#dead moose in water as promised

[cryptickludovick]

Alaska moose, I think. By Brendon Gould.

[that-angry-noldo]

(cw gore, violence)

it is a wide known fact that the fandom sleeps on the war of wrath but it also sleeps on how the war of wrath is horror personified because of melkor's chokehold on beleriand.

he has a hold on everything, from water to plants to animals. he can't reach the elves with his armies? he will swarm them with mosquitos and watch those who did not succumb to illness suffer from horrible skin irritation. he twists wild animals until they are no longer themselves; takes their worst traits and weaponizes them to no end. no night is safe in the forests among the trees; not when there are red glowing eyes of a giant moose stalking your every move, or a faint smell of damp and rotten wolf fur, or an unhinged wheeze of a giant hog who will charge at you if you had the misfortune to be the one guarding the camp. rivers are thick, dark and poisoned; good look finding a water source! if you are in the open, the earth will smell of toxins and poisonous fumes; see if you can not succumb to them.

morgoth weaponizes cruelty. war prisoners? murder them in the most brutal ways. skin them and leave the flies to feast on their rotting flesh. behead them and throw the heads in a pile, leaving them to those who follow. impale them; crucify them; hang them; make them a dark promise to do the same with everyone who dares to challenge you. you have lots of thralls. give them broken swords and no armor; force them to fight against their own kin. make the elves lose the count of kinslayings.

use your magic. trap the souls of dead and murdered in fens and swans. twist them into ghosts, into hauntings. make them your weapons of fear and terror. take their bodies and let your necromancers raise them, make their empty eye sockets glow with undead light. there's no escape for feär. make them remember that.

beleriand is a living dead, and it wants to devour the intruders alive.

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to Too Much Information Tuesday!

The acnestis is the part of the back that is impossible to scratch.

Talking to your best friend is sometimes all the therapy you need.

In 2017, Netflix tweeted, "Love is sharing a password".

Regular farting can be a sign of good intestinal health.

Most Brits have said "I love you" to three or fewer people.

Having large breasts can take five years off a woman's lifespan.

The iPhone is the second highest selling product of all time, behind the Rubik's Cube.

Your heartbeat will synchronise with your date's if the date is going well.

The difference between promises and memories is that we break promises and memories break us.

If Mount Everest were placed at the very bottom of the deepest ocean, the peak would still be submerged by a mile of water.

British spies used semen as invisible ink during World War 1. A method invented by Captain Sir Mansfield Cumming. (True story.)

In 2020, human triphallia — having three penises — was reported for the first time in history.

If you replace the ‘w’ in ‘where’ ‘what’ and ‘when’ with ‘t’ you get answers to your questions.

An Oxford University study has found that for every person you fall in love with and accommodate into your life you lose two close friends.

People who get their news from Twitter tend to be more educated than those who get their news from Facebook.

That awkward moment when you hear something that kills you inside but you have to act like you're fine.

Herring talk out of their arses, communicating by firing bubbles from their backsides that sound like high-pitched raspberries.

A fake friend likes to see you do well but not better than them. Pay attention.

Men who actually remove your bra instead of grabbing the cups and pulling them down are much better in bed.

When someone smells good, it automatically makes them more attractive.

Sometimes you have to walk away from people, not because you don't care, but because they don't.

Whitney Houston’s cover of Dolly Parton’s song ‘I Will Always Love You’ earned Dolly $10m in royalties.

Swedish-built cars (Saabs, Volvos) are specifically reinforced so that the occupants will survive if they hit a moose.

In 1964, Guinness attempted to have beer officially recognised as a food for tax reasons. They failed.

In 2013, an Ohio man was confirmed as legally dead, despite him appearing in court to overturn the decision.

Dolphins get high by sucking on a pufferfish and passing it around, the same way humans pass a joint.

Marijuana is the oldest natural, purest, and healthiest pain relief medication in the world. Its use dates back to 10 B.C.

You will never look like the girl in the magazine. The girl in the magazine doesn't even look like the girl in the magazine.

The more attracted you are to a person, the easier it is for them to make you laugh.

Einstein gave his $32,000 Nobel Prize money to his first wife, Mileva, as part of their divorce settlement.

Haptodysphoria is the feeling you get from running your nails down a blackboard.

Girls who have more 'guy friends' than 'girl friends' go through less depression and anxiety.

You likely overestimate how interesting you are to talk to but underestimate how good you are at dancing.

The more you spend on an engagement ring, the more likely you are to get divorced.

Actor/film director Tyler Perry recently fired his entire accounting staff after finding out the IRS owed him $9 million due to overpayment.

Dimples may be cute, but they are an inherited genetic flaw caused by a fibrous band of tissue that connects the skin to an underlying bone.

Bond Street station is finally open. Just £500m over budget. While the north is begging for trains, London spent £660m on one Crossrail stop.

Assuming each vampire feeds once a month, starting with one vampire, it would take two and a half years for the whole human population to become vampires.

According to research by Funiture and Home, more than twice as many British and Irish people aged 55-64 sleep naked (29%) as those aged 18-24 (13%).

“We are just an advanced breed of monkeys on a minor planet of a very average star. But we can understand the Universe. That makes us something very special.” (Stephen Hawking)

The British royal family has an estimated net worth of $88 billion. Saudi Arabia's royal family has an estimated net worth of $1.4 trillion.

In 2001, a Belgian beer society convinced a local primary school to offer beer at lunch rather than fizzy drinks. The move was intended to prevent childhood obesity but proved unpopular with parents.

After the Glastonbury Festival 2019, scientists tested the nearby Whitelake River for traces of illicit drugs and found that the levels of cocaine were high enough to disrupt the lifecycle of the European eel.

A tautological compound is a word with two parts that have the same meaning, e.g. ‘sledgehammer’ (hammer-hammer), ‘pathway’ (way-way), and, if one etymological theory is correct, ‘slowworm‘ (snake-snake).

Okay, that’s enough information for one day. Have a tremendous and tumultuous Tuesday! I love you all.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

"I don't fucking need you. I don't fucking need anyone."

(ideally said to reinforce an angry, apathetic façade)

CW: Panicked whumpee, trauma response, discussion of stabbing/murder, defiant/angry whumpee, referenced prostitution/dubcon, brief internal dehumanization reference

Jake Gets Stabbed: First Second Third Fourth

Also includes @nonsensicalwhump’s prompt ‘don’t fucking touch me’

There was an old backpack already in the closet when he moved into this place. It was worn around the edges, with safety pins all along the top because the zipper had long since broken, an olive green that might have been brighter, once upon a time. The bottom’s duct-taped in layers to hold it together. There are more safety pins holding seams together along the side, another strip of tape where there’s smeared permanent marker, too destroyed for Jameson to even read it.

The backpack looks like Jameson feels, wrecked and ruined and trying valiantly to stay together at the seams, only to come apart anyway.

He stuffs a package of goldfish crackers into the backpack on top of the three pairs of boxers and two shirts and one pair of pants he’s already put inside. Then he adds the bit of beef jerky he keeps up on the top shelf in the closet, where he has to climb onto a box to even reach it. 

His heart hammers in his chest, and when Allyn’s fingertips brush along his shoulder blades through his shirt he jerks away from them, shoving some granola bars in, too. “Don’t fucking touch me!” He snaps, but all he wants is to collapse back into their arms, let them tell him it’ll be okay again, and believe it.

But he can’t believe it.

Their rainshower voice is a lie, the taste of ozone and the relieved wash of cool water is a lie, it’s all a fucking lie and it always fucking was.

“Jameson, no one is asking you to leave,” They say, voice low and soothing, their hands out but not quite touching him now. He glances over his shoulder at those long, long fingers, graceful elegant hands made for gesturing at the parties they tell him about. Fingers entirely unlike his own, the pinky that won’t quite close all the way anymore, the scars layered over them from every time they were hit until they bled, until he begged for more.

“No one has to,” Jameson says, staring down at the empty space in the top of the backpack. Does he own so little? Does he even own any of this? He can’t take the carvings in the closet wall, and that’s most of what he even wants to take. His proof to himself that he was a person, however briefly, before he goes back out to lose it all over again. “I killed m-my fucking-... the person who believed I c-c-ould be better, I killed him-”

“He’s not dead,” They say softly, and their hair hangs over their face. It’s all mussed and frizzy, and he thinks they look even prettier and more handsome somehow, like they’ve rolled out of bed, even though he knows it’s because they’re worried, too worried to pull it back, too worried to care. “I, I heard them call a doctor. Someone’s going to sew it up and he’ll b-be-”

“He’ll bleed to fucking death because of me,” Jameson says, and the weight of it hits him now. He sits down on his bed but it’s more like he falls into it. It’s not his bed anymore, anyway. It’ll be some other rescue’s, someone more deserving than he’s ever been of regaining humanity.

Some other rescue will arrive and lay down here across from Allyn and maybe watch the moonlight move over their face while they look outside and think that no one in the world has ever been as lovely in silvery light as them, and Jameson will be out on the street fucking for cash or food or for ten minutes of safety from himself.

Unless he kills them.

He might.

He might do that, if he-... if he sees Robert in their faces, or Brute, or if he gets lost in himself again he could keep killing people and then he’s not any different, and it wasn’t just to escape and it wasn’t worth it, and from the second he walked away from Nanda’s house he was just going to turn into a killer, wasn’t he? And now he is one.

Now he’s-

Jameson leans over himself, pressing his forehead to his knees, feeling all the scars along his back stretch uncomfortably as he moves. He takes in slow, even breaths, fighting the despair that overwhelms him, buries, drowns him in what he’s done.

He’s just a hand, reaching out, but he’d thought he was reaching out for help. Instead he was holding a knife.

“I won’t let them kick you out,” Allyn says softly, but insistently, dropping to a crouch in front of him. Their hands still hover, wanting so badly to touch him, respecting that he doesn’t want them to. He can feel the warmth of them even so. Their hands are so close. “I promise. I’ll, I’ll convince them somehow to let you stay. We can figure this out, Jameson, you don’t have to be all by yourself.”

“It’s fine, I d-did it before, I can do it again. It’s fine.” Jameson talks into the fabric of his jeans, lets it muffle the emotion and flatten his words. His shoulders shake with a sob he catches before it ever leaves his throat. 

“Jameson, you know we don’t do well alone, you need-”

“I don’t fucking need anyone!” His head jerks up, meeting their gray eyes with his own dark brown. He can feel air move against his skin and realizes with some dull surprise he’s crying again. “I don’t-... I don’t fucking need a keeper, I don’t need... I don’t n-need anybody, I don’t need y-y... I don’t-”

He can’t tell that lie.

“Please don’t leave,” Allyn says, and their hands come to rest gently on either side of his face now, cool dry palms against his flushed damp skin. “Jameson. Please don’t leave me.”

“I tried to kill the first person to help me,” Jameson whispers. “The first person who didn’t ask for anything back. I tried to kill him.”

Allyn shakes their head. “You tried to kill R-... Robert, whoever that was. You tried to kill someone who hurt you. You didn’t know. If you leave, I-I’ll go with you, I can... I can go with you.”

“No you can’t. You don’t know how t-to handle shit out there, Allyn, it’d-...” He looks over their faces, the tears in their eyes, tears he caused, it’s his fault they want to cry. It’s his fault everyone in this house wants to cry, now, it’s his fault they bleed in every possible way. It’s his fault, for thinking he was ever more than just another rabid dog. 

“I’ll go anyway,” Allyn says, fiercely. Their voice pours on his tongue, it’s the taste of a raging rush of river, a flood in the middle of the night, washing out the dry earth. “I’ll go with you anyway, we’ll figure it out, Jameson, you and I. I won’t lose anyone else-... I won’t lose you.”

Jameson hitches in a breath that burns all the way down to his lungs, and his own hands rise, slowly, to rest over theirs. “But... it could happen again, Allyn. What if-... what if it happens again?”

“What if it does? So what? It’ll just be us, we can just run, we can do it.” Allyn just looks at him, with those tears starting to well up and run down their cheeks like the water he tastes when they speak.

He licks at his lips, forcing the words out with every ounce of strength he has left. “What if... what if n-next time it’s you?”

Allyn opens their mouth to respond only for there to be a soft rap at the doorframe, both of them turning to look. 

Jake’s boyfriend, the one who used to be like them, stands there. His wide blue eyes are nearly red from crying, and his face is as flushed as Jameson’s. To Jameson, his eyes seem cold and glittering, shattered glass. 

His voice tastes like pears when he speaks, and Jameson shudders wondering if there’s a needle slipped into the soft skin of the fruit. 

“Jameson?”

The two of them don’t move, except that Jameson curls his scarred, rough fingers over Allyn’s smooth hands and holds on as they drift down. He only looks at Kauri and says, his hoarse voice still thick with his own dread and guilt and fear, “Yeah?”

Kauri rakes a hand back through half-controlled black curls and takes a breath. “He’s all sewn up, and there’s some... someone Nat knows downstairs now, with Dr. Masood. They think-... I don’t know. Probably not going to, uh, to d-die.”

Jameson nods, his grip tightening on Allyn’s fingers, but the other rescue doesn’t pull away or flinch, only holds right back, just as tightly. “That’s-... good. Kauri, I, I didn’t know-”

“Yeah, I get it.” Kauri’s voice sharpens, and Jameson closes his eyes. Pear and razor blades, blood on his tongue, not like Nanda. This blood doesn’t taste like pleasure but guilt and regret. “I know-... I get it. Chris more... more or less explained it to me. But we need to talk.”

Allyn squares their shoulders, jaw settling. “It’s not his fault. You can’t blame him, he didn’t know-”

“I need to talk,” Kauri says with effort, “to Jameson.” His eyes go to the backpack packed on the bed, not yet closed up, the symbol of Jameson’s intent to run. Something changes in his expression, but Jameson can’t read it. “I need to talk to Jameson alone.”

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @newandfiguringitout @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whumpiary @endless-whump @burtlederp

[hobis-hope94]

~The Middle Winchester 9~

AN: next part is gonna be the last. Sorry this part took so long to write!

SLIGHT SUPERNATURAL SPOILER SO IF YOU ARE NEW PLEASE DO NOT READ ON.

Part 8 here:

the middle winchester 8

Paring: Bucky x Winchester!F!Reader

Characters: Y/N Winchester, Crowley, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester & Steve Rogers. The other avengers and Garth Fitzgerald IV are mentioned.

Warning: mentions of reader not taking care of herself, same with Bucky, mentions of frustration, hints of depression from reader, implied smut, crying, swearing and angst with a fluffy ending.

(gifs are not mine):

With the fear of Garth being dead, the fear you can’t go back to the compound or be with your brothers because you no longer trusted them.

You just drifted, from motel to motel. Getting any and all hunts, taking out your frustration and anger on whatever ghost demon vampire or werewolf -especially werewolf- you could get your hands on.

You were dirty. You were tired. You were hungry. You were angry. You were mourning. For a while you had everything, then in a split second.

You had nothing.

——

Your brothers and the avengers were going crazy.

“Y/N. Please just answer this phone call. We can work everything out, I promise nobody’s in danger,” Bucky whimpered, after leaving you his 1,000th phone call.

Bucky hung up then tossed his phone aside. He ran his hands over his face, the coldness of the metallic arm soothed him, but it made him miss you. You loved his metallic arm. You were the reason he hasn’t tried to hack it off. You treating it like a normal arm made all the difference to him.

“Hey,” Dean’s voice broke Bucky’s thoughts.

Bucky stood up and began backing away, again, unconsciously touching his wound.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry I nearly killed you. I was …. All my life people I love die. They die on a daily basis. I can’t risk losing Y/N or Sammy. I was so blinded by the need to keep my brother and sister safe that I …lost control. I’m truly sorry, Sargent Barnes. I didn’t realise how much you truly love my twin,” Dean said slowly.

Bucky looked at him.

“I forgive you,” Bucky said slowly, Dean stared at him. “I’m used to people being scared of me and calling me a freak. And firing at me ….so ….yeah.” He shrugged.

Dean felt guilty. For the first time, Dean saw the man that you saw. Dean saw James Buchanan Barnes. He was going to make things right between him and Bucky.

———

“All alone, huh?” A voice made you jump.

You turned to see Crowley, you rolled your eyes.

“Go to hell,” you said, kicking your feet.

“Been there done that,” Crowley shrugged.

You were sat at the edge of a dock, your legs dangling in the water. You took your shoes off to feel the water against your skin. Crowley sat next to you.

“You make a move, mr, and I’ll push you in the water,” you said, pointing your finger at him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Crowley said. “Why are you out here all alone?” He asked.

“Why do you care?” You asked.

“I don’t. Not really. Just weird seeing a solo Winchester,” Crowley shrugged.

“Get used to it,” you laughed softly. “I’m all alone now,” you sighed.

Crowley looked at you. Not with a sorrow look but a pity look.

“What do you want Crowley?” You asked, noticing he had gone quiet.

“Dean sent me to find you,” he admitted, looking away from you.

“No way in hell am I going back to them. Dean can’t be trusted, Bucky’s in danger-“ you said swinging your legs back to the service.

“All of them are worried about you, Mother Hen,” Crowley said as you put your shoes back on.

You tilted your head at his nickname.

“Well. Sam’s moose. Dean’s squirrel. I thought I’d give you one,” Crowley shrugged as you both stood up.

