#i need to stick to shorter stuff btw i spend so much time editing it becomes something im not even able to tell if its good or not

[dcforts]

[monday 7: thunderstorm]

Phone battery: 96%

One moment they are speeding up on the empty road with the windows rolled down and the sun shining on the side mirrors and the next is as if someone threw a blanket over the sky. In a blink of an eye, the clouds gather above them and they find themselves in the middle of a downpour.

“What the fuck?” says Dean, pushing the brakes and activating the windshield wipers.

“Something is wrong” is Castiel’s helpful contribution from the passenger seat.

“Yeah, no shit.”

The rain gets havier by the second, raindrops hit the roof with such violence that it’s like they are fired from a machine gun. Even after turning on the headlights they can barely see what’s ahead of them beyond the hood of the Impala. The sky lights up and then a thunder rumbles so loud that even Castiel flinches.

“We should stop.”

“You think it’s a spell?”

“Whatever it is I don’t think it’s safe to go on.”

Dean sighs and signals that he’s pulling over on the right as if, even if there was someone behind them, they could see the indicators through the amount of water that paints everything grey.

He brings the car to a stop and fishes out his phone.

Phone battery: 91%

“Sam? Where are you?”

“Just out of the morgue. I think it’s a witch” he says, sounding slightly out of breath as he walks. “Hey, I thought you were coming to pick me up. What did the husband say?”

“Sam? Listen to me, is it raining where you are?”

“Raining? No. The sky couldn’t be clearer.”

“Fuck.”

“Dean, where are you?”

“I don’t know. Just outside of town, I think. But there’s a thunderstorm and we had to stop.”

“What? A thunderstorm? Is it rain what I’m hearing?”

“Yeah, so it’s either the son or the husband and they are onto us. Seems like they didn’t appreciate our little visit.”

“You’re saying they cursed you?”

“That’s what we think”.

“Shit. Alright, at least we have suspects and we know for sure that they’re using witchcrafts or something. Just, don’t do anything till I get back to you.”

“Alright.”

“Stay safe.”

“Yeah, you too.”

  Phone battery: 86%

The rain is torrential, incessant. There is so much of it that it’s like there’s a river flowing over the windshield.

It’s not the first time that Dean got caught in a thunderstorm while he was driving. It happened more than once when he was a kid and weather apps weren’t a thing yet. John would pull up at the nearest rest area and they would wait it out catching up on their sleep.

But this is different. The rain could go on forever if something happened to Sam or if he couldn’t find a way to reverse it. That’s what bothers him more than anything, what makes him bounce his legs and clench his jaw.

He’s gone over their last two hours again and again trying to understand when and how the culprit could have done this to them but he’s had little success so far.

They can’t listen to music because they can’t risk the car running out of battery. They can’t play on their phones or do researches on their own or they will drain out their means to communication with Sam. They have no books, no food, no water. Dean doesn’t want to think about that. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel but he gets through two and a half Metallica songs before Castiel’s intake of breath and quick look his way tells him that he’s sick of it.

He retreats his hands on his lap.

Dean knows that Castiel is bothered as much as he is by the fact that they’re trapped and unable to help, even if he’s not showing it at the moment. In fact, he looks like the picture of serenity.

“How in hell can you be so calm?”

“I’m trying to be patient. There’s little else we can do.”

Dean scoffs.

Castiel shoots a look his way, then asks conversationally: “How did it go in Missouri last week?” and in response to Dean’s confused staring he adds: “The case?”

Dean gets that he’s trying to distract him and he lets him. He shrugs “Same old. Apart from Sam spilling coke all over himself, that was fun. And I got Jack a new record for the bunker. You’ve seen it?”

“He only told me about it a hundred times.” says Castiel in a pained tone. “It was nice of you.”

“Nah. You gotta teach them young.”

“You think he could join us on our next hunt?”

“We’ll see.” says Dean making a face. “But hey, you on the other hand… are getting better at interrogations. Looked pretty convincing with the kid.”

Castiel smiles: “Thank you.”

“Or, well, at least until you left the room just so you could follow his dogs,” adds Dean, raising his eyebrows.

“You can understand a lot about the owners form their pets’ behaviour”.

“Yeah?” humours him Dean, “What did you uncover? Other than they should learn how to use a vacuum.”

Castiel ignores his mocking tone. “Nothing stood out to me. But looking back now, I should have known that witchcraft was involved. They had three black dogs and I saw figurines of frogs in the living room.”

