the tears.

“Yeah?” you called out, your voice thick with emotion.

The door creaked open, and there, standing in the dim light of the hallway, was Sam. He looked… tired. Worn out, like the weight of the world was pressing down on his broad shoulders. But there was a softness in his expression, a quiet understanding that made your chest tighten even more.

“Hey,” he said gently, stepping into the room. “Just wanted to check in before bed. Thought you might need someone to talk to.”

You forced a smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just… thinking.”

Sam nodded, his eyes scanning your face, reading the emotion you couldn’t quite hide. He wasn’t fooled. He never was.

He walked over to the bed, sitting down beside you without saying a word. For a moment, the two of you just sat there in silence, the weight of everything unspoken hanging in the air between you.

You could feel his presence beside you, solid and comforting, but it only made the ache in your chest worse. Because Sam was here, and Dean wasn’t. And no matter how much you cared for Sam—no matter how much he cared for you—it wasn’t the same.

“It’s okay to miss him, you know,” Sam said softly, his voice breaking through the silence.

You closed your eyes, trying to keep the tears from falling again, but it was no use. The dam broke, and before you knew it, you were sobbing—deep, heart-wrenching sobs that shook your whole body.

“I didn’t try hard enough, Sam,” you choked out between sobs, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I should have… I should have fought for him. I should have done something.”

Sam’s brow furrowed, his expression pained as he listened to you. He wanted to say something, wanted to tell you that it wasn’t your fault, that you couldn’t have changed what happened. But the words stuck in his throat, weighed down by the truth he wasn’t sure he could tell you.

Because the truth was, Dean hadn’t left because of anything you’d done. He hadn’t left because you didn’t fight hard enough. He left because he thought he was protecting you—because he believed that staying away was the only way to keep you safe.

But Sam couldn’t tell you that. Not yet.

Instead, he reached out, gently pulling you into his arms, letting you cry against his chest. His heart ached for you, for Dean, for the mess that his brother had made in his attempt to do what he thought was right.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he held you tighter. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”

You clung to him, your fingers gripping his shirt as if holding onto him could somehow stop the pain, could somehow bring Dean back. But deep down, you knew it wouldn’t. Nothing could.

“I just�� I just don’t understand,” you whispered after a while, your voice hoarse from crying. “How could he just leave? How could he just… walk away like I meant nothing?”

Sam closed his eyes, the guilt clawing at his insides. He wanted to tell you that you did mean something—that you meant everything to Dean. But he couldn’t. Dean had made him promise not to say anything, not to drag you back into the dangerous world they lived in.

“He didn’t walk away because you meant nothing,” Sam said softly, his voice heavy with the weight of everything he wasn’t saying. “I promise you, that’s not why.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “Then why?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Why did he leave?”

Sam hesitated, his mind racing as he tried to find the right words—the words that would ease your pain without betraying his brother’s trust.

“He… he thought it was for the best,” Sam said quietly, hating how hollow the words sounded, knowing they wouldn’t be enough.

You stared at him for a long moment, your heart aching with the need for answers, for something—anything—that could explain why Dean had left you like this.

But Sam didn’t offer any more explanations. He just looked at you with those sad, understanding eyes, and you knew that whatever the reason was, he wasn’t going to tell you.

You swallowed hard, wiping at your face again, though the tears kept coming.

“I just want to know what I did wrong,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I want to know why I wasn’t enough.”

Sam’s chest tightened at your words, the guilt gnawing at him even more. You had been more than enough for Dean. You had been everything. But Dean had made his choice, and now you were left to pick up the pieces of a life that had been shattered by someone else’s decision.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sam said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “None of this is your fault.”

But you didn’t believe him. You couldn’t. Because if it wasn’t your fault, then why did it feel like it was? Why did it feel like you could have stopped him if you had just been a little stronger, a little more… something?

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but the tears kept falling, the pain still so fresh, so raw.

“I miss him,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of the words. “I miss him so much, Sam.”

Sam closed his eyes, his heart breaking for you, for his brother, for the mess that love had left behind. He wished he could make it better. He wished he could tell you the truth, that Dean missed you too, that Dean was just as broken as you were. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

So instead, he just held you, his arms wrapped around you in a

silent promise that he would be here for you, that you wouldn’t have to go through this alone.

And in that quiet moment, as you cried against his chest, Sam made a decision.

He couldn’t tell you everything. But he could promise you this—he wouldn’t let you go through this without knowing the truth. Maybe not tonight, maybe not even tomorrow, but someday, you would know why Dean had left. And when that day came, Sam hoped you would find some kind of peace in it.

For now, though, he just held you, letting you cry, letting you feel the pain that came with loving someone who wasn’t there anymore.

And maybe, in time, the ache would fade.

Maybe.

The quiet of the house felt heavy as Sam made his way down the stairs, each step creaking slightly under his weight. He moved slowly, careful not to make any noise, not to disturb the peace that had settled upstairs. You were finally asleep, your tears having given way to exhaustion. Sam had stayed by your side until your breathing evened out, until the tension in your body softened, and the weight of everything you were feeling momentarily lifted.

But now, as he descended into the dimly lit living room, Sam felt the full weight of the conversation waiting for him. He could see Rick, your dad, sitting at the dining table, his large hands folded in front of him, his eyes distant and troubled. The overhead light cast deep shadows across his face, making him look older than Sam remembered.

Sam paused at the bottom of the stairs, taking a breath before stepping into the room.

"Sir," Sam said quietly, nodding in acknowledgment as he approached. He'd always addressed Rick that way—respectful, deferential, even though Rick had insisted more than once that Sam didn’t need to be so formal. But tonight, the word seemed to fit the mood of the house, the unspoken tension hanging between them.

Rick looked up, his eyes heavy with the kind of worry only a father could carry. He didn’t smile, didn’t acknowledge Sam with anything more than a nod. The lines on his face deepened as he exhaled, rubbing a hand over his tired features.

"Sam," Rick said, his voice gravelly and low. “She asleep?”

Sam nodded as he pulled out a chair across from Rick and sat down, his long legs stretching out underneath the table. He glanced toward the staircase, as if making sure you weren’t going to wake up and hear them talking. “Yeah, finally,” he said, leaning back in the chair. “She was pretty upset. She… She misses him.”

Rick’s lips tightened, a muscle in his jaw jumping slightly as he clenched his teeth. He didn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze fixed on the wood grain of the table as though the words he wanted to say were etched somewhere in the surface.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this, Sam,” Rick finally said, his voice low but firm. “She’s my daughter. Every day, I watch her break a little more, and I can’t tell her why. I can’t help her. All I can do is sit here and lie to her face.”

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair, his heart heavy with the weight of Rick’s words. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation. Rick had been struggling with the situation from the beginning—from the moment Dean had disappeared from your life without so much as an explanation. Rick knew more than you did, enough to understand why Dean had left, but that didn’t make it any easier.

And it certainly didn’t make it easier for Rick to watch his daughter suffer.

“I know,” Sam said, his voice soft but steady. “I know it’s hard, sir. But it’s the best thing for her right now. Dean—he’s… he’s doing what he thinks is right. He’s trying to protect her.”

Rick let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he looked up at Sam, his eyes filled with frustration. “Protect her? From what, exactly? From him? Because it sure as hell looks like he’s the one hurting her the most right now.”

Sam flinched at Rick’s words, the truth of them cutting deep. He couldn’t deny that Dean’s decision to leave had hurt you—had shattered you in ways Sam didn’t know how to fix. But he also knew Dean, knew the guilt and fear that drove every one of his brother’s actions, especially when it came to you.

“Dean’s not doing this because he wants to hurt her,” Sam said quietly, trying to keep his voice calm, measured. “He’s doing this because he thinks it’s the only way to keep her safe. You know that.”

