#but it’s probably more complex when your ward is literally humanity’s last hope

[triysn]

Y’all ever think about how Rex is like. An orphan. Of all his cartoon contemporaries, he’s the only one whose parents are just straight up, explicitly dead.

And like, yeah, you could argue that for some, their relationships with their LIVING parents are like equally traumatising as having dead ones (cough cough phantom cough). Plus Rex has holiday and six.

But like holiday and six are very much paid to take care of him. Like, no matter how good their intentions are, they are still very much people with jobs and their own agendas.

You think Holiday ever had to ignore how wrong it felt to experiment on Rex and take samples and reduce him to a bunch of numbers and test results but she HAS to because that’s her job and she needs to find a cure for Beverly, needs to figure out how he works.

Or Six having to train Rex to be a weapon, probably in the exact way he was trained. The dual motivation of “this is for his own good, to keep him alive” and “I’m literally being paid to manipulate this kid who trusts me with the goal of ensuring the outcome providence wants in battle” and wondering if one can ever cancel out the other.

Like they care. They care about him so much. But Holiday still does her tests and Six still trains him and doesn’t tell him about Noah. Neither of these things is for Rex’s own good. They’re trying, but they work for Providence. They are literally, undeniably complicit in Rex’s abuse. All they can do is control the extent of the abuse. They love him and they’re getting their paychecks from controlling him.

That’s so fucked up. That is so cool.

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Chapter Ten: To Home and Friendship

(Images are not mine)

Rated: PG

~With every small disaster I'll let the waters still Take me away to some place real

'Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone Is where you go when you're alone Is where you go to rest your bones It's not just where you lay your head It's not just where you make your bed As long as we're together, does it matter where we go?~

Home.

That wasn't a word I was used to. Not anymore.

"I stand by what I said earlier, Jack. You make an excellent pillo― Oh holy crap."

I gasped as Jack lead me inside the literal bunker that these guys apparently lived in. I wondered if I would ever get used to it, because their bunker was enormous.

We entered through a non-descript entrance, that nobody would have noticed, onto a platform that was less of a balcony and more of a catwalk which I guessed was the second floor, though I couldn't tell exactly because it was a bunker and it probably had more levels than I could see. The wrought iron railing of the balcony was formed into a design of circles atop rectangles. The catwalk ended with a set of steel stairs that curved with the wall.

My feet clanged on the metal as I descended the stairwell. At the bottom of those stairs on my right was a doorway that led somewhere else and on my left was what I guessed was the entryway. There was a big glowy-table-thing with a map on it in the center of the space, surrounded by several chairs. There was this big, greenish panel thingy attached to one of the tan tiled walls that looked like some sort of old timey computer equipment. Through a big gray archway, I could see into another room that looked like a library with a huge telescope at the end of it. On the far left of the room there was another hallway going off somewhere else. Dean stepped off the staircase and spread his arms out.

"Welcome to the Batcave!" He said, grinning. "I see you're impressed." Only then did I realize my mouth was hanging open. I closed it and shook my head.

"This place is colossal," I said in awe.

"Yeah, it's a little pretentious but you get used to it." Sam shrugged, passing me. Jack just stood over my shoulder, watching my reaction.

"True, but if you want protection, this is about the safest place in the world. It's got warding against every evil thing out there. Vampires, werewolves, demons, ghosts, you name it," Dean boasted. Just then, Isaac appeared on the catwalk, as far from us as he could.

"Ha! Then how did I get in here genius!" He jeered. It took every last drop of will power I had not to facepalm right then and there. It was warm in here and the hunters would certainly notice a sudden temperature drop. Was Isaac trying to get us discovered? (I'd say killed but he's already dead.)

"Yep, nothing gets in here unless we let it. Or, you know, bring it in accidentally." Sam shared a look with Cas and his older brother.

"Scooby-dooby-doo!" Dean laughed, shaking his head. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know the story behind that or not. Meanwhile Isaac wore a sheepish expression.

"Oh, guess that’s how I got in then." Words cannot express how much I wanted to kick my brother at that moment. After he was finished laughing, Dean looked to Jack.

"Kid, you take Mcfly here, find her a room, get her all settled, then give her the grand tour. I'm gonna hit the sack." Dean turned on his heel with a wave and whistled his way out of the room. Castiel mumbled something about research and crossed through the arch into the library.

"We're gonna find the monster that took your family away, Marty. But until then, think of us as your new one." I looked up at Sam and was reminded again of how huge the guy was. His head was in a totally different weather system than mine and I wondered if it was harder to breathe all the way up there.

"Thanks Sam." I took three steps higher on the stairs and made grabby hands at him. "Come here."

Sam raised an eyebrow at me but obeyed anyway. I took a tiny jump and wrapped my arms around his neck. He stumbled back a bit in surprise but quickly recovered and wrapped his arms around me with a chuckle.

"Shut up, Gigantor. I gotta hug ya’ somehow!" I rebuked, defending my height... Or rather, the lack thereof. I guess his laughter was justified though. My feet were dangling at least a foot from the floor. I let go of him and dropped back to the ground, it felt like falling off Mount Everest. Sam just shook his brown mane, smiling down at me.

"If there's anything you need, like help reaching the top shelf, just ask." I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, whatever Sasquatch. So, what are you gonna do?" I asked. Sam shrugged, running a hand through his hair.

"Put my stuff away. Then I'm gonna go reorganize the pantry, make sure you can reach the cereal," He smirked, and followed Dean's path through the other door-way.

"Way to rub it in, Sam!" I called after him. I heard him chuckle as he rounded the corner out of my sight. Then I rounded on Jack, who had been waiting patiently. "Well, Jack, if you wanna make fun of my height, now's the time to do it. Lead on!" I opened my arms, preparing for insults.

"It is rare that I get to feel tall, but I'm not going to make fun of you," He said, turning on his heel to lead me through the door-way behind us.

"Good. Cause' I might have slapped you if ya had." Jack looked back at me questioningly, but I just shrugged.

I followed him through twisting and turning hallways that I knew I wouldn't be memorizing anytime soon. We kept walking for what seemed like forever. Honestly, I was ninety-eight percent convinced that we might pass a sign that said: 'Now Entering Nebraska.' It didn't help that all the halls looked exactly the same.

"Back at the motel, the night we met, Dean said you had this thing," Jack remarked, turning to face me and walking backward.

"What thing?" I asked.

"I think he called it ‘A Napoleon Complex' or something like that," Jack said, innocently. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.

"And do you know what that is?"

"No. I haven't looked it up yet. Do you know?" I snorted.

"Oh, yeah. I know," I said. Already thinking of a comeback for the next time I saw Dean.

"What is it?" Jack was simply curious. I smirked at him.

"Do you know who Napoleon was?" I asked him, I was pretty sure of the answer.

"No." Just as I thought. The Winchesters needed to teach their half-angel some history. As for now though, I could give him the watered-down version.

"Napoleon was a French dude, not to be confused with the ice-cream. He was five foot six and when people called him short, he blew them up." I told him. Jack nodded seriously.

"I see, so he was insecure about his height and used violence to compensate for it. Then, the complex was named after him." I had to give it to him, the kid was smart.

"Yep. Never mind the fact that he took over almost all of Europe, he will always be famous for being a human chihuahua." I had to at least teach Jack something remotely accurate. Jack frowned and his eyebrows pulled together as if remembering something unpleasant. I guessed he had come into contact with a chihuahua before, it didn't look like he was fond of them.

"So, Dean thinks you're insecure about your height," Said Jack, returning us to the original topic.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Are you?" I shrugged.

"Not really. I'm just obnoxious." Jack laughed, coming to a stop in front of a black door that looked just the same as the rest that lined the hall except for the plaque with the number 22 etched into it.

"This is my room," He said. "And that's Sam's." He pointed to the door on the left of his which had a 21 on it. "You can pick any of these other rooms." His eyes flicked to the door next to his on the right, room 24. I briefly wondered what had happened to 23. When I met his eyes, he looked at his feet, as if his shoes were much more interesting than me.

"Does anyone live in here?" I tapped the door with 24 on it.

"No, it's empty but you don't have to take that one if you don't want to." Jack glued his eyes to the polished cement floor and ran his hand through his hair, a tick I was sure he picked up from Sam.

"Why wouldn't I want to?" I asked, narrowing my eyes and putting my hands on my hips. I watched as a pink tint started to creep up Jack's neck.

"I don't want you to think that you have to stay in that one just because I want you too," He muttered.

"You want me to stay next to you?" I pointed out. Jack's expression went blank, his eyes wide as quarters.

"Um, I-I-I don't- I didn't mean--" Jack stumbled over his words. His gaze drilled straight into the floor, his hands were fidgeting, and his right foot twisted its toe against the concrete. His body language pointed at nervousness. Why was he this nervous? Was it me? He hadn't been this way before, what was different now? I decided to ease his nerves with a little humor. I stuck my hand into his line of sight and waved.

"Yoo, hoo! I'm up here, Jack." He flicked his eyes up to my face but kept his head down. "Well, not up per-say but you know what I mean," I joked. His smile was still pointed at the concrete. I guessed we'd just have to work on that.

"S-sorry." His laugh was a breathy one. I sighed, planting my hands on my hips.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Jack. It's nice to have someone who wants me around, I haven't had that in a long time." I smiled in what I hoped was a friendly way. Jack rocked back and forth on his heels and his mouth did that crooked smile of his. He even flicked his eyes up at me.

"Well, uh, what are friends for?" He sounded like he was reciting something he heard in a movie.

I wondered whether Jack was trying to flirt with me or not. A tiny part of me hoped that he was and another part of me kicked myself for hoping for that. How could I think that way? Jack was two, he was probably too young to understand feelings like that, if he even had them. He probably didn't have them. He was probably just doing his best to make a friend, by going off what he had seen. I mean, the movies are pretty against a boy and a girl simply being friends. Besides if he knew what I was, he wouldn't be standing here talking to me. He'd be trying to kill me. Isaac was right. Any friendship I made here, would never be real. It never could be.

"Right," I said softly. Now I was the one looking down at my feet. But I wasn't doing it out of nerves. I was doing it out of shame. Glancing up at him through my lashes, Jack's smile faltered for only a moment. He grasped the doorknob and turned it and as the door swung inward, Jack flipped a switch and the white florescent lights buzzed to life.

The room was simply decorated, and by that I mean it wasn't decorated at all. The walls, ceiling, and floor were grey and a built-in shelf stuck out from the far wall. In the center of the space sat a full-size bed with a plain white duvet, white sheets, and down pillows. There was a dresser pushed up against one wall, a desk pressed against the other, and a tiny night stand next to the bed, all of which were fashioned out of wood the shade of walnut.

"Um, it's not much, but we can get you some stuff to make it yours," Jack smirked down at me and I ducked past him into the room.