“…mother hen?” You said, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Well. Yes,” Crowley said. “I could try something else. ….rabbit? Goose? Chicken? Pi-“

“Stop….naming farmyard animals, please. We’re not in George Orwell’s animal farm,” you said, stopping him at the last one.

Crowley gave you a small smile.

“They truly are worried about you,” Crowley said gently. “They’re all losing their minds. I think your boyfriend might have lost his already,” he added.

“…Bucky’s worried about me?” You asked slowly.

“Very much so,” Crowley said softly.

“Fine. I’ll come back,” you sighed, your stomach growled at you. You didn’t realise you had gone a long time without a proper meal.

Crowley gave you another small smile.

“You drove here?” You asked as he stood next to a car.

“No. We’re going to ste-“ Crowley said.

“Ah! No. We’re not. I’ve got money. We can get the subway,” you said stopping Crowley from smashing the windows of a very nice old looking car.

——

Back at the compound, everyone was very much going crazy with worry for your safety and whereabouts.

“Great. Now we can’t get in touch with Garth,” Sam, your brother, huffed hanging up the phone.

“Buck. You need to calm down,” Steve said gently seeing Bucky loose all colour in his skin, barely eating or taking care of himself broke Steve.

“She’s been gone for five weeks, Steve. I can’t … think straight,” Bucky said, running his hands through his greasy hair, almost tugging at it in frustration.

“Please, Buck. Y/N would hate to see you-“ Steve said.

“Hello boys ….Ladies,” Crowley’s voice came.

“Did you find her?!” Dean asked, running over to him.

“Is she okay?” Sam asked, running over to him.

Suddenly a swarm of avengers ran over to Crowley all asking questions at once.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Crowley asked, stepping aside to revel you.

You stood, teary eyed, behind Crowley. Everyone stared at you. You almost looked worse than Bucky. Bucky stood at the back of the crowd.

“Y/N. You nearly gave us all heart attacks,” Dean sighed tearfully, clutching his heart.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered. “I thought I was the cause of everyone fighting…” you added tearfully, your eyes scanning for Bucky in a sea of worried faces.

“Thank god you’re alright,” Sam, your brother, said, going over to you and giving you one of his bone crushing hugs.

You softly hugged him back. One by one, each avenger hugged you, until there was two people remaining.

“Y/N. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am and I don’t expect you to forgive me. I really don’t. I just couldn’t face losing you and I didn’t think that keeping you away from someone I thought to be dangerous, was causing more danger to you,” Dean said gently as the others - apart from Bucky - had left.

“It’s okay Dee. I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier. Maybe-“ you sobbed.

“Don’t apologise. You’ve got nothing to apologise for. None of what happened is your fault, it’s all on me,” Dean said gently.

You wrapped your arms around him tightly, he did the same. He kissed the side of your head then pulled away. He smiled at Bucky then left you two alone.

“You scared the shit out of me, doll,” Bucky said, his voice weak.

“Oh baby. I’m so sorry. I thought I was keeping you safe,” you sobbed.

You slowly went over to him, he soon lent into your gentle touch as you placed your hand on his cheek, gently stroking his light stubble.

“How about you shower. Then we eat something, and get some rest, huh?” Bucky asked gently, kissing the inside of your palm as he brought you closer.

“Okay. But only if you’ll join me,” you said, looking at him.

He smiled softly. You both went into your bedroom, shutting the door gently behind you.

[irrlicht-writes]

the path we choose to walk on Pt.2

Part 2 of my Fix-It! Do note that this is NOT THE END. There will be at least one more part (god hope please) @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @insertdeeplyrics @cass-said-i-love-you ALSO SOMEONE WANNA JOIN MY TAG LIST STILL 

READ PART ONE FIRST HERE

Ao3

PART 2: a barn in which we meet

Sam is ecstatic. Eileen just revealed to him that she’s pregnant. Dean has been waiting to see Sam’s reaction and he couldn’t be happier. He’s moved out of their place a month ago and is now living in a rather crappy apartment but he’s always over at their house anyway.

I’m gonna be an uncle, Cas.

It feels weird but Sam is so happy. Sam hugs him and Dean makes sure to tell him that he’s gonna be a great Dad. Of course, Dean is going to be a greater Uncle, no two questions about it. Eileen laughs at them and it feels good to have a family. Miracle barks and Dean laughs to include the dog in the hug.

Cas would be proud of him. Dean has a job. It’s not a great job, but it’s a job outside the life. In time, he’ll make friends, too.

 “He kissed you?” Sam asks three months later and Dean nods.

“What was it like?”

Dean shakes his head. He doesn’t know. David had been flirting with him for about two months now and Dean wants to explore this side of him, it’s just – it’s just difficult. He feels as if he’s done a disservice to Cas.

“It wasn’t Cas,” he says and Sam nods.

“I know, Dean, but – Cas is gone. Don’t you think he’d want you to be happy?”

Of course Cas would want that. Cas would want Dean to get a partner. Cas would want someone in Dean’s life that would do everything the angel had never been able to do – but it still feels wrong. It’s not Cas. Maybe that will be the fault with everyone: they will never be Cas.

“Go on a date with him,” Sam says, “just to see what it’s like. If you don’t like it, then stop it, yeah? But give him a chance, at least. He’s not a creeper, right?”

No, David is nice. Under different circumstances, Dean might’ve even liked him.

“We’ll see,” Dean replies and they both know that nothing will come of it.

It’s not Cas.

 Eileen was eight months pregnant when Sam found a case. “Something’s killing monsters,” he says.

Normally, Dean wouldn’t be too concerned with this – monsters could kill other monsters for all he cared but this – whatever it was, it killed too many too quickly. It would make whole nests mad and then they’d beseech the town.

Dean doesn’t want Sam to go, not so shortly before the birth of his daughter but he can’t go alone, either. So they’re going to go together. If everything goes well, they don’t have to kill something. After all, whatever monster-killer is out there might not be aware of the impact of what they’re doing.

“Let’s go, then,” Dean says.

Eileen is upset about staying behind but she knows it’s better this way. “You look out for him,” she says to Dean and he laughs.

“With my life,” he promises.

 It feels good to take the Impala on a long stretch again. Miracle stayed behind with Eileen and it’s just him and his little brother on the road. It almost feels like the old times. They were rushing in to save the day, heroes once more.

Cas would be proud of them.

“Know anything about that monster-killer?”

“No,” Sam says. “But get this: all the killings happen in the same place, suggesting that it’s not moving around. In fact, it might even be that the other monsters seek it out for whatever reason so maybe it’s acting in self-defense?”

Dean just nods. That might be possible.

A long time ago, he believed that all monsters were evil. But he’d been wrong. They were also just trying to survive. If they were good, they got to live. And if they were bad, they got dead. If one would look at it from this angle, it wouldn’t be that complicated at all.

 It doesn’t take long to arrive at the scene. No humans have come to harm as of yet, so there’s no need to identify as the FBI again. They could just get in and get out.

“We don’t know what we’re dealing with,” Sam warns him and Dean nods. He’s not suicidal. He has his gun and he also has his angel blade. He’d be fine. Castiel’s coat is in the trunk. Dean took it with him wherever he went. He would never be too old for a comfort blanket.

It’s a barn. Somehow, Dean was expecting this. He looks around. There are no monsters than he can hear so he hopes that they’ve come at a good time. The trees though – they look odd. They are all bended outwards as if a bomb had dropped.

“Where are the bodies?”

“Maybe whoever is killing them gets rid of them after?”

Sam shrugs, and Dean mimics him. It doesn’t really matter, either.

“Stay behind me,” Dean says and Sam scoffs. He steps up next to Dean and looks at him.

“Together,” he says and Dean smiles.

 They don’t get attacked when they enter. Maybe they’re not a threat to that thing. The barn has numerous holes in the ceiling so at least a little light is shining through. They cautiously walk further in. Dean is expecting an attack any second and the longer time goes on, the more anxious he gets. He just doesn’t want the monster to jump out of the dark and attack Sam. What would he tell Eileen? Dean is still crap at Sign Language.

There is a loud, and yet muffled sound and Dean points his gun at it. He looks over to Sam who just nods and Dean takes the lead. There. He can see it, nestled against the wall. It’s a blob that looks vaguely human-shaped. Its hand is outstretched but the arm is shaking and the thing looks like it’s covered in goo.

Dean lowers his gun. Whatever it is, it’s afraid. Sam steps up next to him, also putting his gun away.

“Hey,” Sam starts in a soft tone and the thing flinches, “we’re not here to hurt you.”

The hand stays outstretched for a moment but then the arm gets lowered. The poor thing is shaking.

“My name is Sam,” the thing moves a little, “and I’m here with my brother Dean.”

There is a low keening noise and Dean doesn’t know what to make of it.

“We want to help you, if we can.”

The thing falls forward on all fours and drags itself closer to them. Whatever the goo is, it clings tightly to the body and Dean feels sorry for whatever’s underneath. The thing has to stop every few inches, clearly exhausted. Dean feels for whatever it is. It starts punching its hand into the ground and Dean realises that it’s writing something down.

Where, it says.

“You’re in Kansas,” he replies and the thing turns in his direction. It shakes and Dean thinks it’s just about to collapse. How long has it been here, weighed down by this goo? How long has it waited for someone like Sam and Dean to show up?

“Hey,” he says a little softer. “We’re going to get that stuff off of you and then we can talk, like civilised people, yeah?”

The thing’s head droops a little and Dean finds it very endearing. It looks almost like a head tilt. “Okay, so,” he starts but then there are noises outside. Dean realises instantly that more monsters have come.

“Sammy,” he hisses but Sam is already in position. Dean stays close to Goo who’s heaving a little. Dean doesn’t understand why he wants to protect Goo but he finds he simply has to.

Seven guys trot in and Dean guesses that they might be Vampires. Damn, he’s packed the wrong bullets. Still, shooting them would slow them down for a moment so that he could stab them with the knife. It’s easy to slip back into the Killer Dean Winchester and he hates it. What would Cas have to say about all this?

“Ah, the Winchesters! I had believed you had retired. So sad to see I was wrong. But no worry – me and my friends will gladly help you along!”

Damn he hates vampires. They just fucking suck.

“Oh yeah? So how about you eat... this...”

They just exploded. In front of his eyes, they just exploded in a flash of light and Dean looks down at Goo. His hand his outstretched, just like before and something coils in Dean’s stomach. It couldn’t be. No, that’s just ridiculous.

Sam’s looking over at them too but Dean pays him no mind because – because Goo just slumps to the ground and Dean’s heart sinks. No. No no no no no no. Please don’t. He drops his gun and falls to the floor, grabbing Goo and lifting him up. He doesn’t care that he gets the ugly sticky stuff all over himself.

“Cas,” he whispers but Goo doesn’t reply. “Please, please. Cas, please.”

  With Sam’s help, they get Goo into the car. In the back of his head, Dean isn’t looking forward to having to clean Baby from this stuff but he doesn’t really mind. If this is Cas – it has to be, it has to be – he doesn’t care at all. He slides in the backseat and Sam drives towards the nearest motel. Dean shrugs off his jacket and puts it around Goo’s shoulders, hoping to at least fool the majority of people into thinking that this was just another normal person. And if they didn’t – well they are very welcome to lick his boots.

Sam walks into the reception area of this Motel 5 and Dean tries to wake up Goo again but he’s still out like a light.

“Cas,” he says. “Cas, I’ve missed you so much. Please. Please, be real.”

His voice doesn’t sound like his own.

 Together, they drag Goo into their room. Without stopping, they immediately continue on into the bathroom. There’s no tub, sadly – Sam had inquired – so the shower would have to do. They shove Goo inside and turn the warm water on. Dean doesn’t want to use cold water. Cas doesn’t deserve cold water.

“It doesn’t come off,” Dean says and Sam clenches his jaw. Why isn’t it coming off? Dean’s breath starts to pick up until Sam puts his hand on his shoulder.

“Breathe,” he reminds his brother and so Dean takes a deep breath. He nods and Sam turns the water off. The get Goo back out of the shower and haul him into the main room. They lay him upon a bed and Dean sits next to him. Sam gets on his phone, presumably to call Eileen and let her know what’s up.

“Cas,” Dean says quietly. “Please. If it’s you, then please – please give me a sign.”

There is nothing and Dean loses hope. But then he sees a small light flicker in the middle of Goo and Dean’s desperate enough to take it.

“Cas,” he says again and puts his hand on Goo’s face. “I’m here, baby. Tell me how to help you. Please. I need you back, Cas. I can’t – I’ve tried. Cas, I’ve tried to do it without you and I’m fine, y’know but it’s not – it’s not enough, y’know?

There’s this guy. David. He’s nice, yeah? He kissed me a few months ago and – I don’t know. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t – it wasn’t you. But I wanted to try. You’d want me to be happy, to find a partner that’ll love me and – I wanted to try. So I asked him out, Cas. He’s a nice guy. He makes jokes and he likes Baby and he likes Pizza and he even indulges me on my cowboy fetish. Remember when I made you wear that hat? Those were good times, Cas. Anyway, I – we, we had, uh... we had sex. It was just one time, but well, it – I don’t know. It wasn’t bad, I think – I don’t really know, I’ve never done it before, but – it was alright. It was just okay and I’ve told him as much and he looked at me and said you’re still in love with someone else and fuck, Cas, he’s right. I tried to use David as this filler, to try and get over you before I was ready and I –

Fuck, Cas. I love you. I can’t get over you; how do I even start? I think about you every day. Did you hear my prayers? I’ve never stopped. I thought, that maybe, if I pray enough, that you’d hear me someday.”

Dean leans forward and presses his forehead against Goo. It feels gross, but this is Cas.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough last time. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to bring you back. You deserve more than me and I’ll never understand why your dumb ass fell in love with me. Jack became God, y’know? You were right about him. I’m just – I’m so sad you’ll never get to experience the world now. You should’ve gotten the chance to say good-bye to him and I... I...

Cas, please. Come back to me.

I – I know I can live without you. It’ll be empty and cold and sad, but I could. The point is, Cas, I don’t want to. I don’t want to live somewhere where you do not. Even if we can’t go back to the way things were, I need to know – I need to know that you’re alive.

What’s Heaven without its best angel?

What’s the Righteous Man without his saviour?

...

Cas, please. I don’t... I don’t have any other words.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

I want to tell you.

I want to hold your hand and I want to kiss your hair and I want to be gross with you and I...

I just want you.

I just...

Please. Cas. Please...”

His throat hurts, and he cries.

*

At night, Dean lies next to Goo. He’s holding Goo’s hand as much as he can and he sleeps. He’s never got to sleep in the same bed as Cas before. He wishes that they would’ve had more opportunities before but it was too late now.

I’ll watch over you.

Dean wishes he could’ve watched over Castiel at least one time.

 Dean wakes by someone shaking him rapidly. He doesn’t want to wake up. Miracle can walk herself. He’s dreaming about Cas walking in a field. He doesn’t want to leave the dream. But the shaking doesn’t stop. So he rolls on his back and blinks angrily at whoever woke him. Sam.

Of course it’s fucking Sam.

“Dean,” he breathes and he there’s this look in his eyes. He’s looking next to Dean and so Dean turns his head and –

“Cas,” he whispers.

Goo is gone and all that’s left is Cas.

Dean cries.

He can’t stop. He doesn’t even try.

 Cas doesn’t really respond to anything when he wakes up. But Dean doesn’t care. Cas is here. Cas is alive. He’s slapped himself several times just to make sure that he was really awake. It’s hard to pry Dean away from Cas even just for a minute.

Sam is worried that Cas is so unresponsive to anything and on some level, Dean is too, but at the moment, he doesn’t care.

“Cas,” is the only thing Dean is really capable of saying and every time he does, he feels like Cas’ eyes snap in his direction at least a little. That’s good, right? That’s some sort of response and that’s good. They’ll figure it out. They always do. Team Free Will was together again and they could tackle everything.

One day after Goo turned into Cas, they made the drive back home. Dean lets Sam drive so that he can stay in the backseat with Cas. It feels so good to have his angel leaning against him. Dean had detested it, but they’ve done a test: they’ve cut Cas with the angel blade and there had been grace shimmering beneath the surface.

On the way home, Dean murmurs to Cas constantly and he wants to believe that the angel can understand him. And even if he can’t – he just wants to talk to Cas. He can’t even count the days since he’s last been so happy.

“I love you,” he whispers again and again and maybe, just maybe, Cas moves his head every time he says it.

 They decide that Cas would stay at Dean’s apartment. Sam had been debating if Cas shouldn’t maybe stay with him and Eileen – after all they had a whole house. But they’d be having a baby pretty soon. Dean was able to devote himself to Cas entirely. And most importantly, Dean doesn’t want to stay away from Cas for any amount of time. He’s utterly convinced that Cas reacted to his voice in the car. Yes, maybe it had been just a coincidence but Dean needs to believe that there is more to it. Cas loves him. He loves Cas.

“Just be careful, Dean,” Sam had said while Dean clutched Cas to his chest. “If anything happens, call me.”

Dean had nodded and ascended the stairs.

Castiel is lying on his couch for most of the day. Dean wants to believe that Cas watches him. He enjoys this – being watched by Cas. It had been too long. He couldn’t stop smiling because he’s happy.

