#if rainer dies

[caravanofdreamers]

The last act of betrayal was my betrayal to myself.

Like everyone else, I turned my back on the girl in the mirror. Now years later, I cannot recall who I was when I died. I don't remember the day or month or year but I know I swallowed the pain.

I became complicit in my murder.

-a.

[tiny-steve]

[somehow---here]

Perché i versi non sono, come crede la gente, sentimenti (che si acquisiscono precocemente), bensì esperienze. Per comporne uno è necessario visitare molte città, conoscere gli animali, comprendere il volo degli uccelli, il gesto con cui i piccoli fiori si schiudono al mattino. Bisogna saper ripensare a itinerari in regioni sconosciute, a incontri inaspettati e commiati previsti anzitempo, a episodi d’infanzia ancora inesplicabili, ai genitori che eravamo costretti a ferire quando recavamo una gioia a loro indifferente (concreta forse per qualcun altro), a malattie infantili che si manifestavano con bizzarre e grevi mutazioni, a giorni trascorsi in stanze silenziose e raccolte, a mattine in spiaggia, a mari, a notti di viaggio che passavano con un alto fruscio e volavano insieme alle stelle – e ancora pensare a tutto questo non è abbastanza. Bisogna custodire ricordi di molte notti d’amore, ognuna dissimile dall’altra, di grida di partorienti e di lievi, pallide puerpere sopite che si rimarginano. Ma è necessario essersi trovati anche al fianco di creature agonizzanti, essere rimasti a veglia dei morti in una stanza con la finestra aperta da cui magari provengono rumori intermittenti. E non è ancora sufficiente possedere ricordi. Allorché in gran numero, bisogna saperli obliare e pazientare finché siano loro a farsi nuovamente presenti in noi. Perché i ricordi ancora non sono. Solo quando divengono sangue in noi, sguardo e gesto, anonimi e non più ravvisabili ai nostri occhi, soltanto allora può accadere che in un contesto eccezionale si levi dal loro centro e fuoriesca la prima parola di un verso.

Rainer Maria Rilke, da "I quaderni di Malte Laurids Brigge"

[lostlorndigitalphantom]

💌 for Rainer for the munday meme.

Rainer is nearsighted! He lost his glasses when he died & came back and just never got them back. (although he doesn't technically need them anymore, since the screen technically makes his vision better than it was)

I'll bundle this one in as a bonus since you asked: so Rainer's technically one of my human characters - his face deal actually works differently in human form!

When he dies his face gets obscured by what essentially is a layer of static that in turn becomes his face. This design element was changed in the PKMN verse for him since screen faces are just kinda cool and they're easier to draw the logistics of when viewed at different angles.

[enemyofwalnuts]

Excuse me?? ? ????

[mysticirs]

HELP GDIFFGHB

[oetscop]

developing an emotional attachment with a character and promptly hitting them with my beam that givesthem schizophrenia

[ochoislas]

Os saludo, sarcófagos antiguos, que nunca mi sentir abandonasteis, por los que corre el agua jubilosa, cual canto errante, de romanas luces.

También vosotros, como abiertos ojos de un zagal que despierta alborozado, —llenos dentro de calma y de melisas— con falenas que zumban de embeleso;

a todos los ya salvos de zozobra, os saludo, cual bocas franqueadas que ya sabían lo que es el silencio.

¿Y nosotros, amigos, lo sabemos? Si sí o si no la vacilante hora retrata en el semblante de los hombres.

*

Euch, die ihr nie mein Gefühl verließt, grüß ich, antikische Sarkophage, die das fröhliche Wasser römischer Tage als ein wandelndes Lied durchfließt.

Oder jene so offenen, wie das Aug eines frohen erwachenden Hirten, – innen voll Stille und Bienensaug – denen entzückte Falter entschwirrten;

alle, die man dem Zweifel entreißt, grüß ich, die wiedergeöffneten Munde, die schon wußten, was schweigen heißt.

Wissen wirs, Freunde, wissen wirs nicht? Beides bildet die zögernde Stunde in dem menschlichen Angesicht.

Rainer Maria Rilke

di-versión©ochoislas

[marcogiovenale]

rainer m. rilke a., "lettera a un giovane poeta" (audio)

rainer m. rilke a., “lettera a un giovane poeta” (audio)

https://slowforward.files.wordpress.com/2022/09/rilke_-lettera-a-un-giovane-poeta.mp3 R.M.Rilke aumentato * Il consenso di Kafka: Gibs auf ! _

[metamorphesque]

Do you have any poems about a love you can't have? 💔

Morning by Frank O Hara

We Don't Know How To Say Goodbye by Anna Akhmatova

Never Seek to Tell thy Love by William Blake

from “An Attempt at Jealousy” by Marina Tsvetaeva

Pad, Pad by Stevie Smith

If You Should Go by Countee Cullen

I am not yours by Sara Teasdale

One Last Poem For Richard by Sandra Cisneros

Time does not bring relief (Sonnet II) by Edna St. Vincent Millay 

I know I am but summer to your heart (Sonnet XXVII) by Edna St. Vincent Millay

The Philosopher by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I think I should have loved you presently by Edna St. Vincent Millay

The More Loving One by W. H. Auden

Appeal by Anne Brontë 

You Who Never Arrived by Rainer Maria Rilke

The Side Effects of Eating Too Many Clementines by Alessia Di Cesare

“the winter sun says fight” by Peter Gizzi

[susieporta]

"Siate un giorno soltanto non-moderni, e vedrete quanta eternità avete in voi. Chi sente l’eternità è al di sopra di ogni paura".

