#god i started the final edit of this at 4:30 and i was like ''yeah i can have it ready by 5'' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

godmadeaterribleerror · 1 month ago

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HAPPY THURSDAY!!! Shoutout to all my homies doing their finals rn. Y'all are so strong

1. HIS FIRST ON-SCREEN APPEARANCE. MY KING!🧡🧡

2. they're a family :) (they've all murdered many many things.)

3. LMAOOOO cas said "you know where Dean won't get her? anywhere he can't drive"

4. ..... the nda🧡🧡

5. Crowley ain't here yet i fear. But he will be. On god he's going to get a run for his money from our dramatic girlboss and her 0-bullshit tolerance (unless it's dean. She'll take Dean's bullshit)🧡🧡

6. i know :(🧡🧡

7. fr like can he fuck off (he will soon🧡🧡)

8. hehehehehehehh ✨secrets✨

9. :( i can't say but you're not... totally wrong

10. no you're right!!! i've talked before about how the Darkness and White and Silver and just Her overall is supposed to be a mental health allegory for the disorder i personally have :) also you can always share your interpretations, and they will never be wrong! that's the fun thing about writing!

11. Chuck WISHES he was Her

12. eheheheheheh

13. bro he'd pick mom and then feel bad about it for the rest of his life. don't make him do that he'll start crying

14. hehehehehe✨secrets✨

15. THEROY TIME!!!!!! ....mayhaps 🧡🧡

16. i mean there's sam but yeah no one else :) the nda means i can't say more

17. he IS don't let him in the costume shop he'll make them start roleplaying (it will escalate... very fast)

18. CAN YOU BLAME HER?????

19. lmaooooo i didn't read that until after😭 and fr he's trying to kill her

20. they've GOT the money. And honestly, i'd follow her all over europe too. understandable Ketch, just be way less creepy about it plz.

21. her morals got the better of her i fear😔

22. IT'S ON SIGHT

23. hehehehhehe sometime i know when i cook with a line and that was. one of them

24. i fear cas boofed that one by snitching. She just went "oh okay that's why" and didn't push it. in her defense, she got busy.

25. ......

26. LMAOOOO fair

27. THANK YOUUUUUUU (and a lot has been happening that's understandable)

28. he's just a silly guy i fear

29. ehehehhehehehehe

30. YOU'LLL SEEEEEEE🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

31. amazing that's the goal

32. i have all the chapters pre-planned (with alterations as we go) but I write each one a week in advance. So right now 22 is already done but not edited, and wednesday i'll have 22 edited and 23 written :)

THANK YOUUUUU!!!! SEE YOU NEXT WEEK!!🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

Chapter 21 - If You Want To Survive

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: This week on Babylon - long distance relationships!

Chapter Title from Dog Days by Florence + the Machine

Word Count: 18.5k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You run, and Dean waits. Usual Warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 20 - Chapter 22

Read on A03!

“You’re doing it wrong.”

You know you’re doing it wrong. Your feet are dangling off the edge of the bench, and your fingers are still a little swollen from when you slammed them into the door, and you’re trying but you don’t know how to do it right-

“Hey. Breathe.” Rufus grunts your name, prying your hand from the strings of the guitar. “Nothin’ bad about to kill us right now. This ain’t life and death, it’s a fuckin’ guitar-“

He cuts himself off, scanning over your open face with a long sigh.

“Don’t tell Bobby I swore at ya. He’s been reading a bunch of parenting books. They’re all sayin’ swearing is bad for kids.”

“I’m not a kid-“

“Yeah, you are. Or at least he’s tryin’ to let you be.”

“That’s why he won’t let me do hunts, isn’t it.”

Rufus snorts, shaking his head. “No, you’re not allowed to hunts cause no kid should be doin’ hunts.”

“What about the boys staying at home?” You raise your chin, narrowing your eyes. “John’s sons. The older one hunts. I heard Bobby complaining to you about it.”

“You eavesdroppin’ on us now?”

“I- No-“ You get a pointed look, and bow your head to frown at your feet.

You’d liked these socks. They were fuzzy and covered in little rainbows, and you’d always kept them at Rufus’ because they made you feel better. You show up at his doorstep covered in a bit of dirt, with everything prying apart in your body and something dark in your body trying to seep out of your skin into the world, but it’ll be okay. Rufus will help you inside and make you some food, you’ll get a long bath, as much chocolate as you want, and your fuzzy socks.

But it doesn’t stop hurting.

It’s never fucking stopped hurting.

“I- I was.” You swallow, grinding your fingers further into the strings of the guitar. “I’m sorry.”

Rufus only laughs. “I don’t give fu- crap. Good you got away with it, too. Doin’ better than a lot of other hunters already.”

Your eyes widen. “Other-“

“Your family is hunters. You’ve got hunter in your blood.” Rufus sighs, running a hand over his face. “If we get say in it, you’re not gonna need to hunt. But Bobby don’t listen when I tell him that might not be his choice. But-“ Rufus’ voice turns firm, his eyes locking onto yours. “Don’t try nothin’ when you still can’t touch the fu- freakin’ ground.”

He bumps your feet with a small grin, and you return it, even if it’s toothless and nervous.

And you don’t have hunter in your blood. Rufus knows that you don’t have anything but insanity in your blood. But he’s never treated you like you’re anything less than Bobby’s daughter.

You wish you were. That you’d come from him rather than the darker, twisted horror you were born into, with too clean floors, never enough food—despite the sheets being silk and the floor being marble, you’d never had enough food—and no fuzzy socks.

Still, you didn’t know how to just wait. How to just sit in the fucking pain like it had to be a given—it might be—and wait for your feet to hit the ground. You don’t think they understand how much it hurts. And how if it doesn’t hurt, you’ll make everything else hurt instead. How you can’t be trusted anywhere, and you might not deserve this kindness, and you still have nightmares about big and smooth hands wrapping around your throat and telling you it’s time.

“John Winchester’s sons have hunting blood.” You mumble, glaring back to the carpet, and Rufus sighs, giving you an almost amused look.

“You ain’t droppin’ this, are you?”

“It’s not fair-“

“Nothin’ is fair. And those boys shouldn’t be huntin’ at all.”

“But they do-“

“Only when their Daddy’s got no one better.” Rufus mutters, and you frown at him. “John drops ‘em with Bobby when he’s not looking for company on a hunt. And if he is, he takes Dean like the boy ain’t thirteen.”

Dean. The big one is named Dean.

And somewhere through the swirling fog of the world, there’s an iridescent light that whining and howling and aching. It’s hurts almost as much as the Darkness does.

Did.

You’re a little dizzy, and you know that when this happened, Dean was nothing more than a name. You think he was nothing more than a name. You might have felt the White rolling and humming for him, even then.

“I’m not that much younger-“

“That ain’t the point-“

“And John takes both of them hunting all the time! And I’d know more! I have all the lore memorized, and I- I could fight-“

“You can’t shoot.”

“I could try-“

“No, ya couldn’t. I remember when you just saw Bobby’s gun, kid.”

“But I’d get over it- And if the Winchester’s can do it-“

“It don’t matter what those boys can do. You’re not like ‘em.” Rufus mutters your name, the look on his face almost sad. “And John- You know Bobby don’t want you near him for a reason. And I agree. Even if we were pro baby-hunters, you know you can’t be out there.”

“But- I- I can’t- I don’t-“ You take a shaking breath, the dark thing starts to twist around in your body, all your skin itching with the pain of keeping it down. “It hurts-“

“I know it hurts.” Rufus sighs, guiding your fingers back to the guitar strings. “That’s why we’re doin’ this.”

You shake your head, trying to curl back into your body. “I don’t wanna-“

Rufus grunts your name, giving you a firm look. “We keep doin’ this, or I tell Bobby ‘bout the door.”

You’d swallow, your eyes wide on his and he lets out a long sigh.

“There are ways to deal with it that don’t hurt, kid. I’m just tryin’ to find you some.”

“Ways like drinking?” You wrinkle your nose at him, and Rufus lets out a dry chuckle.

“Nah. I’m not a preacher, I don’t gotta practice what I’m sellin’. Go back to g-cord.”

You shift your fingers, but pause, staring ahead as the light turns in your body.

It still hurts. Everything always hurts, and you feel small, and you’re safe here but it still feel like you’re being ripped in half. And you love staying at Rufus’, but it hurts, and it doesn’t matter that if you go back home you might get more hurt. You’re already hurting, and you- You don’t know what to do with all this fucking pain-

“I wanna go home.” You whisper, your eyes starting to sting, and Rufus only sighs.

He’s used to the swings. To the way it becomes too much, and you grow small.

You wish you could control it. Be better. Be more than a sick fucking problem, but it’s all you are. All you’ve ever been. And you want to go home.

“I know,” Rufus mutters, squeezing your shoulder carefully. “But you can’t, kid. Not until it’s safe.”

The world starts to shift, the fog around you glowing and bathing everything in a softer light, and your feet can touch the ground again.

When this had happened, Rufus meant safe for you. That you could go home when it wouldn’t end with John Winchester putting a bullet through your brain.

Now John was long dead, and you-

You were still so fucking sick. There wasn’t hunter in your blood, there was power. Power and a long, long line of horrible, wrong creatures that even Heaven hated. You may be holy, but it might be the way the plagues of Egypt were holy. Wrathful and awful and vengeful. Sick and destructive and wrong.

You’re so fucking wrong, so home isn’t safe from you.

Nothing is safe from you, and the horror you bring.

And you want your feet to go back to being too small. To having little blisters on your fingers from holding the guitar, instead of whatever put them there now. You’d only read books because it passed the time, and you didn’t think twice about the notes you were writing, and home was somewhere you could return to.

You want to go home.

To return to not knowing that John would’ve been right. Being afraid of him was always so much easier than being afraid of yourself. It would be so nice to go back to this. It was lonely but simple. You were filled with sickness, but it poisoned only yourself.

But Rufus would’ve always said Dean, and you would’ve always felt the White howl.

You miss him most of all.

“Where are we?”

You sigh, dropping your head to the side on his shoulder. It’s always a little like you summon him, and then he’s there. Warm and Golden and almost real.

Almost.

“I’m learning how to play guitar.” You mumble, strumming a smooth key that comes out twangy and weak, because that’s how it had sounded when this actually happened.

Dean chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Wow. You’re kind of shit at it.”

“That’s the learning part, Deano.” You twist to prop your chin on his shoulder, and his grin is wide. Strong. Happy. “Hi.”

His grin grows, a hand rising up to hold your face. “Hi, Princess. You look good.”

“You always say I look good.”

“Well that’s cause I’m not a liar, sweetheart.”

You snort. “Shut up.”

“So bossy,” he hums, tracing his thumb over your cheekbones, and everything but Dean is fading into the background. Even your memory of Rufus is being painted in Gold. Just to remind you.

Dean isn’t here. Not really. But you still love him. And it’s still all the way down.

“How do I look?”

You scan over his face, with heavy bags until his eyes and a slightly swollen cheek.

When you reach up to trace a hand over it, he doesn’t flinch. Dean just lets out a soft sigh, and leans into your touch.

“Tired, De.” You whisper, and he chuckles.

“Haven’t been sleeping good. Fighting with Sammy again.” He pauses, his voice growing a little hoarse. “Miss you. Wish Cas would tell me where he dropped you, so I could come carry you home.”

“I know. I- I do too.”

And you do.

Because if Dean tracked you down and tried to carry you home, you’d never fight it. You’d always just go, because you love him, and it’s not indulging or making it about you if Dean’s demanding it.

“I miss you.” You mumble, and everything is starting to wash away. Leaking with a light that hurts to look at, the bench and Rufus flickering in and out like a mirage on water.

There’s a loud, blaring sound, coming from far, far away, and you have to go.

Dean must know it too, because his grip tightens. “Come home. I- So much shit is happening and it’s all freakin’ insane, and you’d know what to do. You always know and I fuckin’ miss you, baby, please come ho-“

The alarm rips through the world, crashing through everything you can see, and Dean vanishes.

You shoot up in your bed and let out a loud groan. The frame is so fucking small, and your legs are cramping, and the sound is still fucking going-

“Fuck.”

Your mumble is mostly to yourself.

There’s no one else to hear it anyway.

The month since you left hasn’t exactly been spent making friends. It’s been research and moving and finding ways to keep yourself afloat.

Cas had dropped you in Rome, and apparently didn’t stop to consider that you don’t fucking speak Italian. It had helped that most people here spoke English, but after about a week you’d gotten sick of not being able to read anything, and gotten—technically stolen, with Dean’s voice in your head humming I thought you weren’t a criminal, Princess—an Italian for Beginners book.

It’s mostly been tourist phrases. Where is the bathroom. How do you say taxi. I do not speak Italian.

You’ve used that last one liberally.

And you don’t talk that much, all together. There seems to be a drastic shortage of monsters to hunt and a beautiful plenty of books to read, so you’ve focus all your energy there.

On looking for answers.

About anything. Lilith. The seals. Heaven. The Magdalenes. Witches.

You.

Everything you learn about yourself is something you had to teach. You can’t feel anything holy, but you can’t really feel a lot right now. It’s all just a lot of fucking pain. And as you force yourself out of bed for the day, your gaze falls to your hands, and you can still see it.

Pastel blue. Glistening and crystallized on your fingers. The Gold has faded slightly, but the Blue is still clinging to you. Whenever you wash your hands, you’re afraid it’s going to run away with the water. When you wake up, there’s a dread in the pit of your stomach that you’ll glance down, it will fall off like an icicle from a roof. Maybe it will have been wiped away in your sleep, stained on the sheets, never to be returned.

And then it’s there, and the dread shifts to just more fucking pain. Your eyes sting, and you freeze on the edge of the bed as you stare at it. The last bit of Jo, bled onto you when she-

Bile rises in your throat, and you swallow it back down.

You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve to be sad when you did this to her. Made Jo nothing more than a little bit of a mark on your fingers that no one else can see. Ellen didn’t get a little bit of Jo to carry all the time.

Ellen didn’t even get to be there when it happened.

Jo wants you to tell Ellen something. And you’d cut her off, because you’re a fucking parasite, and you’d been so sure you could fix it. You would’ve done anything to fix it, but the Sky wouldn’t let you, and now she was gone-

A weak, sniffling noise escapes your throat, and this time there’s no bile. It’s only a heavy, crushing weight around your skull, and a searing feeling as your nails dig into your skin.

You need to move.

Most mornings, it takes too long to remember how.

And it’s never anything spurring you into action. You’re numb and hollow and breathing only because you have to, and then it all settles down and you move.

It’s mechanical. Sleep shirt off and in the backpack. Top. Bottoms. Socks and shoes and jacket. Your knife, spin it once in your hands just to move, then tuck it against your body.

Go.

You have to move and go, because you promised you’d be okay, and turning to stone is no way to be okay.

You don’t remember how to be okay either.

But you’ll get through it.

You always do.

You’d had to leave the city within a few days. There were too many people, too many colors, all of it bleeding together like a kaleidoscope or supernova and making you dizzy. Too many not-smells, giving you a migraine. The countryside was better. Quieter. Sometimes there was golden light reflecting in the rivers, and you got to pretend you could grab it and keep it.

And there are less people to hurt, if something goes wrong.

Because something always goes wrong.

Even when your day is just reading and scratching notes in the corner of a library, something will find a way to go wrong.

Maybe that’s part of the Magdalene curse. Maybe angels and demons can’t kill you, but the world just shifts and rots around you from your presence. You are made of the same thing as Lilith, and she made things as wrong as they could possibly be. Maybe this ends with you either destroying the world, or imploding onto yourself.

You’re closer to the second. You’re tired, and your teeth hurt, and every shadow is longer than you thought possible. The pencil is heavier than it should be in your hand, and you can’t tell if there’s something in the air or if your lungs simply can’t figure out how to breathe anything but iron. Your skin feels wrong on your body, but you can’t remove it or that final bit of Jo in the world will vanish.

You miss Dean. You miss him all the time. There’s no one here to hold you until you sleep, no one to calm you down when the souls start to swarm around you, and it’s like you’re being drowned. Nobody is making you drink water or eat through the grief, and some days you’ve just been forgetting until you stand up and almost fall over.

Then you have to steady yourself, but no one is as good at steadying you as Dean is.

You love him. And every time you wake up from a dream—just like this morning—you could swear you could fucking smell him. On the air around you, stronger than the cotton and dry wood of your room. You’ve stopped wearing perfume, so that it can linger on the edge of the air through the day.

But you’ve stopped doing a lot of things.

It’s why, when something goes wrong, nothing riots in your body to warn you. The most you get is a faint tug from the right of your chest, and then it’s too late.

“Look at what we have here.” A taunting, male voice crows over your shoulder, and your blood goes cold.

You don’t have to turn to know that it’s something evil. You can hear it in the drawl of his words. Fucking smell it, metallic and rotten on the air, like blood and-

Sulfur.

Fuck-

Two hands close over your shoulders, pinning you down to the chair, and a cold breath fans over your neck.

“Took me so long to find you. Don’t move an inch, darling. We’re just here to have a conversation, and I might not be able to kill ya’, but I don’t think you can kill me either, can you.” The demon laughs. “I think you might be havin’ some performance issues.”

You swallow, trying to force your voice to stay even. “Would you want to bet on that?”

The demon laughs. “Why don’t we find out? I’ve been dyin’ to get my hands on you, princess.”

There’s a prickling, burning, white-hot feeling on wrong over your heart.

Only Dean calls you that. Only Dean is allowed to call you that, because he says it with a teasing voice, but there’s always something under it that makes your body relax and the Spiderweb glow. It’s made of something soft and a little intoxicating. He says it as if he believes it. As if it’s not just a joking nickname that stuck, but a title.

The demon says it like he knows how wrong it is. Like he’s slicing you open and driving a poker right into the Spiderweb, then laughing as it whines for something you both know it can’t have. Dean’s across the ocean, and you’re not a princess. Dean might look at you and see more than a monster, but the demon isn’t fooled.

He knows what you are.

Like him.

Worse than him.

Demons are turned from years of torture. Demons are evil, but at least they were once human.

You’ve never been anything but sick. You were born twisted. And you’d never asked Cas if Lilith’s daughters were born before or after she became a demon.

You don’t really want to find out.

“Calm down, sweetheart. Can fuckin’ taste your fear.” The demon sneer in your ear. “And there’s no need to get hysterical. You get to be special again. For once, I ain’t here looking for that delicious panic and pain.”

You don’t want to be special. You just want to go home.

You just want Dean.

“What- Why are you-“

“I just thought I’d come see what all the fuss is about.” The demon hums, rising back up. “I’ve heard so much about you. And darlin’, the stories aren’t doing you justice.”

The demon rounds the table, and your nails dig into the scar on your palm.

He’s like Lilith.

A little darker of a gray, but smooth. Refined. Nothing bursting out of where he wants it to be, and he’s fucking hideous and hateful and wearing it like a badge. Every shift of him is like a raised chin and a sneer.

You recognize him. You can’t place how, but you do.

“Dean needs to get better at tellin’ stories.” The demon hums, and even his vessel is twisted in a horrible, crude smirk. “Even all his fawnin’ and whinin’ didn’t manage to capture just how perfect you are.”

It’s so fucking wrong. In a way worse than Lilith, every fiber of your existence knows this demon is fucking wrong. And the Spiderweb hates him. It’s crawling and twisting in your body like it’s trying to fucking hide, stinging and whining as if just the demon’s presence makes it feel sick.

And he’d said Dean.

He knows Dean.

You do know him.

The pieces snap together in a second, and you’re moving the next. Grabbing your knife out of your jacket and flying across the table, driving the blade right into the Alistair’s chest.

Nothing happens. Alistair just laughs, pulling the knife out of his chest and examining it with a smirk.

“This that knife Dean got you, isn’t it.” Alistair raises his brows at you, and sighs when you only glare at him. “I’m tryin’ to have a conversation with you, you know-“

“I don’t want to have a conversation with you.” Your words are spat, and Alistair just rolls his eyes.

“There’s those dramatics I’ve heard about you havin’. Always so emotional,” he hums your name, sliding the knife back across the table. “I was building up to a compliment, sweetheart. Dean had good taste. I can feel a lot of anger and fear on that thing.”

The bile is back. It’s spilling into your voice. “What the fuck are you here for. I’ve stopped interfering-“

Alistair scoffs. “I don’t care about that. I woulda preferred you stick around, but Lilith said it wouldn’t work out in our favor if ya did. Shame. I was really lookin’ forward to killing Dean in front of you, then seeing what type of pain you’re really capable of causin’.”

“I-“ There’s something tight and horrible around your throat. “I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are.” Alistair smirks, scanning you over once more. “You want to know Dean’s worst nightmare?”

You really don’t. You’re only clinging to your knife like maybe it will summon Dean to your side, trying to wait Alistair out.

The only other option is stirring deep, deep in your body. Starting to pick up and roll around. Shining bright enough to split through that gaping, infinite void of too much and nothing at all that seems to follow you with death.

And you can’t use the other option. So you just have to fucking hold on, and last through this new, awful thing.

“That boy has always been a little more creative than is good for him.” Alistair smiles, almost fondly, and you want to punch out his teeth. “Made him a beautiful subject, and a perfect student. But sometimes he’d get cold feet. All sad and whiny ‘bout hurtin’ people. But all I’d have to do is show him that nightmare of his. Dragged it from his head after about a year, and- Well, why don’t we just look together. Brace yourself, sweetheart. It’s a good one.”

Alistair reaches up, and before you can stop him, his hand is pressed to your brow.

You’re back in Hell. The screams and heat and colors running below your feet.

Not your feet.

Lower than your feet.

You’re suspend, on the same rack that you’ve seen before. And Dean’s right there. Golden, but tattered and mauled and frozen. Just staring at you, as something gray and horrible runs over your body, and you want to scream but you can’t breathe, and Dean’s still not moving.

The Gold is rioting, but Dean’s not moving.

Alistair laughs in your ear, and the Gold seems to be trying to press out, to get to you, but then it hits an invisible barrier, and Dean doesn’t move.

You don’t think he can.

When the library comes back into focus, you’re panting. Every breath is too fast and short, your grip on the table driving splinters into your hands, and you can’t fucking breathe-

“Warned you.” Alistair hums, and his voice is driving right into your fucking brain.

All you can see is Dean. Frozen, watching you with fear.

Dean was never afraid. He was angry and worried and stressed, but you’d never seen him look only afraid.

The Spiderweb is almost whimpering, shimmering with a soft light and still trying to bury itself deeper than Alistair can hurt it.

But the Silver-

It’s starting to move. To wake up.

Fuck.

“I’m gonna tell you a secret, darlin’. That little nightmare? It always was fun to feed, but it’s never gonna be the plan. I’m thinking, when we win and I get to take you home, we’ll find wherever the reapers stored sweet little Jo, and pull her out. To join the party, you know?”

The Silver rears its head. And you’re drawing blood on your skin, but your nails are short and chipped, and you still can’t really breathe-

“And then I’ll give Dean a choice. He can either torture Jo while you watch, or I’ll make his nightmare come true.” Alistair laughs to himself, and the Silver is starting to climb up.

Or curve in. Building up by caving in. Like a fucking black hole, crushing down so it can-

“And he’ll choose you. He’ll hate himself for it, but you’re his girl. His Princess. He ain’t gonna do anythin’ that’ll hurt you. Not on purpose.”

The Silver is so close. But there are people here. People and animals, and a- You saw a fucking teenager, and she had a walk that kind of reminded you of Sam’s-

“But here’s the kicker,” Alistair says your name like you’re old friends. “After he finished chopping up Jo, I’d freeze him just like in his nightmare. And I wouldn’t touch you. That’s boring. If I’m makin’ art like this, I’m making it the right way.”

It’s going to fall out of your mouth. You can’t fucking control it, and all the Silver can feel is the pain of the Spiderweb, so all it knows is something’s wrong and you can’t stop it-

“No, here’s what I’ve got lined up instead. Good ol’ Sammy will be walkin’ around up here, well,” Alistair laughs. “His body will be. But point is, can’t use him. And I think what I’m left with will work better anyway.” Alistair’s smoke moves back into that ugly fucking smile, and the Silver reaches a stasis. A silence.

A split second before the storm.

“I’ll drag good ol’ Daddy Winchester out to play. Let him do whatever he wants, while Dean’s watchin’. And maybe it’ll just be what Dean did to Jo, but you never know.” Alistair smirks. “Those men of god never could resist a Magdalene.”

Everything stills. Moves to match the stasis of the Silver, and it’s almost serene. You’re everything, and it’s all waiting for you. The walls will fall to shield you. The wind will turn to a hurricane to protect you. The grass outside will grow and flourish to protect you.

And the Sky is smiling at you. You can feel it, and not just watching.

Over you. Shining with praise, because this, this is that holy wrath you’re supposed to have all the time.

You don’t fucking want it.

You just want to go home.

Alistair smiles at you again, a second before you lose control.

“There you are.”

You don’t know how he gets away in time. You can’t tell through how you’re everything, and you can’t see anything but the blur.

All you know is that you explode.

Detonate.

Destroy.

The Silver razes through all it can reach.The building turns to ruin, rivers of blood run under your feet—although, as far as you can see, there are no bodies—and the forests and walls start to bloom with flowers and plants you’ve never seen before.

They’re beautiful. Strangely shaped and delicate, glowing softly and filled with an iridescent light.

But it’s all beautiful.

The apples hanging from the ceiling are beautiful. The small, condensed bits of life floating through the room are beautiful. The countryside, now littered with pastel blue roses, is beautiful.

And the souls stained on the walls are beautiful, too.

And you have to go.

The angels will be here soon.

That must be the real reason Alistair was looking for you. He’d taunted you right to the fucking edge, then pushed you over. Forced you to lose control, and send up that loud, neon signal telling Heaven I’m here! Come and get me!

And you’ve been so fucking careful not to draw attention, but it’s not really up to you anymore.

Because the Silver’s been like this since Jo. Dormant and silent until it’s forced to move, and then reactionary. Worse than a live wire, worse than a sickness, worse than a monster.

Damnation.

That must be why the angels are still after you, even though you did what they asked. Even though you left.

Zachariah had said to muzzle you.

And you weren’t muzzled.

You were feral.

And now you have to run again.

But you don’t want to be the sickness. You don’t want to be what the Sky keeps demanding of you. Blinking down over you and asking doesn’t it feel good, to have this kind of might in your body, to not be burdened by things lower than you are?

Nothing is lower than you are. They might not be talking to the Sky, but it’s lonely. Higher than anything else, but that seems to be more of a curse than a gift. And all the things it keeps telling you are lower are made of more than the Sky is. Every soul spilled on the ground around you is a little dented and tainted, but it’s beautiful.

It’s all so beautiful.

You need to go. It’s not safe for you to stay.

But you do. For longer than you should allow, you grab every soul you can and shove it back into its body. And you can’t heal them. Can’t fix whatever damage the Silver has done, because you can’t call it forward to mend what it broke. They’ll be alive, but maybe different. Maybe completely morphed, maybe just a little cracked, maybe shattered beyond repair. But they’ll be alive. And even if you could fix them, the Sky might decide you were overstepping again, and rip them right back out.

It never stops you from cleaning, though. From finishing your little ritual. It shines in warning, but you flip it off.