Cas is alive. Cas is here.

It’s like a dream come true.

At night, Cas lies in bed next to him and Dean presses soft kisses against his temple. He doesn’t dare do more and he’s content like this. He holds Castiel’s hand the entire night and if he wishes hard enough he can imagine that Castiel squeezes his hand back.

 “Dean,” Castiel says and Dean cries.

Castiel doesn’t speak again but Dean can’t stop crying.

 “Sam just called,” Dean informs Cas who is lying on the couch. Cas’ eyes flicker to him, half-understanding. “Eileen just went into labour. I wanna go there, Cas, I wanna meet my niece. Do you... do you want to come?”

He’s not expecting a response. He always wants one, but he never expects it.

“I,” Castiel says and his voice is terribly hoarse but Dean drops the phone nonetheless.

“Want,” Castiel keeps on saying before he hacks up an ugly cough. Dean cries and rushes over to him.

Cas looks at him with tired eyes, but he sees him, he looks at him, he’s here –

“Anything you want, baby,” Dean whispers. “Anything you want.”

 The nurses tell Dean that Sam and Eileen are inside but that he’s not allowed to go in. They were nice enough to give him a wheelchair for Cas – as much as Dean loves to pretend he’s a strong macho man, Cas is still six feet tall and really fucking heavy.

“They’re just inside there,” Dean says to Cas who’s looking at the floor. “Sam’s gonna be a dad.”

He can scarcely believe it himself. Sammy’s going to be a dad.

“Father,” Castiel says and Dean smiles. This is good. This is so good. Castiel can hear him and he can even respond.

“I’m so proud of you, Cas.”

Castiel looks at him with his big, blue, unblinking eyes. He frowns. Fuck, Dean had missed him so much.

“Jack,” he says and tries to look around.

“He’s God now, Cas. It’s like you always said – he’s destined for great things.”

Cas looks a bit upset.

“Goodbye,” he rasps and his eyes become frantic. “Where,” he says and starts coughing.

Oh god, no no no no. Cas is coughing up the same black goo he had been covered with.

“Cas, Cas, baby, please,” Dean whines.

Cas’ whole body shakes and Dean can tell that he’s trying to reign the coughs in. His good, pure, strong angel. Cas looks up at Dean, heaving heavily with tears in his eyes.

Dean presses kisses on his face – his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his chin.

“So good. You’re so good. We’ll fix this. I promise. We’ll fix this, together. I’m not letting you go. I’m never letting you go again, Cas.”

“Dean,” Cas says quietly and slumps against him. Dean can feel him breathing and he wraps his arms around him.

“I love you,” Dean says and Cas presses his forehead against Dean’s neck.

*

It takes ten hours, but then Dean officially becomes an uncle. Castiel had been asleep for a good amount of time, but at least he hasn’t coughed again. Of course, Dean is a bit worried about the sleeping but he’ll figure that out. All that matters is that he’s got Cas by his side and that he’s now got a little baby girl to spoil.

Once he gets the clear, he rolls Cas into the room and Sam and Eileen both look tired but also so, so happy. They light up even more when they see Cas.

“Cas,” Sam says and smiles at him. Cas looks up at Sam and blinks slowly.

“Sam,” he replies hoarsely.

Sam looks to Dean in utter disbelief and Dean can just smile. “Show us the baby, yeah?”

Eileen moves the blanket aside a bit so that they can take a look at the little bundle of joy. Her face is all scrunched up and she’s just adorable.

“Sammy, are you sure she’s really your daughter?”

Sam shoves him playfully. “You’re such a dick.”

“Baby,” Cas says and Eileen smiles at him.

“Do you want to hold her?”

It doesn’t seem like Cas understands at first, but then he nods. He raises his arms and Eileen places her daughter in them without a second thought. Both Sam and Dean are ready to interfere in case Cas’ arms would not be steady enough to hold the baby but it turns out they needn’t have worried.

“Hello,” Cas says to the child who wiggles a bit in his arms.

“Her name’s Maria,” Sam supplies and Castiel slowly nods.

“Maria,” he says. He slowly puts a finger on her tiny nose. His finger glows and Dean worries. What’s going on?

Cas looks at Eileen but he doesn’t move to give the baby back. Eileen just looks at him, then she slowly nods and smiles. She signs something and Cas turns his head to Sam.

“Fix,” he says. “Heart.”

“She... she has a heart problem?”

Castiel shakes his head. “Not... not anymore. I. I fix. I. Take. I...,” he closes his eyes in strain. “It’s gone now. They. Would. They would not have. Noticed. It’s small. But I. I took it.” His voice sounds like it pains him greatly. He slumps in his chair a bit but holds Maria tight.

“Dean,” he says and Dean’s by his side in a flash. “I want. I want to see Jack.”

 *

 When they are back at home, Dean prays to Jack. Cas fell asleep in the car as soon as they started driving back home and he hasn’t woken up since. But he also hasn’t coughed again which is probably a good sign.

“Hey, Jack,” Dean says, looking out the window. He’s put Cas into bed and is sitting next to him. The soft breathing behind him calms Dean and he wouldn’t move away from it for the world.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but we got Cas back. I don’t know how, if you were involved or not and if you can even hear me, but – he’s back, Jack. Cas is back.”

It still sounds like a dream.

“And he – Jack, he wants to see you. He didn’t get to say good-bye, y’know? He really misses you and, Jack, he’s – he’s sick or something. We found him covered in some black goo – you know, it kinda looked the Empty Goo thing, but I don’t – the goo is gone now, but he’s weak and he was coughing that stuff up earlier today and – I just... Jack, please come here. Fix him? He deserves it, yeah? So... just please, when you have a moment off from being God, could you... just pop in?”

Dean isn’t expecting Jack to instantly appear in the room, but – he somehow is. He sighs and turns around to Castiel fully. He’s sleeping peacefully and Dean smiles. He takes Cas’ hand and softly strokes the skin.

Miracle miracles herself into the bedroom and sniffs at Cas extensively. Cas doesn’t react to her but Dean smiles at the dog. He isn’t even sure if Cas knows that there’s a dog here. Miracle clearly doesn’t know what to make of the strange new man yet and Dean can’t blame her.

“I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you, girl,” he says and Miracle huffs. She looks at him expectantly. Dean laughs.

“But this is Cas, yeah? They guy I told you about. The guy that died? I’m sorry, girl. I’ll make it up to you when he’s better. And he’s getting better, he just needs a little more time, yeah? So... how about you help? If we both shower him with love, then he’ll get back on his feet even quicker, yeah? And then all three of us can go on a walk together.”

At the word “walk”, Miracle perked up and started wagging her tail. She then proceeds to climb up on the bed and snuggle up to Cas as if she had actually understood Dean. And he has a pretty good feeling that she actually had. Dean laughed and lays down himself, intertwining his fingers with Cas. His niece had just been born, Cas had been incredibly responsive today and everything would work out.

They just need a little more time.

A little more time, and then all of them could sit a table together, enjoying a family dinner.

[defenderrosetyler]

Chapter One

A/N: No real triggers this time!!  WC: 1.9k Chapter 1:

“So every person in this book is a fairy tale character?” Emma Swan says to her ten-year-old son. 

The boy had introduced himself as Henry, had brought his mother to Storybrooke. Of course, Emma had given Henry up for adoption when she gave birth to him.  But to have her son seek her out made Emma uncomfortable. He had come to her claiming to be the savior of the storybook world. Henry spun a tale about a curse and how all of the characters of the Enchanted Forest were stuck in a town called Storybrooke, Maine.

Henry had with him a brown leather storybook that was thick but didn’t appear to be heavy. Henry seemed to carry around with no problem. One thing Emma found off when they arrived into town was the clock tower. As she observed it, she couldn’t help take note of how it never seemed to move. She led Henry back to his mother’s house. Henry’s adoptive mother, Regina Mills, was the mayor of the town. Henry claimed she was the Evil Queen from the story Snow White. Emma found this silly. Then again, Emma wasn’t one for fairytales anyway. Fairytales are for kids. 

Inside Granny’s Diner, Sam Winchester sat inside waiting for his brother Dean. Granny’s was usually closed at night since Granny went to work at her bed and breakfast in the mornings, but Ruby was always there at night to serve the night owls who couldn’t sleep. 

Ruby wasn’t the only one working the night shift. She worked with Y/N Y/L/N. Hardly anyone saw  Y/N working in the morning. This usually led to rumors that Y/N was hiding something.  The story was Y/N stayed locked in Rowena’s shop.

Rowena MacLeod was a private woman. However, she was a businesswoman, a loan shark, if you will. Rowena was very good at getting what she wanted through these tactics. She would let her client borrow money with the promise of paying it back fairly and on time. However, many clients don’t read the fine print in her contract.  Resulting in them having to pay double or triple what they borrowed. Rowena had helped Sam and Dean’s parents with a large sum of money to keep their business, Winchester Mechanics, afloat. Leaving their two sons, Sam and Dean, to foot the bill. Dean paid her as much as he could, but with not many people coming or going from Storybrooke, business was slow. 

This left Sam to find a way to help Dean find a way to help pay Rowena back too. But he wasn’t having great success either. Sam had started working in Mr. Gold’s Pawn shop until he found himself interested in Law. Under Mr. Gold’s tutelage, Sam had become well versed in the laws created by the town council. This led him to also find work in the Sheriff's office as a prosecutor. Often being a rival for his own boss at the Pawn Shop. It only made Mr. Gold admire Sam more.  

“Ruby, can you please help them?” Y/N begged, trying to hold back an eye-roll at the two men that walked in together, sitting across from one another. Having a conversation amongst themselves and trying to not get in an argument, again, over the amount of money they owed to Rowena. Their next payment was due within the week, and they didn’t have the funds. 

“Sorry, Duckling, it's your turn. I helped them the other day.” She says, giving her a sentimental look. 

Ruby had been watching Y/N and Sam’s exchanges cringing internally whenever they walked in the door, knowing Y/N would try and pass her along to either herself or Granny. Ruby heard rumors about why Y/N and Sam had disagreements, but their arguments were getting harsher with each passing day.

Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes, grabbing her order pad, heading over to greet Sam and Dean. 

“Evening, Y/N,” Dean says pleasantly. 

Sam muttered under his breath a greeting, and it sounded like he muttered a nickname only her friends gave her, earning a glare from Y/N in Sam’s direction. 

“What is it now, brains?” Y/N says. “Too buried in your debt to Rowena to speak louder and call me a name in front of my face?”

Dean sighed. Here they go again. “Just our usual if you would please,” he says, trying to cut the tension between the two. 

Y/N nods glaring at Sam before she heads back to the kitchen. 

“You didn’t need to butt in like that,” Sam scoffed. “I had it completely under control.”

“Oh sure, that’s why you and Y/N seem to fight or have some sort of disagreement every time we come in here?” Dean huffed,  “Who knows whatever the hell happens when you bump into her while she’s alone at Rowena’s,” Dean sassed,  “Oh wait, you’re too busy working at Gold’s shop, fighting for a chance to work a case in his place, or at the jail with Graham,” the elder brother snapped calmly. 

“Says the man who works in a shop with no cars to work on,” Sam snapped back, “How’s Amaya? Did you ever fulfill your promise to help her out?

“You keep that bitch out of this,” Dean growled. “I’ll figure something out. For now, I’m gonna see if I can get a second job somewhere.” 

“What do you mean? What other job could you get here? Think Granny can hire you as a short-order cook? At least she gets business!”  

“It’s something to get the debt paid back to Rowena, Sam,” Dean muttered as Y/N brought out their meals. Both were polite, and their bickering died down, and they went back to talking about their days. As uneventful as they were, they had a lot to talk about. 

Y/N sighed as she went back behind the counter, “Ruby, I’m gonna head to bed. Dawn wake-up call comes early.” She says with an eye roll. 

“Goodnight, Duckling,” Ruby says, smiling kindly to her, “I’ll clean up.”

===========

Enchanted Forest

“Dean, is target practice really necessary?” Sam says, looking at him. “I need to be looking for Odette, not shooting powdered arrows over at the servants’ asses.” 

“And what are you gonna do when you can’t hit your mark?” Dean questioned, “What of Odette needs saving from some Ogres, and you miss?” 

“Is that before or after the fact that you're catching fireflies at all hours of the night?” Sam asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Are they for you or to feed the frog that follows you around and hides on your dresser?”  he snaps, glaring at the older brother.

“I do not go out at night to catch fireflies for Amaya,” Dean scoffs, “besides, she goes out and catches her own meals.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam grabbed his red powdered covered arrows, game face on. Assuming the probability that Dean would let him win, again. Sam took an arrow from his quiver, sliding it into place. Pulling back the string once he nocked it, aiming it at his first mark, the butler, Crowley. Whom the brothers affectionately dressed up as a brown moose. The arrow left the nocking point, hitting its destined target in the center of his rounded ass. 

“Hey!” Crowley muttered, rolling his eyes. He brushed off the powder as he glared at both of the brothers. 

Dean was finding this amusing. The exercise was primarily for Sam. Why couldn’t he have fun too?

Just as Dean was about to take his shot, Castiel, the head advisor to his father, walked out onto the grounds. He intended to stop the game before it fully began. “Your Highness?”

Startled by the sudden interruption, Dean whipped around,  the arrow released from where it was nocked, hitting Castiel square into his chest. Before he could even react, a second followed by a third engulfed Cas in a powder of blue.

“If you children are quite finished,” he huffed, dusting the powder off himself, “my liege, you have a visitor. Something about a poisonous toad needing collecting?”

Dean fired one more arrow before stalking towards Castiel, “it better not be a waste of my time. My brother and I are training.” 

“Training for a lost cause if you ask me, Sir,” Crowley says, observing the body language of his employer. “For all, we know the Princess is dead as well, just like her father. God rest his soul.” He adds, making the sign of the cross. 

Sam’s head turned quickly at the Butler’s words echoed in his ear. Eyes flashed in anger, rushing over towards the pair. “Take it back! You don’t get to talk about Odette like that!”

“Forgive me, Samuel. However, I truly believe this to be a fool's errand,” Crowley says, standing closer to the trio gathered in the middle of the courtyard.

“I will find her, Crowley,” the younger prince declared, “I have to find her.”

Shaking his head, Dean followed Castiel inside to handle the visitor.

Needing an actual outlet for his anger, Sam walked with a fast pace over to the stables. The staff tended to the horses, but Sam usually liked taking care of his mare. It gave him a sense of responsibility. 

Sam’s mare, Onyx, was a beautiful black Friesian. Her height was just above 18 hands, given his six foot four stature, she was just as tall as he was. Sam was okay with that though. Grabbing a body brush, Sam slowly brushed out her black coat. It had become dirty from the loose dirt flying around.

Meanwhile, as the sun set on the edge of the trees in the forest, a beautiful white swan flew across the canopy. Odette had grown accustomed to the dawn and the dusk. Knowing she had to be on the lake’s surface as the moon touched it before she would become a woman again. 

As per her usual routine, Odette flew over Winchester Castle. Wondering if Sam would be looking for her. Who was she kidding? Sam only wanted to marry her for her beauty. Prince Samuel Winchester didn’t care about her.

Dusk approached, the swan moving to make her graceful descent down into the crystal colored water. “Was wondering if you were gonna be on time tonight dearie.” Rowena says, hands placed on her hips. Odette gave Rowena as much of a glare as a swan possibly could. The princess was always on time and never late. The other party that was never late was Rowena’s incompetant son Crowley. 

“Evening Mother, Odette,” he greets, giving his mother a nod of acknowledgement. Crowley’s appearances had begun to be a routine over the past week. Rowena’s son came every evening, giving Rowena the opportunity to ask her the same proposition in order to remove the curse. Marrying her son. 

Much to the annoyance of Rowena, Odette answered her the same as she had every single time she’d asked. One single word was her reply, but not the one the sorceress was looking for. 

“No.”

“Oh for the love of Dagda” She scoffed, rolling her eyes skyward. Eyes focused back on the maiden that stood before her. Hair glowing in the shimmering moonlight. “Need I remind you, I placed this curse on you, and I can just as easily reverse it. All you need to do, is agree to marry my dear Fergus. Once you're wed, I can give you all the riches a Princess could ask for.” 

“Far better than the Winchester’s that's for sure.” Crowley adds as a comment. 

“I’d rather be a swan over marrying your childish, pathetic son.” Odette snapped. 

“That can be arranged.” Rowena snapped, allowing the princess to mull over her choices.

[deanswaywardgirl]

Having Faith

A/N: So, this is something I came up with in the shower. Don’t ask me how or why, but that seems to be where I conjure up my ideas. I call them my “Shower Fics”. Anyway, this could be just a part 1, y’all let me know what you think, and I think if there is a part 2 in the future, I think I’d like to do a collaboration, maybe even turn it into a mini-series or even longer. I’m letting Faith control this story. It’s her story, I just write it down. So, let me know. Enjoy!

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warning: angst, heartbroken Dean (face it, it's a warning. When Dean cries, everyone cries)

Faith paced back and forth in her room, the book of instructions on the Malek box, that Billie had given Dean, in her hand. "Dammit!" she growled, her eyes glowing blue as she threw the book, putting a large hole in the wall. She sank onto the edge of the bed, before standing and running her fingers through her hair again. She sat back down on the bed and held her head in her hands, going through any and all options in her head. But one option stood out above all others. She stared at her alarm clock, noting that it was almost three in the morning, her mind flashing back to the last words her and Dean had spoken to each other.