Rick’s hands clenched into fists on the table, his knuckles turning white as he fought to keep his emotions in check. “I know what Dean thinks, Sam,” he said, his voice rough. “But that doesn’t make this any easier to swallow. That doesn’t make it easier to watch her cry herself to sleep every night, wondering why she wasn’t enough to make him stay.”

Sam felt a sharp pang of guilt twist in his chest. He’d seen the way you tried to hide your pain, the way you put on a brave face for your family, for the people who loved you. But when you were alone—or when you thought no one was looking—the cracks in your armor showed. And Sam hated it. He hated that he had to watch you suffer, knowing there was nothing he could do to fix it.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this from her,” Rick said, his voice quieter now, the anger giving way to something softer, something more vulnerable. “She’s my little girl, Sam. I’m supposed to protect her. And I can’t even do that.”

Sam’s heart ached for Rick, for the father who wanted nothing more than to shield his daughter from the pain that had been thrust into her life. It was the same way he felt about Dean, the same helplessness that came from watching someone you loved fall apart and knowing there was nothing you could do to stop it.

“I get it, sir,” Sam said after a long pause. “Believe me, I get it. But the truth—it’s not going to make this any easier for her. If anything, it’s going to make things worse.”

Rick looked up at Sam, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Worse? How could it possibly be worse than this?”

Sam swallowed hard, the weight of the secret he carried pressing down on him. He knew that telling you the truth about Dean—about why he had really left—would only open up more questions, more pain. Dean wasn’t just out there living a normal life, trying to move on from you. He was caught up in something dark, something dangerous. Something that Sam wasn’t even sure Dean would survive.

“If she knew why Dean left… if she knew what he’s dealing with, she’d never stop trying to find him,” Sam explained, his voice low but steady. “And that’s exactly what Dean doesn’t want. He left because he thought it was the only way to protect her. If she knew the truth, if she went looking for him, she’d be in danger. Real danger.”

Rick’s expression softened slightly, his anger giving way to concern. He was quiet for a moment, the words sinking in.

Sam leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as he tried to make Rick understand. “Dean isn’t doing this because he doesn’t love her. He’s doing it because he does love her. And he’s willing to hurt himself—and her—if it means keeping her safe.”

Rick let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping as the weight of the situation settled over him. “I just don’t know how much longer she can take this, Sam,” he said quietly. “She’s strong, but… she’s breaking. And I don’t know how to help her.”

Sam felt his chest tighten at Rick’s words. He’d seen it too, the way you were slowly unraveling, bit by bit. It was like watching someone try to keep their head above water, only to see the waves pulling them down further with every passing day.

“I know,” Sam said softly, his voice filled with empathy. “But right now, the best thing we can do is give her time. Dean’s not going to be gone forever. He’ll come back when it’s safe. He’ll come back when he can.”

Rick looked at Sam, his eyes searching for something—hope, maybe. But Sam wasn’t sure if he had any to offer. He wanted to believe that Dean would come back, that they’d all come out of this mess on the other side. But the truth was, he didn’t know. Not for certain.

All Sam knew was that his brother had made a choice, and now they all had to live with the consequences.

“I’m asking you to hold on a little longer, sir,” Sam said quietly. “I know it’s hard. But if we tell her now, if we bring her into this, it’s only going to make things worse. For her, for Dean… for all of us.”

Rick stared at Sam for a long moment, his expression conflicted. He wanted to help his daughter, to ease her pain, but he also knew that Sam was right. Bringing you into the dangerous world Dean lived in wouldn’t fix anything. It would only put you at risk.

Finally, Rick nodded, though the movement was slow, hesitant. “Alright,” he said, his voice gruff. “I’ll hold out a little longer. But Sam…” He looked up, his eyes filled with a father’s fear. “If something happens to her because of this—because of Dean—I won’t forgive him. Or you.”

Sam’s heart clenched at Rick’s words, the weight of the promise hanging heavy between them. He understood. Rick was trusting him—trusting Dean—to keep you safe, even if that meant keeping you in the dark.

“I promise,” Sam said quietly, his voice filled with conviction. “I’ll do everything I can to protect her.”

Rick didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes said enough. He would hold out, for now. But he wouldn’t wait forever.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with everything left unsaid.

After a few moments, Rick let out a tired sigh, running a hand over his face as he stood up from the table. “I’m heading to bed,” he said quietly, his voice thick with exhaustion. “You should get some rest too, Sam.”

Sam nodded, though he knew sleep wouldn’t come easily tonight. There was too much weighing on his mind—too many what-ifs, too many worries about what the future held.

“Goodnight, sir,” Sam said, watching as Rick made his way toward the stairs.

Rick paused at the base of the staircase, glancing back at Sam one last time. “Take care of her, Sam,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “She’s all I’ve got.”

And with that, Rick disappeared upstairs, leaving Sam alone in the quiet, dimly lit room.

Sam sat there for a long while, his mind racing with thoughts of you, of Dean, of the dangerous path they were all walking. He wanted to believe that everything would turn out alright—that Dean would come back, that you’d find some kind of peace.

But the truth was, Sam didn’t know what the future held. All he could do was wait. Wait for Dean to come back. Wait for the moment when the truth would finally come out.

And hope that, when that time came, it wouldn’t tear everything apart.

Cassie sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers absently twisting the hem of the blanket as she stared at the closed bedroom door. The room was quiet, the soft hum of the air conditioner the only sound breaking the stillness. Her husband, David, was sitting beside her, his arm draped casually around her shoulders. They had been quiet for a while, the kind of silence that often felt heavy with unspoken words.

Cassie’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, emotions colliding in a chaotic dance that left her feeling both drained and unsettled. She had seen you—her older sister, her guide and protector—broken in ways she had never imagined. It had always been easy to take your strength for granted, to see you as the one who was always there to pick up the pieces, to offer support, to be the anchor in the storm. But now, seeing you like this, vulnerable and hurting, had turned her world upside down.

She turned to David, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and he looked at her with a mixture of concern and understanding. “I never realized how much she meant to me,” she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion. “I mean, I knew she was important—she’s my sister. But I never really understood… until now.”

David nodded, his hand gently rubbing her back in a soothing motion. He had always been a calm presence, a steady anchor in her own turbulent seas. Now, he was trying to offer that same stability to her, as she grappled with the weight of her sister’s suffering.

“I see her now, breaking,” Cassie continued, her voice trembling. “And it’s like… like a part of me is breaking too. I never realized how much of myself was tied up in her strength, in her being the one who always had it together.”

David shifted slightly, his gaze tender as he looked at her. “It’s hard to see someone you love in pain,” he said softly. “Especially when they’ve always been the one who seemed unshakable. It’s like suddenly, the world’s not what you thought it was.”

Cassie nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I always thought she’d be okay. I thought she was strong enough to handle anything. But now… seeing her like this, it’s like everything I thought I knew about her has been turned upside down.”

David pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting embrace. “It’s okay to feel this way,” he said gently. “It’s okay to be overwhelmed. It’s okay to feel like you’re breaking too.”

Cassie leaned into him, her head resting against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was a small comfort in the midst of her turmoil. “I just don’t know how to help her,” she admitted, her voice muffled against his shirt. “I don’t know what to do, how to fix it.”

David sighed, running his fingers through her hair in a soothing motion. “You don’t have to have all the answers,” he said. “Sometimes, just being there, just letting her know that you’re with her, is enough. You don’t have to fix everything. Sometimes, the most important thing is just showing up.”

Cassie’s grip tightened around him, the tears flowing freely now. “But I hate seeing her like this. I hate that she’s hurting, and I don’t know how to make it stop.”

David’s voice was soft but steady. “You can’t take away her pain. But you can be there for her. You can listen, you can hold her, you can offer her love and support. That’s what she needs right now. And that’s what you can give her.”

