#gordon is overwhelmed AS FUCK but he's trying his best

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 2

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

AN: I was overwhelmed by the response on Part 1 (in the BEST way). 🥹 Thank you so much for everyone who read and sent me your lovely amazing comments! Here's Part 2 a bit early for ya. 😘

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 6,400 Tags/Warnings: Idiots flirting, with a side of sexual harassment. 😪

Part 2: "Lieutenant Winchester"

Firehouse 25 was just as much a house as it was a home.

Especially for Dean Winchester.

In the common room, he sat down at his preferred corner of the sofa with a cup of coffee. By now, the guys knew this was his spot, perfectly angled toward the new flatscreen TV someone donated last month.

Up until then, they’d had to hotwire the same tank from 1995, which had only got basic cable. Now at least the newer smart TV came with a subscription to Netflix, courtesy of the donor. 

Dean raised his favorite Batman mug to his face, expecting to imbibe some rich dark roast. What he got was a travesty.

Spitting out the brown soil water back into the mug, he coughed and grimaced.

“Jack!” he called out.

Jack Kline, the newest addition to the house, raised his head from where he was trying to scramble eggs in the open kitchen directly behind the couch.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” he replied.

“Why does this coffee taste like ass?” Dean asked. His voice was still gruff with sleep, as he depended on his morning coffee to wake him up, not assault his tongue.

Behind him, Jack blinked in confusion. “Uh…”

Dean finally turned around and gave the younger man a raised brow.

“What brand did you buy, Candidate?” he asked.

A candidate was a freshly graduated firefighter on probation. They were the rookie, the bottom rung of the totem pole, and Jack was that proverbial whipping post.

“Um…” Jack went to find the coffee canister he’d put away in the cupboards. He showed Dean the red plastic jug. “Folgers. It was on sale.”

“Fuck me,” Dean muttered. “Never Folgers, Candidate. Anything but fucking Folgers. The one thing we don’t skimp out on is quality joe.”

“That ain’t nothin’ but dirt water, son,” Benny remarked, as he and Gordon entered the common room. Benny held a to-go mug he’d brought from home. After he’d seen what Jack brought for groceries yesterday, he’d taken no chances.

“What you wanna get is Gevalia,” Benny added.

“That European crap?” said Gordon. He took his usual spot at the dining table, leaning back in his chair. It left Benny to sit at the other end of the couch with Dean.

“Better than that piss water you drink,” Benny said with a smirk. Gordon raised a brow at him.

“Tea is medicinal, jackass.” The Black man raised a finger to punctuate his point. “It’s good for you. Unlike that carburetor fluid y’all drink.”

“Whatever, man,” Dean said, even though a grin edged at his lips. “All I know is, we need premium coffee, stat. Or it’s gonna be a cranky shift.”

“I can go to the store real quick,” Jack offered.

Say what you want about the kid’s poor taste in grocery buying, he was always willing to jump in when you needed him.

“Nah, stay on breakfast,” said Dean. “I’ll go afterwards. But remember, today you’re practicing rappelling drills.”

Jack nodded. “And lunch duty. And helping clean the truck, and all the bathrooms…did I miss anything?”

Dean shared a look with Gordon. Not only did he drive the truck, but he was one of the men Dean relied on most, as he had the next highest seniority on the job out of the whole firehouse.

Well, except for Benny Lafitte, Captain of the Rescue Squad. Squad members were considered specialists in complex rescue situations. They were highly trained on more sophisticated technical rescue equipment and rappelling, even scuba diving.

It took long years for a firefighter to make it onto Squad; something that Dean used to have ambitions for. But ever since he got promoted to Lieutenant on Truck 79, he realized that his role in this house was best served on the Truck, not on Squad.

“If he gets through all that, Meg might have something for him too,” Gordon said.

“Oh, don’t bring me into this,” remarked a droll voice. “I’ve already got one pound puppy to look after.”

Their Paramedic in Charge strode in with Chuck on her heels. They’d just pulled into the firehouse driveway on Ambulance 7.

“Nice. That’s how you talk about your partner of three years?” Chuck said with a frown. Meg turned to him with a wry grin.

“Only the ones who can hack it on my Ambo,” she replied. “What can I say. You’re special, Shurley. Either that, or a glutton for punishment.”

Gordon shook his head and looked over at Jack.

“Careful with that one. She chewed and hacked out her last partner in under a month.”

“Poor guy didn’t even transfer,” Dean added, making a “flatlining” motion with his hand. “He just quit. Dropped out of the Fire Academy that same day.”

Not all firefighters were made through Meg’s department, but it was a common route, working as a paramedic while getting put through your paces in the Fire Academy. Dean himself had gone straight to the Academy after getting his EMT certification.

But at Dean’s words, Jack’s eyes widened a fraction. Meg turned to him with an almost feline smile. 

“How was the call?” Benny asked her, speaking of the job they’d just returned from. Meg’s expression dimmed a little, as did Chuck’s as they both sat down at the table.

“Ah, just Henry again,” she said. “Overdosed on his insulin.”

Benny frowned, while Dean shook his head. Jack’s brows furrowed.

“Who’s Henry?” he asked.

Meg sat back in her chair with a subtle sigh. Knowing his work partner’s mood, Chuck answered the young man’s question.

“He’s homeless, lives by the river,” he said. “He’s one of our ‘regulars,’ you could say. When we get the call, usually he’s passed out. Dehydration. But sometimes it’s more serious.”

“You can’t take him to the hospital?” Jack asked in concern.

“Today we did,” Meg said. Her brown eyes met Jack’s, her mouth in a thin line. “But without health insurance, there’s only so much they can do after they get him stable.”

That fell a bit heavily into the room. It wasn’t a pleasant fact, but it was the reality. Jack was learning more and more about that aspect of this job, and learning if he could handle the darker shades of what it could bring.

“Well, breakfast is ready,” he said, bringing a large plate of eggs and toast onto the counter. Dean tossed him an appreciative half-smile and got up from the couch.

“Thanks, kid,” he said, walking over along with everyone else. He took a moment to pat Jack on the shoulder.

“What do you want to do first: run drills, or help me and Gordon wash the truck?” Dean asked.

Jack looked up with a smile. “Can we run drills first?”

Dean nodded, grinning back at him. “Good answer.”

The rest of the Truck and Squad crews ambled in at both the announcement and the smell of food. And before long, the common room was filled with conversation, good-natured teasing, and shitty coffee all around.   

From his vantage point facing the open door to the driveway, Benny caught sight of a young woman heading towards the double doors with a large tupperware bin in hand. Bonnie the receptionist happened to be coming in at the same time. You asked her a question Benny couldn’t quite hear.

“Dean… Oh, you’re looking for Lieutenant Winchester?” Bonnie asked. Her voice tended to carry. “Right in there, hun.”

“Well, that sure is interesting,” Benny murmured with a smile. He glanced over slyly at his friend. “Heads up, brother.”

Dean looked up from his plate of eggs expectantly. Benny gestured over with his eyes, just as you walked into the firehouse, both cautious and unsure of where you were going.

Dean’s brows raised. He found himself setting down his plate and getting up from the couch before he really knew what he was doing.

You looked exactly how he remembered. Though this time, you weren’t coffee stained in your professional blouse and black pencil skirt. His attention drew briefly downwards to your heels, this time solid black (and even taller than the last pair, damn).

He noticed all the same things he had last time: the shade of your hair, pinned up again with a clip as stray pieces framed your face. The way you carried yourself when you finally saw him, straightening with a subtle confidence in your shoulders, even though you looked a bit nervous. And the pretty curve of your lips when your eyes found his.

“Hey, there,” Dean said. He gave you one of his trademark smiles. “Good to see you again.”

“Uh, hi,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I guess I don’t have to ask if you remember me.”

Dean nodded. “‘Course I do. What can I do for you?”

Your face seemed to freeze up a bit as you looked up at him.

“Oh, um, nothing really. I just wanted to say thank you, again,” you said. And you glanced past him, where the rest of the firehouse members were discreetly watching. “All of you, actually. And my friend told me that firefighters really like food…but, I mean, doesn’t everyone?”

You laughed a little, in a nervous way that made Dean struggle not to smile too much.

“Anyway, I like to bake,” you twittered on, “and I had some time this week after…well, you know what happened. So…I brought this!”

You raised up your tupperware with a smile.

And you were damn adorable, Dean thought. His own smile deepened as he glanced down at the offering, then at you. He took the container and opened the lid, and was honestly surprised at what he saw.

He could’ve sworn these were Bonafede, just-poured-out-of-the-box Girl Scout cookies. Dozens of them. He saw shortbreads (complete with the little wavy lines), Samoa cookies with the coconut flakes, and even what looked like chocolate covered Thin Mints. They also smelled delicious.

“Wow. Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, with genuine warmth. “I’m pretty sure the guys are gonna tear these apart the second I put ‘em down.”

Your face brightened, and Dean noticed how it reached your eyes with a bit of a blush.

“Well, I hope you guys enjoy,” you said. Your hands fiddled with your purse next.

“Heading off to work now?” he asked.

“Yep,” you nodded, with a certain glint in your eye. “I plan on taking the stairs this time.”

Dean raised a brow. “All 22 floors?”

“Gotta get my steps in somehow,” you joked. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to become a repeat offender, make you guys come all the way back across town again.”

“Aw, I wouldn’t mind,” he said, meeting your eyes. And he found that he meant it. In fact, he didn’t think he’d mind if your building’s elevator broke down every damn week.

Your expression shifted towards amusement. “Well, you must be very dedicated to your job.”

“Protect and serve,” Dean teased back. “That’s our motto, you know.”

“Isn’t that for police officers?” you quipped.

He chuckled. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

“Well…” you considered that with a tilt of your head, more seriously than he expected you to. You met him with a more earnest gaze. “I think it does.”

Right then, Dean had a feeling, deep in his gut, that he needed to know you. He had half a mind to heed his instincts, to take advantage of the signals he thought you were sending him, and ask if he could take you out sometime.

But it was unprofessional here at the firehouse (not that that had stopped him before). He’d been making efforts to curb that kind of behavior for the past few months.

He also remembered the 30 floors of your massive, fancy office building. He considered the price tags that probably came with the admittedly sexy, high-powered corporate look you had going on. Those were probably a lot more zeros than he was used to seeing on his paycheck.

So for once, he didn’t pull the trigger.

“Well, thanks. I really do appreciate that,” Dean replied. His smile then was more sincere, if also more professional. He gestured at the container in his hand. “And on behalf of all the guys, thanks for this too.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied. “I have to go, but…thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester.”

“Ah,” he shook his head, “just call me Dean.”

You agreed by smiling, just a little bit more.

“Dean.”

He nodded back, sending you off with a smile of his own. He forced himself to taper it down after you left, and he had to turn around to meet his friends. Their grins reminded him of piranhas.

“All right. Out with it, you freakin’ jackals.” He waved his free hand in a “bring it on” gesture.

Meg was the first one to burst out laughing. It spearheaded the rest of them, whooping and catcalling and generally being menaces. Even Jack was grinning at his lieutenant’s expense.

Meg got up from her seat and bumped Dean’s shoulder on her way to the kitchen, where she dumped her dishes.

“Thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester,” she mocked in a saccharine sweet voice. Then she lowered it into an exaggerated mimic of his deeper one, “Call me Dean, baby girl. Fucking priceless. You should get your own Hallmark movie.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He’d been prepared for this, but his face was still getting warm.

“Shut up, Meg,” he tossed back. They all had an ongoing Family Guy joke that never failed to make their PIC narrow her eyes. And she did so now, giving him a fake grimace as she left the kitchen.

“All right, kiddos. If you need me, don’t,” she said. “Chuck! Let’s sort the ambo’s inventory.”

“Got it,” her partner nodded. He too got up and placed his dishes in the sink before he took off after Meg.

This left Dean with the rest of the guys, who still gave him knowing smiles as he set your bin of cookies down on the table. He blew out a breath before he returned to the couch and sat down heavily across from Benny and Gordon.

“I never thought I’d see the day that Dean Winchester bitched out,” Gordon remarked.

Once again, Dean rolled his eyes.

“Truly incredible,” Benny added. He shook his head when Dean just crossed his arms. “She was eying you like a pork cutlet, and you just let her walk outta here.”

“We’re in the house, guys. What was I supposed to do?” Dean groused.

Benny and Gordon looked at him like he’d just denounced Led Zeppelin (his favorite band of all time). 

“Get her goddamn number, Winchester,” said Gordon. The man’s lips curved. “Or at least, introduce her to a brother.”

Dean shot him a glance. Gordon Walker was damn good at driving the truck, but he was also known for being a hunter of the ladies himself.   

“She seemed nice,” Jack put his two cents in with a smile. He was standing behind the couch, leaning his elbows on it. Gordon scoffed, nodding his agreement.

“Yeah, with a fat ass too,” he said, sipping his tea. 

Benny reached over and hit his shoulder to shut him up. 

“That’s a lady, Gordon,” he said. Though a suspect smile graced his lips as he glanced at Dean. “A lady with a nice ass.” 

Dean shook his head, but he couldn’t disagree. The first time he met you, he’d been impressed by the way you stood your ground with your asshole boss. Dean thought you were going to chuck that lethal looking heel at the guy. But behind that steely exterior was a kind little softie.

Today, he got your sweet side. It was equal parts sexy and adorable. 

And damn if you didn’t have a nice ass, nice curves, and a nice mouth. 

But your eyes, he thought. Those were nothing short of beautiful. 

About twenty minutes across town, an apartment building was swarmed by police cars. One unit in particular was sealed off with yellow caution tape as a team of officers drifted in and out. 

What a fucked way to die.

Detective John Winchester observed the unnatural angle that the victim—Jerry Stillwell, a certified public accountant—had his throat cut with a jagged weapon.

It hadn’t been clean in the least. And he’d bled out across his work desk and a stack of papers, as well as his desktop computer. He was 45, unmarried, and murdered in his own home in the middle of a Friday afternoon.

The computer wouldn’t turn on, and not because of the blood. It had been wiped with magnetized technology, most likely by the intruder. Though there was no sign of forced entry, according to John’s partner. The murder weapon was missing as well, though it looked like a knife wound.

John leaned over the on-site medical examiner’s shoulder to peer closer at the man’s wounds. Stillwell had most likely been grabbed from behind. So far, the signs pointed to the culprit being someone the victim knew.

They probably took Stillwell by surprise, but he was a large man. If John had to guess, over 250 pounds, unathletic, but still, not easy to overpower. Likely the suspect was a man over 6 feet; strong, and efficient. Though the messiness of the kill made John think this guy took "pride" his work, so to speak.

“Signs of struggle,” said the M.E. “Skin under the fingernails. He fought back, and…huh.”

John’s interest piqued at the man’s shift in tone. “What?”

“Take a look at this.” The M.E. was holding Stillwell’s right hand, palm-up, revealing a small burn on the inside of the wrist. John’s gaze sharpened on the mark.

“Cas, come here,” he said. Across the room, Detective Cas Novak paused in his task of examining the entry points of the apartment to join John at his side. His blue eyes widened a fraction at seeing the burn. It was a symbol of a snake eating its own tail.

“That makes four,” Cas said.

“Yep. We’ve got ourselves a murder cluster,” John said. Cas nodded. He beckoned John to the side, making sure the M.E. was out of earshot before he spoke. “Isn’t it time we brought Sam up to speed on this, at least?”

John’s brows furrowed.

“No,” he said. “Sam’s an ADA. We don’t go to him until we have someone to indict.”

He walked away from Cas, who frowned. John knew damn well that wasn’t what he meant. This was the fourth murder within six months of this nature. The fourth to be branded with the mark of Azazel…a criminal who supposedly disappeared decades ago.

Shortly after November 2, 1983, the day of Mary Winchester’s death.

Seeing Dean again had gone better than you thought it would. It left you feeling light and downright cheerful when you left the firehouse this morning. Unfortunately, the great start to your morning only crumbled when you reached your office.

Now, even at the end of your day, finally back at home and in the familiarity of your kitchen, the tension headache was back.

“Dre, I’m tired. Can’t we do this another night?” you asked.

Your cell phone was balanced between your ear and your shoulder as you counted out your grandfather’s pills, and placed them in each “Monday through Sunday” box in the blue container.

“No, we absolutely cannot. Because today was horrific,” Andréa said. “For me, because my coworker decided to play hookie on the day our top account needed the mockups of their new website. Never mind that she hadn’t even started.”

Pause for an aggravated breath, through which you frowned in sympathy. She’d told you the entire story over lunch today.

“And for you, because Nick once again displayed why he’s a subhuman neanderthal, in spectacular fashion,” she added.

Your grimace deepened at the reminder.

Earlier today, just before a sales meeting you were set to lead, you’d turned away from the conference table to set up the projector. Nick was early for once, making it just him and you in the room.

He’d sat back in his chair and uttered a remark that set the hairs on the back of your neck on end.

“I’ll tell you what, babe. You sure know how to wear a skirt.”

Your back straightened, and slowly you turned. Your face was set in stone, save for a solitary raise of your brow.

“Excuse me?”

Nick’s smirk was lazy as he kicked his feet up on the table. His hand held a tumbler of whiskey. You noted the half empty carafe, which just yesterday had been full and untouched.

“Fucking fantastic legs,” he said, vaguely outlining your shape with his hand. “I applaud you. It’s all very…sexy secretary. Oooh! Sexcretary. Fucking brilliant.”

You gaped, trying to put a clamp on the furious spike in your blood.

“Are you drunk?” you asked incredulously.

He raised his fingers an inch or so apart, scrunching up his face and trying not to laugh.

“Actually nah, not at all,” he bluffed. 

He let his hand fall back into his lap. You shook your head and set down your papers in order to cross your arms.

“Good. Then you’ll hear me clearly when I say, I’m filing a formal complaint with Billie in HR,” you said.

“Whaaat? Why?” he complained. You huffed incredulously.

“For your little comments, which are getting more and more heinous. Not to mention your excessive drinking during company hours.”

Nick pursed his lips. “Christ on a stick. Can’t you take a fucking compliment?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “What I refuse to take is any further sexual harassment. This isn’t the first incident I could disclose, but I’m damn sure you’ll want it to be the last.”

He kicked his feet off the table and slowly stood. You didn’t want to be afraid of this sloppy, frat boy drunken attitude, but a tendril of trepidation still laced down your spine as you took a step back.

“You could do that,” he nodded, tilting his head. “Or, I’ll give your Zimmerman account to Josh, along with your commission.”

You frowned, and shock made your entire body tense. 

“You…you can’t do that!” you exclaimed. Your insides fairly shook with frustration tinged with anger. “I’ll sue you.”

“With what money?” Nick scoffed.

Your brows knitted together then. How the hell would he know anything about your finances?

The man noted your reaction with a nod.

“Yeah, I know all about grammy and gramps. Surgeries, funerals, treatments…” he said. He leaned against the table with one hand, and still he fairly loomed over you.