Rainer Maria Rilke

[kon-igi]

Ogni anno mi sforzo sempre di più per fare degli auguri originali, non tanto per farvi esclamare 'Oh! Wow! Groovy!' ma più che altro per condividere con voi in modo non scontato la gioia del ritrovarsi, scevra - almeno per me - da qualsiasi connotato religioso.

Potrei dirvi che è stato un anno faticoso e difficile ma se da un lato mi parte subito il coro greco di baccanti che intonano 'ESTICAZZI!' dall'altra mi rendo conto che invece è proprio così... e per così intendo

ESTICAZZI

Evidentemente possiedo molta di quella dote psichica che durante la pandemia era molto inflazionata come termine (quella che fa rima con delinquenza) e in più un innato senso di stoico martirio che mi chiude la bocca nell'attimo in cui mi sto per lamentare e poi vedo che puntualmente l'interlocutore sta messo peggio di me.

Questo è un grosso errore o perlomeno, se portato agli estremi ti strippa emotivamente come una pentola a pressione saldata ma riconosco i miei limito e - mi dico - perlomeno non faccio a gara di sciagure per essere citato nel remake dei Miserabili.

Sto rivalutando il concetto di salute mentale perché dopo averne parlato parecchi ad altri mi sono reso conto che, nel mio caso, la salute mentale non necessita di cure ma di salvaguardia.

Devo scegliere con cura le mie battaglie.

E sebbene battaglie evochi una presunta contrapposizione tra me e chi si frappone davanti a ciò che voglio ottenere, in realtà lo scontro avviene sempre e solo nel mio cuore ed è per questo che in un prorompente scoppio della succitata originalità voglio, come l'anno scorso, ringraziare ancora @autolesionistra che sempre in modo involontario mi ha restituito il senso di quello che provo, parlandomi di una canzone che mi ha fatto fare pace con una parte di me che mi accompagna da più di 50 anni.

Ve la voglio riproporre, scegliendo la versione sottotitolata (ha un testo molto denso e fitto) ma credetemi se vi dico che per quanto dolorosa, molti potrebbero riconoscercisi e proprio perché dolorosa potrebbe sembrare strano che io ve la faccia vedere (non ascoltare... vedere) per augurarvi buon natale e serene feste.

Poi vi dirò il perché...

Il motivo è che siamo tutti piccoli e persi nella continua ricerca di calore e conforto, quotidianamente tormentati dal ricordo di ciò che non è più e nella flebile speranza che il domani abbia meno nubi.

Eppure si va avanti lo stesso, con l'enorme peso dei nostri vuoti e la fragile leggerezza di inutili bagagli, perciò vi dico di volervi bene, di voler bene anche a quella parte di voi che disprezzate perché se siete qua a leggere ciò che scrivo è anche per il desiderio di fuggire da un qualcosa che invece vi seguirà per sempre.

Siamo esseri umani... e se questo a volte può sembrare una dolorosa dannazione io credo che invece sia un degno tributo a chi non è più e un meraviglioso lascito a chi sarà dopo di noi.

Ok... tutta 'sta roba omerica per augurarvi Buon Natale (!) ma prima di andare a filtrare il brodo per i cappelletti vi lascio un'ultima cosa

E se vi debbo dire ancora una cosa, è questa: non crediate che colui che tenta di confortarvi viva senza fatica in mezzo alle parole semplici e calme, che qualche volta vi fanno bene. La sua vita reca molta fatica e tristezza e resta lontana dietro a loro. Ma, fosse altrimenti, egli non avrebbe potuto trovare queste parole.

Rainer Maria Rilke

<3

[somehow---here]

Siamo circondati da una moltitudine di volti dissimili, assai più numerosa delle persone che li indossano. C’è chi usa lo stesso per anni e questo, usurandosi, col passare del tempo si sporca, si ripiega nelle rughe, si dilata come un guanto troppo usato in viaggio.

Rainer Maria Rilke, da "I quaderni di Malte Laurids Brigge"

[poesiablog60]

“Lo so.

Non tutto rimarrà come inno dentro di me.

Verranno ore buie di confusione.

Ma nel profondo custodisco un piccolo giardino cinto di solennità, che nessuna angoscia potrà più raggiungere.

E se vorrai, di anno in anno, ne sposteremo più in là i confini…”

Rainer Maria Rilke

[imdoingaokay]

R!Companions If The Inquisitor Dies

(A/N) I like angst. Sowwy.

I’m a Cullen girlie so I started thinking of what he would be like if his Inky died and… I made this.

Also, I want to say that, without The Inquisitor, I genuinely don’t think The Inquisition would last that long. And I don’t think it’s because The Inquisition would lack leadership or anything, I think it would lack the draw or the figurehead that would garner the support needed to maintain it. So it’s kind of implied that the Inquisition disbands. 

It is also implied that this all takes place a while after Corypheus is defeated… Except for Solas’ part (hehehehe)

TW: Death, descriptions of death, burning and burying (idk maybe you’re claustrophobic), and more sadness.

Major Spoilers

Sorry again, love you pookie bear

Blackwall/Thom Rainer: Blackwall watches The Inquisitor fall, he tried to shield them, but it all happened too fast, far too fast for him to realize what was happening. He’s rushing over to his friend as fast as possible as if that’ll prevent them from dying, but once he sees how limp The Inquisitor is, even he knows that his friend is dead.

His only comfort is that their death was quick and hopefully, painless. He’ll throw himself into the drink for a little while. Just for the period of time right before and after The Inquisitor’s funeral. Afterward, he stays with The Inquisition for some time. He does what he can, making the adjustment.

He leaves much later, whether to the custody of the Grey Wardens or himself, but he never forgets his friend, never forgets what they did for him.