Cassie took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “I just feel so helpless,” she said, her voice breaking. “I don’t know how to be strong for her when I’m falling apart myself.”

David cupped her face gently, tilting her chin up so she could meet his eyes. “It’s okay to feel vulnerable,” he said softly. “It’s okay to be scared and unsure. What matters is that you’re there for her, that you care. You don’t have to have all the answers. Just being present, showing her that she’s not alone—that’s what really counts.”

Cassie closed her eyes, taking in his words. The reassurance in his voice was a small balm to her aching heart. She knew he was right, but the pain of seeing you suffer was overwhelming, and she struggled to see a way forward.

“She’s always been my rock,” Cassie said quietly, her voice tinged with regret. “And now she’s the one who needs support, and I feel like I don’t know how to be the sister she needs me to be.”

David gently stroked her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear. “You’re doing more than you realize. Just by being here, by caring, by feeling this deeply—you’re showing her that she’s loved. That’s the most important thing you can do right now.”

Cassie nodded, her tears beginning to subside as she drew strength from David’s words and his presence. She knew she couldn’t fix everything, that she couldn’t erase the pain you were feeling. But she could be there for you, could offer the love and support that you so desperately needed.

As the minutes passed, the silence in the room felt less oppressive. Cassie’s thoughts began to clear, and she focused on the steps she could take to be a better support for you. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, that there would be days of struggle and heartache. But with David’s unwavering support and love, she felt a glimmer of hope that she could find a way through it.

“I’ll be there for her,” Cassie said softly, her voice more determined now. “I’ll be the support she needs. I’ll show her that she’s not alone, that she’s still loved.”

David nodded, his smile gentle and encouraging. “That’s all she needs to know right now. And you’re more than capable of giving her that.”

Dean Winchester leaned against the hood of his old, battered car, the cool night air mixing with the distant hum of streetlights and the occasional passing vehicle. He had parked a few houses down from yours, hidden in the shadow of a large oak tree that offered just enough cover for him to remain unseen. From his vantage point, he could see your kitchen window, the soft glow of light spilling out into the darkness.

He had been here for hours, a silent observer of a life he felt he had no right to be a part of anymore. His heart ached with every glance through the window, seeing you move about the kitchen, your movements subdued, like you were carrying a weight that he could barely imagine. The sight of you—so domestic, so normal, so unbroken—made his chest tighten with an emotion he couldn’t quite name, but that gnawed at him relentlessly.

You had been cleaning up after dinner, a simple, mundane task that somehow felt monumental in the way it highlighted just how different your life was now compared to when he had been a part of it. Dean knew he shouldn’t be here. He knew that just by being in the vicinity, he was risking everything—risking your safety, your peace, your very life. But the pull to see you, to make sure you were okay, was too strong to resist.

He watched you with a painful mixture of longing and guilt as you scrubbed at a pot, your movements robotic and weary. The way your shoulders slumped, the way your hands seemed to move without purpose—it was clear that the weight of everything had taken its toll on you. He wanted to be the one to lift that weight, to take it off your shoulders, but he knew he was too dangerous, too lost in his own darkness to be of any help.

Dean’s eyes were fixed on the window when, suddenly, he saw you stop. You stood there for a moment, your back to him, and he saw the subtle tremble in your form. His heart raced, a sense of foreboding creeping up his spine. You placed the dish you were washing back into the sink with a clatter that echoed through the quiet kitchen. Dean’s breath caught in his throat as he saw you sink to your knees, the sobs that racked your body muffled but unmistakable.

He wanted to move, to go inside and hold you, to comfort you the way he once had, but he was paralyzed. The thought of being so close to you—of seeing you like this—was almost more than he could bear. He could only watch, helpless, as you curled up on the cold kitchen floor, your hands clenching at the fabric of your shirt, your face buried in your knees.

Dean’s own breath came in ragged gasps as he fought to keep his emotions in check. Tears blurred his vision, and he wiped angrily at his eyes, the frustration and pain of seeing you like this overwhelming him. His heart ached with every sound of your sobs, each one a reminder of the hurt he had caused and the lives he had irrevocably changed.

“God damn it,” Dean muttered under his breath, his voice cracking as he struggled to keep his composure. “Don’t do this. Please…”

He felt a surge of anger toward himself, toward everything that had brought him to this point. How had it come to this? How had he ended up as the specter of your happiness, only able to watch as you fell apart? He wanted to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all, but all he could do was stand there, a silent witness to your suffering.

Through the window, he saw you push yourself into a sitting position, your head falling back against the cabinets as your cries gradually subsided into soft, ragged breaths. The sight of you so vulnerable, so broken, tore at him in ways he hadn’t thought possible. Every sob, every shudder, was a dagger to his heart, each one a reminder of how deeply he had failed you.

“Don’t you give up on me, sweetheart,” Dean whispered to himself, his voice cracking with emotion. “Don’t you dare.”

He paced restlessly beside the car, his hands balled into fists, the pain of being so close and yet so far from you eating away at him. His anger, his frustration, his guilt—they all swirled together in a tumultuous storm within him, threatening to drown him in their intensity. But beneath it all, there was a deep, aching love that refused to be silenced.

He could still remember the way your eyes had shone with hope and trust, the way you’d looked at him as if he were the answer to everything. And now, here he was, a ghost of that hope, a shadow of the man he used to be, unable to offer you anything but his silent grief.

The minutes stretched on, and as the night deepened, Dean’s thoughts grew darker. He hated that he was causing you this pain. He hated that his absence had left a void so deep that it had brought you to tears on your kitchen floor. His whole being was consumed by regret and sorrow, the realization that he had pushed you into this place where you felt so utterly alone.

“Damn it,” he muttered, his voice breaking as he fought to hold back his own tears. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He wanted to be the one to comfort you, to hold you through the pain, to promise you that everything would be alright. But he knew he couldn’t. Not like this. Not while he was still a threat, while his presence could endanger you.

He could see you slowly starting to pull yourself together, your movements slow and shaky. You wiped your face with the back of your hand, a defeated gesture that spoke volumes. It was clear that the pain wasn’t just in your heart—it was in every part of you. It was in the way you moved, the way you tried to regain your composure, the way you looked around the empty kitchen as if hoping for some sort of answer.

Dean’s heart ached with the desperate need to reach out, to somehow make things right. But he stayed where he was, his hands trembling as he fought to keep himself together. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him like this, to know just how deeply your suffering was affecting him.

The longer he watched, the more he realized that he couldn’t stay here much longer. The weight of his own emotions, the guilt of seeing you in so much pain, was becoming unbearable. He needed to leave—to put some distance between himself and the sight of you struggling, even if it meant breaking his own heart further.

As you finally pushed yourself to your feet, shakily turning off the kitchen light, Dean took one last, lingering look. He watched as you slowly made your way out of the room, your steps heavy and slow. The sight of you so subdued, so broken, was almost too much for him to bear.

“Don’t you give up on me, sweetheart,” Dean said again, his voice barely a whisper, lost in the night. “Don’t you dare.”

He turned away from the window, the sight of your pain etched into his mind. Each step away from the house felt like a weight lifting off his shoulders, but it was replaced with a heavy burden of regret and sorrow. He got into his car, his movements automatic, as he started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

As he drove down the darkened streets, the tears he had fought to keep hidden finally broke free. They streamed down his face, hot and unbidden, a stark reminder of the pain he had caused and the love he still felt. The road ahead was uncertain, a dark path that mirrored the turmoil inside him.

Dean knew he couldn’t go back—not yet. Not while his presence was a danger to you. But he also knew that he couldn’t stay away forever. There would come a time when he would have to face you again, when the truth would come out, when he would have to answer for the hurt he had caused.

