#he's even more ragdoll-y than Alex

[johnsspacesuittight]

honestly idk what it is but Taskmaster NZ has a comedic energy that is unbeatable, like don't get me wrong og taskmaster is fantastic, but something about the vibes of nz gives it a slight edge imo

[haloud]

take a chance and don’t ever look back: chapter 2

ao3

Senior year is everything and nothing like it was supposed to be. Maybe if Michael had more chance to watch television as a kid, he would have had a clearer expectation of what was to come; or maybe he just would have had a false hope to rail against.

Whatever the case, in real life he flew blind.

But it’s almost over now. He photocopies his scholarship letter from UNM and sticks it to the roof of his truck so he can look at it when it rains and the stars aren’t out. Final exams are a few weeks out, but for the first time in his life they don’t feel like the end of his world knocking down the door. He did it. He’s in. Everything else is just the credits rolling.

Only one more hurdle to jump.

Michael and Alex still don’t really know each other. Their circles brush a little more these days than they used to—Michael goes where his siblings go, Isobel goes where Max goes, so all three of them go to the Crashdown every day ending in Y. It’s not such a big deal, though, not yet. Prom has always been Michael’s endgame. A big gesture. Something deserving of Alex Manes and his smile and the nose piercing he got over the summer. Max keeps talking about how he and Liz are running out of time, but Michael doesn’t see why things have to end the second he hits the highway. People say long distance relationships never work out, but people also seem to think they’re alone in the universe. Clearly, people need to start using their imaginations.

Now, Michael never skips class, and he’s never really had to put up with bullies despite the rumors he’s homeless because everyone’s too scared of Isobel. But it’s a matter of course that he’d have a handful of hiding places across campus. Last time he grew he ended up too tall to fit in his old spot under the east stairs, but the new spot is even better: a little-used janitor’s closet sandwiched between two auditorium access doors. Spring is his new favorite season, because sometimes when he posts up in there during lunch or after class, he can hear the orchestra practicing for their upcoming concert.

It’s there where he gets the idea to kick off his master plan with a little bit of petty theft. Not the best idea, but Alex hasn’t gotten any easier to talk to, not when Michael’s heart still starts to tap dance whenever they’re in the same room. At least this gets his attention.

Smoothing his hands over Alex’s guitar feels all at once both sacred and utterly profane. He feels it under his palms for hours after giving it back.

And then…Michael always knew Alex was kind, but he doesn’t even have words for what it is that Alex offers him in a steady voice. Nothing to say but thank you, each word like the sound of a gonging bell between them. He doesn’t even get to ask what he was going to ask, too overwhelmed and grateful and awed and small inside.

On prom night, it seems like the whole school’s gone stag this year. There’s Liz and Valenti, of course, but everyone else Michael knows is only coming to party. Even Isobel doesn’t even play at wanting a trophy on her arm this year. When Michael asks her who she’s taking, she goes wan and tense the way she spends too much time going these days and snaps that of course she’s taking him, why, does he not want her to? Some college girl from Albuquerque already making the drive for him?

It stings a little—or, okay, a lot, but Michael gets it better than anyone else possibly could. Sometimes it feels like he knows people best by the way their backs look shrinking in the distance. He doesn’t want that for Is; she deserves to know that she’s always gonna be his best girl. So he spends half the night showing her a good time, making her laugh on the dance floor, keeping her company even when Max drifts away to follow Liz at a distance. It’s a bit of a dent on his plans, but nothing’s more important to him than Is knowing she’s gonna be loved.

The party’s in full swing when she turns to him, eyes sparkling, cheeks pinker than her dress, and says, “Isn’t there anyone else you’d rather dance with? Not that I’m not flattered, of course!”

Michael turns pink too. He feels like he’s been hearing Alex’s name whispered all night, but he can’t be sure because that’s just kind of normal for him. Isobel smiles—not her teasing grin, but a resigned twist of her lips.

“Go,” she says, punching his shoulder lightly.

“Are you sure? I don’t have to—”

“Go, Michael. You’ve done enough. I mean it.” Isobel leans in and kisses him on the cheek. As if to prove her point, she then turns sharply on her heel and stalks like a lioness to some random guy on the dance floor. Michael laughs, shaking his head. Oh, Isobel.

Oh, Alex.