He wasn't as broad as someone like Dean, but he was tall and lean. His dirty blonde hair was swept to the side, his blue eyes bearing down on you.

“I am this company. If you don’t like it, you can get the fuck out, sweetheart,” he said.

His gaze lowered, roaming your glowering face.

“And good luck getting anywhere else without a reference from one of the biggest corporations in Lawrence, Kansas.”

You sighed. Yeah, you might’ve shed some frankly embarrassing tears in the women’s bathroom after that. You hadn’t even told Andréa the full story, which included the details of his comments, along with his threats.

You didn’t want her to worry. And maybe, more selfishly, you were embarrassed at having to deal with it at all.

Truth be told, you still didn’t know what the hell you were going to do. About Nick, or your job…but somehow, getting drunk at a bar seemed about the last thing you should be doing.

“I need a drink,” Andréa insisted. “Which means you definitely need a drink. And I know exactly where we’re going.”

After a long moment, you leaned your elbows on the kitchen counter and rubbed through the persistent ache in your forehead. Maybe, just this once, you deserved to forget about reality. Just for a little while.

“Fine. Where?” you asked.

“It’s this great bar Meg told me about. The Roadhouse.”

“Ah, the usual suspects,” Ellen drawled at the men who managed to find seats at her bar, next to the rest of their party. The Roadhouse was packed on a Friday night, but she always had room for these two.

Benny and Dean wore similar tired, but pleasant smiles as they greeted their esteemed barkeep.

“What’s it been, Ellen, a whole shift since I’ve seen your delightful face?” Dean said.

Ellen gave him a mocking smile as she poured him his favorite beer on tap. Dean grinned and clapped his younger brother on the shoulder as he sat down. He and Cas had been waiting for a little while.

…Well, maybe longer than a little.

“Hey, dude,” Dean said. Sam perked up from his second beer with pursed lips.

“You know we’ve been waiting on you for like an hour, right?” he said.

“Aw, don’t get your panties in a twist, Sammy,” Dean teased. He nodded his thanks at Ellen when she set his beer in front of him, and a glass of whiskey for Benny. “We had a last-minute call. Some guy just couldn’t wait to start his Happy Hour. Drove his car into the company fountain.”

Sam’s brows raised incredulously. He looked over at Benny for confirmation, and the other man gave a resigned nod.

“Apparently it set the ducks into a tizzy,” he said. “The guy’s fine. Probably gonna get slapped with a DUI.”

Dean smirked and raised a finger at both Sam and Cas. “Duck Guy’s your problem now.”

Cas shook his head and raised his beer to his lips.

“Not my department.”

“Mine either,” Sam scoffed. Both of them worked in homicide cases, just from the differing sides of law and order. In fact, they worked together more often than Dean and Cas did.

Dean looked over at his friend Cas for a moment. He looked like more of a hot mess than usual, with his tie half undone, and a scruffy half-beard covering his face.

“Geez, man. You look like shit,” Dean remarked. “You and Meg fighting again?”

“No,” Cas replied, his brows furrowing. “…Well, yes. But nothing more than her usual insanity. Something about the cat preferring to sleep next to me than to her.”

“Well, that’s not so bad,” Benny said. “My dog don’t like her either.”

“Maybe they can smell that she’s feral,” Dean quipped. Cas sent him a dry look at that.

“She threatened to move out,” he revealed. “Even packed a bag at 3:00 in the morning. I spent two hours unpacking what she was re-packing, all while we argued in our underwear, not sleeping.”

Sam and Dean shared bemused looks, while Benny shook his head into his whiskey.

“So how’d it end up?” Sam asked. Cas sighed and took another long sip of his beer.

“Like it always ends, Sam,” he said, his lips quirking. “With our neighbors calling the precinct to complain, and me, somehow ending up sleeping on the couch for a crime I didn’t commit. If she wants to blame someone, blame the goddamn cat.”

Dean chortled. He brought his beer to his lips, but couldn’t resist a light jab at his best friend first.

“Dude, I love her like a sister, but your girlfriend’s unhinged,” he said.

Cas could only nod. “Most are, I’ve come to find.”

Sam scoffed and shook his head. “Not mine.”

“Yeah, that’s because Eileen doesn’t have to see you more than two minutes at a time,” Dean teased. He and his brother still shared an apartment, and Sam’s job as an Assistant District Attorney wrought demanding hours.

Sam shot his brother a flat look.

“Oh, I’m not taking that from the serial playboy,” he said.

Dean’s brows knitted together.

“All right, calm down,” he said. “I’m not Hugh Hefner.”

“Mr. Hit and Run,” Cas added, a smirk gracing his features.

“Chief ‘No Daddy Issues,’” Benny tipped in, giving his annoyed, green-eyed friend a sly glance. “With a side helping of the Clap.”

Dean’s lips pressed into a line. He leveled a finger at Benny.

“That girl was clean, okay? False alarm,” Dean said. His gaze raised heavenward as he sipped his beer. Thank Christ for that one. “The rash was just carpet burn.”

Sam shook his head and turned to his brother more seriously.

“Bottom line: until you date a woman for more than two weeks—hell, two days at a time—you don’t get to comment on the happily committed,” he said. 

Dean rolled his eyes. He knew his track record with relationships. As in, he didn’t really have a record…but it wasn’t for lack of trying. At least, not for the past few months.

Sam managed to break Dean out of his thoughts by clearing his throat, pushing his empty bottle across the counter.

“All right, speaking of. I gotta go,” he said.

“Aw, why? We just got here. Let me buy you another,” Dean offered.

Sam shot his brother another knowing look. Dean knew it well; it said, if he’d been here on time, they would’ve shared the first two drinks.

“I’m picking up Eileen,” Sam said, grabbing his blazer and fixing the collar when he put it on. “There’s this Latin club she wants to go to.”

Dean raised incredulous brows.

“My brother’s going salsa dancing?”

Sam sighed in exasperation, despite his smile. “Bye, Dean.”

He shot his other two friends a nod.

“See you guys.”

Cas and Benny both saw him off with a subtle raise of their drinks, while Dean just shook his head.

“All right, Samantha,” he called out. Sam didn’t bother to turn around as he raised up a choice finger behind him.

Dean snorted into his drink. “Very mature.”

Benny and Cas shared a wry look. They were relieved when Ellen’s daughter Jo came by, picking up the slack for her mom, who was serving a rowdy group of college kids at a nearby table.

“Hey, guys. Need another round?” Jo asked. She gave them all a familiar smile, but her eyes lingered on Dean. He gave her a more reserved smile back.

“Hey, Jo,” he nodded. “I uh…actually think I’m good right now.”

“Me too,” Cas said. He even stood up and grabbed his trenchcoat in similar fashion as Sam had. The two had paid for their beers before Benny and Dean even got there.

“Aw, not you too,” Dean groused.

“If I don’t make dinner, we run the risk of the apartment going up in flames,” Cas informed him. Dean could only assume he was talking about Meg. “Despite working with the Fire Department for ten years, the woman can’t manage to boil an egg without supervision.”

Jo raised a brow, but her smile was bemused as she turned to Benny. “Anything for you?”

“Nah, darlin’. I’m good,” he said. But sensing the unspoken request in her eyes when she glanced at Dean, Benny straightened and raised from his seat. “But I’ll be back. Need’a hit the head.”

Dean internally sighed as Benny left him alone at the bar. Or, well, relatively alone. Jo lingered in front of him to wash and dry out a few glasses. The air between them was stiff, and a little awkward.

Dean’s thoughts shifted back to his brother then; while he still couldn’t believe Eileen had wrangled his gangly Sasquatch of a brother into going dancing, Dean was happy for him. Truly and sincerely. Sam deserved having someone who softened him, made him break away from his endless cases and have some fun.

Dean could also admit, if only to himself, that he was maybe a little jealous. Sam had something good with his girl. Something real.

Dean had carpet burn.

“So, how’s studying going?” he asked Jo. He couldn’t stand awkward silences. “Still planning on giving your mom a heart attack when you get into the Police Academy?”

Jo’s blue eyes flicked up to his. She brushed a coil of blond hair behind her ear after she finished drying a glass, and a smile raised the corner of her lips.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I gave her something to yell about,” she quipped. “But since you asked…my exam is in three months.”

“Good,” Dean nodded. “You’ve got time. Study your ass off. Keep up the conditioning routine I gave you, and you’ll be set. Just don’t forget the strength training. Very important.”

“I got it,” she said, this time with a brighter smile. “Some old firefighter gave me some pointers.”

Dean tilted his beer at her accusingly.

“Hey, don’t pin that old shit on me yet. Benny’s got more mileage than I do…”

He considered her then, after briefly looking down at the counter.

“What?” she said.

He kept his lips tight. “Nothin’.”

“No, Dean. What?” Jo pressed. “You want to say something. Say it.”

He blew out a breath and shook his head.  

“Ellen’s not the only one who’s gonna worry about you on the job, that’s all,” he said. Jo flickered at a rueful frown.

“That’s ironic,” she said. “I can handle myself, Dean. Something you so often seem to forget.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” he shot back. His hand tightened around his beer.

Jo’s face fell into irritation, mostly to cover up the hurt he saw buried deep behind her eyes. She gave him some relief by glancing away from him.

“And this is why we didn’t work out,” she muttered. Sighing through her nose, her eyes met his again. “You know what I hate, more than anything? People worrying.”

Dean carded his fingers through his hair, his brows knitting together in aggravation.

“Yeah, well, maybe they have good reason to,” he said. He could’ve predicted the way she tightened up. “And if I remember right, you did your fair share of hand-wringing the next time I responded to a fire on the job.”

He knew it was a low blow. But his point was made, and he fully expected the anger in Jo’s tight frown. They’d dated for a few weeks, mostly in secret.

That had been enough for Ellen to blow her top. Not because she had anything against Dean…just his job: at the very same firehouse her late husband had once served.

So Dean had backed off. He’d ultimately felt he had to end it. And clearly, Jo still resented him for it.

Slowly, however, the fire in her eyes dimmed. Her finger tapped on her side of the bar counter.

“You think I don’t worry anymore just because we’re not together?” she asked him. 

Dean didn’t have a good answer for her. So his gaze fell to his nearly empty beer.

But he was even more relieved when Benny finally got back from the bathroom, or wherever he’d fucked off to for the past few minutes.

He did seem to know that he was interrupting a rather tense moment. Seeing as neither Dean nor Jo wanted to break the silence, Benny supposed it fell on him.

He reclaimed his seat and raised a smile up at Jo.

“I think I’m ready for the next round,” he said, glancing at Dean’s soured mood. “Two whiskeys, please, Joanna.”

Jo treated Benny with a half-smile. He was the only one besides her mother who called her Joanna (and got away with it). After one last look at Dean, she reached over for the Jim Beam.

You met Andréa at the bar in your own car, just in case you needed to dip out early to check on Grandpa George. He was happy to see you going out.

“You’re pretty as a doll, sweetheart,” he’d said, patting your cheek after you kissed his goodbye.

The thought made you smile, even though you thought you were dressed casually in your dark wash jeans and blouse. When Andréa met you outside the bar, she nodded in approval.

“Good. I like the hint of sexy,” she said, plucking at the sweetheart neckline of your top. You rolled your eyes and tried to cover up the cleavage a little, but she batted at your hand.

“No, no. Leave your professionalism at work,” she said. “Tonight, you’re going to relax and have some fun.”

It was hard to think about loosening up when you were literally getting belittled and threatened at work…but you supposed she had a point. You always had to be put together. You had to be sharp, because this world wouldn’t hand you anything on a silver platter.

And not to mention, you couldn’t just think about yourself. You also had to provide and take care of your grandfather too. He was the only family you had left, and you were it for him too…

But you took in a slow, deep breath. Tonight, you could have a couple of drinks with your friend. You could just be yourself, with no responsibilities other than not getting too drunk to drive yourself home later.

So with a sigh, you smiled and linked your arm with Andréa as you headed inside the Roadhouse.

It looked kind of divey from the outside, a worn-looking brown building with a faded red sign. But inside it was all dark wood and leather barstools and rows of soft lighting overhead.

There were records displayed on the wall; Prince’s Purple Rain, the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper, and David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust, among others. Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” played on the wall speakers.

There were several tables, both high top and regular four-seaters, as well as a long bar that spanned the far wall, where rows and rows of liquor were showcased. You followed Andréa’s lead to the bar, where you took a seat at the far end and tried to feel like you belonged here. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone out to a place like this.

“This is nice,” she leaned over into your ear to say. “Next time my cousin should meet us here. She’s a handful, but I think you’d like her.”

You agreed with a smile. “If she’s anything like you, I think I’m well trained to handle your brand of insanity.”

Andréa leveled you with a playfully mocking look.

“Ah, you’ve got jokes tonight. Okay.” She waved over the blonde bartender.

“Hi, ladies,” she greeted. “I’m Jo. What’re we starting off with tonight?”

Before you could order for yourself, Andréa grabbed your arm and spoke over you.

“Do you have absinthe?” she asked.

Your eyes widened. “What?! I’m not drinking that—”

“Sure do,” Jo replied in amusement.

“Great,” said Andréa. You didn’t like her sly grin. “She’ll have an Aunt Roberta. I’ll have a vodka cranberry.”

“What the hell is an Aunt Roberta?” you asked.

Jo listed the ingredients on her fingers. “A nice molotov of brandy, vodka, gin, blackberry liqueur, and of course, absinthe.”

Jesus Christ. You shot Andréa a glare, even though you were trying to dim your smile.

“Are you trying to chill me out or fucking end me?” you asked.

Andréa smirked. “Whatever it takes.”

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded your agreement. Jo’s smile remained as she went to prepare your drinks. Meanwhile, your eyes wandered as you once again took in your surroundings.

Really is a cool place, you thought. And it was busy without being overbearingly crowded. There were even a few seats between you and the rest of the patrons at the bar. Your gaze drew a path onwards, eventually reaching the other end of the bar.

There you caught sight of red flannel over a black undershirt, familiar broad shoulders, and an even more familiar face. Your eyes widened a fraction as his met yours, gleaming with recognition…and interest.

That slow smile of his was familiar too. It made a lance of heat run down your spine. You gripped the counter, mostly to steady yourself as you let out a breath.

Lieutenant Winchester.

AN: *rubs hands together* It begins. 😏

Lol how'd you like Dean's little moment with the reader at the firehouse? Plus the introduction of the rest of our cast!

(And a possible serial killer on the loose?) Though sorry about Nick. He's a douchecanoe.

Next Time:

Anticipation and nerves coiled together in your lower belly. You turned to your friend, who was already sipping at her vodka cranberry.

“Dre, help me,” you pleaded.

Andréa discreetly followed the path of your gaze, and her brows raised. A smirk curved her lips.

“Oh, babe. You need to help yourself,” she replied.

“I haven’t done that in a while,” you admitted. Your dating life had been sorely lacking, between the demands of your job and taking care of things at home. “I’m gonna say something demented.”

Andréa huffed in amusement.

“So? That’s half the fun,” she said.

Keep Reading: PART 3

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[underoospeterparker]

Hi! I read you're looking for some Peter Sutherland comfort requests and I really liked your last one 🤩 how about this: you're both working as night agents, maybe met already at your FBI training, didn't stay in contact since then, met again when Peter started working as a night agent (you're already doing this since a couple of years), and meanwhile you're working and living together as a couple. In some kind of mission you get shot at (maybe your shoulder is hurt and you're bleeding like hell) and Peter gets all anxious and comforting because he's really scared of losing you 🥹 maybe as an extra finding out you're pregnant when getting stitched up at the hospital?

hi lovely! thank you for your request- i'm not too sure about the pregnancy part but i'll definitely do the rest! (warnings: swearing, guns, bleeding, crying, etc)

this isn't proofread!

being a night agent was definitely a lot of work. it meant late hours, bruises, injuries, putting yourself into crazy situations, and potentially dying. the best thing about your job was you knew that you were saving a lot of people, and that was good enough to keep you motivated.

but on nights like this, where you were out in the field, doing action work, you were scared. it was tiring as hell, and you didn't know what could happen at any moment.

as a night agent, you were briefed very lightly on what the program was about. it went deeper than you could ever imagine, and your job was just skimming the surface to that. although all of your operations were top secret, you could share the burden with peter, and that was okay to you. as long as you had him, you were sure you'd be okay.

at the moment, you had no clue where you were or who you were supposed to be looking for. where were those two criminals, anyway? there were rumours that they worked for gordon wick, carrying out his dirty work.

and the thing was, you weren't sure you trusted diane farr. yes, her and peter had a past, but that didn't mean she was trustworthy. you had warned peter to stay away from her, and he had complied, also saying that he felt something was off.

a quiet "oh, fuck!" interrupted your thoughts and you swung towards the noise.

gun pointed in front of your chest, you said, "who's there?" there was no response, and you sighed. "if you don't come out, i'm going to shoot."

the parking lot was quiet, and you glimpsed a bit of white hair before you heard a loud bang, and it wasn't from your gun. your expression morphed from confusion to shock, and then pain as you registered that you had just been shot.

you kneeled on the floor, hand reaching to cup your shoulder, realising how much blood was coming out of your wound. you had no idea who had shot at you, but you knew they were running. there was no way you could catch up to them, not in your state.

you managed to make it to the wall, collapsing against it and breathing heavily as pain settled around your body. you heard footsteps grow louder and louder, and you shrunk away from the noise, thinking it was your attackers again.

"sweetheart?" a voice called out. peter. it was peter's voice. you sighed in relief at hearing your boyfriend's voice, then winced as the movement caused pain to rush back up to your shoulder.

"here! 'm here," you called back weakly. "hurry, please."

peter rounded the corner, then spotted you against the wall. seeing your state, he came up to you as fast as he could. crouching down to your level, he said, "oh, baby. you're hurt?"

you nodded, gesturing to your shoulder. his eyes were a mixture concern and anger, not to you, but to the person that had done this to you. "it really hurts, pete," you whimpered quietly, trying not to cry.

his hand cupped your cheek, and his eyes grew sympathetic. "i know, sweetie." tearing off a piece of fabric of his shirt, he said, "try to put some pressure on it for me, okay?"

you nodded, pressing your hand down hard on your shoulder. you couldn't help but sob quietly at the overwhelming pain.

"it's okay," your boyfriend cooed. "let me take over." he pressed lightly, then wrapped the makeshift bandage out of fabric tightly over the wound, knotting it with ease. "there we go. good girl," he praised. "you okay?"

nodding, you stood up, leaning your uninjured arm on peter's side. he lightly wrapped an arm around your waist, a soft reminder that he was there for you to lean on.

"gonna get you somewhere safe, and then i'm gonna make sure you're okay." he murmured, so only you could hear.

"'m scared, baby," you mumbled under your breath. "what if they come back again?"

peter sighed lightly, heart breaking at your frightened tone. "it's okay, i promise, there's no need to be scared. 'm gonna protect you." he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "you're safe with me, sweetheart. always will be."