"The Malek Box is not an option, Dean, we're not going down that road," Faith said, dropping her duffel bag down on the map table. She moved towards the whiskey and took a large swig directly from the bottle, too pissed off to pour any into a glass. 

"Faith, Billie said--" "Dean, I don't give a crap what Billie said. Screw Billie and her damn rules. I care about you and Sam and what this means for you. Do you have any idea how severe this plan is, any idea what it means?" "Yes, it means Michael goes down for good. It means saving this world, and every other world that exists. It means saving my family: Sam, you, Cas, Mom, and everyone else." "And what about us, Dean? Even if we help you go through with this crap, do you really think we'll sleep better at night, knowing you're a thousand leagues under water fighting this douchebag archangel for all eternity?" Faith swallowed hard as she moved towards him, tears falling down her cheeks. "Dammit, Dean, he will never let you die. You will never have peace, you will never rest, you will never see the light of day ever again." "Do you think I don't know that, Faith? I am terrified when I think about this, but I have to do this. I have to save you and Sam, I have to save the world." "Not like this, you don't, and you're not. I won't let you." "You're not gonna let me?" "Hell no!" "How are you gonna stop me?" Dean asked, keeping his eyes on hers. Faith shook her head and bit her bottom lip, then punched him and stormed off down the hall to the room she'd claimed when she wanted to be alone.

The two hadn't spoken since, and that was two days before. Leaving her room, she headed toward Sam's room, each step of her plan falling into place in her head. It broke her heart to do it this way, but she had to save her boys, she had to save Dean. From Michael and from himself. Swallowing hard, she found Sam in the kitchen and stood there, watching him for a moment, memorizing everything about this man with a beautiful soul in front of her. Tears welled up in her eyes as she thought of saying goodbye to the man that had become her best friend and her brother.

"Faith? You alright?" Sam asked, bringing her out of her reverie. Faith took a shaky breath and moved toward him, watching as he stood up. She moved directly into his arms and held on tightly, breathing in his scent. "You know I love you, right? You know I'd do anything for you and that you're my brother, right?" she asked, then glanced up at him. Sam glanced down at her and smiled softly, then kissed her forehead. "Of course I know that, Faith. I love you too. What's wrong?" he asked, his brow furrowing in concern. Faith smiled softly and slid her hands into his. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that, okay? It's almost three in the morning, Moose, go to bed. You can look for a way to save your brother in the morning." "I know, I just feel like every minute counts. He's not backing down on this one," Sam said, sitting back down. "We gotta save him, Faith, I don't know what I'll do if he goes through with this plan of his." Faith nodded and smiled softly. "I'll save him, I promise, Sammy. Goodnight," she said and left the kitchen, headed to the library to get the mind machine that Tonie Bevill had used on Dean and Mary. 

She swallowed hard as she wheeled it to Dean's room and parked it just outside his door, then slowly poked her head in and noticed he was laid out in his bed, his arms over his chest. She took a shaky breath and moved to sit on the edge of the bed beside him.

"Dean?" she whispered, swallowing hard. The man opened one eye and closed it again. "Faith. Something on your mind?" he asked, then opened one eye in time to see tears fall down her face. "I'm sorry," she said, and watched as he moved closer and took her into his arms, holding her tightly. Faith cried into his shoulder and held on tightly, threading her fingers into his hair as she inhaled his scent. "I love you so damn much, Dean Winchester."

"Shh," Dean whispered and pulled back, cupping her face in his hands, wiping away her tears. He pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes as he held her tight in his arms.

"Dean, you mean everything to me, so I have to do this," she whispered and pulled back to look into his eyes, stroking his cheek. "Forgive me," she whispered and placed two fingers against his forehead, putting him to sleep. 

She placed her other hand on the back of his head and lowered him back down onto the bed, stroking his cheek with her thumb. "I love you, Dean." She stood and adjusted him so he was comfortable, placing his legs on the bed. She moved to the door and pulled the mind meld machine into the room. She hooked Dean up to it, then herself and laid down beside him and took his hand, lacing her fingers with his. She closed her eyes and focused, and soon was back in Rocky's Bar, sitting across from Dean. 

"Hey," she said, smiling apologetically before standing and moving to the walk in freezer. "Faith, what are we doing back here? What are you doing?" Dean asked, attempting to stand. Faith turned back to him and pulled out the archangel blade from her jacket.

"I'm saving my family, Dean. I'm saving you," she said and moved toward him and knelt down. "I meant what I said. I love you, Dean, and I will save you from this son of a bitch." She stood up and kissed his forehead before moving to the freezer and pulling out the ice pick. She stood back and stood protectively in front of Dean, swallowing hard. "Come on out, you bastard. I know you're in there. I have an offer for you," she called, breathing shakily. 

Soon, Michael came out of the freezer, his eyes full of anger. Sensing his anger toward Dean, Faith held the archangel blade up, her own eyes glowing blue. "Hello, Father." "Faith, Faith, Faith," he said, smiling at her, taking a few steps forward. "I'm impressed. You went through all this trouble to break me out of this rat hole of angst and daddy issues." Faith snarled and clenched her jaw before tightening her grip.

"I came to make you an offer, Michael." "Faith, don't do this," Dean said. Faith closed her eyes and let a single tear fall before facing her father again. Michael smirked and clasped his hands together in front of him. "I'm listening," he told her, his expression impassive.

"Deal of the millenium. You leave Dean and you can have me instead. Take your real sword, me, and leave Dean in peace. He lives, you live, I live. Everyone goes home happy." 

The archangel laughed and moved to circle her, only to stop when she moved closer to Dean. "No, you're not coming anywhere near him. In fact, you make a move on him, you'll be dead before you hit the ground, you understand me?" she asked, swallowing hard. Michael's brow furrowed as he watched her. "What makes you think you're my sword and not him?" he asked. Faith gave him a cold smile. "Please. It's not like you love me. I'm a weapon, I was supposed to lead your piss poor angel army against Lucifer's, while you fought Lucifer. Love requires a heart, Michael, and using Dean's heart doesn't count." "Dammit, Faith, stop this," Dean growled behind her.

"No, Dean. This is the only way you stay alive, and Sam keeps his brother. You two need each other more than you'll ever need me. It's the right thing to do." She breathed deeply and licked her lips, turning her attention back to Michael. 

"So? Leave or die, Michael, it's up to you. It's the only offer you're gonna get in the next decade or so.” The archangel laughed and shook his head. "Faith...this family you seem to care so much about, these Winchesters. You really think they care about you? You really think Dean cares about you? You think he loves you? When you and I leave, he'll be relieved. You'll be one less weight around his neck, and another monster to hunt. And why? So you could be their hero? Their guardian angel?" Michael laughed and licked his lips. 

Tears fell down her cheeks as she blocked out the voice in her head that said he was right and blinked before forcing her eyes back to his. "I'll do whatever you want me to do, Michael. I'll lead whatever army you want me to lead, but you have to leave Dean and Sam alone forever. Or I will drive this knife into my heart, and you'll be short one real weapon." 

Michael turned his eyes to Dean and back to Faith. "You'll come with me willingly?" he asked, approaching her, now standing directly in front of her. "You'll obey my every order, my every command? As if they came from.." he smirked and flicked his eyes to Dean just behind her, "Dean himself. You have to admit, you'd do anything and everything for him. And he wouldn't even have to ask." Faith clenched her jaw, tears falling down her cheek. She swallowed thickly and turned her blue eyes up to Michael.

"Yes. Now, do we have a deal or not?" she asked. "Faith, no, I'm begging you not to do this," Dean growled. Faith closed her eyes as she swallowed hard, dropping her eyes.

"Fine. We have a deal," Michael said and smirked, turning his eyes to Dean. "Today's your lucky day, Dean. Guess you won't be needing that box after all." He winked at the hunter and moved toward the door before turning back and holding his hand out to Faith. "Find a different vessel, Michael, I'm gonna say goodbye to my boys and I'll meet you in an hour at the town line."

It wasn't long before Dean and Faith both awakened from their sleep. Faith looked around and met Dean's eyes. "What did you do?" Dean asked, standing up off the bed. "Dean--" "You made a deal with him, Faith, you made--"

"Dean, I did it for you. For you and Sam." She moved off the bed towards him and cupped his face in her hands. "Dean, I only have an hour, can I please say goodbye to you?" she asked. Dean bit his bottom lip as he looked down into her eyes, then pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. "You don't have to go with him, Faith. We can protect you, we can keep you safe. I can. I can protect you," he told her, gripping her waist with his fingertips. "Dean, hey, look at me." Dean moved his eyes down to hers and he swallowed hard. "Listen to me. You and Sam, it was always you and Sam. It was never Dean and Faith, it was never Sam and Faith. I'm not important, I'm not....I'm not a Winchester," she said and cupped his face in her hands, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. Tears fell down Dean's cheeks as he listened to her.

"Sweetheart, you underestimate how much we need you. How much I need you. You are more important to me than you will ever know," he told her. "I love you more than anything in this world, Faith, and I always will." The girl in his arms shook her head and leaned up, kissing him with every ounce of her heart, every inch of her soul. Dean lifted her up onto his waist and sat on the edge of the bed with her in his lap, then reached up and cupped her face in his hand, earning a moan from her. He moved his lips down her jaw to her neck, gripping her waist in his fingertips, longing to feel her and to feel her touch him. Faith gently pulled back and pressed her forehead against his. "Dean, I only have an hour, or he'll come looking for me," she whispered, tracing his lips with her thumb, memorizing the feel of them. Dean parted his lips and kissed her palm tenderly, holding her hand to his face and leaning into it, his eyes falling closed.

"I can't believe you did this," he said, the tears falling. "I couldn't let you take that box to the bottom of the ocean, Dean. I never would've forgiven myself. Sam wouldn't have either." Dean gazed into her eyes and gently pulled her against him, cupping her face in his hand. "I am so in love with you," he whispered. "Faith, I don't know if I can do this without you," he told her. Faith smiled sadly.

"Dean, baby, you got on just fine before I came along," she told him, "you can do that again. Besides, you still have Sam. You will be okay," she said and kissed his forehead. "I'll be...I'll be okay, knowing you're safe. Miles away from Michael. I'd prefer that to the bottom of the ocean. I'm sure if you asked Sam--" "Sweetheart, hey," Dean interceded, looking up into her eyes, "he's not the only one in my world that matters. You matter to me just as much as he does, Faith. Whether you want to or not," he said with a warm smile. Faith smiled softly and shook her head, then pressed her head against his, cupping his face in her hand. "I love you, Dean Winchester, remember that, okay? Never forget that. And I will always choose you over this world." Dean took a shaky breath and pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her head to his shoulder. Faith breathed him in, closing her eyes as she memorized the smell of the man she loved more than anything. "Goodbye, Dean. I love you," she whispered and planted a tender kiss to his neck before disappearing. The last bit of evidence that she'd ever been there being the sound of wings fluttering.

Sam glanced up when his brother entered the room, and closed his laptop, his brow furrowing as he stood up. "Dean?" A single tear fell down Dean's cheek as he approached his younger brother, swallowing hard. "What is it? What's wrong?" Sam asked, gently clutching onto Dean's shoulder. "She's gone. Faith..." Dean sank onto the floor and pulled his knees up to his chest. "What are you talking about?" Sam asked, his heart sinking in his chest. "She made a deal. Michael's gone...he's got her, Sam." Another tear fell down Dean's cheek as he met his brother's eyes. "She's gone, Sammy. She's gone," he said and swallowed hard, leaning his head back and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Sam swallowed hard, but stayed beside his brother, also feeling the loss, the silence of the bunker falling down around them like a curtain.

@ellewritesfix05 @chevyharvelle @whispersandwhiskerburn @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

[shortkingzuko]

title: burned words

relationship: bato/hakoda

for @bakodafleetweek prompt: interuppted

warnings: light angst, mention of canon injuries

summary: all that Bato can think is I love you I love you I love you I love you. The words burn his tongue worse than any of the strange spices they’ve encountered since they’ve left the South Pole. 

read under the cut or on AO3 for full list of tags

Bato doesn’t try to tell Hakoda that he loves him anymore, not that it really matters, in the grand scheme of things. When he was younger, he had tried - tried to get the words to form properly on his lips, but something always got in the way. Whether it was the sudden realization that the words would affect Kya - and eventually Sokka and Katara - or the sudden feeling of cowardice after he tried so hard to get Hakoda alone, or because he thought better in the face of his dearest friend, forever mourning the loss of his wife and with the whole world on his shoulders. The war won’t stop for love, or grief, or for the chance of the big what if that’s been haunting him for nearly all his life. Bato knows this all too well; Hakoda knows this too. It used to be something that Bato thought weighted him down, something that made him dead weight, but instead, it’s only made him that much more loyal, that much more trusted, that much more important to Hakoda, even if he doesn’t know the true reasons behind his devotion. The feeling still sits heavy in his chest, pressing against his ribs so hard sometimes Bato swears they’ll snap. They never do. Bato takes his vow of silence on the matter seriously; Hakoda has his children, their tribe, and the war to worry about. He doesn’t need to worry about his lifelong friend’s pining feelings too. 

Still, sometimes Bato will look at Hakoda and the light will be hitting him just right, or the spray of the sea will gather in droplets just above his brow, or sometimes he’ll just be hunched over a scroll, hand propping his head up, eyes stern and focused, and the words will just claw their way out of his chest, like crabs escaping a net, fighting each other to get out first. At least, they try to.

Sometimes part of the confession will slip out, a raspy, “Hakoda, I-” will bubble out of his lips before he can beat it back down. Either Hakoda will be too busy or surrounded by too much noise to hear, or he’ll look up from his task, face tense with stress but eyes softening as he looks towards his friend, and Bato will have to come up with an excuse as to why he drew his attention away. Often it’s as easy as clearing his throat of the lovesick tone and saying, “Hakoda, I think you need a break.”

Hakoda rarely listens to Bato’s pleas for him to take greater care of himself, saying that the other tribe members or the war effort need him. Bato has to work so hard to not say, I need you too.

Other times it’s the good grace of the spirits that keep Bato’s confessions away from Hakoda’s ears. A quiet moment sitting around the evening fire, sparks illuminating Hakoda’s face in a warm glow, hair falling out of its wolf tail and hanging around his face, and all that Bato can think is I love you I love you I love you I love you. The words burn his tongue worse than any of the strange spices they’ve encountered since they’ve left the South Pole. 

Voice so soft that only the spirits can hear, Bato will start to say, “I lo-”

“Chief!” Someone will always call, and Hakoda will always turn to look towards them, always willing to help. It happens more times than Bato would care to admit, that he’s saved from his own inability to keep his feelings to himself, only because one of their tribe members need help settling a minor dispute.

The feeling of relief that he feels when he’s saved of a confession is secondary to the feeling of regret. His love for Hakoda paces around in his heart, like a caged sabre-tooth moose-lion, antsy and yearning for escape. More than anything Bato wants Hakoda to know how he feels, to know that despite all his flaws, all his mistakes, all of his perceived failures, he wants him to know that Bato still loves him despite, or maybe because, all that. He wants to kiss his stress bitten lips and to smooth his slowly greying hair. He wants to hold his friend close at night, to speak with him about his children, to return to their home and move in together and die old and grey next to his side. 

More than anything, Bato wants Hakoda to know that he won’t leave him and that he won’t let Hakoda leave him either. 

But those are promises that can’t, and shouldn’t, be made. Bato knows, rationally, that he might not be able to keep them, and his devotion to Hakoda means that he’s never been able to lie outright to him. So instead he dances around the subject, he tries to get Hakoda to rest when he’s been working too much, tries to make sure he always gets a slightly bigger serving of food (even though when Hakoda notices, he’ll switch bowls with whoever is the most injured), tries to tell him without telling him that he is loved, and cared for and that without him, Bato fears that he’ll never be complete. 

It’s when his arm is burned, when his skin red and melted, tissue exposed and damp, when every beat of his heart shutters and every breath is pained and hard, and his eyes keep shutting for minutes at a time before shooting back open with pained groans, that he feels drops of water falling on his face. For a moment Bato thinks it might be raining, and wouldn’t that be a nice relief on his scorched skin, except he feels a quaking all around him, and he realizes that it’s not rain or an earthquake, but Hakoda. And he realizes that Hakoda is carrying him, his strong arms around his waist and holding his leg, his undamaged arm has been positioned around Hakoda’s shoulders, and Hakoda is carrying him with such strength and tenderness that Bato doesn’t know how to react. And then he feels - doesn’t hear, the blood pumping in his ears makes it almost impossible to hear anything - Hakoda sob, soul racking and aggressive, as he continues his trek… wherever they’re headed. 

In his semi-conscious state, Bato mumbles, “Hakoda…”

All the name earns is another cry, as the man looks down at Bato’s ash-smudged and bloodied face. He says something, but Bato is already drifting off, only aware of the shaking of Hakoda’s chest and the pain of his left side. 

The only thing he can think is I love you, but he doesn’t know if his mouth moves as quickly as his thoughts.

