#honestly fixing his teeth were a bigger pain than actually drawing his eyes his open mouth looks so goofy

[monarchamos]

since we now know that Chuuya was never a vampire, bu was just acting, i decided to edit some of the vampire!chuuya panels to make him look more human, in an attempt to see his real expressions!

[robodaydreamer]

RadioHusk Week - #2 To Love A Dumbass

I meant to write a drabble and my hand slipped.

I’m sorry.

[ EDITED 4/5/20 ]

I want to do a drawing for every fic, it just takes my dumb butt forever to do anything. Forewarning, this was done at 2 am, so it might be a bit jumbled? I edited what I could to fix it. I hope you all enjoy!

To hell’s general population or the few who knew of him, Husk was a lot of things. Temperamental, apathetic, tired of everyone’s shit... the list could go on, but he liked to think he was a pretty simple guy.

Uncomplicated and easy to understand. You leave him alone, he’ll leave you alone. You get on his nerves, he’ll probably claw your eyes out. Maybe. If he actually had the energy for it. A fair trade if you asked him.

And he didn’t ask for much. To most, he didn’t like to be bothered, he enjoyed card games, he depended on alcohol to get him through the day, and he had a fondness for magic tricks.

That last one was a little-known fact to their small group of misfits. The hotel’s residents didn’t need to know about it. The only reason any of them had even found out was because of Angel Dust challenging him to a card game.

He was more than a little drunk at the time. Hah, he’d been fucking plastered.

Kicking that fluffy arachnoids ass was just a bonus. While he never doubted his own hand, being that uncoordinated never usually ended well for him. He tended to keep to himself when he was at his worst.

He was surprised he even agreed to do anything at all instead of telling that perverted walking stick to shove off! Even more surprising was as trashed as he’d been, he was still apparently unbeatable.

Husk wondered if he had an ace up his sleeve… and he didn’t even have sleeves… or wear clothes.

Yikes. Did bow ties and tophats count?

Hmmmm… wait. No. He wasn’t doing this to himself again. It was hard enough accepting he was an overgrown catbird. He’d leave this complicated crap alone. Besides, trying to wear clothes over fur was a pain in the ass. Not to mention extremely uncomfortable...

Lucky streak aside, Husk won whatever bet they’d made. He couldn’t quite remember what it was since he’d been blackout drunk, but he knew Vaggie had enough blackmail on Angel to get about a week’s worth of good behavior out of him.

That alone had made this whole thing an even bigger victory. The only problem was that with his drinking, while his gambling was on point, his mouth… wasn’t. 

Plenty of sinners gave away personal information when they were drunk. People did it while they were alive, so it wasn’t an uncommon thing down in hell. The only problem was where it ended up… or who it ended up with.

Long story short, he’d apparently let Angel Dust in on his appreciation for magic and had even shown him a trick or two with his cards while they were playing. He couldn’t remember jack shit, but it was possible.

How else would Angel have found out? The only other demons who’d know would be Alastor or Niffty and he doubted Alastor would randomly share something as insignificant as this. He may have a thing for pushing Husk’s buttons, but he didn’t think the other would just throw that out into the open without any context.

Actually, he probably would.

Either that or Niffty spilled the beans… she liked his coin behind the ear trick. She made for a great audience, even when she had to stop him to sweep up his stray feathers or dust the furniture in his room. He wasn’t a total slob, but he was rarely in his hotel room to begin with, so it wasn’t really his top priority.

Like right now. He could clean up the broken glass next to the bed, but he wasn’t going to. He drank often enough, so hangovers rarely bothered him, but sometimes even he overdid it.

His tolerance was absolutely phenomenal. A blessing and a curse. On the one hand, he could enjoy his booze and watch his drinking buddies fall over after a few shots of the hard stuff. On the other hand, it was tougher to get buzzed or even just flat out drunk if he wanted a quick way to escape his own mind.

Last night had been one of those times and he absolutely went overboard. The hangover he was nursing could definitely attest to that. If the pounding in his head grew any worse he’d probably die. Again.

With a sigh, Husk shifted into a more comfortable position, trying to keep his wings in mind. He didn’t need any other problems right now.

Speaking of problems, he hoped he didn’t do anything too stupid. How did he get back to his room, anyway? He tried to wrack his brain for answers, but all he got was a flash of white-hot pain radiating throughout his skull for his trouble.

This was the beauty of alcohol. It made you forget, even if it was only for a short time. He’d already made that mistake twice in one fucking day… One with Angel Dust, and the other with-

A knock at the door made him tense, the sound not at all helping his headache. Who was bothering him at this hour? Wait, what time was it? Shit… was he late for work? Most likely. He didn’t actually give too much of a shit, seeing as to how he worked seven days a week. 

The only one it would actually bother was-

//BANG//

The sound of the door slamming open and ramming into the wall made him jump so hard his teeth clacked together. 

A loud boisterous voice filled the quiet of his room moments later, “Ohhhhh Husker! Wakey wakey, my darling kitty cat! Your shift started hours ago, and our sour sinners are hankering for your testy temper. And quite possibly a beverage or two, but that is no concern of mine. Hahah!”

Husk groaned, curling into a ball. Maybe if he hid in his wings, the bastard would take the hint and leave. He was too exhausted to deal with this shit.

Of course, he wasn’t that lucky. Give him a deck of cards and you’d see him win the whole pot! But a radio demon that he just so happened to be in a relationship with? Not so much.

Hold on a damn minute… Was it a relationship? It was probably the closest thing to one. They never agreed on an actual title, but Alastor had been pretty pushy about them trying this… whatever it was out.

In fact, if he thought back to it, he hadn’t believed the guy at first, having been pining over said demon for years. Why would he come waltzing over to Husk, demanding him to be his significant other?

He’ll fucking tell you why. His own mouth betrayed him. With Angel Dust, he’d been very loose tongued thanks to his over drinking.

Alastor had come over to watch their game of cards, and by the end of it, had decided to poke fun at his old pal Husker. 

He’d given Husk a round of applause for his card tricks, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that he’d won the game and left Angel Dust flipping the table in despair. None of it mattered because it hadn’t been enough to fill Alastor’s endless need to be entertained.

He just so happened to believe that ‘drunk Husk’ was an absolute riot. He’d told him as much in the past. 

Although, instead of the usual banter or wobbly cat behavior he would have normally provided, Husk decided to share an even more personal secret than his fucking magic tricks.

He’d told the cannibalistic serial killer he was in love with him.

And it didn’t end there. To make it worse, since he’d been three sheets to the wind, he ended up forgetting everything that happened.

Angel Dust finding out about him being a magician was fine.

Alastor finding out about his undying love for him?

Husk would sooner have jumped in front of an Angel on extermination day than to have revealed his feelings to Alastor.

When he’d found out about what he’d done, because of course the insufferable jackass had to bring up his mistake as soon as he was sober, he may or may not have tried to jump out of the nearest window.

That was a tough feat to accomplish considering his bar was on the first floor. Had he done it anyway? Well, he tried to, but the other put a stop to his attempt so he hadn’t gotten very far.

In the end, Alastor had told him he should’ve confessed sooner because they could’ve been spending quality time together. He may have spaced out after that due to his brain short-circuiting.

It was almost too good to be true.

Husk agreed to Alastor’s demands, feeling like he would’ve been an idiot to refuse an opportunity to spend more time with the demon that held his heart in the palm of his hand.

Should he have paid more attention to what those demands were? Hell yes. His impulsive decision left him with more questions than answers.

After all, making deals with demons was a dangerous game.

The lowlifes he used to play poker with regularly would’ve told him to suck it up and take the offer for what it was worth. Taking chances was their shtick. 

Jerry, the cheating piece of shit, would have asked, “Why look a gift horse in the mouth?”

This was why. He had so many regrets. 

Husk heard the tapping of hooved shoes making their way toward him and scowled from beneath his feathery shelter. If Al did what he knew he was absolutely going to freakin’ do, he’d give him the silent treatment for the next three days.

He’d say a week, but Husk would cave long before Alastor… He may like his space, but he liked Alastor more. The guy had a way of making him crave for his attention, even if the radio demon himself didn’t always want it in return.

Hell, Alastor rarely showed any interest in him to begin with. And no, having an interest in causing him constant aggravation did not fucking count. He was busy with the hotel and all of the ragtag tenants he got a sick pleasure tormenting. 

It was hilarious. Honestly, it was, but he wanted more… It was selfish, especially since he fell in love with Alastor for who he was and not for some warped soap opera version of himself that he was sure plenty of demons daydreamed about.

Eugh...

Husk was guilty of daydreaming. He daydreamed plenty when it came to his ‘partner.’ Husk would be the first to admit he was a hopeless romantic… well. Maybe not out loud. 

He liked the thought of tender touches, passionate kisses, and appreciative glances. Did he need them? No. Did the thought of them make his heart race? Fucking Christ, yes they did.

He knew Alastor wasn’t interested in any of that. It wasn’t who he was and Husk could accept that, selfish desires be damned. He just wished someone would give him a hint as to what exactly Alastor was playing at. 

Was this something he actually wanted? What was he getting out of it? Why would he even bother with something he usually thought was so ‘tedious?’ He’d said so plenty of times to Angel and Charlie.

It’s already been a few weeks since they’d made this little agreement. Now that he was thinking back on it, it's almost been a month! You’d think he’d know the answers to all of these questions by now, but he was left in the dark when it came to Alastor’s intentions. 

He was torn from his thoughts when a hand gripped his furry ankle and dragged him to the end of the bed. 

Husk let out a warning growl to try and ward off the other from his oncoming attack, but it was useless.

Alastor only chortled in response and Husk felt the hand wrapped around his ankle tighten briefly before moving away. He knew better than to believe that was it. This was only the beginning.

He was proven right when his wings were forcefully pried apart, revealing him to his attacker who looked way too smug for his own good. “My Dearest Husker, why must you hide from me? You know, while I do love your volatile personality, I’m only here to help!”

Holy shit… 

Had he actually fallen in love with this dumbass?

Husk sneered, the stabbing pain in his head only growing worse as he locked eyes with Alastor. “Help? How is this helping?”

He watched Alastor’s brows furrow for a split second before his grin stretched impossibly wider. “Why, of course it is! You would have missed your shift, otherwise. After all, your job is crucial! You’re the first face our lovely residents see!”

Sitting up, Husk felt his wings fluff up. This was getting ridiculous. He was hungover and more than a little unstable in the feelings department. Alastor was only making things worse, seeing as to how he was the main cause of his emotional turmoil. 

He could start yelling and throwing a tantrum, but that would only amuse the bastard and leave him with an even bigger headache. 

No. He had to catch him off guard.

Maybe he’d try something new… he had nothing to lose except his dignity and he’d lost that years ago.. 

Fuck it.

“I want a divorce.”

He felt a swell of pride at Alastor’s blank stare. So that actually shut him up, eh? Sure, this didn’t at all make any sense, but if he had to deal with Alastor’s bullshit, then the idiot was going to get bullshit thrown right back into his stupidly handsome face.