But for now, he drove on, the ache in his chest a constant reminder of what he had lost and what he still hoped to regain. He drove through the night, through the darkness, hoping that somewhere in the vast expanse of the world, there was a way to make things right, a way to heal the wounds he had created.

And as the miles passed beneath the wheels of his car, Dean whispered one last plea into the night, hoping that somehow, somewhere, you could hear him.

“Don’t give up on me. Please.”

The road ahead was long, and the night was dark, but Dean drove on, carrying with him the hope that someday, somehow, things would be different. That someday, he’d be able to make things right.

Like, comment or reblog! I’d love to hear your feedback. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

TAGLIST:

@goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

@dob-4-life @marcis-mixtapez @nonoreas0n @gabrielasilva1510

@lucyholmes13 @pandadork-blog1 @nicolstancu @malusinhaaaa @dybalabandolero

@a-cup-of-nightshade @tomatoessoup @sh0rtcakee @fall-06 @mckaykay-fandoms

@b3th13

@demonxangelomegaverse @deanwinchestersgirl87 @capailluiscedove @i723l-interrupted2323 @niyomiii

@all-the-fan-fic @eviekinevie8 @sunflowerlover57

@1-800-dean-winchester

@darichvep @idk-usernme @supernaturalmarvel3000 @ega2025 @deanbrainrotwritings

@targaryenluvs @bucky-hydra-hoe-barnes @leigh70 @aintnowayboi @ripoffsteveharrington

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@dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

@katherineeekai @freefallthoughts @angzls @deans-baby-momma @syrma-sensei

@cheynovak

[edwinisms]

it’s actually so wild to me that this fairly quirky YA type show gave both of its main characters deaths that can, in one way or another, solidly be considered hate crimes. they were both flat out murdered as a result of being A) gay and effeminate or B) brown (south asian, specifically) and you could argue whether or not those kids thought of it that way in the moment or whatever but the bottom line is that they would not have been in the situations that killed them if they weren’t of their respective minorities. like legitimately that is a ballsy choice for this kind of netflix show, let alone for the two Main Characters, and i respect it big time

[ilivelikeimtrying]

Nimona AU where Ballister is a villain but like, he's not even really that evil, like, at all. He's just, really bad at being a Villain.

And him and his "Nemesis" have the worst relationship, meaning that they have a great relationship because they don't even actually hate each other like Nemesis' are supposed to.

V!Ballister, doing an 'evil' monologue: Well well well, sir Goldenloin, it has been quite some time since we've last- What's wrong?

Ambrosius, whose face was scrunched a bit: Huh? Oh, it's nothing, these ropes on my wrists are just- they're burning and itching is all- you can keep-

V!Ballister, panicking and running over: Really?! Oh Ambrosius you've been here for hours! Why didn't you say anything sooner?! Are they too tight? Is it this new brand? I told Nimona not to get these ones but no-

*cue to Ambrosius staring fondly at Ballister as he continues to ramble about never buying this specific set of ropes again*

Half the time Ambrosius doesn't even know why he's fighting the guy, like, The Director is all "He's the personification of an Evil Villain" at Ballister and Ambrosius is staring at the same guy seeing him help a little girl get her kitten out of a tree and give a good bit of the money he stole to people in need and points at him like "Really????? "

[jrueships]

Bought one of my lil nephew giannis shoes for his birthday bcs he loves giannis and these are some of the ugliest fucking things I have ever laid my eyes on in my life. anyways it's his bday today so i gave them to him. but they are so ugly. he loves them

[pureanonofficial]

Fix-it fic for Kilmeny of the Orchard where Neil Gordon successfully becomes an axe murderer and gets off scot-free.

[themidnightcircusshow]

@heartofstanding tagged me in this meme months ago and unfortunately it took me this long to get to it because I had a mild crisis over how long it's been since I've read a novel, let alone one that I loved 😅 so this is nine of my favourite novels (not books, because if I included manga/short stories/comics/etc this would be giant)

0The Picture of Dorian Gray -- Oscar Wilde// Pyrrhus-- Mark Merlis//The Scarecrow--Ronald Hugh Morrieson//Unnatural History--Kate Osman//Tunnels of Blood--Darren Shan//The Coffin Dancer--Jeffery Deaver//Hero--Perry Moore//Frankenstein--Mary Shelley//One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest-- Ken Kasey

[keeps-ache]

ggghhg i hate vehiclessssssss ghghghhghhhhh [dies dies dies forever]

[ghostmumblings]

suddenly I’m in my genshin era again and the “nobody’s son nobody’s daughter” TikTok trend made me fixate on scara&ei&raiden dynamic once more so I feverishly drew this and started hating character design in this cursed game even more because WHAT THE FUCK ARE HIS CLOTHES AND HOW DO THEY WORK

[steelycunt]

aus where r/s have a kid are a little strange to me sorry. because well s okay i sort of get it but r? what about that man makes you think he would a) want a child b) be a good father to one. be real

[crimes-self-ships]

imagining my f/os interacting is so fucking funny cause most of their media has little to no overlap. but. habit has 100% seen tcm. he knows who bubba is. habits so territorial but he’s losing it mind because that’s fucking leatherface-

[silkythewriter]

Vox and alastor with an undeserving to be in hell reader!

Warnings!:non!

Fandom!: Hazbin hotel!

Author note!;I THINK TUMBLER ACTUALLY HATES ME (ﾒ﹏ﾒ)(｡•́︿•̀｡)it keeps not letting me edit my drafts, it’s happened like 3 times already this week alone!,…BUT ANYWAY I LOVE THIS IDEA I REALLY HOPE YOY ENJOY!!!!♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Summary!: alastor and Vox x reader WHOs I. Hell for a minor sin/crime

❤️Written by silkythewriter do not steal or repost any other platform please! <3❤️

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

“Each time I find myself

Flat on my face

I pick myself up and get back in the race!”

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

!📺✨Vox✨📺!

When you first admitted what you did that counted as a “sin” he was flabbergasted! He thought they must’ve made a mistake. All be it one that was in favor since he got to be damned with you. But still!

Out of every monster known to man kind one who’ve committed acts that are despicable. You, one who can barely hurt a damn fly get sent with them?

At first he thought you were genuinely just joking. And he actually laughed! Like audible chuckled before waiting for the actual reason, which never came, and he soon realized you were being serious!

He always questioned why you use to refuse to kill, or at least scare people into respect. But then you explained how you refused to be like the rest of the sinners.

He utterly dumb founded you made it this far without spilling a bit of blood, at least for survival!

He becomes more overprotective as if he wasn’t before, good luck with that!

Cause now he knows your rules, he knows you won’t budge. Nothing would get you to change your mind. So he made sure to keep eyes on you 24/7, you may be nice, but the other sinners in this damned place definitely aren’t. And he knows that from experience

Would neither confirm or deny he put a small tracker in an item you carry every where.

This man has enemy’s as you’ve seen, demons, overlords, rival company’s, it’s a headache an a half for him. Not that he hates protecting you and your values! No never!, but the nerve of the people who think they even have a chance to lay a hand on you.

Gives you the lastest phone from his series, and yes he will text you and blow up ur phone up if he can see you through cameras around the city.

Even if you put it on silent he wouldn’t put behind himself to over load it and just show up on your phone screen.

Sometimes he’s just so confused how you can be so nice, or at worst passive to those who are poking at you. He thinks your a saint, even if you aren’t, an maybe you have a short temper still the way you hold yourself form blowing up is astonishing!

Sometimes he jokes about how if you were to go to Charlie you would be redeemed in a day. And at night sometimes he thinks about it and it scares him to know there’s a possibility for you to go where he will probably never be able to follow you too

He loves you to the depths and the crooks of hell, and he’ll be damned again if he lets anyone hurt you. He sees you as a small soft light in the red cover world, and he will do anything before anyone can put out that light.