When they get to the abbey, Bato is only awake for moments at a time, only aware of the Sisters pouring frigid water over his wounds, the sensation of thick salves, and then suffocating bandages wrapped tightly around his arm and torso. He can vaguely hear Hakoda speaking to one of the Sisters, but it’s fuzzy. Everything is fuzzy, from his hearing to his eyesight, to the feeling of everything around him.

Bato opens his eyes, unaware that he closed them in the first place, to see smudges of blue walking away, and the sight of Hakoda holding his unbandaged hand, eye closed and forehead pressed against Bato’s. 

Bato tries to greet him, but all that comes out in a garbled whine. Hakoda opens his eyes slowly, lifts his head and looks down at him.

“Hey, Bato.” His voice is choked and comes out heavy, over-enunciated. “The Sisters said you might not remember a whole bunch, but I wanted to tell you that… we have to leave. The tribe and I. We need to keep heading to the safe point, and we…. We have to leave you here.”

Another whine escaped from Bato’s throat, and he tries to push himself up, but before Hakoda can push him down, he collapses back onto the medical cot. Instead, he holds Hakoda’s hand even tighter. 

“I’m sorry, Bato, spirits, I’m so fucking sorry.” Tears flow down Hakoda’s face. “We can’t take care of you, and the Sisters here already said that you’ll probably get an infection and if we can’t take care of you, you’ll die, and you can’t die on me, Bato.”

Bato slowly, carefully, pulls Hakoda back down so that their foreheads are pressed together again. He feels the heat of Hakoda’s laboured breaths against his face. He closes his eyes, focusing on the pleasant warmth instead of the painful burn.

“We’ll send for you as soon as we’re safe so that you can follow, I swear it.” Hakoda cries, not quite freely, but as freely as he can. The warm tears stream down his face, onto Bato’s lips and into his tongue. 

And Bato believes that; he believes and trusts in Hakoda more than anything, more than he believes in himself or that this gods forsaken war will ever end. But he doesn’t trust his own erratically beating heart, or the pain in his arm, or the light-headedness that he feels.

“Hakoda,” he chokes out, throat scratchy and dry. He wants to be speaking confidently, loudly, with his usual voice of order and straightforwardness, but instead, his voice is quiet, raspy, and broken. “Hakoda, I love-”

“Chief Hakoda,” A voice calls out from the doorway. Bato can’t recognize it right now, but it booms and echos in his ears. “We need to leave. If we stay any longer, we may get caught by the next patrol.”

Slowly, Hakoda nods, and says, “Alright. Get everyone ready to leave. I’ll be out in a minute.”

There’s a shuffling and Bato assumes that whoever was speaking has left, and he’s left just staring into Hakoda’s eyes, blue like the ice caves that polar dogs dig, and suddenly Bato, for the first time, wonders if all his love could maybe be returned. 

Hakoda squeezes Bato’s hand, pressing Bato’s knuckles into his scratchy cheek, and holds it there.

Bato closes his eyes, wanting nothing more than to hold Hakoda’s hand forever. 

“I’ll send for you,” Hakoda whispers, one more time. “I’m not leaving you here forever.”

And Bato wants to say I know, I know, I know you’d never leave me, not in a hundred years, not for all the stars in the sky, not for all the warmth in the South Pole, but all that comes out in a sob that he didn’t realize was building in his throat. Hakoda wipes away the tears with his thumb.

“Bato, I-” And another cry blooms out of Bato’s mouth. Hakoda shushes him. “Bato, Bato, none of that now. You’ll be back with me soon, okay?” 

Bato nods, eyes still streaming, as Hakoda finally releases his hand. He runs a hand over Bato’s knotted hair.

“We’ll be back together soon.”

And as Bato watches his retreating figure, he wants to say I know, I love you, I know, I love you, I know. But all he can do is let out a sigh, as his emotional outburst ends, leaving him exhausted. His eyes close as he hears Hakoda giving orders outside the curtain of his door, and the only words in his mind are love you love you love you.

[my-funky-little-cowboy]

Yeehawgust Day 9 | Cattlepunk Characters: John Marston, Abigail Roberts, Jack Marston Word Count: 1,472 Warnings: None

John shoved the final bag into the back of the wagon, he turned quickly and the bundle rolled back and out of the wagon.

“Oh come on, now!” John groaned, the contents of the pack scattered on the ground. 

He stopped, seeing Arthur’s satchel among the things littering the ground. A pained expression flashed across his face as he bent down to pick the bag up, wiping the dust from the worn leather. It was heavy in his hands. He was sure they had emptied all the weird trinkets and collectibles that Arthur had stuffed away all those years ago. 

He flipped open the bag and reached inside. His hand dusting over the worn cover of a book, he pulled it out, his breath caught in his throat and he closed his eyes. He let his arm with the satchel fall, his head falling back. 

Arthur. 

He opened his eyes slowly, turning to place the satchel in the bed of the wagon. Slowly cracking open the old journal, he smiled looking down at Arthur’s elegant handwriting. He flipped through the pages, his heart ached as he recognized the small drawings of Jenny and Sadie from that final year.

He continued to flip through the pages, leaning heavily against the wagon. The memories of that last year flooding back to him, his heart heavy. Seeing all the people Arthur had met in that last year, the interesting sights, his diagnosis. He stopped briefly, the words he read next haunted him.

Turns out, I’m not very well. Got tuberculosis. Doctor did not know how long I would last. All them bullets shot at me, all them horses threw me, all them fights and it was beating up that pathetic little fella Downes that killed me, I reckon. He’s the only man I been near was real sick. He begged for mercy and I beat the bastard and he died. And now I’m dying too. The way of the world

John stopped. He hadn’t known then, he knew Arthur hadn’t been feeling well, a cough here and there. Nothing he didn’t expect his brother to bounce back from, but then the bank job had gone so wrong.

The gang split and God only knows what went down on Guarma. Abigail had said it was bad. When Sadie and Arthur had come for him at Sisika he looked like a hollow shell of the man John had grown up with.

Those following weeks, watching him waste away, that promise, the only thing Arthur had asked of him, the thing that kept him going even now.

He looked back down at the journal, flipping through the rest of the pages, Arthur’s final thoughts. He stopped on a page with a portrait of a man, and beside it a curious looking building with the name Dover Hill scrawled under it. He skimmed the entry and it’s talk of grand machines and mechanical men. 

Marko Dragic

Had he ever heard about what happened to his curious friend? He snapped the journal closed hearing the footfalls approach.

“Almost done, John?” Abigail asked as she reached the wagon, Jack following behind her, the crate in his arms overflowing with provisions.

“All loaded up here.” He slid the book into the pocket of his jacket, turning to greet them.  He reached out and took the crate from Jack, loading it into the back of the wagon.

“And all that?” Abigail motioned to the fallen contents of the pack and John grinned sheepishly.

“Right, I’ll get those loaded up now. One of the bags fell.” He rubbed the back of his neck and dropped down to pick up the miscellaneous pieces, placing them into the wagon.

Abigail shook her head and climbed into the driver’s seat, waving for Jack to climb up into the back. John tossed the last of the items into the back and climbed up next to her. He picked up the reins and cracked them gently, the wagon pulling out of town.

It had been nearly 7 years since the Marstons had been back down this way, back to where Arthur had given everything up for them. They rode slowly through the valley, the familiar paths from that winter, through Roanoke Ridge, he recognized the trails as they came closer to Beaver Hollow, and he steered them north of the area, opting to take some of the less populated roads as they moved farther west.

They continued west into a bone-chilling wind as the sun dropped below the mountains, the trees becoming thicker as they moved farther into the forest.

 A moose call echoed through the valley, starling Jack who looked up from his book.

“What the hell was that?” Jack exclaimed!

“Jack!” Abigail shouted, smacking his head gently. “This is all your fault!” She frowned at John and he chuckled.

“Jack, watch your mouth.” He stifled his laugh and Abigail nudged him with her shoulder.

The wagon splashed through the shallow water as they crossed the shallow river, the cold water splattering John’s leg as he hung it from the wagon, turning his attention back to the road and the sign off to the side. The crude carvings pointed west to Colter, south to Saint Denis, and north to...Dover Hill?

John pulled back on the reigns, slowing the horses as they came up to the sign. 

“We should find a place to set up camp tonight, it’ll be dark soon...and cold.” His curiosity piqued, he pulled the wagon down the northern path toward Dover Hill curious to see what Arthur saw all those years ago.

They wound up the trail, eventually the path opened and a large building came into view. John pulled the horses to a stop.

“What is this place, John?” Abigail asked.

“I don’t know, sign said Dover Hill, and the name looked familiar.” He trailed off.

“Looks abandoned. Maybe we should head back to the road?” She offered.

“Wouldn’t you rather stay indoors if it’s an option?” John hopped down from the wagon, pulling the shotgun from under the seat he moved toward the building, leaving Jack and Abigail in the wagon.

He knocked loudly on the door and waited, no response. He put his ear to the door, silence. He tried the handle and it relented to his push and he disappeared into the darkness.

“Hello?” The light spilled into the space in front of him, reflecting off the dull glass.

 He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette pack, grabbing the small matchbox from within. Striking a match to the rough wood a dull glow filled the room. He lit the end of his cigarette and scanned the room for a lantern or candle, finding one and lighting it, he swung it back around the room.

The light flooded the space, the walls were lined with bulbs and levers, the panels dark without the electricity flowing through them. John ran his hand along them, his fingers leaving thick trails in the dust. He stopped in the doorway that led into a large caged room, the body on the floor was long dead, the skin tight to the bones and the clothes in tatters. The dark stain of the blood surrounded the body, long dry, the boot prints from the body gave John all the story he needed.

Damn, wonder if this was that fella.

He lifted his lantern, casting the light into the rest of the room and his jaw dropped. The room filled with mechanical metal men in various states of completion, enough to form an army, forever waiting for directions that would never come. 

He turned back, looking to where he left his family, and back down to the floor, the bloodied footprints leading out of the room back toward the front door. He looked back at the army and a chill ran down his spine, the vacant lifeless eyes leaving him feeling unnerved. John grit his teeth as he carefully surveyed the room once more before making his way out of the building. 

John reappeared in the doorway and Abigail crossed her arms over her chest.

“Find anything? Anyone inside? It’s getting cold! We need to either settle here or find someplace before nightfall, otherwise we’re gonna freeze!” 

John shook his head, pulling himself back up into the wagon, tucking the shotgun up under the seat. “It’s clear, but someone got killed in there. I think we should move on.”  He said, his eyes locked on the building, the uneasy feeling still settling in his gut.

It wasn’t a lie, but it was sure gonna be a hell of a lot easier to explain than that other stuff. He gently cracked the reins, turning the wagon around and moving back toward the main road, he shook his head. Arthur sure had met some strange folk.

[butterfliesluke]

A new friend-Michael Clifford x reader

Warnings: just pure fluff🥺

Summary: Michael has a surprise birthday gift for you!

An: hello everyone! My request are open so please feel free to drop some ideas in my ask box! I’m trying to put out an imagine everyday and I’m working on a master list!

••••••••••••••••••••••••

You and Michael have been dating for about two years now and you just moved in together a couple of months ago. you both have always shared a love for animals throughout your relationship and Michael thought it would be a great idea, as an early birthday present for you to adopt a puppy together.

"y/n! are you almost ready?" Michael yelled up the stairs clearly excited for your surprise.

" just about Michael! what's got you such in a hurry?"

"it's a surprise, my love." Michael leans against the stairs railing and crosses his arms even though you can see him. he really  wants this day to be a memory both of you won't forget anytime soon.

"Ah yes because we both know how much I love surprises." you say with your hand on your hip at the top of the stairs now being able to see Michael.

"I promise you'll love this one. letssss goooo" He says in a Mario voice as you shake your head and giggle at his childish antics.

You wondered what Michael had planned he has been talking about today non stop for the past week. Knowing Michael you thought he would eventually slip and let you in on the excitement but he hasn't given you so much as a hint to where you two where going. 

You two get into the car and he flashes you a smile from the drivers seat.

"buckle up we have about an hour drive" Michael pats your thigh while keeping one hand on the steering wheel backing out of the driveway.

Instead of questioning him you just sat back in your seat and put your hand on top of the one he had on your thigh. You already knew that you weren't going to get any information out of him so you didn't even try. 

You hated silence in the car so you leaned forward to turn on the bluetooth and you laughed when "damned if you do, damned if you don't " by all time low played through the speakers of the car.

"what are you laughing at?" Michael questioned but also laughed along with you.

"oh nothing" You blushed and looked out the window.

"fine" he poked your side making you jump and swat his had away. "we are almost to our destination."

"permanent vacation?" you said quickly trying not to laugh.

"you know i hate you." he glared at you from the corner of his eye making it even harder not to laugh.

"actually you love me. last time I checked we live together and you tell me everyday."

'yeah yeah okay, I love you" he laughs.  

" I love you too Michael Clifford" 

a couple minuets later you pulled into the driveway of an unfamiliar house.

“Where are we?” You asked turning towards Michael with a confused expression.

“You’ll see!” He squealed and opened his door to run around to your side of the car to open the door for you. Guess chivalry isn’t dead, you thought. As you walked closer to the house hand and hand you began to hear tiny little barks not from one, but many little puppies.

Michael knocked on the front door then stepped back and waited for an answer. He could stop bouncing on his heels and the smile on his face never left which in turn made yours grow.

The door unlocking broke you from your trance and you where met with the face of an older woman.

“Hello there! You must be Michael?” She greeted us with a smile and shook mike’s hand.

“Yes ma’am that’s me. This is my lovely girlfriend y/n” he said gesturing towards you which made your cheeks flush red.

“Hello, nice to meet you” you shook her hand as well.

“We’ll come in! The living room is straight ahead.”

Michael took your hand and practically dragged you down the short entrance hall and there in the middle of the living room was about 12 puppies.

You covered your mouth with your hands at all the cuteness and immediately sat down of the floor so the puppies could engulf you with love. Michael stood back and watched you with love in his eyes while you played with the little ones and it made his heart flutter.

“She’s a keeper isn’t she?” The older woman asks Michael quietly so only the two of them could hear.

“Definitely.” Once he turned back to look at you he sat on the floor with you earning some attention from the puppies as well. “Go ahead, pick one out love” he took your hand in his kissing your knuckles.

“Wait really Mikey?!” Your eyes lit up and started to water.

“Yes love, you’ve always talked about how you’ve always wanted a dog and I think this will be a good step in our relationship.” After he finished you kissed his lips holding his face in your hands earning a quiet “awe” from the woman standing next to you two.

“I love you so much” you squealed as you picked up a puppy that was begging for your attention since you got there. The breed was some sort of poodle and was a girl. In your heart you just felt that she was the one you’d take home.

You kissed her nose only to receive a kiss on the nose back from her and your heart melted. You had made your decision.

“This is the one Michael.” You said seriously with a huge grin on your face staring at the small puppy.

Michael didn’t even need to ask if you were sure because he knew the answer when he saw your face.

“I agree love” he put his arm around your waist and pet behind the puppies ears.

“How much for this one?” Michael turned towards the woman once more.

“No payment is needed I can tell she will be going to a good home, just take care of her.” She gave you both the most warm smile you have ever seen.

“Oh trust me she’ll be the most loved dog out there” you replied looking to Michael and then to the puppy in your arms again.

Once you got the puppy, a small bed, and a few toys loaded into the car you said goodbye to the lady who had helped you and got in the car.

You had been driving awhile when you asked

“So what should we name her Mikey?”

It was silent for a moment signaling he was thinking.

“How about Moose moose?” He giggled.

“The girl so good we have to name her twice.”

He laughed and put his hand on your thigh. Very excited to get your new puppy home.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••

An: I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it! Please don’t forget to note and re blog!