Romanced, he’s rushing over to his lover, scooping them up in his arms while he pulls them away. He begs them to open their eyes and pleads with the Maker to not take them away… not yet. But when the battle is over, and the rest of the party sees Rainer and The Inquisitor, it’s obvious that their friend and his lover his gone.

He drinks for a bit longer than he would if he was just a friend, and is less able to help around Skyhold. With what little he is doing, he feels like a coward, but he simply can’t will himself to get up and help. 

Eventually, he’ll leave like he would before, but as he watches them burn or bury his lover’s body, he realizes that a part of him will be locked away in his lover. He’ll still be him, but he’ll be unable to show the same love and devotion to anyone else.

Cassandra: Cassandra is immediately slicing the bastard who killed her friend, and with a quick swipe of her blade, the offender is gone. She still turns to her friend and attempts to wake them, but after feeling for their pulse, even she realizes that her friend is dead. She solemnly waits for the rest of the group to gather around and help her transport her friend's body back to Skyhold, as is most likely the one sending the letter to Leliana of the Inquisitor’s death. Initially, she thinks of taking the role of Inquisitor, only to immediately reject the idea. However, she continues to work tirelessly to help the rest of The Inquisition deal with the death of their leader, but it’s hard. She also tries to help the lover of The Inquisitor, but even though she tries, she can’t seem to find the right words to comfort them. She’s struggling too, The Inquisitor was her friend as well.

Romanced, she’s immediately dragging her lover away, crying out for them, but even she has to accept that she has lost another lover.

She does everything she would if the pair wasn’t together, but she officially swears off love. No one else can measure up to Regalyan or her Inquisitor. And with her focus now on the Seekers and The Inquisition, Cassandra finds herself unable to focus on things like love.

Cole: He knows immediately that The Inquisitor is gone. It doesn’t help, of course. All he does is shout for his friend, but once the battle dies down, Cole watches the rest of the group gather around the motionless Inquisitor. Cole whispers that their friend is dead, which potentially leads to some angry words being thrown at him, depending on who is present.

He stays around Skyhold, mostly helping those who grieve The Inquisitor. He spends most of his time with The Inquisitor’s love interest if they had one. He finds his efforts fruitful, as some of those he attempts to help accept it far easier than some. But the ones that don’t accept his help, Cole knows they need it the most. So he sends others to help instead, people willing to talk to them, and comfort them. Part of him feels The Inquisitor’s spirit from far away, and he hopes they aren’t too upset with his antics.

He’s just trying to help, after all. Kind of like The Inquisitor.

Cullen Rutherford: He hears about it right after Leliana, a letter attached to a bird flies through the hole in his roof and down the ladder right to his desk. He absentmindedly opens the letter, where he reads frantic, scrawled words that culminate in some of the most dreadful words he’d ever read.

“The Inquisitor is dead.”

He rushes over to Leliana, who is already speaking to Josephine, and all three retreat to the War Room where they begin to discuss what the next steps are. Cullen does his best to put on a brave face, he does what he can to provide some sense of stability, but he’d be a liar if he wasn’t struggling himself. The Inquisitor seemed so… invincible, so strong, how were they able to survive so much and then just… die? It didn’t make any sense.

The most Cullen is able to do is send a prayer to Andraste, asking her to give The Inquisitor a safe journey to The Golden City, they deserved that much.

Eventually, Cullen will head home, to his siblings in South Reach, where they will accept him with open arms. Cullen continues to live on, spending time with his family, teaching his nephew chess, and sending letters to his friends in The Inquisition. He sets up a clinic for former templars and even gets a Mabari down the line.

But most importantly, he keeps on living.

Romanced, he was just thinking about them. He was sitting at his desk, musing over some paperwork while his mind drifted to a few days ago. He was laying in bed with his lover, while they clung to his chest, asking for reasons not to leave on this trip. He had laughed, petting their hair gently as he said “You have to go, my love.”

He watched them sigh and get up, their hand still lingering on his arm, “I love you” they had whispered. 

“I love you t-”

“Cullen.” He heard, Leliana standing in front of his desk. He smiled for a moment, about to greet her, but her furrowed eyebrows and deepened frown told her there was nothing to smile about. Her next words were careful and gentle, but still, they got their point across. “I’m afraid that The Inquisitor perished in the ensuing battle.” She said, watching Cullen’s face morph into something unexplainable. He furrowed his own brown and opened his mouth as if he was about to ask what kind of joke this was, but as he saw the painfully sympathetic look on Leliana’s face, he knew.

He moved so suddenly his chair fell backward, he could barely look at the desk where he and his lover had-

“We need to discuss… the next steps…” Cullen shook his head, his breathing becoming rapid, all he could hear was his own heartbeat, that and the singing of…

“Perhaps we should-” Leliana began, only to watch Cullen pass by her. But with every step he took, he felt his legs slowly become heavier and heavier until he all but collapsed on the bridge that connected the battlements to the rotunda. Leliana quickly followed after him, attempting to comfort him. His head hurts, and he can’t seem to stop hearing the agonizing sound of the lyrium, calling out to him.

Somehow he gets into his bed, unable to work for the rest of the day. When his lover’s body comes back from wherever they were sent, he’s in a bit of a better place. Maker, it crushes him if he sees that they were still holding onto his coin. He prays that they won’t go too far, that they’ll wait for him on the other side, and that somehow, they’ll be there when he dies. He begs them not to go too far, that he’ll be with them soon, that he loves them, and he’ll never forget them. 

It takes more time, but eventually, he finds himself back in South Reach, where he opens a clinic for templars and lives his life. But even then, he waits for the day when he dies, the day he can finally see his lover again.

Until then, he’ll keep living.