“I thought that cats were the go-to pet for witches.”

“They are generally associated with witchcraft, yes. But witches can form deep connection with any animal. Dogs, especially, escort Hecate, the triform greek-roman Goddess of Witchcraft. And Hecate takes her name from Heqet, the Egyptian goddess, usually represented as a frog. In hindsight, it was pretty clear.”

“So do you think it’s the husband? I doubt a kid alone would be able to do all that.”

“Maybe. But he seemed sincerely aggrieved by his wife’s loss.”

Dean sighs. Without any possibility to do real work that’s as far as they can get. He squints trying to see something beyond the raindrops splattered windows.

“Maybe it’s not bad as it seems.” he tries. “It’s dangerous to drive but what if we walked?”

“The curse could be cast on the car alone but I wouldn’t -”

“I’m gonna try.” Dean cuts him off, but he gets as far as resting his hand on the handle that a lightning bolt strikes one of the trees lined up down the road. There’s a loud crack and a vamp of fire that lights it up from the inside. A part of the trunk explodes and pieces go flying all over the street.

Dean and Castiel look at each other with identical alarmed expressions.

“Yeah, better say in the car.” Dean says.

   Phone battery: 79%

“Let’s play a game.”

“Alright.”

“Okay. It’s a car game. Basically you say a sentence starting with ‘Fortunately’ and based on that I have to respond with a sentence starting with ‘Unfortunately’. Like, I say ‘Unfortunately, we got cursed.’ And you say ‘Fortunately…’?”

Castiel thinks about it, then says, “Fortunately, they didn’t want us dead, only permanently incapacitated.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Sure, that is reassuring. Alright. Um, unfortunately, I will eventually die of starvation.”

“Fortunately, we won’t have to wait that long cause Sam is working on it.”

“Yeah but unfortunately, he’s alone against the witch.”

“Fortunately, he is prepared and the witch is not too dangerous.”

“Unfortunately, he got to us.”

“Fortunately, as long as we stay in the car we are safe.”

“Unfortunately, we are trapped.”

“Fortunately, we are together.”

Dean had his mouth already opened, ready to fire his next sentence but his brain short circuits and he is stunned. He closes it again. He meets Castiel’s eyes and under his soft expression he recognizes a little smugness that comes from having silenced him. He really can’t think of anything to say.

Castiel bats his eyelashes feigning innocence. “Did I win?”

That shakes Dean up, who rolls his eyes and he is about to protest when something heavy and dark hits the window shield with a loud thump and has him almost jumping out of his skin.

“What the fuck was that?” he shouts. Instinctively one arm flies up to cover his face, his elbow out and the other reaches towards Castiel to grab a fistful of his sleeve.

“I think it was a bird,” is Castiel’s calm reply.

Dean lets him go quickly, adverting his eyes. He still feels his heart in his throat. He clears it. “Right.” Then after a moment “Don’t mention this to Sam.”

Castiel huffs a laugh.

Phone battery: 72%

And so they wait. The rain is heavy and unrelenting. Dean has cracked open his window to feel it on his fingertips and he has retreated his hand hissing for how violently it hit him. The wind picks up at intervals, it whistles around them, pushing through every draft it can find. Above them, clouds like cotton balls chase each other endlessly and lightning bolts draw threatening patterns in the distance.

Sam has texted and they know that everything is under control so Dean is feeling better now. Figuring they are going to be there a while, he has toed off his boots and climbed over on the backseat leaving Castiel plenty of space to stretch his legs, even if the guy in question has barely adjusted his position with his back to the door and lifted a knee on the seat.

Dean on the other hand, already sprawled on the backseat, has gradually slipped into a laying position. He is more or less relaxed, or at least, as relaxed as a person could be with hell going on right outside of their car but tucked in the quiet and safe space of their car, with the soothing sound of the rain on the roof.

They had worse - that’s a fact.

He lolls his head to the side to watch Castiel, who’s got his eyes fixed on a spot beyond his window.

“So, how’s a thunderstorm from up there?”

He says: “From heaven?”

“Yeah, no, from the sky? Never seen it, planes are not my thing, you know,” he says, shifting to settle on the side.

“It’s pretty,” he says after a long moment. His keeps his voice low and adds, “but here is better.”

Dean scoffs.