“Pardon?”

“I want a divorce.”

Alastor’s smile waned as his brows went back into a furrow, his head tilting to the side. “Husker, my good man… we aren’t married.”

Husk felt himself relax. Al’s voice had quieted immensely from his earlier shouting. He always had to project his voice, no matter where he went. This was a hell of a lot better for his head. He could already feel the pain lessen.

With a distracted nod, Husk huffed out, “I know. I still want a divorce.” He watched as Alastor’s grin strained, eyes narrowing as he studied him. He felt a shiver travel up his spine at the others searching stare.

Unsatisfied with what he seemed to not be able to find, Alastor released the firm grip he had on his feathers only to move those deft clawed hands behind his back. Husk was sure he was clenching them tight with frustration. 

He couldn’t tell if this was funny or sad. He didn’t want to piss off his ‘steady,’ but he also wasn’t in the mood to be pissed off himself.

Looking at Alastor, he had to admit it was actually pretty damn comical.

“No.”

Husk blinked, feathered brows raising high in confusion. “What?”

Alastor’s expression morphed into a sharp smile, his glowing red eye’s staring unwavering into Husk’s. He seemed to radiate extreme disapproval. “No. We aren’t getting a divorce, Dearest.” His smile gave an irritated twitch.

Holy shit. This was unexpected. He hadn’t actually thought something like this would upset the overlord so much. This should be funny. He should be laughing…

It wasn’t funny. He loved Alastor too much to keep this up, but he also didn’t understand. Why was Al taking this so seriously? The radio host would usually have laughed something like this off or made an even bigger joke out of it… so why wasn’t he doing that now?

He really needed to get answers. If they were going to be anything they needed to start by finding common ground.

Mind made up, Husk stretched. If he was going to do this, he might as well be comfortable. He let out a pleased hum at every pop or crack he worked out of his spine. That felt so much better…

He glanced back up at his uninvited guest, only to pause. Alastor’s previous expression was gone. Husk wasn’t sure if he could put a name to it… but it was softer. Not a word he was used to using when it came to this particular demon. He looked downright distracted as his eyes traveled along the length of Husk’s body…

There was absolutely no fucking way this was happening right now.

He felt hope well into his chest, but he buried it down deep, he had some questions that needed answering. “Okay. We won’t get a divorce… we can still be friend-married or whatever. I didn’t think you’d take what I said so seriously...”

Alastor seemed to tune back in at the sound of his voice, his smile taking on a more satisfied curl. “I’m glad you’ve changed your mind! A divorce, hah! How silly…-” He stilled, a record scratching sound following his abrupt pause as one of his brows raised in question. “Friend-married?” 

He grimaced, “I do believe we have taken the next step in our relationship to a status higher than mere friends. Though I suppose that wouldn’t take away our actual friendship, I was hoping for a more committed type of companionship.”

Husk felt his jaw drop in shock. Hold the fucking phone, what? 

Alastor didn’t seem to notice his surprise, carrying on with a look of distaste. “Honestly, Husker… friend-married? Is that a word young folk are using these days? Taking two separate terms and mashing them together?” 

He let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head at the thought. “I miss the days where words were used more appropriately.” Another twitch of his wide grin. “Besides, why crush words together when you can crush skulls?”

Husk gave a hard blink, his tail thumping on the sheets behind him. Holding up a clawed paw, he cut off the other’s rambling. “You… Do you seriously want to be in a relationship with me? You’re not just pulling my leg for a laugh?” If he was, he’d kill him. He’d probably be the one killed, but he would die trying.

Alastor’s confusion was palpable at this point as he tilted his head for a second time. “... I do believe I asked this of you before we began our partnership, yes. Besides, I may have just literally pulled your leg a short while ago, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I would spend so much time doing all of this just to cure my boredom..."

Husk felt like he was going to pass out. His heart was hammering so hard he thought it was going to beat right out of his chest. 

He was serious. Alastor wasn’t doing this for a laugh. He was actually interested in some form of relationship with him that wasn’t just friendly or work-based. 

Holy fucking shit what the fuck?

Husk’s ears were swiveling about, his fur was bristling, his tail was curling, and his wings were poofing out. He wasn’t sure what kind of fucking response his body was having to this unexpected situation. 

Was he confused? Was he flustered? Was he offended? He had no clue because he was feeling too much at once to comprehend a single thing.

He was able to stutter out a rushed, “Me? You want to be with me? Of all the demons in hell, you chose me?” 

Alastor gave a slow nod, regarding him with a curious gaze. “Why waste my time lavishing affection on just anyone when I can focus my attention on one demon in particular?” 

His hand rose from behind his back, cautiously reaching out towards Husk only to let it hover in the air between them as if he were worried about spooking him. He continued, “And who better than one whose company I enjoy… and one who I am so very fond of?”

Husk couldn’t fucking believe this. Alastor liked him. Alastor liked him to the point of wanting to be with him. Not just to terrorize him to get a reaction out of him. This whole time. This whole god damned time he could have been getting to know this crazy sonofabitch and here he was, wasting his only chance to do exactly what he’s wanted to for fucking years because he couldn’t just get over himself.

Husk shrunk in on himself with a horrified gasp, “Oh no. I’m the dumbass.” Before Alastor could question him, he ran his paw down his face, groaning out, “This whole time I thought you were just doing this because you were bored. You like pissing me off to the point of me ripping my own fur out!” 

His wings moved to cover him back up, he couldn’t bear to look at the demon in front of him anymore. This was too embarrassing. “I’m a fucking dumbass.” he muttered dejectedly.

The room was quiet for a few moments. Hell, Alastor could have vanished and he wouldn’t have been able to tell from beneath his feathery cocoon. This was amazing and awful all at once. He was an idiot, but he was a happy idiot.

He jumped at the feeling of gentle hands resting against his wings. He felt them hesitate before they began to caress him, palms moving in long even strokes. When Husk didn’t move to pull away or stop him, Alastor began to alternate between petting and running his claws soothingly through his feathers.

It felt nice… 

Husk felt himself begin to relax, not at all realizing how wound up he’d actually been. This was ridiculous. He needed to get a hold of himself… well. Maybe after a few more minutes of Alastor touching him like this... Alastor was comforting him. Would this ever happen again?

He really hoped so.

“Husk?” He felt his eyes snap open at the other’s hushed voice. He’s never heard Alastor so quiet before. They’d known each other for decades and not once has Alastor gotten even close to speaking in a volume this low that wasn’t a sinister threat. This was a soft plea for his attention.

Well, if he hadn’t had it before, he certainly had it now. He mentally prepared himself as best as he could before he shifted, immediately mourning the loss of the other’s hands as they retreated from his wings to give him space. 

Crossing his arms, he sat up and allowed his wings to part open, folding them down to rest over his legs and along the bedspread. Seeing as to how he’d let them drag across the floor plenty of times in the past, letting them hang off of the bed wouldn’t hurt them.

He glanced up toward Alastor, taking in his surprisingly patient smile and couldn’t help returning it with a smile of his own. Husk’s smile only widened as he grumbled, “You’re stuck with a dumbass for a partner. Hope you’re happy, ya wiseguy.”

Blinking owlishly, Alastor took on a more bemused grin. “Well… while there are several names I could call you, that one definitely wouldn’t have been my first choice. I prefer goofball!” He leaned down to get into Husk’s space, their faces only a few inches apart. “You’re a goofball, my Dear! But you’re my goofball.” 

Husk was glad he had fur because he felt his whole body heat up at just how close their faces were. It was harder to deal with his feelings when he was able to see Alastor up close. And this was really fucking close.

Alastor took notice of the change and seemed to study him, though he’d probably been doing that the whole damned time with how stupid Husk had been acting. Embarrassing. Absolutely humiliating. He was going to pretend this never happened. 

He was hungover. That was his excuse and... why was Alastor giving him that look?

Said overlord was giving him a large smirk, eyes lidded and teeth glinting from the minuscule light coming in from under his hotel’s door. His expression was one that told him he was about to get on Husk’s last nerve… he wanted to kiss that look right off his face.

Alastor closed the gap between them, purposely bumping their noses together. “My Dear sweet Husker. There’s no need to be shy! I had no idea you were so insecure. I’ll make sure to be more considerate of your feelings in the future.”

That little shit. He was teasing him! He had some fucking nerve.

Husk wasn’t about to let Alastor make fun of him. He was purposely trying to rile him up because he went all googly-eyed over him. It wasn’t his fault he fell in love with the guy! What right did he have to take advantage of that?

He made sure to give Alastor the stink eye and a very displeased noise that was definitely threatening and not at all pathetic. Okay, it was kind of pathetic. He was flustered, okay? It was tough to control his body when his instincts had a mind of their own!

Alastor beat him to the punch, making any thought of retaliation fly right out the window by gently nudging their noses together. “My Darling, don’t look so cross. I’m only teasing you!” 

Hah, Husk fucking knew it! The bastard.

The radio demon moved to press his face into Husk’s neck, his shoulders shaking with his laughter. 

Husk would have throttled him if he wasn’t currently trying not to combust. He was used to Alastor touching him, but this felt different. They were dating. It felt intimate when it really wasn’t. Was it? Oh shit… 

Normally he’d push him away, but it suddenly felt like the wrong thing to do. As if this was a moment he shouldn’t… couldn’t ruin. 

It was getting increasingly hard to not do anything, especially when the huffing breath against his neck was making him twitch. He was ticklish, and if Alastor ever found out he’d be screwed.

Okay, he had to move. He didn’t have to stop touching him, but he did have to stop chuckling into his neck. “Al, buddy. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you gotta stop.” He leaned back, arms moving behind him to support his weight. 

Alastor let him go, laughter dying out as soon as Husk had distanced himself. “Oh? Have I gone too far? Did I offend you?” 

Husk shook his head, “Nah, not that you’d give two shits about offending anybody. Too far is never far enough for you. I’m just gonna have to get used to all of this…” He quickly cut the other off when he saw his mouth open to question him. “I’m not used to all this touchy-feely crap!”

Alastor gave him a wide-eyed stare. “I’m quite certain I touch you very often, my fine feathered feline. I’ve always been very affectionate with you. What is making this so difficult for you?” 

Well, he had a point. “Okay, look. I know nothings actually changed. It just feels different now that we’re together. I don’t know how else to explain it… Like I said. I just have to get over it.”

“Hmmmmm… Righto! Then I suppose we’ll just have to get you used to it!” Alastor leaned forward, his knee coming up to rest on the mattress between Husk's legs. The mattress dipped at the added weight, bringing Husk up slightly.

Husk blanched, too startled to question what Alastor was doing as the overlord wrapped an arm around his waist. “Stay still, my Dear. We’ll solve this little dilemma of yours in no time at all!” As he spoke, his head came down to nuzzle his face into Husk’s chest fur. 

This resulted in Husk arching his back to better accommodate for the body suddenly clinging to him.