It’s now or never. Michael has to find him in the crush of bodies somehow, has to seize the moment before it’s gone for good. He’s sweating a little too much, though, he’s a little too disheveled, a little too emotional. He just needs to catch his breath, maybe splash some water on his face. Slipping out the side door—really, it shouldn’t be this easy, aren’t these things chaperoned?—Michael sucks in a breath that chills his lungs, the building’s AC cranked up high to compensate for all the grinding, grasping bodies packed into one room. He heads straight for the bathroom, his secondhand dress shoes bouncing eerily off the walls of the deserted school. He rounds the corner, only to slam straight into the sharp shoulder of someone waiting on the other side. It clips him right in the center of his chest and he sprawls back, arms windmilling, until his back hits the lockers with a bang.

“Guerin?” The person almost-shouts. Michael jerks his arms up to cover his face before the voice registers to his brain.

“Oh god, oh god, Guerin, I’m so sorry, I thought you were someone else—” Alex babbles, and Michael jerks his arms down as quickly as they came up. Alex grabs his shoulders and pulls him forward, presses at a few places on his back to feel for bruising. Michael feels himself ragdoll with a combination of adrenaline leaving his body and the sheer sweet relief of Alex touching him with care, but he manages to coordinate his mouth muscles enough to speak.

“It’s okay, Manes, it’s okay. I’m fine.” He straightens up, holding his arms out to demonstrate. Alex relents slightly; the last thing he does is tug the lapels of Michael’s jacket so it settles neat back over his shoulders.

(He really hopes Alex doesn’t look down.)

The silence rattles around the cavernous hallway. Nothing but linoleum and concrete and emptiness in every direction, but Michael and Alex stand occupying the same foot of space, breathing in each other’s air.

Clearing his throat, Michael says, “Uh, I was just—got a little hot in there. What are you doing out here?”

Alex’s eyes dart off to the side, and he chews on his lower lip. Michael is about to say he doesn’t have to answer if he doesn’t want to when the door Michael came through bursts open and spills out four or five loud voices. The color drains from Alex’s face, and Michael doesn’t think, just says:

“I know a place. Come on.”

The two of them take off, cutting through all the shortcuts Michael knows until they reach the narrow auditorium accessway. Even this late at night, the door to the janitor’s closet remains blessedly unlocked.

One thing he didn’t plan for though: it’s a little cramped for two people. Michael’s “don’t look down” problem is going to become a different problem entirely if Alex gets too fidgety. Luckily, it’s at least too dark for Alex to see how he’s lighting up pink.

Potential for embarrassment aside, Michael doesn’t like the angry hunch of Alex’s shoulders, the ducked head, the clenched jaw. He wants to reach out and, and hug him, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed. Doesn’t know if comforting him like that would be okay.  So he stumbles out, “Hey, a-are you okay? I know it’s probably a stupid question since it’s prom and we’re standing in a janitor’s closet, but—"

“I’m just pissed. It’s Valenti. He keeps popping up, and he hasn’t said anything yet, but I know he’s going to. And everywhere I look there’s a football player staring back. I shouldn’t let Valenti get to me. I kept telling myself this year would be different after last year was so boring and crappy but I’ve spent all night avoiding his stupid cronies instead of having any fun. And then I almost decapitated a perfectly innocent guitar-stealing weirdo.” At that last sentence, his eyes flick to Michael’s and he makes an attempt at a smile, at lessening the tension.

Michael’s shoulders drop in relief, and heart skipping a beat at Alex’s mention of last year, he licks his lips. Last year wasn’t boring for Michael. He’s kind of been measuring time in terms of before last year and after he started waking up with Alex’s name on his lips.

“Night’s not over yet. Pretty much everyone’s still out there. But hey, as Roswell’s resident guitar-stealing weirdo, I totally get it if that’s more your idea of a good time.”

Alex laughs an actual laugh, and Michael has to glance down to make sure he’s just being a sappy dork and hasn’t actually floated off the floor. Then Alex gets serious again and shakes his head.

“Going out and dancing by myself would just encourage them. ‘Get a load of Manes, he’s a loser and a—”

“Who says you’d be alone?” Michael’s voice comes out embarrassingly high-pitched, and he jams a knuckle against his lips. Alex glances at him, one eyebrow cocked, sharp dark eyes flicking left to right like Michael is a puzzle he’s been trying to solve for days.

Maybe even longer.