Dorian Pavus: Shoots the bastard as soon as he sees his friend fall. Dorian surrounds The Inquisitor with a shield and tries to feel for a pulse. But their body is still and limp, Dorian knows what has happened. 

He attends the funeral, out of respect, and out of a sense of loyalty. But he can’t bear to watch the body be buried or burned, Maker he can’t watch. He’ll leave, deciding to focus his energy on Tevinter rather than The Inquisition, which is something he planned, but he had wished he would have more time before he had to return. He misses his friend every day and hopes that whatever afterlife they’re in, if they are in one, hopefully, they’ll save him a seat and a glass of wine for when he eventually kicks the bucket.

Romanced, he cries out, rushing over to his lover. He’s in denial as he tries to heal his Amatus, begging them to open their eyes. He pleads with the Maker, begging them to take him instead. He gets angry right after, angrily shouting at them “Why didn’t you get away? Why didn’t you run to me?” He has to be pulled off, has to be taken away from his lover’s body, as he begins to sob into his lover’s armor. It’s painful to watch, but nothing more painful than what Dorian feels.

As his lover’s funeral draw near, he throws himself into wine. And intends to drink himself to death, but then he gets sent a letter from another Magister, Maevaris.

He tells himself that he’ll keep living, at least, for The Inquisitor’s sake. But he’ll never love again, because he’s too busy, and because no other man will ever be the same as his Inquisitor.

Iron Bull: He shouts for his friend immediately, destroying the poor sod who killed The Inquisitor before they can desecrate the body further. Bull has seen many, many dead bodies, but he never imagined one day seeing The Inquisitor. Of course, he’s imagined the necessary steps of subduing The Inquisitor if they ever tried to betray him out of nowhere, but he would never imagine them like this.

He attends the funeral of The Inquisitor and tries to figure out what the next step is for him, for The Chargers. 

He’ll leave eventually, as his place was by The Inquisitor, but with them gone, there’s no need for him or his crew. He goes out drinking with The Chargers before they leave Skyhold, and he invites the rest of the inner circle, encouraging them to tell stories of The Inquisitor’s antics. It turns into a more pleasant night than anyone expected. When he leaves, he hopes that he left the rest of his friends with more positive memories than sad ones.

Romanced, all he can get out is a weak “kadan?”

He doesn’t cry, not yet, not here. He waits until he’s back in Skyhold, where he sits in the tavern, unable to stop thinking about the way his lover fell, the way their hair looked, their mouth, their eyes… Maker, their eyes. All of a sudden, he feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up, seeing Krem. It’s a simple “You okay, boss?” But that’s all it takes for Bull to let lose a torrent of tears. He clings so tightly to the dragon tooth necklace his lover gave him that he thinks he might break it. Krem and the rest of The Chargers comfort their leader the best they can, but everyone realizes that there isn’t much that can be done, as the love Bull held for his Inquisitor was far deeper than he ever described up until that moment. But The Chargers will be there for him. It’s Krem that makes the comment that The Inquisitor isn’t really gone, as the dragon tooth still is with Bull, 

“Which means something, doesn’t it Boss?”

Bull can’t help but agree, Krem’s right. The Inquisitor hasn’t left him, and he hasn’t left them either. Even when he leaves Skyhold with the rest of The Chargers, he hasn’t left them. They’re always together.

Josephine Montilyet: Josephine has the heavy task of informing the general public and the nobles of the Inquisitor’s death. Her friend’s death hurt, but she was relieved that her amount of work seemed to distract her from the heavy amount of pain she felt. She’ll leave eventually, but not without saying goodbye to her friend during their funeral. She ends up back in Antiva, working to see that her family’s business is upheld, especially after all the work her friend had put into helping her restore her family’s fortune. Platonically, she takes The Inquisitor’s death the best out of everyone but it also helps that she wasn’t present for her friend's death in the first place.

Romanced, she was not expecting it. She was minding her own business, scribbling down a letter for some high-ranking noble in Ferelden. Then all of a sudden, Leliana walks in, solemn and quiet. Leliana allows Josephine to send her a letter before Leliana asks Josephine to take a walk with her. After all, Leliana thinks her friend deserves some privacy before she hears the news. So Leliana ushers an oblivious Josephine into the War Room, where Cullen was already waiting.

Everyone could hear Josephine’s anguished cries from any corner of Skyhold. Josephine clings to Leliana, unable to support her weight as her mind tries to picture her lover in various different positions. Her mind immediately goes to what she will say to the nobility, to the chantry, but Leliana hushes her diplomat, claiming that she’ll take care of it. Josephine doesn’t want her to, but she can’t seem to get out any words in between her sobs.

She moves back to Antiva fairly soon, once all is taken care of. She begins to focus more so on her family and their trading business, potentially using this as an excuse to avoid any marriage proposals given by other nobles.

Leliana: Aside from those in the direct party, Leliana is the first to find out. She’s the one to tell Josephine, Cullen, and the many soldiers and spies under her. She prefers to be the person who tells The Inquisitor’s lover if they don’t already know, and she watches them crumble or slowly slink away, unable to truly cope with the news.

She spends time praying, asking why The Maker would take someone like The Inquisitor away when the world still needed them. 

If Hardened, she realizes she will get no answer, and furiously draws away from The Maker, deciding to spend less time praying and more time doing, as The Maker has yet to hear her pleas so far. 

Softened, she’s more kind to herself, she believes that The Maker must’ve taken The Inquisitor back because it was just their time, that it had to be, some good reason… that’s why Leliana has lost someone yet again… That has to be it.

Sera: Watching Inky crumple has her tearing her attention away from whatever they’re fighting. She calls out for help, and attempts to wake her friend, but to no avail. As the battle dies down, she watches as the rest of her friends gather around her. Sera’s confused, after all, The Inquisitor isn’t supposed to die. Not yet. They’ve survived so much! Haven, nobles, that dragon… how… how do they just… die?