[jocelynships]

Okay there’s so much to ramble about, putting this under a read more lmao:

But all of them were SO fucking sweet. I like. Full on sobbed in front of Cam Clarke and Townsend Coleman and got big hugs from both of them! For Cam Clarke I actually was crying while waiting because it was so surreal, and when I started crying again, he got up and pulled me into a hug and held me for a good bit. And he was just. So sweet.

By the time I met Barry Gordon I had calmed down and he was a lot more chill than the other two but still so sweet. He was also determined to sign my art with a purple pen but we couldn’t find one that wouldn’t blend in with the background lol.

BUT LET ME TELL YOU. WITH TOWNSEND COLEMAN. THE SWEETEST FUCKING PERSON I HAVE EVER MET. THIS MAN ASKED IF I DID ART PROFESSIONALLY AND WHEN I SAID NO, HE SAID I NEEDED TO. THEN HAD ME SIGN THE DRAWING I DID FOR HIM. AND TOOK A SELFIE WITH ME ON HIS PHONE BECAUSE HE DIDNT WANT TO FORGET ME. I FUCKING STARTED SOBBING DUDE YOU HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA HOW MUCH THAT MEAN TO ME, ESPECIALLY FROM THE GUY WHO VOICED MY FAVORITE TURTLE 😭

Then when I went for the photo op, I ended up being first in line and they were SO excited to see me again! Like Townsend Coleman and Cam Clarke literally opened up their arms and were like “JOCELYN! GET OVER HERE!”

And then after I needed Floor Time bc I was overwhelmed in the best way, and when they left the photo op area they saw me, and they waved and said bye 🥺🥺🥺

Also Cam Clarke’s assistant was collecting gifts for Rob Paulson so they’re gonna send him my drawing! And I’m going to try and go again next year too so I can see all four of them together! And hopefully have more gifts for all of them!

So that’s it! It was. Such a wonderful experience. I’ve stopped crying and now I’m just insanely happy I got to meet them. It was wonderful 😭😭😭

I will probably start crying later on again though 😭

[hlvrfreakyfriday]

HLVRFF: Chapter 8

That can’t be right.

There’s gotta be some kind of mistake, right?

That’s what Gordon would like to think, but the more he looks at the picture, the more obvious it is that there is no mistake here. This is a drawing he did as a child. Of him, standing by a mud puddle, with a little monster kid surrounded by floating orbs of colour.

A little monster kid who is very clearly Benry.

‘playin’ in the mud all the time. great friend,’ Benry had said to him, back on Xen. Gordon didn’t believe him, yelled that Benry was just making shit up to mess with him.

It’s only now that Gordon’s realizing the brief hurt expression on Benry’s face at his words was genuine, and not just something he had imagined.

Setting his phone down on his night stand, Gordon lets himself fall back onto his bed. He stares up at the ceiling for a moment, before slapping his borrowed hands over his face and groaning into them. This… is a lot to process. And something he should probably talk to Benry about.

He glances at the clock. It reads 12:23. He’ll have to save the talking for in the morning. For now, Gordon decides that he should try and get some sleep himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He giggles to himself as he carefully pokes around the woods, in the middle of playing a game with his best friend. It’s kind of like 'Marco Polo,’ only they’re not in a pool and not saying 'Marco' and 'Polo.'

Instead, they’re singing.

“Ahhhh~!” he calls out. His singing isn’t nearly as pretty as his friend’s, but that’s okay. He listens closely for their response, waiting for that pretty high note.

"aaaaaaaaa,” rings out clear as a bell. Off to the right! Giggling, he runs off through the trees, towards the source of the pretty sound.

After running for a bit, he’s about to stop and call again to make sure he’s heading the right way, when he catches sight of something in the air- little floating balls of blue light. However, his attention is drawn from the lights when another high-pitched tone rings through the air. And then another. And another. And another, still.

Something is wrong.

He backs up, legs sloshing through the knee-deep water. The cacophony of song and rattling bones is getting too loud to bear. He looks around frantically.

Where is he? Where is he!?

A deep rumbling fills the chamber, small waves of red crashing against him as the monstrous figure rises from the depths. A dozen piercing eyes stare down at him, fang-filled maw twisted into a snarl. Purple and red seeps between its teeth, dripping with malice and staining the torn security uniform. Fear shoots through him at the sight, down to his very bones.

He raises the devil gun defensively, but is much too slow. The skeletons wrap him up with their song, allowing their master a clear shot.

The last thing he sees is a single large orb of blinding energy, before all his senses are overwhelmed with pain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Benry jolts awake with a gasp. He sits up, panting, brow wet with sweat as his eyes scan the blurry room for the danger. It takes a bit for his brain to catch up and realize that he’s just in his bedroom, safe. That was just a nightmare.

…One of Gordon’s nightmares.

When Benry was in Gordon’s head during his nightmare the night of the switch, he could feel a lot of the human’s emotions secondhand. That was already pretty bad. But this? Feeling them all firsthand? Seeing it all directly from his perspective?

Benry… feels really, really bad.

He did that. He fucked Gordon’s head up so much that he still gets nightmares about all that went down, long after the fact.

…Shit, Benry being here with him is probably just a constant reminder of that stuff, too, isn’t it?

Benry looks down at his borrowed hands. His eyes drift to the scar on Gordon’s right arm, the lighter tissue still visible even with his blurred vision. He's seen the way Gordon looks at this scar every now and then.

He wonders if Gordon looks at him like that sometimes, too.

Benry flops back down onto his mattress, head hitting the pillow with a fwump. It’s too early to be thinking about this shit. He needs to go back to sleep. He’ll… think about it in the morning. When his head is clearer. Yeah, that’ll work.

When morning does come, however, Benry’s head isn’t any clearer. Still muddled up with too many feelings and thoughts he’s not sure how to get out. And Gordon’s not helping with things, either- he keeps trying to start up a conversation with him, but he just brushes Gordon off. He’s not sure what's got Gordon so chatty this morning, but he’s just not in the mood for it. Head too full, can’t think good. Eventually, Benry decides to just hide away in his room with the door closed, in hopes that Gordon will just give up. It seems to work.

Doesn’t do anything for his tangled-up thoughts and feelings, though.

Uhhhhhg, this blows SUCH chunks. Normally, he’d just sing out all his thoughts and feelings, getting them out in the form of Sweet Voice. But stuck in Gordon’s Voiceless body, the emotions are just all… bottled up in there. His emotional baggage is way over packed and the zippers are all stuck. Buh. How the fuck do humans deal with this?

Hmmm… Going for a walk is something humans do while trying to sort their shit, right? Something about the fresh outside air making thinking easier. Maybe he should do that.

…Of course, Gordon probably won’t let him leave the house alone right now, even if alone is what he really needs to be. He’ll have to be sneaky.

And so, Benry slips on some shoes, and out his bedroom window, taking care to do it all as quietly as possible. It’s not long before he’s off the property and heading towards town, with a whole lot of thinking to do.

------------------------------

The plan for today was to have a nice heart-to-heart with Benry, explain that he really honestly forgot that he and and the entity were apparently friends as kids, and maybe apologize for some of the stuff he said when Benry first tried to tell him about it.

Unfortunately, that plan turned out to be a complete flop, as every time Gordon tried to start talking with Benry, he just kept brushing him off or flat-out ignored him. Now, Benry’s holed up in his room, while Gordon’s flopped on the couch in defeat.

What’s Benry’s problem? Something must be bugging him- he’s usually not this standoffish. He hasn’t even been engaging in their usual banter, either.

Maybe Gordon should call Tommy. Benry’d probably be more open to talking to him. Gordon could tell Tommy about his big ‘childhood friends' revelation too, while he’s at it.

Grabbing his phone, he brings up Tommy in his contacts, taps the call button, and lays back down as it rings.

“Hello!” Tommy answers the call cheerily.

“Hey, Tommy. Still no word from your dad?” Gordon asks.

“No, sorry, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy responds with a little less cheer.

Gordon sighs. “Don’t sweat it, man. Look, I actually called to ask you if you could maybe talk to Benry sometime here? He’s been real avoidant all morning like something’s bothering him. You’re a lot better at talking with him, so I figured I’d ask.”

“Oh? What do- what do you think might be bothering him?” Tommy asks.

“Dunno,” Gordon says, “he was being weirdly quiet yesterday, too, but wouldn’t tell me why when I asked. And I’ve also been trying to talk to him about something all day, with no luck.

“Speaking of the thing I want to talk to him about… Do you remember, when we were in Xen, and he claimed me and him used to be best friends? I didn’t believe him then… but just last night, my mom sent me a photo of a drawing I did as a kid. It was of me next to a monster kid that was… very obviously Benry.”

Tommy just makes a little hum of acknowledgement.

Not exactly the reaction Gordon was expecting.

“Uh…” Gordon starts. “You don’t… sound real surprised to hear this.”

“I already knew you two were- were friends as children, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy states. “Benry used to talk a lot about how much he missed you when we first met.”

“Oh,” Gordon says dumbly. “Hold on, if you knew he was telling the truth about the friends thing, then why didn’t you ever correct me?”

“'Cause I knew how much you, uh, how much you disliked Benry would make you not wanna believe me, either,” Tommy answers honestly.

“I- …Yeah, okay, fair…” Boy does he feel sheepish. Gordon shakes his head at himself before speaking again. “But, you know, one thing I don’t get is, we were friends like, two whole DECADES ago, and not even for that long I don’t think? Why'd he get so hung up on that?”

“You were his very first friend, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy begins to explain. “And- and also his only one, until I met him about nine years after he… y’know… Being alone for- for such a long time, it’s no wonder he clung on to the memories of you.”

Gordon’s borrowed brow furrows a bit. “After he what? What happened to him nine years before you guys met?”

There’s a beat of silence before Tommy answers. “…Has Benry- did he never tell you? He was a- a research specimen at Black Mesa, for most of his life. They took him there when he- when he was just barely five. It was only last year that- that they’d put him on the security staff, to give him more space to roam as, uh, as a reward for ‘good behavior’…”

Oh.

Oh, holy shit. That… kind of explains a whole lot. Like that fucked up vivisection dream, for one. It must’ve been a memory of Benry’s that he was seeing thanks to being in his body. However the hell that works.

This explains Benry’s request for Gordon to not be ‘all scientist-y' at him, too. And why he reacts so badly to being stuck in a room or other small space… And if he’d been stuck in Black Mesa as a lab rat since he was just a tiny kid, that’d also explain why his social skills are so lacking... And why most of his knowledge of the world seems to have come from video games and movies…

And… it might even explain why Benry killed those guards and scientists he did back in Black Mesa. Being humane with their living specimens didn’t seem like a top priority, going by how they felt the need to block out Bubby's memories of Sector E's bio research labs, and from what Gordon saw when they all went through said labs during their escape. The way some of those poor crabs and peeper puppies still in the cages looked…

Gordon’s not sure why it never occurred to him sooner. All those obvious-in-hindsight signs, and plus, why else would something like Benry even be at Black Mesa in the first place?

“I… am the most oblivious motherfucker,” Gordon says, feeling like an idiot.

“Yeah you- you kind of are, sometimes,” Tommy agrees, and thankfully makes no further comment.

“You’d think he’d have told me about something as important as that after living with me for four months…”

“Maybe… maybe he didn’t want to ma- make you feel bad for him?” Tommy offers.

Gordon hums in response. “Yeah, maybe.” That does make some sense. He could see Benry as the type to not want anybody’s pity. He lets out a heavy sigh. “Man… we ALL got pretty fucked up by Black Mesa, huh?” Gordon muses. Tommy makes a sound of agreement.

One more reason to be glad that place got blown the fuck up, Gordon thinks, and shakes his head. “Well, anyway, try seeing if you can find out what’s eating Benry, will ya?” he then asks, changing the subject back to why he called in the first place.

“Yeah. I’ll hang up here and give him a call right now,” says Tommy. “Talk to you later, Mr. Freeman!”

“Later, Tommy.”

Not long after Gordon hangs up, he hears Benry’s own phone ring- some happy hardcore song he set as his ringtone for Tommy.

And it keeps on ringing.

Which is a little weird, as Benry pretty much always answers Tommy’s calls. Maybe he’s asleep? Gordon decides to go sneak a peek into the entity’s room to see, and tell Tommy to try calling him later if he is.

When he tries to open the door, he finds it’s locked. Weird, Benry doesn’t usually lock room doors… Undeterred, Gordon decides to take advantage of Benry’s ‘no-clip’ power, and wills himself through the wooden door. When he pokes his head through enough to see the bed… he sees that there’s no Benry on it. He phases the rest of the way through and scans the room, only to find it equally Benry-less.

He also sees that the window is open. His borrowed guts writhe anxiously at the sight.

Grabbing Benry’s still ringing phone, he mashes the answer button and says before Tommy can even get a word in, “Benry’s gone.”

[newtafterdark]

Taste of Metal - Chapter 2:   Safe Inside Familiar Walls AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26157634/chapters/63644236

Summary: What if the overwhelming VR experience Gordon went through, had a deeper purpose than just being a simple simulation & a freelance debug job for him? But most importantly- what if Gordon Freeman listens to Metal & used to be in a band? aka. the "Metalhead Gordon AU"

- - -

Gordon couldn’t sleep, as much as his body wanted him to.

The pain was one thing, but the number of unanswered questions was the overwhelming main reason he had curled up in a blanket, staring at nothing with wide eyes like a startled cat.

Tommy had not moved much after he had teleported them both into Gordon’s apartment, aside from grabbing a water bottle and some painkillers from the kitchen for the shaken scientist.

“D-Do we just wait? I don’t… I don’t know what to do a-about any of this. What even is “this”? What happened? H-How are you even REAL?”, Gordon stammered.

Tommy gave him an apologetic smile from his spot at the end of the bed.

“I just am, Mr Freeman. We all were- uhm- we all are real! I… wanted to tell you during everything. We all did! B-But the code didn’t let us.”

“But you can talk about it now! What changed it?”

Tommy appeared a chunk more nervous at this question but continued anyway-

“You.”

“M-Me??”, Gordon stuttered as he found himself in the focus of Tommy’s vibrant glowing eyes once again.

“We didn’t think someone could alter the code of the simulation like you did, Mr. Freeman... Y-You freed us.”, Tommy said with a warm smile- “I… all of us will do our best to explain everything to you once everyone is here.”

“In my apartment?” Tommy rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “We thought bringing you here would be the safest option for you. It’s a place you know and would feel comfortable in. I-In general but also to talk about everything that happened?”

Gordon nodded slowly.

“I… yeah, I guess that makes sense. And when you say “we”... are you sure everyone will make it out alive without our help?”

“Absolutely!”, Tommy's laugh lines deepened at the edge of his eyes- “I think they are just wrecking the place now for fun now! :)”

That left Gordon silent for a few seconds.

“Oh. W-Well… I…”, Gordon let out a short shaky laugh- “Sorry that I keep you from joining the fun... and that I can’t add support myself-”

Suddenly, Gordon found himself being held once more. Tommy hugged him gently, his chin resting on Gordon’s head.

“A-All of us want you to be safe first, Mr… … Gordon. Fun mayhem comes second! And… a-and I am rather here with you than g-getting overwhelmed with the noise… as fun as destroying a facility might be.”

Gordon chuckled, brushing away a tear he hadn’t noticed falling. “Oh… uhm, thanks. For being here and… the foresight and all that. I don’t think we’ll be safe here in the long run though…”

The taller scientist tilted his head at that. “Why would you leave your home behind? You don’t have to when anyone who could tell on us has other problems to deal with. Much... much bigger problems at that!”

“What… okay, you actually need to sit my ass down and explain what the fuck is happening. Because... this vague shit? Not helping with my still high-stress levels, my man.”

“Resonance cascade………....2”, was suddenly muttered too closely into Gordon’s left ear, almost making the man yeet himself off the bed-

“OH SHI-”

Gordon stared, almost frozen in place.

“B-BENREY?”

The guard (or former guard now? had he even ever been one, to begin with?) was propping himself up on the bed beside Gordon, his lower body no-clipping through it. Seeing this happen in real life turned out to be way trippier than Gordon could have ever imagined.

Yet aside from that… and the very much scary boss encounter they had had with him in the simulation, Benrey looked relaxed. Comfortable even.

“Yo, Feetm-”

Instantly, Benrey got tackled by Gordon. Aggressively, yes - but not with ill intent. Benrey let out a startled wheeze but soon stared in shock as he was tightly hugged against Gordon’s chest.

“I still have no idea how any of this is happening, but I am so fucking happy to see your annoying ass alive, holy SHIT!”, Gordon laughed, ignoring the pain in his stump as good as he could.

Tommy let out a snort as a few pink sweet voice orbs escaped Benrey.

“uhhhhhhhhhhhh… You too, man? Wasn’t sure if you’d make it on your own… decided that Tommy was the best. He always is, but… ya know. For getting you out. Smarter than all of us combined, ya know?”

Tommy waved Benrey off with a blush but smiled.

“Y-Yeah but all that matters is that everyone’s okay. Do you think the rest of the team will be here soon? I w-want us to tell Gordon what happened. He… he really needs to know. There were enough secrets in Black Mesa. :(”

Gordon slowly let go of Benrey and sat up, returning to cradling his arm. He let out a sigh.

“You can say that again. I… I don’t know how much you all know about my side of things, but the bastards never really told me the most important details on any of the projects they assigned me to. I always had to peace everything together myself… which was frustrating as all hell...”

Now it was Benrey’s turn to let out a huff as he pulled himself on top of the bed and got comfortable laying down with his hands behind his head. Gordon decided to look past the fact that the man was still in full guard get-up, including his helmet and boots. At least he looked surprisingly clean...

“Yeah, that was, uh… their whole schtick. Always has been.”, Benrey said, scratching his cheek with- … that was an entire third arm he just grew and Gordon decided to look past that even quicker than the full guard-getup.

Suddenly the door to Gordon’s bedroom opened, making Gordon jump and hold tighter onto his aching arm- until he recognized the friendly face of Darnold…and the very large golden retriever that pushed the door further open to let herself in.

Gordon’s tense shoulders relaxed a bit at the sight of both of them.

“H-Hey...”, stuttered Darnold, giving Gordon a nervous smile and wave- “I just wanted to let you guys know that Sunkist and I checked the area and the apartment. Everything’s clean.”

Sunkist let out a soft woof at the sound of her name and then opted to rest her head on the bed near Gordon. Man, she really was huge. And very much 3D now. Another thing to add to Gordon’s “oh damn I’m starting to feel real overwhelmed by this entire situation”-list.

Tommy pet Sunkist’s head gently and nodded. “Thanks, Darnold! And that’s good! We are several miles away from the facility... but it’s better to be extra safe and see if anything is weird here!”

Darnold sat down on the floor beside Tommy.

“I’ll go check again in a few minutes… I don’t trust this supposed freedom just yet.”

Gordon opted to just nod at that. Speech was slowly failing him as his senses dulled slightly from exhaustion. He leaned back against his bed frame.