He makes sure to keep a good distance between you and Val, a BIG distance.

He’s always on the edge about people around you, how can’t he? He can’t trust all these “disgusting and repulsive” sinners in hell around you. The thought alone cringes him out and stresses him.

He knows to some degree he isn’t exactly better then them sin wise, but he makes sure to do his best for you while infornt of you, he cares about his image, and wouldn’t be afraid to scare someone into discipline. BUT he will tone it down, just for you ♥(⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)♥

He has you under wraps, from the public eye in this case. As much as he’s one to show off his earnings, he loves you a little to much and knows well people will use you as a advantage. He loves to show off but you something just for him behind close doors for now before he can work something out

NOW if the public were to already know, he show off by showing how untouchable you were, demons knew better to approach you seeing as how fast he is to get rid of those stupid enough to try something.

Overall he respects your morals of not wanting to stoop as low as other sinners. But it dose make him more protective of you, your like a rare gem. There’s only a handful of people like you, and even then the numbers decrees daily, so he dose his most to make sure you safe and happy <3

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

!🎙️✨Alastor✨🎙️!

Like Vix he humors it at first! Playing around with it before Laughing with his usual staticky voice as he stared at you with his unnerving smile. You guys quite literally stared at each other for a hot minute waiting for the other to say something.

It took you clearing your throat for him to realize you weren’t just trying to get a chuckle outta him.

And for the first time since you met him you caught a hint of confusion, making you explain that it was genuinely what you did.

He quite literally burst out laughing, you, someone who probably did something everyone did once is in this horrid place stuck with the horrid monsters ever! Just for that single act alone.

He will admit he found it a bit amusing how you refused to kill or lay a hand on anyone. Refusing to stoop to other people’s levels. Now that for him is pure gold of entreatment! He’s seen people like you, say the same exact thing then crumble when backed I to a Corner.

But for the first time, for all the decades he’s been damned here, he’s seen you stick to what you’ve stated. You were very much quite a spectacle!

Now finding new amusement, he decided to protect you, cause someone like you were sure to be a one time experience. Aside from loving you of course

Now with your name being accosted with him alone is a shield in if its self. Barely any one approached you, aside from those playing with their afterlives of course.

If you ever feel a looming shadow or presence it’s most likely one of his shadows. Like Vox he is gonna have his eyes on you almost always

Although he loves you he will play around to get a reaction out of you. All for the fun of it!, he knows you cringe when he talks about his cannibalism tendencies he just loves seeing your cute little face scrunch up!

Even though with all of that he is a gentleman and will make sure no one is to bother you.

He’s quite impressed you made it this far without getting killed, I mean of course you have him but if you arrived to hell and didn’t met him immediately he’d be quite impressed and surprised one you both do meet

He indulges himself in the horrible aspects of hell, with no remorse or shame what so ever either. So although he dose respect your wishes he won’t stop or calm down his tendencies.. （；へ：）but on the bright side he’ll make sure your far away or he goes off to other part of the city and do whatever he wishes. But your likely to see on the news either way… (￣▽￣💧

He dose enjoy the more civil and nice talks he has with you though! He finds it nice to take a break from all the crude talk on the street from other sinners and have a nice conversation!

Great listener let me tell you, he’ll happily sit there as you explain your day away! He honestly enjoys hearing you genuinely happy!, although his a chatter box himself but he enjoys listening to you more then anyone or anything else!

Watches you be nice to the most repulsive, and rude demon like it’s nothing. Even when disrespected you find a way to calm down the situation and nicely at that. Of course the demon doesn’t live long once their out of your sight, but still! He’s pleasantly surprised.

He finds it rather weird that your nice just for the sake of being nice but still it’s definitely a nice refresher from all the horrible people down in hell!

You catch his eye rather quickly with how you stick out from others (in a good way! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ) and his eyes end up on you, you mainly have all his attention almost always if he isn’t off doing something!, your his light just live Vox he’ll make sure you’ll shine bright as ever and won’t go out.

Not everyone can catch it but in some rare moments he’ll be seen just staring at you as you happily talk away to Charlie. And for the smallest second you can see his unnerving smile turn into a soft smirk, eyes only on you and his mind filled with only you. This happens on the regular, it’s just he’s quick to cover up so no one sees!

Overall he loves you, even with some differences between your views he’ll still do his best to make you comfortable. Aside from teasing you here and there! But other then that he’ll protect you, your one of kind. And he loves having things no one else can.

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

AHHHH HELLOOOOO OH GORSH I MADE IT JUST IN TIME THIS TOOK SO LOBG TO DO CAUSE I KEPT HAVING TO DELETE AND REWRITE ON A NEW DRAFT AUGHHH I HOPE TUMBLR FIXES THIS BUG, BUT ANYWAY TYSM FOR REQUESTING PLEASE COME AGAIN!!!\(^ヮ^)/’

[esyra]

Haven't heard from family in days. I feel like it's time to accept they're gone. I know in my heart Palestine will, one day, be free, but it wasn't supposed to be like this.

We feared another Nakba, and it happened. 700,000 pushed out of their homes in 1948 to 1 million being forced to leave their homes in 2023.

We thought it couldn't get worse or more deadly than the Israeli invasion in 2014, and it happened. We lost 2,251 people in 50 days then. Now we're past 2,300 in one week.

What I heard most from my grandmother the first days it's that "this time is different". And I feel like a rock is crushing my heart in pieces because i've been hoping that speaking out, teaching people about the historical oppresion of Palestine would help but it's not helping. Nothing is changing.

I feel like I'm screaming into a void. There's some sympathy from people online, until I see content documenting Palestinian oppresion being flagged as 'hate speech' or check the comments of any updates on Gaza and it's: "blame it on hamas", "tell them to give up hamas", "the hamas asked for it". They're not even among civilians!!!!!

My heart feels full seeing the manifestations in favor of Palestine, then I see police forces breaking protests apart and remember that the people that can actually save Gaza don't care.

If there's nothing left to do but to watch the extermination of my people, then I'm going to beg for anyone reading this to please don't forget. Please.

Israel is hiding behind Judaism to commit genocide against Gaza. Netanyahu supported the Hamas militant group to prevent the establishment of the Palestine State, and now he's using them to justify his agenda of ethnic cleansing. He abandoned Israelis and left them to die because he cares more about seeing Gazans dead!

Every single person and institution supporting and financing Israel is complicit. I hope the deaths of every Palestinian haunts you for the rest of your lives and that you never find an ounce of forgiveness, for you do not deserve it.

Just as in the Iraq War, the US government is financing and cheering for the slaughter of millions of innocent Arab lives. The media is complicit by engaging in biased propaganda and other nuclear powers, such as the UK and Germany, are complicit too. You are fascists and war criminals and every drop of Palestinian blood is in your hands. I hope every single day, for the rest of your lives, you look in the mirror and see nothing but the blood you've helped spill.

This serves as yet another proof that not a single Western in a position of power, be it in the media or in government, sees Arabs as humans beings.

For decades, the US has comitted terrorism and crimes against humanity in the Middle East and has NEVER been held accountable. Over one million in Iraq; over 150,000 in Afghanistan; and now they'll turn Gaza into a graveyard. Punishing selected soldiers over the years does not erase the fact that the American military and its government validates their crimes during execution and are never punished for it.

Please never forget: Joe Biden is a genocidal terrorist, Rishi Sunak is a genocidal terrorist, the American Democrat Party and UK's Labour Party are led by genocidal terrorists, the European Union is led by genocidal terrorists, fuckass Walt Disney Company is led by genocidal terrorists; every celebrity that called for Palestinian death or stood by silently while ignoring our suffering is a genocidal terrorist.