Other than those objects, the room was bare, but I found myself overwhelmed. My chest tightened and my eyes stung, it was so little, but it was more than I'd had in five years. I shrugged my backpack off my shoulders and placed my violin case on the bed. Keeping my back turned, my face hidden from Jack, I blinked rapidly to dispel my tears.

"It's wonderful, Jack. I-I love it." I took a deep breath and pasted a smirk on my face. When I had control of my emotions, I swung back to face him. "Now, how bout' that grand tour?" Jack's brows pushed together.

"Don't you want to put your things away, first?" He asked, tilting his head.

"Nah, I can do that anytime. This place is pretty awesome, I wanna see it all!" I grinned at him, pressing all the excitement I could muster into my voice. Jack grinned back.

"Well, um, what would you like to see first?"

"No idea! What's your favorite room?" Jack's eyes flicked to the side as he thought about his answer for a moment.

"The kitchen," He decided. His seriousness made me chuckle.

"I like the way you think. You lead, I'll follow!" This time, instead of smiling at the concrete, Jack smiled at my shoes! We were making good progress. Now if I could get him to smile at my face, then we would really be getting somewhere.

Jack swung around on his heel and walked about four paces before opening a door on the other side of the hall. This one was labeled with 23. 'So that's where it went.' I thought, as Jack pushed the door open and walked through. Inside was the kitchen. It wasn't the kind you have at home. No, this was one of those industrial sort of kitchens, all polished steel and florescent lighting. (The buzzing of those light bulbs was extremely annoying, but I would just have to get used to it.)

There were pots and pans everywhere. Any sort of cook where you could imagine was in there, hanging on racks, dangling from hooks, sitting on shelves, or habitually left on the stove. What looked like easily one hundred white plates were stacked neatly on the shelves of the giant stainless-steel island that dominated the space. Two ovens, stood side-by-side in a little nook, one of which had a griddle attached to the top. Hovering over the two ovens were large vents of gleaming steel.

To the right of the cooking station was the preparation area and a sink as big as your average tub. I'm not kidding. The thing was gargantuan. Above that monstrosity of a kitchen sink sat an array of porcelain cups, and a tissue box, on a shelf. To the right of that, there sat a large stainless steel shelving unit that was home to various cooking supplies and four white drawers in the middle.

On the far wall, was a brown bulletin board decorated with various notes, covered in scribbles and sketches, tacked to it. Beneath the bulletin was a table crafted from some dark colored wood, that was either oak or mahogany, and was attached to the wall. Affixed to the table were eight stool-like seats constructed from the same dark material as the table itself. Directly to the right side of the door, was a coat rack and six small lockers stacked vertically. The right wall was an archway and set of stairs that lead off into a hallway branching to the right and a different set of stairs to the left.

As I peered around to the left side of the door and past another steel shelf, I laid eyes upon what could only be the freezer/refrigerator combo. It was this enormous floor-to-ceiling white panel with five varying sized doors built into it. The far most door on the right was taller than me so I assumed that was the refrigerator and the other four doors were freezers. Why one would need four freezers, I had no idea, but I found myself liking the concept. Now that I had finished taking in the grossly oversized kitchen, I whirled to Jack and grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. I stared him dead in the eyes.

"This. Place. Is. Awesome." I pointed at the refrigerator. "Five bucks says I could fit in there!" Jack's gaze followed my finger and he nodded.

"I think you could," He said. I took another glance around the space. I couldn't help it. The laugh bubbled up from my stomach, filled my chest, and bloomed in my throat. It had been a long, long, long, time since I had laughed like that.

"I went from having nothing, to living in this place! This is amazing!" I flung my arms around Jack. It was quite the feat on my part to refrain from crushing his ribs. I was so excited I could hardly contain it. I was bouncing up and down on my toes like a little girl! Though I guess, in the eyes of Jack and the others, that’s sort of what I was.

"I'm glad you like it!" Jack said, grinning.

"I don't like it, Jack. I love it!" I exclaimed. My stomach growled like an angry bear, just being in here was making me hungry. "Hey, as long as we're here, got anything good to eat? I'm starving!" That last bit was nothing new, I was always starving these days, always craving. But I was never craving food. Jack's throat suddenly looked extremely tasty. Thankfully, his voice broke me away from that train of thought.

"I like ice-cream," He said, brightly.

"Jack?”

"Hm?"

"We are gonna be awesome friends."

No, home wasn't a word I was used to. Not anymore. But I realized with a start, that for the first time in five years, I had one. A real one.

It looked like I was gonna have to get used to it.

Jack knelt down and opened the door on the bottom left of the freezer/refrigerator combo that I then dubbed 'The Wall of Cold Stuff'. He reached in, grabbed a tub of ice cream, then stood and kicked the door shut.

"The bowls are down there and the spoons are in the top left drawer," He said, pointing to the shelf in the back. I made my way over and grabbed two of each. We both sat at the table, across from each other, and Jack served up the ice cream. I then got the chance to glance at the ice cream's label. It was chocolate-chip-cookie-dough.

"This is my favorite flavor. What's yours?" I asked him, shoveling ice cream into my mouth and moaning as the sugary goodness coated my tongue. Jack must have found that funny because he ducked his head and laughed.

"I don't know. This one is pretty good, but I love the mint and brownie ones as well," He told me. I had noticed that Jack always took great care to think about his answers before he gave them. He took and asked every question seriously. I got the feeling that Jack was the sort of person who's curiosity was never satisfied.

"I can vibe with that," I agreed. Jack's brows furrowed, he placed his spoon down on the table, folded his hands in his lap and leaned forward.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what that means. Could you explain it?" He asked. I liked the way he behaved when he was curious about something, Jack just dropped everything to learn and focused entirely on whatever it was he was trying to understand. Right now, that thing was me. I found that I didn't mind his undivided attention.

"Oh, um, it means that you agree with something somebody said. Its like saying 'you're right' or 'I agree with you' or 'that's cool'," I explained. Jack nodded.

"I think I understand." I gave him a thumbs up and scooped another spoonful of ice-cream into my mouth, closing my eyes and savoring the flavor with a deep sigh.

"You know, it's been five years since I last had ice cream," I said. Jack froze his ice cream eating with his spoon still stuck in his mouth, his expression morphing into one of horror and pity.

"That's awful!" He said, he'd removed the spoon, but his mouth was still full of the dessert, "No one should have to go without ice cream for that long!"

"My friend, you are absolutely right," I replied, pointing my spoon at him. "Here's to ice cream and sugar highs!" I tapped my bowl with the spoon and Jack copied me, albeit somewhat confused as to what I was doing. Speaking of sugar highs, I could already feel one building up already. It had been way too long since I'd had this much sugar.

"Marty?" Jack wanted my attention.

"Hm?"

"I had a dream about you last night," He said, changing the subject. I stared up at him, pulling my spoon out of my mouth.

"Should I be worried?"

"No."

"What was I doing in this dream of yours?" I asked, straining to keep the nervousness that was building in my chest out of my voice. Jack frowned, picking at his ice cream.

"You said-- You told me you were dangerous and I shouldn't trust you, that you're hiding something."

I bit my lip, my eyes widening with shock. I struggled to keep calm and natural, my reactions could give me away. Just as I'd settled my expression, Jack looked up. "I can trust you, right?" I smiled as genuinely as I could, which was difficult to do with his gaze piercing into my soul like it was.

"Of course, you can! I may be clever but I'm not exactly diabolical," I said, giving my best laugh. Jack smiled and nodded, though I got the notion that he was reassuring himself more than anything. If he was going to say something else, he never got the chance because at that moment, Sam strolled into the room.

He stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of us at the table. Our heads snapped up at the same time and we froze. Jack had his spoonful halfway to his mouth and mine was already there. The three of us just stared at each other for a moment but Sam was the first to react.

"Come on guys, really?! It's six A.M.!" He exclaimed. I shrugged, removing the spoon from my mouth and pointing it at him.

"AM, PM. What's the difference? Live a little!" With that comment alone, Sam figured he wouldn't be getting anywhere with me, so he turned to Jack.

"Jack, come on, be an example." Jack glanced at his spoonful of dessert and shoved in in his mouth, quickly.

"Technically," He pointed out, directing his spoon at me, "She's older than me!"

"Hey!" I protested.

"What?"

"This was your idea!"

Jack shrugged. "I know, but you agreed. I was just stating a fact," he said. Sam sighed, shaking his head. The two of us turned our attention back to him.

"Jack, throw it away and put the container back in the freezer. If you want ice cream, you can have it at dinner. Not at six in the morning," He scolded. Jack swallowed his mouthful of ice cream.

"But Sam, look at how happy she is! Marty hasn't had ice cream for five years!" He tried. I nodded vigorously to emphasize the point.

"It's true, Sam. You only live once!" I said, shoving another bite of ice cream in my mouth. Sam's eyes flicked back and forth between us.

"Fine. Just this once," He sighed.

"Thanks Sam!" Jack and I grinned.

"Yeah, whatever." Sam rolled his eyes and left the kitchen, but I could hear the hint of a smile in his voice. When he was gone, Jack sighed with relief.

"I take it you do this a lot," I said to him. He looked at the ice cream with a guilty expression.

"I wouldn't say a lot."

"But often enough for him not to be surprised?"

"Yeah." Jack grinned sheepishly.

"Does he always catch you?" I asked him.

"Every time, yes."

We finished our ice cream and put our dishes in the sink. Then, Jack proceeded to show me the rest of the bunker. Sometimes I would ask about what was in few of the rooms and he would reply with an 'I don't know' or a few times a rather disturbing 'You don't want to know'. To say that his cryptic warning had no effect on me would be a lie. He spoke the words in a light hearted way that just made me more worried. So, I tried to push any speculations as to the contents of those rooms from my mind but kept step slightly closer to Jack from then on.

He showed me a garage full of a bunch of old-timey cars that I found myself figuratively drooling over, a room full of antique electronic equipment he told me not to touch, an impressive gym with an adjacent shower room, an infirmary, a shooting range that looked like a lot of fun, something they called the 'War Room' which was where the glowy table was, the extensive library, and an alcove with an gigantic telescope that Jack claimed nobody could figure out how to use. According to him, the glowy table in the war room could supposedly track monsters, but the Winchesters weren't sure how to use it. Much to my relief.

Jack also showed me a room where I immediately knew I would be spending most of my time. Jack rather confusedly referred to it as 'The Dean Cave'. I later noticed the paper sign tacked on the back of the door that was labeled with said name. Inside there was a flat screen TV, two recliners, a bar that I'd never use, a foosball table which I would definitely use, a record-playing jukebox that I hoped had some decent tunes, and a shelf full of books. The whole room was lit by these cool red and blue lights that looked to be made out of beer kegs. This was a place I could get used to.

"Jack, I think I found my second favorite room," I said, trailing my fingers along the rim of the foosball table.

"You'll have to ask Dean if you can use the T.V. he and Sam are still trying to figure it out." Jack sat cross-legged on one of the ugly plaid recliners.