She cries at camp, after hiding from everyone else. She feels ashamed of her tears, it takes the sight of someone like Blackwall or Varric to cry for her to feel less bad about her tears. And even then, she still hides them away.

She doesn’t stay in Skyhold for long, unable to attend her friend’s funeral. She believes it’s stupid to hold a funeral for someone when there’s work to be done, so she leaves. She gets back to work as a Red Jenny and never looks back.

Romanced, she cries out. She shakes them, kisses their face, anything to get them to wake. For one moment, she wishes she had magic to heal the wounds her lover had. It’ll take at least two people to drag her away from her Inky, and even then, she’s kicking and screaming. She’s reminded of her dreams where she watches her lover die, she’s reminded of her Inky kissing her cheek and saying in such a stupid voice “I’m not going anywhere”

That stupid liar! That stupid, perfect liar! Why would they lie to her? Why would they say they would never leave when there they were, gone?

She stays for the funeral before leaving, she thinks her lover deserves that much. But even then, she’s only there to say goodbye, which she doesn’t even say. It’s more of a “see you soon” if anything. She carries the memory of her lover with her, which is good enough for her.

Solas: Solas watches his friend stumble, Corypheus was recently killed, the orb destroyed, and his friend… who weakly falls to the ground. He’s torn between leaving and staying. On one hand, if he leaves, he’ll avoid the tormented look of agony The Inquisitor’s friends and lovers will hold. But they might also think that he was the one who killed them. But Solas can’t bring himself to leave, so he goes to his friend’s side. They’re gone by the time he catches them, and Solas quietly wishes that The Inquisitor didn’t have to die. He watches his friend’s inner circle climb the stairs and listens to the heartbreak that follows. While his friend’s body is carried away, Solas slips away and disappears, in hopes nobody will care or notice he’s gone. He continues his quest to tear down the veil, and with seemingly nobody to stop him, he seems to be well on his way.

Romanced, he rushes immediately to his lover’s side, but the moment he reaches them, his Inquisitor is gone. It isn’t relieving, watching his ex-lover die, the one person he expected to keep him tethered to the idea that this world may still deserve a chance. He leaves once the body is carried away, and continues his journey, but he is so much sadder. Because, at least if his vhenan was still alive, he could see them in his dreams. Now, all that he sees is their body, as if the spirits of the fade are taunting him with his failures. He hopes, in a way, that he’ll come across his lover’s spirit somewhere, so he can apologize, so can confess everything. But with the vastness of the fade, with the low probability of it all, Solas comes to the conclusion that perhaps he doesn’t deserve such closure, he just wished he could give that to his vhenan instead.

Varric Tethras: He doesn’t realize they're dead at first, focusing more on the hordes of enemies he’s dealing with. He shouts out that The Inquisitor is down, but that’s about it. Eventually, when the last of their enemies are taken down, Varric gets a chance to realize what the fuss is all about. When he hears the suffering cries of friends or potentially a lover, Varric realizes what happened. He hangs his head and lets out a quiet “shit” before turning away, unable to look. 

He sticks around Skyhold, helping the Inquisition the best he can before he sees he’s overstayed his welcome, which is when he returns to Kirkwall. Every once in a while, he gets reminded of The Inquisitor’s death, and how… maybe if he had noticed faster, they would still be around.

Romanced, he notices much faster. Previously, he had made a joke that he was actually unable to take his eyes off of his lover, so watching them crumple in the middle of the battle really caught his attention. After a few bolts from Bianca, he rushes over to attempt to revive his lover. Once it registers that his invincible Inquisitor is dead, he’s struck with a terrible feeling of helplessness. He holds them tightly and gives a quick prayer to Andraste or the Creators, someone who could potentially save them. But as his friends gather around him, even Varric has to come to grips with reality.

He’s more introspective in the coming days, staying close to his lover’s body as if he’s waiting for them to spring up and claim some elaborate prank. But as their body burns or is covered by layers of dirt, he accepts that it’s over.

He’ll never really get over the person that helped him move on from Bianca, the person that made him feel like he was the best version of himself. And he’s okay with that. So he just does what’s needed. As with the friendship route, he’ll stick around for a little while, and then return to Kirkwall. But every day that passes, until death finally takes him, he’ll wish for the comfort of his lover, his Inquisitor, once more.

Vivienne: She watches The Inquisitor fall, and quickly rushes over to them. A ward here, a healing spell there, she attempts to revive her colleague, but when she checks for a pulse and feels nothing, she sees that her efforts were for nothing. 

Vivienne is a great help to Skyhold and whoever The Inquisitor’s lover is, even Sera finds Vivienne around to kindly help her through her grief. Vivienne also helps The Inquisition during its more vulnerable stage of healing after The Inquisitor’s death. Once she believed her work was done, she’d eventually return to the fancy courts of Orlais, but not without being prepared to defend the late Inquisitor if anyone dare disgrace their name.

[artyandink]

we could be more | dean winchester | 4

Summary: Ivonne Rainer was practically a trained killing machine. Stripped to the bone then built back up by her father in order to become one of the best, like he was. She was forced into hunting when she was nineteen, having developed powers that couldn’t be explained. That is, until she was paid a visit by Azazel’s lackey. Her powers were gone, she needed help, and that’s when she found her father’s journal. Pointing to Sam and Dean Winchester.

SERIES MASTERLIST

CHILDREN SHOULDN’T PLAY WITH DEAD THINGS

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : DRIVER’S LICENSE - OLIVIA RODRIGO

“Come on, Sam, I'm begging you. This is stupid.” Dean groaned as he drove the car.