Outside their little sanctuary and a hallway over, a locker door crashes and the voices from before whoop loudly. The two boys flinch together, and without thinking Michael grabs Alex’s elbow and tugs him slightly behind him, putting himself between Alex and the door. They stay like that for a long moment, as the bangs and shouts move away and go silent. Michael’s head is tilted so he can still look Alex in the eye. Alex’s pupils are dilated in the dim light, but the effect is the same as if—Michael feels a little devoured, just then, a little eaten up. He’s never felt like this before. He wants to bury himself in Alex’s chest and trust Alex to hold him tight. Those long, dark eyelashes flutter every time Alex blinks, and Michael wants to feel them against his cheeks.

Alone again, the outside world feels so far away. Michael turns fully and rocks up onto his toes to bring their mouths closer together, just because he can. “Whaddya say, Manes?” he asks, jerking his thumb in the direction of the faint, faint music.

Alex draws himself up so tall and close it makes Michael’s heart beat faster. His heart falls again, though, when Alex shakes his head.

Then Alex says, “Nah. Not here. If you really want to, you can take me out some other time, where we don’t have to put up with those assholes. Deal?”

He skims his fingertips over the back of Michael’s hand. It restarts Michael’s heart in double-time, makes goosebumps erupt all down that arm. His curls bounce up and down as he nods his head. It’s scary—god, how is he going to come up with something for them to do?—but also Michael can’t stop smiling.

“Maybe I kind of wanted to dance with you, though,” he says.

Alex chuffs a little laugh. “Then maybe I’ll just have to go to dances more often.”

“We-eelllll…” Michael can’t help the spread of his grin, even though all the smiling makes his cheeks hurt. “When you do, maybe you’ll save a spot on your schedule for me?” He knocks his scuffed-up shoe against Alex’s. He’s so warm in this little space they’ve made together. He always picks his hiding places because they feel safe, but he had no idea he could feel like this.

“Yeah.” Alex swallows twice, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I will. I’ll save a spot for you right at the end.”

“The end? That gonna give us enough time?”

“Last song’s as long as you want it to be. Sometimes it even keeps going once you get home.”

Just like that, Michael’s uncomfortable problem is back. His heels hit the floor again flat, and he splutters all undignified as the closet lights up white with Alex’s feral grin.

“I think they’re gone. Shall we?” Alex says while Michael tries to collect himself.

“U-uh, yeah. After you.”

They climb out of the closet into the now-deserted hallway. Alex reaches out and steadies Michael when he stumbles over the lip of the doorframe, but the weight and sensation of his hands just makes Michael feel like Jell-O. At the intersection of the hallway—one side leading back to the dance, one side leading outdoors—Alex stops, grabbing Michael’s wrist to jerk him to a halt too.

“Alex?”

He doesn’t get a response, just intense, calculating eyes boring into him, staring him down. It’s been Michael’s greatest lifelong fear, being dissected, but he lets it happen now. Alex’s eyes pin him down spread-eagle on a steel table, but standing so close to him, leashed by that hand around his wrist, he only feels drifting and docile like a beehive smoked out. He wants to ask what’s wrong but can’t make his brain connect to his mouth to make words.

Slowly, oh-so slowly, Alex reaches out and, with just two fingers, smooths that loose curl back behind Michael’s ear. Michael’s mouth pops open on a breathy little sound as Alex follows that path again, stoking his forehead, combing through his hair. Then Alex nods, just once, like he’s come to some decision. Michael doesn’t know what it might be, but it’s okay, he’s cool with Alex calling the shots from now on as long as they can stay close like this.

“I’m going to the bathroom to freshen up a bit,” Alex says. “Meet me outside by the trellis? We can get food or something before everywhere closes.”

“Y-yeah, sounds good. I’m here with Isobel, but I’ll—I’ll let her or Max know.”

Alex gives him a little smile before he walks away. Michael sways in his direction just a little bit before he collects himself and goes the other way.

Standing under the latticework and the fairy lights, Michael closes his eyes and lets the night feel magical. He lets the whole, vast night wrap around him like the scent of Alex’s cologne pressed up against him in a tiny janitor’s closet. His mind whirls and crashes but for once the noise just sounds like singing.

What if Alex kisses him? Michael’s lower lip tingles, and he bites at it to make it stop. He’s not some blushing virgin; just because Alex is tall and his dark eyeliner makes his eyes look even darker, doesn’t mean Michael should be acting like a princess.