"Remind me to help em' with that. I'm tech-y," I replied, walking over to observe the jukebox. I didn't know most of the titles displayed on the devices list of records, but my eyes landed on one that I'd know even if it was written in Chinese. "Oh my gosh! Jack, how do I use this thing?!" I squealed, excitedly. Jack hopped up to help me.

"You turn this knob to select which one you want, then you press this button to start it," He explained. I followed his instructions and watched the machine grab the record and put it on that spinning thing before it dropped the needle. I grinned ear to ear as sweet music filled the air.

~Wouldn't it be nice if we were older? Then we wouldn't have to wait so long And wouldn't it be nice to live together In the kind of world where we belong?~

"What's this one called?" Jack asked over the notes.

"Wouldn't it be nice, by The Beach Boys! It's one of my favorites!" I was surprised that it was here considering Dean's bias when it came to music.

~You know it's gonna make it that much better When we can say goodnight and stay together~

"I dare you to sing along, Jack-Jack." I grinned and nudged his shoulder.

"No thank you," He said, shaking his head with a pleasant smile.

~Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up In the morning when the day is new? And after having spent the day together Hold each other close the whole night through~

"Awww! Why not?"

"I don't know the words." He shrugged.

~Happy times together we've been spending I wish that every kiss was never ending Oh, wouldn't it be nice?~

"Fine!" I sighed in over dramatic disappointment, flopping onto one of the recliners. "But that excuse is only gonna work once!"

Jack chuckled, leaning his arms on the back of the recliner to look down at me. "I guess I better come up with more excuses then!"

~Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray It might come true Baby, then there wouldn't be a single thing we couldn't do Oh, we could be married (oh, we could be married) And then we'd be happy (and then we'd be happy) Oh, wouldn't it be nice?~

"You can't evade me forever," I declared, kicking my feet back and forth to the beat of the song.

"True," Jack agreed, nodding. "But I can try."

"And try you will, young Skywalker," I said.

"I like Star Wars!" Jack noted, suddenly seeming to shift from being older than me to younger by about five years. It was an odd thing to watch.

"Who doesn't?"

~Goodnight, my baby Sleep tight, my baby Goodnight, my baby Sleep tight, my baby~

The music faded away but I maintained eye contact with Jack in a spontaneous staring contest. Why? Because, naturally the first one to break was a weakling and I was not going to take that title on my first day with these people.

"Is this a staring contest?" Jack asked, tilting his head a bit. He didn't blink.

"Indeed. We maintained eye contact for longer than twenty-eight seconds, so it's obligatory," You replied, still refusing to blink.

"I did not know that those were the rules," Jack said, sounding somewhat confused.

"Well, they're not. That's just how my family always played." You were quick to clear your throat and rid your tone of any sadness that slipped past your defenses.

"Oh, I see."

"I take it you two are having fun."

"Agh!" I shot up from my reclined position in shock and whipped to the doorway where I took in the sight of Castiel standing just outside the door frame, the ghost of a smile visible on his otherwise expressionless face. How long had he been watching? Embarrassment warmed my cheeks and I hoped we hadn't looked like idiots.

"Hey Cas! I don't know about Jack, but I'm having the time of my life!" I said. Then I turned to Jack. "Whattdya' say, buddy? Am I torturing you?"

"I've been tortured before, this isn't anything close to what that was like! Don't worry, Marty. You're a lot of fun." He stated, matter-of-factly. My eyes went wide and I tilted my head at him. I mean, what was I even supposed to say to something like that? "Oh, and you I won the staring contest." I found myself nodding slowly.

"Well, good for you. And that's got to be the weirdest complement I think I've ever gotten, but I'll take it." Jack grinned at me in his lopsided way and I turned my attention back to the other angel in the room. "Any particular reason for this visit or were ya just passing?"

"Sam asked me to check up on you two," Cas answered.

"Alright. Well, I was just about to ask Jack to help me find my way back to my room."

Cas simply nodded and walked off.

"So, why do you like that song so much?" Jack inquired as we strode back through the endless identical hallways.

"It was in one of my mom's favorite movies so she was always singing it. I love the tune as well and sometimes, when I'm sad, the words make me feel better," I answered. Jack frowned.

"I don't understand song lyrics. They never make sense to me."

"Would you like me to explain it to you?"

"Yes." Jack nodded and once again gave me all his attention.

"So, that song is about two young people who feel like they're living their lives stuck in place. There's so much they want to do but everybody says they're just to young to do it. They feel like they've outgrown the stage of life that they're in and they just want to move on. By being stuck where they are, they're afraid they'll miss their opportunity for happiness. So they dream about a day when they'll finally be free to do whatever they want, even if they that day may never come around." My thoughtful tone surprised me.

I hadn't meant to put so much of my own emotion into my explanation of the lyrics. If I kept on like this, the hunters would figure me out in no time. But there was just something about Jack, about the way he listened to my every word, that made me want to tell him everything about everything. I was weak around him. He made me let my guard down. I'd have to learn how to keep it up if I wanted to survive.

"Do you feel stuck sometimes?" Jack asked. His tone was sincere but his expression gave me no clues a s to what he was hoping to learn from his question. I nodded.

"I used to feel like I was living a loop, like every day was the same. It sucked." I rolled my eyes and shoved him playfully. "But then four weirdos in an Impala showed up and my life is finally moving again!"

~With every small disaster I'll let the waters still Take me away to someplace real

Cause' they say home is where your heart is set in stone Its where you go when you're alone Its where you go to rest your bones Its not just where you lay your head Its not just where you make your bed As long as we're together does it matter where we go?~

Lyrics from: Home by Jasmine Thompson

[jason-todd-deserved-better]

Illyrian Fae AU - Damian Wayne x Reader Headcanon

Summary: Most humans should be indoors before the sun sets, but you, on the other hand, get held up at work. Will you make it safely back home or does certain doom come into your future.

A/N: Hello hello hello, it’s been a good minute since I’ve done a headcanon let alone actually post anything in over a month. Hehehe... I’m sorry. I’ve been working on other stories, one you guys have been asking me to post for the past six months. ( It’s Tim’s version of WttDCU, I swear I haven’t abandoned it, just that story I’m doing a little differently, and it keeps getting longer the more I try, so maybe I’ll make it two parts? Maybe 3? IDK perhaps longer?) But anyway I’ve been mulling this idea over in my head the past few months, and so I’m doing another series, but this time the boys are all different mythical creatures. Plus if you’ve read A Court of Thorns and Roses series by Sarah J. Maas, then you’d know this is where I got the idea to make Damian a fae with bat wings. I’m very cheesy. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you guys think! Love Y'all! Also, I don’t think this needs to be said but I’m doing so anyway, this is an Older Damian Wayne.

Most days you can make it home with enough time to make sure that there was still sunlight outside so you would have enough time to buy groceries if you wanted and make it back in relative safety before things got bad.

Tonight was not one of those nights.

Plus you needed to get a bag of dog food because you ran out the night before and you didn’t have anything else for the big German Shepherd that is probably snoozing on the couch at this very moment.

You had got out of work fairly late today, but the sun was still out, so you prayed to the gods that you’d make home before any creature, beast or ill-intended human, were out and about.

But as you walked outside the doors, plastic bags of groceries hanging in each of your hands, the pink and now mostly purple hues of dusk were there to welcome you.

Cursing under your breath, you now wished you had gone to the apartment and brought along Ember with you, he’d be able to ward off any unwanted attention.

Sadly, you didn’t have your dog, and you had to take the walk home alone.

Oh how you wished you just went home, you thought.

Walking along the sidewalk, you watched the sunset, your pace along with your pulse hurrying the more it fell in the sky.

You weren’t fast enough.

You were a mere few feet away from your apartment complexes entrance before you were pulled into the dark alleyway, head banging against the brick wall you were pushed up against.

Too stunned to move you felt your assailant’s body press you up on the wall, breathing along your neck.

A vampire, you thought, your fight or flight response flaring up as you now struggle as hard as you could.

Which did absolutely nothing to release you from his grip.

”No use fighting, Little Morsel,” The male takes a good whiff of your neck, opening his mouth to reveal his pointed fangs. “I’m starving.”

Just as you thought that he was going to stick his teeth into you, a force pulled off the vampire and without anything now holding you up, you slid down the wall watching the scene in front of you with shocked eyes.

The vampire was now aggressively fighting against your rescuer, but he was no match for the sheer power he was up against.

The fight was too fast for your human eyes, other than a few glimpses of the two going across the whole alleyway.

And as fast as it started, it ended with the now limp body of the vampire being haphazardly thrown away from your rescuer, a piece of wood from a crate at the dead end of the alleyway poking out of his chest.

The male's back was facing you, looking at the body of the vampire.

But your eyes weren’t looking at that, but the large memberous black wings of a bat that were folded neatly to his back in the tight alleyway, but they trailed upward, your mind going a mile a minute as you saw his pointed ears.

Fae. Illyrian.

Strong by blood and warrior by culture and species, oh man what did you get yourself into?

Usually, they’d stay as far away from humans as possible. Why the hell did he help you?

Slowly pushing yourself up on the wall, you were about to high-tail it out of there, but then you see a large gash on his leg.

And you hesitate.

Oh, you were going to regret this.

”H-Hey, are you okay?”

Turning his head slightly his electric green eyes give you an odd look.

”Shouldn’t you be running home now, girl?” His face held a deadpan expression.

”You’re the one bleeding here, not me,” You said, a slight bite sneaking into your voice.

”And you’re a walking blood bag out in the open at night.”

This male has got to be joking.

”Dude, you are literally bleeding,” You motion to his leg with your hand, “I know that the Vamps don’t like the taste of Fae, but the starving ones will eat just about anything,”

He turned around, his mouth opening to say something else but he stumbles slightly as he uses his injured leg.

He catches himself on the wall, cursing under his breath.

Sighing, you slowly step closer, “Look, my apartment is the next building, I got a first-aid kit that you could use.”

”Why.” Was his emotionless response.

You could feel your eye twitch, “Because you are bleeding out in the open, Vampire Chow.”

He lets out an amused chuckle, ”Heh, look at who is talking, human.”

So this is how you end up helping a 200 something pound mass of muscle and wings, up the staircase and into your apartment.

Ember was shocked and terrified of the Illyrian Fae that was now taking his spot on the couch.

You had left to find the kit in your bathroom, and when you came back to the living room, where you found them in the same place you had left them, staring each other down,

There was a lot of malice coming from Ember’s end.

None was coming from the Fae’s, just a hint of confusion as he sat with his wings hanging off the back of the couch.

Geez, he was huge.

”He’s just protective,” You say, putting the supplies on the couch next to him, “Most of the time he’s a couch potato though,”

He lets out a grunt in understanding, so you take this time to get the wound cleaned out.

”Hey aren’t these things supposed to heal on their own though?” You say starting to disinfect the wound.

”Vampires have a venom that makes it harder for a wound to close,” His voice was condescending as if you should have known this by now.