Why was this happening to him? Was he being blessed or punished? 

This felt an awful lot like a fucking punishment. 

Is this what he got for being a dumbass?

Alastor's free hand moved to rest on top of his own. “Husker, my Darling… your heart is beating very fast.”  He could practically hear the smug smirk in his sweetheart's tone.

He could live with it...

[lalainajanes]

A Post TO S4 thing that I couldn’t resist. Longer than I anticipated but isn’t that always the way? Contains all of the magic kids and Hayley just so y’all are prepared.

Reset The Bone

You never quite get used to jolting awake to a frantic pounding on the door. Her life’s been pretty quiet lately but Caroline’s been dealing with life and death emergencies for almost a decade and the adrenaline that floods her when she becomes aware, the way her body coils in readiness to fight, is familiar.

Honestly, she’s missed it.

Caroline hurries out of bed, heart pounding and gums aching, straining her ears in an attempt to hear something that might be useful. Her room is the closest to the stairs, something she’d insisted on when they’d been drawing up renovation plans. If the spells Bonnie had placed around the boardinghouse ever failed, if someone ever did attack them, Caroline planned to meet them with teeth.

Jeremy sleeps across the hall and his door creaks open just as Caroline steps outside, hastily belting her robe. He’s sleep mussed and alert, crossbow in hand.

Caroline’s still kinda shocked that Little Gilbert, Elena’s stoner brother, turned out to be competent at weaponry and decent with kids. She lifts a finger to her lips, gestures that she’ll go down first. His nod comes quickly and he falls into step behind her as they make their way downstairs. They’re probably being paranoid – odds are that someone with sinister intentions wouldn’t bother with a polite knock – but Caroline’s always been a big believer in covering her bases.

Still, she never would have anticipated opening the door and finding Hayley Marshall on the other side. She swallows her knee jerk reaction when she spies the small figure slumped against Hayley’s back. It would have been harsh, likely profane, and inappropriate for little ears. Caroline presses her lips together as she surveys the other critically. Hayley looks worn, her clothing wrinkled and her hair flat. “Hey,” she greets softly. Hayley’s wary and using her body as a shield, tense as she waits for Caroline to speak.

It takes a minute. Caroline really hadn’t anticipated meeting Klaus’ daughter in her PJ’s at 3 AM. Eventually she manages something like a smile, strained but polite. “Hi. Come in.” She turns enough to motion for Jeremy to de-arm before she opens the door wider and steps back. Hayley and Hope shuffle in. Hayley glances around the foyer with interest, Hope’s swaying on her feet, eyes half-closed.  

Jeremy’s relaxed, doing his best to hide the crossbow. His brows rise in question when Caroline meets his gaze. “Should I get Alaric?”

Grateful, Caroline nods. “Thanks, Jer.”

He retreats and Caroline has a brief moment where she considers calling him back, getting him to settle their visitors somewhere while she wakes Alaric up. It’s not like Hayley ever made eyes at Jeremy’s boyfriend or snapped his neck.

He’s gone before she can give in to the urge and Caroline straightens her shoulders, tells herself that she’s a freaking grownup and that she’s forgiven people for bigger slights against her than the one’s Hayley is guilty of. The school was supposed to be for people who needed help and it looked like Hayley and Hope qualified. This time when she smiles Caroline thinks she even manages a little warmth. “Can I get you guys something to drink? Maybe some food?”

Hayley’s lips twist and she inclines her head, “Yeah, thanks. That would be great.” She sets her hands on her daughter’s shoulder, nudging her to face Caroline. She presses a quick kiss to the top of her daughter’s head. “Hope, meet Caroline. She’s your dad’s friend.”

Hope looks even worse than Hayley when she looks up, pale with red rimmed eyes. He lip quivers slightly and she shrinks back against Hayley. “Hi,” she manages softly before looking back down at the floor.

Caroline’s heart lurches as a new type of worry, one tinged with dread as well as fear, fills her. She knew about Klaus’ sireline being broken, was aware that his death wouldn’t mean hers. Hayley hadn’t used the past tense, surely that meant that Klaus was still alive? She swallows harshly, does her best to keep her voice from shaking, “Hope. Hi. Where…” she lets the question trail off, unsure of how to phrase the question.

Luckily, Hayley seems to get what she’d left unspoken. “He’s in New Orleans, I think. But he won’t be able to stay there for long. We had a problem. The only solutions really sucked.” She says it with a weariness that tugs at Caroline’s sympathies.

Having her hand forced, agonizing over which option was the least terrible, was a sadly familiar dilemma for Caroline. She bends forward slightly, planting her hands on her knees and waiting for Hope to look up at her once more. Her smile is bright this time, relieved that whatever trouble Klaus was in he was alive. “It’s very nice to meet you, Hope Mikaelson,” she tells the girl warmly. “It looks like you’ve had a long day so how many marshmallows do you want in your hot chocolate?”

She doesn’t look much like Klaus on the surface. Their eyes are similar blues but that’s about it. Still, something in the tilt of Hope’s head as she considers her response is familiar. It hits Caroline hard and she misses Hope’s response.

Luckily it seems like she hadn’t needed it. “Yeah, I don’t think so,” Hayley chides while Caroline stands and begins to lead them to the kitchens. “Remember how hard it was to sleep after that beignet binge? Let’s moderate the sugar tonight.”

Hope’s response is grumpy, a petulant insistence that her Dad would let her have all the marshmallows she wanted and Hayley falls silent. Darting a look over her shoulder Caroline catches Hayley’s pained expression, finds herself butting in. Hope’s about seven, if Caroline’s math is correct. Probably pretty easy to distract. “I’ve got two girls a little younger than you, Hope. We’re going to make cookies tomorrow. Maybe you’d want to help?”

It does the trick. Hope’s intrigued, says that she’s never actually made cookies which is just weird, in Caroline’s opinion. Hayley mouths a thank you, Caroline acknowledges it with a quick nod. Alaric interrupts before any awkwardness can creep back in, greeting Hope warmly and asking her how she’s been progressing with her magic.

It cracks the girl’s shell a bit, and she chatters away while eating a sandwich Caroline hastily throws together. The warm milk does the trick before too long and soon she’s nodding off at the table. They have plenty of rooms available and it’s Alaric who offers Hayley one for the night after she’s given them the cliff’s notes version of what’s landed them in Mystic Falls. He insists that they’re all tired and they can talk more tomorrow. “The crisis will keep, right?” he says. “There’s no immediate danger?”

“Not to us,” Hayley confirms. “As long as she’s here and they’re not The Hollow can’t do anything.”

Caroline’s been listening more than she’s been contributing, pity and worry growing and gnawing at her insides as she learned just what Klaus had done, the sacrifice he’d made. What would he do now she wondered, more alone in the world than ever before?

Nothing good, Caroline assumes. He couldn’t turn it off like she once had and she vividly remembers what had happened when Kol had died – she knows just how terrible Klaus is at dealing with grief.

He’d helped Stefan for her and Caroline has no doubt that had he been able to help her when she’d fled to New Orleans in desperation a couple years ago he would have. It’s only right that she returns the favor. She’s got a million questions to ask but, like Alaric had said, they’ll keep. Caroline decides to start with the things she can fix right now. Rising from the table she stacks their plates. “Do you have bags?”

“Yeah, in the car.”

Great. I’ll go grab them. I’m sure you’ll want to shower after you put Hope to bed. We’ll figure out if you need anything else tomorrow. The shopping options in Mystic Falls haven’t improved at all since the last time you were here but we can always rush order some things online. Hope can meet the kids and when she’s up to it we’ll run her through the basic tests, get her started on a program. You can stay as long as you need to get her settled in. We don’t have anyone quite her age but all the kids are pretty friendly.”

Hayley, looking uncomfortable and maybe a little overwhelmed, tries to protest, “Caroline, you don’t have to…”

Alaric shakes his head with a rueful expression, cutting Hayley off and leaning in conspiratorially. “Don’t bother. That’s her determined face. You won’t win against Caroline’s need to organize a problem into submission.” Caroline glares but it lacks heat. Their romance might have been ill-advised but somewhere in the last few years of co-parenting Alaric’s learned to read her.

That’ll be beneficial later, Caroline assumes. She’s not going to be able to stop at the immediate problems – never seeing her kids again was not a fate Caroline wished to contemplate, not one that she’d wish on an enemy and she’d long since stricken Klaus from that particular list.  Having Alaric, and his access to The Armory, at her disposal when Caroline begins looking into this Hollow thing is going to be a bonus.

Hayley seems to struggle for a moment, but eventually she sags back into her seat, nodding tiredly. “Then… thank you. Last time we had to leave Hope was so young and moving constantly was hard for her. There wasn’t anyone we could really trust. Klaus mentioned you were doing this now,” she gestures vaguely about the room. “Running a school. And I know what I did last time I was here was…”

Hayley falters, studying the table intently. Caroline blinks for a moment, searching for something in Hayley’s words, some hint of anything less than genuine. She finds nothing and her feelings are mixed. She’d kind of wanted to hold on to her grudge. “A lot’s happened. I’m different now,” she finally says. “I guess it would be stupid to assume you weren’t, right?”

It’s not forgiveness, or an offer to forget. Caroline’s not that good at taking the high road. But maybe it can be a truce.

In the beginning she can’t devote much time digging into The Hollow. Between the twins, the slowly growing number of kids at the school that needed wrangling, and all the work that goes into keeping the place running (because it might have been Alaric’s idea but it had quickly become apparent that he had no idea how to get things going. Caroline had needed a project after Stefan had died and her friends had moved away so figuring out the details had been a welcome distraction). She’s got page of notes on her phone, hastily tapped out questions and ideas, has instructed Alaric’s Armory lackeys to dig into any references to the origins of werewolves and any mention of The Hollow in their archives. They drop files into a shared google drive occasionally, scans from books with tiny text and graphic illustrations, and accompanying translations when applicable.

Klaus’ letter sets her back even further.

Three million dollars means that a ton of her vague dreams and plans for the school can be a reality much sooner than anticipated. She feels guilty about it as she consults with an architect and rationalizes that she’s doing what’s best for Klaus’ kid – she was supposed to be providing a normal-ish childhood so clearly ripping out the basement cells was a good idea - while she argues (and compels because she doesn’t need them spreading any lurid stories about why she and Alaric has an actual dungeon in their home) contractors. Caroline promises herself she’ll carve out some time to dive into the accumulated info while she negotiates with witches who might be interested in teaching positions.

Unfortunately, for all her good intentions, her never ending To Do List keeps getting in the way.

Until Klaus misses a Skype date.