Alex has never had a boyfriend, at least not that Michael knows about. Maybe Alex is a virgin. Maybe Michael could be his first—

The thought makes Michael’s heart skip a beat, and he almost slaps himself before remembering that he is, technically, in public. You’re getting way ahead of yourself, he thinks. Who says Alex wants to be anything more than friends? Maybe Alex doesn’t even want him just because he’s offering. Besides, Michael’s never been with a guy either, so maybe he’d be crap at it…

Great, now he’s just depressed.

“Dude, are you okay? You just went on one hell of a face journey.”

Michael startles bad for the second time tonight, but this time when he whirls around it’s just Max.

“Dude, you know not to sneak up on me.” He smacks Max lightly on the shoulder, and Max rolls with it, nodding.

“You’re right, I know. Seriously, though, you okay? Where have you been all night?”

“Spent most of it with Is, why?”

“Well, she was alone a little while ago when she drove off.”

“She left?”

“Yeah. Said she wasn’t feeling it or something.”

“She was fine when I left her. Hell, she was the one who told me to go.”

They face each other under the fairy lights. Max won’t stop staring. Michael’s skin feels too small for his body.

Finally, Max says, “I’m sure she’s fine. There are a hundred Isobel reasons why she’d want to leave early.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right,” Michael replies, weak with relief. “How’re you going to get home? I’ve,” he runs his hand through the curls at the back of his neck, “made plans, but, uh, what about you?”

“I’ll figure something out.” Max’s voice trails off, his attention already wandering. “I don’t want to leave until Liz does, in case…”

Michael lets out a little bubble of laughter. Shine on you crazy diamond.

“Why don’t you go find her? I’m sure Valenti will stop pissing on her leg long enough for you to get in one dance. Also I’m meeting someone here, so like, would kind of love to not have my dork-ass brother hanging around.”

Max scoffs and shoves at Michael’s head. “Shut up. I’m the cool brother and you know that.”

“Uh huh, says who? Tolstoy? Dostoyevsky?”

“Sholokhov, plebian.”

“Ugh, you disgust me.”

Max laughs again. Then he glances up at the building, brow furrowed. Michael follows his line of sight, heart leaping when he sees Alex hurrying down the stairs, then plummeting into his stomach as Valenti and the rest of the starting line spill out in pursuit.

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

The night ends sudden after that. The football players disperse, and Max does too, either home or wherever Liz Ortecho went, Michael doesn’t really care. There’s a cold little grain of disappointment in his chest, but the skin of his shoulder still burns where Alex squeezed him as he left.

Michael trails his path out to the parking lot, in no particular hurry, now, for the night to end. Alex is long gone. Michael hopes Liz managed to give him some comfort before he drove away, left angry to a house that hates him, and—

He decides then and there that he’s going to the toolshed that night. He hadn’t been sure if he would before, not sure how taking Alex’s charity would affect things between them. But all he care about now is being there, being close enough that maybe it brings Alex a little peace, as if he can feel him, even if he doesn’t know he’s there.

Something rustles under his foot as he steps off the sidewalk, and he moves his foot aside to reveal a champagne-colored rose, delicate and tightly-furled. The same one that had been threaded through Alex’s buttonhole when they stood so close their chests nearly brushed.

Michael cups it in his hands like it might fly away. That night, he fills one of his cupholders full of water and floats it there for want of a vase.

And there it stays.

[saventhhaven]

What is to Come

This was requested by shy anon! Orignal request: Hi! Shy anon here! I found your account from the Alex Winchester girl and your work is *so good!* I love it so much! Anyways, I was hoping you could do a platonic Dean x reader where the reader is a reaper and after a really tough hunt that didn’t go so well they hear Don’t Fear the Reaper on the radio and it makes them laugh and feel better? Thanks! ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

Pairing: None

Tags: Reaper!reader, hunt gone wrong

Word Count: 1,095

Dean's shoulder collided into the concrete wall with a sickeningly loud thunk. You bit your lip helplessly as he groaned with pain. This was bad. This was very, very bad. You hated not being able to do anything in situations like this. You hated the fact that you couldn't help him. Dean had decided to take on a hunt without Sam to blow off some steam. The worst part was that Sam didn't even know Dean was here. No one was coming to help him.

"Where's your brother, Dean?" the demon asked. When Dean replied with another groan of pain, she chuckled darkly under her breath. "No one's coming to rescue you." She flashed her black eyes as she approached the fallen Winchester. "No, you're not getting out of this alive this time." Dean struggled to force himself upright again. As he reached for his blade, the demon kicked it out of his grasp. "Ah ah," she chided. "Like I said: you're not getting out of this alive. Can you imagine what poor Sammy will think when he hears you got killed by a demon?"