”Huh,” Was all you responded, now putting an ointment that would close the wound in a couple of hours.

You have got to love a witches’ potion that helps instead of harm.

Once you finished wrapping up his wound, he didn’t stay long; he left saying that he would be fine since his wings were just fine.

He didn’t even say thank you.

But whatever, you just were ready to put this day behind you, grateful to be alive.

A couple of weeks pass, and unfortunately, you find yourself in the same predicament as you did before, stuck out in the night alone.

”You seriously are as stupid as you look.” A voice says less than an inch from the back of your ear.

You let out an undignified yelp, turning around to face the smug look of the Illyrian’s face.

”D-Don’t do that!” You squeak.

”Well don’t be out at night, stupid human.”

Your eyes narrow, “FIrst off I ain’t stupid, I just have the worst luck ever, and what the hell are doing here dude?”

”Making sure you make it back in one piece, wouldn’t want Ember to be left alone.”

This took you off guard. “Okay Bats, my dog was giving you the stink eye the whole time you were there, why would you care?”

”There are only two truly innocent beings out there, animals and children. Last time I checked your dog counts as one,” Again he goes with the whole attitude bit

That left you speechless and motionless.

You only snapped back to reality when he grabbed you by the arm and started to drag you to your apartment.

”Yo, I don’t need you to walk me there!” You say, surprising yourself when you were able to pull yourself away.

He turned his head slightly, “Well I’m the best bet you got from the two humans waiting to mug you just around the next block.”

”Wait- How-”

”Fae ears, girl.”

”Of freaking course…”

So the two of you now set off towards the apartment, and when you pass the block, you see two men at the entrance of the alley, who back up once they see the Fae’s strong wings displayed defensively.

Rolling your eyes, you mutter, “Got to love Gotham…”

Bats’ only reaction was a smug half-smile that stayed on his face as he made sure you made it to the apartment safely.

This cycle continued every time you had to work late and weren’t able to make it home before the sunset.

Hell one time he just lifted you and flew you home.

You weren’t happy about it, and you might have given him a good kick in the stomach.

He was an ass for the rest of the night.

Though he never just up and carried you away, he learned his lesson.

But unfortunately, it was happening more often than you were leaving work late.

And he noticed.

”Seriously, why do you keep doing this to yourself, stupid human?” He questioned, clearly annoyed.

You groan in exasperation, “Can you stop calling me that?! I’ve got a name, and I don’t have a damn choice.”

”What do you mean you don’t have a choice,” He questions, pulling you to look at him. “And you’ve never have given me your name.”

”If I don’t do what I need to do then I get fired, do you know how hard I worked to get that job? Extremely!” You yell, yanking your arm from his grip and walking away from him, “Plus, you never gave me yours so why should I give you mine?”

You hear him growl behind you, walking to catch up.

”It’s Damian, are you happy now?” He said, standing in front of you.

You stop, looking into his fiery green eyes, not able to hold their gaze for long, the rest of the walk spent in silence until you make it to the door of your complex.

But before you do, he stops you by grabbing your wrist and with the other, he puts a card in it.

”Call this number, tell them that you’re looking for a position and that I recommended you to them.”

You stand there, looking at the card until you feel him pull him away, turning his back to leave.

”W-Wait, Damian!” You stutter, “It’s (Y/N),”

He turns around a surprised expression on his face until a small smile grows across his face as he extends his wings and with a powerful thrust, he’s gone.

The next day you call the number on the card, and before you knew it, you have a job interview.

A couple of days later you were now the new employee at Wayne Enterprises.

And while there was a lot of work, you were a lot better there than you were at your old job.

You would miss the nightly walks that you would have with Damian though, oddly enough.

But you didn't have to wait long before you saw him again.

This time though, he was knocking at your fire escape window a couple of hours after you got home.

Laughing slightly, you opened the window, “Guess you missed me, Dami,”

”You know what, I prefer Bats better.” He says, getting himself in.

”Too bad, this one has now stuck to you.” You joke.

Rolling his green eyes, you felt a sort of fondness from them.

”You look better by the way, less stressed,” He states plainly, sitting on your couch.

”Yeah, thanks for that by the way.” You say next to him, “You didn’t need to do that,”

”It’s safer for you.” He says plainly.

”Still, thank you, Damian.” You smile towards him, feeling at ease with him with you.

”It’s no problem, (Y/N).” When his eyes meet yours, you felt almost an electric charge by the way he was looking at you.

Then a question pops into your mind ”Oh by the way how did you-”

”That is for me to know and you to find out.”

Ugh, how you hate the whole mysterious and cryptic crap.

For the rest of the night, you guys talked, watched a movie and Damian even got to pet Ember for once.

But throughout the night he took glimpses of you, sometimes you’d catch him, but others you didn’t.

Oh if only you knew what was going on in his mind.

He left before dinner, said he had things to do before the night was done.

This was now the new tradition you guys had he’d come to your house and chill out, and then he’d leave before dinner.

Then came the day of the Wayne Gala that all the employees were invited to.

After your lunch break, you found a jewelry box on top of your desk.

Inside, you found a silver necklace with a silver chain and a pendant with a green stone in the center and surrounding it were clear crystals, making a circle around it.

Plus there was a matching pair of earrings.

And they looked like real diamonds and emeralds, but you were kind of too scared to think of them as real because who would give them to you????

Looking around there was no one else there as you were the first one there back from lunch, so you put it in your purse and got to work.

Anyway, the event was held every year at the Wayne manor, and you were nervous as you got ready for it.

Standing in front of your mirror, in a beautiful but simple black dress with the short sleeves hanging off your shoulders.

It was sexy but elegant, and something that you would typically not wear, but you were rocking it.

After putting on your makeup, you eye the jewelry box, debating on wearing them or not.

The next thing you knew, they were on you, and you were ready to go.

At the gala, you were talking to one of your coworkers, a Were who was a mother of two who took this opportunity to take a break from the kids when you felt an arm tap your shoulder.

Turning around, you see a man with bright blue eyes and a roguish smile, holding out his hand. “Would you care to dance?”

Before you could answer a no, you felt a muscled arm wrap itself around your waist possessively.

”No Jason, she wouldn’t,” Damian said, pulling you closer.

To your surprise, the man smiled knowingly and with a joking undertone said, “Oh man, Dami, look at you growing up.”

With a growl Damian walks the two of you away, his hold never faltering.

Okay, you were in need of answers, and now.

He must see it in your face because he stops you guys in an empty part of the manor.

”Okay, Damian talk.”

And to your surprise he does.

Turns out Damian is only half fae, his father is pure mortal, while his mother is Illyrian.

He has a crap ton of siblings, all of then a different species.

But the thing that freaked you out the most didn’t even come out of his mouth but from two spying brother’s who knew what Damian was avoiding trying to tell you.

”You guys are mates!” You hear a male voice say, then a clear “OW” right afterward.

Both yours and Damian's eyes widen, and you can physically see Damian pale in horror, which was a first for everyone in that room.

He wanted to tell you, but he didn’t think you’d want to be with him, at least like that.

He felt something the night he rescued you.

He grew suspicious of it when he’d grow protective while walking down the street.

And for awhile he knew that the connection between the two of you was there when you told him your name.

But the burden was his to bare if you didn’t accept it.

He just wanted to you to be happy, and if wasn’t with him then he’d find a way to live with it.

You were shocked, you had heard about how some faes had a connection snapped with a female, how they’d form a mental bond if they both accept each other as theirs.

But it made sense to you, it just felt right.

Damian didn’t speak much after that; you saw evident anger in his eyes that wasn’t directed at you but towards the voice around the corner. (It was Jason with Dick by the way.)

The two of you didn’t stay long after that.

You were about to order an Uber before Damian just lifted you off and flew you off to your apartment.

This time you didn’t kick him.

Again it was just an unsettling quiet between the two of you.

It was off-putting.

Once he landed on the fire escape, he let you down, but he wouldn’t meet your gaze.

”Damian…” You say, not knowing where to start.

”Look, if you don’t want anything to do with me like that,” He lets out a shaky breath, “Then I’ll leave you be,”

”But Damian-”

”I just want you to be happy (Y/N), even if it’s not with me-” He was interrupted by your hand on his cheek, pulling his face to look at yours.

”Damian, I want to be with you,” You state, caressing his cheek. “Come inside, I haven’t eaten anything all night, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t either.”

”(Y/N), you know what that means, right?”

Yep, you did, it means that you’d except the bond.

”I wouldn’t be offering if I didn’t.” You say, a smile growing on your face.

He kisses you, pouring his soul into it, and that night you guys finally became one.

[mysnarkyslytherinsecret]

headcanon: where snape's SO goes missing for like DAAYs, only to find out she was killed by death eaters ( this breaks my heart)

It wasn’t like her to be gone for so long  Her last letter had been short and precise, and Severus kept it buried in his chest pocket where it seemed to warm against his heart.

“I love you. Will see you soon.”  He’d traced the imprint of her lips in that horrible coral blue color that Tonks had bought her for Christmas as a joke, since she usually didn’t wear make up due to the fact that it would make her stand out too much, and a good Courier was as nondescript as possible.

His first instinct was to blindly chase after her- leave no stone unturned until she was found, but Dumbledore- damn him!- had convinced Severus to stay and wait.

“You know that she’s a Courier.  Her job takes her far and wide. We can’t be sure that she’s in any danger at all, and sending an owl will only compromise her position. Besides, we need you here, contributing to the war effort.” Dumbledore’s voice had been kind, but Severus knew that tone intimately.  The mission was to come first. Always.

It was at lunch the following week that the large, dark eagle owl flew in and dropped a small package in front of Snape’s desk.  Immediately, he knew something was wrong. The brown paper featured a jagged, insane script that he instantly recognized.

“For you to remember your love by,” it said, featuring a crudely-drawn heart instead of a period at the end of it.

Severus pushed his chair back with a small cry of anguish, a feeling of revulsion clawing its way up his throat.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said gently, a wrinkled hand on his shoulder.  Somehow the old man was beside him without having appeared to move. “Let us discuss that important thing I had mentioned earlier in my office.”

Severus didn’t look at the package.  Dumbledore disillusioned it and then levitated it with his wand.

“Minerva, I trust you can handle the little blighters from here?” Dumbledore said amiably.  Minerva, whose eyes were crinkled with concern for the Head of Slytherin, nodded.

“Now, then,” Dumbledore gestured with one hand, and Severus stood, leading the way.

“I don’t want to look inside,” Severus said, his arms crossed as he pointedly tried to stare anywhere but at the box that sat on Dumbledore’s desk.

“You know who sent it, don’t you?” Dumbledore said gently.  Severus avoided the kindly gaze that the Headmaster was giving him.  He didn’t want pity.  He wanted this all to be a nightmare that he would wake up from.

“She has always had very distinctive handwriting,” Dumbledore continued, using his wand to carefully unwrap the paper. “The wards would have stopped anything dangerous from slipping through, so she must have meant to hurt you some other way.”