They’re a biweekly thing. He sends letters, emails often, but being able to actually see her father is understandably what Hope most looks forward to. Caroline usually sets them up in the lounge, hooks up a laptop to the big screen TV in there and stays just outside to ensure they won’t be interrupted. She stays silent and out of sight while Hope chatters to Klaus about what she’s learning and the friends she’s made. Klaus tells stories about the cities he’s visiting, his voice painting vivid pictures of old buildings and scenery and interesting people he’s met. He’s very invested in Hope’s art education, a subject Caroline can admit the Salvatore school is lacking in. He often rattles off works, or movements, talks of composition and color and how he felt when he saw something for the first time. Sitting on the floor of the hallway Caroline sometimes finds herself holding her breath, unwilling to miss a single word. Hope will rush to look them up after they’ve said goodbye. Sometimes Caroline joins her, settling down on the floor so they can both flick through the images on Hope’s iPad oohing and aahing and talking about their favorites.

She’s a good kid, often more comfortable with quiet and adults than with children. Caroline’s office door is always open, just in case there’s a fire – sometimes a literal one – that she needs to put out. She’ll often glance up from her work to find that Hope’s slipped in silently and curled up on the couch under the window with her homework or a book. The first few times it was like Hope expected to be shooed away but, as an only child, Caroline got the urge to enjoy a little me time. She’d always merely smiled, gone back to her work, allowing Hope to go back to her own activity.

It’s kind of become their thing.

Alaric passes by while they’re engrossed sometimes, looking amused and like he’s itching to comment as he peeks in and observes them. Thankfully he never does and Caroline’s not about to invite him to. He’d died before her feelings for Klaus had gotten complicated, hadn’t come back until after Klaus had gone. He’d seemed surprised when she’d insisted he go to New Orleans with the bone Klaus needed, hadn’t really wanted to offer aid. Caroline’s really not sure what he knows. Damon could have told him things, lord knows he’d never been one to keep his opinions to himself. Plus, Alaric and Hayley usually grab drinks and a couple games of pool at The Grille when she’s in town. Hayley had been aware of Klaus’ thing for Caroline, had used it to her advantage even, so it’s possible she’d mentioned it to Alaric.

Caroline’s never really talked to anyone about Klaus. She and Stefan had talked around him, years and years ago, vague assurances that it was all right to think of Klaus as more than just pure evil. Caroline hadn’t been willing to delve deeper back then, too uncomfortable with her own monster to consider Klaus’, and she’s not going to open up that can of worms with her ex-fiancée of all people.

It’s about a week before they break for the summer, Hayley’s around having come down to celebrate Hope’s 8th birthday the previous month. She’d stuck around to offer some advice about a pair of werewolves (one triggered one not) brothers who had been sent their way by an acquaintance Jeremy had made on his super-secret hunter adventures and had then had decided it wasn’t worth going back to New Orleans only to return in a couple of days to help Hope pack up. She’s waiting for Klaus with Hope and Caroline’s situated herself a little farther away instead of camping out in the hallway, in a neighboring room that they use for classes, with the door open.

Klaus is usually incredibly prompt so Caroline’s confused when the hour ticks passed and she doesn’t hear his voice. She grows alarmed when the low murmur of Hayley and Hope talking grows louder, Hope obviously upset and Hayley speaking assurances in soothing tones. She hears Hope begin to cry, wrenching sobs before she sprints from the room, her footfalls pounding up the stairs to her room. The door slams and Caroline’s glad that Hope’s got her magic suppressing bracelet on. Replacing windows in a house this old was a bitch even if she wouldn’t hold it against the girl. She came by it honestly - rage, dramatics and destruction - were areas in which Klaus excelled.

The other room is silent until Hayley lets out a long sigh.

Caroline could pretend to be completely unaware. She really wasn’t sure if she and Hayley could do heart to hearts.

But, since Damon had once called the school home, they’d found more than a few fancy bottles of booze stashed around the house. Alaric had claimed most of them but Caroline’s got one hidden in her office figuring she might need it one day. She clears her throat calling, “How about a drink?” tentatively.

Hayley’s in the doorway in an instant, “God, yes.”

“Meet me in my office. I’ll go get some glasses.”

Hayley cocks her head to the side, a hint of a challenge in her eyes, “Afraid I’ve got cooties?”

Caroline rolls her eyes, “I figured we were old enough to try to be classy.”

“Classy is overrated, Miss Mystic Falls. I won’t tell on you.”

It’s almost a taunt, something Caroline’s never been able to resist. She’s not sure if Hayley knows that and is exploiting it in an effort to get to the liquor or if she’s just naturally that kind of annoying. Not that it really matters. Caroline had been pretending to dust the bookcases but she abandons the task, dusting off her hands as she rises. “It’s a deal. Did Klaus cancel?”

Hayley’s snort is derisive, “Not officially.”

Caroline tenses, a thread of worry creeping in. “Is he okay?”

Hayley seems completely unconcerned. “I think he’s probably just buried under a warm body or two and tripping on some questionable substances. He’ll probably send her a pony to make up for missing the call. You might want to reserve some of his money for a stable and some hay.”

That doesn’t really ease Caroline’s mind and she’s attempting to figure out the best way to probe deeper without giving Hayley the wrong impression when Hayley continues. “Freya tracks all of them. Something to do with their blood. She’s got a map. If one of them died she’s know immediately. Klaus is fine, at least physically. His coping methods are just questionable and I imagine his body count is steadily climbing.”

“I turned off my humanity when my mom died.”

Hayley offers no judgement, is enviably casual in her response. “I kidnapped, tortured and killed vampires when my husband did.”

Caroline pauses, turning to look at Hayley, finding her composed and unashamed. “I didn’t know you were married.”

“His name was Jack. He was a werewolf. We were betrothed from birth. It was complicated but I did love him.”

She begins walking again as she processes, pulling out her phone when Hayley falls into step. She shoots off a quick text to Alaric, asking him to take charge of the girls for the evening. It’s clear that she and Hayley have things to talk about and Caroline’s pretty sure that this is going to be the weirdest bonding session she’s ever been a part of.

They’re definitely going to need the bourbon.

A couple weeks later, once the school is quieter (they have a few kids staying over the summer, the werewolves who left a bad home situation and a witch whose family had traditions just as screwed up as the Gemini Coven’s twinicide ritual) and Caroline’s day to day duties have relaxed, she dives into research mode. She reads through everything The Armory minions had sent, papers her office with her notes. She sees avenues, possibilities, but acknowledges that she might be too optimistic. She and her friends had been stupidly lucky in tangling with things more powerful than they were. If they could prevail, why couldn’t Klaus and his siblings?

Maybe Caroline just didn’t believe in losing.

Hayley had spoken frankly about what Klaus was up too, mentioned a few things he’d imparted during their sporadic conversations and some of the things Rebekah and Freya had said. He was aimless, she’d explained, no enemy to fight, no family to protect. He hopped planes randomly, found whatever amusements he could where he landed, his regular contact with Hope the only true demand on his time.

He hadn’t sent a pony but Hope could probably live her entire life – even if she ended up with an immortal one - without having buy a single tube of paint given the crates of stuff that had arrived the day after Klaus missed her call.

It was a tactic Caroline’s own father had used once or twice and it really pissed her off.

When Alaric mentions planning a trip, tosses out Busch Gardens as an option a lightbulb goes off in Caroline’s head. She counters with Disney World, steamrolling over Alaric’s objections to the expense (hello, they literally had millions of dollars) and the distance and the crowds by enthusing about how excited all the kids will be. A quick email to Hayley nets them some additional supervision so Caroline can beg off without much trouble.

Another email, longer and more difficult, gets her into contact with Freya Mikaelson. They speak on the phone, Freya clipped and wary as Caroline asks for her help in locating Klaus. Caroline does her best to remain pleasant, figures that the paranoia is understandable. Freya tells Caroline she’ll think about it, hanging up with a terse goodbye.

Caroline texts her a link to her Google Drive, figuring that sharing info was the best way to convey that she was serious about helping and not actually interested in Klaus’ death like so many other people apparently were.

The text she gets back a few hours later is… weird. It asks for a picture and, after debating for a few moments, wondering how it could possibly be relevant, sends one of her and the twins.

All the better to look sweet and harmless and trustworthy, right?

The reply is immediate, a confirmation that Freya will help and Klaus’ current location. Caroline might do a quick, triumphant happy dance. Someday, if Freya ever warms up to her, she’ll have to press and figure out what the deal with the picture is.

For now? Caroline’s crossing her fingers Klaus stays put and rushes to pack for Greece.

Once onboard Freya had turned out to be a wealth of information. She could apparently pinpoint Klaus’ location to within a couple of thousand feet on demand. And she had access to all his financial info so she was able to direct Caroline to the villa he was renting in Ios, muttering disbelievingly at the restaurant bills he’d been racking up while giving Caroline the specifics.

It’s midmorning when she arrives, the sun already scorching and a throng of people crowding the beach. Ios is a popular party destination, she’d read. Cheap enough for backpackers with some of the best nightlife in Europe. Music drifts from all over, varying beats and rhythms meshing into a chaotic pulse that covers individual conversations. Laughter rings out occasionally, the odd loud groan of someone dealing with a hangover less than gracefully. The sand is white and inviting, the water a pretty shade of blue. Caroline stares longingly at it for a moment, wishing she weren’t here just for business.

Well, maybe she wouldn’t be. She had packed a bathing suit. Just in case Klaus was easier to deal with than anticipated.

His place is set back from the beach, down a winding path and shaded by trees. The relief from the humidity is welcome and Caroline slows to enjoy it. When she rounds the final bend she immediately sees that the door is ajar, notes a bright yellow top fluttering from the porch rail.

She presses her lips together to keep in a groan of annoyance. Hayley had warned her, kind of, but Caroline hadn’t planned on having to deal with the participants in Klaus’ descent into hedonism directly.

Assuming they were still alive.

She hesitates for just a second before stalking forward determinedly. Caroline hadn’t flown halfway across the world to turn back now. She makes no attempt to be quiet, makes sure her feet strike the polished hardwood in a deliberate staccato beat, allows the door slam into the wall when she pushes it open. She wrinkles her nose as soon as she enters, a heavy sweet smell – weed smoke and tobacco, sweat and sex, not all that dissimilar to the aftermath of a frat party – immediately assaulting her.

Seriously, couldn’t they have cracked a window?

Caroline follows the trail of clothes down a hallway, a skirt, a green patterned button up. A grey t-shirt that screams Klaus, a high heeled sandal and a flashy pair of Nikes. A pair of men’s boots that she would also bet were his, followed by jeans, cargo shorts and lacy white panties.

She’d done the math easily enough but once she enters the bedroom she’s still a little taken aback. Feels her face heat, resists the urge to avert her eyes from the tangle of people on the bed. The room is trashed, a mirror broken and a bottle of wine dripping onto the carpet. She sees that a chunk is missing from the headboard, a crack in the wall above. Not that the room’s occupants seem concerned with losing a security deposit. Klaus is a little apart, sleeping on his stomach with his arms and legs stretched out. He’s barely covered with a sheet, one of his legs and most of a hip bare. His guests are evidently cuddlers, man with white blonde hair and an abundance of freckles is wrapped around a petite, tanned brunette without a stitch of fabric to cover them. No one so much as stirs as she enters and Caroline listens carefully, picks out two heartbeats, even and just slightly out of synch, and Klaus’ - slower but perfectly present. Her temper flares hot. God, she’d been worried about him?