May Allah protect the people in Palestine and grant the martyrs the highest level of Jannah. Wallah what keeps me here is knowing that the Akhirah is theirs. May Almighty Allah grant us imaan and Taqwa as high as the people of Gaza. Ameen.

[begaycommittreason]

honestly i forgot that dick originally wanted to adopt jason as well just imagine how chaotic that would’ve been like

——————

jay: uh what’s for dinner

dick: well we have cereal and…

dick:

dick: hey don’t kids like the whole breakfast for dinner thing?

jay: i miss alfred

——————

dick: and for a bed i’d like to introduce you to this lovely thing called a futon!!

jay: …better than a cardboard box i guess

——————

jay: can i fight crime yet

dick: you’re a child

jay: you’re a slightly larger child

dick: …fair point, no extreme violence and minimum 4 flips per patrol

——————

dick: when a mommy and daddy love each other very much—

jay: i am not doing this with you dickface i know what sex is

dick: wait no little wing i have a powerpoint presentation. it’s color coded and everything!

jay: i wish i’d stayed on the street

——————

dick: okay that’s enough, you know what, get on top of the fridge

jay, hissing: this house is a fucking nightmare

——————

jay: hey some friends at school wanted to watch a movie, is it okay if they come here—

dick: yes, yes! oh my god finally i’m so proud you’re making friends jaybird, i’m gonna be the coolest host dad ever i’ll make pizza and

jay, already on the phone: yeah he said no, sorry guys, can we do it at tommy’s?

——————

dick teaching jason trapeze and circus stuff 😭

——————

jay: god the circus is so lame

dick: exCUSE ME i’m disowning you, get out

jay: WHAT

——————

dick, who forgot to pick up jay from school: oh god i’m so sorry, i’ll never do it again

jay, who’s thrilled to be allowed in the library after hours every time, but never one to pass on a guilt trip: wow dick i never thought you of all people would abandon me

——————

dick: listen my support group says-

jay: you joined a support group for single moms dickface, that doesn’t count

dick: it does too, they all think i’m very brave for doing this alone

jay: for fucks sake-

——————

dick, coming home late from a date and seeing the lights on: uhh hello?

jay, sitting on a stool: and just where have you been all night young man?

dick: IM 26

——————

jason, pointing at the wayne family photos: so who do we like, and who do i hate on principle

dick:

dick: okay so this is complicated

jason: there’s only like three living people??

dick: right. so—

——————

dick, who pulled an all-nighter working on a case: good morning!

jay, who was reading jane austen and didn’t notice the sun came up: right…morning

dick:

jay:

dick: you didn’t sleep did you

jay: well clearly neither did you

dick: fair enough, coffee?

——————

jay: so this guy was shovin’ me around and-

dick: i’ll kill him

jay: …no.

dick: but-

jay: his mom’s the librarian and i can’t afford to fall out of sharon’s good graces

——————

dick: look it’s not my fault i’m so charismatic

jay: i’m not asking for a lot here

dick: you’re asking me to suppress my nature

jay: i’m asking you to stop flirting with all my teachers at parent teacher conferences

dick: c’mon it’s not that big of a deal

jay: …miss shields gave me her phone number to pass along the other day. so did mr. burnes, it’s getting outta hand dick

dick: oh i see, this is serious

dick: she’s really cute, maybe i should-

jay: STOP IT

——————

[acid-ixx]

ch.1: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three

read until the end for an author's note.

if there was one thing you hated more than the crime-filled streets of gotham, it would be empty promises.

when was the last time they attended your birthday? or your school ceremonies? or any special event that meant for you to be the center of attention?

plot twist, there was no last time, or a time before that or any day that they were there for you.

not your eldest brother, dick, not your dead brother, jason, of course tim wouldn't be there for you, damian's absence is a given, not even your sisters would come, and most especially not your father, bruce wayne.

you never wrote wayne as your last name. in every test, it would always be your mother's last name. in every document that you had to fill, you would violently scratch in the name of your father, wishing it wasn't required at all so you wouldn't have to hang your head in shame everytime someone looks at you incredulously for having the bruce wayne as your father but never once appearing to be with you.

you can't recall a time you had called him your dad, or even considered him as one.

if you could count the times you have seen him in person, it wouldn't even fill ten fingers. even interviewers and paparazzi have more luck in coming across him than you would, his child.

it sucks, really, how despite having nearly sharing the same age as tim, you never once saw him outside of his room. you thought you would've been the closest to him, but the most you have seen him was when you were watching the news with the "new" robin popping up, or worse; when bruce would be seen guiding tim through the paparazzi and not you. alfred had to drag you away from the tv that day because you were already suffering through a panic attack just seeing those two act so close; ripping your hair out just from watching the news wasn't a good way to cope.

you remember being so jealous of him, of how bruce would always spend time with him and not you. it made you wonder, were you special enough? tim is so brilliant, you could admit. and you were, too, having enough comprehensibility as a child to find out they were vigilantes a year or two after living in the manor— but you weren't good enough like tim. you weren't cut out to be like a detective or a fighter.

it was no wonder why bruce chose them over you.

it came to you in the form of talking to tim that had you discovering that no one ever mentions your name inside the house, proving it to be true when tim had hesitated calling your name and even stuttered through pronouncing it. and then he left after finding you were of no use to help him. alfred had to stifle your sobbing after tim left the room, allowing you to cry on his chest whilst you sat beside him.

(name) wayne was so, so lonely.

you would've accepted their absence long ago, but you were a stupid child who needed care and reassurance because your mother left you for good at the age of five. you were too naive into thinking you would receive the same love from your family just like the other kids in elementary would. you were a child who expected too highly of your father, thinking that he would pick you up from school with that picture perfect photographed smile of his and kiss your forehead and tell you that you did a great job at school today.

it was your teachers who would be the one having to walk you up the stage whenever you achieved an award. alfred would be too busy sometimes to attend your school ceremonies because he had to assist bruce with missions. of course, you understood his priorities. after all, he tried his hardest to make you feel less lonely inside the mansion, it wasn't enough but he was there at least.

it was long ago that you stopped praying for your family to attend at least one of your birthdays.

it's ironic, really, for a child to prep and plan for their own celebration just to hope that a single member of their family to even walk by the kitchen and join them in on their already lonesome celebration.

too bad everybody only goes to the kitchen when alfred cooks for them. who would want to taste sadness in a sloppily made birthday cake, right? nobody, not even you would have the appetite to eat your cake with the knowledge that it was you who had to put all the effort to bake it because you didn't want alfred to feel obligated to. knowing nobody would celebrate birthdays with you, save for alfred, it was expected that you started to prefer cupcakes.

because then you wouldn't be scolded for making such a mess.

you never cooked family meals after the incident where nobody came and to not waste food, you had to bring in large containers to bring to school so you could celebrate your birthday there.

it was there that you find more solace in your small group of friends compared to the desolate rooms of the mansion. your family celebrates holidays together as a whole, but you never once attended after that one time where everybody had forgotten to get you a gift for christmas, save for alfred who gave you a bracelet (one that you cherished deeply). you only smiled weakly and hopelessly, sneaking into your room before the family dinner.

it was alfred again who bought you leftovers and sat on your bed for an hour to encourage you that there's still more christmas's to go.

you never believed what he said. not anymore.

there was a period of time where you hated them more than anything, blamed them for everything and became more rebellious, purposely failing tests, fighting your classmates and disrespecting teachers in hopes that for once your father would bat an eye on you. that only resulted in you being taken out of the school and being transferred into another, for a behavioral reform is what alfred stated to you when you annoyed him for answers.