"Y/N," Dean called out your name in a hoarse rasp. You crouched down at his side, allowing yourself to become visible to him. "Please." You felt your brow crease with sympathy.

"Dean, I'm a reaper." Your voice came out at least an octave higher than usual. "You know I can't interfere." This was highly unfortunate for you, as you had become quite attached to Dean Winchester. More than anything, he had become a close friend of yours. But still, relations of any kind between a reaper and a human were strictly forbidden. So you kept your distance. Even when you were in your hidden form, Dean always somehow knew you were there. You had watched over many humans before him, but he was the first one that had ever been able to sense your presence. When something would piss him off, he would mutter a snide comment to you every now and then, his sense of humor matching your own perfectly. It was the moments like that that you cherished. Although you would never admit it, being a reaper was quite boring, and Dean made it bearable. The demon lifted him from the ground by the collar of his shirt.

"Look at me when I talk to you," she growled. When Dean only glared at her, she tossed him into the wall again like a ragdoll. You heard his head hit the concrete with a sickening thud and you felt your stomach clench.

"Dean, I can't," you cried. "You know I can't." Blood ran down from his scalp onto his face. The demon approached him again, lifting him into the air once more, this time with a hand wrapped around his windpipe. Dean clawed at her grip as you clenched your fists restlessly.

"You know the best part?" she asked him, not really expecting an answer. "I'll get to say that I was the one who killed you." Dean's face was beginning to go red with lack of oxygen, his lips tinged blue. "I think I'll kill you nice and slow," the demon said. "I want to watch the light leave your eyes." The choking noises Dean was making had your stomach tying itself in knots. This was it. You had to watch Dean Winchester die. "After all," she continued. "How many chances will I get to kill Dean Winchester?" Billie was going to murder you. You made yourself visible to the demon, approaching her with a deadly calm.

"None." You didn't even have to blink, and the demon hit the concrete wall so hard, there were cracks where her body had made impact. Dean collapsed to the ground, clutching his throat and coughing.

"Y-you," the demon stuttered, scrambling to get away from you. "You're a-"

"Reaper?" you answered for her. "Yes. I am."

"You're not supposed to interfere," she pointed out. You took a menacing step in her direction, and the demon's head snapped back as black smoke began to pour from her mouth. Before she could escape, you held your hand over the dark fog, forcing it back into her body. The demon's eyes widened with horror as you closed a hand over her mouth.

"No. I'm not." You concentrated all of your energy into the demon's body, and she began to scream and writhe in pain underneath your touch as her eyes went alight with the bright orange you had seen many times before. Only seconds later, she collapsed to the ground, dead. You kicked the body away from you in disgust before turning your attention back to Dean. You crouched at his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?" He took in a gasping breath, nodding.

"Y/N, you-" You nodded, a signal that he should stop talking.

"I know what I did," you replied. "And I know it might cost my life. But for you, it was worth it." Dean's eyes narrowed at you slightly as he stood.

"I hate to sound ungrateful here, but are you crazy? You should have just let me die!" You shook your head.

"I knew the risks, Dean. It was my decision to make. So just get in the car and drive. Sam will be wondering where you are anyway." Dean sighed. You could tell he knew he wasn't going to get anywhere with this argument.

"Fine," he grumbled, pulling the car keys from his jacket pocket. As the two of you climbed into the car, unease settled in the pit of your stomach. You would be lying if you said you weren't scared of what happened next. You knew your decision would probably cost you your life. It was ironic, really. You were a reaper. It was kinda in the job description to not fear death, but here you were. As Dean turned the keys in the ignition, a familiar guitar riff began to play on the radio. You snorted, biting back a smile. Glancing out of the corner of your eye, you saw Dean was in the same state.

"Is this-"

"Don’t Fear the Reaper, yeah." You fully turned to look at him, pressing your lips together in a line to keep from smiling. The heavy silence only lasted another second or two before both you and Dean burst out laughing. The song was a welcome distraction. Even if just for a moment, it made you forget what was to come. "All right," Dean finally said, jarring you from your thoughts. "Let's go home."

Thanks so much for reading! And thanks again to shy anon for your request! I love when you guys reach out to me!

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