He was about to close his eyes as the sound of space being wrapped and time getting bent to his left pulled him right back into high alert-

Dr Coomer and Bubby stepped out through the portal that had formed way too close to the boxes with Gordon’s vinyl record collection, followed by G-Man who closed the portal with a wave of his hand.

“Hello, Gordon!”, Dr Coomer exclaimed, eyes bright and happy as he spotted the man currently half bundled up in his blanket- “Looks like you made it here with good Tommy’s help without... ehm… further harm.”

Bubby scanned Gordon’s form with his eyes and frowned.

“They actually did it, the bastards. Shouldn’t surprise me, but...”, he motioned at the air without aim, seemingly not being able to put his frustration into words.

Gordon just smiled softly at them, exhausted to all hell and back but so relieved and happy that the entire Science Team had made it.

He also noted that Dr Coomer’s limb enhancements were far more visible in real life than in the low-poly form he had been used to. It was interesting to see and the tech guy in him really wanted to ask the man about the intricacies of how they worked. But… later. That could wait.

Bubby on the other hand… there was something off about how Bubby looked. Gordon couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but he supposed that Bubby’s lore of having been created artificially must have carried over into his real-life form as well.

But once again, this was something for Future Gordon to ponder about.

Present Gordon wanted to know about the general “ok, what the fuck just happened???”, before diving into information that he wasn’t even sure he had the right to know about.

He noticed G-Man giving his stump a glance as well before the suited man materialized a simple wooden chair for himself and sat down on it.

Bubby and Coomer opted to join Darnold and Tommy on the floor.

With everyone finally seated, G-Man opened his briefcase and pulled a very heavy-looking folder out of it. Its casing reminded Gordon of the pattern and colour of a missing texture error.

“I am… certain you have a lot of questions, Mr Freeman.”

Gordon closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. He opened his eyes again, looking at everyone in the room over once more before nodding.

[thebadboyfanclub]

The Sun And Moon (Pete Davidson x Reader)

Heyyyyyy besties! So I'm back with another white boy of the month. I would like to warn you that this will be mentioning Pete's BPD and the reader will be mentioned as somebody that has had traumatic experiences however i am not mentioning what does that imply so don't worry about it. Other than that I hope you enjoy!

Being with Pete was almost a gift and a curse, you were so different yet so alike. The ultimate example of twinflames, the yin and yang. If someone had to describe what you two were like was that (y/n) was like the sun, a warm personality with kindness and such just overall this untouchable beauty from inside and out, also she adores to be under the sun, Pete sometimes found her as she laid on the floor next to her cat just so she can enjoy the warm rays, sometimes she would have her crystals (Pete called them "magic rocks") which Pete found so adorable, also as the weather got warmer she got happier.

Pete was the moon, a little bit more moody, mysterious, yet alluring, he intrigued anyone that was around him. Unlike (y/n) Pete was a night owl, he liked late night drives, staying up all night just smoking weed and watching movies, he liked the silence that the nightfall brought, he felt more at peace with the idea of relaxing and enjoying the darkness that others feared. Many times (y/n) woke up in the middle of the night and found him on her balcony, just sitting there and enjoying the view.

People around them brought up that comparison so much that they even got it as a couples tattoo, (y/n) got the sun behind her ear and Pete got the moon on his left middle finger cause he found it funny. However the curse was that they had to learn how to be around one another, yes they had similarities but they weren't quite the same situations.

Pete was a comedian, (y/n) was an author, both of them had to sometimes sit their ass down and think of something to write, but the circumstances were different. 

"Baby I'm here"

Pete said as he shut the door of (y/n)'s apartment, dropping his pair of keys on the bowl that she had conveniently placed on a piece of furniture right next to her front door. Pete waited for an answer while taking off his shoes, (y/n) liked structure and she was a very neat person, another thing Pete had to learn, he wasn't dirty but he was a tad bit of messy so when he was at her apartment (which basically had become his also) he was careful with how he did things.

Silence greeted him back, he sucked in his teeth as he realized exactly why this was happening. (Y/n) had mentioned that she was writing the second book of her fantasy novel and she was in a bit of a writer's block, she had so many fresh ideas however when it came to writing them down sometimes her mind just wouldn't co operate and she just couldn't get it down in a way that she found right. He left the take out food on the small coffee table and continued to walk towards her bedroom. 

There she was, slightly laying back on her leather chair with her laptop in front of her, just staring at her screen and occasionally pressing a few buttons. The door was somewhat open so he could take a good look at her, her hair was down, she was wearing some shorts and a t-shirt she had accidentally spilled bleach on so now it was a house shirt and no socks, she hated wearing socks. Pete knocked on the semi closed door to get her attention.

"Oh I didn't hear you come in"

"I figured, what are you doing here babe?"

"Regretting my decision on signing the contract for a second book"

She mumbled when Pete approached her and leaned down to press several kisses on her neck and cheeks. (Y/n) smiled and enjoyed the feeling of comfort he brought her before shaking her head and pulling away from him.

"I need to finish this chapter"

"What you need to do is eat, I'm pretty sure you skipped breakfast"

She knew he was right, that's why she didn't respond so she just kept on staring at her laptop screen, hoping that miraculously an idea will come to her head. She deeply appreciated his concern but she felt the pressure of her publicist that called everyday to ask about the book, today was one of the few days she chose to not pick up the phone. Pete once again was met with silence although that didn't stop him from placing his hands on her shoulders to give her a massage.

"Come on sunshine, you can take a break and clear your head"

"Pete I have to write thousands of pages in a short amount of time, it's not just fucking punchlines"

Pete's face made a sour expression at her jab. It did sting a little bit yet he tried to understand that she was just overwhelmed with the responsibility of delivering on time. He took a deep breath before patting her on the head and turning away from her.

"I'll be in the living room"

For some time she felt relieved that he left so she could refocus, however after a few moments when she started to see her reflection on the screen she started to realize what she had done which was awful. She felt so bad that she had to shut down the screen and close her laptop so she wouldn't look at herself, she spoke in such a disregarding manner that she felt disgusted. With tears already clouding her eyes she got up and found Pete watching TV, the take out in front of him and it didn't take long for her to notice that he had bought her favorite making her feel even worse. She stood in front of the TV and Pete looked in her eyes and smiled.

"I'm sorry"

Her voice breaks in the middle of the sentence. Pete's smiled dropped when he saw a year escaping and heard her whimpering voice, he immediately got up from the couch and went to hug her.

"Its okay sunshine"

"No it's not, I didn't mean it I swear"

"I know baby"

"I'm just so… stressed"

She said and let herself relax in his arms as she wrapped hers around his torso, feeling the warmth of his engulf her. His scent went to her nose making her feel safe in his arms as the tears stained his sweatshirt. Pete started rubbing her back to help her let out her emotions, he knew how emotional (y/n) was and he found it cute how she feels like cry no matter what the situation was, she had happy tears, angry tears, sad tears, she saw a dog tears, attending a wedding tears, he didn't mind it though on the contrary he liked that she was able to express her emotions with no fear.

"I understand baby, it did sting a bit though, you know how much I love my work"

"I know, I wasn't thinking when I said it which is wrong"

They had agreed that they wouldn't do the "it's ok" type of shit, they preferred to actually say when something either hurt them or bothered them so they can have clear boundaries with one another, it was one of the best decisions they could have ever made, it was one of the strongest foundations they had for their relationship. (Y/n) looked at him and Pete immediately went to wipe her tears, before pressing a kiss on her forehead.

"I'm sorry"

"I accept your apology. Are you feeling better now?"

"A little bit. Thank you for forgiving me and I will try to do my best to not repeat that behavior"

She responded, her voice now was more steady and clear.  Setting boundaries between them and being clear about the behavior that is acceptable was something they had established early in the relationship, Pete was diagnosed with BPD and (y/n) had trauma from past experiences so they had agreed to see a couple's therapist in order for them to move on with their relationship in a healthy manner, so things like "it's ok" or "you know I didn't mean it that way" were unacceptable, taking accountability for their actions and having the humility to apologize was their key to success.

Pete's smile reappeared and now gave her a kiss on her lips, making (y/n) get a bit of a shiver down her spine. Their kisses always felt so strong, like energy passing through one to the other, it was such a magical experience to them.

"Are we good?"

"Yes, now take a seat and I'll microwave your food"

"Wow, Gordon Ramsey would be so proud of you"

[qhazomb]

some Shenanigans happen, and Gordon and Benrey have suddenly swapped bodies neither of them are very happy about it Benrey’s senses are all so NUMB and SHITTY and WEAK feeling now, except for his sense of pain. and hunger. and tiredness. oh my GOD he hates actually NEEDING to sleep and eat, how the fuck do humans deal with this shit every day of their lives?? major sucks. he feels so fragile and like he’s gonna drop dead at any minute, which is extra scary since, y’know, humans perma-die. he can’t believe Gordon just feels like this all the time... no wonder he was so scared back in Black Mesa... Gordon meanwhile, is feeling extremely overwhelmed/overstimulated. the five senses he’s used to are all heightened, and now he’s got some NEW senses that he’s not even sure how to describe? he’s got expanded perceptive powers now and can see/detect/sense all this freaky shit everywhere and WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT OH GOD and oh shit oh fuck he doesn’t know how to get a handle on Benrey’s shape-shifting and his form is twisting the more panicked he gets, which is in turn making that panic even worse. there’s copious amounts of terrified Sweet Voice spilling out of his mouth, which has got Benrey freaking out too like oh god bro are you okay well i mean uh obviously you’re not but uh shit. fuck. what do. they decide to call Tommy for help (well, Benrey does, Gordon’s a lil too panicked still to think or talk straight) since he’s human but also knows his shit when it comes to Eldritch Horror stuff. Tommy is VERY thrown off when he hear’s Gordon’s voice but with Benrey’s tone and speech patterns on the other end of the line. once the situation gets explained, Tommy books it over there with Sunkist in tow and the two of them help get Gordon and Benrey calmed down (Sunkist is great for calming people down. good dog, best friend). the three of them then work on trying to figure out how and why happen?? and getting Gordon and Benrey more accustomed to being as they are for the time being

[p4perthoughts]

Young Justice Universe

Dick Grayson x Barbara Gordon

I have a theory that Dick and Barbara totally got together in the middle of season 2 (as opposed to the time jump between S2 and S3) and nobody can convince me otherwise

Events take place after Young Justice S2 E9: Darkest

_

Dick was definitely not feeling the aster.

He was exhausted, much like anyone would be after nearly being blown up. As he walked along he kept replaying the sound of the explosion over and over again in his head. He clutched the flash drive Kaldur had passed to him right before they lost Mount Justice. He could have put it in his bag along with his Nightwing suit for safe keeping, but he couldn’t let go of it. He needed to feel it in his hand to keep telling himself it was worth it. Losing the cave. Almost losing his life. Continuing to lie to everyone else was worth it. It had to be.

As he rounded the corner, he paused and found himself holding his breath. She was there. Of course she was there. Barbara Gordon was sitting on the steps of his apartment building. She hadn’t looked up and seen him yet so his instincts told him to turn around and run. He’d grown distant from his best friend since this whole thing started. Dick was able to lie to the entire team, even the League, all this time because the fate of the world depended on the success of this plan. But he knew that if he looked Babs in the eyes, he wouldn’t be able to do it.

He chose to keep walking forward. Before he could say anything Barbara got up and hugged him. Her touch was a warmth he hadn’t felt in a while. He definitely missed her.

“Are you okay?” She said as she stepped back.

For a second Dick had forgotten what had just happened and that Mount Justice was gone. Reality set back in like a cold punch in the face.

“Yeah yeah. Everyone’s pretty shaken up, but we all made it out...except for those that were taken.” He said while avoiding meeting her eyes.

“Tim said that explosive took out the entire place.” She said in a way that sounded like a question.

So he nodded. But then when he looked back at her, her concerned expression turned into sadness for a brief moment. Dick forgot that Mount Justice had become a second home to Babs too when she joined the team.

They stood there for a minute before Barbara broke the silence.

“What’s actually wrong?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dick said as he headed into the building.

Babs grabbed her gym bag from the steps and followed behind him, “yes you do.”

“I’m your best friend, Dick. I know when somethings wrong.” She said as he pressed the elevator button.

Dick stepped into the elevator and she invited herself in behind him. He chose to not address it so he tried to change the subject.

“What’s in the bag?” He said.

“What’s in your bag?”

“I asked you first.” He retorted without skipping a beat. He missed their banter.

She sighed sarcastically and unzipped her gym bag a little as it still hung on her shoulder. Right, dumb question. He saw the bat symbol on her suit’s chest plate and her cowl. It was past midnight so figures she was out patrolling. That’s two points in her column now cause this is further proof to her he was off his game. He could feel her eyes look up at him, so he knew he was right.

As he pulled out his keys and began opening his door he remembered the flash drive in his left hand. The events of the evening all rolled back to hit him like a tsunami. The harsh words from Wally echoed in his ears. It was worth it he told himself.

When they got inside Barbara made herself at home -as usual when she comes over. She laid down her stuff and headed to the kitchen. Dick put the flash drive on his dresser before heading for the couch. He fell into the cushions with the weight of the universe on him and put his head in his hands.

He felt Babs come back. She sat next to him and comfortably put her legs in his lap. She had opened a bag of chips and offered him some. They sat there together for a while in silence. Just two friends, eating chips, comfortably in each other’s company. Maybe it’s because Barbara knew him longer than almost anyone. She knew everything about him. She knew who he was, both as Dick Grayson and Nightwing -Robin before that. She was everything to him from his first kiss to his best partner out in the field.

Finally Barbara put the bag on the coffee table in front of them and she scooted closer to him. He put his arm on her knees.

“Talk to me, Grayson.” She said.

Dick finally brought himself to look at her. He looked at her and saw her deep, green eyes starring right at him. They weren’t filled with resentment like Wally’s or anguish like Conner’s. They were warm and comforting. He feared that if he told her what he wanted to tell her, that they wouldn’t look at him that way anymore.

He let out a sigh and closed his eyes. She reached for him. As he felt her soft touch on his face, he broke. He told her everything about the mission and the lies.

When he got to the part about Artemis working undercover with Kaldur, he noticed her expression get distant.

“So she’s -she’s alive?”

He nodded. And waited. Waited for her to yell at him. To tell him what he was doing was wrong. That it wasn’t worth it. Or worse, for her to say nothing.

Instead she looked at him and asked, “who knows?”

He told her about their tiny circle that was in on the plan. He told her how he felt lying to everyone on the team, about the flash drive, about how he felt responsible for the other’s kidnapping, about how he almost got his team -his family- killed. He felt like he had been underwater and how he could now finally breathe. He had kept everything bottled up for so long that now it exploded and he didn’t even notice there had been tears until he found himself wiping at a wet sensation on his cheek.

When he looked at Babs she didn’t say anything. She simply pulled him to her and embraced him. His head lay under her chin as he allowed himself to wrap his arms around her waist. Dick steadied himself as he listened to the rhythm of her heartbeat. They sat this way for a while.

Dick pulled away finally when he felt he’d gained control of his breathing and his thoughts. He looked at his best friend and said, “you’re not mad?”

She looked at him and took a long breath.

“No,” she said finally, “for as long as I’ve known you Dick, you never do anything to hurt anyone. Even if that means hurting yourself. I don’t like that you lied, but I understand why you did. I’m sorry you felt that this was something you had to take on by yourself. I’m sorry you felt like you had to be Batman...”

She trailed off at the end. Babs knew more than anyone that Dick no longer wanted to become Batman. She knew from working with him first-hand that Batman was somebody only Bruce Wayne could be. Anybody else would be crazy to try to act like Batman...except Dick did.

“I’m not telling you that you have to let me in on the rest of your mission,” Barbara said, “I just want you to know you’ll always have someone to talk to when things get overwhelming. You’re not Bruce, Dick. Never forget that you’re never alone.”

That was it. Leave it to Barbara to always have the perfect thing to say. He felt like a huge weight had been lifted off him and could feel a relief he hadn’t felt in ages. He looked at her and simply said, “thank you.”

She smiled.

“Soooo,” she said after a moment. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

He raised an eyebrow.

Babs sighed, “I told my dad I was gonna sleep over at Mary’s to finish a project because the original plan was to spend the night on patrol since Bruce is presently out of town but then I heard what happened through the comms and I found myself coming here...”

She was starting to ramble a little. Dick noticed she only did that when she got nervous...and he’s rarely seen Babs get nervous. He hadn’t realized how close they were sitting to each other either.

“Yeah, we can watch a movie.” Dick agreed after he found himself starring at her lips for a little too long.

He tasked himself with finding something to watch while she got the bag of chips and went back to the kitchen to find something else for them to snack on.

Dick couldn’t help but watch her. He loved the way she walked around his apartment like she lived here too. So maybe it had been too long since the last time he’d seen her. Really seen her. Like outside of their costumed extra curricular activities. He missed her. Babs was always beautiful. And it wasn’t weird he thought of her in this way. They’ve always had a special type of relationship. But besides the usual playful flirting between them and a couple kisses -amazing kisses- they were just best friends. Secretly he’d been wishing they were more than that since he was 13 but he knew he wasn’t ready for her then.

Thinking back to their conversation, he realized how much they’ve each grown as people. And more importantly how it felt like they hadn’t grown out of each other as most childhood friends do. No, if anything they’ve grown more into each other. No matter how much time they spent apart, they could always come back together and fit perfectly like two pieces of a puzzle. The sound of a pop from the microwave brought him back outside his thoughts. Then he stood up, like on autopilot and as if his brain had just said “fuck it. Stop being a coward” he walked across to where Babs was waiting on the popcorn. As she turned to address him, Dick took her face in one hand and her waist in the other and kissed her. It was a long and deep kiss. He pulled away a little after to see her expression.

He was close enough that when she opened her eyes again he could see her pupils were dilated as she looked up at him. They were both breathing slightly heavy from the kiss. He could tell he caught her off guard but he didn’t know how to string words together to say how much he just wanted her and was tired of dancing around it. So he hoped his eyes were enough to convey that message. The silence was broken by the microwave beeping. Dick took the bowl out and put it on the side of the stove to let it cool a bit.

“Dick?” Barbara said making him turn around.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. He started kissing her back and as their lips moved together Dick felt a warm feeling in his stomach. Is that what people mean when they say butterflies? He’d been with other women but never felt that. He pushed her up onto the kitchen counter and his hands traveled to her waist. Her hands moved from the back of his neck to his hair as she pulled him closer. Her lips were so soft that he never wanted to depart from them and her touch was so soothing that he felt every worry lift off his body making him feel weightless.

The way their bodies moved together was in perfect synch. Like two pieces of a puzzle, he thought to himself. He noticed her hands had gone down to the bottom of his shirt, gently tugging at it. So he pulled apart for a moment and took it off. Her hands felt so amazing as they touched his chest. As their lips met again this time his wandered down towards her neck. He hasn’t realized she was wearing a black tank top that fit her so well until the moment when he began pulling it off her. Their eyes locked as she smiled at him. He couldn’t help but smile back because her happiness was always contagious to him.