damian started to bully you a bit more harder after that incident, calling you immature and childish, a weakling, an attention seeker. how someone at your age should've known better. you were convinced that he was relishing in the heartbroken glare you gave him, ignoring the way his eyes widened momentarily at your reaction before sneering and walking away.

alfred gently scolded you, but you were too choked up and instead you almost tripped running inside your bedroom, locking yourself in for what seems like hours.

you don't want to remember the immense breakdown you had that evening too, screaming on your blankets and destroying your things and hurting yourself because... because you had lost your old friends for nothing! your caring teachers, your academic progress, everything! every single thing for an ounce of attention! because he didn't have enough energy to come with you to the guidance counselor and he only had you transfer out so you wouldn't ruin the wayne's reputation!

you hate him, you hate bruce fucking wayne so much and you hate clinging onto their empty promises and sorry's to make it up for you. you hate how their promises were never even said directly to you, you hate how alfred was your only source of hope for a medium of communication.

you hate them all.

and worst of all, you hate yourself for drowning in hope. for wishing you were physically stronger so you could at least bond with them through training. for dreaming about a day where they could surprise you and told you they were just testing you and that you actually had worth inside this manor. for praying nightly that they'll smile at you like the heroes you see in tv rather than that of pity.

you wished there was a universe where gotham was safer, more protected with no criminals littering the streets. maybe then they would have more time to notice you crying every night, writing self destructive entries in your diary, sketching what would've been a happy family. they wouldn't have to wear their silly costumes to fight crime and instead would save you from your own demons.

if...

if you were brutally tortured and killed by the joker, or forced to choke on the fear toxin by the scarecrow— hell, even beaten to near death by some random goons; would they have given you a sliver of their love? would they finally look at you and save you from yourself?

because despite your resentment, you would never lie and say you didn't feel blessed that you were thrown to a family of talented individuals.

your drawings of a complete and happy family holding hands together and a diary filled with rants and fantasies of spending time with them proved just that.

you were blessed with them yet cursed at the same time to never reach the same level to be even considered part of their lives.

you were hopeless. you never amounted to anything. you were just, you.

thirteen years have passed by then, and in those years you were proud to say your development as a person, albeit slow, transformed you from a child that succumbed to neglect to an independent person who managed to maintain a comfortable circle of friends, a scholarship for a college far away from gotham, and an apartment of your own (you were a bit in debt due to having to pay for your own because no way in hell would you ask for your father for financial support).

allowance was scarce, your food supplies weren't infinite compared to back when you were living at the wayne manor, and you weren't greeted to michelin star restaurant meals cooked by alfred— but you were content, and that was enough.

though content translated to nightly breakdowns whilst finishing projects or writing essays, the point still stands! at least you had celebrated your eighteenth birthday with drunk smiles and your friends spoiling you to death when you had opened up about your first lonely years of life. everything was going well for you, truly.

you were so, so happy for the nice turn of events. and you wouldn't have made it so far if you hadn't slapped yourself out of the delusion that they actually cared for you.

look at you now! independent and with a life of your own! you'd give yourself a pat in the back.

you hadn't blocked them at all, but their contacts were empty (save for a few desperate messages that date back years ago) and you were fine with that. it's not like tim or bruce or barbara considered you important enough to be stalked. hah, as if!

alfred communicates with you time to time, reminding you to eat a complete meal rather than those one dollar priced noodles that tasted like pure salt. he told you he misses you a lot, you and your annoying, daily rants about life and school. he misses your awkward smile and when you would help him cook whenever the others aren't around. he misses it when you imitate his posh accent when you taste test his food and give commentary about it.

you miss him, too. growing up, you realized just how much effort alfred would exert just to spend a lot of his time on you.

now, he told you that you are still welcome to the manor whenever, and how he cleans your room weekly in case you'll visit him.

whenever you audio call with him, you'd tear up just a bit at the realization that alfred was more of a father figure than your own biological father. because he at least attended your graduation to make up for the other times he was unable to join you.

what's even better was that he gifted you something you had always wanted for your birthday. despite it being delivered to your door rather than him giving it to you face to face (since you had refused to give him your location and him respecting that decision at least), the heartfelt letter he left you was more than enough to let you cling onto pieces of your past. after all, it was him who greeted you by the door when you were first introduced into the family, bruce being too busy with paperwork that day when you were a measly five year old.

you had started to teasingly call him 'alfie' and a few more nickname after that, which results with a chuckle over the phone every time you had come up with a cheesy name for him whenever you get a wee bit irritated at his own way of making fun of you.

if only this was your life years ago, then maybe you wouldn't have been jealous of all your other friends and pushed them away that day, maybe you would learn that sometimes, family comes in the form of the people outside of your house rather than inside.

that reminds you, maybe you should reconnect with your old friends back in elementary and apologized for your sudden explosive behavior.

you were laying on your bed, phone in hand and opened your inst*gram app to stalk through the names you could remember. well... that was what you should've done, if not for the fact that a notification popped up the very moment you pressed on the search bar and you had accidentally opened a chat with your oldest brother, dick.

you would've ignored the desperate messages you have sent him from the past which all varied from inviting him to eat dinner with you or to at least join you to play in an arcade or anything to convince him to talk to you, all of which were unseen, if not for the fact that it was him who sent you a sudden "hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!" message, alongside a few more replies that spammed through your phone...

oh!

... that was enough to make you sit up and want to hurl.

dick grayson was a man of many talents. the mature eldest child, the ideal good leader despite his anger issues from time to time, and the same guy who set the standards high for the future robins. he is bruce's greatest achievement.

it was safe to say that if not for the support of many, then he would've suffered so many falls and would've never been strong enough to stand up despite the pain and continue his fights. nightwing was what many superheroes strive to be, an image of light in a grove of darkness such as gotham.

so why was it that he felt like he has failed so deeply right now?

inside your room, dick stands with furrowed brows. it felt too clean to look used. your furniture was polished and look untouched, the lights were too bright and the windows were bolted shut. there were no signs of life other than the notebooks and sketchbooks that were neatly tucked on the middle of the bed and the trinkets that scatter through your desk.

dick stalks through the room, careful to not make a noise as he walks over to the closet, opening it and finding nothing.

he bites his lips at the implication that this was probably the second time he visited your room and how it was also the longest time he remained here. compared to his other siblings, you were the one he noticed the least and... now he feels bad for dismissing you.

didn't he promise to take you out for dinner months ago?

damn it, he was way too focused on his mission that night and ended up ditching and forgetting you! oh god, dick facepalmed and clenched his teeth, seething in some air because no fucking way did he actually remember to feed damian's dog, titus, the same day but forgot to take you out for an important event...

it occurred to him that that was the same day you scored a perfect on "the hardest test of my life!" you had bragged to him awkwardly when he wasn't listening nor looking and you, wanting to celebrate what was a small achievement for dick, chose him to spend time with you!

dick had to carefully breath through his mouth then gulp down the shame he feels right now. he- he has no time to focus on the past but rather the present. he has to find out why the hell is your room so lifeless, yeah... then he'll make it up to you today, definitely.

huh?

is it just him, but why does the room seem so small? it looked like it was meant to be for a kid. clearly, there wasn't enough space for a growing individual like you... did bruce not provide you with a bigger bedroom? ah, dick would definitely tell bruce to relocate you to a bigger room, the current one is too small for even a dog in a manor to sleep in.

dick doesn't want to admit it at all, but... he hasn't seen you for the past few months, or not all, really. sure, he had only recently visited the manor since he's bludhaven's vigilante now, but even through his time in gotham he had never seen you other than the times you pulled his sleeves from back when you were a child.

back when you were a child.

how old are you now? you were so small back then, innocent too. he can recall your curious eyes, your chubby cheeks and the way you stutter through your words as you try to talk to him.