”Why?” Sam asked.

”Going to visit Mom's grave? She doesn't even have a grave- there-there was no body left after the fire.” 

“She has a headstone.” 

“Yeah, put up by her uncle, a man we've never even met. So you wanna, go pay your respects to a slab of granite put up by a stranger? Come on.” 

“It’s not about that.”

”Enlighten me then, Sam.” 

“It's not about a body, or, or, a casket. It's about her memory, okay?” 

“Mhmm.”

”And after Dad it ju-just feels like the right thing to do.”

“It's irrational, is what it is.”

”Look, man. No one asked you to come.”

”Why don't we swing by the roadhouse instead? I mean, we haven't heard anything on the demon lately. We should be hunting that thing down.”

”That's a good idea, you should. Just drop me off, I'll hitch a ride, and I'll meet you there tomorrow.”

”How about we ask what Beanie wants to do?” Dean turned slightly. “Whatcha wanna do?”

”Go to the graveyard.” I replied. “Believe it or not, my family’s tombstone is nearby. The night my family died was spent in Lawrence.” 

“Well, then, you can pay your respects there.” Sam agreed.

We reached the graveyard, and I instantly started searching for our family plot. As soon as I found it, I sat at my dad’s grave, staring at the inscription of his name. 

“Hey, dad.” I whispered. “It’s been 7 years since I last saw you, and if I’m being honest, it’s eating me alive cause I need you with me. I found your book and I saw your notes on Sam and Dean, so I found them and they’re protecting me from the dreamwalker cause the devil came after me, but only took away my powers. It feels like I’ve let you down.” My voice started breaking uncontrollably. “You told me to take care of my family, but there’s no one left to protect, so what am I here for?” I felt a tear drop onto my Panic!At the Disco t-shirt. “Dean and Sam have their own problems to deal with, b-but they insist that I don’t intrude. It’s… c-confusing.” I paused. “And there’s another thing. Everyone expects me t-to live up to either yours or mom’s name, but it’s so hard to do. I doubt I can-”

”Beanie!” I heard, so I left some flowers at the grave and went over to Dean. 

“What?” 

“Does this mean anything to you?” He pointed to the ground. There was a ring of dead grass surrounding a tombstone, along with a wreath of dead flowers. I wiped a tear from my eye, then nodded. 

“It’s an odd ring of dead grass around a grave, it’s usually a sign of a troubled spirit or unholy ground.” 

“You hear that, Sam?” 

“Maybe the groundskeeper went a little agro with the pesticide.” Sam suggested, so I bent down and touched the soil, bringing it up to my face. 

“Nope.” I shook my head. “If pesticide was still here, soil wouldn’t be dry. Excesses of it make the soil wet for a few hours after.” 

“Okay, so what are you thinking?” 

“Unholy ground.” 

“Un-“ Sam stopped, looking dumbfounded. 

“What? If something evil happened there, it could easily poison the ground.” Dean explained. “Remember the-the farm outside of Cedar Rapids?” 

“Yeah, b-“

”Could be the sign of a demonic presence. Or the-the Angela girl's spirit, if it's powerful enough.” Dean grimaced at Sam’s nod. “Well, don’t get too excited, you might pull something.” 

“It's just... stumbling onto a hunt? Here, of all places?”

“So?” 

“So… are you sure this is about a hunt and not anything else?” 

“What else would it be about?” 

“Boys.” I sighed, going and getting a newspaper from a nearby stand.

“You believe what you want, Sam, but -- I let you drag my butt out here, the least we could do is check this out.” 

“Yeah. Fine.” Sam grumbled. 

“Her dad works as a professor at the university here.” I informed, looking up. 

“Dr. Mason?” Dean knocked on the door in the university, and Dr Mason opened it. 

“Yes?” He replied. 

“I'm Sam. This is Dean, and this is Ivy.” Sam introduced. “We were friends of Angela's. We... we wanted to offer our condolences.” 

“Please, come in.” We entered, and while Dean went to the shelves, Sam and I sat down. 

“She was beautiful.” Sam smiled, looking at a photo. 

“She was.” Dr Mason nodded sadly. I got up, going to the door. 

“I’m going to get some fresh air.” I excused, then shut the door behind me. I looked around at the bustling students, and I gulped, remembering my brief time at college before I dropped out. 

“You look lost.” I turned to see a dude who seemed to be six foot tall, making me feel small since I was 5’ 8”. He had dark brown hair, brown eyes and a smile that could probably blind me. He was dressed smartly, and glasses framed his eyes, giving him a geeky look. “Are you a student?” 

“God, no.” I chuckled. “I’m here visiting Dr Mason with my brothers. We were friends with Angela.” I held out my hand. “I’m Lily Carter.” 

“Nate, but the students call me Mr Coleman.” He shook my hand. “I’m sorry about Angela.” 

“So am I.” I smiled. “It’s hard, but I’m dealing.” 

“Your brothers are helping, huh?” 

“More than I think they are.” I nodded. “They’re going through things too, so they need my help as well.” 

“Sounds like a good thing.” He grinned, then looked like he was hesitant for something. “C-Can I get your number?” 

“Oh, sure.” I pulled out my phone and so did he, and I read out my number. When we were done, his cheeks were red, a goofy smile on his face. 

“Do you think we can-“ 

“Beanie?” Dean and Sam came out from the office, and found me. “C’mon, let’s go.” 

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” I asked. 

“Course I will.” He grinned. “It was great meeting you, Lily Carter.” 

“And you, Nate Coleman.” I replied, then walked off with the boys. 

“I never knew ‘a breath of fresh air’ meant ‘find a new man’.” Dean teased. 