“Must be nice to just hang out in paradise having orgies,” she mutters. “It’s not like you’ve got a bajillion freaking years to slut around and a kid who’s only going to be a kid once, right?”

There’s a chest of drawers next to the door, a vase of pretty purple blooms resting on top.

She’s throwing it before she can consider a more subtle approach. Not at the bed, because she’s nearly certain 2/3 of its occupants are human, but she’d put full vampire force into it so it explodes against the far wall with a satisfying crash.

She has no idea what happens when the two humans wake because Klaus’ reaction pulls her focus. He’s on his feet faster than she can perceive, slamming into her, all hot skin, lean muscle and iron grip, his eyes burning gold and fangs displayed. He propels her back through the door and into the wall of the hallway.

Which is also going to need to be repaired if the crash Caroline hears when she hits it is anything to go by.

The breathe is knocked out of her on impact, her vision going hazy for a moment, and Caroline feels one quick burst of fear when his hand closes around her throat but the pressure gone before she can even think to struggle. She coughs once, rubs at her skin where it chafes a little. Klaus has stumbled back a step, watching her with eyes that are horrified and slightly bleary, with a heavy dose of confusion. She waves, which is probably lame but it’s not like she can take it back. “I probably should have considered your eons of paranoia before I went with the rude awakening, huh?”

“Caroline?” he croaks, a hand coming up to rub at his face.

“Yep!” she chirps. “Pro-tip, if you were serious about thanking me in person you’re going to need pants.”

He grimaces, “Fuck,” he bites out.

“Language,” she chides, more out of habit then anything.

A small smile plays about his lips, “That was an excellent appropriation of a prim schoolmarm, love.”

It’s said with fondness, a note of teasing, but Caroline still finds herself bristling. Maybe it’s just Klaus, the way their conversations have always been more likely to be heated than cordial. “I suppose you’re right,” she replies sweetly, “No need to be polite. Have I mentioned you look kinda like shit?”

It’s not totally true, of course. His hair’s a mess and he’s too pale, the usual dusting of stubble on his jaw now thick and unkempt. It should make him look homeless but instead it manages to do great things for his lips. And below the neck he’s all smooth skin and taut muscle and it’s taking a ton of effort not to ogle the jut of his hipbones or the planes of his stomach.

He glances down but seems completely unbothered by his nudity. “Charming.”

“I try.”

He’s silent for a long moment, contemplative. “Caroline. What are you…” he seems to shake himself, eyeing her carefully, his face growing suspicious, like he’s not sure if he trusts what he’s seeing. “This is preposterous. What did I do last night?” he mutters almost to himself. “I don’t remember…”

She reaches out and pinches him, twists the bit of skin she grasps at the inside of his elbow brutally and fights a smile when he slaps her hand away with a hiss. “Yeah, I’m real.”

“Evidently.”

“How do you even get high? You drink alcohol like its water. I’d have figured your ancient hybrid bod burned through anything illicit.”

“With a little help from some ingenious witches, you’ll find anything’s possible. But do tell me more of your thoughts about my ‘ancient hybrid bod,’ sweetheart.”

She narrows her eyes in warning even as she fights not to smile. Inappropriate flirting was a clear sign that Klaus was close to firing on all cylinders. Which is exactly what she needed from him.

Caroline keeps her eyes on his face because she can’t claim to be unbothered by his lack of clothing (or that her thoughts about his hybrid bod were all that clinical). She slips to the side, spotting that Klaus’ visitors are awake. They look alarmed, clutching having hurriedly covered themselves. She nods at them, attempting a little dignity, before turning back to Klaus and jerking her thumb in the direction of the kitchen she’d passed. “You know what? I’m going to see if there’s coffee. Why don’t you do whatever compelling or charming it is that you were going to do to get rid of them and join me in a bit? With pants. Do you have any breakfast food-like?”

The look he casts back into the room isn’t hard to interpret. Caroline scoffs, “You were going to eat them?”

He lifts a shoulder, only mildly abashed, “Well, you can’t beat the convenience.”

She grits her teeth against the urge to make a very inappropriate joke about going out with a bang. Now was not the time for her brain to mouth filter to completely fail her. She’s not here to guilt him or shame him, figures that any attempt would be disastrous. They’d done similar dances before. He’d dig in, bristle under her judgement, she’d get pissed. They’d snarl and snipe until one of them stormed off and nothing would get accomplished. She’s started the leg work but she needs help – Klaus’ and his siblings. Hayley had mentioned that Kol was involved with a witch and Caroline knew they’d need one eventually. She averts her eyes as she smooths down her dress, keeps her tone light, “I don’t do body disposal on vacation. If you’re hungry, whatever, do your thing but if you’re killing them I’m leaving. And there are things I think we should talk about, Klaus.”

He stiffens, “Hope?” he grits out.

She shakes her head reaching out before she recalls that he’s still naked and snatching it back. “Totally fine. Meeting all the Disney princesses and eating fudge last I heard. I can show you pictures.”

His posture eases and he nods. “I’d like that. There’s no food but you can order whatever you wish. There should be a menu in the kitchen.”

“Great!” she says, perhaps more cheerily than necessary. Sue her, she’s kind of excited to get started, to apply her brain to something a little more challenging that lesson plans and supply orders. “The plane food was awful. Do you want anything?”

“One of whatever you’re having is fine,” he turns to reenter the bedroom but whirls back just as fast. He seems to hesitate, his expression softening to a degree Caroline can only recall seeing a scant few times. His words, once they come are halting, “I apologize for being less than welcoming initially. It’s… good to see you.”

Is it weird that she kind of wants to hug him? She probably would if he were dressed. She lets herself smirk. “You say that now,” she teases. “Wait until you hear what I’m here for. Hint: if I get my way hybrid spring break is about to be cut short and it’ll be work time. Sorry not sorry.”

Klaus doesn’t seem all that upset, his head tipping to the side and a shoulder lifting in a shrug. It’s unlikely, Caroline knows, that what he’s been doing is novel for him. Caroline’s never had much opportunity for debauchery but she assumes that just about anything would get boring after a while. “Color me intrigued,” he drawls. He surprises her by leaning forward and Caroline stills as his lips brush against her cheek. “Just give me a moment, hmm?”

His hand skims down her bare arm, and Caroline’s flooded by the memories she’s never let herself dwell on. He’d done something similar the last time she’d seen him, in the woods while the sun had set. Her skin had lit up in response then too though she’d chalked it up to the aftermath of the multiple orgasms.

That had been a goodbye. This? This feels like a hello.

[deepdarkwaters]

2016 WRITING YEAR REVIEW

@notbrogues tagged me!

Total Number of Stories Completed: 24 complete (although a bunch of these are just separate bits of the Bespoke universe), and 6 lingering WIPs.

Total Word Count: 133875, goddamn :O

Fandoms Written In: Code Name Verity - Elizabeth Wein Killers Kill; Dead Men Die - Annie Leibovitz Kingsman Night Watch - Sarah Waters RED The Carnival Is Over - The Seekers The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett Velvet Goldmine

Mostly Kingsman, the others were all for exchanges. I can only seem to focus on one main fandom at a time.

Looking Back, Did You Expect To Write More Fic Than You Thought You Would This Year, Less, Or About What You’d Expected? Less... I had all these plans to write less fic and more original stuff fpr publishing but NOPE I am helpless in fandom's iron grip.

What's Your Own Favorite Story Of The Year? I'm very fond of Ballerino... I highly recommend writing the most self-indulgent swoony trash your heart wants, because it's the most fun ever AND I think when you're gleefully enthusiastic about something then other people have fun with it as well.

Did You Take Any Writing Risks This Year? Bespoke, maybe...? I've been super passionate about OT3s before (received loads of Butch/Sundance/Etta treasure in fic exchanges, for example), but never really been invested on the writing side. It's a fascinating one to figure out.

But Smaychel is the best writing partner imaginable, so in that way it's not really a risk at all :-)

Do You Have Any Fanfic Or Profic Goals For The New Year? F I N I S H   M Y   W I P S I am so sorry I am the worst. I was so adamant on getting everything complete by the end of the year but it just didn't happen. Too many pretty ideas, never enough time! WIPs are the priority. I've got a stack of original short stories and another novel to finish as well, but honestly I'm just having way too much fun with fanfic to prioritise them (and nobody reads original stuff anyway).

Best Story Of The Year? Is this a different question to Favourite Story?

Most Popular Story Of The Year? Ballerino is my most popular story ever in any fandom in about eighteen years of posting fic, so... thank you?!

Story of Mine Most Under-appreciated By The Universe, IMO: This fandom does appreciation like no other :-) There’s always going to be smaller ships like Roxy/Merlin that fewer people are interested in but that’s cool, you know going into it that there won’t be as many readers for that stuff as for Harry/Eggsy.

Most Fun Story To Write: Ballerino probably because it's just everything I love thrown at a page. Fight scenes!!! White tie formalwear!!! Undressing people in white tie formalwear!!! Ballet!!! Bottom Harry!!! Phone sex!!! Kingsman agents’ banter!!! Gross old stalker licking the sweat off his victim!!!

Story With The Single Sexiest Moment: Viewer Discretion Is Advised (aka the Bespoke fic where Harry and Eggsy finally get together while Merlin instructs) was an interesting one. I was trying to challenge myself to write something smokin hot without it being about dicks, and it turned out to be one of my favourite things I've ever written mainly for this scene:

"Pick a place," Merlin tells him, "anywhere you like, but don't touch him."

Through Harry's glasses feed, Merlin sees Eggsy's eyes moving and knows exactly what he's seeing: scars on golden skin; soft ridges of retrained muscle; the glorious way Harry flushes when he knows he's about to get what he wants. "Here?" Eggsy asks, soft and uncertain. Merlin watches the boy's shaking fingertips hover an inch or two above Harry's collarbone.

"Very good." Merlin hears a quick intake of breath at that, a shaky exhale, and drops his voice to a low murmur just to see what happens. "Good boy, Eggsy."

"Fuck," Eggsy mutters, "oh my god, fuck," and stares straight at Harry, at Merlin through Harry. "Okay, what now?"

"Nothing," Merlin tells him, and watches Eggsy's eyebrows flicker in confusion. "Pick another place."

"Here?" Eggsy checks, sliding a little way down the bed to kneel between Harry's sprawled legs, pointing at the place just above his navel.

"Good choice." Eggsy looks vaguely disappointed at that; must have been hoping for a word other than 'choice'. Tease, Harry finger-spells at Merlin. "But don't touch him."

The camera feed dips when Eggsy nods his head. Merlin watches his fingers trace the line of soft hair leading down to Harry's pyjama trousers, never actually making contact. Eggsy's got his lower lip caught between his teeth as though he's concentrating, hand moving lower and hovering a hair's breadth above where Harry's cock is heavy, half-hard, wearing the taut silk of his pyjamas like a second skin.