you were significantly younger than jason, and was adopted a week before tim was introduced to the family. he remembers you peeking through alfred's back, gleaming with curiousity and whispering to the butler if it was really the dick grayson. he smiled fondly at your dumbfounded expression, the way your mouth shaped into an "ohh," when he was the one who answered that, yes, it was him. then you whispered again if you can take have an autograph from him, to which he chuckled and told alfred that he'll help accompany you to your room.

when your five year old body tried to waddle closer to his body for an ounce of warmth when he had been guiding you up the stairs, that was also the first time he called you baby bird, with the way you coddled him so closely. his hands find itself patting your head, ruffling your hair and grinning as you both make your path through the halls.

he comes to immediately regret leaving you alone after he had introduced you to your room, remembering his duties as a vigilante than that of a brother.

but despite his early memories of you, he wants to see his baby sibling all grown up now.

had it really been years?

when was the last time you ever had a full-on conversation with him?

was there even a time that he had approached you by himself?

he had always called you baby bird after the first time you meet because of the age gap you two shared. the rare times he acknowledges you, you gave him that look filled with such adoration, like you were proud of him for being your older brother. why did he not notice you?

oh, his baby bird...

dick gulped, trying to ease his shivering by sitting on your neatly folded blankets and taking a worn diary in his hand, one at the bottom stack of books. well, if it was a personal diary then maybe you would've hidden it better, right? he figures since it was all placed on the center of the bed like a piece of treasure that... it would be alright to take just a glimpse.

to confirm if you still see him as your favorite brother.

dick's heartbeat spiked, hoping your entries would be filled with, he doesn't know, anything that didn't implicate some sort of hatred for the family, for him. hoping that despite his lack of attention towards you, that there would still be a spark of love for him. if what he thinks was actually true then... he doesn't know what to do with himself.

he flips through the first page, noting how it was bulkier than the others. the paper was filled with glittery decorations, sequence beads and cheap stickers sparkling at every angle the light hits. it was meant to be a design for the 'front cover' of the notebook, colors blended in a cacophony of rainbows and butterflies and flowers beyond the messy calligraphy that merely states "(name)'s diary!"

dick stifles a grin just from skimming through at the amount of mistakes and erasures, clearly written by the the younger version of you; naive to the world and its cruelty. he commends your creativity, his eyes softening at the few doodles that were written on the corners of the pages.

you're just too adorable for your own good, so much so that the thumping in dick's heart beats louder and louder, ears wringing uncomfortable inside your unventilated bedroom. but he just couldn't rip his eyes away from the diary, daydreaming about how proud you must've been when designing your own diary. he could picture your wide eyes, shy and harmless, and your feet kicking back and forth whilst you decorate your stuff.

everything was what he expected it to be on the first few pages of the diary. all your little rants about your daily life, your eargerness to meet your entire family from your father's side, and the hurt you experienced from your mother's sudden abandonment.

he would've skipped through another diary, one that lacked design and color, save for the name plastered on the front, if not for the grim undertones at every end of your entries despite the child-like manner it was written in.

it all started with "i wish to see my father soon and my big brother dick again!", "alfred told me my father can't come to the parent-teacher conference, he says he's in a veryyy important meeting :( but alfred would come!", "dick told me he can't help me with my science project but he promise he'll help me with something else later!" which halfway through the diary, your style fluctuates and lesser effort was exhausted on the writing.

one entry in particular, written on the last page of your diary, shattered a sliver of hope within dick, his breathing momentarily ceased from reading through your sentences; uncharacteristic of you, too mature for someone at the age of ten to write.

"XX/XX/XXXX.

dear diary, it's my tenth birthday today. i celebrated with my friends at school. they told me i always look down whenever it's my birthday. they think that bruce would throw a fancy celebration for me. i tried to hide my laughter from them. it's a really funny joke. i haven't seen him for months. i told dick that he was invited but i don't think he remembers it's my birthday today. alfred told me to come out of my room, he said he cooked my favorite dinner, that he's sorry he got my present late, but i don't want get out of my room. i heard dick is gonna watch a movie with tim later. i don't feel so good, my chest hurts, but i don't want to get out right now.

i'll eat the cupcake tomorrow."

it had been nearly two hours since dick had sat on your bed, eyes dilating whilst reading through your first diary. the cold season had already pricked his skin, but his entire body felt so unnaturally warm, a warmth that scorches him, searing deep into flesh. a lump had form in his throat, accompanying the hellish throbbing of his heart.

"fuck..." he brought his fingers to his head, carefully massaging his forehead but it relieves nothing. he wants to see you right now— he needs to talk to you. god, he has to apologize, he needs to see what you look like right now, needs to know if you're alright.

you're clearly not.

he has to oppress the urge to punch the walls, reminding himself that it's your room he's in and if he damages your already delicate property, then he's proving himself worse than he already is.

he rushes to grab another diary, the one at the top of the pile, skipping to the end of the page.

nothing. all the entries were months ago, all written in vague detail like you were starting to hide secrets. his teeth grinds against each other, frustration seeping through his veins.

he needs to— shit, he needs to find you right now. he needs to find his baby bird and make up for the all bullshit him and his family had done. if you were gone for months, even years; he doesn't even want to think about it.

but how?!

there were no signs of you. anything written your diary, your drawings, the trinkets on your bedside table— they signal no clues whatsoever, all dating back to months, even years. it's not possible at all, for nobody to notice your disappearance. dick would've noticed sooner. he should've noticed sooner. oh, he doesn't even want to think about the dangers that await you outside the mansion. with how naive you were about the outside world, you wouldn't last at all.

his baby bird wouldn't survive gotham's streets, especially not when winter was nearing.

think, grayson, think...

his phone!

he immediately reaches into his pockets to grab his phone, clammy fingers swifly encoding his password and opening his contacts.

your number was the quickest to find, it was the only one without an icon of you and an endearing nickname. he makes a mental note to change that soon and replaced your default name to your nickname.

then, without hesitation, he typed, "hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!" sending the message without rereading, foot tapping impatiently against the floor as he scrolls through all your previous messages.

messages that he should've replied to with the same level of enthusiasm as you. skimming through the past, unseen texts as your motivation began to dwindle the further he refused to reply back. he promises he'll never make you feel invisible again.

seconds feel like hours for him, as he blows raspberries to pass the time, too concentrated an ounce of a reply to even notice the entirely new presence inside the room.

it's alright to call you, yes? after all, dick just wanted to check in with his baby bird and see if you're doing swell and dandy and... safe without him...!

his thumbs pressed on the call button before he could think through his actions, his other hand runs through his hair, sweat running down his forehead as if he had ran a marathon.

he waited, and waited, and waited until the call beeped and provided its automated response. he calls you again but the line immediately cuts off, he tries to spam you with more messages but they weren't delivered.

you blocked him.

fuck, he messed up big time. he needs to get to the batcave. he needs to find your fucking location before it's too late. dick needs to see you again before he loses it.

but before he could carefully place your sketchbooks back to its rightful place, he sees a silhouette at the corner of his eyes; short figure, arms crossed, and a sneer on his eyes already tells him who it was.

damian wayne.

he forgot to train with damian today.

but it doesn't matter, damian has to see it for himself— what made dick so disheveled, so delirious. damian has to finally see just how much of a wonderful sibling you are.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: this was 4,600+ words and it drained the energy out of me. it was supposed to be posted tomorrow but i was too motivated !! i'm also quite proud of this chapter. it was a pain characterizing dick grayson and the reader. i really hope this is as good as the prequel because it's 3am right now and writing dick's part was a pain in the ass ^^' as always, please do comment or send asks if you like it for quicker updates!!!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @alishii, @ruiroku, @okaybutfullhomo, @trasshy-artist, @obsessedwithromance, @deadinside-09, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa (shoutout to her specifically because i got motivated from their comment!)