Dick realized that if they were going to continue, they shouldn’t keep doing so on his kitchen counter. Without skipping a beat he effortlessly picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist and he carried her over to his bed.

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @mystifiedgal donated $10, and requested Sam developing mind-reading and learning what Dean wants. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

(read on AO3)

It starts as dreams, the night after they lose Ava. They drove straight from Lafayette to Peoria and after Peoria they move one town over so as not to be newcomers in a town that just had a homicide, and they work all through that day, in Bloomington, calling contacts and putting out feelers, trying to see what might've happened to a short sweet dark-haired girl, a secretary, who'd never done a thing to deserve this. Sam couldn't stop thinking that, no matter how stupid it was. How Ava, how all the rest, hadn't done a single thing to merit this kind of punishment.

He falls asleep though he didn't think he would. Dean's reading at the table with the lamp turning the backs of his ears, his neck, pure white, and Sam's looking at him and thinking about Ava's face shocked-white in the neon from the motel, and then he's asleep, and he's dreaming but it doesn't feel like dreaming. It doesn't feel like a vision, either, how that vicious sharp reality climbs down his throat. In the dream he knows he's dreaming, and he isn't really there, and not even the vague protagonist-body that's usually in his dreams, when he dreams he forgot to study for an exam, or is standing in a rotting house with an empty gun and ghosts slipping through the walls, or smiling at a clever girl with her blouse unbuttoned just right. Instead this dream is—feeling. A wash of dark, and water lapping at the edges of a boat he can't seem to see beyond. Dean, sitting in the stern, his head in his hands, and because Sam isn't really here he can't yell or act or splash the dark water into Dean's face, but—as soon as Sam thinks that, about splashing the water, the surge of fear is so overwhelming that the world turns black. Dean's fingers curl against the side of his head, his ring flashing, and his lips are parted and wet and something unknown flashes through Sam's gut and when he wakes up, dragging in air like he's been running a mile, the room is dark and Dean's a curled lump on the other bed and Sam carries that strange, fearful feeling with him all through the next day, like a fresh-broken bone, throbbing.

Dean frowns at him when he's snappish at lunch, but doesn't call him on it. Dean's being careful with him, which Sam—hates, is grateful for. So Sam maybe didn't have the best reaction to finding out their dad's last words, and maybe the thing with Gordon was—a lot. Gordon was a lot. Ava, poor Scott Carey, Andy and Ansem, Max. It's all been a lot. Dean maybe has been struggling with the secret he was carrying but Sam's struggling with how his mouth tastes like metal all the time, thinking of yellow eyes looming up out of the dark, and so he'll take some concessions, maybe even a little pity, if it makes Dean focus on what they really need to focus on. Dean's letting him direct, not looking for other hunts, staying right here in Illinois and keeping his nose to the ground for Ava or for any hint of another 1983 kid with unexplained powers, and Sam doesn't need anything else, beyond that, not right now. They'll work out the rest later.

Trouble is: Sam's focus is split. He spends the day casing details of Ava's life, job and fiancé and family history and any single second where her life might have brushed against the dark, and at night his dreams are a flood. Black water, rising. Dean, terrified, and his skin that kind of white that comes from a flare of too much exposure, and his eyes dark hollows, and the bones standing out in his hands, clutching at his head. On the fourth night of everything the same choking claustrophobia Dean turns his face and Sam sees that he's bleeding, from the ears and from the corner of his mouth, and the blood is so dark it looks black, too, and Dean covers his mouth with one hand and then though the surrounding water is the same endless expanse the boat becomes that cabin where Azazel rode their dad's body, the shift seamless and unexplained in the way of dreams, and Dean's got a hole in his stomach, the blood flooding out onto the dry wood of the boat/cabin floor, and he puts lax fingers against it that don't stop the bleeding at all, and Sam wakes up that time and has to scramble for the bathroom, retching, although when he clutches the sides of the sink nothing comes up and his mouth just tastes like—saltwater.

That day Dean brings him coffee in the morning and tries to be circumspect. He's bad at it. "Starting to smell like a dorm room in here, man," Dean says, mouth quirked. "Laundry stank and BO and, uh, making like the Lone Ranger?" He makes a vague gesture around his lap, but his heart's not in it. "Gotta air it out, dude. See some sunlight for twenty minutes."

"I'm working," Sam says, but to be honest he's not. He's sitting there with Ellen's half-remembered list of demon sightings in the last six months and instead of working the map he's been staring at the closed curtains for the whole time Dean's been gone. He drags his good hand over his face and lets his heavy casted arm thump down over the notebook. Dean raises his eyebrows, letting a glance over the empty map make his point for him, and Sam sighs. "Making like the Lone Ranger?" he says.

Dean's smile gets more real. "Unless you've got a pretty little Tonto around here, somewhere—" he starts, and Sam rolls his eyes and flicks a crumpled ball of wasted notes at Dean's face, and while he's sputtering Sam says, suddenly desperate for it, "Yeah, okay, we could use some air. Laundromat around here?"

"Hey," Dean says, sitting up, "I don't think I heard myself volunteer for laundry duty—" and then, twenty minutes later, they're installed at a laundromat, empty at nine on a Tuesday morning, Dean bitching still about whose turn it is to fold the whites but looking decently happy, stretched out in one of the shitty plastic chairs with coffee resting on his belly and a morning talkshow on the crackling TV mounted in one corner of the ceiling, and Sam feels it.

Sam feels it. There's a chair between him and Dean, piled with a box of donuts and the police folder Dean went out and stole yesterday, and Sam grips the armrest on the side Dean can't see and squeezes so hard the metal edges hurt his hand, and it's welling up in him. A grey clouded day with a shaft of sunlight slipping through and warming a patch of cold dirt—that's what it feels like, Dean's happiness. Sam licks his lips and breathes shallowly, controlled. When he glances over Dean's watching the show—some sponsored segment about a special vacuum for pet hair, in which he seems completed absorbed—and he's relaxed, in that way that Sam's only ever seen Dean relaxed when they're alone. Completely in his body, unselfconscious of how he's taking up space, boots kicked out on the grimy floor, his eyes clear. A fleck of pink donut frosting on his top lip. There are shadows under his eyes because he doesn't sleep enough and there's a bruise at his temple where Gordon hit him, but he's okay, for this moment. Sam can feel it, in a completely distinct way to how he feels his own body, his own aches and tiredness and worry, and he sits there in ringing panic until the washer buzzes. Dean blinks, the spell of the daytime anchors suspended, and frowns at him, and says, "Hey, earth to egghead, I am here in a strictly supervisory capacity," and Sam has to roll his eyes again and stand up and deal with the laundry, and there's Dean, again, the happiness muted and rolled under—a dragging pull at the chest, an ache long-held and familiar. Worry, concern. Annoyance, too, and then as Sam's dumping their load of jeans and jackets into one of the rolling baskets that twinge of annoyance slips away into guilt, and he has to brace his hands on the sides of the basket and breathe again, slowly, trying not to crawl out of his skin with the violation of it.

"What?" Dean says, while Sam's silent over the wet clothes. "Did I leave gum in my pocket or something?"

He knows Dean. He has known Dean, from when he was little and running around after him thinking his big brother was the coolest smartest person in the world to when he was a sad kid thinking his brother didn't actually like him that much to when he was an angry teenager wishing his brother would take his side in anything, ever, for fucking once. Dean was always a known quantity, no matter what. No surprises. Sam knew when he was cheerful and angry and hurt and he knew how to deal with every version. This is—more than that.

No signs, still, of Ava. They move outward. Day trips, stretching out into different towns, different precincts. They split up, Sam renting a car, and on the state highways with the radio silent Sam tries to think, with Dean not around with his thoughts filling up the air between them.

He catches hints, with other people. A sheriff who's not sure why some U.S. Marshal is asking questions, and he's clearly annoyed but there's an undercurrent Sam catches, a sapping weariness and sorrow that Sam blinks over before he excuses himself, wondering. A search: a wife, recently dead at forty. Sam chews the inside of his cheek raw on the drive back to Bloomington, and Dean texts and says dinner? back in thirty and Sam replies I'll pick up pizza and he waits in the lobby of the pizza place with his knee jogging and a waitress smiles at him, professional, and Sam takes a deep breath and looks at her, taking in her sneakers worn around the edges and her muscular legs and the greys pulled back into her ponytail and she says, "Can I get you a Coke or anything while you wait, hon?" and a swirl of heat curls into Sam's stomach, slants down queerly low, and he sits up straight and watches her eyes flick over him, his chest and lower, and he blurts out, "No," and then, too late, "thank you," and she frowns and the heat fizzles out into disappointment and he thinks, fuck. Fuck. What now?

With Dean the feelings bloom raw and real and present. Sam doesn't have to look. A day of frustration and no leads but Dean doesn't actually feel the frustration, not really, because he's humoring Sam's obsession over finding this girl Dean never even met—and there's a little satisfaction there, too, something that makes Sam set his beer down a little too hard on the table when he recognizes it, because they're spinning their wheels here, Dean thinks, and that means that Sam's being kept here, safe, away from demons and whatever plans there might be, so he's getting what he wanted, after all. The second Apes movie is on the motel TV and Dean's watching that, scratching his belly idly after too much pizza, and Sam goes into the bathroom and sits on the closed toilet and presses his fingers into his ears so hard he can't hear anything but the beating rush of his own heart, and even through a closed door and quiet and dark behind Sam's eyes he can feel it: his brother, content to be here with Sam, on a night where nothing's yet gone wrong. Little does he know.

Is this some new shift, in Sam's visions? Not only to see the future but to see—what? He doesn't know how to define this. He's seen in movies when people read minds, like that terrible Mel Gibson thing that Dean loved even if he pretended it was shitty—it's always narrated dialogue, someone's thoughts piped directly into the psychic's head. What Sam's getting isn't as useful as that. Emotion, shifting sensation, the ebb and flood and draining drag of how people move through the difficult world. Guilt, misery. Contentment. Fury, brief and shocking, enough to make Sam snap the pencil he's holding, and he looks up to find Dean leafing through Dad's journal, his face a calm mask, and Sam thinks, jesus, he has to tell Dean. He has to, and yet: what can he possibly say?

The dreams are still bad. Sam comes awake like out of a sucking bog and he breathes slow, eyes on the ceiling. Dean's small snores in the next bed. The fear's a pool, lapping against Sam's skin, and he turns his head and says, very quietly, "Dean." There's no answer because of course Dean's deep asleep, of course he's dreaming, and Sam rolls over, watches the slow rise of Dean's chest, concentrates. The dark rises thick, miserable, but Sam already knows that part.

He gets up, keeping quiet, and takes the step between their beds. The room isn't all that dark, the parking lot lights seeping bright behind the curtains, so it's easy to see the gilded line of Dean's cheekbone, his lips parted in sleep, his eyes closed and still. His face tipped toward Sam's bed. Sam wants to touch it so abruptly that his fingers are already reaching out but he stops himself. He leans over, instead, bracing a hand on the headboard, and tries to focus, tries to pin down the amorphous shifting haze of Dean's thrumming head. When he closes his eyes he doesn't see the black lake, the creaking boat, but the fear slips, slides, lapping against him. Against them both. Sam can't grasp it. He's not Andy, to push thoughts into someone else, and he doesn't see how he could get control of this—to ease the fear, or tell Dean somehow that it's going to be okay even if, really, Sam's not sure that's true. He stands up and turns away, goes to the window to look out at the silent parking lot and breathe, waiting it out. The dream swells and subsides, around him, and maybe that's Dean slipping down into a different REM cycle or something but it's a relief. Sam presses his forehead against the cool glass. Visions, and now this. His pointless, stupid powers, that don't let him do anything except see shit he can barely hope to change. Whatever powers the yellow-eyed demon was after them for, Sam hopes he won't be disappointed that Sam's in particular are completely impotent.

By the time two weeks have gone by Sam's—used to it is maybe not the phrase, but he can deal. Still in Bloomington, still searching. Waiting around, now, mostly, for Ellen's contacts to get back to them, for Ash to come up with anything on a scrape of, as far as Dean could relate, the entire internet. If Sam's honest with himself he thinks they're never going to find Ava, and if they do certainly not alive, but they're looking anyway. Dean doesn't suggest they move on, doesn't argue for anything else. He keeps them fed and caffeinated, finds new badly bowdlerized action movies to watch on the room's TV, follows Sam's leads when Sam suggests a new avenue of searching. His dreams are a little calmer, maybe just from the fact that they're stalled in place—a vacation, of a sort, like Dean asked for even if they're doing nothing remotely fun—and during the day Sam sits surrounded by his thoughts and it's… comforting. Sort of.

Happy isn't the word, Sam realizes, for that thin sunlight feeling. Contentment, maybe. Dean has it when they're quiet together, when they're doing stupid chores like laundry or taking a break in research to make some salt rounds, when they're arguing over Stallone versus Van Damme for the tenth time. When they're working Sam's gut tightens without his say-so in random spikes of anxiety, of worry. His heart clenches and he actually puts a hand over it, and he's just reading the police blotter in the paper, so when he looks up and Dean's got his half open to the obits, Sam frowns and says, "What?"

Dean jerks, like he was caught at something. "I didn't say anything," he says, and his face is calm but his hand's spread over some thin column, some family's sadness, and when he gets up to piss Sam pulls the paper around and sees it's an obituary for someone's father, dead a little too early, and Sam sits back and puts his knuckles into his eyes and breathes out, trying to shake the lingering ache of it.

Coming out of the shower that night, Sam wraps a towel around his waist and steps out into the bedroom. "What's for dinner?" he says, thinking he'll argue for Chinese whatever Dean says, and thinking that he might try searching up more information about Ansem's family, in particular, to see if there were any patterns there they could use, and he's in his own head enough that it takes him a minute to feel how the room has shifted around him. He pauses, leaning over his duffle bag, trying to pinpoint.

"There's that cheesesteak place over on 15th," Dean says, easy, but he's not at ease. Sam's feeling that same unexpected swoop in his gut, that low achy pull, and this time it's not from a woman but from a guy and so it's a tightness in his nuts, his blood heating. Sam grips his t-shirt in both hands, tight enough that his broken wrist aches. His cheeks have flooded hot and he stands up, shrugs his shoulders and feels the cold air on the water still on his skin, and the—the lust, because that's what it is, this thick wanting that's pulsing up through his stomach—it swoops low, shifts, and the flooding rise of guilt and fear that follows is so fast that Sam coughs, shocked.

"Yo, Marlee Matlin," Dean says. "Cheesesteak?"

"Yeah," Sam says, not turning around. He doesn't want to see what face goes with this feeling. "No onions on mine."

Dean snorts. "Heathen," he says, and there's a rattle of the keys being dragged off the table and Dean swinging into his leather coat, and he says, "Have clothes on by the time I get back, you exhibitionist," and the tangled mix of wanting and terror and shame is so thick that Sam can still feel it when the door's slammed behind him, when the car's rumbling on, fading only when the sound of the engine does, and Sam turns around then finally and looks at the empty room and thinks—nothing. His brain doesn't know what to do with this.

The cheesesteaks are decent. They watch the local news for any blood-and-guts, and then Frasier reruns. Dean's content has been blasted away by what happened earlier but he's acting fine and Sam's wondering, now, how often he's been fine when something raw and bizarre was rearing up in him. How long it's been in him. "You okay?" Dean asks, at some point, light but careful, really asking, and Sam dredges up a half-smile from somewhere and shrugs, says, "Just thinking," and Dean rolls his eyes and says, "Oh, god help us all," and Sam throws a balled napkin at him, and Dean grins and swings into the bathroom and Sam hears the sink go on but when he closes his eyes his head is full of Dean's head, and he can almost see it: Dean braced over the sink, his head hung between his shoulders, his cheeks hot and his hands clenched and him saying to himself something like stop.

Sam blinks, back in the room. He did hear that. Stop, Dean says, inside his own head, loud and deliberate, but his thoughts swirl somewhere else and he's imagining—there's Sam's back, broad and damp and golden in the light, and the low line of the towel around his waist, and the wet curl of his hair around his ear, and how Dean wanted to put his mouth there, so badly he could almost taste the water—and then the harsh wave of recrimination floods the image out and Dean looks up into the mirror and thinks to himself, in clear words that he doesn't say out loud, you pathetic fucking freak, and Sam has to get up off the bed and slam out of the room and stand in the parking lot with freezing air on his bare arms and he holds his hand over his mouth so he doesn't curse out loud and he thinks jesus, bad enough that one of them is thinking it—the self-hatred that's tightening up his chest is hardly easing, from getting some distance, and soon he'll have to go back into the room because Dean will wonder what the hell he's doing, standing outside in his socks like a weirdo, and Sam has to say—he has to—this isn't fair, to either of them—but how can he say it without Dean knowing exactly what Sam must have overheard—overfelt—and Sam knows his brother, always has, and he knows what'll follow. A freakout, to say the least. Recrimination, reflected blame, anger and then fear—always the fear—that Sam's slipping further away, or worse that Dean will have pushed him further away—and Sam can't do this, he can't live like this, without Dean. He can't handle this stupid, terrible year, not without his brother on his side.

He takes a deep breath, cold in his lungs. Jesus, is that what he's going to do? Just live with it, because—

"Dude, what the hell?" comes Dean's voice, behind him. Sam turns and finds Dean, yes, standing in the open doorway, his hair a little damp at the edges like he splashed his face, his eyebrows high because here's his little brother being a weirdo like always. Except that he's more worried than his face lets on, and there's a rising tide of is something happening, is this something about the demon, the tang of fear that fills every night.

"Thought I heard something," Sam says, trying to interrupt it before it gets too bad. "By the car. I think it was just a dog or something."

He's a better liar than Dean gives him credit for; already it's working, the fear sliding into warm exasperation. That thin, frail beam of sunlight. "Freaking out Fido, now?" Dean says, while Sam walks wincing back across the parking lot, scattered gravel poking through his socks. "New low, bro."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam says, brushing past where Dean's holding the door open, and there's a thrill—in his chest, in Dean's—that he clamps down on, ignores, but he can't ignore the misery around it. That's a problem.

Sam stays awake that night, waiting for Dean to sleep. The black lake, the blood. Sam turns on his side and watches Dean's face and closes his eyes slowly, thinking of that moment just before the guilt, the shame—the clear, unadulterated want—and when he dreams they're in the cabin, again, and Dean's bleeding with his unconcerned hand holding nothing inside, and the water surges hard against the sides of the boat, floods the floorboards, and Sam opens his eyes and slides off his bed onto the floor and lays his hand onto Dean's stomach where in the dream he's dying, and he presses his forehead against the mattress and shudders, aching with how much it hurts, and the dream—shifts.