"Hands up, Eggsy. Harry, turn over for me."

He watches Harry move in quarter turns, first onto his side and then stretching out languidly on his front like a spoiled cat begging to be petted. Not too far away from the truth, really.

"Pick another place."

"Here," Eggsy says immediately, gesturing to the dimples at the bottom of Harry's spine. His whole hand rests there for a moment, a centimetre of space between his skin and Harry's, then he lifts his wrist and starts drawing gentle little swirling patterns in the air with one single fingertip. "Fuck, I know it's probably in my head but I swear I can feel how warm he is from here."

Harry makes a soft little stunned sound at that, pressing his face into the pillow. Merlin knows how much it costs him not to lurch up into this kind of almost-touch; the time he kept it up for the entire length of The Fellowship of the Ring, Harry naked and draped across his lap on the sofa, Harry was begging by Rivendell and outright sobbing by Lothlórien, and came crying when Merlin finally ran a fingertip down his spine at the credits.

"You're doing beautifully. Both of you.

"Fuck," Eggsy murmurs again, sounding fascinated by the writhe and twist of Harry's back as he slowly starts to lose his mind.

It's almost half an hour before Harry finally says please.

"Don't touch him," Merlin says softly. Eggsy hesitates with his fingertips drawing spirals in the air just above Harry's scapula, head tilted slightly to one side as though he's waiting for more. "You mustn't let him have anything the first time he asks for it. Give him an inch and he'll take a mile, goes the saying."

"Yeah, I got six inches I wanna give him," Eggsy says with his mouth right by Harry's ear, and Merlin downs his entire drink in one shaky swallow.

"What do you think about that, Harry?"

"Please." His voice is muffled in the pillow, screen dark where his glasses are pressed there, until Merlin tells him to turn his head and speak nicely. "Please," he says again, clearer but devastatingly quiet, imploring gaze fixed on Eggsy's eyes so Merlin can see the fluttery way he's blinking and the pretty pink flush in his cheeks.

"Stay still for me," he says, and Harry freezes, silent and barely seeming to breathe. "Eggsy – touch him. One fingertip, stroke him as gentle as you can. Watch what happens."

The glasses camera refocuses automatically when Eggsy leans in, filling the screen with Harry's upper back and shoulders – the glimmer of sweat, every pore and freckle, every scar from old gunshot wounds to the ghost marks of Merlin's favourite flogger. When Eggsy touches him, forefinger dragging a lingering line from the nape of Harry's neck to a spot between his shoulder blades, Merlin can see in perfect high definition the sudden thrilling rush of goosebumps bursting up and marring the beloved skin just below his damp hair.

"Oh," Eggsy says softly, inflected like he's just found god.

"That is why we say no to him."

Most Sweet Story: I suppose Harry babysitting Daisy and letting her draw tattoos on his arms in Sleeping Beauty?

"Holy Crap, That's Wrong, Even For You!" Story: I don't do wrong! Even the BDSM kinky pain shit is as fluffy as candyfloss. I usually quite like a bit of fucked up angst but it just doesn’t do it for me in this fandom, at least not when I’m writing. I just want everyone to be happy and kiss lots (and gangbang Harry until he’s done).

Making Harry a seven foot tall god with fuckin massive antlers and galaxies for eyes was a bit odd, maybe :P

Story That Shifted My Own Perceptions Of The Characters: This sort of demisexual voyeur Merlin in Bespoke was Smaychel's creation really. We just talked endlessly about these guys for weeks on end before they ever made it into any fic, and somehow he's become so comfortable for me to write even though we're nothing alike. I didn't realise until months into posting that most of the stuff I write for that series is Merlin POV.

Most Unintentionally Telling Story: I don't know about unintentional, I'm pretty open about the extremely specific indulgent crap I love to write :P

Hardest Story To Write: I'm dragging my feet a bit on Echoes of Dreamland (the one about Harry and Merlin as posh schoolboys) because it's taking me closer to the Flame Keepers series being OVER and that makes me sad! My very first offering to this glorious fandom. Need to finish this, then there'll be a sequel to the Roxy/Merlin Little Sparks thing and a final small Harry & Merlin epilogue, then I think it's done. (Unless I actually give in to the temptation to finally write a Kingsman origins story with some of the Flame Keepers retired agents OCs, but not sure anybody wants to read basically original fic.)

Biggest Disappointment: MY WIP SHAME. Terrible.

Biggest Surprise: Every time someone says "so I really didn't like bottom Harry but fuck you for making me love it" my heart grows seven times bigger.

[allofusandco]

How they hangin’?

with @amadnessofmuses

Amara brought back Benny instead of Mary.

Benny:

"How they hangin', chief?"

–––––

Dean:

Dean looked up more than a little shocked to see the vampire in front of him. It had been a while, not to mention how the hell he was even back.

“Hey man,” he offered, a grin curling at the edges of his lips as he stepped closer to the vampire, arms coming up  to pull him into a hug.

“How’d your ass get outta Purgatory this time?”

–––––

Benny:

Dean seemed bigger than Benny remembered; no less strong, though. Felt kinda good to be close again, if just for now. He grinned over Dean's shoulder before he pulled away gently. Smelled too good, and Benny needed to eat. "No clue, hoss. Fighting a pair of those black-blooded things that like your angel so well, rolled down a hill and hit my grave like a cannon ball. Tryin' not to wonder too much, truth be told."

–––––

Dean:

Dean stepped back, arms crossing over his chest as he listened to the vampire talk. It wasn’t shocking, not really, not as many times as he had seen people come back from the dead. Hell him and Sam seemed to have a multi pass back from the dead, stood to reason Benny could get himself a free ticket.

“You still a…” he paused hands coming up to make a gesture of two fangs flipping from his mouth. It was only right that he asked, better to know for sure than to assumed and get his ass eaten. He wasn’t too keen on dying at the hands of a vampire when he had only just gone against the darkness a few months back and then the men of letters to get Sam back.

“Vampirate?”  He added with a grin.

–––––

Benny:

Benny snickered to himself, shaking his head. “Not so much a pirate. Not sure I could really go back to that life. Missin’ the water, though.” There wasn’t enough water in Purgatory. Just enough to make you crave it. “But as to the rest…”

He gave Dean a grimace, and let his teeth descend, like a damn shark.

“Yeah, still intact.” And hungry. It was easier in Purgatory, in a way. Mighta wanted blood but he didn’t crave it, didn’t need it the same way.

He looked around. No clue where they were. “Say, uh… you know where we are? Could use a drink.” Every kind of drink. Mostly, red and warm, and not from a person, because he sure as shit didn’t want to start that again. It’d been hard enough to wean himself off it for Andrea’s sake.

–––––

Dean:

Dean nodded, watching the teeth descend from the man’s mouth his own gums aching, he knew that feeling, the burning that came first, then the sting of pain as they pushed through your gums, then relief, he’d felt briefly once back when Sammy had been soulless and let him get turned.

“Yeah, currently we’re about 100 miles in the wrong direction from home and after what I just went through I could use a waterin’ hole,” he offered with a grin as he reached out to drop his hand to the vamps shoulder.

“We gotta get us a car though cause I didn’t think I would need mine when I came here,” he added.

He could still feel the shock of the last hour rattling around in his soul, he’d come here with nothing but the clothes on his back and around a million souls in his body, he’d come here to die and somehow he’d saved the world, fixed the dying sun got God and his terrifying sister back together and now it was evening and here was Benny.

Sam would be livid but Benny was his biggest regret, he’d made a promise to help him and he’d let him down, next to not being able to save Adam and dragging Sammy back into this life he was his biggest regret. He was almost shocked that Amara had picked up on that.

Turning towards the parking lot of the small park he started them out towards almost few cars near the back. “We need to get you something to eat first?” He asked not sure he was ready to lob the man’s head off before he’d even gotten a chance to drink with him. Plus he didn’t have any weapons on him.

–––––

Benny:

The first time anyone had touched him without violence on their mind in a damn long time. Benny grinned, feeling his eyes crinkle with a smile he hadn’t worn since he’d bid farewell to Sam and his hirsute friend by the portal some years back.

There was a whole lot of this that didn’t make sense, though. Far as he knew Dean didn’t have a home, unless he was referring to Sam. And there didn’t seem to be an immediate explanation for why the hell he was out here almost in the middle of nowhere by himself, either, or what that expression might mean. Looked like he’d seen a ghost, and though Benny himself probably fit the bill right there, looked like that expression predated his sudden reappearance by a good minute or two, at least.

“Watering hole sounds good,” he agreed, with a nod. More alert to danger than he needed to be but that was the way of things, after a few years waging a one-man war; he doubted he’d trust the peace out here too well for a while yet. “Seems we got some catching up to do.”

Older cars were easier to hotwire, of course. No electronics to blow up, none of that fancy GPS crud sending out smoke signals to security companies. Benny found a likely candidate and pointed it out to Dean.

“Admit I’m a mite curious, chief. Don’t think I ever heard you call a place home, before.” He scanned the horizon, rapidly darkening. Dusk, then. For a moment he’d thought it might be dawn. Everything seemed quiet. Unusually quiet, truth be told, but then he could just be drawing on his own paranoia. Not like he knew what was usual.

“Where are we? Don’t get how I got here, much less why I’d find myself in spittin’ distance of you. Where’d you bury me? Better question, Dean, why didn’t you burn me?” Had to have been buried or he couldn’t be back.

–––––

Dean:

Dean looked around, watching for families and stuff in the small parking lot behind the garden they had been in. “Honestly man, that’s ah, there’s a lotta questions I can’t answer there,” he said, looking around as he pulled on the door handle, finding it locked before deciding to just break the window. The sooner they got out of there the better.

“Home,” he said as he got in the car after clearing the glass from the seat, “would be the bunker, this men of letters hunter place Sammy and I found a while back,” he explained as he pulled out the wires from under the steering wheel so he could hot wire the thing to life.

“It’s got a few rooms, torture dungeon, kitchen, bathroom with endless and I am talking endless hot water with the most magnificent water pressure you have ever felt,” he said looking over to flash Benny a grin as the car reared to life.

It took him 30 seconds tops to get it out of the parking lot, the only hint that it was ever been there a small pile of glass left in its wake. He didn’t think anyone would be looking for it, not for a few days at least, not with the whole end of days thing that was just happening. Everyone should be curled up at home with their families, at least he wished he’d been.

“As far as you being here,” he paused, relaxing slightly as he drove taking a back roads he knew well. “I don’t honestly know, the evil we were fighting seemed to get into her head that you would be a good idea to bring back,” he offered with a small shrug as he dug around in his pocket for his phone so he could call Sammy, disappointed when it went to voicemail.