“You’ve got something you want from me,” you hiss, narrowing your eyes. “Come and get it your fucking self.”

It doesn’t.

It just keeps watching.

So you run.

You don’t stop until dusk. Until you’re sure you’re far enough away that whatever angels Heaven sent won’t find you.

And this is how it is now. You move from town to town like some sort of phantom. You miss Dean every second, but you can’t go home. You dodge angels and read in the dead of night, staring at your phone and willing it to-

You jump out of your skin a little, when the screen lights up.

Possible Spam.

You’ve never picked up the phone faster.

Dean’s shouting your name through the speaker, when the call connects. There’s something strained in his voice. Almost distressed.

You raise your voice, just enough to get through to him. “De-“

“Oh, thank fucking- Son of a bitch, sweetheart, I- Are you good? Safe?”

“I’m fine.” You draw your knees up to your chest, trying to make your voice sound light. “It’s just- Long day-“

“I know about Alistair.”

You freeze, and Dean’s voice grows a little hoarse.

“He admitted it. Told me he’s seen you. It’s- We’re working one of the seals and he’s here, and I- He said-“

“He didn’t hurt me.” You whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. “He was just taunting me. Trying to make me- You know. Do the thing.”

Dean’s silent for a long, heavy second. “Happened again, huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Any progress on-“

“No.”

Dean lets out a dry laugh. “You didn’t even let me finish talking.”

“I-“ You swallow, a heavy lump starting to form in your throat. “I’m sorry-“

“Hey, wait, don’t- I’m teasing you, sweetheart.” Dean’s voice is so gentle. You can almost see the slightly panicked look on his face. “Don’t cry, it’s okay, you’re good-“

You’d been trying not to cry.

You really had.

But you miss him. And you’re so fucking tired.

It’s impossible to swallow the choked sounds or whimpers. The sniffling as you wipe your nose with your sleeve, or the heavy breathing as a weight pressed onto your chest. You don’t want Dean to hear. You know he’s still dealing with the seals, and an angry Bobby—although Dean won’t admit they’re fighting about you, you know they are—and a Sam that’s still working with Ruby. He doesn’t need to hear you cry when you’re the one who fucking left. You’re the one who wouldn’t stay.

You’d hated Dean so long for leaving you, so many years ago.

But then you fucking left him.

And he’s staying on the phone with you. Not speaking, but humming low and deep as your head drops to your knees, and your breathing evens out.

It’s steady.

Ragged and impossible, but steady.

“De- I-“ You swallow, wiping your cheeks with your palm. “I wanna go home. I miss Bobby and Sam and I- I don’t know what to do. I miss you, and I can’t sleep, and I-“

I love you.

You’re not allowed to say it.

So you just strangle yourself on the sound, and hold the phone as close to your ear as you can.

“I know.” Dean’s voice is a rasp through the speaker, and it makes a new wave of tears fall. “Just come home, Princess- I- Fuck, I’ll call Cas and he’ll come get you right now-“

“I can’t.” You whisper. “You know I can’t.”

“But-“

“Please. Don’t.”

Dean can’t beg you to come home.

If he does, just as always, you’d listen.

“Did-“ Dean clears his throat, and you’re grateful. He listened. “What did Alistair say to you? To set it off?”

You can’t tell Dean what Alistair really said. He’d drive himself mad about it. Doing something reckless, get himself hurt. And all of this is always just so Dean doesn’t get hurt.

But you can’t lie to him either.

“Jo.” You mumble, leaning back and rubbing at your wrists. “You. Sam. Just- What he’d do, if they win.”

“Fucking bastard.” Dean mutters, and you smile into the air.

You miss his glare. The firm one that he’s always aim at you, but never hurt you. It was always a glare that wrapped around you. Told you he was angry because he cared, and didn’t know how to do anything with it.

He still cares.

Dean knows what the past month has been for you. Nightmares and explosions, souls staining the ground and painted over your hands—although they always fade fast, as nothing but Jo seems to be clinging to you longer than it has to—and never getting more control or answers.

You only find more questions. More reasons to stay away. And Dean should give up on you, but that’s not what he does. You know how pissed he is at Sam, but he’s not giving up on dragging him away from Ruby. He wouldn’t.

Just like how he’s only ever held you when everything became too much. Only ever gone to help, whenever Sammy called. Had held you and tried to make you stay, after Jo.

And he still picks up the phone. Still calls you, even when you know that—wherever he is in America—it’s an unreasonable hour. Talks to you like nothing has ever gone wrong at all. Asks you to come home like it’s not ripping out and healing your heart all at once.

“You know I’d never let that happen, right?”

You blink, frowning at the wall. “What?”

“Alistair.” Dean mutters. “No matter what happens. He’s never gonna touch you.”

I’ll drag good ol’ Daddy Winchester out to play.

You know. You know I love you, baby.

“I know.” You whisper, even though you both know that’s not really up to Dean. “How was your day?”

“Kinda shit. You?”

You let out a soft laugh. “Kinda shit, too.”

“You could come home, and our days could be shit together-“

“Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah. Alright. Had to try.”

He did. He always does. And he’s nothing more than a voice in a box, but the Spiderweb still lights up under his attention. Still thrives from just to sound of Dean saying your name and telling you about astral projection, and you could fucking swear you smell spice-

“It felt fuckin’ weird,” Dean mutters your name, and you can hear something moving in the background. “I was solid, but it was soupy.”

You smile into the air. “Soupy?”

“Yeah, like chowder-“

“Those are two different feelings, De.”

“No they’re both globby.”

“Globby-“

“It works- Sammy!”

You hear Sam’s voice grumble something in the background, and wait patiently.

“Being all ghost-like felt globby, right?”

“You sound insane, Dean.”

That breaks through, and you giggle.

“Hey.” Dean’s voice is a little firmer. He’s talking to you. “I heard that. It’s not my fault Sammy isn’t a poet like me-“

Sam snorts in the background. “I heard you say soupy before. Are you talking to-“

“Yes.” Dean snaps. “She’s mine, Sammy. You can’t have her.”

He means the phone. You know he means the phone.

It still makes the Spiderweb fucking shine.

“I just wanna ask her about a seal-“

“Call her later.”

“But-“

“No. Back off, or I’ll shit on your bed.”

“That’s so gross- Dean-“

A door slams on Dean’s end, and Sam’s voice goes muffled.

“Sorry about that, Princess. Don’t know who let Bigfoot into my hotel room like that.”

You hum, smiling like an idiot at your knees. “You know, one day he’s really gonna get sick of you doing that. It’s the third time this week.”

“Nah.” There’s a pause. “Are you getting sick of me, Princess?”

Sam’s right. He’s insane. “No.”

“You sure? Not finding some other guy with a sweet ride-“

“I’m not looking, De.” You whisper before you can stop yourself. “And nobody’s got a better ride than you, car boy.”

"Thanks.” Dean mumbles, clearing his throat. “I’m taking care of the Firebird. Drive her once a week-“

“He.”

"What?”

“My car. It’s a he.”

Dean pauses. “You, uh- You named him?”

“Not yet.” You shrug. “I’m brainstorming.”

“How about Dean Junior-“

“No.”

You only get a laugh in response, and this night doesn’t hurt as much as the others. You talk to Dean until the sun rises, and he mutters that his phone is about to die, and Sam will kill him if they’re not on the road early tomorrow. You don’t say goodbye, when you hang up. You never say goodbye.

Instead the line goes dead, you shuffle out to find coffee, and return to your room for the rest of the day. You’re in no rush. You’re safe—for now—and all your work lives in reading and researching. Going over the emails Sam has sent you and responding with what you find. Combing through your own books for some sort of fucking clue. How many other Magdalenes there were. What they brought. How they controlled it, if it was something that could be controlled. So far all you have are a big do not attempt warnings on burnt pages, a bunch of fake Magdalene spells—like plastic knockoffs of what you’ve found in the book, and made yourself—and the Sky watching you.

Nothing ever mentions the Sky. And it’s not like you’ve found anything explicit about Magdalenes. But you’ve learned to spot patterns. Clues. Draw timelines and pour over history books until you passed out, Dean called you, or something went wrong.

It would be lovely and simple, if you’d taught yourself that.

But it isn’t. And you didn’t.

“I heard you killed an angel.”

You’d spun around, and there she’d been. Standing in the corner of your room, smiling at you with that awful affection.

“That’s impressive, little one.” Lilith had hummed, her smiling growing. “Even I could never have done that, even at my brightest.”

“Cool.” You’d mumbled, rubbing at your wrists as you watched her. “How did you find me?”

“We are the same.” Lilith had shrugged. “You might be more, and but I can still know. You’d know too, if you just thought about it. And it took a little extra effort to find you, but I had to. You put on quite a show, almost locking all the seals. If those fucking uptight featherdicks hadn’t interfered, you might have succeeded. I mean, maybe if I’d sent the cavalry, too. But Ruby was begging me not to send Alistair himself. You did quite a number on her.”

“Ruby-“

“That’s not for you to worry about.” Lilith had waved you off like it was nothing. “I’d be concerned with yourself, little one. The angels are starting to look for their master, and mine- He will be here soon. And you should be ready. And I am reaching my purpose, but I can’t wait to learn, one day, what you do”

“I-“ You’d shaken your head, walking back to the wall. The Sky had flashed out the window.

If Lilith could see or feel it, she didn’t show it.

“I don’t- I’m not going to serve-“

“No, you won’t.” Lilith had hummed. “If you’re smart, they will bow at your feet for all of time to come, and you will never be a toy to those vile fucking animals again-“

“I-“ Your voice had been so small. You’d pushed through. “I’m not a toy-“

“Not now, little one. But you’re still attached to Dean Winchester. I can see him all over you.” She’d shivered. “You’ll get through it. We all have. Even I had a Dean, but- It doesn’t matter. Men of God. Doesn’t matter which one you chose, they are all the same in the end.”

And there it is again. Your hand freezes over your notes—a mindless scribble of Dean’s name in Enochian half-written—as the memory echoes, and you put it together.

Men of God.

Alistair had said it. So had Anna, before you crushed her like some sort of bug.

And Anna had been an angel. She knew enough to know your name was written in places in Heaven that Castiel has never seen.

Lilith had spoken of them like they were everywhere. She’s said that all of you had one. That yours was another case of being special—more complicated—but you still needed to be stronger. That they always promise freedom, only to try and cut you up and morph you and put you in a cage.

Dean would never do that. He’d set you free.

He was waiting for you.

You’d worry about that later. Right now, for the first time since you left, you had something.

It’s a good thing Europe is full of churches.

The months start to blur together, the longer you’re away. You didn’t expect it to be immediate, but it has to be something. Lilith, Alistair, and Anna wouldn’t all say Men of God only for it to just be some kind of weird Heaven and Hell phase. It’ll only take time. And you’ll comb through every library and visit every church and do whatever the fuck you need for just one answer.

And it does seem to be a marker. Every Magdalene you’ve found—Lilith had been right, you’d just had to try, and it would call to you like some distorted song—has had someone in their orbit. And there has to be a reason. Even if no one can place what the Magdalenes are outside of danger and change, even if there’s no idea for how you were made or why you exist, it can’t just be a coincidence.

Dean says there are no coincidences in this life.

He’s usually right about this kind of stuff. He’s usually right about most stuff.

And whatever Men of God are, Dean isn’t one. Not the way Lilith says, at least. He’s yours, but the Magdalenes you’ve found always ended up betrayed or abandoned by theirs. Dean would never do that. Even if he doesn’t love you, he just wouldn’t. That’s another thing he doesn’t do.

Run away.

He’s stronger than you are. It’s why, whenever you run, he really has been always so good at catching you. At wrapping you up and keeping you safe, when he should’ve put you down.

And Lilith had said the one you chose.

Dean’s never been a choice. He just is. You love him because he’s Dean, and that’s better than anything. He’s never been just one star you picked from the sky.

He’s been full of gravity, like a planet. Not a flower from a garden, but a strong, unbreakable tree that could be split with lightning and still be the prettiest thing you’d ever seen. Not a rock from the ocean, but an island that you’d always returned to, because there’s nowhere better to rest.

And there are more differences—between you and the other Magdalenes—the longer you look. Some of them have been labelled as crazy or hysterical, but none of them are ever mentioned talking about all the colors. None of them ever claim to see demons and angels.

Not one mentions the Sky.

That seems to be another horrible, awful, exhausting thing that’s just for you.

And time keeps passing. You keep reading and reading and finding something that’s really nothing, and nothing that looks like something, but it’s just a trick of the light. Things keep going wrong—a woman grabs your wrist in a coffee shop, you walk into a church and the stained glass begins to glow, you see an angel on the street and wipe them out with the whole block—and the Sky keeps watching.

It doesn’t seem to mind you looking for answers. It almost seems to hum whenever you find something. A tattered page in a church catacomb, that’s a similar—but less detailed—to your own notebook. Colors and names scribbled in a French, like a personal guide. And then there’s the half-burnt, Portuguese version of the Book, and another Magdalene buried Florence, Italy.

You can go to Florence.

You can raid a grave, to see if her bones are made of anything that tells you how she controlled it. If she left you anything. She must have.

She did.

Maps of Heaven and Hell. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do with them, or how she got them, but you know the Sky is happy you have them.

Lately, the Sky only ever seems angry when Dean calls.

You always pick up anyway.

“Hi, De.”

“Hey, Princess. You still in-“

“Nope. Nice try, though.”

He sighs. “Had to take the shot. How was your day?”

You smile into the air. “It was… long.”

“Did you eat?”

You’re silent for a second too long, and Dean snaps your name.

“Goddamnit, you need to-“

“I know.” You sigh. “I just- I got distracted, I promise. I got a new book, and it’s just regular witchcraft, but maybe Cas could use it-“

“Actually, uh-“ Dean clears his throat. “We kinda lost Cas.”

“You- How?”

“He’s a human again. We’re working on it, but Sammy-“ Dean lets out a long, heavy breath, and you sigh.

“Is Ruby still-“

“Yeah.”

“Did you tell him-“

“He won’t listen.” Dean mutters. “Thinks you must have misunderstood, or that Lilith was just messing with you.”

“But-“

“I know, Princess. But- I- Can you talk? Please?”

You swallow, staring up at the ceiling. You’d told Dean, what Lilith had mentioned about Ruby begging her. You’d hoped it would be some sort of evidence, to prove to Sam that Ruby can’t be trusted.

But Dean says he went a little off the deep end, after you left. That he thinks he should’ve been stronger and not gotten knocked out, or been more cautious about the ritual, or done more so you didn’t lose Jo. So you didn’t leave.

Whenever you talk to him, he never mentions it. That you left. And it’s not in the way Dean does, where he just knows you’ll come back. It’s a little hollow. His voice sounds heavier all the time, but more determined all at once.

Dean just sounds tired.

And it rips the Spiderweb in half.

“What do you wanna talk about, De?”

He lets out what might be a long breath of relief. “I, uh- I don’t know. What did you do today?”

“Read. A lot. I started looking at a map-“

“A map?” You can hear Dean’s frown in his voice. It’s adorable. “What, you hunting for treasure without me?”

“It’s a map of heaven. And,” you smile into the air, and you hope he can hear it. “I’d never hunt for treasure without you. There is no one else I’d rather treasure hunt with.”

“Damn. Not even Bobby?”

“I don’t think Bobby would be all that good at treasure hunting.” You shrug. “He’d get bored, and say that this kinda shit is pointless anyway.”

“Yeah,” Dean’s soft laugh is a little muffled through the phone. “You’re right about that. How about Sammy?”

“He’d be fine. Do you not want to go treasure hunting with me, Deano?”

He snorts. “Princess, if I ever go treasure hunting with anyone, I’d want it to you.”

“Thanks.” You mumble. “Why?”

“Cause you’re smart, and you’ve seen a billion of those freakin’ treasure movies. You’ve studied, sweetheart. You’re a nerd.”

You scoff. “Well, if I ever need to commit crimes for the good of the community, I’ll call you, Cowboy.”

“Aw, you think I’m a Cowboy-“

“Dean-“

Dean cuts you off with a tsk, and suddenly you can see him. It’s just in your head, but it’s so close to real. Standing in front of you with a boyish, cocky smirk, his eyes alight on yours, every bit of him so fucking Golden, and all focused on you. Handsome. Always handsome. His hair a little spiky and out of place, his nose a little more crooked than the last time you saw him, but his body just as broad, and-

You can feel an ache between your legs, and it only deepens when he drawls your name.

Shit.

“I gotta tell you a secret, Princess.” Dean hums, and you swallow. “Our job is doing crimes for the good of the community. And you’re the best damn criminal I know.”

You flush, and the ache gets worse. “Shut up.”

“Bossy-“

“And I’m not a criminal-“

“Yeah, you are.” Dean laughs. “But it’s okay, we’re all criminals. You and me would’ve run the wild west, sweetheart, I’ll tell you that much.”

Your ditzy, slightly stupid smile is back. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah. Sammy would be the sheriff, and Bobby would run the bar, and I’d be the awesome, lone cowboy passing through the town. I’d stop at the bar look for a drink but instead I’d find you-“ Dean cuts himself off with a cough. “And Bobby. And instead of just passin’ through, I’d plant my roots, and team up with the sheriff to take care of the town.”

He might be the most adorable person on the planet. “You’ve thought about it. Sam might be right about that cowboy fetish, De-“

“It’s not-“ He groans, and the sound doesn’t help your situation. “They’re cool. They’re really freakin’ cool, and they’ve got awesome hats. Is it so wrong to like something?”

“No.” You hum. “But that’s a fantasy, Winchester. You have a cowboy fantasy. And you call me a nerd.”

Dean’s silent. For a little too long, Dean’s silent. And right when you’re about to ask if he’s still there, he mutters your name. “’S nice to have a fantasy, Princess. Something to want. Bet you have them too.”

You do.

You have two.

The first one you think of is the one that always slams into you like a blow to your gut. It’s made of Jo. Of what you’d told her, the last night she was alive. Of a world where her fantasy was reality. And that’s what you think of there, and you break down on the phone with Dean—again—and he stays on the line through it.

The second one makes you feel like a piece of fucking shit. Because you sob to Dean about how you miss Jo, and you want to come home, and you’re still looking for answers but everything still fucking hurts—it always fucking hurts, it never stops hurting, the only way to stop hurting is to stop being and you’ve never figured out how to do that—and then he goes. With a soft reminder to call him tomorrow, or text if you can’t, Dean has to leave and deal with human Cas.

And you’re worse than a monster.

Because when you’re done sniffling into your pillow, your head wanders back to Dean’s words.

Bet you have them too.

His voice had been so deep—and it’s always been deep, but it only seems to get deeper—and a little like a lullaby. A low, soothing promise that’s vibrated in your bones when he’s held you, and still sparks in your blood whenever you hear it.

And you can still see him, in your head. Broad and strong, soft in all the right places and grinning at you. Always grinning at you, and touching you. Dean’s touched you. He’s had hands skimming right under your shirt and resting on your hips, and he’s held you by your lower back so often, but never on bare skin.

It lights you on fire.

And you have fantasies.

You might have a lot of fantasies.

They’re all made of the memory of Dean’s lips on yours, and his taste on your tongue, and the warmth and Gold of him being everywhere. It would feel better than heaven, if he’d hold you right against him, his palm splayed over your lower back, his voice moving right through your body as you grind down onto his thigh. Calling you Princess and his and teasing you until you’re scratching at his back, and he’s just chuckling.

C’mon, baby girl. Just a little more, I’ve got you, you’re doing so good. That’s it, scream my name-

“Dean!”

You cum with a shaking body, and short, shallow gasp.

When your eyes fly open, you realize that scream wasn’t a part of the fantasy. That was loud, for anyone to hear as you’d orgasmed, grinding onto the sheets and pretending your hands on your breast were Dean’s.

The pricking, sickening shame hits you so fast. Jo’s still gone. Dean’s not even here, and you’re turning him into something he might not even want to be. Not for you. He’d been looking for comfort, and you’d made him your fantasy.

But he is your fantasy.

No matter how you try to push it down, now that the idea has crossed your mind, before you sleep you think of Dean.

Something must be wrong with you. Your days are spent staring at books and rubbing at your wrists, looking over your shoulder to make sure there’s no one behind you. No one to try and hurt you, only for their soul to end up splattered all over the ground. Someone tries to get your attention on the street again, and a redwood shoots out of the ground in Germany. You see a man that looks an awful lot like Ketch in a cafe—already putting you on edge—and then a little blonde girl with the same eyes Jo has starts crying, and a Javan tiger is seen running through Austria.

You don’t know how you’re doing it. Only that the Silver detonates, and everything is destroyed and remade all at once. You can’t find any records of that happening to other Magdalenes—or, really, at all—but you’re still looking.

You’ve found that Men of God is seeming to be a loose term—maybe a title—more than a solid rule. And when the trail runs dry on Magdalenes, you shift back to witchcraft. It’s easy, even without the Silver, and it makes you feel like maybe you’re being useful.

Not just running and destroying and sitting in the dirt near a river, staring at the blue on your hands.

Jo would like it here. She would like all the sun and beer, and she would like how the hotel shampoo smells, and she would love all the stray animals and stupid, fancy wines. She would drawl that all wine is wine, but this tastes like rippin’ off rich idiots.

You stole a bottle for her, and poured it into the river. Then you just sit there. Ignoring the Sky over you, pretending that when you stand up things will be better.

They won’t.

Jo’s still gone, and it’s still so fucking hollow. You’re trying to eat more, for her. Trying to sleep more too. You’re getting better at it, as the time passes. At not dying from self-neglect.

And she would’ve wanted you to talk to Dean. To let him convince you to come home, so he could hold you until it hurt a little less.

You don’t want it to hurt less. When it hurts it means you’re thinking about her, and if you stop thinking about her—sobbing on the riverbank, watching your fingers because one day the blue will fade and you don’t know what you’ll do—then who will. Someone has to be in pain for this. Someone has to pay, you’d already killed Anna, and Zachariah seems pretty fucking occupied with Sam and Dean.

Pain, numb and hollow and vast and fucking crushing—pressing on your lungs and head, faint in the background until it slams into you and breathing becomes a labor—is a price you deserve to pay.

So the days pass, and they’re lonely and repetitive, as the Sky keeps watching.

But your nights are spent collapsing on the bed, and calling Dean.

“Are the souls different? Wherever you are?”

You smile at the ceiling. “I mean, they’re different soul to soul.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, sweetheart-“

“They’re the same as home, De. All souls are the same.”

“Huh. You, uh,” he clears his throat. “You see any other golden souls?”

You can’t stop your laugh. You’ve never seen another golden soul. Not like Dean’s. And even if you did, no soul is made of the same primal, pure thing his and Sam’s are.

“What’s funny-“

“Nothing, it’s-“ You shake your head. “No. I haven’t seen any other souls like yours.”

Dean grunts, and you can picture his pouting scowl. “Alright. Good. But- I still don’t get why you were laughing, Princess.”

“It’s a soul joke. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Can you help me get it?”

“Dean-“

“C’mon. I show you stuff all the time. Taught you to drive stick, showed you how to clean a gun even though you never use them, explained all the work I did on the Firebird-“

“I didn’t ask you to do that one.”

“Yeah, but you were listening. You liked it.”

You had liked it. But that had been more to do with how—when he’d been talking—he’d been covered in grease and wearing a really tight shirt, smiling at you like there was never anything else to do and bouncing around like there’s never been any pain at all.

Dean doesn’t need to know that.

“I- Souls are really complicated-“

“I don’t care. Just-“ Dean pauses, sighing into the speaker. “I wanna hear you talk, Princess. It’s been a long fuckin’ week, and I- How about this. If you tell me about souls, I’ll teach you whatever you want, when you get home. Pinky promise.”

You swallow, and suddenly there’s a very clear image of Dean above you, his hand in your hair and his lips curved in a wide smirk as he guides you up and down his-

Fuck.

“I, um,” You pause, trying to regain control over your voice. “What do you wanna know?”

“I dunno. Explain the joke?”

“It’s- It’s not really that funny, I’m just tired-“

“You been sleeping?”

No. You’ve been talking to Dean and drinking coffee and you’re pretty sure you can feel every single nerve in your body, but that’s not the point. “Yes.”

“Lie. You need to fuckin’ sleep-“

You cut of Dean’s snap of your name with a sigh. “Are you sleeping?”

There’s a beat, and his response is so low you almost don’t hear it. “No.”

“Then shut up and stop telling me what to do.”

Dean chuckles. “So bossy, b- Princess-“

“Do you want to hear about the souls or not?”

“Yeah, alright. Go.”

You don’t explain it all. You tell him more about how souls tend to move and blend together, twining with other souls and staining each other in more and more colors until it’s almost kaleidoscopic. You mention the elements, but you’re vague—only that they all made of different things, not that you know what those different things are—because if you explain too much, Dean will ask what element he’s made of, and you’re not even sure what an honest answer would be.

To be fair, you never explain it all. You tell Dean you’re getting more leads on Magdalenes, but not a word about the Men of God, because he’ll freak out. You’ve explained all your outbursts, but never told him about the Sky. You never tell anyone about the Sky, because it makes you sound fucking crazy. Even in this life, saying the Sky is watching me and it hates when I talk to you, Deano would end with a strange look. Just like when you were a kid, telling your mother that the Sky is watching me, and making me promises, and I don’t want them. I don’t. I’m scared and I want to go home.

“Is it ever- Can you turn it off?” You can hear Dean’s frown through the phone. “I mean, that sounds like you’re being shoved into one of the carnival funhouses all the damn time.”

“That’s… Not far off.”

“But it’s gotta hurt your eyes or some shit-“

“I’m used to it,” you mumble, running your thumb over your palm. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to-“

“Dean. It is what it is.”

“Yeah, but- It shouldn’t be.” He lets out a long breath, and tears start to prick at your eyes. “There’s gotta be something that helps.”

You. You help, Dean. You’re so Golden it’s impossible to think about anything else.

“Maybe start looking for that?” Dean hums, and the lump starts to form in your throat. “How to control the soul-vision shit?”

“Soul vision?” You smile, even though it’s crushing over your ribs. “Creative, De.”

“Shut up. You love it.”

I love you. “I don’t hate it.”

“Good. Maybe work on-“

“But I don’t want to turn it off.” You glance down at your hands, and your voice is far too soft. Dean with be able to hear. “I- I can’t turn it off, Dean.”

He mutters your name, and you shake your head.

“I- I can’t. She’s still on me, her soul is still on me, and if I stop seeing it, she’s gone.” You’re breathing too shallow. You can’t stop. “I can’t let her be gone like this too, I couldn’t- It’s all I’ve got left, it’s the only piece of her left and only I can see it- And if- I- She can’t be gone, Dean, I can’t let her be gone-“

“I know.” Dean mutters, his voice so low and soothing, even through the choppy speaker. “I know sweetheart, I’m sorry-“

“I wanna come home.” You whisper, and Dean goes silent. “I miss you, and I don’t-“ I’m scared. I’m scared and I want to go home. “Dean, I don’t know- Please.”

You don’t know exactly what you’re asking for. But somehow, Dean does.

“It’s gonna be okay. I promise it’s gonna be okay. I’ll send Cas out for you right now, if you want-“

You make a strangled noise, and Dean’s voice gets stronger. Firmer.