“I mean it. From here you can smell the wet grass, see the trees swinging, feel the raindrops hitting you,” his voice is deep and smooth and Dean’s traitorous eyelids flutter shut. “The view from the outside may be splendid” Castiel continues, “but here things happen to you, touch you, shape you. You are the view.”

Dean mumbles what he means to be a sound of agreement but it’s basically a long exhale.

He is drowsy. He is trying to tell himself that he cannot fall asleep but it’s becoming a little difficult as they lose track of the time.

Castiel turns to look at him.

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

“You can sleep if you want.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Tell me more.”

“About what?”

“Anything. Just, no more gross facts about animals. I’ve had enough of those.”

  Phone battery: 60%

Dean jerks awake. Castiel is touching his shoulder. “Sam called,” he says.

Dean blinks a few times while the past hours come back to him. A thunder booming over his head reminds him pretty quickly. So he did fall asleep in the end. And it wasn’t at all a good idea, judging by his stiff neck and his dry mouth and the fact that he has nothing to drink.

“What did he say?”

“He is going to the family. Apparently the road is clear from where he is so it seems like we are in some kind of pocket dimension.”

Dean suppresses a swear and pushes himself up on one elbow. It’s too dark to see anything beyond the windows but for a moment the wind is so strong that the car starts shaking, then the sky flashes white and booms and the sound is ear-splitting.

“It’s getting worse,” he rubs his eyes and cheeks and finds a dry spot of drool on the corner of his mouth. “You think Sam is gonna be fine?”

“I’m sure.” Castiel says. “They thought it was just the two of us, so they won’t see him coming.”

“How long was I out?”

“An hour at most.”

“You watched me all the time like a creep, didn’t you?”

“No,” says Castiel way too quickly to be entirely innocent. He also shoots him an irritated look that Dean suspects is more related to having been called creep that for the accusation itself. “I rearranged your tape collection.”

Now Dean gasps, aghast. “Oh, no. Again? Don’t tell me. Please don’t tell me it’s by year again.”

Castiel just nods and Dean becomes the image of desperation. “How could y- Really, Cas? Come on!”

Dean catches a glint of Castiel’s teeth in the dark as he smiles. “No.” he says sounding all proud “I was joking.”

Dean falls backwards on the seat with a groan. “Unfortunately, you will kill me with your terrible sense of humour.”

“Too late. We’ve already established that I won that game.”

“You know right, that if we are here for a very long time I will eventually have to eat you?”

Castiel just rolls his eyes.

  Phone battery 47%

Dean is still laying down, staring at the roof. Castiel has cracked his window open, just enough to let a breath of cool air in. It chases away the condensation on the windshield and brings in the smell of wet leaves and wet asphalt.

Dean is hit with the realization that they don’t get many moments like these. For one, none of them is covered in blood, and they are not fighting or running for their life. There is no anger or regret or guilt in the air. He can’t exactly complain.

Dean fixes his gaze on what he can see of his profile when is illuminated by the lightings: his dark hair, his high left cheekbone, his faint stubble, the tip of his nose. It’s even rarer to get to watch him unobserved. He feels a smile creeping on his lips.

For his part, it looks like it’s Castiel is starting to run out of patience. Dean can hear the rustling of his trench coat from where he is probably tormenting his hands in his lap. Knowing him, he can picture his mind is working tirelessly trying to find a way to be useful. Castiel loud sigh pierce the silence in the car.

“You told me to be patient earlier and now you’re bored of me already.” Dean teases.

Castiel turns towards him and then back ahead but there is no lightning that allows Dean to see his expression.

“I was just thinking. I thought you fell asleep again.“ There is a pause then he asks: “Are you? Bored of me?”

Dean sighs and feels protected by the dark and numbed by the sound of the rain and still a little groggy from his nap so he says. “Even when I see you all the time I feel like I barely see you.”

“I can’t tell if that’s good or not.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

  Phone battery: 32%

The screen lights up and it’s Sam, finally calling with news.

Dean puts him speakers.

“Sam?”

“Dean, they put something in your car,” he sounds out of breath.

“Hey, hey, how are you? What’s happening?”

“I’m fine, I can’t talk right now. They were both guilty. The mother was an accident; the spell was meant for someone else. Actually the mother was on it too. Apparently the whole family is into magic. I gotta -” a loud thunder covers his words.

“Sam? We didn’t get that.”

“They said it’s in the car. Look for hex bags, amulets, something you can destroy. I gotta go.”

“Alright. Just let us - ” but he’s already hung up.