He breathes in, still halfway in sleep himself. Dean's hand covered in blood and his shoulders hunched up, but his face turns up and he sees Sam, standing there in the doorway watching him. He says something but Sam, the real Sam, can't hear it; the Sam-of-the-dream comes closer, looms. He looks a foot taller than Dean, broader. Monstrous almost. Sam catches his breath and the dream-Sam puts his hand over Dean's hand, holds it tighter against the wound, and Dean tips his head back and murmurs something and the Sam of the dream presses their hands tighter, hard enough that it should hurt except in the way of dreams there's no real pain but only the knowledge of being torn open—and then the Sam of the dream leans in and presses his mouth to Dean's, a chaste strange kiss, like kissing marble—and their hands sink into Dean's stomach, tearing—and when the kiss ends Sam lifts up and Dean opens his eyes and Sam's eyes are yellow, from edge to edge, and Sam shoves away from the bed, scrambling so fast he slams his shoulder into the frame of his own, and by some fucking miracle Dean doesn't wake up so Sam's left panting, alone on the carpet in the dark, a remembered warmth against his lips and his hand feeling an echoed-ghost slickness of black, dripping blood.

He puts on his sneakers, a hoodie, sticks his phone in his pocket but turns it off. He goes for a run. Three a.m. is silent around here and he needs that, needs no people. He runs hard enough and long enough that it's hard to think beyond the burning in his thighs, his lungs. His hurting shoulder where he's going to have a bruise.

When he gets back Dean comes awake at the door opening. "Where were you?" he says, bleary, and Sam says, "Out for a run, go back to sleep," and Dean's tired enough that he blinks at Sam heavily and mumbles, "Okay, freak," and subsides, turning over and hugging the pillow close. Sam stands with his back to the door, his hands fisted around the knob, watching as Dean slips back down into sleep, and it's deep, dreamless, a relief.

Sam showers and takes his time about it. He's not getting back to bed today. He washes his hair and his face, not bothering to be careful about keeping his cast dry anymore—it's almost time for it to come off, anyway—and his brain won't empty, won't let him forget. He can't get the image of his own eyes out of his head. Glinting gold. The version of him in the dream wasn't cruel, because it wasn't human. Peeling Dean open and giving him what he wanted and killing him, all at once. It's not hard to interpret.

He washes the rest, streaking soap. Takes his limp dick in hand, running his thumb under the foreskin, and then holds himself, his cast braced against the tile wall. He hasn't jerked off in—he can't even remember, the last time. It could clear his head. He squeezes, sliding wet up to the head, but what he imagines is—Dean's mouth, in the dark, barely parted. His own shoulders, gleaming inside Dean's head. He lets go of his dick and wipes his hand over his lips, trying to get the sensation out, and shuts off the water. It can't go on like this. Not like this.

He dries off in a half-assed way and tugs on boxers and nothing else. Out in the room Dean's still asleep and dawn's not yet rising. Sam shuts off the bathroom light and in the mostly-dark goes over to Dean's bed and sits on the edge of the mattress, and puts his hand on the back of Dean's neck. A blurring shift, coming on like a slow dimmer switch, as he rises up out of whatever dreamless space he was in. "Dean," Sam says, very quietly, and Dean's eye slits open, gleaming. He turns his head, rolls back a little, and Sam's hand drags along to his shoulder, fitting there on the smooth warm round of it. Dean blinks and is still almost entirely offline, the fog of his thoughts nothing but grey sleep, and Sam leans down and kisses him, then, catches his mouth a little off-center with his lips dry, his breath sour, his body warm and loose and unable to stop him.

No reaction for a few seconds, either in his body or his head. Sam opens his mouth and presses Dean's lips wider and gets the morning-taste of him, thick and strange, soft. He touches Dean's chin, the damp edge of his cast dragging against his skin, and it's that which seems to wake Dean up—his body going stiff, his mind flooding with—god, Sam can't untangle it all. "What," Dean says, against Sam's mouth, pulling back, but Sam grips his shoulder and presses him flat against the bed, leaning over him, keeping him here. Flicker of his eyelashes in the dark and his mouth's shining now, too, from Sam's mouth. Sam's stomach turns over to see it.

Sam doesn't say anything. Dean's breathing hard, looking up at him. Fear, pooling around the bed, flooding the room like the bed's the boat and the room's the lake, and Sam maybe doesn't get it entirely—he thinks of his eyes, yellow in Dean's mind, and his hand clenches hard enough on Dean's shoulder that Dean cringes away, grips Sam's wrist. "Sam," Dean says, uncertain—wondering if he's still dreaming—and Sam leans down and kisses him again, ignores Dean's stiff scared lips and licks inside, knocking him open, his cast heavy on Dean's chest, his wet hair dripping cold. He feels it, of course, when it starts to wake in Dean—the sensation of his body, his mouth, the warmth rising south, the shock of getting this—the confusion—and he pulls away, enough that he can look into Dean's eyes, says, "Feel this," and breaks Dean's grip on his wrist and slides his hand down under the blanket and past Dean's flinching belly to his dick, heavy in his underwear, swelling. Dean takes a shuddering shocked breath and the rise of want is so thick that it chokes out the fear, the guilt, his mind going full and focused at getting his dick held by someone he wants as badly as he wants Sam. God. To know that.

The want is so intense that Sam knows it won't matter that he's never done this before. A dick is a dick, though, he figures, and he slips his fingers inside the waistband, finds the pole of it—thick, the skin unexpectedly soft—and Dean's body arches under his, his breath hot and fast already. Sam doesn't want this, not in the same way, but it hardly matters when Dean's desire roars high between them. "Touch me," Sam says, and Dean goes for Sam's chest, his shoulders, grasping in fumbled shock, while Sam gets a better grip, pumps, finding a rhythm. Awkward with his left hand but clearly doing the job, from how Dean's already shaking, his thighs spreading for it under the blanket, his fingers tight in Sam's skin. Sam leans down, finds Dean's mouth again, and Dean opens for him easy, letting Sam inside, his hands finding Sam's jaw. His fingers careful, uncertain—sliding up into Sam's damp hair, holding—and his hips jerk—and Sam licks into Dean's mouth and pumps him faster, his shoulder sore and aching, his fingers getting slick—jesus, Sam runs his thumb over the head and feels the wet leaking—and Dean jerks under him like touching a live wire and comes just like that, hips shoving up into Sam's grip, wet heat that spills over Sam's hand and against his wrist. Sam gentles his grip and Dean jerks into his palm, getting the last of it out. His chest is heaving, under Sam's cast. Sam kisses him, again, and Dean's teeth drag against his lip, and Sam slides his hand up out of Dean's shorts and presses his palm firm against his bare belly, heedless of the mess.

When he lifts up Dean's staring at him, fixed. The room's inundated with his thoughts, a whitewater crush. Sam's mouth tastes like metal. Dean's fingers reach up, white, and touch his cheek, and Sam drags in air and lets himself be touched, and Dean doesn't know what to do with this. He wants to tackle Sam back to the bed and he wants to crawl under something and he wants to be not who he is because who he is has ruined—

"Stop," Sam says, pressing his palm harder against Dean's belly. "Stop thinking."

Dean licks his lips, looks back and forth between Sam's eyes. Distracted from the misery but just as bewildered, and worse. "What are you thinking?" he says, after a few seconds. Scrape of voice, thick and unsure.

"I'm thinking I want you," Sam says, and Dean blinks and this terrible curl of hope goes through him, another kind of light like a brush of rose-fingered dawn at the edge of a dark landscape, and Sam hasn't felt that, hasn't come close to that, this whole awful time. Sam bites his lips and hopes Dean doesn't hear the next part as qualification: "I want you here. With me. Not—freaking out. Not worried about—whatever it is you're always worrying about."

Dean swallows. His face turns away a little. "Me, worry," he says, breath of a scoff, and there's that rawness again, the shame pulling at his gut. Afraid of this and afraid of Sam in equal measure.

Sam can't stand it. He won't have it. "Don't," he says, and Dean's eyes flick at him sidelong, his mouth turning to some unhappy shape, and Sam pushes in and spreads out over the top of him and kisses him again, his wet gross hand sliding up Dean's side, his mouth crushed hard against Dean's mouth. Dean kisses back this time, for real, and he's—softer, tenderer, than Sam would have ever imagined Dean would kiss, if he had ever imagined it.

It's Sam who breaks the kiss—every part of Dean, body and mind, is full of the feeling that he would never, ever stop unless the room was on fire, and maybe not even then—and when they're breathing against each other Dean's hand worms up out of the blanket and finds Sam's side, over his ribs. Squeezes there, very lightly, his heart thrilling terrified at the presumption. "Sammy," he says, one word a complicated snarl of a question, and Sam shakes his head, can't answer. He moves his right arm, bracing the cast instead by Dean's head, and Dean's chest rises under the release of the weight. A release, all over, and that dawn keeps rising, though the lake's still black and its depths are impossible to see.

Sam tucks his head down, his face in Dean's throat, like they're hugging, like something familiar at least, and Dean's arm goes around his back, holding him. "Sam," he whispers, against Sam's hair. Sam closes his eyes and feels the surge of it: tender, violent, aching. A glut that presses against the back of his teeth with all he wants to say and won't.

He doesn't know if that feeling is his, or Dean's. Behind his eyes it's black and dawn's still not here. On a lake, in the dark, there's a boat creaking, the water surging high but not yet spilling over the side.

[hlvraik]

Had an angsty thought for the Kid Science Team but Bubby isn't kiddified bc Tube Logic spin-off: Bubby watches Gordon try and fail to get the kiddos in order, and after Gordon snaps and accidentally upsets a kid, he's trying to apologize when Bubby makes a snide remark on his parenting skills. Rather than a scalding retort, Gordon goes dead silent. The lack of response gets Bubby's attention, and he glances over in time to catch the look on Gordon's face and he realizes he just took it WAY too far.

Despite the fact that Gordon's way to familiar with Bubby's snarky and snide remarks regarding his parenting skills, usually responding with an equal or lesser remark, a click of his tongue, or just disregarding them in general-

  -somehow, someway, this particular remark broke the camel's back..

Gordon's first guess was this was maybe due to him simply being overwhelmed by everything that was happening around it. [As just now, he's trying to comfort a crying K!Benrey the best that he can after just recently snapping at them, while Sunkist, K!Tommy, and K!Coomer ran aimlessly in between his legs.] However, upon reconsideration, maybe it was due to Bubby finally pushing him to the limit with all those sly one-liners..as what exactly do they know about raising and taking care of kids? Ok, they might have some general knowledge about kids and their basic needs, but they were born in a tube for fuck's sake-

Meanwhile Gordon on the other hand was a single father for as long as he can remember and had his fair share of hardships; giving birth to Joshua and taking care of them while attending an ivy league school and getting his master's degree, getting top surgery, moving halfway across the United States fresh out of college as they got hired at Black Mesa, finding and renting  a affordable apartment while looking for a perfect school to enroll Joshua in-the list can go on and on. [So it would make sense why hearing Bubby's constant remarks would make Gordon's blood boil as not only is Bubby's criticizing Gordon's on his parenting skills even though Gordon's 100% sure that Bubby's doesn't have parenting expertise  to begin with, but also that he was the one who was taking care of the kiddos 24/7 while Bubby just sat and watched from a distance.]

Gordon couldn't help but break down and cry out of a mixture of  frustration and stress-hell, he ended up giving Bubby a piece of his own mind and lashing out on them. This catches them extremely off guard as not only is it the first time that Gordon genuinely got upset at them, but the fact that he disregarded the kids while doing so. Gordon  soon comes to their senses and realizes that they've done and sighs heavily. He ends up putting K!Benrey goes down and proceeds to walk away from the group, claiming that he just needs some time to calm down and reassure himself and that he'll come back so there's no need to worry.

After minutes pass without any signs of Gordon returning, Bubby begins to worry.

Before going after and looking for Gordon, Bubby decides to leave the kiddos with Sunkist and appoints Sunkist to protect them while they're away. After searching for what seemed like several  minutes, Bubby eventually finds Gordon sitting alone on a bench and they sit down next to them and starts apologizing for somewhat being a dick and poking fun at his parenting skills. Gordon accepts their apology before saying sorry themselves for how they acted claiming that they're extremely stressed- and as they're making their way back to the group, Gordon  brings up that they're questioning if they're even fit to be dad, as lately they've been feeling unworthy of being one. To which Bubby's immediately all like;

"GORDON FUCKING FREEMAN YOU LISTEN HERE- YOU ARE FIT TO BE A DAD AND DON'T YOU FUCKING DOUBT  IT. YOU GOT YOUR DOCTORATES DEGREE WHILE TAKING CARE OF JOSHUA FOR FUCK'S SAKES- YOU ARE SO AMAZING-JOSHUA'S SO LUCKY TO HAVE YOU AS A FATHER-' 

[theblogtini]

The differ variations of the “suicide” is extremely disturbing. First it was mention, no help offered... Where were her doctors? And yet to HR? Really? NOW she it was she didn’t want to kill herself because it would hurt him? For all these “tell-all’s” there’s no transparency or clarity. Just a jumble of isolated situations and stories with nothing but holes and disassociation from each other.

I think Meghan was - as she always is - very careful during the Oprah interview. To quote her exactly, she said: I was ashamed to say it at the time and ashamed to have to admit it to Harry, especially because I know how much loss he's suffered. But I knew that if I didn't say it, then I would do it. I just didn't want to be alive anymore. That was clear and real and frightening and constant thought."

She never said she was suicidal. She never said she was having suicidal ideations. She said she "didn't want to be alive anymore" and that "she would do it." And I don't want to speak for everyone in the world, but many, many people in dark moments say "God I just wish I wasn't alive right now" or have a fleeting thought of "maybe this would be easier for everyone else if i I wasn't here." Now, Meghan says that it was a "constant" thought that she says.

She implied she was suicidal on international television but she never explicitly said it. She knew people would interpret that as what she meant - there's only so many ways you possibly could. She knew that telling her husband she didn't want to be alive would be interpreted as being suicidal. But at this point - and I feel disgusting for saying this - but at this point I genuinely wonder if she was truly depressed and suicidal or if she was just feeling overwhelmed and stressed and like she needed a TEMPORARY way out.......

Listen - to be 100% transparent after my first son was born it was REALLY ROUGH for me. I was diagnosed with PTSD due to the traumatic circumstances of his birth and I had very bad anxiety and OCD (diagnosed, which I have been seeing a therapist and psychiatrist for since 2012). I used to sit in my closet on the floor crying so that my husband couldn't hear me and think of what I would do to just be done with it all. (This went on until he was about 12 weeks old.) I had a little plan in my head. But I NEVER EVER WOULD HAVE ACTUALLY EVER KILLED MYSELF. And I would never describe myself - in that moment or now - as suicidal. Some days were so hard and so difficult that I would just sit there and think "I need a way out of this." That it would just be better for everyone else if I was just out of the way so they could carry on being normal humans without worrying about the idiot crying in her closet because she couldn't handle taking care of a 6lb baby that slept most of the time. I used to feel awful because my husband - who had never even been around kids - was trying to figure out how to be a dad AND how to take care of me and just making it work every day while all I did was make it harder for him. But I never ACTUALLY wanted to kill myself. I just wanted - in those moments - to not have to deal with the shit in my head and in my world.

And I kind of wonder if that's where Meghan was. She was stressed and tired and hormonal and she just wanted to be DONE with it all. And she told Harry that... and nearly 2 years later they decided to run with it in an internationally televised interview.

Because again - Meghan and Harry said they went to *human resources* for help. Then they called a journalist (Bryony Gordon) to do an interview about it. They never... called her doctor? I was in my psychiatrists office 3 days after coming home from the hospital b/c I told my husband I was losing it and he was like "Well, let's go get you help." We left my EIGHT DAY OLD BABY home with my mother so that I could go get help - and my psychiatrist diagnosed me with PTSD, said my anxiety and OCD were getting the best of me, upped my prescriptions of things, and then sent me to the hospital for some testing (b/c of the pregnancy complications I was actually sick in addition to feeling like I was losing my mind).

Things my husband did NOT do in that moment: tell me that he had somewhere else to be or tell me that I had to get over it and get dressed. HE TOOK ME TO A FUCKING DOCTOR. We didn't have an appointment - mind you. He picked up my cell phone and found my doctors number and called her and was like "I need you to see her immediately. She is not okay." And my doctor - being A GOOD DOCTOR - did.

So - I don't know. Nothing they say EVER makes sense and - IMO - that's because nothing they say happened actually happened... or happed in the way they want us to believe it did. They aren't taking notes on the lies and embellishments they're telling. They keep contradicting themselves and each other.

[eirabach]

Starcrossed [1/1]

My contribution to @pen-and-ink-week-2020 day one, prompts: camping / steady.

Gordon’s got mud in his hair and splinters in his knees and a blood blister on his palm from a mallet he had absolutely no idea how to use and Virgil -- Virgil needs to wipe that look off his face right this damn second.

“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this.”

Virgil, the bastard, is grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, you asked for my advice and my advice was to do something different and memorable. Not go bury your excrement in the woods memorable. That’s on you, kid.”

Gordon drops back onto the crinkly nylon nest he’s fashioned from their sleeping bags, and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Oh this is a disaster. This is such a disaster. I need evac. A new name. Safe house. The works.”

Virgil sighs, and taps his tiny holographic foot against the painfully out of place pink leather overnight bag that’s jammed up against the tentpole.

“You’re being over dramatic. She hasn’t actually left.” He pauses, craning his head as though he can’t already see the entirety of the two man tent from the comm’s spot at Gordon’s feet. “Has she?”

“I have sent,” Gordon hisses between clenched teeth, “a member of the aristocracy to fetch firewood.”

“Sounds fair to me, she wants to eat right?” Virgil’s grin is so big it must physically pain him. Gordon hopes so. “Vive la revolution!”

“Vir--gil.”

“Gor-don.”

Beyond the gentle rustling of the wind through the redwoods and the sound of his own internal mental breakdown, comes a high pitched and familiar yelp. Gordon scrambles upright as best he can, clutching the comm to his chest with unsteady hands.

“Oh god, she’s coming back.”

“Yeah, that was the plan right? Gordon --” Virgil’s not grinning quite as big anymore and his voice turns gentle. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s Penelope. And you. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Gordon grimaces, peeling back the tent’s zipper far enough to see her, her hair tucked up under a worn IR branded bobble hat, her back to him as she drops an armful of kindling into the centre of the clearing. “Yeah, I mean, she could realise. And run. Yeah, that’s pretty much what I’m worried about.”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Gordon --”

“Gordon!”

Virgil squarks unhappily as Gordon tosses the comm over his shoulder.

“Hey! Hi, yes. Hello.”

The tip of Penelope’s nose is pink from the autumn chill, and when she smiles it scrunches up tight as the band that seems to have appeared around his chest..

“You sound surprised to see me.” She moves to peer around him and into the tent proper. ”What are you up to in there?”

“Nothing?”