Much love xx

[sadgssdg]

Just be careful and always have both hands free

Just be careful and always have both hands free.. They walked the streets both day and night, in dark hoods and brazen masks. Poor Daario, her brave captain … she will never forget him, no … but better for all of us if he is dead, yes? Better for Daenerys too.”. Sen. The young prince arrived. IntroductionMental disorders are experienced by 10 20% of all children and adolescents worldwide. Sad day all around. (Photo by Ian Walton/Getty Images). I think that’s been described somewhere by Tolstoy: two people promise to call each other by their pet names, but they can’t do it and keep avoiding using any name at all. Trumpets saw the column on its way. Ice and storms and empty promises, these they are not wanting. “Are you deaf?” She spun, the stick in her left hand, whirling, missing. Hmmmmmmm. 9, 1964; where the Rolling Stones played six times, and Michael Jackson performed in 1970 at age 12, when he was just a healthy, talented boy.. The most striking change is visual. I hear them everywhere. Show that you put some effort into what you're wearing (it says the date is important leon oneil mellény papucs győr to you) but you're not trying too hard (which says you're des perate or, worse, slick). Queste scarpe sento come se avessi un po 'di benessere tappetino sotto ogni piede. On Sept. But the yard held darker memories as well. Sometimes you just have to adhere to that old principle, "You need to spend money to save money." Well, I try that line on my wife about six times a year and usually it works at least once maybe twice depending on how the kids are acting. I will find a wet nurse for him and he’ll be raised here at Castle Black under my protection. Azorka was going to run back to us, but grandfather called to him; he ran after grandfather nike air max thea atomic pink and kept whining. “The moment we got in, though, you could see none of it was going to work. La couleur et le cinmascope attirent le public. The miniseries "American Horror Story," a nightmarish saga about a haunted house, received a matching 17 awards, including an acting nod for star Connie Britton. Q: I had a terrible bike wreck in August 2006 and am now on social security. Great skill from kimono long femme grande taille Scott Mooney saw him bring the ball down just outside the box, turn and send in a powerful volley that was taken well by Rhys Redding. Cheesemakers (and former professional actors) Joe and Wendi Arnold built hanorace panda barbati the cheery yellow creamery and host entertaining tours and tastings when not making Hoppin' Mad Gouda, Joe's Hawaiian Shirt feta, and other original cheeses. The world dissolved into a red mist. Here it is that the highest obligation of the Southern Christian lies. In them there were syrups and preserves for the invalid, chickens and a fowl in case the patient began to be convalescent, apples for baking, oranges, folie samsung j6 2018 pt tot telegonil dry Kiev preserves (in case the doctor would allow them) and finally linen, sheets, dinner napkins, nightgowns, bandages, compresses — an outfit for a whole hospital.. Think they been really solid, said coach Bryan Harsin of his O line. They speak of wargs and skinchangers and assert that it was Robb Stark who slew my Wendel. When the cold wind touched her skin, she shivered violently. The whole team had their poor moments. Now he was a man grown and the Wall was his, yet all he had were doubts. Congratulations to India, well played, when push came to shove you had it over us. Stannis would take the Dreadfort or die in the attempt. By midday the water would be tepid, kimono long femme grande taille but in the chill of dawn it was almost cool and helped her keep her eyes open. Along the walls the banners hung: the horseheads of the Ryswells in gold, brown, grey, and black; the roaring giant of House Umber; the stone hand of House biciclete rusesti vechi Flint of Flint’s Finger; the moose of Hornwood and the merman of Manderly; Cerwyn’s black battle-axe and the Tallhart pines. YOU HAVE TOUCHED ON IT A COUPLE OF TIMES WHERE MONEY MIGHT AFFECT JUDGMENT. Chavez Boulevard, Northeast 33rd Avenue/Fremont Street, Southeast 112th Avenue/Mt. Canadian Mountain Holidays (CMH), under permit from the Canadian government, operates two wilderness lodges in the pristine lands of the Columbia Range. Ajay Bijli, chairman and managing director of PVR Ltd, is always impeccably dressed in formals. The waiver cannot be applied to the first $99 of a $120 pair of jeans, for example, but a total purchase exceeding $100 will be tax free as long as such a bill consists of multiple items individually priced below the limit.. He said, "Another part of town, maybe. Though a lucky overlap saw the Dalkeith backs eventually punch deep in evro kalkulator the Northern 22, even with an excellent field position, they couldn't break through. This only increased the drunken fury’s rage. Crunch is dead. The arms most wildlings carry are little more than sticks, thought Jon. I rushed off to Vassilyevsky, and there it was, do, you remember, we met. It's just an awesome. He knew there were true dungeons down in the castle cellars—oubliettes and torture chambers and dank pits where huge black rats scrabbled in the darkness. “Look at the snow. I perhaps love him too fondly; but I am convinced that I am not a sufficient guide for him. He titled the dress Indian Girls Go to Balls Too. Littering streets and sidewalks. Natasha instinctively felt that she would have mastery and dominion over him that he would even be her victim. During one stop, he used the time to have a closer look at the road. But Taylor delivers more than broad comic book strokes. A few queen’s men stood watching from beside the embers of Lady Melisandre’s nightfire. I like when the trend is something you can buy the authentic version of when it's snowy and nasty and they're built for that.". More recently, the youngest of Lord Yronwood’s daughters had taken to following him about the castle. Get it, girl.. Skipper Dear was pleased with his side's endeavours. Rising to my feet, I angrily grabbed fekete táska női a shell determined to continue the fight. The best of local performing artists with singers, musicians, dancers and actors showing a great variety of original work. “If that fails, you may well need to go to Braavos, to treat with the Iron Bank yourself.”. Across the pit, Viserion’s wings unfolded, stirring the stale air. FUNERAL NOTICE: Funeral services for Max will be held Monday Aug. Another question will arise, Whether, in Christ’s judgment, Mrs. The batsmen allowed England to win the first session and the poor bowlers were left too much to do in the second session. It may not be amiss to describe my deportment towards my servants, whom I endeavor to render happy while I make them profitable. Emily crossed the Queensland coast in late March 1972, just to the southeast of Gladstone, QLD. While in the neighborhood, venture a half block north on San Pablo to Indus Food Center and Halal Food Market, both Islamic providers of Halal meats, poultry, and produce. “Even death is not sacred to a Dornishmen.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

If you're still doing these, how about alamort from the prompt list?

alamort (adj) : half- dead of exhaustion

CW: Blood, trauma response, memory loss/traumatic memory recovery, callous talk of murder, nonsexual nudity, pet whump references, guilt, referenced stabbing

Jake Gets Fucking Stabbed: One Two Three Four Five

The water went cold a while ago, but Antoni hasn’t moved. The chill of the porcelain along his lower back soothes the itching, aching burn scars underneath, the icy blast of the shower raining down on his locks his muscles into a constant teeth-chattering shiver, but it feels good.

It feels so good

It feels like what he deserves.

“How did you fuck up this badly?” Artyom asks, snapping the words in Russian as he cleans the wounds down his little brother’s arm. Misha won’t look at him, all gangly teenage elbows and knees. “Huh? What am I supposed to tell Mama if this happens again?”

“It won’t,” Misha mumbles, sullen, looking off to the side and not anywhere near him. “I’ll figure it out. Anyway, he’s not going to tell anyone, so it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“Doesn’t it?” Artyom reaches up, gripping Misha’s chin, leaving a smear of red blood along the line of his jaw as he forces his brother’s eyes to meet his own. “Did you wear gloves, Misha? At least did you do that?” 

Misha doesn’t answer, but Artyom knows what the lack of answer really means, and groans, letting go and sort of throwing Misha’s head to the side at the same moment with his frustration. “Misha! We talked about this!”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve done it before,” Misha says, still in that sulky mutter. “And i was by myself, you didn’t exactly help.”

“I’m not going to help you kill people!” Artyom wraps the bandages over Misha’s arm so viciously his little brother hisses at the pain. “I am no killer, Misha. And I’m not going to be one just for you.”

“Fine. We’ll see how Mama feels when I’m in prison and you have to tell her it’s because you wouldn’t help me.”

Artyom takes a breath, lets it out. Closes his eyes. There’s already a headache throbbing in his temples. “Misha... fine. Where did you leave the body?”

Maybe they can find it before the police do.

There’s red on his palms, even as the rest of his skin is clammy and pale from the water. Red on his palms and in the burns he is covered with, beginning at his wrists and covering every inch of his torso and back. Burns he earned, burns he took to make up for the crimes he was a part of.

Right?

Antoni shudders, scrubbing at the inside of his left hand, but the red gets worse, if anything. So much blood on his hands, and it won’t come off. It just stays there, a stubborn stain a decade old or more. All of the others, those were only the avalanche, but the first body is the shout that brought down the snow.

Antoni is a collection of rotted bodies and hidden bones, he is all the things he did not stop, he is all the ways he helped hide evil from the light. 

Jake’s blood had run from him first, when the shower water was still hot, when it scalded his skin until he could barely breathe for the pain. Jake’s blood had swirled pinkish in the water, gone down the drain and disappeared. Jake’s blood had been worthwhile to carry, to wear on himself. That had been saving a life, but the bloodstains left everywhere else are from lives taken.

He stares at the scar on the inside of his left wrist, where he and Chris had their barcodes removed together. It’s pale, a shimmer of skin that isn’t quite the same as the skin that surrounds it. No burns, but he is struck with a sudden urge to find Mr. Davies and ask for one. 

Mark me this way, how you marked all my other sins.

He shudders, lets out a choked-off sob that even he can barely hear over the water.

He was a pet for a reason, he was a pet because of what he’d done, but he hadn’t known. He hadn’t known what he did to deserve it. He had suspected but he hadn’t known, he hadn’t-

He knows now.

He could fall asleep here, the unlocking of a whole life inside his mind leaves him half-dead from the exhaustion and guilt, but he can’t sleep. He can’t stop. Not until the blood is gone.

It won’t come out.

“Tyoma!” Misha catches him in a hug, and the two of them laugh. “I missed you!”

“Missed you, too, Misha.” The airport is a busy hum around them, but Artyom has eyes only for his little brother, as always. ‘Mama is waiting at home. How was everyone?”

“Good!” Misha glances side to side, and then leans in to whisper against Artyom’s ear. “I did one there, in Russia, Tyoma. Just one.”

Artyom felt a bit of ice in his heart, lodged there unmelting, a pain he can’t dig out. “Misha, you promised-”

“I couldn’t help it. What are they going to do, Tyoma, track me from thousands of miles?” Misha laughs, and pulls away, and Tyoma follows him, taller and older but endlessly lost in the circle of Misha’s life, endlessly bound to the results of his choices, endlessly putting his small, once-sickly little brother first.

Family first.

Artyom spends the next few months waiting for a call that never comes.

Antoni hears voices outside the bathroom door, muffled but shouting, and he puts his hands over his ears to block them out. Maybe this is it, the end of the life he worked so hard to build, the end of the life of caring for one family because the ghosts of the other will no longer allow him to rest.

He has to turn the water off eventually.

His hand shakes almost too badly to manage it.

Even after it stops, he sits, shivering and dripping and naked in the bathtub. He can’t remember how to stand up to go get a towel. He can’t remember where the towels are. He can’t remember where he is, only the list of deaths that linger on his back, in his mind.

He tastes bitter and salt on his tongue, and starts to cry, holding himself in the tub. Every inch of his skin is burning, every round circle a brand new flame pressed there, Mr. Davies’s voice impassive and soft against his ear.

You deserve this, love.

“I kn-know,” Antoni chokes out, his voice low and broken. “I know, I know, I know...”

You deserve to suffer for what you’ve done, and everyone you ever touch will suffer, too.

Antoni thinks of Jake, bleeding out onto the kitchen floor, screaming as Antoni packed his wound, crying out for his mother.

They always cry for their mothers, while Misha-

Antoni can’t let the thought finish.

Desperate for something that will hurt him the way he deserves to be hurt, he lets Mr. Davies back into his heart, his mind, his body, and remembers his heavy hands in Antoni’s hair, the loathing in his British lilt.

You deserve this, my pretty little ashtray, this and far, far, far worse than I could ever give you.

Antoni rubs at his hands but the red stain there won’t ever come out. He sobs over the blood on his hands and whispers, to the voice in his mind, “I know.”

-

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @newandfiguringitout @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whumpiary @endless-whump

[blankdblank]

Acorn Castles Pt 3

Oh my gosh, here’s Pt 3 and it’s got my favorite part, the escape from laketown that is super adorable in my mind. :D

All –

@himoverflowers​​, @theincaprincess​​, @aspiringtranslator​​, @sweeticedtea​​, @thegreyberet​​, @patanghill17​​, @jesgisborne​​, @curvestrology​​, @alishlieb​​, @jogregor​​, @armitageadoration​​, @fizzyxcustard​​, @here2have-fun​​, @lilith15000​​, @marvels-ghost​​, @catthefearless​​, @imjusthereforthereads​​, @c-s-stars​​, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​​, @mariannetora​​, @shes-a-killer-kween​, @ggbbhehe4455

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​, @jotink78​, @pastelhexmaniac​

x Thorin – @evyiione​, @deepestfirefun​, @queenoferebor​

@bun-bun-the-rabbit​​

.

Down, up, a few steps and then another lift. Peering down at the usually serious Dwarf your eyes tried not to lock on his glowing pair to keep from distraction, “Now, three steps to your right.” Balin instructed from behind you as you were being lowered again and trying not to grin too stupidly you kept hold of the King’s hand then dipped a bit to ease under the spin of Thorin’s arm. Taking hold of his other hand a series of backwards and forwards steps in changing the direction you were facing to continued spiraling paths under crossed and un crossed arms you spun continuing the complex Elven dance with one of the quicker tempos. Giggles breaking free to your braid again thwacking him in the chest luring a chuckle from the King as well releasing your hands to lift you again, this time facing your back.

Slower to quicker dances and back down again it seemed to their pleasure you had mastered them all surely to impress. And against the efforts of the crews of seamstress’ the long off festival seemed to be a thing impossible now to have seen your assumed glorious entrance into the common sight of all Elves present. Wine barrels were commandeered and tucked away safe and sound you left Bo with the adorable Estel ward to the King along with your wagon to be bartered for later once the beast was dead.

Sopping wet and glaring mad you held onto a large rock that on your knees against the current of frigid water the Ri brothers helped you keep to your feet all the way to shore. Each able to feel the heat from your skin in every ragged pant to warm yourself again with steam billowing from between your lips luring Bilbo shivering and in need of some warming cuddles to cling to your side. “Thorin, we seem to be on an island.”

“That we do,” he muttered, “Plan is underfoot, momentarily…” he murmured averting his eyes from their former place detailing every inch of you. Now far from smiling widely as you had in the dance lessons. Now he regretted it, such intimacies before the big finale. Now he would have to let you go alone to face a dragon and risk never seeing that smile again. Yet just for a dazzling moment he couldn’t have seen the dragon or any armies that lay ahead, merely the golden lit halls of his fathers packed wall to walk with returned Dwarves and you in the center spinning and twirling in a heavily beaded and embroidered gown. One of thousands he would have made for you along with ample furs and any but of jewelry you could ever desire to adorn yourself with. He didn’t dare imagine a crown on your head, he could never find himself worthy of being yours, such an immense treasure to simply be your friend and amongst your company.

“Hey!” A blast of flames turned the heads of the company to the man now with empty hands crouched down formerly aiming an arrow straight for Dwalin and Ori. The heat never touched him you would never use them as a weapon yet the dissipated flames were enough to leave the man trembling in the drop of your boot to the ground from a rapid kick turning you the other direction.

“State your business!” Nori barked out with sword drawn in his approach to the man closest to him.

“I,” The man’s eyes shifted over your sopping wet self wondering what sort of creature you might be. Stunning, but clearly deadly with flames at your whim intriguing him all the more seeing you were human in the midst of these Dwarves. “I am here for the barrels.”

A huddle was had and through Balin a transport was gained. Cupping your hands over your mouth you clenched your eyes shut trying to remain quiet to keep from giving yourselves away and from gagging at being coated in slimy cold dead fish. Deep and steady at the edge of the barge your breathing changed with heat wafting off of you. Slowly from the ice around the pathway past the docking station you had crept to once the fish was claimed by the hungry villagers working there to distribute steam bled into a rolling mist that through the winding path the Company followed close behind under the cover with the now named Bard in the lead. You just needed a place to rest the night until his patrol for more floating objects the following morning when you could get a ride to shore.

One busted down door later and scowling at the treasury basement you found yourself chained in you could hear the shouts dying from the crowds who voted to imprison the Dwarves until they agreed to return Dale’s lost treasure to them, or according to the wording of their Master, him. A single coin between your fingers was lifted from one of the open sacks and using deep breaths the metal heated in your palm. With an awkward shift of fingers was poured into the lock of one of your shackles, softly the metal workings of the lock could be heard expanding and making room for the pesky gold heating the whole band sure to leave a ring of blisters if it took too long. A snap and the cuff opened making you smirk and grab another coin to free your other hand.

Alone in the quiet while the Dwarves were drug to the other end of the floating city before the inevitable dispersing of the crowds you would need to get out of this. Bard had taken all your weapons he hid when the door was broken in and signaled he would help and keep wait on his barge as promised giving you a hint of hope this plan might work. All around you hefty bags of gold waited and forming a plan you got to squirreling as much as possible across your body remembering which direction the others had been drug to. Surely keeping the woman of he group apart as hostage would have been a fine tactic, had you not been able to reduce the door to ash as you just had with a harsh exhale freeing flames from between your lips.

Quiet as possible sneaking with the gold bags around the manor you worked your way back to the door and once through the front door you came eye to eye with a group of guards across a stretch of water between your walkway and theirs. Hard and fast a bag was tossed and once the skittering coins were recognized weapons were lost and hands emptied to stuff their shirts with all they could manage. Corner by corner you paused and when more than a few too many people who would notice you another bag would be sent flying stirring whispers and excited shrieks through the solemn city.

 *

With furrowed brows Gloin growled out to the sound of skittering across the wood. “Just what we need, frozen rain.”

On his toes at the window however Kili held the ledge and lifted himself saying, “Uncle, it’s gold.”

Fili popped up next to him and open mouthed watched gold coins sliding across the roof of a house and the people pouring to gather up what they could. Thorin however stepped from his glaring match with the guard he left Dwalin to asking, “What?”

Dwalin chortled at the head turn from the guard called away by a friend luring the Company to huddle up peering through the window seeing another wave of free coins flying all the way across another walkway sending the guards supposedly on watch of the cell in a frantic rush to gain a fortune of their own. All against the shouts of the Master now realizing what was happening in his city.

Wood behind them all flew onwards and the far from sturdy door hit the far wall across from the now split door the men flinched from then looked to. Gold coins around their feet had the Company grinning at the sight of their Dragon Slayer with heaps of gold seeping from a few weaker bags that had split on your trek here.