So they get moving. They look into every corner, feel blindly in the dark, under the seats, inside the dashboard, as far as they can go behind the cushions.

Fifteen minutes later they’ve covered every surface and found nothing.

“Shit. What if it’s under the car? How are we gonna get that?”

Castiel looks at him and his expression tells Dean that nothing good is coming. In fact he says: “It can only be in the trunk.”

Dean blinks: “You are not going anywhere.”

“Dean.”

“No. No way.”

“Dean, it’s our only chance” he says it as if Dean is being unreasonable.

“No, Cas, let’s talk about it first.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m stronger than you. I’m the one who has to go.”

Castiel has made up his mind. He moves and Dean uselessly reaches out to grab him, but he can’t get a good grip as he is blocked by the front seat and Castiel slips away and pushes his door open.

The rain seems to get ten times worse as soon as he does that and the whole sky lights up threatening above their head. Castiel pushes through the wind to get a foot out.

“Cas! Jesus, close the goddamn door. This isn’t gonna work and you’re getting my seats all wet!” shouts Dean but Castiel doesn’t seem to hear him. Another loud thunder has Dean crouching down, and when he looks up again, Castiel is standing outside. He looks towards Dean and then shuts the door. Dean sees him struggling to get his feet one after the other, like an invisible force is keeping him from moving. His face scrunches up as he pushes himself forward with a hand on the car. He takes a step. He slips back a few feet.

Dean heart stops. “Cas! Fucking hell! Get back here!” he shouts, uselessly banging his hands against the seats. He tries to open his own door and remembers that he’s got no shoes on. He hurries to climb over on the front seat.

When he looks back again, Castiel has almost made it to the rear of the car. The sky rumbles angrily, it lights up violently. In frantic movements Dean slips his boots on and pushes himself to the right to open the passenger seat door.

He could lose him. Right there, right now, he could fucking lose him.

The rain and the wind hit him full force all at once. It’s like he’s stepped under a waterfall, he is cold and wet and struggles to breath. He battles against the wind trying to keep the car door open enough to allow him to get out and prevent it being ripped off from the car. He can barely feel his face and hands.

Towards the back of the car Castiel has reached the trunk. Dean can make out his silhouette wiping his eyes with a hand and with the other fumbling with the handle.

At last the trunk opens and covers him from Dean’s view. As he tries to move, his hair stand up all over his body and then there’s an explosion of sound so loud that he needs to cover his ears. It’s quick and violent and it takes him a few moments to realize that a lightning bolt has just hit a few yard from them. His legs start shaking.

“Cas! Come on!” he shouts terrified, knowing that’s useless, that he won’t be able to hear him above the thunders booming over their heads.

Through the rain that whips fiercely his face and blinds him, Dean watches as Castiel closes the truck and traces his steps back to the door that he holds open for him. As soon as he is within reach Dean grabs a fistful of his clothes and hauls him inside.

  Phone battery 22%

Dean is yelling. He is still gripping a handful of Castiel’s clothes and he yanks and yanks at it and yells in his face. And Castiel is panting, he is soaking wet, his hair is dripping and plastered on his forehead and his eyelashes are stuck together and he lets himself being yanked and yelled at and he’s got fear in his eyes but also relief.

“I can’t believe you did that! What the fuck is wrong with you!”

Dean is angry cause his voice is not louder than the rain and it’s not louder than the thunder but he wants it to be to be able to convey just how angry he is right now.

Castiel just blinks and breathes. At last, he brings up a hand to rest on Dean’s.

“Dean,” he says trying to calm him down. I’m okay. I’m here. It’s over.

Dean feels the relief wash over his body but then it pools behind his eyes and he feels like crying.

“You fucking asshole.”

The corner of Castiel’s lips turns slightly upward.

Dean yanks once again at his clothes and he means to pull him into a hug but somehow he finds his lips pressed against Castiel’s. They are both so shocked that they freeze and quickly pull back.

For a second they breath the same air. Dean swallows and blinks and tries to regain control of himself. Castiel doesn’t look scared, he only tilts his head slightly like he does so Dean covers the distance between them once again. Castiel’s lips are full and wet and as Dean kisses them, for a second he forgets all about near death, rain, witches and curses.

Then a thunder erupts above them and they jerk apart once again. Dean lets go of Castiel and wipes a hand over his wet face. “We should –” it’s all he manages.

Castiel doesn’t know what to say either. He just nods and quickly bends down to retrieve the hex bag that he’s dropped when Dean kissed him.