“And I gotta tell you man, I don’t know if the state of your body woulda made any difference with this one. Actually curiously, you still all,” he gestured to his own mouth, fingers flipping down to make mock fangs as he grinned. He wouldn’t have been surprised either way, leaving him a vampire would have appealed to Amara’s since of humor, then again so would making him human.

He felt good, real good, could use a drink but the adrenaline was still pumping through his veins, Benny was riding shot gun, they were heading home and the world was once again safe. Actually he felt better than he had in long while.

–––––

Benny:

Benny eased himself into the passenger seat as soon as Dean had the door open. Felt good to just be near him, truth be told, after knowing he’d never see the man again. Wasn’t too sure how he felt about being back here, though, topside. Definitely wasn’t sure how he felt about someone choosing him to bring back.

“Someone evil decided it’d be a good idea to drag my bones topside again and you ain’t got a worry in the world? Getting’ soft on me, Dean-o?” No, he didn’t look soft. If anything he looked even harder than he had. And tired beyond the measuring of it, despite the smile gracing his lips, and the crinkles around his green eyes. “Gimme a heads-up before we set foot in your torture dungeon.” Which, well. Every home should have one, still on the rare side, though.

Benny chuckled. “Don’t think that’s something that’s just gonna go away, Dean,” he said. Though it was strange that he wasn’t starving hungry the moment he’d come back from purgatory. Definitely a pickle. Benny watched out the window. No one around. Streets were quiet. He frowned. “Not sure I even wanna know what I just stepped into, Dean, but everything’s a little quieter than I remember.”

He stretched his jaw, and froze.

No familiar ache, not in his gums or in the hinge of his jaw, no dry throat. He slipped a finger into his mouth, rubbing at his gums. Nothing.

“Blow me down,” he said, quietly. But no, it wasn’t possible. He couldn’t be human. And if something evil brought him back human, what the hell did that say about him.

“Or maybe not,” he said, trying to focus his attention outwards. He could hear the hum of the car (more than a hum; thing needed some serious work). He could hear the tires on the blacktop. But out there, he could barely hear a thing, even if he pushed. And in the dying light, he could barely see a thing that wasn��t lit up by the car headlights, or a street lamp. Five years ago he could have found Dean by smell alone, and now there was just the hint of aftershave, and the leather of his jacket.

“Dean, I think I’m human,” he said, suddenly recognizing the almost forgotten pain in his stomach that meant he was hungry, actually hungry, for food, and not for blood. “What the hell would go on and bring me back human?” He pressed his hand to his stomach and open the glove compartment.

A switchblade fell into his hand. Good sort of thing to keep. Nothing to eat, though.

–––––

Dean:

“What?” Dean said looking over at Benny, eyebrows knitted at he tried to take in what he was saying. He was human. That was a twist he hadn’t seen coming. Actually he wasn’t even all that shocked. He should have been but he wasn’t. it seemed like something Amara would do. Bring a vampire back from purgatory and drop him in a human vessel. It would make things easier yet at the same time he was sure it was going to make them a whole lot harder. When had Benny last been human.

Slowing down at a stop Dean reached up hands running down his face as he took in a deep breath. This was so weird and so much stuff he didn’t think that he would be dealing with. Once again he was supposed to be dead, he was supposed to be done with all this and yet here he was living and worrying about something else. “I want to say I am surprised but I know the big bad that brought you back and she was a little weird so honestly dude, I am not as shocked as I should be,” he admitted.

About a quarter of a mile down the road he pulled into the parking lot of a little bar. It looked old, a little dirty, had some weird giant moose in the front lawn, it didn’t speak much for what the inside of the place would look like but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He needed a couple shots of whiskey, need to call Sam and he needed some bar fries.

“I promise you man once we get in here and I get something liquid and ready to kill my liver I will give you the full story. Bunker, bad evil, you being back, whole nine,” he explained as he turned off the car and got out.

“Gotta be honest though, I’m glad to see you man,” he added clapping the man on the back as they made their way inside the small bar. The name fit it, Joe’s Older than Dirt, It looked it.

–––––

Benny:

Benny didn’t know who he was, if he wasn’t a vampire. The hell was he supposed to do – get a job? Well. Yeah. He’d done that as a vampire, too, but it wasn’t for the dough. He tried to ignoring the way his heart hammered away in his chest – it wasn’t easy.

“Yeah, can’t wait to hear all about it, chief. Sounds like a hell of a funny lady. I’m sure chuckling over here.” If silently spiraling counted as chuckling. “Hell of a funny lady.”

As he walked from the car to the steps up the bar, he felt it again, that everything was too quiet. But it wasn’t; he could sense it, now. He was just deaf: after having his senses dialed up so high for so long he felt like he wasn’t getting enough information. His vision, his hearing, even his nose (but hell, given the disproportionate number of unpleasant smells in the world, that might have been a blessing).

He was so focused on that, he might have missed Dean clapping him on the back.

Yeah, it was nice to see Dean, too, and maybe, without the fangs, Benny could stick around a while, this time. Could maybe even help. He’d sure as shit feel a hell of a lot better about the new situation if he was real heavily armed. “Feeling’s mutual.” Dean had been as much like a brother as Benny had ever known, and his only friend in more years than he cared to admit.

“Goddamn, my liver,” he grumbled, deflecting, as he followed Dean inside. “I hope at least your little friend got me a fresh one. I doubt the other one was going to last too long even before I went and got myself turned.”

He glanced at the bar – no, he didn’t want to sit up there, too open. Dean had too much to talk about that they didn’t generally let people in on. There were a couple of booths at either end.

“Bourbon, make ’em good ones,” he said, to the bartender, who looked just about as old as the bar he was serving, and might well have been Jo himself. “Unless you wanna save us a trip or two, and hand over a bottle.”

–––––

Dean:

Benny didn’t look like he wasn’t doing good and Dean knew the look on the man’s face well. He’d seen it on Sam, he’d seen it on other hunters, hell he’d even seen that same look in the mirror more times than he could count. He would even put money on it being the same look on his face right now. It was the face of a person who had just been though something, something they’d never thought they were coming back from only to be tossed back into the fray they never thought they’d see again. Hell had to be pretty damn confusing for the man, he knew it would be for him. He knew when he dug his way from his grave and out into the sweltering heat of the day that he’d had the same look.

Clapping the man on the back at the bar, he pulled out his wallet, why he hadn’t it he wasn’t sure, stroke of luck really, everything else he’d thought to leave behind with Sam. He guessed maybe the wallet was just habit. He wished he kept a gun and a call phone too. Maybe next time he would. Dead man’s survival kit. He was starting to need that more and more these days.

Pulling out a few bills he left them for the man who seemed more keen on tossing them a bottle when there was green involved than he had when it had been a hopeful request. He couldn’t blame him. Picking up and bottle and the two glasses he led them to a back portion of the bar. It was the weirdest little bar he had been in that was for sure. It looked like it might have been a house at one time and the walls were covered in dead animals of every kind. Moose, dear, elk, owls, and hell there was even a bear skin rug tacked to the ceiling just over the couch he was about to park his happy ass on.

“Might have to put this bar on the top ten weirdest I have run into,” he offered. Glasses clinking on the wooden table as he sat them down, filling them each with some whiskey. He was already drinking half of his own down with a hiss as he passed Benny’s over.

“I don’t even know where to start with this man,” he offered as he leaned back on the couch, hand scrubbing down his face. Did he started with why he took the Mark, did he start with the bunker, did he start with how this was all just one long string of bad luck and bad decisions?

Finishing off his glass he filled it up a second time, scooting the whiskey bottle Benny’s way so he could fill his up again when he was done.

“You ever hear of the Mark of Cain?” He asked as he looked over at the man.

–––––

Benny:

“Well, Dean, you ain’t spent enough time in the Bayou,” Benny said. His heart was beating so fast, so heavy, so steady, that it was hard to focus on much else. And he had no right memory of what it’d been like before, so it was impossible to guess if it was normal or not. “Ain’t seen nothing until you seen a ten-foot alligator mounted on the ceiling like a damn canoe.” He took the glass and threw it back, hard and fast, no mind for the fact it’d been five years since he’d tasted a drop and almost sixty, now, since he’d last had to suffer a human tolerance for the stuff. He needed something to calm the itch, and the low-grade panic, and this would have to do.

Dean looked like shit, but then, he often did. Beat up and chewed up and spat out again and again, he had that bone-deep tiredness about him. In a whole other way he looked so damn good it was hard to look at him. He’d beaten things back. Benny gave a lopsided grin.

If he was gonna be stuck human for a time, what better guide could he have asked for?

“I was raised Baptist, Dean, they’re kinda fanatical about th’Old Testament. Cain was the first murderer, killed his brother. God marked him… can’t remember too much. He was thrown out of home, cursed to walk the earth… think the brother’s blood poisoned his land, too. Damn, I remember more’n I thought.” He poured himself another drink, this time not bothering to guess at what a regular pour was. “I was never much of a believer, but until mama passed, I went to church regular enough. Y’wanna hear something funny? The things in purgatory – there they are, halfway to hell, and most of if them still don’t believe in Him.”

Of course, now he let himself think about it, he was probably going to find out it was a soul-eating parasite from biblical times and Dean had just spent a year fighting the damn thing on the moon.

“Alright, go on, then. Tell me the real version.”

–––––

Dean:

Dean couldn’t help a small grin as Benny walked through what he knew about Cain and Able, he was spot on with most of it. Beside for the mark part, not that he even thought most people even knew about that. It seemed to be one of those things that was omitted from the Bible, might not have been a problem for him if he had read it.

“You know what Man I don’t even know if that was where I needed to start either but you’ve got it on the Cain and Able part, that much I know to be true.

Reaching up Dean scrubbed his hand down his face. “Long story short, Metatron the scribe of God, got a big head, decided to close up Heaven and kicked all the angels to Earth. I needed a way to kill him and a demon that Sam and I accidentally stitched back together that was gonna take over Hell so I took this Mark of Cain. As it turned out, it was the thing that made the Devil evil cause it was God’s evil sister Amara and the mark was just a way to keep her locked up. Sammy and Cas removed the Mark from my arm in turn letting her out and free on the world,”

“ Yesterday we got together with Lucifer who is back out of his cage, God who decided to make a surprise appearance, the King of Hell and some reaper that I think is stepping in as Death since I may have accidentally killed him too in order to fill me up with a crap ton of souls and ship me off as a bomb to kill Amara. Turns out all she wanted was hang out time with her brother and since by some miracle of events she thinks I brokered that she cleared the souls from my body, turned into some weird smoke along with God and poofed from Earth and… left me you as my booty prize,“ he offered putting out the whole long story in one go.

He knew there would be questions, hell how could there not be, he would have been ripe with them. Reaching out he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and filled his glass up for another go.

–––––

Benny:

Benny listened, or tried to; mostly just stared, and plucked out the parts that he could make a lick of sense out of. Yeah, he mostly just stared, and wondered how the hell Dean was even still alive, kind of fucked up life he led; and he wondered how he, himself, was supposed to walk around without a lick of power, knowing how dangerous it was.