Severus knew all of this. His eyes were already going dark with Occlumency.  He pushed all of his emotions down as deeply as he could.

“If you would like to leave-”

“Open it.”  Severus bit the words out as emotionless as he could.

“Severus-”

“OPEN it.” Severus said more forcefully.

Dumbledore sighed, but he nodded.  The paper was moved to the side and placed in stasis, leaving a dark, wooden box with dials and levers the top of it.

“What is this?”  Dumbledore seemed intrigued.  He tried a simple unlocking charm and then used the more advanced one, but it refused to budge.

“It’s a puzzle box,” Severus said, gritting his teeth. “If I don’t open it properly, it’ll destroy whatever’s inside.”

Severus also knew why that black-haired bitch had chosen the puzzle box.

“It’s to make me drop my Occlumency shields,” Severus explained. “It takes a certain amount of skill and intuition to solve one of these. I won’t be able to maintain complete emotional detachment and solve it at the same time.”

“And maximize the damage,” Dumbledore sighed. “Perhaps we should just destroy-”

“NO!” Severus’ hand shot out and he grabbed the puzzle box to his chest protectively. “If she went through so much trouble, it must be important.  It might help the cause.”

Neither of them believed this, but Dumbledore nodded and motioned for Severus to begin.

The box was particularly complex, and Severus found himself intrigued almost as much as he was filled with dread.  By the time he got to the last piece of the puzzle, Severus only paused when Dumbledore reached over and placed a hand over the top of the box.

“Are you sure?” Dumbledore asked.

“I can’t stop. It’s the kind that resets if you don’t make a move quickly enough,” Severus snapped, batting away the Headmaster’s hand.

Click.

With a tiny noise, the top sprang open and they both looked inside.

Severus froze.  He didn’t even breathe; the horror on his face so pronounced that his pale skin looked like it had been carved from marble.

But then, he took a shaky breath and placed the box on the table with hands that had begun to tremor ever so slightly.  The shaking increased until his body was spasming and a choking noise in the back of his throat made way for a low keening noise that sounded more like a dying animal than anything human.

Dumbledore shut the box, his eyes filled with sadness as the locks slipped back into place with a few whirring clicks.

“Are you sure that it’s-?” Dumbledore said after a long pause.

“It’s hers,” Severus replied brokenly. His head drooped in his lap and his hands were cording through his hair as he covered his eyes.

“It might not even be human.” Dumbledore tried to place a hand on Severus’ shoulder, but the Potions professor shrugged it off violently.

“Don’t patronize me!” Severus hissed venomously. “You know what Bellatrix is capable of, and I know that she isn’t much for symbolic gestures!” 

“It was probably quick.  Let us hope she didn’t suffer.” Dumbledore sighed heavily as Severus let out a yowl of pain.

“Such blatant lies aren’t befitting of either of us and you know it,” Severus choked out, the shame welling in his chest as tears streaked down his cheeks in an unending stream.

Dumbledore did not say anything to this. He merely called for a house elf to bring something hot to drink to calm the distraught professor and waited until Severus had calmed himself down enough to look at him again.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Severus said hollowly, as he took the black coffee and sipped it.

“I can have Hagrid dispose-”

“No. It’s mine.  She told me that her heart was mine.  I shall keep it and honor her memory.”  Severus said the words in a soft dangerous tone and Dumbledore knew better than to argue with him.

“You do have to admit that it’s a bit morbid to keep it, don’t you?” Dumbledore asked.

“I didn’t keep and use my ex’s wand,” Severus replied venomously. 

Dumbledore looked chastened, slipping his wand in his sleeve and saying nothing.

“Am I excused?” Severus stood, the box under his arm.

“Of course, Severus.  Let me know if you need-”

“Of course, Headmaster.”

Severus walked quickly to the dungeons, the box held tightly under one arm and shielded from view by his cape.  Later, in his laboratory, he opened the box in half the time he had before and carefully levitated the bloody heart from where it lay at the bottom of the scarlet silk-lined box. He placed it in a jar made of diamond and filled with his finest Keeping Solution, sealing it with the finest wax and charms he could use.

He knew that it was twisted to keep it in the safe behind the painting she’d finished earlier that year- it was of Hogwarts Castle, with the lake nearby.  A dark figure stood on one of the cliffs.  Severus had rolled his eyes when she had told him she’d added him because she loved how he always waited for her to return.

“Keep my heart safe,” she’d told him as she’d melted into his arms only a month earlier. “Love me like this is the last time you can. In these times, we never know when it will be true.”

He’d scoffed at her then, too.

His heart filled with grief and regret, and he finally wrenched himself free from his bed and threw on his robes, patrolling the halls with an intensity that he hoped would help him forget.

No. The thought came to him before he could finish thinking the words.

He would never forget.  

And Merlin help Bellatrix Lestrange the next time he saw her.

After all, since she was so intent on proving herself to be a heartless bitch, he would have no choice but to oblige her…literally.

[professor-riddikulus]

On a Clear Night - Chapter 8

Hello friends, this is Chapter 8 of my ongoing Wolfstar fic “On a Clear Night”, if you’re not familiar, you might want to start from the very beginning (it’s a very good place to start), because by this point shit is starting to get damn real. 

Summary: What if Snape had never found his way to the Shrieking Shack in Harry's third year? What if Peter hadn't escaped? Peter is going to trial, Harry is moving in with his fantastic, ex-con of a godfather, and Remus and Sirius need to find a way to build a bridge over twelve years of misunderstanding and misplaced hatred. Rated M - Romance/Angst - Remus/Sirius Words: 28,770

Did I mention you should start from the beginning? I did? Okay, on to the fic!

On Boxing Day they all (mercifully) slept in. Remus was just heading downstairs at half past ten to have his morning toast and tea when he quite literally ran into a shirtless Sirius.

"Woah there Moony. Careful." Sirius was smiling.

"Hey, erm good morning Sirius." Remus willed himself not to stare at Sirius' chest, covered in tattoos,which though thinner, had lost none of its appeal since Remus had last seen it. You can't g around saying you want to just be mates for a while if you keep giving him sentimental gifts and staring at his incredibly appealing chest.

"Heading down to the kitchen?"

"I thought I might have a bite."

"Hold on, don't go anywhere, I have something for you. Fuck wait here." Sirius left Remus standing on the landing and threw himself back up the stairs to his room. After a few moments he returned with a frame in his hand. He shuffled it back and forth from his left hand to his right a few times before handing it to Remus.

"I wanted to give this to you yesterday, but I didn't know how you'd take it, so I erm...fuck...I just have a copy and I thought...well it means a to to me so I thought you might want one too."

Remus was only half-listening to this waterfall of anxious words because he had turned over the frame and seen the picture inside. His own, sleepy, eighteen-year-old face looked back at him. It was the photo they took the day they moved into their new flat, the one Sirius had insisted on snapping as they were drifting off to sleep on that horrible couch they had. Sirius was bright-eyed and grinning, showing off his canines and messy hair. He was shirtless, as he was in front of Remus now, his tattoos swimming across his chest. Sirius looked in the photo as if someone had just handed him the whole world on a plate, greedy and excited and warm. God he looks so young. We both do. Neither of them had the deep worry lines carved into their face, or in Remus' case the streaks of grey hair along his temples. The younger Remus looked sleepy, utterly satisfied, comfortable, safe, with the smallest hint of disbelief as if he didn't know how he was allowed to have this kind of happiness. He would have given anything in that moment to have that happiness recapture the electricity and ease in equal measure that passed between them in the photo.

Remus looked up and realized that there were tears in his eyes. Sirius was watching him, slightly wary.

"Hey Remus, look shit I'm sorry I didn't know it would make you sad -"

But Remus took one quick step, closed the distance between them and kissed Sirius. There was nothing, Remus decided, like kissing Sirius Black. It was like swimming in a warm rip current that pulled you in and out to sea, a force of nature. It only took a second for the shock to fade from Sirius' body and for him to wrap a strong hand around Remus' waist, pulling Remus against him. Remus' whole body seemed to have grown extra nerves, he was acutely aware of every point of contact between them, each meeting burning itself into his mind until he was totally overloaded and could do nothing but lean on Sirius for support. Sirius deepened the kiss, trailing his teeth across Remus'' bottom lip and Remus give a little "oh" of surprise. Sirius made a noise somewhere between a moan and a growl that sent a shock down Remus' spine and made him acutely aware of how hard he was already. He threaded a hand through Sirius' hair and tugged it just a little bit the way Sirius used to like, pressing further against him. The rest of the world disappeared until there was only the taste of Sirius, the feel of him, the feeling of home. Touching him after thousands of days imagining touching him - it was better than he could have ever imagined. It was like breathing again, like kissing Sirius had jump started his heart from hibernation, he could feel it beating in his throat.

Remus could have stayed like that forever, could have never let go of this man, his anchor. But there was a rustling on the landing behind Sirius and Remus realized that they were making out on the landing right between his bedroom and Harry's. He pulled away from a reluctant Sirius almost at the exact same time as Harry opened his bedroom door to see his two godfathers pink in the face and a bit breathless. Remus was still holding the photo Sirius had given him in his hand and he put it behind his back under the scrutiny of the surprised teenager.

Harry smirked at them, Sirius was looking at the floor, not helping their charade at all.

"Oh well good morning godparents," Harry said in the voice he usually reserved for sassing Snape, "I hope you two are staying out of trouble?" His eyes lingered a bit on Sirius' mussed hair and Remus' bright pink cheeks, "So I'm just going down to the kitchen for at least an hour now."

And with that he turned and left the landing, Sirius and Remus staring after him.

"When did he get so-?"

"He's been living with you too long already Padfoot."

"Don't blame me, he's James' kid, some of this is genetic."

"Some of it."

They looked at each other for a long moment and the awkward emotional tension that had stretched between them since Remus left Hogwarts began to creep back into his mind. He'd just kissed Sirius. Kissed him after he told him that he wanted to take things slow. More than that, he searched his mind and realized that in no way did he regret it at all. He'd do it again if he had the chance.

Sirius was looking at him intensely and Remus smiled a little half-smile at him, "That was..erm…"

"Incredibly unexpected and deliciously sexy?" Sirius offered.

"Yes. Exactly that."

"Hey Remus? It's okay if you still think I'm devilishly handsome. I really can't blame you."

"Shut up Sirius."

"I mean but you can't resist can you?"

"And why the fuck should I?"

"What kind of language is that for a professor?"

"Ex-professor."

Sirius kissed him this time, soft, smooth and almost romantic compared to the hungry heat of their first kiss. It was short, Sirius pulled away just at the moment that he knew would leave Remus wanting a bit more. This was how he operated, Remus remembered, he was a notorious tease and needed lots and lots of positive feedback. But when he committed, wow did he commit.

Sirius smiled, "We should probably go downstairs."

Remus sighed, "I suppose we should. Don't want to give that little punk any ideas."

"I mean I think he already has the gist."