  Phone battery: 15%

It’s made of green silk and there’s a round symbol and a semicircle drawn on it. Castiel says they represent Hecate’s wheel and the Egyptian hieroglyphic for rain.

They don’t look at each other as they try to burn it. It takes more than one attempt as their fingers are wet and slippery and there’s nothing they can use to dry themselves with as everything else they have is also wet.

When it finally lights up it burns green. Dean winces as he sees it writhing on the floor mats of his car. “Oh Baby, I’m so sorry this is happening to you.” He says, and this is even before he realizes that they are both still dripping water all over the seats.

It’s almost instantaneous and slightly anticlimactic. The bag becomes dust and the clouds above them break, letting the sun shine through. Dean squints at the sudden change of light and when he opens his eyes again, everything is back to normal. The car is still covered in raindrops but the birds outside are chirping, there’s no tree half burned across the street and a car passes them by as if it’s just another day. Dean sighs and lets his head thump against the window while Castiel rolls down his.

They enjoy a moments of quietness, pierced only by Castiel saying “I’m sorry for scaring you”. He says it in his normal tone but it sounds loud to Dean’s ears, newly clear of rain and thunders.

He closes his eyes. “I just wish you’d stop jumping in on any occasion to get yourself killed.”

“I had to do it.”

Dean opens his eyes and shoots him a withering look. “But you almost died. Cas,” he takes a deep breath “don’t you get it? I’d rather be stuck under the downpour for the rest of my life than watch you die again.” He feels the rage take control of himself again and shake his voice and he lets it cause it’s better to ride it and let out what he wants to say than to hide in embarrassment.

He even holds his gaze.

“I can understand the sentiment.” Castiel says at last.

“Just – no more suicidal missions. If you don’t wanna do it for yourself, do it for me.”

Castiel presses his lips together and nods and Dean feels suddenly exhausted.

“Let’s not talk about this anymore.”

“Okay.” Castiel agrees. “Should we talk about - ”

“Uh, what?” 

“Dean.”

“Cas,” he says, mimicking his tone.

Castiel holds his gaze for a long time. Dean says softly: “I mean, you know - right?”

“I do.” Castiel smiles. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” Dean swallows. He takes a deep breath and waits for a wave of dread to hit him but it never comes. He just feels like himself with a warm pleasant feeling in his lower belly. That’ll be time later to process it, he thinks, now they have stuff to do, places to go. 

  Phone battery: 5%

They are on the road again. It’s safe and quiet and sunny.

“Was it really necessary?” grumbles Castiel.

“Again, yes” Dean won’t hear no arguing. “I don’t even want to think about the damage we’ve already done.”

Sam’s phone rings once again before he picks up.

“Guys?”

“Sam? Dean is driving. Are you okay?”

“Oh, hey Cas. Yes, they went down pretty easily. Didn’t see me coming. Did you guys find the thing?”

“Yes, it was a hex bag. Everything is fine, we are almost in town.”

“Great. Should we agree on a spot so you can come pick me up?”

“Uh. We need to go back to the motel first. We are not wearing any clothes apart from our underwear.”

“You wh - ? Wait, what?”

“They were wet. Dean insisted. For the car.” Castiel says, trying to speak over Dean’s voice in the background that yells ‘Why did you tell him?’

Sam burst into laughing. “Oh my god.”

“So we will see you back at the motel?”

“Yeah, definitely, I will be there with my camera ready.”

There’s rustling and then Dean’s voice close to the microphone shouts: “Sam, I swear to God, I’ll run you ove-”

 Phone battery: 0%

I am participating in the spnstayathomechallenge by @bend-me-shape-me @pray4jensen @helianthus21

[tmabutlesbian]

This one wasn’t requested bUT! i went on a random chooser thing and put the ships in and the two A girls came first! 

This is like. An example of what a request will look like. In any case, this one shot happens when Agnes is about 14 years old. If you’ve read my other post about this AU, you’ll know that shit goes down when she’s 14 so. yeah.

Summary: Annabelle and Gerry have kept secrets from Agnes and Martin. Agnes’ too busy running away from a ghost lady and dealing with cult stuff to be properly mad about it. (Agnes and Annabelle)

(this got long so. sorry. also its 2am so if theres any errors, tell me pls thx)

(TW: Agnes is a bit of an unreliable narrator. She refers to the cult as her ‘family’ a lot, so if that’s not up to your league, here’s your warning. She does realize her situation by the end, btw. If you’re still interested in reading, I’ll link you an edited version. Not right now, but I’ll do it, no worries.)