“Or we can just keep talking. You wanna keep talking, ba- Sweetheart?”

You nod, and even though he can’t see you, Dean still knows. Still understands. It rips another small, weak sound from your throat.

“I ate some pie, yesterday.” Dean hums, his voice still low and careful, and you let out a soft laugh.

“You eat pie every day, De.”

“Yeah, but this was cream pie. You’d like it, it had a bunch of chocolate on the top, and it was fucking full of that stuff they put in the donuts-“

“Cream?” You smile at the ceiling, and you don’t know how he does this. Every single time, even when he’s just a voice, Dean brings you back down. “I think it’s just cream, De.”

“Alright, whatever. Point is this thing is stuffed with cream-“

He can’t be doing this on purpose. You wouldn’t put it past Dean to do it on purpose, but this is the kind of thing he would talk about to see Sam get uncomfortable. But all you can think about is how even his voice is fucking pretty, and he keeps saying stuffed and cream and filled, and your skin is prickling with an aching, pleasant warmth, your thighs starting to press back together.

And Dean does eventually have to go. Once he’s satisfied with your lack of hyperventilation and the steadiness of your voice, he mutters that he has to go deal with Sam.

“Get some rest,” He mutters your name, and you swallow. “Or I’ll track you down and make you.”

The line cuts off before you can respond, and this is the part where something is wrong with you. You’re a fucking mess. Your cheeks are still stained with tears, and you’d been sobbing less than half an hour ago, but now you’re wet. Dripping. Your fingers trail between your legs, and over and over the sound of Dean saying you’d like the cream pie, Princess, replays in your head. The one time in his life that Dean wasn’t making an innuendo, you’re losing your mind with hunger for him.

And there are the fantasies.

Dean over you in bed—you don’t really care which one, as long as Dean is there—and his fingers shoved into your cunt as he kisses all over your face. And you’re breathless and clinging to him, but he’s holding you just as tight, and when he buries himself fully inside of you, he lets out a low groan right in your ear-

I’ve got you. I love you, baby. You know I love you.

You don’t. Dean’s never said that. But Dean’s voice has. And it spoke with a long drawl and soft affection. Your mind is taking that and running with it.

You cum with another gasp of Dean, your back arching off the bed, and you try not to think about it when you roll over and gather the blankets until they’re in a vague shape of Dean for you to hold all night.

And the Sky doesn’t get to see it. You always close the curtains when Dean calls, because you’re going to keep picking up the phone.

You’ll keeping missing him, too. And loving him.

And dreaming of him.

You never stop dreaming of Dean.

“No wanderin’ off.” Bobby grunts, scanning around the room.

It’s big. Almost as big as the rooms in your family’s house. There’s something different about it, though. Even though the air is colder, there’s a warmth to the walls and a comfort to the floor.

You don’t tell Bobby that. Not because he wouldn’t want to know, but because he already has enough to worry about.

“I’m not gonna wander.” You mumble, picking at the skin of your nails. “Promise.”

Bobby snorts. “I wish I believed you, kiddo.”

“Bobby-“

“I trust you.” He says your name carefully, holding your gaze. “But you like exploring and testin’ my fuckin’ blood pressure. I told you not to get distracted by the house, and what did you do?”

You pout at your shoes. “I sang on the staircase.”

“And why don’t we wanna do that.”

“Cause there’s an ubume running around.”

“Cause there’s a-“ Bobby pauses, frowning at you. “A what?”

“Ubume.”

“I ain’t sure what that is-“

“It’s the spirit of a woman who died in childbirth.” You mumble. “They’re not usually violent, but sometimes they try to steal children. And they like rocks, and there are all those rocks outside.”

Bobby blinks down at you, and shakes his has. “Fuckin’-“

“I’m sorry-“

“You’re righ-“ He cuts himself off, frowning down at you. “The hell are you sorry for?”

“I- I don’t-“ You swallow, the Darkness starting to turn out and press under your skin. “I don’t know.”

“Wel, ya shouldn’t be.” Bobby shrugs. “You’re right. The kids have been gettin’ the worst of it, so- They’re called ubumes?”

You nod, and Bobby sighs.

“You’re not in trouble, kiddo. You can relax.”

“But I- I wasn’t supposed to get involved with the hunt-“

Bobby runs a hand over his face. “I told ya that cause I didn’t want you tryin’ to take on this shit yourself. But if you know somethin’ I might not, always say it. Deal?”

You nod nervously, and Bobby extends his hand.

“C’mon, kiddo. If we can wrap this up by the afternoon, I’ll let ya go back to the staircase.”

Your eyes widen, even as you take his hand. “But the family-“

“They ain’t home. What they don’t know ain’t gonna hurt them.”

“Who aren’t we hurting?”

You blink, and turn to see Dean next to you.

Once again, you’re a little taller than before. And Bobby seems completely unaware of Dean’s presence, still running through the script of the memory as you walk through the house.

“A rich family from California,” you explain, Dean trailing behind you. “Bobby heard about their haunting, and he decided to take care of it while they were out of town. I got to come because Rufus was busy, and I’d been having a lot of freak outs, so he didn’t want to leave me alone.”

“Huh.” Dean nods slowly. “Why are you holding his hand?”

“Because right now, I’m eleven.” You pause, and extend your free hand to Dean.

He takes it without question, falling right into pace at your side and leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Where are we going?”

“To kill the ubume.”

“What the fuck is an abummy-“

“Oo-BU-me.” You hum, and when Bobby settles in the families kitchen—where you’d been keeping all the books and weapons—your hand doesn’t leave Dean’s. “Dead pregnant lady ghost.”

“Huh. And you killed it?”

“Bobby killed it.” You shrug, watching the younger version of Bobby shuffle around the room, asking you questions that in real life you’d answered, but in the dream are only met with an echo of your words as you keep talking to Dean. “I wasn’t allowed to leave the salt circle.”

“Why-“

“She was napping kids. I was a kid.” You sigh, resting your head on Dean’s shoulder. “And if he tried to take me, I would’ve lost it. And if I lost it, I probably would’ve had an even bigger freak out about losing it.”

Dean hums, keeping your hands interlocked as he slings an arm over your shoulder, pulling you right into his side. “Did you? Lose it?”

“Not today, no. This hunt ends with the ubume ganked-“

Dean smirks. “You said ganked.”

“Shut up-“

“Bossy-“

“You gonna listen, Winchester?”

“Sorry, baby.” He’s still grinning, leaning down to press a kiss to your brow. “Keep goin’.”

Baby. I love you, baby.

Fuck.

“It’s not important.” You mumble. “I get to sing the Goodnight song from the Sound of Music on the stairs.”

“Oh, I remember that.”

You frown at him. “You-“

“You told me about it. When we worked that mall case. You said you wouldn’t sing for me, cause you wouldn’t kill for me.” Dean leans down, his lips brushing over your ear, his voice sending a shiver up your spine. “Would you kill for me now, Princess?”

“I-“ You swallow, turning your head to meet his gaze.

Mistake.

He’s so close. And even though you know this is a dream, he still looks so fucking real. Golden and pretty. All you’ve ever wanted.

All you ever could want.

“I think I would’ve killed for you then.” You whisper, and he blinks.

“And now?”

“I’d do anything.” You can tell him that. This isn’t real, so you’re not breaking any rules by telling him. “You’re- I-“

“I know.” He mutters, and he doesn’t kiss you on the lips. Dean just wraps his arms fully around your body, pulling you right into his chest and combing his fingers through your hair. “Me too. I- I miss you, Princess. I need you to come home.”

Your fingers curl in his shirt. “I want to, De. I- I’m so tired. And it hurts. It always hurts. This fucking sucks.”

He lets out a dry laugh. “It really fucking does. But life’s a bitch, sweetheart. Always gonna hurt. Better to have each other for it.”

“Alright.” You giggle into his body. “When did you get so wise?”

“When I started missing my girl all the time.”

You sigh. “She misses you too.”

“I know. But I hope she knows-“

There’s a bang on your door, and it rips you away from your dream. Away from Dean.

And the Silver is stirring. Nothing has happened but another loud, almost violent knock, but the Silver is already starting to hum and writhe.

That can’t be anything good.

You lay flat on your back, holding your breath until you’re a little light-headed. If it’s nothing, and the Silver is just going haywire, the knocking will stop. Whoever’s on the other side of the door will give up and move on.

But you’ve never been that lucky.

A bored, taunting voice says your name, and the sound is muffled through the door, but you still recognized the fancy, stupid accent.

Fuck.

“We know you’re in there, darling.” Ketch hums from outside. “It’ll so much easier for everyone if we cut to the chase, and you let us take you in.”

You stay silent, but your hands move to your wrists. You’ve been rubbing them until your skin was a little red and raw, and it stings to the touch, and the Silver is starting to turn and turn. It might not be the worst thing to explode on Ketch and whoever else he’s brought. But you’re in a cheap inn, and you’d passed a family when you were checking in. You won’t be in enough control to stop the damage from hitting them too.

But if Ketch tries to grab you, you’re not going to be able to stop yourself, either.

If you were a little better of a person, you’d let Ketch take you. You should be locked up. Contained. Kept where you’ll never hurt anyone, ever again.

But you’d never see Dean again, either. And you’d vanish, and he’s think you’d abandoned him. That you’d given up, or really run away, when it was supposed to be all the way down.

You’d promised Dean all the way down.

You’d promised Jo you’d be okay.

So you can’t go without a little some sort of fight. You’ll try and keep the Silver down, but if Ketch thinks this is going to go in his favor, he’s disgustingly wrong.

God, this is still going to suck.

Ketch repeats your name, and you take a long, steadying breath.

You can do this.

“You’re just dragging it out,” he calls. “We’ve got you surrounded, and we’re well prepared. You won’t be getting away this time. I promise, darling, it will be better if you come quietly.”

You almost laugh.

He has no fucking idea what he’s in for.

“I’m busy!” You call, slowing pushing up out of bed, your knife already in your hand. You’ve been sleeping with it. Just in case.

Plus, it reminds you of Dean.

“Can you come back later?”

Ketch laughs, and Jesus, it’s not a pretty sound. “I’m afraid we’re quite busy later. And you are not the type of girl one wants to take a rain check on. You might lose her after.”

You roll your eyes, spinning your knife in your hands. “I think you’ll find that you’re going to lose me anyway.”

“Wrong. We lost you last time because you left our jurisdiction. But now? You’re in our territory. And we’ve been watching you.”

“Of course you have,” you mutter. Your jacket is on, your bag is packed, now you just need to get out.

“You’re quite the fascinating little creature,” Ketch drawls your name, and you wonder—if you punch him hard enough—if you could make all his teeth fall out. “If we can figure out how to tame you, I think Mick would be right. You’d be quite the addition to our organization.”

Organization. You’d guessed they weren’t just a team of fancy fuck hunters, but that confirms it. “I think I’ll pass. But thanks for the offer.”

“I’m afraid it’s not an offer, darling-“

“Oh, well in that case,” you swing the door open, and give Ketch a wide, mocking smile. “I’ll just say suck my dick.”

It’s good to see that he hasn’t fully recovered from the ceiling you dropped on him. He’s holding his gun differently than before, and there’s a slight, forced slump to his shoulders.

He’ll probably get better eventually. But you hope it’s a long, grueling journey until he can fully throw his shoulders back again.

“You always have been so vulgar.” Ketch sighs. “We’ll work on that.”

“No.” You shrug, keeping your smile plastered on your face, even as the Silver grows. “I’m going to recommend you let me past, Ketch. It’ll be easier for all of us.”

He laughs. “Always so overconfident, too. I told you, we’re ready. I’ve got snipers trained on you, in case you try to use that cute little blade. This place is warded, darling. Your magic tricks are useless.”

“Oh no.” You drawl. “It’s warded. What am I going to do.”

“Well, you-“ Ketch’s eyes narrow. “You are being sarcastic.”

“I have never been sarcastic in my life-“

Ketch snaps your name. “You are not working this in your favor, by being uncooperative.”

“I think you’ll find I’m being incredibly cooperative.” You shrug. “I’m trying really hard not to kill you all.”

“Oh, are you-“

“Yep.” Your eyes narrow. “Stand down. Now.”

“I think I’ll pass.” Ketch says, his voice bored, and you sigh.

“Alright,” you swallow, glancing up to the Sky.

Silent. Uncaring. To it, Ketch is nothing more than a firefly. More than just a bug, but still disposable.

“Your funeral.” You give Ketch a grimacing smile. “Let’s dance.”

There’s a moment—as you watch the men behind Ketch raise their guns to your head and your spin your knife in your hands—where you think you might be able to get out of this the normal way.

Then Ketch grabs your wrist, and you’re gone. Tearing through the world once more, growing out and out and out until the Silver is satiated, and the ground doesn’t want to move up and protect you.

It crashes back into you, the blur clears, and it’s such a fucking mess. Another building in ruin. A fucking jackalope hopping around in the strange, black and golden flowers, and a white stag prancing on the high way.

When you sweep the damage, it looks like you got lucky. Most people were out for the day. There’s only a rose-pink receptionist to hold and push back into her body, all of Ketch’s men—they might have had guns aimed at you, but they’re still people—and Ketch himself.

A muddied orange on the pavement. And you could leave him. Dean would tell you to leave him, that he’d tried to kill you and kidnap you, and he has tortured you, so it’s not unjustifiable to just leave him for the angels to find. And they will find him. You’ve already lingered too long, and the angels will be here soon.

But you can’t stop thinking about Jo, draining of all her blue. Growing hollow, just like how Ketch’s body is passed out on the ground.

Before you can think about it too hard, you’re grabbing Ketch’s soul, and shoving it back where it belongs.

You might regret that. You know you’ll regret that.

But it’s done. You aren’t going to take it back.

And you have to go, and not look back.

You’re getting better at not looking back.

Except with Dean.

You’ll always look back for Dean.

He hasn’t seen you yet. Dean’s attention is all focused on John. Shouting at him and raising his hands, high enough that Dean flinches, but never landing a hit.

Dean looks young. Younger than you remember knowing him. His face is softer, and his nose is still crooked but his hair is a lot lighter. While John yells, he’s bowing his head in a way you’ve rarely seen before. There’s no fight in him. He seems to be absorbing every verbal blow John throws at him, only fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves as he waits for it finish.

“He could be hurt, you fuckin’ dumbass- He could be goddamn dead and it would be your fault. I give you one fuckin’ job, and it ain’t makin' him happy-“ John groans, running a hand over his face. “If you don’t tell me where the hell your brother ran off to, Dean, it’s gonna be your fuckin’ head-“

“Why is he mad?” You whisper in Dean’s ear, and he starts slightly.

“Son a bitch, Princess. You scared the shit out of me.”

You grin at him. “Aw, are you jumpy-“

“I don’t get jumpy.” He grumbles, and before you know what’s happening, Dean’s arm is looped around your waist and his face is buried in your neck. “I’m tough, sweetheart. Just didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Right.” You let your fingers wander up to his hair, glaring as John just keeps shouting like nothing’s different at all. “Of course you’re tough, Deano. You’re a cowboy.”

“I know.” He mutters into your skin. “‘M your cowboy.”

“Yeah. You are.” You sigh, glaring at John over his head. “Why is he yelling at you?”

“I let Sammy have a sleepover, while Dad was on a hunt. He got back early. He wasn’t happy I let Sam out of my sight at all, but then I refused to say where he went. That made him pissed.”

“You lied to your dad?”

“Sometimes, yeah. When I had to.”

“This was a have to?”

Dean grunts into you. “Was a sleepover with a girl. Sammy had just turned sixteen.”

You laugh. “Right. Obviously.”

“And I lied to Dad for you, too.” He grumbles, his arms tightening around you. “Never told him about our hunts.”

“I- Why?” You ask before you can stop yourself, and Dean just shrugs.

“He woulda stopped me seeing you. Never wanted to stop seein’ you.” He takes a long breath. “You always smell so good. Drives me fucking insane.”

Jesus. “I don’t smell like anything, De-“

“Wrong. Smell like fucking heaven, I don’t even- Wish I could figure out what it was. Spent so much time trying to figure it out.”

“You lied to John to smell me?”

“Kinda.”

“Oh.“ You swallow. “Did you ever lie so you could have a sleepover?”

“A sleep- You mean to fuck someone?”

He’s so all around you. It’s just a dream, but Dean’s still Golden and surrounding you and almost folded over your body, and you’re not sure how you remember to speak. “Yeah.”

“Never needed to. Only to see you. And I didn’t get laid for that.”

“You didn’t ask to get laid.” You mumble, and Dean chuckles.

“Would you have said yes, baby?”

Baby. I love you, Baby.

“Don’t answer that.” Dean mutters before you can even open your mouth, pulling back with an almost sheepish grin. “Already know the answer.”

You don’t think he does. Even the Dean in your head doesn’t seem to know that you love him. That you’d do anything for him. But he’s holding your gaze, and he’s your Dean again. A little taller, small scars littered on his face that make him look even more like that Cowboy, skin more tanned and eyes far heavier. When his hand lifts up to trace over your features, it’s calloused and rough, and his lips have gone chapped, but he’s still so pretty. And his Gold is still strong.

“I think I woulda run away with you.” He murmurs, and his voice is like a spell. You couldn’t move away if you tried. “Met you a year after this, and- Son of a bitch, Princess, I wish I’d stayed, that night. Pushed my luck with the smartest, prettiest girl I’d ever seen. Missed you then, too. Always missed you. Shouldn’t have listened to Dad. He- I knew he didn’t like me, but I never thought he’d hate me that much. Taking you away from me.”

You let out a slow breath, and shake your head. And you hate John. You hate him more than anything, for what he’s done to you, and Sam, and Dean. But you never want Dean to think anyone hates him. If Dean thinks John did all this because he hated him, Dean will make it his own fault. Make himself a failure, when it was John who failed him. And John—in his own, horrible, selfish, fucked up way—had cared about Dean. You wish he hadn’t.

But he did.

“He didn’t hate you, Dean.” You whisper. “He was just a piece of shit, and he hated me. There’s a difference.”

“Yeah, well, hating you is hating me. You the awesomest part of me.”

You flush, and Dean’s grin widens. “Awesomest isn’t a word.”

“Could be.”

“No-“

“There’s no a better word for you, Princess.” Dean swoops down, kissing your cheek and squeezing your hips until you giggle. “And I don’t care if Dad hated me. You like me.”

“I do.” You whisper, your stupid, ditzy smile returning. “I really do.”

You wake up slowly. Blinking as light seeps through the windows, your blanket still wrapped in your arms as a crude mockery of Dean.

And the better days are like this. Moving slowly through your gathered books—often finding nothing, but sometimes coming across a new spell or ritual or empty clue—and picking at your food, Dean’s voice in the back of your head humming eat, Princess. You need to eat.

You really have gotten better at it, over the months. You register when you need to go to the bathroom, and don’t fight it until it’s unavoidable. You eat less than you maybe should, but enough to not grow dizzy when you stand up. You keep water next to you all the time, and when your hand starts to cramp, you let it rest a little longer than one flex. You’d promised Jo you’d be okay.

And you’re not. You’re still tired, and breaking down, and you want to go home. But at least nobody will look at you, and see a girl that’s really more of a ghost.

Today is one of those better days. Good might be too far a stretch, but it’s better. Simple. Read and eat and drink, go for a walk because fresh air is good for the pain over your skull, take a shower because it’s nice not to feel grime on your skin.

And you could swear the Sky is growing brighter.

All day, it seems to be somehow building brighter and brighter.

And growing. It seems insane, but the Sky seems to be fucking growing until it’s wrapped around more than you. Like it’s bracing you for something you don’t understand.

But everything is peaceful. No demons crashing into your motel room. Nothing from Ketch or his organization since your last detonation. The grass shifts easily in the wind, but the flowers seem to be holding their bloom. You haven’t seen a bird all day. You’ve seen people, nothing else. No bugs, no rabbits, no spiders.

Only a snake in the flower bed, and a dog who whines as he passes you.

It’s strange. Eerie.

Wrong.

Something is, in a way you don’t know how to articulate—but sits and shifts deep in your bones and intestines—wrong.

The Sky is so big. It’s still only watching, but it still seems to be reaching for you.

Not to swallow you.

To veil you.

Hide you.

When the sun sets, the Sky is still shining. Nobody can see it but you, and it’s not making the world luminated, but the Sky is pure white and glaring with danger.

You don’t know from what.

But you know that the Silver is waking up. Nothing has even happened, but the Silver is rolling around inside of you. And you know Dean’s not picking up the phone. You try him, when you can’t sleep under the white of the Sky, but he doesn’t pick up.

He always picks up.

You’ve called him when it was the dead of night for him, and he’s answered with a muffled grumble and sleepy grunts. You’ve called him in the middle of a hunt, and he’s picked up just to tell you he’ll call you back. Once you called him during a movie, and he turned it off to talk.

Dean always picks up.

Something is really fucking wrong.

You try Sam, and you know he’s been put in the panic room for demon blood reasons—although you’re still worried about how long the infection will take to clear his soul—but maybe he has phone privileges-

Nothing.

Bobby. He always picks up after three rings, but this goes all the way to voicemail. You’ve never heard Bobby’s voicemail before. It’s brisk and says nothing more than if you’ve got this number, you know what to do, but Bobby has never been anything if not efficient.

You didn’t leave Sam a message.

You leave one for Bobby.

“Hey, It- It’s me.” You mumble your name, drawing your knees up to your chest. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been calling more, but I thought you’d be mad at me for leaving. I know you’re mad at Dean about it, but he was just trying to- Please don’t be mad at him. I miss you, and-“ You swallow down a sob. The point. You need to get to the point. “I think something’s really wrong, Bobby. It’s- It’s just a feeling, but somethings wrong. And Dean’s not picking up the phone, and I’m really worried, so please just call me back and tell me everything’s okay. I need to know you’re okay, and I- I’m sorry-“

“Fifteen seconds left.” A cool, automated voice hums, and you take a sharp breath. You’re going to fucking cry again.

“I’m sorry. I miss you and I’m sorry and please tell me you’re okay. Something is really wrong, Dad, and I need to know you’re okay, I’m so-“

The machine beeps. You wipe your nose with your sleeve as the message sends, and the feeling of wrong only grows, the Silver pushing up with it. It’s shrinking, like it’s trying to hide in the darker corners of your body, but still gnashing with sharp teeth for when things go wrong.

Things are going to go wrong. Something so fucking primal is rolling over your every nerve, telling you something is wrong. And the wind is howling a warning, and the earth is pressing up to try and guard you like the Sky, and when you turn on the tap water, it’s singing you a soft song. It’s almost soothing. Not like a sedation, but a comfort.

You hole up in your motel room, closing the curtain to try and block the Sky. You pray to Cas and he doesn’t answer, and you try Dean two more times with no luck. Your knife is clutched in your hands, and you’re curled right against the wall, and the water is still singing in all the pipes through the building, and it hurts but the comfort seems to be an anesthetic, and-

You’re not sure where you are. Only that its’s dark and cold and lonely. And high. You’re so fucking high up.

Or low.

You can’t actually tell.

The whole word seems like it’s folded into itself. The sky is at your feet but it’s also above you and at your side. Like an illusion, keeping you contained with smoke and mirrors and light.

There are shadows, creeping forward and trying to touch you. But something always makes them recoil, as if you’re a toxic or poison or feral or-

Silver

It’s the Silver.

You’re only the Silver, and the shadows can’t stand it. They hiss and sneer at the feeling of it, but still try to touch you. Then after they retreat, they try again, Like maybe this time, they’ll be strong enough.

Or you’ll be weaker.

But you’re not growing weaker. The more the Silver is poked at, the bigger it gets.

The bigger you get.

You are the Silver, and you’re more than glowing. You’re bioluminescent and blinding, but still filled with every space between the starts and all the colors colliding and shimmering through you.

Somewhere in the shadows, there’s something red. Bloody, electric red and shining like a black light.

It has more eyes than you can count, and a billion fists, and a million wings. But it’s not made of fire.

It’s made of the same gleaming, wrathful light as Sam and Dean.

And when it smiles at you, the earth shakes.

“Wow. You’re prettier than he deserves.” It hums. “Don’t worry. I can help you fix that.”

You swallow, but before you can respond, everything splits open. All of it. A crack leaking through the mirage, filling with light.

The light of the Sky.

“This is me.” The Red smirk at you. “I’ll see you soon. Don’t worry. We’ll have a lot of fun.”

The Red bursts up, and then it’s gone.

But you don’t move. You’re not trapped. You could follow the Red thing through the crack, but you don’t know how to move. You’re all Silver, and it’s too much. There’s nothing to tether too. Nothing to shrink back into. You just everything and nothing all at once, and it’s as if you’ve been turned into mist and filled with iron all at once, then told to run.

You don’t know how to do anything but sit here. The Sky is watching you, through the crack, and you can’t tell if it’s urging you to move or demanding that you wait for it to grab you by the scruff of your neck-

It yanks you out of the paralyzing sleep. The blaring sound of some screaming part in a Led Zeppelin song.

Sam and Dean don’t to ringtone, but they’re also both legally dead and criminals. You’re a ghost. You don’t run scams, and as far as the government is concerned, you’re a stale missing persons case.

So you get to do ringtone.

And you’ve never been more grateful for that than now.

You grab the phone and answer without checking who it is. You already get to know.

“Dean, fucking- God I was so worried-“

“You were worried about me, Princess?” Dean rasps, and you don’t miss the exhaustion leaking through his voice.

“Of course I was worried about you.” I love you. “Are you okay?”

He sighs. “I’m in one piece. So is Sammy, and Bobby- He will be.”

Will be.

Your stomach twists.

“Something happened, didn’t it.” Your voice is barely a breath, and leaving was a horrible idea. You know something’s wrong, and breathing is starting to become a labor as your skin itches off your body, but there’s no one here to hold you.

Dean’s not here to hold you.

“I-“ You take a shaking, unsteady breath. “I don’t know what’s going on, but something’s wrong. I know something’s wrong, Dean, I can feel it-“

“I know.” Dean whispers, and your hand moves up to hold your throat.

The Silver is dormant. But it’s still too much, and old habits don’t decay when you don’t know how to plant anything new.

“It’s- We- Son of a bitch.” Dean clears his throat. “We kinda fucked up.”

You can’t breathe. “What?”

“We failed.”

“Dean-“

“The cage.” Dean mumbles. “It’s open. He’s out. Shit it- It’s bad, sweetheart.”

“Oh.” You whisper. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. It’s- Son of a bitch, you were right,” he mutters your name, his voice almost hushed. “It was Ruby. She’d been working with Lilith the whole time, and she tricked Sammy, and he’s such a fuckin’ idiot but I’m worried about him-“

“Dean.” You whisper, and you wish you could touch him. Move his face into your neck, like in your dream. Maybe fold yourself around him and be that damnation for him. “Are you okay?”

“I- Yeah. We got out, everything intact. Something sent us away. We lost Cas for a minute, but turned out something wanted him to stick around. Some demons went for us in Bobby, and he got hurt-“

“Bobby-“

“He’s fine, Princess. Gonna be fine. Stable. We’re actually about to go see him right now. And Sam’s fine too. Detoxing. He’s angry, and we’re- We’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” You take a shaking breath, keeping your eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Dean?”