“Here,” Bilbo hurried to help you up in the flurry of Dwarf hands to share the impressive load until you were left with all but a few bags and an odd sack around your waist with a white gold polished moose statue peeking out of it.

Fili asked after wetting his lips, “Miss Pear, I have to ask, I get the gold,”

Kili, “What’s with the moose?”

Your eyes shifted to Thorin, whose brows arched up, “You promised me a home,” he nodded, “Homes have fireplaces and mantles and I’ve never seen a moose out of books. For my fireplace.”

Deep and throatily Dwalin chortled and Thorin stated, “A fine prize.”

After an awkward nod to his deepening adoring gaze for the single thing you had tried to take from what must have been a vast hoard from the Master you said, “Come on, barge is waiting.”

Behind you creeping and rapidly sprinting across walkways and behind various objects and stands to hide you found the marketplace. Right into it a hoard of guards stopped and under a nook on a tapestry and rug stand you tried to squeeze holding your moose to the chest catching glimpses of the Dwarves each tucking into hiding places of their own. Over your head a woman seeing the bags on your waist still dropped a tapestry over your body hiding you and not he other side a rug for Bilbo after his silent handful of gold he settled into a shelf behind her legs. His payment for silence and once the guards were gone again to a bag hurled from Nori atop an archway across the marketplace falling into a courtyard on the other side of a building opposite the marketplace bodies rushed to gather more gold while the boy who saw him smiled and opened a hidden door to a back path.

To his bird whistle of all clear you all popped and for a moment your eyes fell to the tapestry you now could read right side up and a smile split across your lips. Lifting it to drape over your shoulder you plopped a handful of gold in her palm and raced to catch up to the Dwarves all darting out of sight from another round of people searching for gold. The door shut and weaving in and out with rugs to keep one another from falling into random holes in the ground and pathways the barge dock was finally in view again.

Hiding behind a final wall Bofur asked, “Whatcha got there, Pluto?”

Smiling at him you said, “I don’t know but it’s got Thorin’s name on it.” Making the King glance back to you unable to see what it was through his kin. The scatter of gold beaming a guard in the chest halted a group who chose to ignore your speeding race to the oddly packed barge. Skidding to a stop you all panted eyeing the bags of belongings and a terrified looking cat in the arms of the younger girl of the three children beside the grinning bargeman.

Balin huffed to catch his breath and asked, “Master Bargeman,”

Bombur cut him off, “Why are there bairns on the barge?!”

Bard motioned a hand to the town, “Well I can’t rightly stay here after helping criminals escape their cells. We’re going with you.”

Argument was wished to be had and Bilbo with exhaustion fueled sass said, “One, you did not break us out of our cells, and this was random not criminal. He wanted hostages for a hoard.”

Bard looked to you with the most gold left including a tapestry and your moose you were clutching, “I earned this moose. And I paid for the tapestry Mr Judgy.” Into the barge you all stepped and he eyed your hoard most curiously while the Dwarves walked to the sack holding all your weapons his son brought over they dispersed gladly along with your gathered sacks of belongings his eldest daughter pointed out.

In the offer of your bag Thorin’s hand lifted to the tapestry you grinned and tapped a finger onto his little square embroidered face now obviously beside his siblings and a bit further away his cousins present awed that you would find their family lineage of all things here in that market, “See, your name.”

Thorin nodded, “Very well spotted. And useful too. I will be possibly borrowing this to authenticate my line to visiting Lords when the mountain is ours again.”

Tenderly he took hold of it sure not to grab the braid laying underneath it for him. And his cousins to fold it properly to be added to your pack while you shouldered your weapons and settled down for the ride across the lake after passing your remaining gold sacks to Gloin who was taking an inventory of what was gained in this escapade for the funds of the Company documented by himself and Ori.

.

“That looks kind of cozy,” you said and Fili and Kili chortled along with Nori’s snorting laugh seeing Erebor in the distance through the parting mist. Hopping off the barge you landed on the shore and turned to grab you bag and Bilbo’s before his own careful hop down. Even Thorin got a chuckle at the comment before Balin grinned saying, “Just wait till we get inside and work some elbow grease into it, Miss Pluto.”

Ensuring everyone was off the barge, including the still terrified cat now tucked in the front of Bain’s coat in a sort of sling from a scarf to keep the creature from sprinting off to be eaten in the wild. Long and hard the rocky path stretch onwards to the waiting mountain seeming so calm even against the beast rumored to be sleeping inside.

Across from the immaculate front gate you stopped for a break and eagerly with Bilbo and Bifur you hurried off to find a place around the curve of the mountain to relieve yourselves. In a matter of stone stalls in a winding dip off an oddly flat path on the slanted stretch of earth around this side of the mountain you found it. And once the holes were covered and you had trotted away from the snapping beetles that had tried to climb up one of your boots when your head was turned from the farce rocks they were mimicking onto the flat path you paused and with eyes narrowed followed Bilbo’s gaze.

“Whatcha see Bilbo?” You asked with Bifur popping out in his own muttered curse filled battle with the pesky beetles he stomped away from his boots to trot after you peering up at the mountain. “Whoa,” you said eyeing the giant statue of a Dwarf.

“That pattern in the stone, doesn’t it look like,”

The pair of you said together, “Stairs.”

A bird call turned your head and you muttered, “Right, barn and brown owl…” Between your cupped hands you responded with a call more like a pigeon and said, “No, that’s not right...” though around the mountain chuckles sounded from the group at your lingering mismatch on bird calls you were asked to give followed by an awkward, “Hoo, cah, hoo? It’s got that little throat thing, right? Or is that the other one?”

Even Bilbo chuckled and turned with Bifur’s shaking self in his own guttural laughter leading the way back. “Close.” Bilbo patted your back in your defeated huff.

“Lies, all lies. If that was an owl it’s one with dementia uncertain it is an owl.” Making him chuckle again.

Dori, “One things for certain, we’ll always know it’s you.”

That had your eyes rolling at Dori and you replied, “Bilbo found what looks like stairs.” Open mouthed what little of camp was picked up and eagerly following your former path the Company all moved it to the base of the group agreed set of stairs reaching up and up almost without end. Ample boots handled the beetles and in turns on nettle patrol larger amounts of guards for night watch while across cold bedrolls sleep was stolen in shifts with you at the bottom of the pile of Princes hoping to keep you warm in Bo’s place on the hard cold ground roughing up chances of your finding a comfy position.

.

Breakfast and another stolen trip to the beetle free toilet later to the base of the staircase you went right behind Thorin stretching in a hope to last longer than you imagined yourself possible on all these stairs.

Miles of hunched climbing on all fours to go up four steps then turn and hoist yourselves onto the next four and a ledge was found allowing a aiding lunch filled with ample curses for the people who carved the damn thing. Two sips into your water skin now half empty and your lips pursed in a mental note to try and hold off on water realizing that up was the only direction. And until the door was opened there would be most likely no toilets for the rest of the trek until inside the impenetrable mountain you had no clue if this secret door Thorin’s key supposedly went to would be up here at all.

Taps and an odd bleat had you looking around until open mouthed you gawked at the massive mountain goat climbing its way up the side of the mountain with not even an inch of rock to hold itself up underneath its hooves. “It’s huge!”

Bombur asked, “Haven’t you seen a goat before?”

“It’s huge! Are all your goats that big?”

Dori replied, “Males get bigger.”

“Of course,” You muttered to yourself.

Bard said, “Wait till you see their boars. Saw a band of Dwarves traveling South of our lake last year, to my eye backs reached my shoulder.”

At that you nodded and said, “I can only imagine how large your bunnies and chickens get.” Stirring up a few amused chuckles.

.

Sure enough deeply inhaling you shifted in your cross legged stance on the final ledge at the end of the stairs with no door in sight feeling about ready to cramp up to the losing battle with your bladder through the symphony of snores behind you and Bofur on watch. Quietly from the distant forest your eyes traveled to the path to the stairs and then the wall behind you unable to find a secret spot to relieve your pitiful bladder. The faint glow of a single spot on the wall however had you turn rising to your knees muttering, “Bofur,” his head turned from you to the wall and his mouth dropped open noticing why you were now on your feet walking to the wall stepping between crossed legs and bedrolls laid in zigzagging patterns.

“Thorin!” The name has the King snorting from his deep snore awake propping up to rise fully looking with hand fixed on his sword ready to fight, “The wall!”

One by one the Dwarves stirred with Bilbo regrettably woken along with the equally as grumpy chilled children by their curious barely conscious father. Fumbling around his pockets seeing the enchanted keyhole Thorin paused at your reach to the chord around his neck he thanked you for removing. Not even having noticed the brief shiver his body gave to the feel of your fingertips brushing along the sparse beginnings of hair just at his collarbone to do so. Up he clambered to rush over and ease the key in before it vanished again.

Slow and momentous the lock then door gave you entrance and a first few slow steps from the beaming King absorbing the moment paused to your tap on his shoulder and whisper, “Please tell me we’re near a toilet.”

“Ah, yes, nature calls,” his hand folded around yours natural as if he had been holding it for centuries now. On the ledge the Company brought all the bags inside the hall as quietly as possible to his guiding you and the suddenly about to burst Hobbit and Princes behind you in a maze of door to door peeks until a public toilet was found. For a moment in the darkened doorway while you opened your necklace to light the room he paused with lips parted realizing by the chill of his palm that he had taken your hand.

Months he had dreamed of that moment far more gloriously than it had been claimed in a blind search of the entrance into this crevice of the mountain. Yet all the same it was wonderfully perfect as in his first exploration of his old home his focus had been on you with his hand in yours for a brief blissful time. To the twinge in his side however while the group vanished behind stall doors he hurried to claim his own with more of the Company to follow at the realizations their nerves were now choking the life from their bladders.

.

“The plan is to send them in there?!” Bard’s whispered hiss fell on deaf ears in Balin and Thorin easing you and Bilbo aside for a hushed conference of your own far more serious than the mortal man’s doubts.

Balin, “Now the stone, you will know it when you see it. White and glowing similar to Pluto’s stone although not entirely. Much larger, thick enough to fill our palms.”

Bilbo nodded and Thorin said adjusting the loose end of the lower tie on your outer robe. “The goal is to get the stone, merely provide cover for Bilbo while he searches and once he has possession of it you both come back to us. We will send word to my cousin in the Iron Hills and return with a legion of Dwarves to face Smaug. No need to risk your safety for a hasty duel against that beast. Do not risk harm, find the stone then return.”

.

That was the plan but waist deep in the gold Bilbo searched as you foolishly followed a stream of gold coins leading from the treasury. Deep rumbling breaths on the other side of a pillar halted you right in your tracks. Soft clinks warned you to the presence of the prowling creature muttering to himself in a language far from intelligible. Search of something brought him around the pillar and wide eyed you planted yourself back to the pillar staring at the scattered coins tucked underneath scales invisible surrounding a pulsing flame lapping out to the nostrils blowing steam rippling out over the open hiding place. Unintelligible post grunt the head drew back and the beat of the heart in your chest left the body housing it crumbling to the ground.

Miles above both Bilbo and the others heard echoes of his growl but it was the high pitched shriek stopping their hearts assuming the worst in the sound of a crackling wall of flames they knew the sound of all too well and could feel the heat from all the way back at the open door. “Where are you thief?!”

Five more blasts of flames erupted to fill the room and with a perfectly aimed hammer picked from the forge workstation acting as your former hiding spot his head turned and inhaling deeply the largest flame erupted to the flip over another workstation partly in the way. Scalding hot to the point of lightning flowing wildly within the flames circling the body contorting them in a cyclone flexing and shrinking in layers draining all the flames the beast could muster. Far above again finding cover with eyes behind sleeves and arms or even bags the light was inescapable urging those in the Company above to head back to the ledge to hide behind the walls around the open door as Bilbo buried frantically to chase what he assumed might be the stone in the oddly glare filled hoard distracting his eyes with spectrums or colored speckles swirling too and fro on the pace of each breath you took on and let out.

 *

“Ada,” the voice faded in the eruption of a silvery light out the top of Erebor.

“Teleperion,” was whispered and up and up the light spread with branches and roots around the peak exploding to fill the sky and planes around the peak with muffled roars wafting on the breeze through the forest.

Shooting up like daisies shimmering white trees blasted from the cold hard earth in a spreading wave of living opal like long since popular descendants of the silvery white tree of old. Tall and fierce each grew to match right up to the line of Greenwood with pulses of light through their joined branches sending the darkened creatures fleeing for safety. Underneath the cover of the silvery white mirage of the former tree of old the infant forest settled to their new homes while the mirage of Teleperion faded. Remaining only in the eyes of the gawking Elves with hearts swelling to the sight a vast majority of the Elven kingdoms around Erebor had witnessed, including Rivendell who saw a tiny glimmer of it as they had with Moria. Silent minutes un-timed the kingdoms waited soaking in the event before a question of what to do next was brought up.

Pt 4

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Of Dust and Ashes

Sorry it’s a few days late. We got a new kitten day before post day and she cuddles. I can’t write and cuddle a kitten AND I will *not* refuse a kitten. Plus, between house viewings for my sister and taking my daughter to hang out with her cousins, my weekend got hijacked. But there IS good news. I’ve got a laptop! So pace should increase and my hope is to be back to a weekly update schedule by Christmas. 

Chapter warnings: Nondetailed talk of death of disabled, elderly, children, toddlers, infants and animals.

Masterlist 

Chapter 33: Town

Clint watched the boy in the rear view mirror. He was long, lanky and far too skinny. With what surely were still trembling hands, the boy gathered what was left to him and walked away, dragging his feet with each step. Part of Clint was angry with himself for giving away valuable supplies to someone he knew was going to more likely than not be dead before spring thaw. It was wasteful in a world that one couldn’t afford to be wasteful in.

What would Dee have done? What would she have said? Would she have given the boy food? Would she have invited him to join them? Would she have hated him if he turned the boy away empty handed?

Clint sighed and pushed the thoughts out of his mind. Instead, he focused on the positive things. He was alive. Dee was alive and Trust would likely be alright. The sun was shining bright in the sky. It was a beautiful day with only the slightest bite of bitter cold to the air.

Sun filtered through naked tree branches and danced over the glossy green needles of the pine. Something large and brown caught his eye in the distance. It was on the side of the road as the small town gave way to the rural fields that separated the smaller village where Sasha’s clinic sat.

“Are you serious?” Clint couldn’t believe his eyes.

Standing on the side of the road, eating at bushes was a large bull moose. He was standing tall and proud. Clint kept far enough away, not wanting to startle the beast as he grabbed his gun and rolled down the driver’s side window. Icy air rolled inside, purging the heat from the truck faster than he thought possible.

After throwing the heat on full blast, Clint leaned out the window and took aim. The moose wasn’t scared. The beast paid the truck no mind as he raised his massive head and made his way up out of the ditch and onto the road.

Clint waited until he was halfway across before taking the shot. He needed this. They needed this. The sound of the gun echoed through the forest. Birds took flight, startled from where they sat. In the center of the road, the moose went down. Legs kicked twice before going still.

“Fuck yeah.” Clint breathed to himself as he pulled the truck closer. “I don’t know what you’re doing here buddy, but boy am I thankful for seeing you.”

Moose were not common in Missouri. Sure, he’d seen one on occasion wander into the state but they kept more toward the northern border. Whether it was the wacky weather or the simple lack of humans to interfere allowing them to expand their territory, he was thankful.

A deer or elk could feed him and Dee for a week or so. A turkey for a few days. A bull moose would feed them for the month easily while still supplementing the clinic.

After grabbing a large hunting knife out of the glove box, he set to work. It was hard and gory work, but he did it as fast as he could. The contents of the body spilled on the ground around him. Removing the antlers was another task in itself. They were large and at one point he smacked himself in the face with them. Trust would enjoy gnawing on hooves and antlers.

With the innards and head removed, the carcass was a bit lighter. Still, it was a struggle to move it into the truck bed. He had thought of bagging up the innards and taking those with him as well. In the past, he had used innards to bait traps and even fish.

Now, it probably wouldn’t work to trap any predators or scavengers. The simple fact is there was too much dead meat laying around for some moose innards to really be of a notice. In the fall, the meat will have spoiled or been eaten and the scavengers would be hungry. The hunting would be good in the fall.

Clint washed his hands and arms in the powdered snow at the side of the road. Now he was a little less miffed about having given away supplies to the boy. There were large smears of red marring the fresh white of the snow. The layer of fresh snow covering the highway was thinner. The sun baked and melted the exposed ground far better than the forest floor and snow always seemed to melt faster on asphalt.

The warmth from the carcass and the blood worked to melt down the snow on the road. In a few places, the black of the asphalt peeked through where blood soaked away the snow.

Clint knew all it would take was a large blizzard and the road could easily become lost to travelers. Part of him wondered how folks up farther north, into Canada were coping. Was their government more cohesive than America’s? Did they manage to get power restored before people froze to death in the bitter winter?

It would be worth exploring. And unlike many, his truck could tame some unplowed roads and heavy snow drifts. Would Dee be up for it? Exploring and checking on the world? Did he want to? Was it a good idea?

He shelved the thoughts for now as he brought the truck back to life. What mattered right now was that he had a whole moose and a solid meat supply for the near future.