(edit: I’m fixing some errors and fining some stuff. i don’t want to change much, my progress will show better in other future works. yh thats it)

------

The rain kept pouring, hard, heavy. There wasn’t much wind and yet when the three ran they felt as if the air itself was in their favor, pushing them forward, faster, scrambling their way into the manor before she could catch them.

Ah, yes, she. The lady of the lake apparently. Gerry hadn’t explained himself well enough. And even if he did it would never be enough. Through the trees and the front garden, Agnes can hear Martin’s anger and hurt and betrayal between the fear. She feels it too, somewhere.

Their feet pound in harmony with the rain and they stop in sync when the big main doors close behind them, dripping all over the main entrance like wet dogs. God, she hates the rain.

Annabelle has heard them by now for sure. Does she know more than Gerry does? What do they know, entirely? Does it matter anyways? She can hear the voice of her family, all the way back in town. ‘The world will end anyways, Agnes,’ the reverence and want in their voices makes her want to smash her head into a wall and end, ‘you’ll bring it to us, not them.’ This may be the perfect opportunity to end it. To end her stay at Magnus Manor, to leave, and cry, and hurt, and end-

“Okay-” the broken silence grounds into dust when Gerry speaks up, and yet she’s glad for it, in some far away part of hers. “She can- fuck- open the... main doors even if they’re locked so-” Martin doesn’t look like he’s listening but he’s good at appearing non-existent. It would be more effective if he didn’t end every harsh breath with a growl. 

Gerry takes longer to continue, and Martin snaps his head up, eyes golden around the edges. “She can... the-” he swallows around his dry throat. “The ghost lady. That comes- from the lake. She can just... open the main doors...?” Agnes feels his disbelief, somewhere, far. He’s indignant too. She can relate. “And you were just- just going to- to not tell us about it?!” masking hurt under anger is more of a Gerry move, but Martin spends so much time with him, he’s prone to pick up some habits. “How is this protecting us! How?! What-”

“Listen, I know this is bad and I’m sorry,” she hears faint running steps from deep within the manor. Annabelle’s coming, “but we have to get away from the- the doors.” when he grabs and drags her away she goes limply. Martin just pushes him away. Gerry falters; he’s shaking. “Martin, please-”

Oh, how Agnes aches when she sees the tears forming in Martin’s brown- golden eyes. “No, fuck off! How dare you! You, Annabelle,” he turns to Agnes and frowns, teeth bared but she can’t be sure, why is everything so unclear, is she crying-? “even Agnes- you all lied to me! Hid from me!” Gerry tried to butt in but Martin didn’t let him, “No- you- the ghosts! The fears! The magic! You hid everything from us, and you call that ‘protecting us’ but in reality it just puts us in more danger!” where’s Annabelle? She takes her sweet time in the worst moments. Gerry’s shaking but she’s sure it’s not all cold. “You wanted to study us. Right? You bloody-”

The rain drones everything out when the lady opens the main doors, even Annabelle’s hurried entrance. The lady’s so close, too close, they’re too close to the door-

Suddenly she’s farther away and Martin’s right next to Agnes, both of them behind Gerry, arms out to hide them away from her, from the lady. But she ignores everyone and ascends the stairs, Annabelle scurrying out of her way, and then the ghost turns a corner, and vanishes from view. And all is quiet.

Annabelle descends the stairs in a much quicker but staggered pace than the ghost, looking stricken while the lady had no face at all. “What were you doing out there? Are you all alright? Gerry-”

“They know.” it was surprising how his voice didn’t shake when the rest of his body did. Annabelle froze. “Annabelle-”

“Were you ever going to tell us?!” she hears Martin’s voice break and the tears spill, and they glisten the gold in his eyes, but she needs to get out, she needs to go, she’s going- she can’t-

“I,” she speaks so quietly these days. While she grows hotter, scalding and perfect for her family, to them- Martin, Gerry, Annabelle- she’s ice cold. She’s dying away, just like the world will, one day, she will burn it, whatever else is she made for but to destroy? “I want to leave.” even quietly, they stop and listen to her. Gerry frowns, mouth hanging open. Annabelle goes still but her eyes are set; she knows something Agnes knows too, but she can’t reach it, she’s so far away. And Martin. He’s breathing hard again but it’s the tears’ work this time, not the running. He can only let out a ‘what?’, soft and weak and fragile and too much when they all hear the footsteps of a fourth entity coming down. 