“Dean, it wasn’t like that-“ 

“Don’t think that we didn’t see you staring at that dude like he was a cup of coffee.” Sam chuckled. “Just couldn’t resist him.” 

“I got his number, but-“ 

“Don’t think we’ve forgotten about Will.” Dean snorted. 

“Yeah, Will.” Sam laughed. “Speaking of Will, have you two been in contact since we left?” 

“Nope.” I replied. “Just another relationship on the go.” 

“We’ve had our fair share.” They both nudged me. 

“Speaking of which, where are we staying for tonight?” Dean asked. 

“I’ve got a safe house here.” I offered. 

“How many safe houses do you have?” 

I held up a set of keys. 

“Damn.”

The moment we had gotten into the Impala, Dean had been blabbing on about how we ‘found something’. Sam was forever sceptical, and I was trying to find a quiet moment so I could text Nate. 

“I'm telling you, there's something going on here. We just haven't found it yet.” Dean repeated as we closed the house door. 

“Dean, so far you've got a patch of dead grass and nothing.” Sam groaned. 

“Well, something turned that grave into unholy ground.”

”There's no reason for it to be unholy ground. Angela Mason was a nice girl who died in a car crash. That's not exactly vengeful spirit material. You heard her father.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe Daddy doesn't know everything there is to know about his little angel, huh?” 

“You know what? We never should have bothered that poor man. We shouldn't even be here anymore.”

“So what, Sam? What, we just bail? Without even figuring out what's going on?” 

“I think I know what's going on here. It's the only reason I went along with you this far.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“This is about Mom’s grave.” 

“Oh, he just went there.” I whispered, breathing out. 

Dean scoffed. “That’s got nothing to do with it.” 

“You wouldn't step within a hundred yards of it. Look. Maybe you're imagining a hunt where there isn't one so you don't have to think about Mom. Or Dad.” Sam persisted.

“I’m not taking this-“ They were interrupted by my keys jingling, and I put my leather jacket on, ignoring their faces as I fixed my crop top. 

“Where are you going?” Sam asked. 

“Thanks for realising that I’m still here.” I smiled falsely. “Now, if you excuse me, I’m heading to the bar, alone, to get a drink. You two have a copy of the keys if you want to do something similar.” I went out of the door, walking to the bar. 

I was busy drinking a whiskey at the bar, merely cause I was in the mood for something fancier than beer. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” The bartender asked, prepping a drink. 

“Yeah, I’m just getting away from my brothers. They might be wrestling at this point.” I replied with a scoff.

“I used to do that with my brothers. My mom said it should be professional.” He chuckled. “Anyway, I have something for you.” He gave me a Cosmopolitan, and I frowned. 

“I didn’t ask for this.” 

“But the gentleman across the bar did. Paid for it an’ all.” He pointed to… 

“Nate.” I half exhaled, half laughed as he walked up to me, sitting down on the bar stool beside me. 

“Lily.” Nate grinned. “I never thought I’d see you again, not after your… brothers… whisked you away.” 

“Why the emphasis?” I asked, sipping the Cosmo. 

“Because I never knew that Lily Carter could be the sister of Sam and Dean Winchester.” 

I choked on my drink. “You know?” 

“A lot of hunters know who those two are.” He nodded. “So your name isn’t really Lily Carter, is it?” 

“Nope.” I chuckled. “Ivonne Rainer.” 

“Michael Rainer’s daughter?” 

“You bet.” I smirked, then took out his ID, which I’d nifted from his pocket. “And your name isn’t Nate Coleman, is it, Xavier?” 

“You got me.” He grinned. “I’m actually Xavier Jackson.” 

“I never thought I’d see a hunter work undercover as a school teacher.” 

“I joined the day after Angela’s death.” Xavier explained. “Something was up, cause I’d seen her grave. I’ve never seen a more obvious mark of-“ 

“-unholy ground.” We finished together, then started laughing. I drank my Cosmo to stop laughing, but then he seemed hesitant to say something. 

“What’s up?” I asked. 

“The first time I saw you with Sam and Dean, I thought you and Dean were dating or you liked each other, and I was scared to text you-“

I started laughing again, wiping a tear of laughter from my eye. “No way, Dean and I are friends! He just calls me Beanie cause I wore one the first time we met.”

”Phew.” He pretended to wipe off sweat from his forehead, adjusting his glasses. “I-I thought I had some competition, to say the least.” 

“There’s nothing in your way, trust me.” I grinned. 

I woke up, squinting my eyes at the bright light of the sun and sighing. I giggled when an arm wrapped around my waist, somebody peppering kisses along my shoulder. 

“Last night was amazing.” Xavier whispered in my ear, and I turned around to face him. 

“Last night was a blur.” I joked. “Can you remind me what happened?” 

“Are you-“ 

“I’m kidding!” I laughed, cupping his cheek and rubbing my thumb against it softly. “Yeah, last night was… I don’t have words.” 

“Your phone is ringing, though.” He whispered, and I pulled the sheets over me as I reached over, seeing the caller ID. 

Sam. 

“Oh, damn.” I cursed, then picked it up. “Hey, Sam?” 

‘Ivy, thank god. You didn’t come home last night, where are you?’ 

“You know Nate, right? I met him at the bar, but I was a bit drunk and he took me to his house since it was nearer and neither of us brought cars.” 

‘You could’ve called either me or Dean.’ 

“And risk either of you ranting about how dumb the other person is? Hell no.” 

‘True- Dean, you’ll get your chance to talk- hey!’ 

‘Text me the address, Beanie, I’ll be there in five.’ 

“Fine.” I cut the call, texted Dean the address, then grabbed my clothes and quickly slipped into them. 