Remus rolled his eyes, but they trooped down to the kitchen where Kreacher was making Harry a huge pile of scrambled eggs and bacon. To his credit, Harry didn't say anything more about nearly catching Sirius and Remus lip-locked on the landing, instead he merely gave them both a knowing look before launching into an idea to apparatus out to the countryside to play one-on-one quidditch with Sirius.

"Or we could go two-on-one?" He asked, looking at Remus.

"You and Remus against me?" Sirius clarified.

"Don't be ridiculous. I can take the both of you easy." Harry laughed and Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah?"

Remus knew where this was going and wanted to avoid an argument, "I think I'll just come watch. I've got some reading to do anyway."

So an hour later the three of them apparated far enough outside London that they could set up some wards in a field to disguise their game from the muggles. They chose the back of an open field, dotted with rocks and a few flat boulders for Remus to sit on and with just enough trees on the edge to make Remus feel less like they were going to get caught. At the north end of the field was a tiny stream that was iced over, and near it was a large boulder on which Remus cuddled under a warm blanket to read. Sirius and Harry set some makeshift hoops up and Harry flew circles around Sirius for several chilly hours. Sirius, to his credit, did much better than Remus expected considering he probably hadn't been on a broom in ages.

They had lunch in the field, after which Sirius changed into Padfoot to startle and chased a couple of rabbits, barking madly and tripping over his own feet in the process. Remus and Harry watched him ambling around, periodically yelling to him about which direction the rabbits had gone when he lost them.

Harry was leaning back on his arms, face turned towards the winter sun. Sirius came back to the rock and curled up, as Padfoot, with his head on Remus' lap. Remus ran his hands through the silky black fur almost absentmindedly, scratching him behind the ears. They sat in happy silence for a bit, and just when it was starting to get a bit too cold, even in their thick coats, Harry broke the silence.

"So, the Marauders, which by the way guys is a stupid name, you all became animagi when you were what, sixteen?"

"Fifteen, wasn't it Padfoot?"

Sirius had stood up and walked opposite them before turning back into his human self and taking a seat, "Yup, we started attempting it in fourth year but it took a little while, I think we could all transform by midway through fifth."

"How do you do it?" Harry asked eagerly.

"It's a fucking process, let me tell you. There's all this weird meditation and visualization, complex stages of spellwork, and then there's the month that you have to keep a Mandrake leaf in your mouth."

Remus laughed, "You should have seen them Harry, they of course didn't time it so that they'd be doing the Mandrake bit over break, instead they had to cook up this crazy vow of silence. It was honestly the quietest month we ever spent at Hogwarts."

"McGonagall was so pleased after she stopped trying to figure out what we were protesting."

"Yeah and when James started speaking again you could see the depression set in once again." Remus laughed.

"I wonder what kind of animal I'd be."

Sirius looked at him, his head cocked a bit to the side, doglike, "I think a lot of the time people have animagus forms that are the same as their Patronus, so you might be a stag like James."

Remus cut in, "But not always. There are lots of examples where there was a deviation in forms between the two."

Harry beamed, "It would be nice to know."

Remus had a feeling he knew where this was going, and it was starting to make him a bit nervous.

"Would you teach me Sirius?" Harry asked, staring excitedly into his godfather's face.

Remus knew it. He had known ever since the first night that Harry came home for the holidays. Every time that Sirius turned into Padfoot, Harry's eyes would light up. He had wanted to know about all their adventures at Hogwarts but especially those ones that featured them turning into animals. The way Sirius talked about it, being a dog gave him a sense of freedom that he didn't get anywhere else, it quieted the human tendencies to worry, to be stressed or sad about abstract things, it was a mental and emotional release. Of course, transforming into an animal was a decidedly different prospect for Remus. Sure he loved running with Sirius on the nights of the full moon, but he would still give anything not to have to. The problem was, if he knew Sirius at all, he was going to jump at the idea.

"You really want to learn pup?"

"Yeah, I mean why the hell not?"

Remus raised his eyebrows, "Are you sure that's a good idea Sirius?" his voice very clearly indicated that he did not, in fact, think it was a good idea.

Sirius brushed this off, "Of course! He's talented he'll figure it out quick with me guiding him."

"I have no doubt he'd be capable-"

"So what's the problem? Can you imagine we could all run the full moon together in the summers."

This was the problem.

"Sirius," there was warning in his tone this time, "you should think this over."

Harry glanced from Remus to Sirius and back as if he were watching a tennis match.

"I am thinking it over. And I think it would be brilliant Moons. I don't know why this is an issue."

"Because he's too young-"

"The same age as Prongs and I were-"

"And the two of you were idiots back then if you remember, Padfoot."

"I don't remember you complaining, especially because we did it for you to begin with."

This stung and Remus looked down at his hands for a moment to gather himself. His eyes followed a thin white scar that becan where his pinky joined his hand and wrapped around his wrist near his pulse point. He rubbed it absentmindedly with his other hand, feeling the bumps and ridges of torn and repaired skin.

"Perhaps," he said with an air of forced calm, "it's time to go back to the house. It's getting cold."

"You can say that again," Harry said, but Sirius shot him a look and he didn't say anything else until they had apparated back to Grimmauld Place. Harry scampered up to his room with some vague words about a book that he wanted to get to which must have been a complete lie, but it was all for the best because when Remus entered the kitchen after Sirius, Sirius rounded on him. Remus had seen that hard look in Sirius' eyes before, the grey turning to steel. When he was angry was when you saw the stuck-up posh boy come out of Sirius. He tilted his head slightly back, emphasizing those aristocratic cheekbones, and flexed his jaw and shoulders. Remus hated it, it not only meant that he was in for a fight, it was a reminder of the life that Sirius had, the life that that Remus never even dreamed of.

"So tell me why the fuck you're so bent out of shape about making him a Marauder? It's his birthright!"

"Oh now we're making him a Marauder?" Remus spat, "Christ Sirius he's fourteen."

"So what?"

"So even if he turns out to be a stag he's not going to be James, you can't put that kind of monumental expectation on a kid."

"Who said I was expecting anything?"

"You want to have adventures like the old days, I get it Sirius, I really do but-"

"Do you really get it Moony? Because freedom might mean something fucking different to me than to you."

"You could get him in a load of trouble, with the Ministry Sirius! And in case you forgot," Remus' voice was rising, "the fact that you and Peter weren't registered got you into a fair bit of trouble until recently! The Ministry never knew they were looking for a-"

"And the fact that I wasn't registered is the whole fucking reason I could get out of Azkaban too, otherwise you all would have let me bloody rot there."

The words hit Remus like a whip. He couldn't believe Sirius was trying to throw Azkaban in his face, like he should have known, like Remus had some information that he just never acted on. Like he wanted Sirius to be stuck in that hellhole for years. Remus narrowed his eyes, "Don't talk to me like that Sirius."

"I'll talk to you however the fuck I want."

"I didn't put you there."

"You were pretty fucking quick to believe that I killed James fucking Potter, Lupin." These words exited Sirius like they were poison being drawn from a wound. He almost whispered them, and each one was full of as much venom as could be squeezed into each syllable.

Remus took a step back. "What the fuck was I supposed to think, Black?"

"You should have had some faith in me!"

"How dare you."

"Well you should have."

"How dare you fucking say something like that to me. You fucking asshole. You have no idea what I went through when you didn't come back, when I found out! What the fuck were you doing chasing down Peter Pettigrew by yourself?!"

"I wanted to kill the little fuck who had killed my brother."

"You didn't stop to think for one fucking second that maybe that was a bad idea? No, fucking Sirius Black can take anyone on single-handedly. You never thought maybe you should come home and tell me what the fuck was going on?!"

"Don't come at me like you know what the hell was going on Lupin. Don't fucking even think it."

"I was waiting for you! I waited for hours!"

"Oh and a few hours of torment really compares-"

"Shut the FUCK up Sirius! For once in your fucking life you shut your fucking mouth and listen to me!"

This actually had the desired effect. Sirius looked momentarily thrown off balance by the force of Remus' yelling, and Remus took the opportunity to let it all spill out.

"A few hours?! Fuck you. I had to hear about James and Lily from a fucking MINISTRY EMPLOYEE WHO CAME TO TELL ME YOU'D KILLED THEM! You...should have come home to me you fucking shit...you should have been the one to tell me. You left me Sirius. You left me fucking alone. For years." Tears were streaming down his face at this point and his voice cracked from the strain of screaming. But Sirius wasn't ready to back down either. They had opened this chasm between them - now they were falling down into the broken abyss of rock and stale air and they had not yet neared the bottom.

"You didn't have to fucking see them Remus. You didn't hold James' fucking burned body in your hands. You didn't smell the fucking singed hair and the stench of Dark Magic. You have no idea…" Sirius was crying too, "you have no idea what it was like to step into that miserable house. So don't you yell at me about reasonable decisions, I was out of my mind! You have no idea what that kind of hell is like. I do, I've been fucking living it over and over for years."

"But I could have helped you! You should have come home Sirius. Do you have any idea what it feels like to have to hate the person you love most in the whole damn world? It ripped my fucking heart out every day. I felt like I was dying, no worse than that!"

"You know what, fuck you Remus. You should have stood up for me. You looked me in the bloody eyes at the trial and walked away while I BEGGED. How could you think I did it?"

"How could I NOT?! You didn't tell me anything! We were barely speaking for months before that! If you'd just come HOME, if you'd just EXPLAINED. You should have trusted me! How could you be so fucking reckless with the other fucking people that needed you?! You had me! You had Harry!"

"Don't bring him into this shit!"

"And why not?"

"Because where the hell have you been for him the last thirteen years? Huh? Do you have ANY FUCKING idea the way those Muggles treated him?"

"I don't-"

"No! You don't. Because you never even fucking bothered to check on James' SON. They were abusing him, keeping him locked up in a cupboard, barely feeding him, hitting him, forcing him to do all their housework, letting their kid kick the crap out of him."

"What was I supposed to do Sirius, I didn't have a job-"

"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO DO SOMETHING. Fucking anything Remus. James trusted you!"

Remus said nothing. They were both breathing heavy from screaming at one another, and Sirius was gripping the kitchen table so hard that his hands looked like they might bruise. Remus was crying so hard that his vision was swimming, and all the strength seemed to have gone out of

"Fuck you Sirius. You left. You fucking left."

"Yeah for a fucking reason. I did something. What the fuck did you do, Remus?"

"I survived without you. And I can do it again."

With that, Remus turned and walked out of the kitchen. He was wrong to come in the first place, there was too much hatred to patch over with a photo and a leather jacket. And Sirius would never understand.

[ayankun]

Ok full disclosure, the following is a wee backstory for some characters in a dream I had so please read it if that’s your thing but I completely understand if it’s not.

I also borrowed a bit of a friend’s IRL backstory for this, and all the places mentioned I have actually been to.  I also also used this opportunity to experiment with a narrative technique that’s been kicking around in the back of my mind for a couple of years, so with all said and done it’s nice to be writing again.