Maybe he needed to get himself turned. Maybe as a vampire he was an abomination, a liability, a monster, whatever the hell else Dean saw when he looked at him; but at least he could help.

He opened his mouth to respond, and thought better of it, throwing back his drink instead, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and putting the glass on the table with a firm thud. In a moment, he thought better of it and reached for the bottle again.

“So,” he said, when he’d poured a good measure. “First up – anyone else told me any ol’ bit of that story I’d say they were crazier than a shithouse rat. But you ain’t anyone else,” he admitted, shaking his head. “So I gotta do the thing where I just nod and act like that’s just any ol’ Thursday for you. Course, the craziest bit is where I’m any damn kinda prize.” He shook his head. “But I’m glad you made it through – again – and when all of this settles in my head a little I might ask you a thing or two. Like for example how the hell you got yourself mixed up with god and the devil. But it can wait.” He stared at a deep scar on the table. “God’s got a sister? Catholics’ll love that.”

He held the glass between his hands, warming the liquor.

“On the one hand I think I maybe oughtta see what I can do about hitchin’ a ride home,” he said. ��But maybe I’ll wait a little while, I could follow you for a bit. Make sure you don’t have any more deities on your ass, maybe see what I can do about distracting you from any life-threatening dumbassery. Say, you manage to get your friend Lucifer back into his cage where he belongs?”

No harm in hope.

–––––

Dean:

Dean reached up, hands scrubbing down his face after the last sip of whiskey was drained from his glass. He was tired and pretty sure his insides were still churning from the souls. He felt like he could sleep for a couple of weeks and then use an hour long shower and a vacation. Hell retirement was suddenly looking like a viable option at this point as well. Digging the heel of his hand into his eyes he let out a long sigh before looking over at Benny again.

He didn’t mind Benny’s offer to tag along with him for a while, hell he prolly should invite him back to the Bunker for a while they got the man settled. It was only fair right? He had made a promise to the vampire when they had been in Purgatory. He had promised to make his life easy, help him out when the going got tough and he had gone back on that. Hell he hadn’t just gone back on that he had ditched the dude for Sammy and moved on from there. In the end it had been his own fault that Benny had gone back to Purgatory. He had failed him and let him down. Dean made a mental note, this was his second chance to make things right with him and he was gonna stick to it this time.

After all Sammy could hardly get pissed this time, the man was human and Sammy wasn’t one for turning away humans now was he.

“I say we head home, set you up a place to stay in the bunker, we got a few extra rooms, see where that leads us. No rush in finding you some other place when I got a perfectly good home for a change,” he offered, putting the deal on the table, right between the bottle of whiskey and his glass. He wouldn’t force it, hell he couldn’t blame the man if he didn’t trust him this time. He didn’t know if he would have either. This time was different however, even if in his own mind. This time he would be here for Benny, whenever and wherever. It was the promise he was making to himself.

–––––

Benny:

Benny hoped the relief didn’t show on his face; getting used to being human wasn’t going to be easy, and he had a feeling it would be easier with a friendly face on hand. And weapons. He was going to have to learn to fight like a human again before he found his way in the world. He gave a slow nod, eyes on Dean’s face. He’d missed the man more than he’d ever let himself acknowledge. The green eyes, and the perpetual tiredness, boyish grin, all of it.

“Think that’s enough of a plan to be goin’ on,” he said, and raised the whiskey to his lips again. “Thanks, Dean.” Home sounded good; it had been a long damn time.

––

Benny didn’t plan to fall asleep in the front seat of Dean’s car, but he dozed. Something else he hadn’t done in a long time. In Purgatory, you always slept with one eye open and a weapon in your hand, or you risked not waking up at all, and Benny’s survival instincts had stayed sharp. It was briefly disorienting, to feel the relatively soft seat beneath him, the car moving over the blacktop.

He thought he’d been dreaming of the sea.

He shook himself the rest of the way awake, and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Sorry, hoss. Haven’t really slept in years. I think bein’ human’s gonna take some getting used to.” He could feel the hangover threatening the edges of his vision. He ducked his head to look out the window. Looked like a power plant, or some other utility, looming in the distance.

“So, this bunker of yours… I pictured a below-ground bolt hole without whole lot of room to stretch. I get the feelin’ now I might have been wrong.”

He glanced at Dean, looking pretty pleased with himself. The place was enormous, lit up somewhat spooky like by the sunset just creeping up over the horizon.

“Cas around?” he asked, innocently. He didn’t really feel like going another round with the angel, especially not now that he was human. Didn’t feel up to battling for attention, either, even if he’d never admit that he had been. “Sam expectin’ us? He know I’m human?”

–––––

Dean:

Dean looked at the bunker from the window. “I don’t know man,” he answered finally after letting Benny’s questions hang in the air between them for a few minutes or so.

“I don’t know what they went to do after I went off to die. Sam’s got my phone and effects I don’t know if he would come back here or not, I don’t see baby so I am gonna guess he’s not coming back here or he will and just hasn’t made it yet. As for Cas, who’d have thought you’d miss him so much,” he finished, flashing Benny a smirk as he got out of the car.

He was willing to bet the bunker was closed and was never more thankful for the spell Sammy had found and activated so all one of the two of them had to do was step over the threshold and it would open for them without the key. It wasn’t like the key was easy to carry around either and they had only found one. This was if Sammy had been there.

Dean made his way to the door, opening it and letting Benny in before stepping in behind him, the metal door swing shut with a whine and a thunk that echoed through the bunker. He had been wrong about the warding, all of it was still off. Amara had ruined that for them. It was something he would need to put back up, it also meant Sammy hadn’t been home yet.

“Welcome to the bunker,” he said grinning as he walked past Benny and down the steps, letting the human take everything in. “Sorry about the mess, he added, “End of the world planning gets messy,” he added looking up at Benny as he started trying to collect some of the bottles and junk they had all left around.

–––––

Benny:

“Didn’t miss him,” Benny grumbled. “AIn’t lookin’ to get myself smote, first night back on earth, that’s all.” Castiel had abandoned Dean in Purgatory, and no explanation would ever make Benny see it different. He didn’t appreciate Dean right. Benny decided to leave off a mini-tirade. They were probably still close. No need to piss anyone off.

The mess of the bunker was reassuring. Even with his senses human, and dulled, it smelled right; beer and whiskey, fast food that never quite went off, and more than anything else, the musty scent of magic and lore. Books and weapons and a rime of salt, cold consecrated iron. He felt himself relax, feeling better in here, and told himself that was the last of it. He needed to get himself in the game. He was no use to Dean feeling like he might get carried off by winged monkeys any minute. He had never been a weak man, and he wasn’t going to start now, just because he’d lost an enhancement or two along the way. He had work to do. On top of whatever Dean needed, he had to figure out why the hell he’d been brought back at all, let alone human.

“Nice place you got here, hoss,” he said, examining the label on a bottle of whiskey. He recognized it. Nothing special. There was half a bottle left, so Benny sniffed at a couple of clean-looking mugs and poured them each a good dram. He let his eyes wander over the papers and the notes. He didn’t understand a lot of it, at a glance, but there was a desperation he could have read in a whole other language.

“You went off thinkin’ you were a dead man,” he said, shaking his head. “If I could give you anything… I wish there was a world where you didn’t have to do that. You must be tired. Got a couch I can sack out on?”

–––––

Dean:

                   “I can do you better than a couch man.”

He was glad he could this time too. He could offer Benny a whole damn room if he wanted it. It wasn’t like the Bunker was on a shortage of them. Him and Sammy only occupied two of the 12 there were.

                    “This place used to be home to the Men of Letter’s, they were a                     group of fancy hunters that spent their time here researching everything                     magical. They got a couple of rooms in this place, 12 that we have                     found, who knows how many more on the floors we have yet to check                     out. We got a torture dungeon, a garage, a kitchen and showers with                     the best water pressure your ever gonna feel.”

It wasn’t five stars but for people like him and Benny it was damn close. Hell after he had gotten out of purgatory he had been happy for a motel mattress and he hadn’t been there half as long as Benny had. He was willing to bet once the dude was down on one he would be down for hours.

Reaching out he picked up the mug, tipping back the whiskey.

                     “Sam’s gonna be shocked to find out I’m not. Him and Cas both.”

He offered the last name with a smirk. He was sure Benny still held the events of Purgatory against the angel, hell why wouldn’t he. He and Benny had become friends; it was understandable that he had been pissed at Cas for ditching him. The thing was, he didn’t hold against Cas, not any more. Too much had happened between them.

                     “Come on.”

He finished off the whiskey and set the cup down with the others before making his way out of the war room, through the library and into the hall way that let to some of the rooms.

                      “The one around the corner is Sam’s, this one’s mine and if you want                       man, this is one is all yours.”

–––––

Benny:

Benny let out a low whistle. “Damn, hoss, I didn’t even think about a shower.” Simple luxury that Purgatory would never see. The thought of standing under that driving pressure was damn fine. Showers, and food, whiskey, and… an actual bed, a mattress. He shook his head, and grinned.

“Guess there’s a few advantages.” And pretty soon he’d find a way to consider the advantages of being human, as well. If he couldn’t… well, there was bound to be someone who would turn him back.

“Well,” he said. “I might hit the hay, then. Or take a shower and hit the hay. Rather not sleep in all this… Purgatory grime.” He pressed a hand to Dean’s shoulder, and patted his cheek. Fiercely fond. Hard to negotiate. He’d find his way. “You’re alive, Dean. Everything after this is a bonus, right?”

Green eyes and freckles. Benny took a moment to memorize them all again.

“G’night. Sleep tight.”

––

Benny spent at least half an hour under the streaming water, and Dean was right. It was hot, and powerful, massaging muscles that were sore in a way they hadn’t been since 1955. He lathered up and rinsed off and shampooed his hair until he couldn’t smell blood, or fire, or sulphur, until every scent he associated with Purgatory was gone. When he closed his eyes, he forced himself to think of New Orleans, or Elizabeth, anything but the rocks and dead trees that had been his home. By the time he dragged his sorry ass to bed he felt really and truly clean.

And ready.

He crawled naked under the blanket, and linked his hands beneath his head, staring at the ceiling. There were advantages to being human, and this was for certain one of them; he was sleeping only doors away from Dean, which couldn’t have happened before. He understood, he did. They’d been blood brothers, but that wasn’t the same as being friends. Outside of Purgatory they hadn’t made a whole lot of sense. Now, he could help. Hunt monsters. He felt weak. Didn’t mean he was weak, just different from before. He was still the man who drug sheet metal across the factory floor to build the boats that won the shores in World War II, and lumber before that. He didn’t have the sharp sense of a vampire, but that didn’t mean he was deaf. And he had a friend. Maybe more’n one, if Sam and Castiel could see past their crap.

If they could, he could.

Some time later, without knowing his eyes had fallen shut, Benny dropped off to sleep and untroubled dreams.

~complete~