He grunts, and try not to let the strain in your whole body grow audible.

“Are you okay?”

“I told you-“

“You told me Cas and Bobby and Sam are fine. I’m asking about you.”

There’s a long moment of silent static, and you know by now to wait. The line’s not dead. Dean’s just thinking.

And when he speaks, his voice is barely a rasp.

“I- I need you to come back.” He mutters your name, and it’s too soft. “Son of a bitch, I- I can’t keep worrying about you and doing this.”

“Dean.” You sigh. “You know I can’t, they’ll-“

“I don’t give a shit what they do. Heaven or Hell or any of them. Demons rip me up and the angels will just pull me right back out. They need me. Some bullshit about Michael wanting to use me as a condom-“

“What-“

“Long story.” He mutters. “But I don’t fuckin’ care what consequences there are, Princess. Come home.”

There’s another silence as a lump forms in your throat, and you need to speak but words feel far away-

“Please.” Dean’s voice is so low and exhausted. “I need you.”

There it is. What you’ve been asking him not to do for months.

He needs you.

Dean needs you.

And you don’t think you could say no if you tried.

“Okay.” You whisper. “Is Cas- Will he hear me?”

“Think so. Are you-“

“I’m coming home.”

You can hear Dean’s sigh, and it’s filled with relief.

You’re really don’t think there’s anything you wouldn’t do for him.

“See you soon, Princess.”

“I- Yeah. Bye, De.”

It’s quick, to pack up. Most of your possession now are old, fragile books that better fucking survive angel travel, or you’ll punch Cas in the face. You don’t pray immediately, though. While there was no destruction, whatever had happened last night—Lucifer escaping, you’d been responding to Lucifer escaping, and you don’t know what the fuck that means—the wall are covered in vines and a little waterfall has formed from the window edge, falling down on to the floor-

Ground. You’re standing on the ground. Grass and flowers and tiny trees, and it’s buzzing with life below your feet. Like a little ecosystem, confined to your room.

That’s something the angels will probably be able to track.

You can’t call Cas here.

It’s a short walk than usual, and you stop at a Church. If the angels are sweeping the area, they probably won’t think to find you here. It’s hiding in plain sight.

You close your eyes, and pray.

Cas. Help. Please.

There’s a whoosh, almost immediately.

But it’s not Cas’ low, gravelly voice that comes from behind you.

“You should be careful, sweetheart. Praying in a church.” The bright, almost cheery voice laughs. “You might attract some unwanted attention.”

When you turn, the voice belongs to a shorter man, with longer, blond hair and bright eyes.

But that’s not what makes you stumble back a step.

He’s blue.

He’s so fucking blue.

Like the blue of Cas, turned up to a million. And he has an uncountable amount of eyes shoved into two, a billion fists curled into the same, and a million wings pressed to his back-

“You’re an archangel.” You whisper, and the Blue laughs.

“Wow. That was fast. You know, everything I’ve ever heard about you said you’d be pretty, but smart? Don’t think he planned for that. In for a big surprise.”

You swallow. He can’t smite you. Or hurt you. Zachariah said nothing was allowed to hurt you.

So you raise your chin, and hold the Blue’s gaze.

“What do you want?”

It doesn’t seem to faze him at all. “Damn. Moxie, too? They don’t know what they’re getting with you! A little spitfire.”

You frown. “Moxie?”

“Sorry, forgot you’re only what, thirty?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Shit. Even younger. Basically a fetus.” He shrugs. “Well, kid, moxie means you’re headstrong, little bit sassy-“

“I know what moxie means.” You mutter, rubbing the scar on your palm. “And that’s not correct. I just haven’t heard anyone use the word seriously.”

“Who says I’m serious?” The Blue winks. “I’m the fun one. I’d ask if you wanted to see, but I don’t think that would end in my favor. Already pushing it just by bein’ here.”

“I-“

The Blue cuts you off with a tsk. “I’ve got something to say, sweetheart. Something you’re gonna wanna here, before you do anything stupid.”

Your eyes narrow. “I’m not doing anything-“

“You’re trying to go home.” The Blue shrugs. “And it is stupid. I know what tree you’ve been barking up, sister, and it’s not the right one.”

“Sister-“

“No.” The Blue cuts you off quickly, shaking his head. “Just a nickname. You’re not my sister. That would be…” He wrinkles his nose. “So fucking gross. Like, we’re a fucked-up family, but not that fucked up. There’s gotta be a line, y’know? I think it’s there.”

The Blue speaks in circles and riddles, and it’s worse than Cas. At least Cas is amusing, and simply doesn’t know better. This guy just seems to be trying to set you off-

“That won’t work.”

You blink at him. “Wha-“

“Your little magic trick. The bam.” He makes a crushing gesture, raising his brows. “Afraid you need to have a little more control and self-love than you’ve got now, to take me out. I mean, the other thing you’ve got, the boom-“ Another gesture. “That might work, actually. Not sure. Let’s not find out.”

Now you’re just too confused, and you’ll hand it to him. The Blue’s vagueness seems to keep the Silver only brimming in your body.

“Look, I’d love to talk with you forever, but we’re kinda on a timer.” The Blue sighs, his tone suddenly falling into something serious. “That tree? The one where you’re trying to work out what you are and how to control it? Stop it. Stop barking.”

“I-“

“You don’t understand what you’re doing.” The Blue says your name, and it’s a little distorted. Louder. Musical.

Enochian.

“You’re changing things. Things that shouldn’t be tampered with, let alone moved around and rearranged however you want.”

“No- I-“ You shake your head, your hands drifting up to rub at your wrists. “I left. I stopped interfering, I promise-“

“You already interfered.” The Blue sighs, giving you an almost sympathetic expression. “Just your existence, just by letting them into your orbit, you’ve done more than you can-“

“But I stopped.” You’re almost pleading. You’d left to stop. To make sure nothing you did hurt anyone you loved. That was the fucking point, you’d stopped-

“Look.” The Blue run a hand—hands?—over his face. “We’re behind schedule, because of you! Little Sammy Winchester actually held on longer against Ruby and the blood, because you planted a little extra doubt in his head! Because he and Dean were fighting, but they fought all the time! He just knew you’d always end up with Dean, and he didn’t want to lose you with his brother, so he held on!”

“I- I don’t-“

“They’re ahead, too! Sam and Dean aren’t fighting as much because of Sam trying longer, and Dean’s thinking about what you would do! And you turned sweet, hopeful Castiel over to their side too soon, and now they’ve got some extra steps on everyone, which is going make this drag. People are gone that should’ve stuck around, and some of them are early, and you’ve made a mess that’s going to take forever to get in order!”

The Silver is still silent, as the Blue throws his hands in the air.

You wish it would turn in, and rip you to shreds.

“I didn’t mean to.” You whisper, your hand returning to your throat. “I promise I didn’t mean to-“

“I know you didn’t.” The Blue shakes his head, and there’s that fucking sympathy again. “But you’ve gotta stop, kid. You’re making this even more complicated than those chuckleheads ever could.”

“But I- I want to go home.” You sound like a child. You don’t care. “I’ll just lock myself in my room, I promise, I but I- I need to go home-“

“Sorry,” The Blue says your name, in Enochian once more. “No dice. He’s looking for you, and that’ll make this all worse-“

“He-“

“My brother.”

“Oh.”

The Sky flashes over you.

The Blue doesn’t seem to see it.

“It’s better if you get some sleep, I think.” The Blue frowns, and it sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself. “Yeah. Sleep will be good for you.”

You don’t want to sleep. You need to get home. Back to Dean. You’d told him you’d come home, so you need to come home-

“Probably won’t hold, but it’s better than the other option.” The Blue raises one of his bursting, electric hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it feel good. Send you someone nice.”

You want to scream, to run, to fight, but the Silver hasn’t built itself up, and you’re frozen.

And before you can call for Dean, the Blue presses to your brow, and the world goes dark.

“What don’t you think is real?”

You blink at Dean in the dark of the Impala, and a little bit of chocolate milk is smeared on his upper lip.

He’d grabbed a beer, insisting that he didn’t want anything else. But you’d grabbed two chocolate milks, because you know him.

Love him.

Miss him.

You know this is a dream faster than usual. The whole world—even in the dark of midnight—is bathed in gold, just like when you dream about Dean without you. You remember what’s supposed to happen here.

You don’t really want to stray from the script, though.

You love this one.

“What do you mean?” You reach up to wipe the milk off Dean’s face, and he grins at you.

“Y’know. Some of this shit has to be fake.”

You hum, watching him carefully. “Like what?”

“Unicorns.”

“Unicorns are real-“

“I- No they’re not-“

“I’ve seen one.”

“Ah.” Dean grumble, taking another large drink of his chocolate milk. “Of course you have.”

You giggle, scooting a little close to his side to grab the jerky from his lap. His arm goes around the bench. Your shoulders. Casually keeping you pressed against him.

It had never even crossed your mind to move.

“What don’t you think is real?” You ask, and he shrugs.

“I believe what I can see. What I can kill. Monsters, ghosts, me, you-“

“Me? Should I be worried you’re going to kill me?”

“No.” He scowls. “You know that’s not what I meant. And I’m being serious-“

“I know you are, Deano.” You give him an amused look, reaching up to wipe the milk off again. “Do you believe in me?”

“Course I believe in you-“

“Do you believe in Sam?

“I-“ He sighs. “Just say it, sweetheart.”

Okay. You’re being dramatic.”

He’s almost pouting. “No, I’m not-“

“Yes, you are.” You sigh. “It doesn’t matter what might be real or not. I’m real. You’re real. This,” you poke him, and his gaze never leaves yours. “Is real. And I know it.”

“You know it?” Dean shakes his head. “How-“

“I just do. Do you know I’m real?”

He sighs, and nods. “Yeah. Guess I do.”

“Oh, you guess-“

“Shut up.”

You giggle, and Dean grins at you again.

“I’m glad you’re real, Princess. Would suck if you weren’t.”

You smile up at him, and you look stupid, and nothing has ever felt better. “I’m glad you’re real too, De.”

What you want to say—what you always want to say—is I love you. Dean Winchester, you perfect, Golden idiot, I could never love anyone but you.

But you can’t be allowed to. Not even in a dream.

So instead you just lean press your face into his chest, breathe him in, and hope that this moment lasts forever.

End Note: introducing new lore mechanics is always very special to me because I get to share about something I’ve been keeping secret for MONTHS and also you guys get to be confused.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

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@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @zuberweirrd @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco

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@funkenniffler

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urfavdilemma · 2 years ago

Text

Just A Project | II

Nathan Prescott x Reader

Masterlist

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Warnings: slightly ooc nathan, swearing obvi

Words: 1.1k

A/N: (edit) This edit added like 300 words so yippee!

I’m in my last class of the day, Chemistry. Trust me, I love Mrs. Grant and all, but she rambles way too much. She’s holding dismissal… and has been for 10 minutes. ‘Don’t be late.’ Nathan’s words ring in my ears, Mrs.Grant’s ramblings long forgotten. Please let me out of here. And like God himself heard my plea, Mrs. Grant finally let up. “Okay kids, go do whatever you kids do these days. And stay safe!” The entire class let out a sigh of relief, and happily left her room.

As I’m walking out I run into someone. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” I apologize, as we bumped into each other pretty hard. The other person speaks with a bit of a chuckle, “Nah, It’s all good.” I immediately recognize the voice, and look up at them. “Warren! Hey.” I greet him properly. I’m actually pretty good friends with Warren, he’s a nice guy, plus he always helps with my Chem work. Not to mention that he has the biggest crush on our mutual friend, Max. Which I help him with in return for the Chem help.

“How are you, Y/N? You look kind of stressed.” He says in that caring tone, always genuine. “Sorry Warren, I’m just in a bit of a hurry.” He nods in understanding. “I gotta meet up with someone, for a photography project.” I continue, and Warren says, “Oh alright, I won’t keep you hostage then.” He jokes. “I just wanted to ask you real quick if you wanted to borrow my drive.” I look at him a little confused not understanding why I would want to borrow a flash drive. He must’ve noticed my confusion because he starts to explain. “It’s just got a bunch of movies on it, you know the classics. None of that new age crap with no plot.” My face lights up with clarity. I nod and say, “Actually, yeah that’ll be great.” Warren looks pleased and tells me he’ll drop it off at my dorm soon. We say bye and head our separate ways. I’m now 15 minutes late. God, Nathan’s gonna be pissed.

As I was making my way to the boys dorms, I was oh so lucky to stumble across Deputy Dildo, AKA Mr. Madsen. “Young lady, what on earth are you doing on the boy’s dorm campus?!” His usual shouts tick me off as I’m already late to meeting Nathan, and I really don’t wanna hear his bitching. I stop in my tracks and let hous a dramatic huff, “I have a project to do. For Mr. Jefferson.” I say innocently. “I don’t care if you have a project. You are not allowed to be here. Whoever your partner is can wait.” He said smugly, clearly not letting up.

‘Whoever your partner is can wait.’ Madsen’s words looped through my thoughts. An idea came to me, I’ll smack that smirk right off his face. “Actually, I’m already late, and Nathan Prescott does not like to be kept waiting.” I made sure to put on a reall snooty tone just to play the part to its fullest potential. With my own sly smirk, I watch the color drain from his face. “I apologize. Go ahead.” He moves out of my way with his head down in embarrassment. Maybe Nathan does come with a few perks. I make my way into the building, starting my journey to find his room.

—————————————————————

As I’m walking down the 2nd floor hall of the boys dorms, I look at my watch. Great, I'm 30 minutes late and I still haven't found this boy’s dorm. I keep walking looking at all the white boards when I see one that particularly stands out. The white board reads, ‘The Prescotts Own You!!’. Yeah- okay, so not obvious at all. I hold my breath as I knock on the door a couple of times. Nothing. I sigh for a moment, thinking I was totally screwed. I raise my fist to knock again, but before I’m able to, the door swings open with a blank faced expression on Nathan’s face.

I drop my hand, embarrassed, and albeit, a little scared. “You’re late. I told you to not be late.” He sounds pissed, but his face doesn’t show it. He lets me in nonchalantly, plopping down on his couch. Honestly out of pure embarrassment and fear I start rambling at him, “I’m really sorry, genuinely. First Mrs. Grant held dismissal, talking about god knows what! Probably some chemical discovery she heard on the radio,” I pause awkwardly to point to Nathan with a cocked eyebrow, “which pro tip, dont listen to the radio. Then I ran into someone, and had to have a somewhat awkward and rushed conversation, and then Deputy Dickhole gave me a hard time getting up here with his stupid mustache. I mean come on man get a life! Not to mention I was roaming the campus for way too fucking long trying to find your room.” I say in one big breath, letting out a sigh.

Nathan just kind of looked at me with this blank expression but somehow I could tell exactly what he was thinking. I shriveled up in my position standing in front of him, properly embarrassed about how I just dumped all of that on him. Clearly he doesn’t give a fuck. A few beats of silence before Nathan raises his eyebrows with his mouth slightly parted like hes tryin gto find something to say. He just shakes his head and mumbles a “Yeah okay whatever.”

I just kind of stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Looking down at my feet shyly, a million thoughts racing in my mind. I fucked this up, he hates me and is gonna make this project a living hell for me. My thoughts get interrupted by Nathan’s voice. “Sit.” He said. “Right..” I say shyly, and I sit down beside him. I take a moment to take in his room, very dark, and monochrome. Pictures of obscure and abstract visuals hang on his walls. Some of which are his own work, others aren’t. He has some sort of fancy projector set up. An interest in film maybe?

Anyway, I turn my attention back to Nathan, and to my surprise, he’s already looking at me. He doesn’t break eye contact, not immediately anyways. After a second he looks away. “So, we just gotta take a few pictures of each other.” He says coolly. “And two environmental shots.” I gently corrected. “Whatthefuckever.” He pressed. “Listen I already don’t wanna do this, so let’s just hurry up and get this over with.” He stands up grabbing one of his many cameras, messing with the settings. I have a feeling tonight's gonna be a long night.

#lis #life is strange #life is strange x reader #life is strange imagine #lis nathan prescott #nathan prescott imagine #nathan prescott x reader #nathan prescott #warren graham #warren graham x reader

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infitsovermisfits · 3 years ago

Text

What's Shakin' Baby? - Eddie Munson x GN!Reader

((i'm crying sm look how pretty he fucking looks AAAAAA))

info: took me days to write which I'm honestly pretty proud of- I had this idea for a while and just thought it was cute lads :) hope u enjoy while I work on the other fics. OMG VOL 2 COMES OUT IN A WEEK WHAT THE FUCK??? That's wild I'm so nervous and excited. this is edited but if I missed any warnings or anything woopsie. I also hope people are ok that I change readers home life around? like in 'Tiny Swords' they've got a family but here they're alone- I'm just trying to be fun with it and change things up for u all please appreciate me please please validate this please please (/lh) HAHAHAHA HAPPY READING!!!

also, i have s o many pictures of eddie on my pinterest its so fucking funny. also, if anyone's going to comic con on the 8/10th of July and seeing Joe i hope u have a lovely time <3

WARNINGS: gender neutral reader, reader is 20, angst, self-conscious issues, underage (America) drinking, drug use, mentions of violence, allusions to season 3, fighting, working through issues ig, angst with a happy ending, reconciliation, confession of feelings, way too long oh my god, idk what else my mind is blank

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART3 | MASTERLIST

11,979 words

"Sorry, we're closed!" You called, focusing on drying the blenders from any leftover water droplets that remained from the night before. It was bright and early at 7 am, and the ringing of the door behind you signified without fail that a customer had entered 'Sam's Smoothie Shack' without bothering to spare a glance at the "Sorry! We're closed!" sign hung on the door. The chart next to it clearly stated that on Mondays, you opened at 7:30 am, not 7 on the dot. You'd gotten the job last year during spring break, and worked part-time when you had school. After your exams, you worked full-time over the summer to make some more money before leaving Hawkins for good, to go to Franklin College...

You were back now, finally finished with your first semester there, and it was... Vastly underwhelming. Sure, you were happy- and perhaps too eager- to finally leave Hawkins behind and experience life as the adult you were. Yeah... Only no one told you how fucking difficult making new friends in a city you had never been in before was going to be. You'd basically lived alone since you were sixteen, so you knew the basics of taking care of yourself. That was nothing you were new to, you just had an issue talking to people. How were you supposed to start conversations? Introducing yourself was weird, and most of the 'normal' people there were judgemental assholes...

Your roommates were nice to you but rarely invited you out to parties. There were a few other goths and punks who studied there but to your luck, you didn't share any classes together, so you rarely saw them. That meant you were often drinking alone by yourself in your dorm, reminiscing on the not-as-shitty-as-you remembered times in Hawkins...

Your whole life, you felt alone, never really fitting in with the other kids. The friends you did have grew into assholes by High School- being alone was better than being talked about behind your back or never included in plans. It made you resent them until it made you a loner. But if you stayed out of everybody's way then you'd be safe, right?

You couldn't be more fucking wrong. It was as if you had 'make this person's life hell' floating above you at all times. Kids, you didn't even know would call you a freak or shove you in the halls. Some days, surviving those 4 years seemed agonising and pointless to you...

At least one person was determined to prove you wrong.

Eddie "The Freak" Munson was the only person you had some sort of a relationship with in Hawkins. When one day, you'd found your lunch being ripped to shreds in the field by some assholes, you ran all the way to the trees, sobbing into your hands. Out of the forest, he emerged, leaves stuck in his shorter hair and round eyes full of worry. He had been the first person to be kind in High School, and that made you admire him so much.

He hadn't called you a freak- he called the dog collar you turned into a bracelet cool and not weird, and he even shared one of his sandwiches with you. That day, in the first week of freshman year, you decided he was going to be your only friend.

Over the years, you watched him grow into himself Eddie: becoming the intense, animated and overconfident 'freak' at your high school that taught you how to grow thicker skin. By junior year, you'd developed your own catalogue of insults you'd hurl at anyone trying to give you a hard time, and laughed maniacally at the 'devil worshipping' rumours they'd spread about the two of you.

If only they knew what you were actually like alone. Eddie was much more laid back, no thanks to the weed he began dealing to anyone who'd be interested greatly helped in relaxing you both. It also jumbled your words and made Hawkins just that more bearable. Through the long summers, you found yourself spending more and more time with him, until you were hanging out every day. If you weren't at work, you were most likely with Eddie- in his van, in his trailer, in your trailer, in the park at Forest Hills, in the woods, wherever. Legal, or illegal it didn't matter because you were there together.

You largely credited him as being the only reason you managed to survive high school and Hawkins in their own ways- existing with him wasn't as shitty as existing alone. He somehow made things more enjoyable. And you'd be lying if you didn't think about kissing him once, maybe twice. You really would give anything just to feel those soft lips against your own... Once...

You lost your chance when you'd received your Franklin acceptance letter and he broke the news to you that they'd called his Uncle Wayne to inform him Eddie had failed his exams and would need to stay behind another year. And you had to bury that anger deep within you and comfort him through chainsmoking and drinking through the rest of your summer together, considering you'd be gone for most of the year.

For the first time in your life, you were separated. And going to college without Eddie by your side was weird in itself. Sure you'd likely be taking separate classes- maybe he wouldn't even be studying at all? Maybe he'd work, or play with a new band he'd find up there... He'd find some way to fit into your life together... But he didn't. Because he wasn't there. He stayed behind while you moved on.

And yet you came back. You knew you could have stayed in Franklin for the summer but where was the fun in that? The one friend you had made that had a very believable fake ID was gone for the summer so you couldn't drink your way through the sweltering heat. You were sort of forced to hop on the next bus to Hawkins, heaving your luggage after you and staring out the window as Metalica drowned out any worries you may have of stepping back home... Home... Didn't fucking feel like it,

"That's a shame," You recognised that voice. You'd had it making small comments that made you smile to yourself in class, and lulling you to sleep with his songs, " 'I was made for loving you, baby...' " He was behind you now. He tapped the bell three times to the beat of the song as you turned up your Kiss song on the radio by your side. You turned sharply with a large grin,

" 'You were made for loving me...' " You finished excited in unison with him, barely on key from how wide you were grinning at the sight of him: long, raven-black mane of hair cascading down his shoulders and covering some of the pins higher up on his jean vest, sitting just on top of the warm leather jacket who's scent and touch you had long committed to memory. You could faintly see the red devil beneath the layers, and you could only make out the 'i' with the flaming dot from the 'Hellfire Club' printed over his chest. He was live and in the flesh before you. Finally, together again, "Hey!" You greeted happily, unable to control the laughter that bubbled up from your chest as you moved forwards to the counter. Quickly, you hopped up on it and slid over the smooth top, ignoring the 'Hey, I just cleaned that!' from your younger co-worker as you fell into his arms, hugging him tightly. His familiar scent of cigarette smoke and weed quickly filled your lungs, warmly welcoming you back. Strangely, you could also faintly smell cologne on him; you'd tease him about that later. For now, you were just happy you were reunited, "God, did I miss you, Munson," You grinned, pulling away in his arms to look up at him, "Did your hair get longer when I was gone?" You teased playfully, twirling a strand around your finger,

"You missed me!?" He asked in a mocking shocked tone, causing you to laugh, "And yeah, it did. Hair grows like that," You grinned,

"I had no clue, Eddie," You said playfully, smirking, "But you didn't even cut it or anything-"

"Who's that?" Your co-worker asked from behind you. He'd turned the music down, which caused you to turn and frown at his confused face, "Is he here for the interview?"

"No man, he's just my very... Good friend," You let go of Eddie from where you were holding him and pat his shoulder with a tight smile, glancing up at him and walking back around behind the counter, tightening the bow at the back of your apron, "It's Eddie? Munson?" You told your coworker, motioning to the man inside the store, "I told you about him, Micheal," You sighed,

"Yeah, well, Sam said if it's not part of the official training, I don't have to listen to you," You rolled your eyes as his voice droned on and he turned back to cutting up a few more fruits for the healthier smoothies,

"See what I gotta deal with on a daily basis, Eds?" You smiled as you leaned against the counter, glancing down at it briefly and grabbing a spray and a wipe, cleaning it,

"Mh- just as awful as last time," He gave you a wink once you were done, and leaned an elbow on the counter so he could talk to you as usual. Things felt normal again- as normal as Eddie could provide you,

"Hey, I like this job," You defended,

"You tolerate this job, barely," He smirked. He knew you too damn well, and you gave him a knowing smile,

"Yeah. I do," You sighed, "But it pays me money to work here. And Sam's nice enough to let me wear my apron again a-"

"Hey, where is the old man, by the way?" Eddie asked, and you glanced around cautiously, before looking up at the newly installed security camera that had gotten busted when some middle schoolers thought it would be funny to construct the most repulsive smoothie known to man at you. Without pay. You didn't have the heart to let Sam know so you just prayed Micheal would fuck it up somehow, "Did he uh...?" Eddie made a cutthroat gesture when you turned back to look at him, and you smirked, shoving his hand away,

"Sam is right as rain, thank you very much for your concern," You smiled at the disappointed groan he gave, and reached over grabbing a toothpick and sticking it between his teeth, chewing on it to relieve a nicotine craving he likely had, "He's in the back doing inventory and helping the boys unload- we get fresh fruit here every day, after all," You tapped the sign that you had drawn, that now rested before the register. Eddie hummed, looking over your work with a small nod, "He still very much doesn't appreciate you loitering around," You teased, smiling at him, "But you're A-Okay in my books, Munson," You grinned at him, resting your elbows on the counter and setting your chin on your hands, "So how've you-"

"Why is he still inside then?" Your co-worker asked, unamused, and unsharing your excitement. You cast him a glare for even piping up, "Wait, is this the guy we're not supposed to let-"

"Because I can be," Eddie piped up from beside you, "And if you tell that old ass I was here, I'll punch you," Eddie threatened. Eddie had only ever been punched. You'd never personally seen him fight back; usually he'd just pick himself off the floor and go scowling to you with a bloody nose you'd clean for him, or a black eye you'd lend your ice to. You smirked, raising your brows at him,

"You actually can't be in here though," The younger kid said, moving to stand closer to you, "The sign says we're still closed. We open in fifteen minutes," When you came back two days ago, you couldn't sleep. You arrived at Forest Hills Trailer Park at the asscrack of dawn and spent the better part of that morning digging through your stuff to find your fake ID you'd wrongfully misplaced before leaving for college. Soon though, you wouldn't need it. Your twenty-first was only a few months away. God, you were old...

The first thing you did was buy yourself beer because Jesus Christ was the summer looking warm as shit. You then went to Sam's to reclaim your apron, only to find your spot taken by Micheal. You didn't know or recognise him- he was either a junior or senior but you weren't paying attention to what he was saying because his voice pissed you off. All mumbly and gross it made you want to rip off your ears. Sam had been convinced he was the best for the job so you didn't question him, and felt relieved to be hired again.