In other news, I’m currently 2100 words deep into a Gotham-esque Jim Gordon fic, so keep an eye out for that one if that’s your jam.

His Name Was David

It was your last day, so like a sad sack you moped around town trying to smash the sights into your brain with the hopes of grubbing onto them a wee tad longer, but all the cobblestoned streets started to run together and all the doors to all the quaint back alley pubs started to look the same, and the only thing you really instilled at the end of it all was a wholehearted enthusiasm on the part of the locals for your sad sack face to go back to whatever sad sack place it came from.

It's a wonder, then, that he took pity on that pinched bohemian sourpuss of yours and offered to buy you a drink.

A right local, he was, a regular face at Kelly’s Cellars who couldn't help but recollect he’d seen you skulking round town – there at Kelly’s on a couple of trad nights, or pawing through vintage trinkets at Young Savage, or shooting some midday pool down at Laverys, even scuffing around the kebab shops near the Holylands at most certainly unholy hours of the night.

You weren’t traditionally the type to let pretty strangers buy you drinks, but it was the last hour of your last day in Belfast, so really, at this point, what was the harm in going all in?  You couldn't stand the thought of folding early just to walk away with nothing.

It was his last day, too, you would later find out.  At least you had that much in common.

He caught your accent right away and instead of asking where you were from, he asked you how long you were staying.  Just tonight, you said, in that sad sack way of yours.  In commiseration he ordered another round.

Where were you headed after Belfast, then?   

What a soul-crushing question.  You had no idea.  You would have said “home” but that wouldn't have been the right word.  Not the right idea.  There was a place you were going, and it was more or less the place you had come from.  But what was “home,” anyway?

You tried to spin a non-answer that avoided the heavy shadow of your last-day-in-Belfast existential crisis and raised your glass to wherever life intended to take you next.

Hear, hear.  The only sound decision you made all day.

And did your gracious host partake in the truest expression of ones youth and freedom in the form of throwing responsibility to the wind in favor of chasing said wind around the globe?  (Two drinks in, you start to sound like this.  It's unbearable.)

He'd been to Cardiff.  The once.  

Oh well you're all done, then, you said.

The joke appreciated and out of the way, he then chose to confide in you the story of his Welsh excursion.  Of the sister he’d had there but didn’t have any longer.  Of their schism and the last time they spoke.  Of his crippling regret that they hadn't been able to mend the fences before it had been too late.

He was the guy who, two drinks in, started spilling his guts all over the table.  At least, that's what you thought at the time.

You spoke quietly after that, in a cozy corner, until last call came at one o’clock sharp.  Even then, not really wanting to be turned out into a dark January night until you really had to, you talked.

Religion had come between them, he told you.  Religion had helped split the country, way back when, and helped draw invisible lines through towns and families even in modern days.

You got it, you told him.  You had as complicated a past as anyone, religiously speaking.

He promised to try to not convert you, then.  You told him you appreciated it.

It was the kind of quiet, introspective conversation that was appropriately held between two strangers in a pub in the middle of the night.  Nothing to gain, nothing to lose.  You'd be gone tomorrow, anyway, so what did it matter what you said tonight?

(What either of you said?)

Finally, you and the rest of Belfast’s nightcrawlers were turned out into the streets to stumble home in laughing packs or single shadows or, in your case, suspicious looking conspirators what with the pair of you slinking off together into the night with your collars up and your heads down.

You paused in the wind-break shelter of a bus stop for half a moment to light a cigarette.  You offered him one but he declined; his vices extended to a couple of pints with a stranger here and there and maybe a foul word directed at negligent drivers on occasion, but not a step further.

You went off again into the night, trying to wrangle your smoke into his downwind, just to be polite.  There wasn’t much worth heading to, this direction at this hour, but you just kept walking.  The both of you, content to wander.

With all the chit-chatting that was taking place, the one thing that went unsaid was a shared understanding that neither of you wanted to go home.  You had a cold hostel bed waiting for you, and he had his religion, so it wasn’t like there was a real destination for this encounter other than a midnight stroll through the sleeping city.

There was ice on the ground, taking the golden glow of Belfast’s streetlights and reflecting it back so the streets literally sparkled as you walked.  The sky was clear but it was bloody freezing – not bloody freezing enough, though, to prevent the two of you from availing yourselves of the pleasures of the starlit city and of the human warmth of each others company.

Your wandering took you past the Big Fish, majestically lit by floorlamps, and its cold dead eyes staring into space were suddenly the funniest thing you ever saw.  You crossed the bridge and somehow were still laughing by the time you managed to stumble all the way out to the Pump House, although the thought of drunkenly falling into the Titanic’s dry dock sobered you a little.

He took your elbow – like a gentleman, to ward off the vertigo – and steered you back out of the rushing river wind.

Completely aimless and without rhyme nor reason, you were satisfied in turning around on the spot and heading back the way you came toward the city centre.  Finally you ended up in the Cathedral Quarter staring up at St. Anne’s with its insane Spire of Hope jabbing out of the top.

You and he took a bit of a rest stop on the low cement wall that bordered Bouy Park, contemplating the Spire in silence.  Neither of you had bothered to check the hour, mostly out of a ticking time bomb sort of impending disappointment that the night would have to end eventually.

I guess this is where life took us, he said at last.   

Church?  You laughed.

He didn't laugh, but he put his hand on your knee.  Looking up at the Spire, all lit up like a strike of divine inspiration, he told you he’d like to see where life was going to take him next.

Smooth enough for the kind of straightlaced sort of lad he made out to be, so you were not unready when he grabbed life by the horns and kissed you under a pale sliver moon.

You, too, were curious to see where life could have taken you next, but life unfortunately had other plans.

He all but instantly seemed to snap out whatever flight of fancy had grabbed him, and very nearly flew up from his seat on the wall and away from you.

He didn't know what had gotten into him, he stammered, he wasn't normally the sort of guy who –

He never finished his sentence because he stepped backwards onto a patch of invisible ice that took his leg out from under him.

One, two, three steps, all frictionless, all resulting in the same: The most comically picture-perfect pratfall you’d ever seen.

You laughed.  He fell.

You stopped laughing, but he didn't stop being dead.

You didn't know this last bit yet.  Rather, you very greatly feared this knowledge but were quite willing to be skeptical of the fact for as long as you were able.  For his sake, at least.

There wasn't any blood, for one.  You scrabbled down to the icy pavement next to his body and tried to rouse him, panic pushing out the last of the alcohol from your bloodstream.  You did a very good job of panicking, for what it's worth.

And then the body’s head began to move and the eyes opened.  The body breathed again.

“Oh thank God,” you said, the fog of your breath lifting to heaven like a prayer.

“Not bloody likely,” I said.  And then I sat up and dusted myself off.

You wheezed.  “Are you alright - ?  You hit your head.”

“Wasn't me,” I said, sitting up.  I had fixed enough of the body’s broken bits to render it useful, but left the edge on.  My head swam – I felt like I was going to be sick –  

It was exquisite.

You wanted me to take it easy.  You wanted to know if you should call an ambulance, or at least a cab to take us to the hospital.  You wanted to fix, to nurse, to hover until everything was proven not to be the dead-end disaster your last night had become.

I let you drag me to my feet and I stood so close to you that it made you uncomfortable.  You were still thinking about the aborted kiss, probably, but I was thinking about the complex exchange of temperature between my hemmed-in flesh and the vast expanse of not-me swirling all around for miles and miles and miles.

You were warm.  The night was cold.

“How about a cigarette, then?” I asked.  My teeth were chattering.  Delightful!  Having teeth, I mean.  What a concept.

I'll give you a hand, you somehow managed to took even more worried than before.  Quite a feat, you truly exceeded yourself there.  “You don't smoke,” you told me.

“Nah,” I said, “You're thinking of the other guy.”

“You hit your head,” you said, slowly.  You were thinking very clearly about calling that ambulance.

I relieved you of the crumpled packet of cigarettes hidden in your jacket pocket.

“Like I said,” I told you around the cigarette on my lips, “you've got me confused with someone else.”

I cupped my hands around the cigarette and lit it with an ounce of will.  I blew smoke into your face and you sat back down onto the wall with some force.  “Easy now,” I laughed, “Ain’t you never seen a little black magic before?”

“What happened to you?” you asked.  You started to look quite ill at this juncture, let me just say.

Damn, where to start with a question like that.

“Okay, stay with me a moment, eh?  So imagine there's a, like a, uh, barrier, a film of sorts between your physical reality and, well, let's just say everything else.  Some things, like souls, can pass across from side to side, but only according to certain . . . laws, shall we say.”

“What.”  You were not having this.  It would be a while yet until you really caught on.

“So what happened, to answer your question, is that your bar buddy’s body lost grip on his soul, and the sheer weight of that bloody disgusting thing smashed through the barrier with enough force that an opportunist, such as myself, could latch onto the frayed edges to ride the whiplash back up to this side.  To put it simply, that is.”

“So you're possessing his body?”

“Sure.  I now ‘possess’ his body.  Sure.”

“Why?”

I laughed.  It felt good.  “How do you mean, ‘why?’  Why not?  You were created on this side, so you can't imagine what it's like to be non-corporeal.  To be everywhere at all times, to extend from one end of the universe to the other.  Wrap all that being up into a tiny body with bones and skin and nerve endings and synapses and a cardiovascular system and autoimmune responses – all this consciousness and sensation boiled down into one little self-contained speck of existence – it's like being in the center of the fucking sun, mate.  You lot take it for granted, you do.”

“So you're some kind of demon who killed him and took his body for the fun of it?”  I swear your eyes were going glassy, and you looked like you might tremble yourself apart any second.

“If demon’s the word you want to use, I won’t stop you.  But really, I'm a spirit, same as you.  Just from the other side of the tracks, is all.”

Damn that sad sack face of yours.  No wonder he took pity on you.

I came up to your side at the wall and offered you the cigarette.  You took it but forgot exactly what it was you were supposed to do with it.

“And I didn’t kill him.  Like I said, I'm an opportunist.  Leaden soul like he had, it was only a matter of time.”

Some ash from the forgotten cigarette fell onto your pant leg, so I reached over and brushed it off.  You jumped.

Sticking the cigarette in your mouth and standing up, you said, “I d-don't know what you mean.  He was a good guy.  He was a good guy and he just died in front of me.  And I couldn’t do anything.”

He was not in any known understanding of the word “good,” but I let you find that out in your own time.

In the moment, I followed you up and said, “Give me your hand.”

You didn't want to, I could tell, but you have this mad streak that makes you do things you don't want to do, if only to see what will happen.  I had to find that out on my own time.

You put your hand out and I turned to stand at your side, so when I put my hand on your hand, palm to palm, they lined up.

“The barrier I came through does a decent job of keeping things separate, but there are ways for spirits to, let's say, bend the rules a little bit.  To bend the barrier a little bit.  I could show you how to reach past it and tap into forces beyond your imagination.  It would be as easy as this –”

And I pressed my fingers between yours and squeezed your hand.