They swivel around and back away but the lady’s in her own world, roaming out of the manor slowly, resigned. Agnes can relate to that too.

The doors shut out the rain as they close, and Martin’s sniffs are the only thing more broken than the quiet she left behind. Annabelle turns around, facing Agnes head on. Many don’t respect Miss Cane, and she never understood why. Is it her height? Her lisp? The fact that she needs a cane to help her walk? All Agnes has ever felt for her was respect. Reverence, but different from the one her family in town have for Agnes. Behind her pursed brow and hard set lips lies the mother Agnes never had. Really, is she crying? She feels like she should be. Can a messiah cry? Agnes’ too far away to know, probably.

If Agnes had been shorter than Annabelle she would’ve knelt down to her knees. As it is, she only places her steady shaking hands on Agnes’ shoulders, hard. “Agnes, I need you to listen to me very carefully.” Martin’s shoulders bunch up to his ears and Gerry’s nearby, hesitant to help lest he makes it all worse, and she should look back to Annabelle now, let the boys fade to the background. “I know who your ‘family’ is, alright? The ones who have been stealing you away from us,” Agnes wouldn’t call it stealing. It just made sense. What’s the point of friends if everything’s going to burn anyways. “us, Agnes, and do you know why? The real reason why?” the twitch in her brow will have to be answer enough. She feels lightheaded. Annabelle’s hands are the only thing keeping her upright. “Because we are your warmth, Agnes.

“Those people you go back to, they want you to burn. But you don’t want that do you? Not really. I can see it, y’know? When it’s snowing and they come to pick you up sooner than you were expecting and- you hate the snow, the cold, and yet you hesitate at the front doors when it’s time to go.” Agnes remembers. She- she wants to go, surely, it’s her home, with her family. Her- she- it’s her destiny. She can’t stay. There’s nothing else to do but to go. “They tell you big words, about ‘destiny’ and ‘fate’, but they’re wrong. The only destiny you have it’s the one you make for yourself, not what others have carved out for you.” her hand flies to her face and it comes back wet. Oh, there’s the tears. She hiccups around Annabelle’s words. “I will never tell you lies ever again. I will never show you a path while hiding the millions of others and claiming it’s the only way. I will never hurt you by making you do it yourself and believing it’s the right thing to do. And,” here her voice shakes, and Agnes can’t remember any other time when Miss Cane wasn’t steady and yet, here they are, “I will never give up on you, Agnes.” her thin body, like dry sticks ready to be lit, shakes when she sobs but she doesn’t dare break eye contact with her mother.

“There’s no soft way to say this, and I won’t sugarcoat anything else, or hide anything from either of you again.” she looks briefly at Martin, who’s in a very much similar state to Agnes, grabbing Gerry’s sleeve. Agnes’ closer now, and the thought of ‘I’m going to tease about that later’ almost makes her laugh out loud. “You are being raised in a cult, Agnes.” well, there goes the laughter.

Something she knew but couldn’t reach. It’s like- well, not a slap, a slap’s surprising. More... a wave crashing all around her; she saw it coming, and she let it emerge her in the messy, icy depths of it.

Annabelle takes it away, explains their plans, the plans for her, teaches Agnes about all the painful things she knew deep down but couldn’t reach. She’s lucky, she realizes, to have someone take her by the hand and pull her closer, however jarring it is.

She takes Agnes’ face in her hands, smearing them with tears, and when she promises, “I’ll make this right, we’ll do it, just tell me how and we’ll make it true.” she believes her. Truly, so raw it burns her chest, and it hurts, but she’s closer than she’s been in years, and the most she can do now is throw herself at Annabelle and let herself be hugged.

There’s so many things to do. They need to get her family- the cul- her- them out of her hair until she can find herself again. Or for the first time. They took all the years she’s had until now after all. 

Martin all but runs to her arms, wetting her sleep clothes. Gerry wraps an arm around her shoulders, slowly, and rests his head on top of hers, his mutter barely audible when his mouth is in her hair. “I’m sorry. Please don’t go.” she reaches for the wrist resting on her free shoulder and squeezes, and Gerry sighs a broken little thing that has her shaking harder again. But she’s closer now, again. She’s here. She wants to stay in here.

Her hand meets Annabelle’s and she feels herself breathe, again. Finally.