Micheal, like you, couldn't give a shit about this job, or you. Something you were thankful for. You mostly treated him like an annoying little brother, and rarely spoke to him because you really had nothing in common. He seemed so boring to you, so it greatly surprised you that he was the reason you were getting so many, customers. It was amusing, even now, seeing the line of newly 'Smoothie Cleanse' obsessed moms of Hawkins flocking outside and sending Eddie dirty looks for cutting inside. Micheal would get flirted with constantly, only to obliviously blink and just make the smoothie, while you only received death glare looks. It didn't really matter, considering you two shared the generous tips he'd receive at the end of your shifts,

"Shut up, Micheal," You said, waving him off, "Hey- I just remembered I never taught you how to clean the blenders because it's 'unsafe' so you've gotta go in the back to ask Sam," You said, pointing out the blender. He picked it up, frowning,

"But-" You didn't want to argue,

"You want our customers complaining about our dirty blenders, Micheal?" You asked, and watched his eyes widen fearfully, "You want this place to shut down and ruin poor Sam's life? No. You don't. Get your ass in the back, find Sam, asking how to take the blender apart," You said threateningly, watching as he disappeared through the 'employee's only' door. You sighed, turning back to Eddie and grabbing a smoothie you'd made earlier for yourself in place of coffee, "How've you been, Eds?" You asked, smiling at him as you took a sip from your straw,

"Oh, you know, here and there," He said, "Everywhere really. You drink this crap?" He gestured to the drink you were holding, "Thought you'd be sick of it," He hummed,

"I was," You shrugged, taking a sip, "But this raspberry blast is so good," You hummed, handing it over to him so he could take a sip of the pink liquid, "I made it myself. Created the recipe and everything- it's part of the hiring process I told you about? Apparently, it's super popular now. I think Sam's even gonna call it the Smoothie of the Summer which means-" You tapped the counter eagerly, "-I get a promotion!" You grinned,

"Nice!" He smiled, holding his hand out for you to high five, before taking another sip, "I finished this by the way- sorry," He said, shaking the empty cup, "It's really good,"

"I told you!" You grinned, watching him toss the cup and miss the trash bin entirely, "You pick that up right now, we're not even open and you're making a mess," You pointed to the cup with a grin,

"Mmmh- can't I'm still tasting the smoothie," He said, closing his eyes as you grinned,

"Christ, Eds," You hummed, shaking your head as you glanced through the fresh ingredients in the cooling trays next to you,

"What's in there? I can taste the raspberries but it's sweet and not weird like raspberries usually are," He said with a frown,

"You mean tart. They're tart," You explained, and watched as he blinked at you,

"Like a pie tart?" You laughed loudly, shaking your head, "You put a pie in there?"

"No!" You laughed, "No, you dumbass- tart is like a flavour it's not entirely sour but it's not sweet it's like... Between those uh-" You glanced behind you at the overhead menus, "It's got raspberries, obviously, but they're the frozen ones cause we have to get rid of them before Sam orders anymore," You said, glancing at the ingredients set out and pointing to them, "It's also got banana and yoghurt to give it the thick texture, apple juice to help it blend and make it sweet and then also honey. For the sweetness," You smiled, "You do have to tweak and really experiment with the ratios because one thing goes off and it's just gross and too sour or gross and too sweet," You stuck your tongue out,

"I see, I see," He said, resuming his spot where he was leaning against the counter. He had pulled the toothpick from his mouth and was dulling the sharp ends by repeatedly drumming the stick into the counter, "It's nice. Refreshing, babe," He teased, and you rolled your eyes, "Oh and by the way- fuck you for not telling me you were back sooner," He said in mock hurt, putting a hand on his chest. Your eyes widened at his comment,

"Fuck- Shit- Sorry," You hissed, "I know I should have, I'm really sorry," You quickly apologised, "I didn't expect coming back home after so long was gonna be so chaotic but..." You sighed deeply, then shrugged your shoulders "It is," You frowned, "I had to go pay off some bills to Dave 'cause apparently I only paid for six months and not ten," You rambled,

"Oh shit," He said with a frown, looking concerned,

"Yeah, shit," You grumbled, "I was so excited to go buy new clothes for myself tomorrow at Starcourt and bam!- half my savings are gone," You frowned, "Gotta compromise if I want to eat and survive or look nice," You sighed,

"He knows you live alone, right?" He checked; you nodded, "And that you're a student going to college in another city, how many miles from home?"

"Yeah, of course he knows," You said, glancing over at the fruits you had paused in cutting up to dry the blenders. You glanced over to where you kept the single-use plastic gloves and put on a pair, before resuming your task, "He doesn't give a shit about students, though. He's never heard of a student discount," You grumbled,

"He knows you're only twenty, right?" You nodded, "You've been living there for eight years with your parents- three of those alone. He must have... Realised?" He said quietly, and you paused with the knife half sunk in the strawberry.

To be honest, you didn't want to bother Dave with the news your father, your only caretaker, had passed when he did, so all the bills you'd paid for those three years were marked out in his name. You'd secretly hoped someone else would tell him to avoid having that conversation. You never really got used to admitting to what happened with your father; his sickness... His death. Eddie and his uncle Wayne were the only ones you had that day, and you spent the week over there, not ready to enter your home and realise you were alone,

"...Yeah," You said quietly, resuming your task,

"Then why don't you ask him to lower the rent?" He asked, leaning against the glass display and watching the movements of your hands intently, "Considering you're not even using it as a home while you're away in college,"

"Ugh, that was his point too," You frowned,

"But you're not using his stuff? Why is he charging you if you're not there?" He frowned,

"He said something like..." You paused to think, remembering back to the conversation you had "Something like 'doesn't matter to me that you can't pay- you're hogging up the space, kiddo'," You mimicked the older man's voice and sighed, "He's annoying and stubborn and he hates kids," You settled,

"Damn..." Eddie sighed, "You should have told me. I could have covered for you," He said, and you smiled softly at his offer,

"Thanks, Eds that's very kind of you," You said sincerely, and noticed the small smile he flashed you made your heart flutter, "But four months' worth of rent is a lot. And I don't think you could magically pull that much out of thin air" You said, eyes widening slightly. You shook your head "Just gotta spend my summer vacationing away from school work with... Normal work," You grimaced,

"Damn," He frowned,

"Anyhow-" You tried steering the conversation away from your boring life to him. He was bound to have something exciting to tell you, "Anything new with you?" You asked,

"A few freshmen joined Hellfire," He said, as you 'ooo'-ed for him, "Yes, yes. My illustrious charm and endless charisma convinced them to join," You smiled, at his comments as he waved his arm for dramatic purposes,

"You kick their asses yet, babe?" You smiled, glancing up at him from your task,

"Of course, babe, who do you think I am?" You could still remember the first night you started using the pet names for each other. One night, you were getting high in his room, giggling away at something, when he had mentioned his 'sweetheart'. He perhaps sensed your mood shift to serious all too quickly, because your giggles had faded and you were staring at him with a curious look. He lifted his hand above his head to affectionately strum the chords on his then, brand new guitar, which got you to laugh again. You'd started calling each other babe that night and it stuck. It was a friend thing, you were convinced. As playfully as asshole, shithead and dickhead were. But sometimes, you liked pretending there was affection behind the word, and not your usual playfulness,

"Good," You hummed softly. You still had a full bowl of freshly cleaned strawberries to get through, before opening time. When he didn't speak again, seemingly focused on your hands working away at slicing up the fruit, you spoke up, "You know how much I fucking love making shakes for the health moms out there?" You said sarcastically, nodding your head to the line of mostly older women queuing impatiently outside,

"Mhm," He hummed, scanning the line, "Yeah, I'm so jealous of em," He joked, making you breathe out a small laugh, "What did you want to get from Starcourt anyway?" He asked curiously,

"Huh?" You asked, not entirely hearing him,

"I asked what you wanted from Starcourt. The mall?" He elaborated,

"I don't know- anything that caught my eye?" You said with a smile, before sighing, "You know I couldn't afford much last year, considering I was putting the money off for rent and school... It was mostly window shopping then, so I'm excited to go now to actually buy stuff! I have my route planned out already- Sam's even letting taking the day off tomorrow so I can maximise on the buying and he hates the mall! I'm so excited, Eds- Wanna hear?" You said quickly, letting your excitement take over before he could utter a word, "Okay so bottom floor, West wing entrance, straight into JCPennies because there was such a cute necklace there that I think if I layered with-"

"I... Hate to disappoint you but uh..." Eddie said quickly, holding a hand up for you, "The mall burned down," You blinked, setting the knife down as you stared at him,

"It did what?"

"Faulty wiring, I think? If I remember it from the news right... I don't know, my uncle read the paper but he might have burned it..." He said, humming to himself and tilting his head, eyes flicking over the ceiling to try to gather his thoughts, "The ceiling was unsafe and collapsed onto gas pipes and then boom! A fire," He said. Your shoulders dropped in disappointment as you frowned, looking at the pink-stained cutting board and knife. God, it sure had been a while since you were back home... Seems like the most exciting things happened while you were away, "But hey- the stores on the main street were forced to open back up, so that's... Good! You could always go there to shop," He said quickly, seeing your mood shift,

"Nah, that's not the same as walking through a mall," You sighed, "That's... Wow that's so shitty," You huffed, frowning, "So now I just have a day to... Do nothing?" You frowned, shaking your head as you went back to your task,

"You've always got me," Eddie said. You looked up at him, scanning him up and down, "Wherever you wanna go, I'll take you," He smiled, and you narrowed your eyes,

"How are you not burning up in that?" You pointed to his two jackets and long sleeve Hellfire shirt,

"You guys have good air con," He winked, and you raised your brows with a nod,

"We do have good air con," You smiled, "But outside?"

"Well, it's only warm. Not unbearably hot yet," He said, and you nodded, before sighing and dumping the pile of strawberries into their correct, chilled bin,

"If Sam sees you in here-"

"He'll be overjoyed!" Eddie grinned as he finished, "Now come on- hang out with me all day tomorrow. School's out for the summer, you have nothing to do; I have nothing to do. I'll make it worthwhile! Promice. I'll take you around Hawkins and show you everything that's different," He begged, and you sighed as you moved to set the dirty dishes in the nearby sink,

"That's not gonna take us all day though," You said, and watched him pout, "It might take all evening though," You smiled," I get off at one today," You told him, and watched his face as he smiled in recognition,

"Of course you get off at one today," He grinned, "Nice- I'll pick you up for lunch and we'll go driving around like old times," He said eagerly,

"Hell, why not?" You grinned as he hissed a little 'yes' to himself, "I-"

"You could always just come in tomorrow," Your co-worker piped in, seemingly appearing out of nowhere and scaring you. You twisted around to see him holding the now spotless blender, and cast him a glare, "And tell Sam your plans got cancelled,"

"Or you could keep your mouth shut and wash those blenders a little better," You snapped back, holding a hand up to Eddie and sliding off the sticky gloves you were wearing, discarding them in a nearby bin "What the fuck is that?" You said, grabbing one of the blenders and holding it out to him to see the blades.

"...I don't know," He said quietly,

"That-" You pointed inside, "-is peanut butter stuck to the blades," You said, "You better clean this right now-"

"But it's been through the dishwasher," He whined, "Can't we say it's... Clean?" You glared at him,

"Fine, Micheal. Don't clean it," You said, setting the blender and throwing up your hands, "But when you use this blender to make a smoothie for a customer who's got a severe peanut allergy and they fall to the ground unable to breathe and die-" You said angrily, "-You are gonna be singlehandedly paying out lawsuits," You threatened, shoving the blender into his chest and sighing as he moved into the back, "Unbelievable," You shook your head as you approached Eddie, leaning your arms on the counter. He seemed stunned, staring at you with an unreadable look on his face, "What? What is it?" You asked, standing up straighter,

"Y-" He cleared his throat, "You're very uhm... Serious about your job," He said, giving you a small smile. You tilted your head as you looked at him, furrowing your brows,

"Yeah...? I am. I gotta make money and I can't do that if this establishment is paying off hospital bills..." You rambled, noticing the slight pink tinge to his cheeks and smiling softly, "Eds, are you blushing...?" You asked surprised, and stifled a small laugh as his eyes widened,

"No- You know what, babe? I'm actually- I'm late for a Hellfire club meeting!" He said, glancing from the watch on his wrist up to the clock above you reading 7:30 am. It was a warm July day- school was out for the summer- he did not have a Hellfire meeting.

It was always funny seeing him like this, enamoured by something you did. One night, after you were walking home together and drunkenly singing Rocky Horror's 'There's A Light', some asshole thought it'd be funny to follow the two of you yelling insults. The alcohol had added to your enraged state, causing you to stalk up to the creep to punch him in the face. Eddie had quickly grabbed your arm and ran into the forests, but the way he had looked at you in the night made you feel warm,

"I uh- gotta go. See you later!" Did he call you babe there? You blinked to yourself, before smirking as you watched his hair bounce as he approached the door,

"Flip the sign!" You yelled quickly, "Thanks Eds!" You grinned to yourself as he left. God, it was good seeing him again- you wanted to tell him how much you missed him but alas, your coworker had to get in the way, along with the timer on the front counter blaring loud, and the bell at the door jingling with his sudden exit. With a small sigh, you glanced at the disappointed woman as she entered, "Good morning!" You said in your best, cheery, customer service voice, "Welcome to Sam's, how may I help you today?" And so your shift began, then seemed to drag on for excruciating hours...

Eddie had remembered to pick you up at one, even arriving a whole twenty minutes early. You could see him leaning against his van outside, nodding along to 'For Whom The Bell Tolls' blaring obnoxiously loud from inside. His head was downcast, but he'd occasionally look around, or glance inside the shop, a cigarette perched between his two fingers that he periodically brought up to his plump lips, smoke tumbling into the air. Someone had come in a little while ago to complain about the loud music and the man outside, but you simply had to smile and say that technically, because it was a public path he was parked on, you couldn't do anything about him. You kept glancing up, and if you made eye contact, he'd smile or stick his tongue out, making faces to try and distract you as you finished up cleaning for the day. You know he'd come in, but he'd 'overstayed' his welcome, according to Sam.

Sam was an old, old-fashioned type of guy. You didn't mind him- part of you looked up to him. He did have his own business that was as successful as anything could be in fucking Hawkins... At least he loved his home- he told you the countless stories of the establishment being an ice cream shop he ran with his wife up until Starcourt opened up. 'Scoops Ahoy' took all his profits so he had to pivot to the next best thing: smoothies. You had no clue why he didn't just make milkshakes, considering they were only a temperature difference from ice cream, but he'd simply smiled and told you 'Sam's Milkshake Bar' didn't have the same ring to it as 'Sam's Smoothie Shack'.

Sam had always been wary of Eddie, not trusting him as he did you. You tried explaining that if he just got to know him, he'd see he was harmless. Though Sam was still cautious, never failing to mutter about 'kids these days' and their 'loud rock music' poisoning their minds. You smiled as you passed by the older man, letting him know you were off for the day and wishing him a good afternoon as you ducked into the back to hang up your apron and grab your jacket and bag,

"Got it stuck in your head, hmm?" You hummed as you exited the store, faintly hearing the jingling of the bell behind you as you left the small shop and approached him. The song had changed to your Kiss song as you approached, almost on queue. You grinned as he glanced up and saw you, appearing to light up instantly. He pushed himself up, the second cigarette he had sparked up falling to the ground and disappeared beneath his shoe,

"Your chariot awaits, my dear!!" He said loudly, moving his arms to gesture to the van you had long missed since you left Hawkins a year ago, "Go on, get in. I've got you for the rest of the day, right?" He said, pushing his hands in his pockets and coming to stand in front of you so you could hear what he was saying over the music. You opened your mouth slightly, glancing from the van back to him and tilting your head,

"For the rest of the day?" You asked amused, and raised your brows as he nodded,

"Come on- didn't you say you missed me?" You knew him. You'd been friends for so long that you could feel the twinge of hurt behind those amused words. Before you could see his face, he moved to the van and opened the passenger side door for you, letting the music grow louder and drown out your worried thoughts, "Get in!!" He yelled over the music, and being left without much choice, you just grinned, walking over to him,

"You give me no choice, Munson," You told him, before clambering inside and throwing your bag at your feet.

He shut the door once you were inside, you let yourself glance around the van you'd spent most of the summer in. It faintly smelled like weed- you hoped he wasn't high at the moment. Eddie was a reckless driver as it was and being high surprisingly didn't make him more careful. It was still messy, but you could tell he made an effort in cleaning it for you. You turned the music down slightly so you could hear yourself think and pulled the overhead mirror down, glancing over your face to make sure your make-up was still intact after the long day. Glancing to the side, you noticed a polaroid of the two of you that was tucked into the side. It was a little older- from the darker background, you could see it was taken in Eddie's room. Both your faces were grinning back at you. You could barely remember taking it because of how greened out you were, but you couldn't deny the picture was a nice one. You could see the date the picture was taken was scrawled on the bottom, along with a small heart drawn in the corner there. You smiled softly, reaching a hand up to skim your finger over the sharpie. You jumped slightly at the sound of the door opening,

"Snooping?" He asked, shutting the door and putting his seatbelt on, gaze flicking to the polaroid,

"Just reacquainting myself," You said, shutting the mirror and leaning back to put your own seatbelt on, "I'm so glad I'm not walking home, my feet are killing me," You sighed, getting comfortable in your seat,

"Mmmh," He hummed, smiling as he started the car, "You should have asked me to take you," He said, glancing over at you,

"And wake you up at four in the morning?" You raised your brows, "I'd just piss off Wayne. We both know you're a heavy sleeper, Eds," You smiled, grabbing the overhead handle as he pulled out of the spot and began driving off. He laughed softly,

"Should have gone and thrown rocks at my window," He said, sparing you a glance. You noticed him eyeing your hand,

"Wouldn't have worked-"

"Then you should have thrown rocks through my window," He said,

"Have you forgotten the possum incident?" You laughed as he shuddered, "Yeah,"

"Those things have to be my least favourite forest creatures," He huffed,

"You have a favourite?" You asked amused,

"I'm not telling you," He huffed, "You can't even trust me to drive you around, "He said, glancing at your arm again,

"I would trust you if you weren't so reckless. You know, I wasn't gonna mention it but how many curbs have we hit already?" You smirked,

"Like... Two?" You gave him a look, "...Four," You laughed softly, at his response, shaking your head and humming softly to the 'Creeping Death' playing through the speakers,

"So is it a wolf?" You asked after a moment, and laughed at the glare he sent you,

"I'm not answering that," He grumbled, but you laughed it off, "Hey, open the glove box for me," He hummed, and you did as he asked. There was a cassette inside which you pulled out and glanced over. In sharpie, he had written-

"'Darkest Nightmare'?" You asked amused, grinning, "You made another mixtape?"

"Uhuh- put it in, I'm kinda sick of Metallica," He sighed, and you did as he asked, grinning as he turned up the radio. As usual, his driving got worse, focusing more on the music you were yelling and screaming along to at the moment, praying the seatbelt would at least protect you from a crash.

Somehow, you'd survived his tour of Hawkins: unsurprisingly, not too much had changed. You drove by the remnants of Starcourt and were saddened to hear of the passing of Cheif Jim Hopper. As much as the old cop loved to give you and Eddie shit for trespassing, he'd only yell at you as you sped off in the van or ran into the forest, laughing together. You were glad, because you really couldn't deal with a criminal record.

The stores along the main street were opening up again, and you eagerly started making plans for which ones you'd want to go to tomorrow. There were a few new ones that had opened up that you were eager to go into. In the meantime, Eddie filled you in on Hellfire and his campaigns, stopping at a diner and eating dinner in the van. It all felt right, and normal again, and you kept smiling fondly as he excited rambled on. Occasionally, you'd remind him of his now cold burger and fries, but he didn't seem to be listening much to you. You didn't mind- you preferred listening anyways.

Once you were done, he drove you back home in comfortable silence, enjoying the mixtape that now played a song by Megadeath you didn't recognise. The sun was setting, causing the sky to bloom in pretty colours that captured your attention. When the trees started getting thicker as you approached Forest Hills, you sighed, grabbing your stuff from the floor. You'd called the trailer park 'home' for the longer part of your life. It hadn't changed either, but you enjoyed his quiet comments on who lived where and what had changed with them. Nothing too interesting but it was nice to be informed,

"...And finally my humble abode," He said, parking the van and undoing his seatbelt,

"Damn... I really did not miss the Hills," You smiled fondly as you looked over his home, before glancing across to your own home. You hadn't realised he had gotten out until your door opened. He smiled at you,

"Gimmie those," He said, and you gently placed the bag in his hand. He quickly extended his other hand to you, and you rolled your eyes as you took it to get out of the van,

"Thank you, oh fair, kind Sir," You said playfully, shutting the door as you got out. He grinned as he slung your bag over his shoulder,

"Anything for you, fair one," He said as he moved behind you to lock the car. You rolled your eyes, folding the jacket over your arm as you glanced around the area, taking it in again. The playground that separated your homes looked the same, nothing having changed in the almost year you were away. Perhaps there were more cigarette butts and trash around the area but that was common here. You felt his presence near you; the familiar and pleasant scent of smoke and a forest earthiness growing stronger, "It uh... Hasn't felt the same without you here," He said surprisingly softly, and you glanced up at him,

"Yeah," You hummed, but realised that didn't make sense, "Uh- I mean it's... Been strange. I've never been away from Hawkins for this long it's... Weird to be back," You said, sighing,

"Yeah, I get it," Eddie said, sighing, "Oh, by the way, someone finally moved into the haunted trailer next to yours," He pointed out, "You've finally got a new neighbour," You looked at the house, smiling fondly as you saw a person hanging up their laundry,

"Huh. I'm surprised Dave finally managed to rent that place out to someone," You said, digging through your pockets to produce your keys, "Oh- right," You mumbled, fiddling with the keychains, "Here!" You smiled at him as you turned to place the charm into his hands, "I had to put it on my keys so I wouldn't forget- you have no idea how stressed I was thinking I lost it back in my dorm," You breathed, smiling,

"Holy shit," He murmured, fingers skimming over the small metal wolf head you'd gotten him, "This is cool," He grinned, "I'll put it with the others," He teased,

"Thought you liked my keyrings," You said, twirling your keys as you began heading home, eyes flicking to your neighbour curiously,

"I do!" He said quickly, "Thanks, a lot. I think it's really cool-"

"Who is that?" You mumbled to him, eyeing the girl hanging up her laundry on your shared line, "Should we go say hi?" You glanced up at him with a small smile,

"Why'd anyone want to say hi to us?" Eddie asked with a chuckle, but you just rolled your eyes and approached her. Her gaze flicked to you both as you approached, and she removed her headphones from her head,

"Hello!" You said as pleasantly as you could. It was the same tone you'd use with customers to appear more friendly. You pleasantly introduced yourself, and stuck your hand out for her to shake, "I live right next door- I haven't uh... Been here though, because I've been in Franklin for college," You said as she placed her hand in yours and shook it, eyes flicking from Eddie to you with an uncertain look, "We share a line," You also added,

"Uhuh. Yeah I know," The red-head said shortly. You grimaced, glancing at Eddie, before looking down at her. She had headphones around her neck, and you could faintly hear a song playing, "Are you guys just gonna stand there now?" She asked, and you blinked for a moment

"Are you a big fan of Kate Bush?" You asked, recognising the song,

"I guess," She said in a dejected way, shrugging as she went back to doing her chore. You glanced at her trailer before looking back at her,

"She's good, right?" You smiled, still trying to make pleasant conversation and not freak her out, "I love 'Running Up That Hill,'" She nodded once, and turned her back on you, and continued working. With a small sigh, you glanced over at Eddie, who shrugged his shoulders, "What's your name?" You asked,

"I'm Max," She said shortly, casting you a glare. With a sigh, you nodded, trying to uphold your cheery disposition,

"Cool- nice to meet you, Max," You smiled, "If you need anything, I'm nex-"

"I heard," She said coldly, casting you another look that was defiantly a glare, "Do you like bothering people when they're doing something?" She asked,

"No, not really," You said quickly, "I'm just trying to be nice and introduce myself to my new neighbour," You frowned, "I just haven't had one in-"

"Great- be nice somewhere else, freak," She muttered, throwing a sheet over the clothing line and grabbing the now empty basket, storming back into her home,

"Damn," You frowned, "It was nice meeting you, Max!" You yelled after her, before turning back to walk to Eddie. He had walked away a little while ago and was waiting for you by your door. You stood by him with a sigh, looking down at your keys, "Wonder what's up with her?" You mumbled, "Think she got grounded or something?" You asked, glancing back at him, "Do people still ground their kids...?" You said playfully with a slight smile, though it fell quickly,

"No, don't think so," He said, walking after you into your home and removing the keys from your door, "More like her uh... Brother? No- her step-brother died in that fire at Starcourt," You nodded solemnly, glancing around your small home with a frown,

"So she's taking it out on everyone else?" You hummed,

"Guess so," He said softly, and you heard the slight thud of your bag as he set it down on your couch,

"Guess she's tired of hearing condolences," You mumbled, eyes flicking to a photograph of your late father on the wall with a small frown. You heard the door close and the clicking of the locks as Eddie closed it for you. You muttered a small 'thank you' as you stretched your arms above your head tiredly, "Did you know him?" You asked, "This step-brother?"

"Did I know Billy Hargreeves?" He said, turning to look at you. You winced at the mention of the name, "Yeah. We did," He said solemnly. Hargreeves was new but quickly established himself as one of the worst assholes you'd ever met. You did what you could to stay out of his way because of how... Violent he usually got...

"God..." You sighed, "Well..." You mumbled, throwing your jacket over the couch and falling back on it. You still hadn't unpacked since you came back- your suitcase stood where you'd left it by the door, along with a duffle bag that was flung to the ground. You just didn't have the motivation to wash all your clothes or get unpacked... And besides, the clothing line was full, thanks to Max. You could hear Eddie moving around behind you, rummaging through your kitchen to find something to eat, "You know I haven't been called a freak since I left Hawkins?" You said, moving a hand up to your forehead to rub at it, trying to soothe the tension and pain growing there,

"Seriously?" He asked, amusement clear in his tone, "Thought... You know, college? People there would be more..." He trailed off,

"Surprisingly, there are a lot more 'freaks' and 'goths' in the big city," You smiled, leaning your head back all the way to watch him. Eddie had shed himself of his usual jackets, hanging them up on the back of one of the two chairs so he was left in just his Hellfire shirt. He'd rolled his sleeves up so you could see the peaks of the bat swarm frozen in ink on his arm. You watched as he rummaged in your drawer, pulling out a bottle opener and hearing the clicks of two bottles opening. You sighed softly, smiling as he walked over to you, "Have I mentioned you're the best?" You grinned as you sat back up, shifting to give him some space so he could sit with you,

"Mh- you deserve something after a hard day's work," He winked playfully, clinking the bottle with you as you eagerly took a swig of the beer, humming happily as you drank the cold liquid,

"Yeah, uhuh," You hummed between sips,

"I'd also make you something to eat but-"

"But you're banned from my kitchen," You grinned, "After you set fucking popcorn on fire-"

"It's not my fault your microwave is stupid!!" He grinned,

"It's a normal microwave Eds! You set it to thirty minutes and not three," You both laughed, "How the fuck do you burn popcorn?" You ask between giggles,

"I guess it's a special talent of mine," He hummed, taking a sip as you continued laughing, "Anyways, you really should eat something. Knowing you and how long you take getting ready, then with the walk... I doubt you've eaten much today," He said softly,

"When'd you become the food police, Eds?" You smiled,

"Considering you're drinking and only ate dinner today, I don't want you to get too drunk too fast," You almost spit out your beer,

"Eds- I'm not gonna get drunk off one beer," You smiled at him,

"Still. Better to eat and drink," He winked at you, clicking his fingers. You sighed, drinking more of your beer, "You've got nothing but drinks, babe," He added, and you glanced over at him as he took a sip, "And when did you get back?"