“Why,” you asked.  You didn’t really need an answer.

“This guy,” I said, pointing to myself, “Wasn’t worth saving.  You should have seen his plans for you, my friend.”

You got all dejected at that, tried to pull away.  I held your hand and you didn’t get far.  “But.  But.  Maybe you could try and save the next one.  Eh?”

“With party tricks?  Lighting cigarettes without a lighter?  What else can you do, balloon animals?”

You were joking but you looked so serious.  So serious and so very tired.

“Come on,” I said, pulling you by the hand and starting backwards down the path in the direction of the home this body belonged to. That’s where this would have gone, otherwise.  It only felt right.  “How about you and I see where life takes us, eh?”

The night was deep and cold and dark, and the feeling of your hand in mine felt as bright as day.

“Hey,” you said, “What's your name?”

I stopped short and glared at you.  “That's not how it works.  I can't just tell you my name.  Not with this body.  Have you ever tried coalescing an eternal cosmic truth into a sound that a set of human vocal chords can produce?”

You didn’t flinch.  “What do I call you, then?”

I shrugged.  “Just keep calling me whatever you called this guy.”

“His name was David,” you told me.

“Well then,” I said, pulling you close to sling my arm over your shoulder and pointing us both towards what would be, for a while anyway, home.  “Guess that's my name now.”

[mrlnsfrt]

Love is... (part 4)

We have arrived at the conclusion of our series on Ruth, and what a journey it has been! What began as a message about love for the month of February became a 4 part sermon series. I find it so exciting when God leads in ways I had not previously anticipated. Studying the Bible is so exciting especially because there is so much that can be learned even from familiar stories.

I am so grateful that you have joined me in this journey and I hope this journey has sparked in you a desire to revisit familiar Bible stories with more patience attention to detail.

I also hope that this story has challenged and expanded your understanding of what love can look like in the life of a believer.

Boaz takes action

We begin Ruth 4 focusing on Boaz who goes up to the town gate and sits there. All other characters will merely respond to Boaz’s initiatives.

From archeological finds we know that city gates in Palestine in the early iron age were complex structures with lookout towers at the outside and a series of rooms on either side of the gateway where defenders of the town would be stationed. These gateways also served a secondary purpose, as a gathering place for the citizens of the town. (Block, Daniel Isaac. Judges, Ruth. Broadman & Holman, 1999. p704-705)

It was at the city gate that the official administrative and judicial business of the community was conducted.

The last blog post left the reader wondering how Boaz was going to solve the obstacle to his desire to marry Ruth, now we realize that he took the mater to “court.”

When individuals were going to the fields or coming home from the fields they would have to go through the city gates. So Boaz places himself there hoping to spot the closer relative that he needs to talk to.

The second sentence of verse 1 begins with the word hinneh that is “behold” indicating a surprise! The man Boaz was looking for happened to be passing by just as Boaz had come to look for him. What are the odds of that happening right!?

This is another example of the hidden hand of God at work, guiding events that were beyond human control.

In Ruth 3:13 Boaz said he would take care of things in the morning and had invoked the name of God in a sign of determination. Here we see God coming through and assuring a quick resolution to the matter at hand.

We never find out the name of the man Boaz met. He is referred to by an expression (pĕloniy 'almoniy) that has no clear literal translation  but rather is the equivalent of “so-and-so.” An expression that seems to be used whenever a proper name cannot or should not be used. (Block 706)

By keeping the character anonymous the writer intentionally diminishes our respect for him. Like Orpah, Naomi’s other daughter-in-law who left Naomi served as a contrast for Ruth, here this man serves as a contrast to Boaz.

Now Boaz had to gather around enough men to hold a legal assembly. He gathers 10 elders, who were men responsible for the administration of the town. These men left their work to follow Boaz, which shows that Boaz was respected in the community.

Getting Technical

When the men are discussing the piece of land that belongs to Elimelech they are talking about the apportionment of the land among the tribes and clans of Israel under Joshua. According to Mosaic law the land was never to leave the family, and the institution of the kinsman redeemer or goel was one of the ways they prevented this from happening. (Leviticus 25:25-30) (Block 708).

Boaz refers to Elimelech as their “brother” but we don’t know how closely related they were. This means only that they are related. Genesis 38, Deuteronomy 25:5-10, talk about levirite obligations with regards to the immediate brothers, and according to Numbers 27:9-11 if a man died without having any children his property would pass to his brothers or to his paternal uncles, and after that to the nearest relative from their own clan.

We do not know how far Boaz and the other relative were, but they are the closest relatives with the other man being closer than Boaz.

The land did not belong to Naomi, she had no claim to it, neither did Ruth. That is why Mosaic law provided for widows and foreigners allowing them to glean. However, the land was still connected to them so far as it was connected to the family of their deceased husband. This meant that the land could be restored to a close relative and the close relative would also provide for them.

And this is where this gets a bit confusing. Because we don’t have anything similar in our society it becomes difficult to translate the interaction. Naomi is in a sense giving permission for the goel to redeem the land even though the land is not hers to sell. Chances are her husband sold the land during the period of drought and once they ran out of money and had to choose between leaving or selling themselves as slaves they chose to leave.

However, coming back now, Naomi could call on a close relative to redeem the land from whoever had possession of it, in the name of her dead husband, Elimelech. In a way, Naomi is attending to the legal business of the family, at least indirectly through Boaz. Naomi can claim the land back to the family of her husband.

From the events of the previous night Boaz realized that something must be done regarding the land. It was not right for the land to remain in the hands of an outsider. Boaz also knows that solving the issue with the land is directly related to his marriage to Ruth. The land was the key to him having the right to marry Ruth.

Boaz then makes the goel aware of the situation and states that if he is not willing to acquire the land that he is next in line to do so.

Official Business

The goel replies with two words in Hebrew stating he will redeem it.

With two words he makes the heart of the reader sink. “Oh no!” But what about the love between Ruth and Boaz? What about this relationship we have been carefully following and watching it grow and develop? Does it all end here? Like this? What about Ruth, how will she feel? Does Boaz not lover her after all?

If the story ended here many would likely be very unhappy. We want a happy ending right?

But Boaz had a plan, and now he adds some additional terms and conditions. This reminds me of legal papers or even commercials that mention really fast at the end, “terms and conditions may apply.”

Boaz casually mentions, "oh yes, and by the way, you also get to marry the widow, you know Ruth, from Moab, and provide and heir, someone to keep the family name going and to inherit the land."

This meant that the goel would not get to keep the land indefinitely to himself. He would have to invest into taking care of it and after all his ward work the land would go to the son of Ruth. Also he would become involved with a Moabitess, a foreigner. Is he willing to risk all that? How willing is he to help make sure the name of his brother is not erased? His offspring would have mixed blood, would he be accepted by the community?

The goel is suddenly not so sure this investment is worth it. Why would he go through so much trouble just to give it away in the end?

Suddenly he realizes this will cost him more than he expected and he realizes he can avoid the extra trouble and focus on what he already has. The goel was probably already busy enough as it was and didn’t need the extra hassle that would come with more land and a wife that is a foreigner and providing for someone who would not carry his name forward but rather the name of the deceased.

When the goel realized all that was involved in helping he decided he could not afford to help. Sure Moses would have liked him to. Sure the laws of Moses reflected the will of God. But his self-interest kept him from helping, because helping would not advance his personal interests in any way. His selfishness led to him remaining nameless in the story while Ruth has a whole book of the Bible named after her.

Ruth was the only hope for the family line of Elimelech. Naomi was passed the age of childbearing, and if Ruth did not marry and have a son, the family name would disappear. It is interesting that if we go only by the law as stated in Deuteronomy 25:5-10 is not clear concerning this case, when there is no living brother but rather a more distant relative. They are going by the spirit and principle of the law, but the letter of the law does not seem to extend to this point. This would be a moral obligation. The right thing to do, but not something that was forced by the letter of the law.

The goel backs down and allows Boaz to redeem the land and marry Ruth and establish the name of Elimelech and his dead son Mahlon.

The goel leaves and disappears from history. He is very different from Boaz. He is concerned about his future, while Boaz is concerned about Ruth, Naomi and Elimelech. Boaz wants to do the right thing, to help provide for this amazing person he has met and to do right by his dead relative Elimelech, and to restore his name. The goel cared more about himself, while Boaz representing the true meaning of hesed cared more about Ruth, Naomi, and Elimelech, then himself.

Boaz then becomes the goel, the kinsman redeemer, and agrees to not only buy the land but also redeem the family name.

Like Naomi mentioned in Ruth 3:18, Boaz settled the matter that day!

Then Boaz said to the elders and all the people, “You are witnesses today that I am buying from Naomi everything that belonged to Elimelech, Kilion, and Mahlon. I also take Ruth to be my wife. Then the dead man’s property will continue to belong to his family. And he will always be remembered by his family and the people in his hometown. You are all witnesses of what I am doing today.”

So all the elders and the people who were near the city gates said, “We are witnesses to all of this. And may the Lord bless this woman who is coming into your home to be like Rachel and Leah. They are the ones who had many children to make the people of Israel strong. And may you become powerful in the tribe of Ephrathah and famous in Bethlehem! May the Lord bless you with many children through Ruth. May your family become great like the family of Perez,the son Tamar bore for Judah.” Ruth 4:9-12 ERV

Now there is much rejoicing and a pronouncement of a blessing for Boaz though the blessing really focuses on Ruth. They pray for Yahweh, the LORD God of Israel to grant this foreign woman a place among the matriarchs of Israel along with Rachel and Leah. These were the daughters of Laban who married Jacob and their children became the children of Israel.

Rachel is mentioned specifically probably because she was barren for a while and only later finally conceived. Ruth appears to have been married to Mahlon for 10 years but never had any children. The mention of God’s blessing could also reflect on Psalm 127:1 which mentions how “unless the LORD builds a house, they labor in vain who build it.”

Tamar is another interesting case where the levirite obligation lead to betrayal involving widow whose husband had died. Tamar eventually bore twins one of which became an ancestor of the clan of Boaz.

If God had worked through all these messy stories and brought great blessing from them, imagine what He could do with Ruth and Boaz who were so faithful and willing to live out hesed. This couple embodied the highest ethical standards of faithful love.

Those who uttered these blessings had little idea of how prophetic their words were. None of them lived long enough to witness how their prayer would be answered and how a name would come from that family that would be far greater than Perez, or even Judah, how the house of King David, a name commemorated to this day in the flag of the state of Israel, would come from that union.

Ultimately the royal line is preserved because two pious human beings and God act in consort for the achievement of God’s will.

How beautiful it is when people come together, in love, in covenant faithfulness and kindness, dedicated to the good of the other and to following the will of God.

This my friends is how a foreigner, who at one point in her life lost everything, and eventually become part of the genealogy of Jesus, the Son of God, our Savior.