“Really?” She steps back, gesturing to the woodpile. “Well, since you’re a gentleman of leisure, does this meet with your approval?”

Gordon winces, and begins struggling to extradite himself from the really very much too small tent. Yet another plan that had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

“I didn’t mean like, nothing nothing.”

“Oh of course.” Penelope nods sagely. “The other sort of nothing.”

“Yeah exactl -- Bertie!” A tiny flash of cream and black comes barrelling into him as he tries to untangle the zip, sending Gordon flying back into the tent in a cacophony of tearing fabric. He scrambles back up and stares at the tent door, which is now hanging morosely in raggedy strips. “This is -- kinda a disaster isn’t it?”

Penelope pops her hands on her hips, and smiles down at him fondly. 

“Oh I don’t know, I can’t see any Thunderbirds swooping down to save the day.”

Gordon groans. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Oh come along, darling. Fresh air, nature, what’s not to love?” She steps forward, and drops to her knees in the leaf mulch before him. “You’re not getting spoiled by your tropical island lifestyle are you?”

“Uh, this was my idea?”

“So I recall. Sold to me on the promise of ‘smores and cuddling and really darling --” she taps her watch. “I seem to be suffering from a distinct lack of either.”

Gordon slaps at the remains of the tent doorway and clambers out, pulling Penelope to her feet as he does so. Behind them Bertie is busy tugging a tartan blanket free, his tail wagging frantically as he wraps himself up in it.

“Sorry,” he says, wrapping his arms around her waist and swaying slightly as she leans back to place her own arms around his neck. “That’s very remiss of me.”

“Very,” she says, and goes to rest her cheek on his shoulder. “Is there something wrong, Gordon?”

The leaves crunch under their feet and Gordon buries his nose in the soft wool of the ugly hat. It smells like her perfume and ozone and island heat and he’d wondered where she’d gone and got it from and huh, now he knows.

“You stole my hat.”

“I borrowed it.”

“That’s a crime, Penelope.”

“Are you trying to change the subject?”

“Are you trying to get away with stealing my hat?”

Penelope draws back, soft smile replaced by a line between her brows that makes Gordon’s chest hurt. “You can have it back, you know.”

“No -- god no. You look way better in it than I ever did anyway,” he smiles a little brighter for her, and kisses the line until it melts away. “Sorry if I’m being weird. I kinda -- I don’t know. Nervous, I guess.”

And then she’s smiling again, and the world rights itself slightly. “I am threateningly attractive in this hat.”

“Oh, very.”

“And you do have to prove your manliness to me.”

“Oh?” The world tilts again, but for very different reasons as Penny pushes her body against his. “I think I can probably --”

And then she’s gone, practically prancing across the clearing to the pile of wood. She holds two pieces up, her lip between her teeth, and wriggles her eyebrows at him.

“You promised me ‘smores.”

---

He proves his manly worth eventually, and the campfire he coaxed and wheedled into existence burns bright as the full moon rises overhead. 

He’d brought camp chairs, but they sit abandoned where he’d dumped them, and the two of them lie side by side on the blanket Bertie had liberated, cooling cups of tea at their sides, their breathing steady and rhythmic under a spinning, starbright sky.

“It rather puts everything into perspective, don’t you think?”

“Hmm?”

Penelope waves a hand up at the sky. “All -- all of everything. Sometimes it all can feel a little overwhelming, and then I think -- well.” She drops her hand, wriggles a little closer into his side. “I think that sometimes it’s all too easy to forget that this whole planet of ours -- every one on it -- we are so terribly tiny aren’t we?”

“Jesus, Pen.” He pinches her side slightly, squeezing his arm underneath her as she jumps and pulling her as tight against him as he can manage. “I get enough short jokes at home.”

“Oh ha ha, I don’t mean that in a bad way --”

“That I’m short?”

She smacks at his belly, and her laugh rings through the trees and out into the universe. “Gordon!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

Penny shakes her head slightly. She’s lost the hat at some point during the evening, and her hair catches on the rough blanket, tickles his nose. “I just -- sometimes I need reminding that I’m allowed this, that’s all. That we have a place.”

“Tell me about it.” It’s hardly more than a breath, hardly out loud at all, but Penny’s hand settles on his where it lies at her waist and her fingers twist tight between his own.

The moonlight forms a silvery halo around her upturned face, her soft breaths forming little puffs of cloud that float and fizzle away in the chill night air, and it’s just the two of them, the rest of the world banished from the circle of the campfire’s light. It’s -- it’s a moment.

Gordon’s other hand settles in the pocket of his jacket, and he grips the velveteen box tightly as he tries to steady his nerves. Imagines Virgil, the way he’d rolled his eyes and said, what’s the worst that could happen?

And Gordon looks at Penelope and Penelope looks at the stars and he thinks forever.

I could lose this forever.

And he thinks -- he thinks -- he can’t.

He uncurls his fingers from the box, slips his hand free to thumb at a chocolatey smear on her cheek. Penelope turns her face into the palm of his hand and sighs.

“Thank you,” she says. “I needed this.” 

Gordon goes to scoff, but then she’s dipping her head to drop a kiss to his wrist and his heartbeat skitters and skips under her lips.

“Take me to bed?”

She doesn’t have to ask twice.

---

Morning has brought a bright autumnal dawn, perfect yellow light pouring through the poorly pinned doorway to settle on the dew damp curls at Penelope’s temples, freckles burnished gold against her cheeks.

He’s seen a lot of beautiful things in his life. Beautiful places. Corals, neon pink and orange in a turquoise sea, otherworldly sunsets, cave systems that glow lilac with phosphorescence, the way a mother’s face twists when he places their lost baby back in their arms.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as beautiful as this.

Penny’s all twisted up in the sleeping bags, the zips long abandoned, her hair wild with static, her arm thrown over her head. There’s a pug snoring between her knees, her elbow’s half an inch from his nose, her lips are chapped from the chill air, and he loves her. God, but he loves her.

And Gordon -- Gordon can’t help it. He leans over, kisses the tip of her cold nose and whispers;

“Marry me.”

Blue eyes snap open shrewd and bright, so bright, that the part of Gordon that’s not currently freaking the fuck out wonders, briefly, if her perfect peaceful sleep was just a bit too perfect. “Pardon?”

Oh, oh this is not the way this is meant to happen. No. No way. He wriggles away from her as best he can, backs himself right up until the tent is sticking to his back and Penny -- Penny is staring at him as though he’s actually lost the plot.

He’s totally lost the plot.

She’s worrying her lip between her teeth, that furrow back between her brows and oh god he’s fucking this up isn’t he. He knew he would. He knew it. “Gordon, did you --”

“No! No, not -- not no -- just hang on -- hang on I was meant to do this -- stand up.” He gestures, a tad wildly, and Penelope blinks at him. Maybe she had actually been sleeping after all. Maybe he can convince her this is some sort of terrible nightmare.

“I -- excuse me?”

He takes an unsteady breath, attempts to gather whatever wits he possesses, and scuffles around for his discarded jacket. His fingers finally close around the box, and he squeezes his eyes shut. At least he’s already on his knees. “You gotta -- you gotta stand up.”

“I don’t think -- “ she starts, but then he’s pulling the box out of his pocket and even though he literally would rather okay face a tsunami naked than open his eyes, he can still hear her sharp intake of breath. Oh god. 

“Okay -- okay darling, look at me all right?” He opens one eye, risks a glance upward to see her bent almost double, the cross pole of the tent across her shoulders. “There now, better?”

“Penelope --”

Maybe he feels the tension, or maybe he is just a tiny little asshole, but this, this moment, is the very moment Bertie chooses to rouse from his slumber and leap up at Penelope’s legs.

He launches himself with such force that the slippery nylon that makes up their bed shifts, and Penelope, already off balance and folded like a half shut knife, jumps in shock. The cross pole shudders and -- oh, shit.

Penelope lands in a heap, and the tent follows her collapsing on top of them like one of grandma’s souffles. Bertie whimpers unhappily, wriggling his way free of a sea of wet nylon to force himself bodily between them. He laps at Gordon’s shaking hand, then looks up at Penny with huge, innocent eyes.

Bertie, Gordon decides, has been spending far too much time with Parker. 

He goes to tell Penny as much, but to his horror he sees big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, her eyes red and rimmed black with yesterday’s mascara. He scans her for wounds, protruding tent poles, anything that might explain the funny little gasping sounds she’s making, as though she can’t quite catch her breath.

“Are you hurt? What -- did you sprain something? Tell me where it hurts.”

Penelope shakes her head fiercely. “No, no I’m not hurt.”

She half laughs, a strained, breathless little thing, and moves to hover her hand over the little box. 

Gordon looks down. Penelope might be not quite touching it, but Bertie is resting his nose against the golden clasp holding it closed and looking up at Gordon like -- 

Like even the dog can’t quite believe the mess he’s making of this. 

“Oh don’t -- I’m sorry Penny, I’m sorry-- don’t cry. Oh wow, this has gone even worse than I expected.”

She laughs again, he can feel it against the crown of his head as he tries very hard to curl up into himself and disappear entirely. “Gordon Tracy, you are the most ridiculous man --”

“Don’t rub it in Pen, jeez.”

“Will you let me finish?” Her voice is sharp, and he snaps his head up. She’s smiling all the same, even though her cheeks are still streaked with tears “Thank you.” He just nods, lost for words, lost entirely and just waiting for her next words to set him back up. To show him where to go. They’re close enough in the wreckage of the tent for her to rest her forehead against his, her words quite as a whisper but all the clearer for them. “You asked me once if you were my favourite.”

Gordon swallows hard. “Yeah. I remember.”

She smiles, and their noses knock together. “Ask me again.”

“Am I your favourite?”

A huff of breath against his mouth. Irritable, but so close, so much closer than he’d ever thought he deserved. “Not that.”

“Wh--” And she pulls back, just enough. Just enough that he can see himself reflected in her pupils, blown wide and dark and waiting. “Oh.”

“Oh. And I’m not getting up.”

He spares a glance around them, the tent now more a cocoon than anything else. “Don’t think either of us are.”

“Gordon.” She reaches for the box with shaking hands, opens it, pulls out the ring and presses it into his hand. Rose gold. Pink, of course. Pretty and delicate and set with a stone that has outlived its last owner by some twenty years. There’s a scar across its surface, avalanche blue, but he kinda likes that. The promise of outlasting whatever the universe throws at them. Penelope’s breath catches, as she withdraws her right hand to scrub at flushed cheeks, leaves her left in his. “Ask me again.”

“Oh. Right.” There’s that. The asking. He takes another deep breath. Steadier. Certain. “Penelope,” he says, and man she’s still crying but she’s nodding and that -- that seems positive, right? He powers on. There’d been a speech. He’d practiced it on Alan, who’d swooned very beautifully right off the balcony and into the pool. He doesn’t bother with it now. Sticks to the basics. “I am an idiot.”

“Yes you are,” she agrees, and her smile, her smile is brighter than the sunshine, brighter than anything. It’s the only light he needs, the only hope.

“Do you think you could maybe marry me anyway?”

She kisses him, hot and open, tears salty on her lips and a plea on her tongue and together --

Together they taste like yes.

[tigerdrop]

I just had a motherfucking brain blast. I was sitting here like “damn I wish t-dicks (ya know the dick ya get from testosterone if ur trans. Dunno what else to call it.) could be used for penetration” and then I was like WAIT what if the person with the t-dick gets big or the person getting penetrated gets small... it would probably work. I am a fucking genius. Thot u would wanna be aware of this idea. - throwawayaccount187

this ask cursed me i spent an embarrassingly long time trying to work out the size logistics. i even made diagrams. this got long and weird and embarrassing just dont look under here

like. ok. look. ordinarily they are like

but what if instead.......benrey huges himself enough to be like

i think this would be idea probably. (i even drew in the dick on a separate layer just to compare. i think this works. even though i really do be giving this dude the biggest meat even in transed form)

do you think gordons even considered that this idea was possible?? absolutely the fuck not. my dude is heteronormative as all hell and probably assumes that hes gonna be the one topping all the time......until maybe theyre wrestling and horsing around and benrey gets him pinned on his stomach and starts laughing in his ear with his hips pressed alllll the way up against gordons ass and that gets him thinking, like, Huh.......Oh No.....i kinda want him to fuck me like this. and, you know, if youre a normal human who is used to dating other normal humans, you start thinking about things like strap-ons and not your eldritch gamer bf enthusiastically agreeing to this idea and deciding to grow to twice his size to fuck you in the ass himself Just Because He Can

just being pinned down and crushed to the ground by him at that size and feeling totally overwhelmed b/c its all benrey, inside and outside him, and the sensation of being fucked like this is so unfamiliar that gordons so noisy despite his best efforts to shut himself up with a hand pressed to his mouth.....and benreys so big that it really does feel like hes getting fucked by a for-real dick (even if the textures a little different......not that he would know. not that gordon freeman has ever thought about what it would be like.)

thinking about gordon being at eyeball height with benreys dick and feeling normal about it......thinking about him at that size........having to try to straddle benreys waist.........gbgdb . GGGG. seeing gordon struggling to fit all of benreys t-dick in his mouth would probably be intensely gender-euphoric too. you know. if you asked me. trans benrey facefuck indulgence but benreys twice his size.......GOD. like. he really could just work his whole arm up in there huh.

i am just saying like if your natural inclination is to finger your eldritch bf while youre sucking his dick, but now hes like twice your size, you just shut up and listen when hes pulling your hair and demanding "cmonnnn gimme more" b/c your fingers just arent doing the trick right now (which is a little emasculating, b/c gordons like over 6 ft tall and has fingers to match and normally he considers this particular application of them to be one of the perks. but i do love emasculating gordon freeman on here)

im just saying. like. imagine the sheer fucking awe on gordons face as he manages to slip his entire forearm inside and benrey just lets out one of the most desperate moans gordons ever heard before. life-changing

and when benreys that big......like.....gordon getting his face fucked is a messy endeavor at the best of times but like jesus christ he would be drenched. like its a natural extension of my personal fascination with micro gordon being covered in cum except its trans benrey rutting into his face and onto his stomach and his thighs and his ass in a not-so-subtle attempt to mark him......gordon thinks benreys just grinding his dick into his stomach b/c hes impatient. no. you fucking idiot

and the weight and pressure of benrey pressing down onto him.....exquisite. enthusiastically sucking dick until hes seeing spots in the corner of his vision and then clapping benreys thigh to get him to let him up for air and gasping and begging like hes having some kind of fuckin divine experience

the juxtaposition of Huge Benrey grabbing gordons head with both hands and rutting furiously into his mouth while begging gordon not to stop, hes gonna come, just mindlessly spouting off......whos the one in control right now? somehow it might not actually be the guy with six feet and a couple hundred pounds on the other one

anyway wow this is a lot and isnt even related to the original ask any more so im going now. Bye

[purplecatghostposts]

If you're still doing the song writing ask thing,,, could I ask for frenmy(or as others call it,, frenreylatta) with 1 or 24? 👉👈 Or just frenmy in general I will appreciate and holde whatever

CANNNN do!!

(Also I’m juuuust now realizing these are song titles I just saw one word and went ‘LETS WRITE A DRABBLE OFF OF THIS’ oops- uh enjoy either way!)

—

For better or for worse, Tommy isn’t always taken completely seriously.

Which is fine. Tommy can brush it off, he might have some “Childish Interests” but he’s a grown adult, he can take a hit or two.

(Tommy doesn’t know why anything has to regarded as childish when anyone can and should enjoy anything and not get shit for it but that’s a whole other can of worms).

But when Tommy says things like, “Grab a soda, it’ll help you see faster!” Nobody thinks twice about it. Which is good, because Tommy didn’t mean to say it at all. There’s certain things Tommy doesn’t like to talk about and his more ‘Inhuman’ attributes is one of them.

Son of “The G-Man” has a few perks after all.

The ability to make his eyes glow and see in the dark, the ability to create- both living and non living things, immortality and the ability to share it with something like a dog he created with his own two hands, and most of all, a connection to Time itself.

Tommy has all of these abilities under control, except for the very latter of the bunch. Because turning on and off your eyes like a flashlight is something he’s been doing as a kid; Immortality he was born with, sharing it came to him in his late twenties; and while difficult, Tommy now has a bit of a knack for creation; but Time? Time is something else entirely. It’s its own entity, and not even his father has much control over it.

And of course, with a difficult entity like Time, Tommy got saddled with the worst ability to have little control over. His father, G-Man, can freeze, suspend, and even travel through it. Tommy can see it, and Time shows him too much.

Tommy does not dream, he Sees. The branches of time are shown right before his eyes whether he likes it or not, and possibilities are laid out. Time is not set in stone- there’s millions of timelines and ways it could go- and when he sleeps, Tommy can see them.

There’s no physical way to stop it without fully mastering it, but Tommy has found that there’s a few things that can make it more pleasant or at the very least, bearable. Low stress or going to sleep happy and content means he usually sees happier timelines. Caffeine, for whatever reason, means that when he sees timelines, it’s at a speed where he doesn’t have to comprehend anything or have to see something he doesn’t want to see. So far, it’s the only two methods he knows, and since he can’t always control how stressful his situation is, Tommy turns to soda.

He means what he says. Soda helps him see faster. He’s just glad that he doesn’t have to explain it to Gordon. His inhuman attributes used to scare other kids off when he was younger, and he knows that Gordon is an adult like him and probably won’t run, but the fear runs deep and Tommy keeps his mouth shut.

Benrey knows, of course. He’s not human either, he understood. But even when Tommy has bad dreams, he doesn’t like to bother other people about it. They’re just dreams, he can handle them.

Until they get personal.

Tommy has been seeing dreams about how it could end for them in Black Mesa for days now, but his intake in soda means he doesn’t really process them. They pass by in a flash and Tommy wakes up and promptly forgets about whatever was shown to him.

But of course, his luck runs out.

Tommy’s leg bounces anxiously as he stares at the broken vending machine. Nothing but water- no caffeine. Water is good for survival- Gordon gulps it down greedily then gawks when Benrey eats the whole bottle in one bite making Tommy laugh- but it means Tommy’s at risk for bad visions. And with the stress of soldiers starting to come at them as well as aliens, he suspects that tonight will not end well.

There’s a tug at his sleeve. Tommy glances down to meet Benrey’s eyes, who studies him silently. He knows something’s up- of course he does- but Tommy smiles like there’s nothing to worry about. Benrey won’t confront him directly- not unless he’s certain it’s really bad- but he has a feeling that Benrey’s still going to try something in his own little way.

“Getting late.” Gordon comments, rubbing his eyes. “We should probably get some rest.”

“Baby Feetman wants a nap?” Benrey grins lazily. Gordon rolls his eyes in response, but doesn’t look all that annoyed. He’s more relaxed than usual, looking less like he’s a twig about to snap and more a river who’s just going with the flow. In fact, Tommy swears Gordon smiles for a second.

“Shut up, you got dark circles under your eyes. You could use it too.”