When he approached the turn off for the Clinic, he drove by instead. While he wanted nothing more than to get back and start butchering the moose, he wanted to cover his tracks. The sheer lack of traffic left many roads covered in a undisturbed layer of snow and he needed to disturb it. As it was, almost all the tracks on the road were his. It made it rather obvious that someone was stationed in the clinic.

He drove up the road and pulled into a side street. He followed roads, turning at times and backtracking, beating down snow and making it look more used than it was. He pulled into pristine driveways only to pull out and repeat the process. Occasionally, he would get out and try the doors. Some would be unlocked.

Inside unlocked houses he found pasta, flour and grains that had been left behind when the occupants had turned to dust. There were piles of settled dust around armchairs and dining tables. Sometimes, there were bodies rather than dust. Children who could not fend for themselves and were too young to open doors or think to leave the house.

Toddlers trapped in houses with a toddler proof door. Babies in cribs. Dogs and cats without a way out. Wheelchair bound bodies who perhaps knew better than to try. Elderly without the strength to travel a great ways.

The snap had intended to remove half the life from the universe but it had caused so much more loss of life than that. Clint ignored the frozen bodies, often in varying states of decay based on simply how long they had managed to hold on.

He made note of houses with generators, woodstoves and fireplaces. Later he would come back and drain fuel from generators. Wood stacks sitting out were added to the truck. He didn’t have to worry about heat or power at the farmhouse but Sasha did and would greatly benefit from these supplies.

He had no intention of giving it all to her however. If they made extended trips away from the farmhouse, they would need wood and fuel both. Plus, it was a valuable resource for trading for as long as a barter economy lasted.

He spent over an hour making tracks in the snow and gathering supplies from houses and cabins. Occasionally, eyes 45would peek out at him from windows when he pulled up to a house. On one occasion, a man came out waving a gun.

“I’m armed!” He hollered as if it wasn’t obvious.

“Neat.” Clint answered as he reversed down the driveway only to pull in again. “I’m not going to bother you.”

“What are you doing?” Curiosity won out over caution for the man.

“Making tracks.” Clint answered as he pulled in once again, from a slightly different angle.

“Why?”

“So it looks like a lot of people live here and to hide which houses actually have people.”

“Why?” What was the man, two?

“So people who don’t mean y’all well can’t look at the snow and pinpoint what houses people are still living in to steal supplies.”

“You’re stealing supplies.” The man pointed out as Clint got out of the truck. The man didn’t look ready to follow through with his threats and Clint honestly didn’t fear him.

“From abandoned houses. Need some flour or sugar? Pasta? I hit jackpot in a house down the block.”

“Sarah May’s house.”

“Sure. The woman was dead inside so she’s not using it. There was some water too.”

“Oh. Okay.” The man dumbly caught the box of pasta Clint tossed his way.

“Here, help me make tracks. You should probably start doing this too. I’m not always going to be in the area to cover it. How many of you are in the town?”

“A handful of us.”

“Cool.” Clint handed him a few cans of pasta sauce. “Got a bag?”

“Yeah, I’ll get one.” The man was clearly still very confused on what was happening. Clint didn’t mind parting with supplies now that he had the moose in the back. He could afford it. Plus, these people lived near the Clinic. It would be good to have a relationship with them, even if it was just in passing. Strangers get shot.

It was nearing sunset when he had finally called it a day. Randy, the man who braved going outside had helped him, walking paths between houses and shoveling walkways from houses to the road. Clint didn’t promise Randy much beyond a share of the supplies they found. They waved and smiled at a few faces peering out windows but no one else braved going outside.

Clint left boxes of pasta, flour, sugar and a few cans of food on doorsteps of houses that had faces in the windows. Far more houses were empty than had faces and very few had been broken into. The benefit of being rural was simply the fact that most of these people had emergency rations and could hole up and survive for a while.

How many of them would make it to spring planting, he had no idea.

“Are you with the government?” Randy finally braved asking.

“Nope. But they are working on setting things something close to right again.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Because I’ve got a friend who’s living near here. And I don’t want people coming and killing her for her supplies.”

“People are doing that?” Randy clearly hadn’t ventured out of this small rural neighborhood.

“Yeah.” Clint answered. “A lot of people are, to be honest. Others are gathering people up and using them as slaves, calling themselves Kings.”

“The government is allowing that?”

“Not really. They’ve retaken control of the east coast and are moving West but it takes time. Half the population just up and vanished. Add in casualties from accidents and stuff- they had to pull bodies from all over to have enough to take back the East Coast. They can only push west so fast, keeping in mind supplies, troops and how much power they can maintain. It’s slow but they are coming.”

“I thought they would never come.” Randy admitted. Clint could understand that. It’d been nearly five months since it had happened. In many ways it felt like yesterday. At the same time it felt like several lifetimes ago.

“They will. Just keep hanging on, gathering supplies and staying warm. If you run out of food or water, you won’t make it long.”

“If I run out of water, I’ll melt down the snow like Cathy down the road has been. Haven’t seen her recently but I haven’t been even looking’ outside much. Only reason I looked today was the sound of the truck.”

“I wouldn’t drink snow water.” Clint said. “There’s ash and dust in it. If you have to, filter it as best you can. I don’t know what drinking the ash that the people turned into will do.”

“Good point.” Clint started the truck and threw it into reverse.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“Will- Will you be coming back?”

“With supplies for you?” Clint asked but didn’t give him time to answer. “Probably not. But I may come back to drive around again. I don’t know. Kinda just winging it.”

“I didn’t mean to make you think I wanted to use you for supplies.” Randy stammered. “I just- It’s nice to have interaction with a friendly face. Someone human and real.”

“I know.” Clint said and backed out. There wasn’t really anything left he needed to say.

The drive back to the clinic was as uneventful as the drive out had been. He drove by it a few times, turning around on different driveways and pull offs, making the road look more traveled before finely pulling in. Dee was sure to be worried about him by now.

The sun was hanging low in the sky as the truck rumbled to a stop in front of the secluded clinic, lighting the sky aflame with oranges, pinks and reds. The temperature was quickly dropping from a balmy twenty as the darkness of night encroached. Thick trees surrounded the clinic, shielding it away from eyes and making it seem like its own world.

In the window, he could see Dee’s anxious face looking out and was soon joined by the other two. The wave of relief that passed over her when their eyes connected was visible even from this distance. As he killed the engine and set about unloading the cooler and frozen meat, they were surely inside clearing the door.

A body crashed into his back as he leaned into the truck to grab a tomato plant. Arms wrapped around him and clutched him. Rather than grab the plant, he wrapped his arms around himself, holding her arms to him.

“I was scared.” Dee whispered into his back. Her voice was soft and weak with the relief of a fear unrealized. It instantly made him regret the time he spent covering his tracks and gathering supplies. He should have come back first and let her know what he was doing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think.” Clint turned in her arms, wrapping his own around her and holding her tightly to him.

“Where were you?”

“Driving around, covering tracks. It was obvious that someone was coming and going from back here. I didn’t want to lead someone to us.”

“Makes sense” She mumbled into his chest.

“I should have come and told you first.”

“Lovebirds, did you get Trust a cone? He’s been going at his stitches.” Sasha called as she marched up to the truck.

They couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t normal for them to have witnesses to their quiet moments. The tenderness between them usually was private. The intrusion into their moment was enough to snap them back to reality.

“So what did you bring us?” Dee asked.

“First- Cones for Trust. There’s some medications in the bag but I couldn’t find any books that looked useful.”

Sasha took the offered bag from him. “It’s better than nothing.”

“I’ve got some rice, flour, sugar, pasta and canned food too.” Clint added. Sasha nodded and headed inside the house with her bag.

“This is a lot.” Dee said, looking at the pile of bags on the floorboards of the cab.

“It’s not all for her. “Help me unload and we’ll lock what’s going back to the house inside.”

“You don’t trust them?” Dee whispered.

“With food? I don’t trust anyone with food. We’ll leave them more than enough and can even teach them some ways to cook it. But we’re not going to suffer to support them when they won’t put the effort into supporting themselves. I went out. I got the food. I put myself at risk while they sat here safe and sound.”

“I was sitting here safe and sound too though.”

“You’re different. You’re a part of my team. You’re you.”

“And that makes it different?”

“No, I guess not. The fact that I love you makes it different.”

Dee rolled her eyes, the tension leaving her shoulders and a smile creeping up her face. “I love you, too.” she admitted, grabbing boxes and bags of flour, sugar and pasta out.”

“We’ll save about a quarter of the dry stuff for us.” Clint directed.

“Trust is fine. Gave him something for the pain and put the cone on. He should be resting and completing the world’s saddest act.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” Dee laughed as Clint shifted, leaning back against the truck’s window, hiding the view into the backseat.

“Start taking things in while we unload.” Clint directed.

“Did you find any formula?” Sasha asked as she bent down and plucked up as many boxes and bags as she could carry.

“I’ve got a few partially used cans and a few unopened ones. Found them in some abandoned houses.”

“Great- the more the better. I’m not sure Rachel’s going to be able to breastfeed nearly enough.”

“She can’t make enough milk?” Clint asked.

“In theory, she could. But it’s complicated. Her heart has to be in it, she has to give it her all and even then. Women’s minds have gotten in the way of their bodies’ doing what is natural for as long as men have been disappointing women.” Dee couldn’t help but laugh at Sasha’s words. It was true and it sucked.

“Ouch.” Clint said, plopping a bag of flour onto the pile in Sasha’s arms.

As soon as Sasha turned away, he opened the truck door and unloaded everything he was willing to give up before Sasha had a chance to come back out. Sasha returned with Rachel just as they tossed a blanket over what they intended to keep for themselves on the floor and shut the door.

~~~~~<3

@winterisakiller​, @tnystrk-exe​, @nonsensicalobsessions​, @alcoholic-muffin​, @coyotesongwriting​, @usedtobegoodfriend96​, @theoneanna​, @alexakeyloveloki​, @toozmanykids​, @j-u-s-t-4​, @missaphrodite23​, @tinchentitri​, @bambamwolf87​, @queenoftheunderdark​, @xoxabs88xox​, @carissime72​, @myoxisbroken​, @wegingerangelica​, @faemapfae​, @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​

[holylulusworld]

Two lost Souls

Summary: Being a Styne was never easy for you as you refused to let them ‘enhance’ your body. Locked away in the basement you fear they want to kill you when the door finally opens but not a Styne is entering the cold room.

Pairing: MoC!Dean x Styne!Reader, Sam Winchester, Castiel

Warnings: angst, MoC!Dean, mentions of violence, characters death (implied), blood, seeking shelter, comforting, fluff

Screams. All you hear are screams followed by gunshots and the sick noise of a man whining to beg someone to shelter his life.

Whatever is going on upstairs you are sure this will be the last moments of your life. Praying to whoever is up there you admit all your sins, waiting for the unavoidable end of your life.

The door bursts open after what feels like hours and the silence in the huge Mansion scares your more than the screams of your family members.

You can hear heavy footsteps coming closer so you curl into a ball, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

The man who killed your whole clan stops in front of you, aiming his gun at you for a moment but then he sees the shackles around your ankles and he secures his gun, just staring at you for a moment.

Clothes bloody, face plastered with red dots and his hands crimson, covered in the blood of your relatives he searches your face.

“Why are you down here?” The man asks as you meet his piercing green eyes. When you do not answer he steps closer and you flinch away. “I asked you a question.”

“I…” Sniffling you show him the tattoo at your sore wrist. “I refused to follow their orders, refused to let them ‘enhance’ me. I didn’t want to kill someone to live longer. That’s…” Shuddering you look at your dirty feet.

“Disgusting?” The man offers and you nod, gasping for air as he gets closer again. Your body starts trembling as he picks the lock to open the restraints at your ankles and wrists. “How long…?”

While you look at the mark at his arm he checks on your sore wrists, gently stroking the broken skin with his thumb. This man, this killer covered in the blood of your family is carefully picking you up as you lean your head against his shoulder, silently crying.

“Two years.”

“I’ll bring you away from here…” The man is carrying you out of the basement and you hide your face into his chest, trusting him more than any of your family members. “Why did you refuse to let them enhance you?”

“I lived in peace, far away from the Styne’s till my mom got sick and she called them. We were hiding for my whole life and she always told me to stay away from them.” The man holds you tighter as you look around the Mansion to see Eldon lie on the floor, dead, just like Jacob and you take a deep breath, shuddering.

“What’s your name, mine is Dean…” He says and you look up at him to wipe away of few red dots with your dirty sleeve. “Y/N…”

“Tell me what happened…”

Walking down the hallway Dean tightens the grip on you as you start talking about what happened to your mom. “They came after she called. My mom…” Sighing you look at another dead family member lying on the floor. “…she thought they would help her, instead Eldon slit her throat open right in front of me while Jacob forced me to watch.”

“Son of a bitch.” Dean is cursing as he steps out of the Mansion with you in his arms, not believing they would do such a thing to their own family.

“I wanted to run away but Eldon tossed me into the trunk of their car. That was almost three years ago.” Leaning your head against Dean’s shoulder you keep on talking. “At first they acted nice around me. I’m their cousin third grade so…” Shuddering you fist Dean’s shirt. “Eldon wanted me…but only enhanced. I refused and Jacob brought me to the basement…you know the rest.”

“For over two years you were down there?” Dean opens the door to the backseat of his car, carefully placing you onto the seat before he walks toward his trunk to get a blanket.

“They thought I would break…” Watching Dean covering you with the blanket you wipe away a few tears. “I knew the moment I break they would win so I refused.”

“You hungry? Thirsty?” Dean is gently cupping your cheek, checking on your dirty face.

“I haven’t eaten for a day or two. They toss something down the stairs along with a few bottles of water. I had a bowl to…pee…” Cursing Dean plants a soft kiss to your forehead and you lean into his touch, seeking his comfort after over two years of isolation.

“I’ll bring you to my home and you can have a shower, food and a bed. I’ll protect you from now on, Y/N. No one will ever hurt you again.” Calm for the first time in weeks Dean caresses your cheek, looking you all over for injuries.

“Thank you…”

----

Silently driving back to the bunker Dean prays Sam won’t be too angry as he left without saying a word to kill the Styne’s to avenge Charlie’s death.

Now and then he glances at you in the rear-view mirror, not believing your family was able to do such a thing to you.

While Dean pushes his car to its limit you fall into a deep slumber, sleeping peacefully for the first time in over two years as only tiny whimpers leave your lips.

----

“Dean? Dean, what happened? Why are you blood-soaked and who is this girl?” Sam is running after his brother as Dean refuses to let Sam touch you.

“I killed them all, Sammy. I’m sorry…I couldn’t stop…but then…” You start stirring in his arms and he smiles down at your vulnerable form. “They kept her in the basement, Sam. Two fucking years bound to the cold ground with shackles as she refused to be one of these monsters. We need to help her, Sammy. Castiel needs to heal her wrists…look how sore her ankles are…”

Sam can’t believe Dean killed a whole family but saved you even knowing you are a Styne too. While Dean walks toward the showers with you in his arms Sam calls Castiel to come to the bunker.

For weeks Dean was on the edge, ready to explode but with you, in his arms, he seemed calm and relaxed for the first time.

----

“Castiel healed her. Can we talk Dean?” Sam glances at his brother gently covering you with a warm blanket as you snuggle into his pillow. His hand carefully brushes your hair out of your face, and you give him a shy smile.

“Later, Sammy. I need to make her some food. Y/N hasn’t eaten in two days and I can’t leave her alone. I must protect her, Sam. She needs me.” There’s something in his brother’s eyes giving Sam hope. Warmth he hasn’t seen in months.

“Okay. Cas took care of the chaos you left in the Mansion. I did some research and can tell Y/N told the truth about her mom and the Styne’s.” Sam watches his brother sitting on the bed to rub your back as you look up at him with sad eyes.

“I’ll take care of you, Y/N. Promised.”

Silently walking out of Dean’s room Sam looks worriedly at Castiel. “I think she’s good for your brother, Sam. Somehow the mark is calm when he takes care of this poor girl. They give each other shelter.”

“What if he loses control and hurts the girl, Cas? She went through enough for over three years and I don’t think she can bear much more pain.” Sam glances at Dean’s room, watching his brother lying on the bed to let you curl into his side he sighs heavily.

He can see how you move closer to Dean, fisting his shirt to tell him more about the last two years as Dean gently rubs your back, letting you cry into his chest.

“Maybe you are right, Cas. Dean was lost when he left but now he seems calm as he found a reason to keep on going. Still, we need to remove the mark as soon as possible.” Castiel is watching you hiding your face into Dean’s chest as he hums a song for you to make you fall asleep once again.

“We are close to removing it, Dean. Rowena used the code Charlie sent you and is ready to remove it. Give us a few more days, meanwhile, Dean can take care of Y/N and help her find a way back into normal life.” Reluctantly Sam closes the door to Dean’s room, giving you and his brother privacy as you hold tight onto Dean.

“Your friend is an angel and you are a hunter. Then you hunted monster when you killed my family.” Whispering you rest your head onto Dean’s chest as he holds you in his arms, telling you about the mark and what Eldon did to Charlie.

Closing your eyes, you realize not only you were lost before Dean found you, he was lost too. Maybe, just maybe you can find a way back into normal life when you seek shelter into each other…

Read the Sequel here: Shelter for broken souls

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