"Yesterday? I haven't had the time to go shopping-"

"Nope- you got here two days ago," He said, and you turned your head from where you'd been staring at the decorations you had put up to stare at him,

"How did you...?" You asked softly, and watched as he frowned softly, taking a swig before setting the bottle on the ground near your feet, "How did you know?" You asked with a frown,

"I saw you uh... Coming home," He admitted, "Two days ago..." He said, not looking at you and instead focusing on how much beer was left in his bottle,

"I got here at, like, 3 am Eddie?" You said, blinking,

"Yeah. You did," He nodded, watching you. You were silent for a moment,

"Why were you awake at 3 am?" You asked. He briefly met your eyes, before looking away and taking a nervous, shaky breath,

"I..." His eyes darted around,

"Why didn't you-"

"Dude, who goes to someone's house at 3 am?" He said, quickly standing and walking away from you. You jumped slightly at how fast he moved, before turning your whole body so you could watch him, confused at his sudden mood change, "I didn't want to bother you since you clearly didn't..." He trailed off, back turned to you. Your eyes widened slightly,

"Eddie, what?" You stood, careful of the beer you'd nudged with your foot and following after him, "I didn't do what?" You asked, standing near the couch to give him space. He moved into your kitchen and stood by your table, leaning against it at first,

"You just-" He sighed, sitting on top of the table, eyes focusing on the floor and watching his shoes shuffling around on the floor for a moment, before speaking "You were gone for- what? Almost a year," He said your name quietly, and you frowned from where you watched him on the couch, "I mean, what was I supposed to think?"

"I wrote letters to you," You said, "I sent you packages and letters as much as I could- we never stopped talking," You said,

"But you didn't visit," He said with a frown, glancing up at you. He couldn't hold the eye contact, and found himself looking away quickly, again. He folded his arms across his chest, "What was I supposed to think? My best friend just... Didn't want to hang out with me anymore?" He shrugged. From the dim, setting sunlight shining inside, you could see his eyes twinkling with tears, and you could feel your heart constrict for him in your chest,

"I wrote to you explaining why I couldn't go," You said defensively, walking closer to him, "Fuck, Eds, I don't have the damn money to be driving back and forth between Franklin and Hawkins!" You said louder than intended, "It wasn't about not wanting to hang out with you, it was about saving money-"

"Okay- I get that," He said sharply, "But my point is... What else do you have here?" He glanced at you, "You and I both hate this place, we made plans all the time to get out of Hawkins- you got out and I stayed behind, I-"

"Eddie, I couldn't stay here another fucking year waiting for you to graduate," You tried, coming to stand in front of him, "You... We both know how awful living here is. This small town will only see us as... Freaks and... Damned devil worshipers when we're not-"

"Right- of course!" He said sarcastically, throwing his hands up and laughing coldly, "I'm sorry, I just thought that if you got the privilege to leave Hawkins, it'd at least... Be with me," He said, looking into your eyes. His wide, brown eyes bore into yours and were tinted slightly pink. A few tears slipped down his reddened cheeks and you could faintly see the tremble in his lips. He'd folded his arms again and was digging his fingernails into his forearms, knuckles going white and small crescents appearing in his skin. You blinked, opening your mouth to say something, but closed it,

"Eddie..." You said softly, watching him move his head to look away from you. Seeing another tear rolling down his cheek, you reached a hand up to try and wipe it off of his face without thinking. He quickly flinched, slapping your hand away with his and shaking his head, leaving you shocked,

"Fuck," He hissed, and stood abruptly, making you back away. He reached to the side, grabbing his jean jacket from the chair, "Forget about it," You heard him mutter his name,

"Eddie!" You yelled after him as he moved quickly to your door, fumbling with your keys to unlock it, "Eddie what is going on- talk to me please," You begged,

"I said forget about it, okay?" He turned sharply. You stared at him, never seeing him so hurt with you before. You really didn't know what to do, and instead stared at him as you both stared at one another,

"But- Eddie!" You yelled out of your door as he quickly turned away and began walking away, "Stop running from me- Eddie!" You called again, wincing at how your voice echoed through the park. But he didn't turn. He just walked home faster.

You felt frozen in place, staring after him as his hair fluttered behind him dramatically. You opened your mouth to call after him again, but quickly closed it, feeling tears brimming in your eyes as you disappeared inside. You could hear the door slamming behind him, and you quickly shut your own door, falling back against it as you let your tears fall,

"What the fuck?" You breathed, blinking rapidly. In all the years you knew Eddie, you never... Fought like this: where you were both too distraught to even want to look at one another, or solve the problem. He had never run from you. You had never... Been the problem.

Hours passed but your mind was still occupied with Eddie and the fight. Your mind was always occupied with Eddie, but you were never worried for him like this... You tried distracting yourself by going grocery shopping before the sun would completely set. The burn in your legs as you walked into town helped- at least that was a physical pain and not... Ugh.

The pain in your arms accompanied you on your way home, and you found yourself regretting your decision to walk. Maybe you should have waited until things cooled off with Eddie so you could at least catch a ride here and there. The ice cream you had bought would surely be melted by now- what made you want ice cream anyways? You also couldn't buy any beer or vodka to take the pain away, so unless you wanted to see the one person you really didn't want to right now, you'd have to... Reconcile your emotions...

Okay.

Eddie was obviously upset you had left, but why on Earth was he pissed off at you? It wasn't your choice to leave- you'd sent your applications together... Though you never saw his, he had drunkenly admitted to you that he'd failed his final year days later and would have to stay in Hawkins to repeat it. He'd said it casually and whenever you mentioned it, he'd just wave it off like it wasn't a big deal to him. It had made you sad to know he wouldn't be leaving with you, but he never... Saw it as a big deal. Or made it look like that.

Did he think you left because of him? Eddie always ran from his problems- that's just what he did. If he knew he wasn't able to pass a quiz, he wouldn't show up for it; if he knew he couldn't finish a project in time, he wouldn't submit anything. You were there for all his failures, and tried supporting him through them, but he'd always make the same comment about 'education not defining him' or the 'project being stupid' and 'pointless'. You never realised how... Bad it was for him...

And perhaps it didn't help that you came home and didn't speak a word to him for the two days. It was purely overwhelming being back in a town where every person you passed cast you disgusted looks simply for how you'd dress or do your make-up. What was strange to them was scary, but it made you feel unwelcome and unwanted in a place that was supposed to be home. It's why you hated it in Hawkins. All you had here was Eddie. You sought comfort in your shared strangeness and unwillingness to conform to society- their 'shunning' hurt less when you were together. You had his comfort.

But you should be angry at him too- he was mad at you for something out of your control, and that hurt. If you could have left with him, you would. Why did he not realise that? You spoke about leaving Hawkins all the time... With a sigh, you flexed your fingers, looking over the empty grocery bags now on the floor of your kitchen. You were done unpacking those, and now had nothing to do. You glanced over at the waiting suitcase and duffle. If you were unpacking groceries you might as well make yourself at... home. Briefly, you glanced up at the window, and froze, noticing the very man your brain was occupied by.

A long plume of smoke left his lips, swirling into the dark sky. The end of the blunt he had rolled faintly glowed orange as he took a drag. He was faintly illuminated by the lights around the area, and you could see his shoulders sag as he looked down. You could faintly hear the sound of his shoes kicking against the metal dome structure of the park you both frequently found yourselves in on your peaks or come downs. You'd lay back on the grass together, staring at the multitude of stars, or giggling and shushing one another as you tried to fit into the tiny seats of the swingset...

He was sitting in just his vest, the pins glittering in the night- you could see from where you were that he'd pulled the sleeves of the Hellfire shirt down over his arms to fight the chill of the night. You glanced over your shoulder to your kitchen table and sighed- he forgot to take his jacket with him...

You grabbed it, pulling it over your shoulders and allowing yourself to breathe in his scent. You weren't sure of calling Hawkins your physical home, but you were sure that Eddie's smell was the closest you'd ever feel to describing home... At least now you had an incentive to go make up with him again. Ha... Ha...

Silently, you shuffled to your door, picking the keys up you had dropped. You allowed yourself a moment to gather your thoughts, before stuffing the keys into the pocket of the leather, enjoying the feeling of it brushing against your skin again. As you opened the door, you found Eddie right outside, muttering to himself and seemingly doing the same thing you were a moment ago. You both jumped back slightly in surprise at finding the other person in the same place, and for a moment, you both stared, unmoving and unspeaking. Until finally, you opened your mouth,

"Uh," You tried, clearing your throat and looking down for a moment, "You uh... Got any more blunts we could... Share?" You asked him uncertainly, glancing back up at him. You could still see his face was red in the faint light from inside your home. He had been crying too. He only gave you a small nod, still silent as you turned the lights inside your home off and locked the door behind you.

Together, you walked to the park again, still lost in your own heads and silent. Your eyes flicked to him and you watched him as he sat beside you in your usual spot on top of the dome. His movements were slow and careful as he handed over a roughly rolled blunt and lighter,

"Thanks," You said, picking the blunt up in your fingers and reaching for the lighter, only to have him pull it into his grasp and lighting it. Carefully, you lit the blunt and took a drag, "Thanks," You breathed again as you handed it over for him to take a hit of,

"No problem-" His voice was shaky, "Shit," He whispered. You glanced over at him, noticing one of his hands still shaking. He had this far-away look in his eye that made you fill with a deep sadness for him,

"I'll uhm... Start," You said softly, glancing behind you and carefully setting your hands on the poles of the dome and grabbing on to them to steady yourself. With a sigh, you began, "Okay," You closed your eyes, nodding your head to collect your thoughts, before speaking, "I'm sorry. For not seeing you as soon as I got back, Eddie. It's just... It's been a lot being back here in Hawkins. You know how bad being here makes me feel, and finding out I might be getting evicted and getting back into a job, I just..." You sighed deeply, "I know you're mad at me for leaving and not talking to you and stuff but... I have responsibilities now," You explained, looking up at him. He was listening but not looking at you, focused on rolling the blunt between his fingers as it smouldered idly, "I'm an adult. I have to... Live. Pay bills, make money... That shit," You said, reaching forwards and taking the blunt from him, taking a drag, "It's just been a lot. I did want to spend time with you just... I wanted to wait until I got everything figured out," You concluded, nodding solemnly, "I didn't mean to make you feel like I... Didn't want to see you or anything," You frowned.

From beside you, Eddie sighed, and you could see his hair shaking as he nodded to your final statement. It took a moment for him to say anything- he shifted first, moving so he could rest his hands on his knees and clasp his hands together, pressing them to his mouth,

"Shit," He sighed, pressing his hands to his forehead, "That's... Yeah," He nodded. You stared at him, waiting for him to speak, but frowning as he didn't,

"What's up?" You asked,

"Well, whatever I'm gonna say is gonna sound fucking pointless compared to you," He sighed, sparing you a glance. You frowned at him, shifting so you could look at him better, only for Eddie to turn his head away from you again. You delicately placed a hand on his shoulder,

"Eds, no I'm not gonna..." You sighed, "If you don't run away from me again, I'm not... Gonna find it pointless," You said, patting him gently. You tilted your head to try and appear in his field of vision and gave him an encouraging smile. He grimaced at you, fully turning his head to look back to his trailer, before sighing. You felt him relax under your touch slightly, and turn his head slightly to look at you,

"We just..." He sighed, "I missed you so much," He breathed, and you saw the tears quickly rolling down his face, "And after we'd talked so much about... Leaving Hawkins behind- together," He looked at you, eyes finding yours quickly, "It was always together. Leaving, and living together somewhere. Working... Together," He rambled, "And then... Watching you leave without me... It made me realise that... Fuck," He sighed,

"You can say it, Eds," You said softly. He shook his head slightly, and as you opened your mouth to encourage him again, you felt his shoulder move. He took your hand in his, bringing it down to rest on the cool metal below you. You watched, curiously, as he moved his hand so he was holding yours,

"It made me realise that we've... Spent the better parts of our lives together. It made me realise how much losing you hurt me- and that terrified me," He spoke your name worriedly, and lifted an arm to wipe his wet face, "And made me realise that I never wanted to lose you again," He rambled suddenly, his words making your heart thunder in your chest, "And when you wrote saying that you weren't gonna be back for the summer, the winter, and the spring..." He breathed shakily, "I knew it was because you had nothing left here and I guess a part of me thought you meant me too..." He sniffled, "It made me realise I uhm... Actually want to finish school now-" He laughed to himself, "-So I can finally leave and... Find you again- be with you again, like we always were... I mean, sure I can pretend to be confident, and fine without you- God knows I've had practice with that with Hellfire, but-" He took a deep breath to steady himself, "Pretending to be fine without you just made me miss you way more," He said, breathing shakily, "It... Made me realise I..." The words died on his tongue momentarily, and he just sighed, "I think I'm in love with you," He confessed.

For a moment it felt like time stood still, your eyes captured by his, your breath stuck in your throat as those words left his mouth. You blinked a few times and let the blunt fall from your hand, tumbling to the ground. Your now empty hand balled, your nails dug into your palm to wake you up from this most pleasant of dreams. Your own eyes rapidly filled with tears: here was your best friend, who you have loved and pined over for so long, admitting he finally felt the same for you as you felt for him the moment you first met him,

"And I know you might not feel the same for me, and that's fine," He rambled on, seemingly not realising you were completely dumbfounded by his words, "But I just need you to know that I love you and-"

You quickly pressed your lips to his to silence him, and it took him a moment to register what was happening, causing him to let out a startled 'mmph!' as your lips touched. It was a moment before you felt Eddie's lips moving against yours. Your hands moved up to touch his cheeks, skin gentle yet wet with tears against your hands you pulled him closer. His own hands soon moved to your arms, holding you in place so gently, that when you parted, tears spilled down your face too. You let out a gentle laugh,

"Eddie, you big stupid idiot," You smiled at him, moving a thumb over his cheek to swipe a tear rolling down his face, "I think I love you too," You said, "Don't you think if I could, I wouldn't spend all my time with you?" You said softly,

"Yeah," He breathed, appearing starstruck, round eyes darting over your face for any sign of a lie,

"Yeah," You grinned back, gripping his hand and shaking it a little, "Dumbass," You said affectionately,

"But I thought-"

"Thought what?" You quickly said, "I didn't feel the same?" He nodded slowly, "Eddie..."

"I didn't think you wanted to be around me anymore," He admitted softly, "I thought... You know. You'd find new people out in Franklin and you wouldn't need me anymore," He said softly, looking at you now,

"Oh, Eddie," You said softly, squeezing his hand gently, "I guarantee no one could ever replace you," You assured him, "Besides? It's what? Only a matter of time before you find out if you passed your exams and then you'll move up to Franklin with me," You said softly,

"You want me up there with you?" He asked uncertainly,

"Of course, Eddie," You said, "Those dorms suck. If we got a place together and split the rent somewhere close, I think it'd work out," You said softly, squeezing his hand again. He stared at you for a moment, before smiling slightly and leaning forward to kiss you again. You smiled against his lips, tilting your head to kiss him better and moving your hand back to touch his face gently,

"I've uh..." He said softly as he pulled away just enough to speak, his forehead touching yours, "I've wanted to do that for a long time," He said, breathily. He then whispered your name, and you smiled,

"Well, I'm glad you finally did... Babe," You said with a smile, happy to hear him laugh. He glanced down at your joint hands, and brought them up to his face to kiss your knuckles. The act made your eyes widen and you quickly moved your hand from his to put both hands on his face and pull him close, kissing him again. It was almost like now you'd started, you never wanted to stop...

"Ew," You heard from the blue. You jumped, turning to stare at Max, who was leaning against the flimsy metal of the fence surrounding the park and frowning at you two, "Do you always cry when you kiss?" She asked as you whipped away the tears on your face,

"No," You quickly said, "We're just... Having an emotional moment, okay?" You said with a small laugh,

"Yeah, you spying on us, kid?" You heard Eddie say from beside you, and when you removed your hands from your eyes, you could see he had slid off the structure and was waiting for you with a hand outstretched. Ever the gentleman... Gently, you slid your hand into his, moving off the structure and glancing down at the grass, making sure the blunt had been put out, before tightening your hold on Eddie's hand,

"What're you doing out here anyway?" You asked, turning to look at her. She shrugged, putting her headphones back on and turning on her heel,

"I'm going on a walk," She mumbled, taking a few steps away from you,

"But it's dark?" You said, moving forward with Eddie still holding you close,

"Yeah, kid, it's not safe," He chimed in, and you glanced up at him with a slight smile,

"Why do you two care? Don't you have more crying and kissing to do?" She said coldly, and involuntarily, you let out a snort. You covered your mouth quickly, but Eddie had heard, and began to laugh,

"Shut up, Eds," You grinned, before glancing back at Max, "You're funny, kid-"

"I don't need babysitters," She said, "I'm not a kid, either," She huffed, but you were already hopping over the fence and following after her,

"Sure you do!" You grinned, stuffing your hands into the pockets of Eddie's leather jacket and glancing over as you felt him looping arms with you,

"Yeah, we'll chase the monsters away k- Max," He said, and though she sent you two a glare, it made you feel better knowing you were going after her and ensuring she was safe. Besides- she had her headphones on and walkman playing a tape. She couldn't hear you and Eddie talking and laughing as you caught up on all you had missed when you were apart. Finally, you were together again, and now that you'd confessed you loved him and begun eagerly planning your future together, you hoped he wouldn't feel as alone as he did without you.

#eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things season four #stranger things season 4 #stranger things #stranger things 4 spoilers #stranger things spoilers #st4 #stranger things 4 #joesph quinn #joe quinn

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antigonewinchester · 3 years ago

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EDIT AS OF 8/17: I need to acknowledge a past meta here, “This is What You’re Gonna Become: season 9 as the culmination of Dean Winchester’s thematic roles of identity in SPN,” by swayingwires/deadendtracks as a major influence on my thinking for this post & my meta around the Mark generally. The author does thoughtful & deep work in using Scarry’s The Body in Pain & Harmon’s Trauma and Recovery to analyze Dean & his trauma, and was a major intro to these books for me. I should’ve been more explicit in crediting them and will be so in the future with this & others’s meta.

Intro post here.

My second post in my Mark of Cain meta. For my argument that the Mark is connected to Dean’s time in Hell, I wanted to first establish how season 4 sets up Dean and Hell. This one gets quite long, so a tl;dr of what’s below the cut: I look at how season 4 dealt with Dean’s time in Hell realistically, and then look at both Dean’s Hell arc and Sam’s demon blood arc through a symbolic lens, seeing the genre elements as metaphorical for how Dean and Sam responded to their dysfunctional childhoods. Not particularly covering new ground with Dean here but I do take an angle on Sam and demon blood that I think is pretty compelling & I haven’t seen much before.

In 4x10, “Heaven and Hell,” written by Eric Kripke, the first twist around Dean’s time in Hell is revealed: he wasn’t in Hell for 4 months but 40 years. Dean talks about how the constant torture ultimately broke him and made him accept Alastair’s offer to became a torturer:

DEAN It wasn't four months, you know. SAM What? DEAN It was four months up here, but down there... I don't know. Time's different. It was more like 40 years. SAM My God. DEAN They, uh... They sliced and carved and tore at me in ways that you... Until there was nothing left. And then, suddenly... I would be whole again... like magic... just so they could start in all over. And Alastair... at the end of every day... every one... he would come over. And he would make me an offer. To take me off the rack... if I put souls on... if I started the torturing. And every day, I told him to stick it where the sun shines. For 30 years, I told him. But then I couldn't do it anymore, Sammy. I couldn't. And I got off that rack. God help me, I got right off it, and I started ripping them apart. I lost count of how many souls. [A tear rolls down his cheek.] The-- the things that I did to them. SAM Dean… Dean, look, you held out for 30 years. That's longer than anyone would have. DEAN [Crying] How I feel... This... inside me... I wish I couldn't feel anything, Sammy. I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing.

Then at the end of 4x11, “Family Remains,” written by Jeremy Carver, we have the second twist: that Dean “enjoyed” being a torturer.

SAM You okay? DEAN You know, I felt for those sons of bitches back there. Lifelong torture turns you into something like that. SAM You were in hell, Dean. Look, maybe you did what you did there, but you're not them. They were barely human. DEAN Yeah, you're right. I wasn't like them. I was worse. They were animals, Sam, defending territory. Me? I did it for the sheer pleasure. SAM What? DEAN I enjoyed it, Sam. They took me off the rack, and I tortured souls, and I liked it. All those years, all that pain. Finally getting to deal some out yourself. I didn't care who they put in front of me. Because that pain I felt, it just slipped away. No matter how many people I save, I can't change that. I can't fill this hole. Not ever.

My realistic read of 4x11 is that Dean is, at least partially, an unreliable narrator. Dean feels incredibly guilty for breaking and accepting Alastair’s offer, and his understanding of himself as “enjoying” torturing is part of that self-blame. Dean’s agency and autonomy was taken from him in Hell, first through the constant torture and then through the threat of the torture starting up again once he was freed from the rack and under Alastair’s control as his ‘apprentice’. Considering Dean’s sense of responsibility, the cognitive dissonance would’ve been immense: he based so much of his sense of self on being someone who helped and saved people regardless of the personal cost, so becoming a torturer in Hell because he couldn’t take the pain anymore, inflicting that hurt on others, was the exact opposite of his heroic identity. Dean resolved that dissonance by putting the responsibility on himself. If he was a person who would do good no matter the cost, who ‘chose’ to do evil instead, it must be because he enjoyed doing that evil.

Dean’s shame and self-loathing for breaking under torture and obeying Alastair also fits with how confession (in Dean’s case saying yes to Alastair’s offer, “confessing” to wanting to be a torturer) is thought of as a betrayal, even by those who might be sympathetic to torture victims. Elaine Scarry talks about this attitude in her book The Body in Pain:

“Intense pain is world-destroying. In compelling confession, the torturers compel the prisoner to record and objectify the fact that intense pain is world-destroying. It is for this reason that while the content of the prisoner’s answer is sometimes important to the regime, the form of the answer, the fact of of his answering, is always crucial. There is not only among torturers but even among people appalled by acts of torture and sympathetic to those hurt, a covert disdain for confession. This disdain is one of the many manifestations of how inaccessible the reality of physical pain is to anyone not immediately experiencing it. The nature of confession is falsified by an idiom built on the world “betrayal”: in confession, one betrays oneself and all those aspects of the world – friend, family, country, cause – that the self is made up of.” The Body in Pain: The Making and Unmaking of the World, Elaine Scarry, pg 29

Through 30 years of continuous torture, Alastair and Hell ripped apart Dean’s entire world – his body, his self, his humanity – to make him do something that went against the core of who he was, with that act then breaking the first seal and beginning the road to the Apocalypse.

However, I very much think Kripke and the writers intended Dean’s time in Hell to be taken not just literally but also metaphorically. In fact, my preferred interpretation for both Sam and Dean’s darker turns in season 4 is to read them through Kripke’s guiding metaphor of “family is Hell”. Using genre elements, season 4 showed how Sam and Dean were each affected by their abusive upbringing.

To start with Sam, Azazel is his demonic father figure, an evil dad who fed him demon blood when he was just a baby. When Sam learns this secret in season 2, he sees this act as having cursed and tainted him. Sam fears he’ll inevitably turn evil while also hoping if he tries hard enough, he can resist his ‘destiny’.

A great example is Sam and Dean’s conversation in 4x04, “Metamorphosis”:

SAM The way you talk to me, the way you look at me like I'm a freak! SAM walks past DEAN, and then turns around to him, now completely pissed off. DEAN I do not. SAM You know, or even worse, like I'm an idiot! He walks up to DEAN, and almost gets in his face. SAM Like I don't know the difference between right and wrong! He steps back, turns his back to DEAN and walks a few steps. He then stops, hands on hips, back still to DEAN, who's watching him. When SAM finally turns around, DEAN looks down. SAM What? DEAN looks up at him again, and now he sounds a bit angry. DEAN Do you know the difference, Sam? I mean, you've been kind of strolling a dark road lately. SAM You have no idea what I'm going through. None. DEAN Then enlighten me! SAM I've got demon blood in me, Dean! This disease pumping through my veins, and I can't ever rip it out or scrub it clean! I'm a whole new level of freak! And I'm just trying to take this- this curse... and make something good out of it. Because I have to.

Sam is projecting his own fears – that there’s something innately wrong with him, that he’s heading down a dark path – onto Dean in this conversation. Sam’s starting to feel shakier about his actions at this point, especially after Dean revealed Cas “told [him] to stop [Sam],” so Dean’s hesitations and mistrust seemingly confirm all of what Sam is afraid of. I read Sam’s reactions here, and especially his focus on the demon blood as something innately corrupting him, as metaphorical for how he internalized John’s emotional and physical neglect. As Dr. Judith Herman describes in “Trauma and Recovery”:

“When it is impossible to avoid the reality of the abuse, the child must construct some system of meaning that justifies it. Inevitably the child concludes that her innate badness is the cause. The child seizes upon this explanation early and clings to it tenaciously, for it enables her to preserve a sense of meaning, hope, and power. If she is bad, then her parents are good. If she is bad, then she can try to be good… The abused child’s sense of inner badness may be directly confirmed by parental scapegoating. Survivors frequently describe being blamed, not only for their parents’ violence or sexual misconduct, but also for numerous family misfortunes. Family legends may include stories of the harm a child caused by being born or the disgrace for which is appears to be destined.” Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence – From Domestic Abuse to Political Terror, Judith Harmon, M.D., pgs. 103 – 104

Unlike Dean, Sam didn’t know about the supernatural until he was almost 9, spending half his childhood in the dark about hunting. He would’ve had no context for why John would leave him and Dean alone for days at a time, or why they had to moved around so much, or why Dean got to spend more time with John than he did. John forcing Dean into hunting was horrible, but Sam as a child himself wouldn’t have understood that: he just would have seen Dean going off with their dad to do something important, getting praise and attention that Sam didn’t get. Is it any wonder that to cope with John not being there when Sam needed him to be, he would have put at some of the blame on himself instead of his dad? If it was Sam’s fault dad was leaving him, then that must meant there was something he could about it to get John to stop leaving. But when Sam did learn about the supernatural, it made him even more of an outsider: within normal society, he knew about the things that went bump in the night but wasn’t allowed to talk it, and within his family, he resisted hunting despite his dad thinking it was the most important thing, and in contrast to Dean going along with what John told him to do. Factor in the implication that Sam’s powers manifested subtly during his childhood, and all of it paints a picture of Sam as a kid who didn’t feel like he fit in anywhere, not with other people or with his family; one might say, a freak.

While Sam pushes back against John in season 1, he becomes much more sympathetic towards him after John’s death in season 2, with this season also being when Sam becomes increasingly afraid of “his destiny”.