Benrey rolls his eyes. “Haven’t slept this entire time, don’t intent to start now.”

Both Tommy and Gordon’s attention snaps to him. Benrey almost shrinks under the spotlight, looking utterly confused. “Uh... Care to fill a bro in on what I said wrong..?”

“You haven’t slept?” Gordon’s voice raises.

“Benrey, that’s not good for your health!”

“Jeez fuck- I don’t need to sleep to live, guys.” Benrey cuts in. “Not like you guys. Besides, someone’s gotta keep watch so like, I don’t sleep. S’not a big deal.”

“Benrey, you- you told me that half of your energy to use your abilities comes from sleep.” Tommy says slowly.

“Yeah, and the other half is food. What of it?”

Gordon joins in. “We’ve gotten the bare scraps of food down here. You- you have to be running on empty.”

“Don’t worry about it, Bro-”

“No!” Both Tommy and Gordon shout simultaneously.

Benrey jumps, eyes darting between the two of them and rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, this isn’t fair, you’re tag teaming me, I deserve someone on my team.”

Dr. Coomer pokes his head from around the corner, Bubby following. “Is something wrong? We heard some shouting!”

“Hey, Coomer, Bubs, you uh, you gotta back me up, they’re bullying me.” Benrey points accusingly at Tommy and Gordon respectively.

Bubby shrugs. “Just do what I did whenever someone bullied me.”

“Somehow I feel like this is going to be bad advice...” Gordon mumbles.

“Set them on fire.”

“Andddd I was right.”

Benrey pretends to consider it for a moment. Gordon rolls his eyes at him, earning a smile from Benrey. “But uh, these two keep yelling at me because I haven’t slept. Tell them to stop.”

Dr. Coomer frowns and Bubby narrows his eyes. Tommy snickers to himself, knowing Benrey isn’t winning this battle.

“You haven’t slept? What the hell do you think you’re doing? Fucking dumbass.”

“Benrey, sleep is an important function we all need to live!”

Benrey groans into his hands. Gordon grins cockily. “Hey, Bubby, Dr. Coomer, mind taking watch tonight while Tommy and I get Benrey to sleep?”

Bubby snorts like it’s obvious. Coomer smiles brightly and nods. “Of course! If anyone tries to come after you in your sleep, we’ll take care of them, if you know what I mean.” Coomer winks, then makes a punching gesture.

Gordon laughs at that. Tommy rather likes when Gordon laughs, his whole body moves with him. It’s wholehearted and genuine and if it were possible, Tommy would love to bottle it and keep it with him.

Tommy’s fully aware that he’s rather smitten with Gordon and Benrey. Benrey’s his best friend and Tommy is fine if it stayed that way, but he’s also felt a certain romantic fondness for him too. Benrey’s not easy to decipher but Tommy has learned he shows he cares in the subtle ways. How Benrey learns to read people and distracts them when they feel down. He’s done it to Tommy himself, and recently, he’s seen a very similar sentiment towards Gordon.

And Gordon wears his heart on his sleeve, which is endearing on its own. Tommy sees the way he acts around Benrey and around himself, and he can’t help but wonder if Gordon might feel the same way he does.

They find a place to camp out and before he knows it, Tommy has Gordon on one side and Benrey on the other. Despite lying on the concrete ground, Tommy doesn’t think he’s ever felt more comfortable in his life. Benrey’s curled up next to him and Gordon is lying on his side with an arm over him and Tommy feels himself get lulled to sleep. He doesn’t want to ever move again.

His dreams are not as kind as his situation. Because Tommy Sees all possible timelines, and one too many of them involve two of the people he cares about most in the world.

Benrey betrays Gordon and gets his hand get cut off. Gordon betrays Benrey and Benrey comes back not looking quite right. Gordon lets Benrey die, Benrey lets Gordon die, Benrey stands on an alien planet and attempts to kill everyone- does kill everyone. Gordon stands on an alien planet and sees Benrey being the thing they have to kill and he doesn’t hesitate.

They tear each other apart, no matter what Tommy says or does. And in a few timelines, their rage is directed towards him, and Tommy’s heart breaks into two.

“Tommy? Tommy, bro, c’mon, you gotta wake up.”

Benrey’s voice pulls him out of it. Tommy sits up, trembling and reaching out blindly. His vision is blurred and all attempts to speak come out as quiet sobs. A pair of hands grab onto his while a second gently touches his shoulder, grounding him to reality.

“Benrey?” It’s deathly quiet but it’s unmistakably Gordon’s. “Benrey- his eyes- is he okay? They’re- they’re gold-!”

“I know, dude, this happens sometimes, he’ll be okay.” Benrey responds, shockingly calm. “Tommy sees bad things sometimes when he goes to sleep and sometimes they’re overwhelming and this happens. Just... Trust me and follow my lead on this?”

A beat. Tommy tries to wipe his eyes but tears keep streaming down his face.

“Okay. I trust you.”

Tommy can’t see but he has a feeling Benrey is smiling a little at that.

Benrey and Gordon both begin to whisper reassurances and ask him what he can feel around him. They talk and talk and talk until eventually, Tommy can finally see them again and the anxiety in his chest is manageable.

“Thank you...” Tommy gives them a weak smile.

“Bad visions?” Benrey guesses. Gordon looks mildly confused but doesn’t ask questions. Tommy nods in response. “You... Wanna share or nah?”

Tommy’s gaze lowers. He sucks in a small breath. “It- it was a lot of bad timelines with you two. And I-...” He hesitated for just a minute but thinking of the timelines again made him push through it. “And I really care about both of you. A lot. In- in a platonic as well as a... A romantic way.”

Silence. Tommy swallowed thickly, not wanting to look at either of them and unsure if he made the wrong choice to tell them or not.

“Oh thank god, I’m not the only one.” Gordon blurted out. He let out a long breath, laughing softly. “I was- fuck, I was really struggling there.”

Benrey cracked a smile. “Cringe Gordon can’t deal with gay feelings? How embarrassing for you. Can’t believe I have gay thoughts for such a loser.” His eyes turn to Tommy and his smile grew. “I guess having gay thoughts for a really cool guy balances it out so it’s chill.”

Tommy couldn’t stop smiling. Was this really happening? Were they really all just on the same page? “R-really?”

Benrey shrugs. “‘M kinda surprised, thought I was obvious.”

“You’re not obvious with anything.” Gordon tells him, rolling his eyes but relaxing his shoulders.

“I...” Tommy let out a laugh. “I- I really care about you both! And- and after we get out of Black Mesa... I want us to stay this close.”

Benrey nodded. “‘Course we will. You’re some of my best bros and how else would I kiss you both goodnight like all bros should?”

Gordon snickered, then cleared his throat. “Hey uh... Have we all just been holding this in the entire time even though we all felt the same-!”

“YES.” Bubby screaming from across the room made all three jump in surprise. Bubby and Coomer were both sitting by the door, Bubby wrapped in Coomer’s arms but he still scowled at the three of them. “You’ve all been pining like a bunch of fucking idiots. Just ask a guy out by setting half a building on fire like a regular person!”

Tommy looked back at the other two and laughed to himself. Soon enough, the three of them were laying down again but this time, Tommy wrapped his arms around one each and held them close to him. In the morning, they could talk more about the three of them and their newly forming relationship, but for now, they deserved to rest.

Gordon’s head rested against Tommy’s shoulder while Benrey clung to him. Tommy felt his eyes get heavier and heavier but he wasn’t as afraid of getting a bad vision. Partly because he had two of the most important people in his life in his arms and he knew that those futures wouldn’t be his, but also partly because even if the visions did get to him, he had support when he woke up.

His own personal paradise. There was a light at the end of the tunnel and Tommy knew that by the end of this, he wanted both of them by his side and in his life for a long time.

—

I don’t know why this turned into a Tommy Lore/Angst Fest BUT hopefully it turned out alright! I hope you liked it! These three are veryyyy soft and it was sure fun to write! Feel free to send in another request if you want!

[batz]

I'm sure you probs get swamped with asks but I was re-watching the part 3 vod and the scene where Bubby is stuck in his tube as Coomer angrily punches at the glass is some real good angst potential, like Coomer is fucking devastated that Bubby would betray their friend like that and I'm sure Bubby would feel some regret seeing Coomer mad at him (even tho we know what happened to Gordon wasn't what he wanted)

YESSS the best part is coomer punching the glass is like. like its a good mix of Anger bc that betrayal out EVERYONES lives at stake what the hell was he Thinking??? and also coomer trying desperately to get him Out of that Tube hes Not supposed to Be In There he Needs to get him Out like man hes Panicking AND hes pissed off AND he's worried. doesnt help hes already super overwhelmed from the whole 300 clones thing, feeling urself get shot to death 300 times in one can upset Anyone rlly fhdjdh

coomer WANTED to give bubby this long ass lecture about NOT fucking things up like that but when he sees him in the tube its like. hes relieved to see him again and devastated to see him in the tube (smthn he hasnt been in in YEARS) and also like. just so fuckn furious. so he just resorts to trying to get him Out of the tube. (i just love the mixture of anger and worry its my favorite thing 2 write abt)

ofc when bubby gets OUT of the tube and is part of the science team again, coomer basically goes back to acting like nothing happened. they cant waste their time with emotions right now, especially as they're trying to escape!!! but its pretty easy to tell hes still deeply upset, by how he kinda avoids bubby or responds to him with short answers, hes just Mad. hes Pissed. and bubby can Tell and he feels awkward as hell. yeah hes used to people being pissed at him but when its people you kinda sorta care about its.... Different. hes also guilty as all hell lol

the anger only stops when they first reach xen and bubby is Missing. like everyone just kind of assumes hes dead, but coomer is. He's Hopeful that hes still alive. not that it matters entirely because they're all Definitely going to die on this hellish alien planet, but the idea that his last moments with bubby involve him giving him the silent treatment kinda... coomer doesnt Show It, but it sorta really fucks him up. so when they DO finally find bubby, coomer is just. so fucking RELIEVED like yea the anger is still there but he pushes it to the side for now, if they make it out alive he can be mad THEN but for NOW hes just happy bubby is okay! :')

when they finally have some downtime on xen coomer just pulls him aside and bubby is certain hes gonna get another earful just a whole lecture abt how hes an asshole but. coomer just pulls him into a (surprisingly weak, just Very Tired n Sad) hug. bubby hugs back, a bit stronger, doing hs best to comfort coomer even if hes also Going Thru It. theyre both just rlly tired but theyre glad theyre ok. :')

[pixiegrl]

how ABOUT for the malum “I would’ve had breakfast ready, but you were sleeping on my arm, and I didn’t want to wake you.” :-) some soft morning cuteness love u

Mandie! Hilariously enough I wrote a Malum piece to this prompt back in August and this is a pseudo sequel to that. Please enjoy for @blackbutterfliescal and @devilatmydoor celebration for Michael’s bday! 

On ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27625850

Michael goes to roll over and finds that he can’t. Opening his eyes reveals that it’s because Calum is sleeping on his arm. Specifically, he’s curled up, snuggling into Michael’s side and snoring slightly in his sleep. Calum has one arm thrown over Michael’s chest, face pressed into Michael’s neck. It’s making Michael overly warm, pressed this close, but he doesn’t want to wake Calum up and disturb him. Michael knows it’s his turn to make breakfast, has a whole plan for what to do that involves pancakes and the fancy espresso that Calum likes but he can’t be bothered to move when Calum’s like this. He looks sleep soft and comfortable, burrowed into Michael’s neck, Duke curled up behind his knees, Moose and South draped over their feet. It’s rare to get mornings like this, living in their own bubble of domesticity. Mornings like this make Michael think about marriage, about being able to live like this forever. Logically, he knows that he and Calum are forever, that they’re going to get married at some point (especially since their conversation before Luke and Ashton’s wedding) but sometimes Michael gets nervous. He gets worried that eventually Calum will get bored of him, his late nights and video games and stupid brain that gets a little broken sometimes and tells him he’s not good enough. Calum’s his best friend though, knows Michael better than he knows himself, always knows how to pull Michael back from the edge. He’s never tired of Michael in all the years that he’s known him. Calum is Michael’s rock, his constant, even when Michael’s at his worst. Calum is sunshine and light and Michael adores him. 

Calum huffs, burrowing further into Michael’s chest. Michael snorts, reaching a hand up to play with Calum’s hair. Michael knows they need to get up, set to meet with Luke and Ashton, discuss band plans and tour breaks and the honeymoon they wanna take and trips back to see all their families. Michael knows they’re going to be running late if he doesn’t wake Calum up but he doesn’t have the heart to. Calum looks so peaceful like this, curled up with the dogs. It seems a shame to walk Calum up. 

Michael allows another few minutes of Calum curled up before he checks the time and realizes that they need to get up now or they’ll be really late. 

“Cal. Sweetie, you gotta get up,” Michael says, jostling Calum’s shoulder. Calum mumbles, stirring and opening his eyes. 

“Don’t wanna.” 

“We have to get up to meet the guys.” 

“Too comfortable.” 

“Well, my arm is asleep.” 

“Hmmm. What about breakfast?” Calum says sleepily, turning his head to look at Michael. 

“I would’ve had breakfast ready, but you were sleeping on my arm, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Sap. Now I have to get up and make breakfast.” 

“Hey! I help!” 

“No you don’t. You distract me,” Calum says, rolling his eyes and pushing himself up in bed. Duke grumbles his protest at the shift in position, moving away and whining. South perks up, realizing that Calum and Michael are awake, bumping against Michael’s hand until he starts to pet him. 

Calum rubs at his eyes, stretching and popping his back slightly before rolling out of bed. He turns to look at Michael. 

“I’m going to make pancakes. Maybe I’ll let you have some if you come help,” He winks, making his way out of the bedroom. Michale sighs, heaving himself out of bed and following after Calum, dogs close at his heels. 

They fall into their easy routine, a simple dance around the kitchen as they gather the supplies they need for their meal, finding their pancake mix and chocolate chips and coffee. Calum starts the espresso machine, grabbing the pan he uses to cook while Michael fills the dog dishes, making sure they have enough water while they’re eating.

Calum hums while he starts cooking, mixing the batter and spooning some out into the pan, watching it cook. Michael comes up behind Calum, looping his arms around his waist and resting his head on Calum’s shoulder while he cooks. 

“See? You are distracting,” Calum says, teasing in his tone. Michael giggles, pressing a kiss to Calum’s cheek just to have him swat halfheartedly at him. Michael laughs, trying to plant more kisses on Calum, dodging each of his attempts at smacking him. Eventually Michael retreats, lest the pancakes burn, and goes about managing the coffee, pouring it into their favorite mugs and getting the milk. Calum finishes up the cooking, grabbing the plates and taking them to the table, where Michael has set out the silverware and syrup. 

They settle into eating, quiet as they chew, dogs coming to sit at their heels to whine for little bits. Michael watches Calum, lit up by the glow of the early morning sun through the kitchen window. It bathes him in light, makes me look ethereal and suddenly Michael gets it when Ashton calls Luke golden and Apollo and the sun. Calum is Michael’s sun, the center of his universe. Even when Michael is unsure of himself, he’s always sure of Calum, steady, resilient Calum. It overwhelms Michael suddenly, the love and devotion he feels for Calum. 

“Marry me,” Michael says. Calum chokes on his next bite of pancake, coughing as he reaches for his coffee, chugs some of it, still coughing. 

“What?”

“Marry me, Cal. I love you. You’re my soulmate, you’re literal the other half of my soul. You know every part of me, the good, the bad, and all the mundane shit. You remember my favorite candy, where I leave my glasses, the last time I drank water. You know me in ways I don’t even think I know myself. I’ve known you were forever since the day we met and I don’t want to wait any longer. Let’s get married,” Michael says. Calum sits there, blinking at him. Dread feels Michael. Maybe he’s misread all of this.

“Fuck you Michael I wanted to do it first.”

“What?”

“Propose. I wanted to propose first. I even bought a ring and I had a whole plan. I was waiting for our anniversary. I had a whole thing planned with a song and photos and a whole thing. You can’t propose first what the fuck am I suppose to do now?” Calum says, brandishing his fork rather aggressively in Michael’s direction.

Michael registers what Calum’s said, face breaking out in a grin.

“Oh, so you will marry me?”

“Absolutely not. Where’s my ring for starters?” Calum says, grinning. Michael rolls his eyes.

“Well I don’t have one. This was spur of the moment.”

“Not real until you get a ring. Means I still have a chance to propose first,” Calum takes a bite of pancake, raising his eyebrows at Michael.

“No, this totally counts. I asked you to marry me.”

“Sorry, I actually have a ring, so I will be proposing first it seems.”

“Not if I go buy a ring today.”

“Well, now I’m not letting you out of my sight. And don’t even think of getting Luke or Ashton involved. You know Luke’s shit at keeping secrets and Ashton likes me the most,” Calum points out. He’s smiling widely enough that it looks like he has dimples, eyes crinkled at the corner in delight. 

“If you’re so keen on proposing first, why don’t you?” 

Calum balks, “I have a whole plan. For our anniversary.”  

“Since I’ve clearly messed it up, do it now. Our anniversary is in a month and I’ll be expecting it now. You can do your whole plan then and we can publicly announce it to everyone, but I want you to do it now. Just us,” Michael says. Calum pauses, chewing on his lip. He sighs heavily, pretending to be put out as he stands up. 

“Close your eyes.” 

“What?” 

“Close your eyes till I get back. At least give me something,” Calum says, rolling his eyes. Michael does the same thing, but compiles, closing his eyes. He listens to Calum’s footsteps as they leave the kitchen and again as they come back. They stop at the edge of the table and there’s a pause before Calum clears his throat. 

“You can open them now.” 

Michael does. Calum’s down on one knee, small velvet box open in his hand, putting the ring on display. It’s a gunmetal grey, black gemstone resting in the center, glittering. Calum looks a little teary, staring up at Michael and Michael can feel his own tears at the corner of his eyes. 

“Michael, you’re it for me. You’re the light of my day, the other half, my soulmate. You never fail to fill me with happiness, to brighten my day. I can’t dream of being anywhere else, loving anyone else, the way I love you and getting to share my life with you. I love you and I want to marry you. Even when you keep me up at night with your video games and your cold feet and your terrible sleeping habits. Michael Gordon Clifford, will you marry me?” Calum says, holding the ring up. Michael feels like he’s choking, tears at the back of his throat. All he can do is nod, letting Calum slide the ring home on his finger, pulling him up into a kiss. 

“I win,” Calum says against Michael’s lips. 

“Dork. Maybe I’ll get you a ring anyway, propose on our anniversary and steal the spotlight,” Michael laughs. Calum snorts. 

“Guess we’ll just have to be dorks together forever.” 

“Guess so,” Michael says, pulling Calum onto his lap and snuggling into him. He doesn’t care that he’s technically lost the engagement game. He can still propose on their anniversary, put it up publicly first. Michael looks down at his ring, smiling when it catches the light. As long as he can marry Calum, he’s happy.