From 2x11, “Playthings”:

SAM No, Dean, you don't understand, all right? The more people I save, the more I can change! DEAN Change what? SAM My destiny, Dean! DEAN All right. Time for bed. Come on, Sasquatch. [He leans over and hauls SAM up by the shoulders.] Come on. SAM I need you to watch out for me. DEAN Yeah. I always do. SAM No! No, no, no. You have to watch out for me, all right? And if I ever … turn into something that I'm not… you have to kill me.

From 2x13, “Houses of the Holy”:

SAM I don't know, Dean, I just, uh… [he sits on the bed] I wanted to believe… so badly, ah… It's so damn hard to do this, what we do. You're all alone, you know? And… there's so much evil out there in the world, Dean, I feel like I could drown in it. And when I think about my destiny, when I think about how I could end up…

Even before Sam knew about the demon blood, he worried about his powers, his being a ‘special child,’ and if his destiny meant he’d inevitably turn evil and do monstrous things. Once Sam learns about the demon blood, that becomes the explanation for his feelings of inner wrongness and insecurity, while also giving him a sliver of hope. Sam can’t remove the stain of what Azazel did to him, but he can try to do enough good that it would purify him, erase the demon’s blood’s corruption, and eventually stop him from still feeling like a freak. As he says to Jack, his monster foil in 04x04: “It doesn't matter what you are. It only matters what you do. It's your choice.”

Another aspect of Sam’s upbringing that’s deeply intertwined with his arc in season 4 is John’s decades long revenge quest, with Sam then taking after his father in his own drive for revenge. Both for Sam and John, this impulse is closely connected to traumatic losses: John lost Mary, Sam lost Jess and then Dean. Chasing revenge was a way for John and Sam to regain agency in the face of their traumas. However, the show often frames revenge as a dangerous force, one that hurts both the person driven to revenge and others around them. Sam becoming addicted to drinking human blood isn’t just showing how he’s been overtaken by his (literal and metaphorical) thirst for revenge, but also how he’s getting revenge and power at the cost of other people’s literal bodies and lives, just as John did (for instance, getting Jo’s father killed on a hunt; “Killing this demon comes first – before me, before everything” from 01x22, “Devil’s Trap”).

On Dean’s end, we have Alastair, a demonic father figure who tortures Dean and then takes him on as his apprentice to teach him torturing. Dean feels horribly guilty not only for saying yes to Alastair’s offer but also for “enjoying” being a torturer. This situation is metaphorical for John forcing and teaching Dean how to be a hunter, with Dean complying with what his father wanted and becoming a good, obedient solider. More from “Trauma and Recovery,”

“If avoidance fails, then children attempt to appease their abusers by demonstrations of automatic obedience. The arbitrary enforcement of rules, combined with the constant fear of death or serious harm, produces a paradoxical result. On the one hand, it convinces children of their utter helplessness and the futility of resistance. Many develop the belief that their abusers have absolute or supernatural powers, can read their thoughts, or can control their lives entirely. On the other hand, it motivates children to prove their loyalty and compliance. These children double and redouble their efforts to gain control of the situation in the way way that seems possible, by “trying to be good.” ...She must develop a sense of self in relation to others who are helpless, uncaring, or cruel. She must develop a capacity for bodily self-regulation in an environment in which her body is at the disposal of other’ needs, as well as a capacity for self-soothing in an environment without solace. She must develop the capacity for initiative in an environment which demands that she bring her will into complete conformity with that of her abuser.” Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence – From Domestic Abuse to Political Terror, Judith Harmon, M.D., pgs. 100 - 101

Dean’s time in Hell horribly echoes what Dean’s nightmare self – the thoughts and feelings he wouldn’t let himself express outside of his dream – said about him and his relationship to John in 03x10, “Dream a Little Dream of Me.”

DREAM DEAN You are nothing. You're as mindless and obedient as an attack dog. … No? What are the things that you want? What are the things that you dream? I mean, your car? That's Dad's. Your favorite leather jacket? Dad's. Your music? Dad's. Do you even have an original thought? … I mean, think about it … [He begins to walk towards DEAN, whose smile is fading now.] All he ever did is train you, boss you around. … Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument.

In Hell, Dean saw himself becoming what he so feared: an instrument that was only good for hurting others, mindless and obedient, doing horrible things even though he knew what he was doing was wrong, his training in torturing by Alastair darkly echoing his training in hunting by John.

As I quoted in my intro section, Dean uses the same language of “enjoying” hunting to describe how John raised him, just as he talked about “enjoying” torturing in Hell. (Dean “enjoying” violence becomes a prominent thread thru the MoC arc later on.)

DEAN What if we killed things that didn't deserve killing? You know? I mean, the way Dad raised us… SAM Dean, after what happened to Mom, Dad did the best he could. DEAN I know he did. But the man wasn't perfect. And the way he raised us, to hate those things; and man, I hate 'em. I do. When I killed that vampire at the mill I didn't even think about it; hell, I even enjoyed it.

It wasn’t possible for Dean to escape hunting as a child. What was possible was making the dissonance of killing living creatures more bearable by agreeing with John’s dehumanization of them; Dean wasn’t killing people, he was killing monsters, so he didn’t have to feel guilty about it. He was saving people, hunting things, being a hero! Why wouldn’t he enjoy that? It was only safe for Dean to question that mentality after John’s death, both from Sam pushing back against the morality of killing monsters and because of John’s command that Dean had to save Sam from turning into a monster or kill him if he couldn’t. If Sam, his beloved little brother, could be a monster, then where was the clear line between monsters and people?

It also wasn’t possible for Dean to escape Hell. What was possible was escaping the horrible torture he was undergoing (even if the alternative was torture of a different kind) by accepting Alastair’s offer, and then making the dissonance of hurting others bearable by adopting Alastair’s sadistic attitude and enjoying the violence he was inflicting. If this was going to be his fate, becoming a demon and losing his humanity anyway, why not embrace it and make the remaining decades at least a little less painful?

The way Dean talks about his violence (“All those years, all that pain. Finally getting to deal some out yourself. I didn't care who they put in front of me. Because that pain I felt, it just slipped away.”) also has a quasi-revenge element to it. Unlike Sam, who could chase after Lilith, Dean couldn’t go after Alastair or the demons who had tortured him, but he could hurt others in their place, in a hollow, proxy revenge against the pain he’d faced for 30 years. This ‘revenge’ was encouraged by his proxy father figure in Alastair.

I don’t want to downplay Sam and Dean’s violent streaks, because they do both have them. However, I think it’s important to contextualize their violence thru their upbringing, both how they were taught how to be violent by John and then how they used violence as a way of regaining agency and autonomy in traumatic situations. That certainly doesn’t always make their violence right or justified, but it’s not a random lashing out or gleeful sadism, either. Take Dean talking about “enjoying” torturing in Hell in 04x11 with Sam “enjoying” when Lucifer killed the demons who had secretly manipulated him throughout his childhood in 05x22, “Swan Song”. Both of these reactions are Dean and Sam coping with terrible situations – Dean being trapped in Hell under Alastair’s control, Sam being controlled by Lucifer and then learning demons had also tried to control him during his childhood – and finding a horrific satisfaction in violence as a means of payback.

#meta #meta personal #sam #dean #dean & hell #dean & the mark #season 4 #honestly this one was fun even apart from the mark aspect because i love season 4 so much #and every time i look at it the deeper it gets!#cw child abuse #cw torture

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lunaralight09 · 4 years ago

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P.S. : I was inspired by Friday Night Funkin'. Well I was playing in it , and I got this idea to make y/n singing some of the song from there . And you can imagine any lyrics you want . Soo ... Let's start!

SCP 035

Well he was in theater . He escaped from foundation . You were on stage singing with your friend / partner (Partner mean that person who helps you to sing). Then he understands that you're a scientist/guard from The Foundation . But he stayed at theater

Sock/Masky listened to you singing . And he liked it . A lot . You (P.S. : you were making those dances? Those movement like in the video . There's Skid and Pump you were making your own movements ) were dancing . He liked your movements .

He was impressed with your talent . He after you sang you met Sock/Masky behind the stage . You became friends . Of course he showed his talents . And you knew that's a SCP 035 . But you didn't want to call mtf units .

After 6 month of your friendship . He asked you out . You said yes! (If you're a male/non-binary he doesn't care at all . 'Cause he's a mask and Sock/Masky don't have a gender . But i will use male pronounce . )

As I said he likes your songs . And you were singing like a duet . He asking you to sing some song . With him and without him . He likes to cuddle with you while you humming some rhythms/songs

SCP 049

He found you at breach . You were singing , because it help you to chill . And Ofc you were nervous . He liked your songs . He was ... (How should I call it ... Uhh . Just like GF from FNF . How much I will say about FNF ? IDK . Oh yeah! ) shooking his head to the rhytm . Even zombies that was with him liked that you're singing .

He came out then you stopped singing . You panicked . He said that he liked your song . And said that you don't have pestilence in you . Well you were a little bit nervous near SCP 049 .

You two were friend about 2 years . Doc needed to know about his feelings for you . Cause it was centuries then he loved at first . Well zombies who remembered something from past told about his feelings for you , he didn't really understand that . But Lexie (His daughter . I will say about her in headcanon or bf scenarios . She's actually a ghost . He can see her then his eyes become red . Like he's mad or going crazy. I will say about it too ) told him about it and ... He understands it .

He were nervous . But you accept his confess . After 5 month he told you about Lexie . And two of you became friends. And even she calls you mommy/daddy/parent y/n . It's adorable . And she copy you when you sing . So you two singing like duet . Doc likes that you two get along .

Estienne reached you French . And you sometimes sing with them song on French . It's sounds good .

SCP 073

You two already was friends . But then it's was your break . Foundation let Cain walk a little . And he saw you and Dr. Bright singing together (you two were rap battling!) . He was really surprised. . He asked you about it . And you said that your a singer. He liked it a lot . Sometimes he helped you to write new songs .

Well truly. He doesn't care about your gender/look . He can say that he's a pansexual . Soo after 1,5 year . You two said it at the same day . He said it after you sang your song about confession . And he was happy because s/o is now his girlfriend/boyfriend/couple .

As I said . He helps you to write songs . But now he tries to help you with it every time . You say that it's okay and you can do it yourself . But Cain still helps you . You think it's cute from his side to do this to you . So you actually cuddle with him after that or read with him books that made from other material . (IDK what material don't get destroyed by his powers . So ... imagine Y/n Chan/Kun/uhh( IDK how to call non-binary reader sooo )Dear . Just imagine it .

SCP 076

Well , like 682 he hates people . He heard you singing when he finally woke up and left his box(SCP 076-1) , he was surprised to see scientist/guard who doing his/her/their hobby . He liked your song a little . If you're a scientist : then you were interviewing him , he answered questions faster than with the other interviewers . You had 30 minutes left and he started asking you questions about your hobby . Well you told that you're a singer . If you're a guard : He heard about other guard/scientist about concert where you will be singing . And about 2 month you guys became friends .

Btw Able needed about 3 years to know his feelings . And you confessed to him ('Cause he needed 1 year or 2 to confess to you Y/n) . You tried to ask him to sing . But he didn't do that very much . He likes melodies from your songs . Did he help you too write songs ? Well yes . 50/50 that Able will help you , he don't know what you should sing about .

SCP 079

Well he found you in the internet , you were a singer . He was impressed with your talent/hobby . With some interviews he asked about it . But if you're guard : He talked with you at containment breach . He found you on cams then you we're walking thought corridors , and he said thought speaker that he can help you get out of here safely . Well you get to his containment cell . And he said that he don't lie to you . And he will show you how to get to exit safely . And he asked about your second carrier . You said that you're a singer . (He said if you confirm that info , he will help you , sooo you told him that's true)

1 year later he asked about his feelings , you explained to him that it's called 'love' . And he showed X on his screen and 1 minute later (He was finding 'How to confess to someone') and he asked you out

He helps you to make songs . He is making instumental sound , and you don't know where he found it . (And he make song complete ? How should I call it ? He ... ohh! ) He edits your songs too . You're very thankful for his help .

SCP 096

You somehow befriend 096 (Aka Lanky). He were in his containment cell then he somehow heard you sing . He knew it was your voice . He didn't ask about it . He knew that you singed . But after 4 month you said that you had second carrier . And you are a singer . He was very happy about you .

And you needed to confess to him . Cause he's very shy about it ! He likes to hear you singing . Especially when he sleeps and you hum your song and stroking his cold back . It helps him from nightmares

SCP 105

Well she founded it after month of dating you , you said it to her . After that she asked to teach her singing . Some times you sing like a duet with Iris .Well you like her hobby (She like to take pictures) and she like yours . And she don't judge your gender/look . Oh and basically you needed to teach her how to sing . She sometimes miss some lyrics . It's awkward , but still cute tho .

SCP 106

He heard you singing then you were in the intercom room ? Some scientists forgot to turn off microphone . And you started to sing quietly . Well ... he understands that he heard your song , well someone had ringtone with one of your song . He was a little impressed . And somehow you befriended him

For confession he took 11 month . Yeah

He'd love sitting in the studio and watching you while you work , he'd always brag about how talented you are to all his friends, and whenever a new song of yours would come out, he'd hype you up so much. He'd be so happy

SCP 166

Same as Iris (SCP 105) if you're a female or non-binary . If you're a male :

Well somehow a male D-class we're near her and ... (You know what he tried to do . If you don't read her files) And she needed to run from him . And she hid behind you .

Y/n as guard : You shoot him Y/n as scientist : You tried to stop that D-class , and you knocked him out .

And you needed to stop that feeling . So you started mumbling your song lyrics . She was impressed by that . She started friendship with you

She was to shy to ask you out sooo . You asked her out by singing a song . And you two like to sing like duet . This song :

(God rest ye merry gentleman (Slowed)) In my wattpad you can find it .

SCP 173

Containment breach happened . You were wearing earphones and quietly humming one of your songs . He wanted to scare you so he singed with you . You were shocked by SCP 173 saying anything . 'Cause he's a statue! He said that you don't have to worry about that . Well after 3 month you became best friends!

And after 7 month he asked you on a date . Well ... dating statue is really strange . But everyone is strange . Then you sing he likes to hug you from behind .

SCP 682

I think there'd only be one reason why he'd dislike it, at first. And that's because...he hates every one , every living being . The problem would be that he'd hear you singing, and it'd get stuck in his head . Eventually, the whole thing would just prompt his heart to flutter whenever he heard you in the corridors, singing something to yourself

Well he confessed to you after year and half . And when you're both together, I think his favorite way to soothe himself would be falling asleep as you pet his hair at night - you singing quietly ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ his favorite song

SCP 939

Same as SCP 173 . And yes he copied your voice when you were singing

He likes laying with you and copying your voice , especially copy you singing . You find it funny . It's revenge for calling him/her a dog .(If you watching SCP SL videos you will understand that . Like SCP 939 looks like a reptile-dog . No seriosly .)

SCP 1678

Well like in files said . You were with MTF Tau-4 and Epsilon-6 have been defense perimeter around the Hyde Park . You were a scientist/MTF .(Well there was other scientist there ). One of SCP 1678-b were near , and their owner (Let's say that every SCP 1678-a have their own SCP 1678-b , Aka eyes in the sky) So he heard you quietly singing . They actually likes it . Somehow he managed to befriend you , without other MTF soldiers trying to attacking him .

After 2 years you started dating . What should I say more . He writes you lyrics for songs

SCP 2521

Well you were singing some of your songs . And in the lyrics were number 2521 . And before that you mumbled word 'SCP' . When he appeared behind you . And listened you singing (Well mumbling) . After you sang your favorite song , you notices that he's behind you . You were surprised . He didn't take you somewhere else . You became friends eventually .

Then you sing he stares at you , and sometimes claps . And he likes to hug you a lot . Well after an year he confessed to you by writing it .

Well nothing really changed when you started dating.

Should I do 2 part?

#scp #scp x reader #scp foundation #scp 035 x reader #scp 049 x reader #scp 073 x reader #scp 076 x reader #scp 079 x reader #scp 096 x reader #scp 105 x reader #scp 106 x reader #scp 166 x reader #scp 173 x reader #scp 682 x reader #scp 939 x reader #scp 1678 x reader #scp 2521 x reader #fanfition

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thefruitanditsmysteries · 3 years ago

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EDIT: Just posted it on AO3 under the same username and title given here! It's a bit more edited but still not technically beta read.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40132398

Stranger Things 4 Vol. 2 Spoilers

Mini Fix-it fic, feat. The "Byler" Scene and The Stack of Unsent Letters (tm)

Title: When You're Different

Alternate Title: Queer-bait Me Again and I'll Adopt Your Children and Turn Them Gay Myself

by Me (TheFruitAndItsMysteries)

The dialogue, up to a certain point is word-for-word from the show itself. And its not beta read.

At first, there was no sound but music playing, aside from the sounds of driving on the open desert road, of course. It was Reggae, the music; not bad, but not something Will would find himself listening to on his own accord. The atmosphere in the van was tense with everyone collectively worrying about Eleven, and Will worrying about something else too. He couldn't tell right now if this was awkward, or if he was awkward, but regardless he didn't like the silence.

That's when Argyle effectively broke the silence in the van after a chunky 30 minutes of Reggae and the sound of Jonathan lightly tapping himself to stay awake. Something about dominoes falling, but mostly something about Nevada! When did they get to Nevada? I mean, Will had been looking out the window sure, for no particular reason probably (or something like that), but he hadn't actually read the signs. He had been too focused on trying to, well, act 'normal'. As in, not thinking about how worried Mike probably was; or how Mike is so scared right now; or if he were to comfort Mike, how would would he be able to do so in a way that wouldn't seem- that wouldn't scare him away, or freak him out. or something.

But, thank God, he was able to use Argyle's observation as a jumping off point, "Well, how far is Nina from Vegas?" He turned a little to face Mike.

"From Vegas?" Mike also seemed eager for the break in possibly-awkward silence, "Um, as long as Suzie's coordinates are right, about another 90 miles. Why?" Mike stayed sitting the way he was, but turned his head towards Will.

"Well, once we save her, El, we should stop on the way back! El could make us, like, super Rick, and we'd never have to work." Will started smiling, showing excitement, he looked at Mike "We could just play D&D and and Nintendo for the rest of our lives."

"Yeah. Totally." Mike responded flatly. He didn't seem in the mood for joking around right now. Will immediately noticed, turning to face him a bit more.

"We're gonna make it, Mike. She's gonna be okay." He reassured, concerned.

"Yeah, I know. I... Know she is." Mike responded quickly, sounding confident in his words at first, then, "But..." he continued, "But what if after all this is over, she- she doesn't need me anymore?"

Ahh, so this is what he was worrying about. El's stup- *ahem* El's... important... feelings towards him. It is good to know that Mike has enough confidence in her ability to not worry about whether or not she'd be okay though; kinda sweet. almost. Either way, Will did what he thought best in the moment; well, what he does best too: help in the ways he can.

"No, o-of course she'll need you." He reassured Mike, trying to catch his eye contact, "She'll always need you, Mike."

"I keep telling myself that, but I..." He looked everywhere but Will, "I don't believe it." He finally looked at will... "I mean, she's special," He didn't hold eye contact for long -- or couldn't -- "She was born special.

"Maybe I was one of the first people to realize that. But the truth is, when I stumbled on her in the woods, she just needed someone." He was starting to talk faster now, spiralling: "It's not fate. It's... it's not destiny. It's just simple dumb luck. And one day she's gonna realize I'm just some random nerd that got lucky that Superman landed on his doorstep. I mean, at least Lois Lane is an ace reporter for the Daily Planet, right? But..." he scoffs, shifting in his seat. He was frustrated, with himself Will realized, which is absolutely absurd when he thinks about it because Mike is- well, Mike is the coolest, bravest, and most importantly, the kindest person he knows. He isn't just 'some random nerd' he's- he's Mike, the heart. Will's not sure how else to describe it, but... he knows it.

And Mike should know it too.

"Sorry-"

"No," He shouldn't be apologizing. Believe it or not, feelings dont stop just because it's the end of the world, and they're still important.

"No, I... it's so stupid, given everything that going on. Its just... I- I don't know, I just.. uh-"

"You're scared of losing her." Will finished for him [Tender, emotional music playing]. Even though he knew it, it still felt like a punch to the gut to say it. Mike looked at him, for the first time really since the start of this conversation... you know what, screw it, "Can I show you something?"

Will felt a bit unsure about what he was going to do. But, he had been preparing for this, mentally that is, and now felt like as good a time as any so he figured...

He picked up the rolled up artwork and,, hesitated. When he realized that he had already committed, he felt a surge of confidence as he handed the painting to Mike. He watched nervously as Mike unrolled it in his hands, glancing between Mike and the painting.

The painting was... well, for starters, some of his best work. He probably wouldn't have given it to Mike if it weren't honestly. And he made sure that there were no visible flaws before calling it the final product; by that I mean that you should see how many drafts and scrapped versions there have been. The painting was also a, uh, part of him per se. It's cheesy but, the painting was a part of his soul, or life, or-or being that was so important, and he needed to express that in a way that he just couldn't with anything other than what had become his passion.

He looked as Mike chuckled, "This is amazing! Did you paint this?"

Will was so relieved that his painting was recieved well. He let out a huff as he smiled while answering, "Yeah. Yeah. I mean..." still, he reminded himself that he shouldn't get his hopes up, it's still not... safe to do so. But he pressed on, "I mean.. I mean, El asked me to. She commissioned it, basically. I mean, she told me what to draw." He looked around as he talked, not quite sure how big the next step in conversation should be.

Then, Jonathan started to notice what was going on. With Will at least.

That's when Will realized it was time to say more words before they were back to awkward silence, "Anyway, my point is," He leaned a bit closer to see the painting while Mike was holding it, he started pointing to the various focal points of the piece, "see how you're leading us here? You're guiding the whole party, inspiring us. That... that's what you do. And see your coat of arms here?" He looked at Mike to gage his reaction before moving on, somewhat more cautiously, "It's a heart. And I know it's sort of on the nose, but that's what holds this party together. Heart."

Mike seemed to be listening intently to what he was saying, so he took that as a sign to continue explaining, "Because, I mean, without heart, we'd all fall apart." He looked into Mike's eyes and faltered for a split second, "Even El." He remembered that this isn't supposed to be about what he thinks of Mike, that's not- he doesn't think that's what'll help Mike right now. "Especially El." So he sticks to just focusing on El, because Mike won't get anything else.

"These past few months, she's been lost without you." He started looking out the window so that maybe Mike wouldn't notice that he was getting emotional, "It's just, she's so different from other people, and..." he swallowed, and hesitantly continued, "when you're... when you're different, sometimes... you feel like a mistake." Will felt more tears come to his eyes, refusing to let them fall just yet. He just needed to get to the end of this conversation, just needed to make Mike feel better, and needed to get this off his chest (one way or another).

He turned back to look at Mike, hoping that will stop him from crying. Mike was already looking at him, so he continued, trying to get everything out as fast as possible so he can go back to looking anywhere but him, "But, you make her feel like she's not a mistake at all. Like she's better for being different," El. This is about El. Not him. Right? "And that gives her the courage to fight on." El. "If she was mean to you," not Will; this isn't about you, he would understand, Will, "or it seemed like I-she was pushing you away," Just don't say anything stupid- "It's because I'm scared of losing-" shit. Don't say anything stupid like that, shit, shit, shit, "She, she's scared of losing you." He tried to go on, "L-like you're scared of losing her."

Mike was giving him a puzzled look now. Will tried to backtrack now, feeling uncomfortable under his best friend's gaze, "I mean, I'm scared of losing you too, we are best friends after all, but-" He exhaled a breath, "that... isn't what's important righ now," he said quieter. Mike was still looking at him though.

"Will..."

"No, what's important is that you know that El is gonna be okay, and that she does miss you. And everything will work out for you in the end, like it always does." He added a quick smile before he looked back out the window, feeling nothing but anxiety and dread.

"Will... you weren't talking about El, were you." It sounded more like a statement than a question. Mike reached out to put his hand on Will's arm, hesitating for a second before following through with the action.

Will could feel his tears start to fall, still looking out the window, "What?" He questioned as he turned to look at Mike.

"That whole speech, that wasn't about El," Mike looked down at his hand sitting on Will's arm. Will looked at it too, Mike's hand.

Before Will could respond, Mike started again, "You know," he swallowed, "Eleven and I, we had an argument before she left." Will didn't respond to this, so Mike decided to continue, "She... got mad at me because I wouldn't- I couldn't tell her that I loved her. And- but, that sounded ridiculous because I had remembered writing it thousands of times, yaknow, 'love, Mike' 'love, Mike' but..." he looked back up at Will, "I didn't send them. Because... they weren't for," He paused, "They weren't for El."

He started to pull back his hand on Will's arm, but faltered when Will asked quietly, his tears having stopped, "Who, uhm... who were they for?" He wasn't looking at Mike, although his head was still vaguely turned towards him. He didn't want to look; didn't want to see Mike see him like this; didn't want to... get his hopes up, or anything. Even after a small, "Look at me." He still didn't.

He watched his periphery as, in a single motion, Mike turned himself to look at him, and leaned his head near his, trying to catch his eye.

Mike kept talking, but at a more quiet level than before, "Will, I need to know." Mike was looking at his fidgeting hands that had made it back into his lap, "Were you talking about El?"

"No." He exhaled shakily; he finally moved his head to look into Mike's eyes, and as he did he felt soft pressure on his lips.

Mike was... kissing him. And Will kissed him back.

It was probably only for a second but, even so.

When they parted, Will kept his eyes closed and didn't move until Mike chuckled, "You can open your eyes now, man." He was blushing when Will looked at him.

"They were for you, by the way." Mike added, smiling.

"What were?" He asked, giggling a bit.

"The letters. That I signed with 'love, Mike'." Mike looked down nervously, but Will swiftly moved forward to hug him. A tight hug, too.

One that they had waited for;

That they craved;

That they needed.

#stranger things spoilers #stranger things 4 #stranger things byler #byler #be gay make byler canon #fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #how it should have been #st4 volume 2

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kybee1497 · 4 years ago

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Hi kiwi! (Ily) For the ask thing;

How would you combine fake dating and sick/injured fic for willex please!

Hi Gracie!! Ily you’re the best! My brain is a big dumb dumb so this is what I got

Also editing to add that I forgot to credit @a-tomb-with-a-view for the boys nicknames. That’s 100% a her thing and I used them without thinking about it, so thank you meg ily.

So Alex’s parents have been on his ass about him settling down with a nice, Christian girl™️. Starting a family, getting a job somewhere respectable like the family firm. The whole nine yards.

Alex doesn’t want to be a lawyer, he’s double majoring in literature and history and he’s killing it. Well, he’s not sleeping and he pretty much runs on caffeine and anxiety but he has a 4.0 so, killing it.

The thing is his parents have their blinders on when it comes to who he really is. They’ve seen him reading for class and he’s gone on rants of pride and prejudice on the phone with his mom and all she said was “that’s nice honey, how are your pre-law classes going? Making any good connections? Of course you’ll work for the family firm but connections can get you a long way in this world.”

He’s literally talked about his best friend Willie for years, they’ve met Willie. He’s told them he’s gay. He’s worn a rainbow bracelet every day since he was 16. And they still ask him if he’s met any nice girls yet. At this point he’s not sure if they legitimately don’t listen to him or if they’re purposely ignore what he says.

So a few months ago he finally got fed up and started referring to willie as his boyfriend. He told willie first of course.

Willie just smirked, “whatever you wanna call it hotdog.”

And so they’d been ‘boyfriends’ for almost 4 months now and not a lot had changed. They just held hands and cuddled more often than they used to in public.

Not that it made much of a difference. His parents still referred to him as “Alex’s friend William, he wants to be a professional skateboarder, did you hear?”

Anyways, nothing much had changed and he wasn’t really sure why he was bothering but he kind of liked being Willie’s fake boyfriend and he liked the excuse to cuddle up whenever he felt like it. Sue him, it was nice okay?

But then one morning when Alex was just getting out of his 17th century literature class, it started at an ungodly 8:30 am, he got a call from an unknown number.

“Hi, is this Alexander Mercer?”

“Yes?”

“Hi, this is Cristina at St. Mary’s Emergency. We’re calling about a patient here, William Covington, he put you down as his emergency contact.”

Alex felt his heart stop, “oh my god! What happened?”

“Oh, I’m sorry to worry you, he’s totally fine. He fell skateboarding earlier this morning and he has a concussion so he can’t drive himself home. He’ll need to be picked up. He’s being discharged now and should be ready in about an hour. Does that work for you?”

“Um, yeah. That works, I can be there in an hour. Thank you for letting me know.”

“Of course, and you are Mr. Covington’s husband correct? You’ll need to sign the forms when you arrive and only family can sign him out.”

Alex choked on his own spit. Mind blanking for a few seconds. Husband?!? He knew they were fake dating, but husband was a whole different ball game. Did willie think they were fake married? We’re they real married? Alex thinks he would have remembered marrying Willie. He would have right?? Then again they did go to Nevada State which was only 25 minutes outside of Vegas and they went often enough.

Dear god had they gotten married?

“Alexander?”

“My apologies, yes he’s my husband. I can be there in an hour. Is there anything I need to bring?”

“Just your ID and you should be all good.”

“Thank you so much!”

Alex hung up the phone in a daze, slipping it into his pocket and heading towards his car.

Slipping into the drivers seat he pulled his phone out, texting his boys.

Alexa: Are Willie and I married?????

Bobert: are you fucking kidding me?

Lucy: ahahahahahahahaha

Reggalina: ??????

Alexa: that’s not an answer you guys!!

Lucy: how do you not know?

Reggalina: ^^^

Bobert: I need a fucking drink

Alexa: either way I’m picking him up from the hospital in an hour

Lucy: wait what??

Alexa: yeah he apparently has a concussion and as his husband I can sign him out. He’s just fudging the truth right? So he can leave?

Bobert: Jesus fucking Christ

Alexa: I still don’t know what that means!!

His boys went radio silent after that. The fuckers, he supposes he can just ask willie in an hour, even though that will be embarrassing as hell.

~~~~~

So it turns out they were actually married, they had been for a year. Alex had drunkenly proposed one night in Vegas. With a PowerPoint as evidence

They were already best friends. It would be easier to get an apartment after college as a married couple

The health insurance

It would finally make Alex’s parents lay off on the nice, Christian girl fantasy

It would be a big fuck you to willies uncle Caleb who was all about the drama and show and who had been planning to plan willies wedding since he was in high school, Caleb would be performing of course and all of The Who’s who of society would be in attendance. A drunken wedding in Vegas at a cheap chapel with a singing Elvis impersonator would really grind calebs gears

They were bro’s

It was a very convincing power point and willie had been thrilled to become Mr. William Mercer (another way to piss of Uncle Caleb)

They’d been husbands for a year already, hence willies smirk when Alex had asked to be fake boyfriends, seemed like a step down from husbands but okay.

They’d decided that if they were already married and bro’s and all that, they may as well try out making it real. So now alex got cuddles whenever he wanted, even if they weren’t out in public. He got to kiss willies dimples, and sleep wrapped in willies arms.

It was the best hospital call he’d ever recieved.

#jatp #julie and the himbos #julie and the phantoms #alex mercer #Willie jatp #willex #willex fic #jatp fic #ask games

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eideticmemory · 5 years ago

Text

EVER SINCE NEW YORK | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

Description: I was messaged saying: “If you don’t write a young Matthew enemies to lovers fic featuring an obsession with sucking on boobs then what’s the point 😔.” So, here it is, folks! The ultimate College!Matthew fic.

PART 1! - for Sara [@bravadostyles], the ultimate muse.

SOUNDTRACK:

Empire State of Mind - Jay Z.

Animals - Maroon 5.

Dopamine - Børns.

Word Count: 4,731.

Rating: M.

Warning/Includes: Sexual intercourse, recreational drug use, a bit of angst.

Spring, Freshman Year.

Tisch School of the Arts,

New York University.

New York City.

“You’ve got that face on,” Claire said.

“What face is that, Claire?”

“Your trademark ready-to-go-home face,” she giggled. “You tired?”

“Just a little,” you whispered, head resting on her shoulder, feet hanging off the bed. “Had a long day at rehearsal.”

“Ah,” she nodded. “Well, if you wanna go, we can go. I’ll walk you home.”

“No,” you shook your head, and placed your hand on her arm. “It’s fine. I’m having a good time.”

Soft music played through the small speakers on Jonathan’s desk, mixing in with the chatter of your friends. Everyone sat in different spaces around the room, some on the desk, some on John’s bed, and you and Claire rested on his roommate’s bed. Open solo cups of beer were scattered amongst the room. It was calm, chill, and then the door swung open.

“Yoooooo!” The entering voice rang, instantly earning a happy response from Johnathan, who hopped off his bed and ran towards the entrance.

“Gube!” John exclaimed, arms open wide to embrace his friend. He always got a little touchy-feely when he was tipsy. “Where the hell you been, man?”

“Consider my good time ruined,” you murmured to Claire.

“Be nice, [y/n],” she responded, patting your leg. “Everyone’s having a nice time, don’t start anything.”

“Me? Me? I don’t start anything, I never start anything. It’s him who starts it. That di—“

“Hey, [y/n],” Matthew greeted, taking a seat beside John. “Hey, Claire.”

“Hey, Gube,” Claire smiled. She gave you a gentle nudge with her elbow.

You rolled your eyes, “Hi, Matthew,” you reluctantly replied, refusing to make eye contact.

“Aw, c’mon, that’s all I get?” Matthew teased. “What’s wrong, sleeping beauty? You tired?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” you told him, finally looking over at him. He wore a white polo, paired with a busted pair of jeans and white converse with his mismatched socks poking out. On his chest sat his trademark gold chain, the medallion set in the center of his sternum.

“Might be past your bedtime,” he shrugged. “Really. Might be better if you just left.”

“Me?” You scoffed. “Why don’t you leave? We were perfectly fine before you got here.”

“Oh, God,” someone groaned. “Here they go.”

“John wants me here. I’m a little more fun than someone who falls asleep mid-conversation, so I can see why.”

“Matthew, why are you talking to me? Can you just pretend,” you waved your arms around. “Pretend there’s a wall here.”

“Don’t mind her,” Claire interjected. “She’s crabby because she hasn’t started editing her project yet.”

You gasped, “Why would you just announce that, Claire? I didn’t wanna be reminded of that.”

“[y/n], you’re gonna be fucked if you don’t get that shit done. It’s due next week.” Another friend told you.

You groaned, “Yes. I know that. But I’ve been killing myself practicing for the show every night. And when I finally sat down to start editing, I didn’t know how to work the damn software!”

“You don’t know how to work EasyEdit?”

“No,” you sighed. “I missed class that day. I tried to learn on YouTube, and that confused me even more. So, I have since then given up.”

“Hm,” John hummed. “You know who’s really good with EasyEdit?”

“Who?”

“Gube,” John answered. This prompted Matthew to lift his head up at astronomical speed, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “He taught me how to use it. He could help you, [y/n].”

“John...” Claire said.

“What, Claire?” John replied. “[y/n] needs help and Gube can help. I’m just saying.”

You cut your eyes over to Matthew, who was watching you, but he quickly turned away when you made eye contact.

“You’re not clever,” Claire shook her head. “You’re nosey is what you are.”

“Nosey?” You pipped, tapping Claire’s arm. “What do you mean nosey?”

“I mean, if you and Gube just...” John said. “I’m gonna say it - fucked - one good time, the two of you could get over this whole rivalry already.”

“And stop arguing all the damn time,” someone added. “The shit’s annoying.”

Your jaw had been dropped since the word ‘fucked’ was uttered. You looked up at Claire who gave you a sympathetic smile.

“I-“ You stuttered. “I...never say that again, John! Ever. Ew!”

“Ew?” Matthew exclaimed. “You’d be lucky if I tossed you a bone.”

Your jaw dropped even lower, stunned by Matthew’s words. “You arrogant son of a bitch,” you muttered. “And this is who you want me to allow near my final project?” You directed at John.

“Hey, if you don’t wanna fuck me, it shouldn’t be a problem, right?” Matthew taunted, biting his lip and tilting his head.

“No. I don’t wanna fuck you! I also don’t want to spend any more time with you than I absolutely have to. So I will learn EasyEdit by myself.”

“Okay,” Matthew shrugged. “You’re not gonna figure that shit out in time, but fine, princess. Be stubborn.”

You rolled your eyes at him, shaking your head in annoyance.

“[y/n], let Gube help,” Claire said. “You’re gonna drive yourself insane with that and the show coming up, plus finals? Just this once.”

You looked over at Matthew, instantly getting angry again. Hate is a strong word. It’s a very, very strong word. And you’d never use it against anybody. Ever. Except Matthew Gubler. That may sound a bit dramatic, so to clear up any confusion, here’s a composite list of every asshole, dick, bastard, bitch-ass move he’s made in one semester:

1. Broke your editing equipment trying to do magic tricks in class.

2. Didn’t apologize.

3. Called your last documentary “uninspired, dry, a little like a lullaby.”

4. Took the last spot for an internship over Christmas break.

5. Which he knew you wanted.

6. Refused to partner with you on a final project because “you can’t even get to class everyday.”

7. In front of everyone because he’s a jackass.

8. Told you that you were insane for majoring in film making AND ballet.

9. Proceeded to tell you that you look better in a leotard than a suit.

10. Fucked your roommate.

11. While you were in the room.

12. Insisted that Wes Craven is a better horror director than Tim Burton? Is he dumb?

13. Calls you ballerina barbie, short stack, princess, anything other than your actual name.

14. Won’t drop dead.

And, because you’re not going to let anyone treat you that way, here’s a list of things you’ve done in retaliation:

1. “Accidentally” stepped on his canvas.

2. 3 times.

3. Uploaded a video of you calling him a dick in place of his documentary.

4. Yes, he did play it for the class on accident.

5. Told him you didn’t want to be his partner anyway since he walks around stoned 24/7.

6. Laughed.

7. Told him he’d be a good ballerina. His tiny dick would fit perfectly in a leotard.

8. Fucked his friend. While said friend was supposed to help Matthew with his project.

9. Told him none of Edgar Allan Poe’s work was actually interesting enough for screen time. (He almost passed out, he got so mad.)

10. Told him his mismatch socks were dumb.

11. Consistently call him asshole, dick, jackass, or just Matthew. All synonyms.

12. Refuse to let him mess with you.

So, the idea of him helping you with your project, coming into your room, bothering you for hours on end, was a ridiculous thought. You should punch John for even mentioning it. Except. It wasn’t a bad idea.

“Hey, pants stay on,” Matthew said, giving you a smirk. “Boy Scouts honor.”

Everyone was looking at you. It made you queasy. Annoyed. Angry. And you couldn’t take it. So, you sighed heavily and cut your eyes towards Matthew. “Fine,” you grimaced. “Fine. Monday night. You will teach me how to use EasyEdit. And then we can all drop this.”

“Ah, success,” John cheered. “I’m not worried, though. Look at [y/n], she’s so innocent. She looks like she belongs on top of a Christmas tree. She does ballet for crying out loud. I doubt fucking is on her to-do list.”

“And on that note,” you pushed yourself off the bed. “I’m going to my room. Goodnight.”

Your room was just down the hall, and you showered, changed, brushed your teeth and got into bed in all of 30 minutes. Just about to fall asleep, you were disturbed by the sound of keys jingling in the door. Sloppy footsteps stumbled into the room, accompanied by silly giggles.

Thinking you were asleep, your roommate admired your sleeping frame, “Awwww,” she cooed. “Precious, precious, [y/n].” She walked over to you and rubbed your shoulder.

“You’re crazy to not wanna fuck Matthew,” she whispered, chuckling. “You don’t know what you’re missing, kid.”

And you stayed still, silent, pretended to snore. All while Claire crawled into her bed.

When Monday rolled around, you spent the entire day with a chip on your shoulder. Claire kissed the top of your head and insisted you’d be fine, that your project would be done by the end of the night and you’d be grateful for Matthew’s help. But she knew that was a dead cause in her heart of hearts. You both knew it’d be a miracle if Matthew and you made it through 15 minutes of editing.

When she left to go to a friend’s place, you changed into pajama pants, combined with a cozy cropped button sweater. You sat at your desk, and waited. You’d told Matthew to arrive at 7.

He got there at 7:59.

By then, you were laying in bed, pissed and upset that you’d actually been convinced to give Matthew a chance. He knocked on the door, and you answered with an attitude. “Go home, Matthew.”

“Don’t be like that, short stack,” he sighed, following you as you stomped into the room. “I got caught up. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? What’d you get caught up with? A gram?” You spit.

He laughed, “Haha, so funny. No, I was not getting high. I was working on my own project. That I finished. Ahead of time. Can you relate, [y/n]?”

“Get out of my room,” you scoffed. “I asked you for one thing. One. And you couldn't even do that. You knew how important this project was to me, and you didn’t give a fuck. I wasted time waiting for you that I could’ve been working or rehearsing! I—Are you listening?”

Matthew’s eyes had been concentrated solely on your chest, “Are you wearing a bra?” He asked.

You took a step back, stunned, blinking rapidly as you searched around the room. “I’m sorry,” you said. “I’m just trying to find where the hell that came from?”

“It came from that itty bitty shirt you’re wearing,” he replied with a shrug. “Doesn’t really leave much to the imagination.”

“Stop staring at my tits!” You shouted, face turning red. “God, Matthew, I can’t stand to look at you right now. Just, leave. Please.”

He did not stop staring at your tits. Not for a very long time. But when he did, he had this look in his eyes. Like a wire had snapped. And he kissed you. Cupped your face in his hands, pulled you close, and kissed you. You pressed your hands against his chest, face contorting in shock and confusion.

You pushed him away, lips retracting with a sharp smacking noise. Saliva dripped from your lips, and you stood there, huffing and puffing like the two of you had just run a mile. “What the hell was that?” You snapped, your fingertips lightly touching your bottom lip.

He didn’t reply. He was just as speechless as you were. Speechless, and confused, and out of breath, and so, so pretty. He was so pretty. Has he always been that pretty?

You grabbed onto the hem of his shirt and pulled him back in, pressing your lips together in an aggressive collision. Matthew’s hand gripped onto your hair, his body pushing itself against yours in an eager attempt to get as close to you as possible. His other hand made its way to your waist, gripping onto your skin so hard, his nails left marks. Both his hands began to snake down your body, landing on the back of your thighs.

Very suddenly, Matthew scooped you up in his arms, yanking your feet off of the ground. You let out a breathy ‘oof’ as you found yourself perched in his grasp, your legs wrapped around his torso, your hands on his shoulders. He supported your weight so easily, all while sliding his tongue into your mouth.

He carried you over to your bed, where he abruptly dropped you onto the mattress, and looked down at you with a lustful grin. Standing beside the bed, he leaned in as if he was going to kiss you — slowly, with his hands reaching out to touch your body — but he didn’t. Instead, he placed his hands on your ribs and pushed your sweater up, over your breasts to reveal your chest.

“I knew it,” he whispered. “I knew you weren’t wearing a bra.”

Your breath caught in your throat, before you released it shakily. His lips wrapped around your nipple, wetting it with his tongue and applying light suction. A soft moan left your mouth, and you gripped onto his hair in ecstasy. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. He sucked harder, to the point of pain, just to hear you make some noise. Any noise. When one nipple began to pulse between his lips, he moved to the other, leaving a trail of love bites between them.

The heat between your legs was suffocating, and you rubbed your thighs together for some relief. Matthew noticed this, and proceeded to stick his hands down your pants, fingers sliding underneath the band of your underwear. He smirked at how soaked you were already and rubbed your clit as he licked a trail up to your neck. You tightened your thighs around his hand, gasping at the friction and pulling at the bedsheets.

The sound caused Matthew to take in a sharp breath of air. His cock was pressed against the zipper of his jeans, and was getting to the point that it was excruciating. So, as he massaged your nerve, he undid his pants and pushed them down his legs.

He nibbled on your ear, and as you gave him a quiet moan, your eyes flickered down to look between your bodies. Flushed, and horny, and suddenly so desperate, you grabbed onto Matthew’s large erection and pressed the tip against your clit.

He grunted and pulled back to stare you in the eye, a sly grin creeping onto his face. He laughed, “I knew it. I fucking knew it. Innocent? Innocent, my ass.”

As you rolled your eyes at him, he kissed your lips softly, hands holding onto your thighs. You positioned his cock at your entranced and allowed him to press into you. He stood up straight, watching his cock disappear inside you, slowly, steadily, before he suddenly slammed into you. The sound of skin colliding on skin mixed in with your and Matthew’s moans, and he watched your head roll back in pleasure.

He licked his lips, smirking. And he did it again. And again. And again. Pulling out all the way and pushing back into you. Hard. The sensation struck your chest, and elicited vulnerable moans from you every time he pounded you. Matthew instantly began to speed his hips up, nails digging into your thighs as he pressed your legs open for him. His used all his strength to fuck you, your head knocking into the wall with every thrust. It was sloppy and messy and you couldn’t stop whimpering. Your eyes were screwed shut, and when you opened them again, the first thing you noticed with his chain. The gold medallion dangled in your face, Matthew’s lips pressed against your cheek.

Absentmindedly, you tangled your fingers in the chain, tugging on it as your volume increased. “Fuck,” you muttered. “Oh, fuck.”

He brought his hand up to your face, placing his thumb on your bottom lip. “Open your mouth,” he ordered, quietly, softly. And you did it without thinking. His thumb slid into your mouth, twirling around your tongue and stifling your moans.

He removed his hand and placed his thumb on your clit, wetting the skin with your own saliva. You let out a loud yelp at the new sensation, and a bubble instantly formed in your stomach.

Oh, no, not Matthew, you thought. Don’t let it be Matthew.

But with his cock and his hips and the way he kissed your neck and rubbed your sensitive nerve all at once. You came, you came with a fit of pornographic moans, trembling and writhing around on the bed.

And it was Matthew — the first guy to make you come. Ever.

He licked his lips as he watched you come undone beneath him, proud of himself — to the point of cockiness. Giving you a few more forceful pumps, he pulled out of you and released himself onto your chest, watching the fluid cover the hickies he’d left there.

He looked angelic on top of you, moaning, panting, swearing under his breath. But the moment he finished, he stepped back, fastened his pants and walked away. You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him in a daze.

Matthew logged onto your computer, pressed a few buttons and then closed the laptop shut. Then he left.

However, the next day he sent you an email. Your project. Fully and perfectly edited.

Okay. So, that happened. They said it would happen and it happened. Didn’t necessarily make you hate Matthew any less, but it happened. It was good. You hated to admit it. And it was all you could think about. You couldn’t even touch yourself or hold your pillow without thinking of Matthew. It was bad.

Especially, given the fact that after the whole situation, he decided not to talk to you. At all. Not in class, not while hanging out with friends, not even to pick a fight. Complete and utter radio silence. He looked at you enough though. Not while you were looking at him, of course. So, as far as you knew, you were far off of his mind. But life had to go on. You had to focus on school, and on top of that, you were due to perform in NYU’s production of Swan Lake in less than two weeks.

You landed the main role of Odette, meaning for the next two weeks, you had to eat, sleep, breathe ballet. You practiced for hours on end, barely saw your friends, which gave you a good break from seeing Matthew.

Opening night rolled around and you were so nervous, you thought you might puke. Only a freshman, it was a miracle you landed the role in the first place, which meant your performance tonight was a make or break moment. Claire could tell you were sick to your stomach and tried to distract you by taking a bunch of pictures on her phone.

“Smile, pretty girl!” She beamed, the flashing going off in your face as you posed. “[y/n], you’re gonna kill it! I’m so excited! Aren’t you excited?”

“Yeah...” you whispered. “Deathly excited.”

“Aw, poor baby,” she swung her arm around your shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna be front and center, cheering you on. Just focus on me, okay?”

You smiled and nodded, taking in a deep breath. “Okay.”

Your body was on autopilot out on stage. The movements you’d practiced everyday, for hours and hours on end, just flowed. The lighting in the audience was dark, but you could just barely make out Claire’s figure under the soft hue.

It wasn’t until the finale, when you stood ready for your closing performance, that the lights switched to their full intensity and you noticed a hand resting on Claire’s shoulder. An arm resting behind her head. Someone whispering in her ear, making her laugh.

Matthew.

He was here. He was here and he was with Claire. He was with Claire and he was watching you. And it made your stomach feel weird. But then the music kicked up. So, you had to go. You fell into your dance, your rhythm and for some reason, you could not stop staring at Matthew.

Every twirl, you made him your focal point. Looking at him again, and again, and again. Until the lights went out.

Supporting ballerinas cheered you on as you walked offstage, throwing flowers at your feet and giving you applause. Your instructor marched right up to you, kissed both sides of your face and embraced you. It was a wonderful feeling, but right then, you were drained, emotionally, mentally, physically, you needed some rest.

You locked yourself away in your dressing room, taking a seat in the mirror and beginning to remove your tights. Pressing a makeup wipe to your skin, you jumped, startled by a knock on the door. You rose from your seat and walked to the entrance casually, expecting Claire to greet you.

 But you froze, as soon as you opened the door. Eyes glazing over the person in front you, your breath caught in your throat. “Matthew.”

“Hey,” he smiled. He looked you up and down — your naked legs, your breasts poking through the thin material of the leotard. “You...you were amazing tonight.”

“Thank you,” you whispered. “Bye.”

You attempted to close the door on him, but his put his elbow against the frame, stopping it in motion. “Whoa,” he exclaimed, pushing his way into the room. “What the hell is your problem?” He closed the door behind him.

“My problem is that I’m very tired, and still need to change, and greet everyone waiting for me. So, I don’t have time for this.”

“Time for what?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

You ducked your head down, “Nothing. Nothing. You need to leave.”

“Hey, hey, hey, ballerina barbie,” he mocked. “What’s your deal?”

“I don’t have a deal! I have nothing to say to you Matthew. Same way you have nothing to say to me.” You scrunched up your face in a frown.

“I...” he paused, laughing under his breath. “I never said I didn’t have something to tell you. In fact, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

You looked up at him — the gel in his hair, his black button down shirt flowing over his belt buckle, his dark eyes, his lips and the way they were pouting just a little. And like a magnet, you found yourself being pulled towards him. You jumped into his arms, hands on his face, and connecting your lips, mouths open, tongues touching.

Matthew held you up, moaning against your lips. “Mm,” you hummed. “Wait, what if someone comes in?”

Matthew thought quickly, hiking you up in his arms and shoving your back against the door. “Well, now they can’t get in, can they?” He mumbled, leaving kisses along your neck.

Your jaw dropped and you started to undo his belt, freeing his cock from his pants. He grunted against your skin as you stroked him, your head leaned back against the door, your chest heaving. You used your other hand to pull your leotard to the side, revealing your throbbing core.

Matthew smirked, letting you guide his dick to your entrance, and pushed his way into you swiftly. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck to keep yourself quiet. His thrusts were quick, rough, messy. He was much more vocal this time, making no effort to stay silent.

“Fuck,” he moaned in your ear. “F-fuck, I forgot how good your pussy is. Fuck.”

The feeling was mutual. For the past month, you’d be wondering what the hell about Matthew had you so stuck. So fixated on him. And this was it. He filled you up perfectly, could manhandle you however he wanted, and always, always made sure you came.

He fucked you harder when he noticed your orgasm nearing — your quickened breaths, frequent moans and whines, and your legs tightening against his torso. “Oh, my God,” you whimpered.

“Shit, are you gonna come?” He asked. “Good.”

Breathless, speechless, you stared into his eyes helplessly as your body began to crumble. All power left your body and you held onto his shirt for dear life. He gave you a small smile, and flipped his hair out of his face, looking down at his cock. He could pinpoint the exact stroke that did it. The one that sent you into a state of euphoria, sent your eyes rolling back, your body into intense shock.

You let out a long and weakened sigh as the wave washed over you, and Matthew continued to plow into you like nothing was happening.

“It’s so cool how your pussy tightens up when you come,” he chuckled. “It’s hot.”

You rolled your eyes at the sound of his voice, clawing at the back of his neck. His breathing became ragged and hoarse, and he had to pull out of you before he came. He jerked himself off until he exploded onto your clothing. And with you being dressed in all black, his stains stood out perfectly on your costume.

This time, he gave you a kiss on the cheek before he left.

The week after that was finals week. And neither of you could be bothered to reach out. Despite the not-so-subtle confession of bitterness and the very intense orgasms you shared, you and Matthew simply went back to not talking. Your friends thought it was strange, even commented that they missed the bickering. The two of you shrugged in response.

Most of your dorm room was in boxes by the time you finished your last final exam. Claire was slower to pack up than you were, considering she only lived an hour away, but she applauded you for your determination. The day Claire did start packing was the day before you left for the summer. The two of you spent the day getting everything cleared out, cleaned, squared away.

While the two of you sat on your bed, watching Netflix, a knock sounded from your door. Claire hopped up and headed towards the entrance, opening it with a grand smile. “Gube!” She shouted, instantly opening her arms for a hug. Matthew wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her up, carrying her into the room with a smile.

“Are you about to leave?” She asked him, holding onto his arms as he placed her feet back on the ground.

“Yeah, my mom’s here. So, I wanted to stop by and say goodbye,” he nodded.

“Aw, Gube, you softie,” she giggled. “[y/n], come say bye.”

“I can say bye from right here, Claire,” you replied. She gave you a look, and you felt compelled to get off the bed. So you did, you approached them, “Bye, Matthew.”

“Bye, shortcake,” he laughed. “Bye, Claire.” He pulled your roommate into another hug, while you stood there, crossing your arms in annoyance.

Matthew peeked at you over Claire’s shoulder. One hand rubbed her back and the other reached out to you, holding a small note.

Your eyes went wide as you looked at him, then the note, then Claire. You ripped the paper from his hand, and stuffed it into your pocket right away. He smirked at you, and turned his attention back to Claire.

“Hey,” he said to her. “Come back to my place, I want everyone there to show my mom I actually have friends.”

Claire chuckled and nodded, “Okay,” she shrugged. “Let’s go. [y/n], you coming?”

“Uh, no,” you shook your head. “I’m gonna keep packing, but I’ll text you later.”

“Okay,” Claire smiled, and she let Matthew whisk her away.

You sighed, and as soon as the door closed, you pulled the crumpled piece of paper from your pocket. You opened it up to reveal — not a meaningful message, not even a few words. Just one string of numbers, writing in his handwriting:

505.

[PART 2.]

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