“Call me later, yeah?” Xavier asked while putting his shirt on. The moment it went on, I never could’ve guessed he was jacked. 

“Of course I will.” I kissed his cheek then his lips, but he kept me there by holding my hips. I pulled back, grinning. “Dean’s gonna give you the dad talk if he finds us kissing, even if he’s not my dad.” 

“Right.” He combed his hair while I reapplied my lip gloss, picking up my keys and putting on my jacket. 

“By the way,” I breathed, “you have the hottest sleeper build ever.” 

“Glad to know.” He smiled, kissing my hand just as the roar of the Impala came from the other side of the door. I opened the door, waving and getting into shotgun, turning to Dean. 

“No call.” He lectured. “No text, no warning that you might not be back-“ 

“Chill, Dean.” I sighed. 

“And even after that, there’s no sign of a hangover. In fact, you’re weirdly glowing…” He paused, his head whipping round. “You got laid.” 

“I, uh…” He pulled my collar down then let out a loud laugh, returning my collar to where it was. “You did! And by geek guy as well!” 

“His name is Xavier.” 

“I thought it was Nate.” 

“He’s undercover investigating Angela.”

”We’re on a hunt and you got yourself laid.” 

“Don’t think I don’t know about Cassie.” 

The comment made him pause. “No comment. Was he good?” 

“WHAT?!”

”It’s a genuine question! Did he treat you right?” 

“He was great.” 

“Then I have no problem.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “You deserve to be happy, Beanie. My job is to protect you.”

We ended up at Angela’s roommate, Lindsey’s, apartment. Dean unlocked it, and we walked in, and he picked up a picture, but there was a reflection. 

Of Lindsey. 

“Who the hell are you?” She confronted before she shut the door, seemingly locking it. 

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, hold on!” Dean called. 

“I’m calling 911!” 

“Hear me out!” I spoke up. “I’m here with Angela’s cousin. Alan? Alan Stanwick? We’re here to pick up Angela’s stuff because her dad sent us.” 

She opened the door slightly. “He never told me you were coming.” 

“We have the keys to your house, sweetheart.” I smiled, holding up the keys. 

“Who are you?” 

“Naomi Wickham.” I lied. “Alan is my… boyfriend.” 

She came back out, coming face to face with us. She sat down on the sofa, and started crying, so we sat down and handed her a Kleenex tissue. 

“So. I'm sure you got a, a view of Angela that none of the family got to see.” Dean- I mean Alan- said. “Tell me, what, what was she like? I mean, what was she really like?”

”She was great.” She sobbed. “She was so, so…” 

“Great?” 

“Yeah.” She nodded before breaking down again. In an attempt to play the kind girlfriend, I gave her a tissue. 

“Here you go.” I soothed. “You two must have been really close, huh?”

”We were. But it's not just her, it's Matt.” 

“Who?” Dean asked. 

“Angela’s boyfriend.” 

“Right.” I nodded. “What about him?” 

“He killed himself last night. He cut his own throat. Who does that?” Lindsey wailed, taking another tissue. 

“That’s terrible.” 

“He was taking Angela's death pretty hard, and I guess... I mean, he'd been messed up about it for days.”

”Messed up how?” Dean asked. 

“He kept on saying that he saw her everywhere.” 

“Well, I’m sure that’s normal, with everything he was going through.” 

“No, he said that he SAW her. As in, an acid trip or something.” 

“Were Angela and Matt a happy couple? I mean, is there any reason that Angela would be angry with him?” Dean persisted.

“What? No, of course not, why do you ask?” She looked confused, so I had to step in. 

“Just checking, Lindsey. Where did Matt live?”

We opened the door to my safe house, hearing something weird going on with the television. Sam threw down the remote, acting as if nothing was wrong. 

“Hey.” He coughed. 

“Hey.” Dean grimaced. 

“Awkward.” I whistled. “Let’s not have me come home to that again, eh?”

”Where in the hell were you?” Sam asked, deflecting. 

“Working my imaginary case.” Dean sniped. 

“Yeah? And?” 

“Well, you were right, I didn't find much. Yeah. Except Angela's boyfriend died last night. Slit his own throat. But, you know, that's normal. Uh, let's see, what else. Oh, he was seeing Angela everywhere before he died. But you know, I'm sure that's just me transferring my own feelings.” 

“Okay, I get it. I'm sorry, maybe there is something going on here.” 

“Maybe? Sam, I know how to do my job, despite what you might think.” 

“Hey, maybe we should check out the overall situation.” I interrupted. “We went to Matt’s apartment and it’s the same thing as the cemetery. Dead  plants, hell, even dead goldfish.” 

“So, unholy ground?” Sam asked. 

“Maybe. I'm still not getting that powerful angry spirit vibe from Angela.” Dean picked up a pink book, showing it to us. “I have been reading this, though.” 

“You stole the girl's diary?” 

“Yeah, and if anything, she’s a little too nice.” I remembered a book from Dr Mason’s room, so I pulled out every language book I had in my satchel.

”Are you kidding me? I have her bestest friend in the whole wide world.” Dean turned to me. “What’s going on, Beanie?” 

“Did you see a book with strange symbols in Dr Mason’s room?” I asked, flipping the book. 

“Yeah, I showed him it.” 

“I’m gonna need at least a few samples.” 

“I didn't realise the college employed grief counsellors.” We were at the house of a guy named Neil, who seemed to be close friends with Angela. 

“Oh yeah. Yeah, you talk, we listen. Or maybe throw in a little therapeutic collage, whatever jump-starts the healing.” Dean nodded. 

“Well, I think I’m ok, thanks.” Neil refused. 

“You heard what happened to Matt Harrison, right?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, I did.” 

“Well, we just wanted to make sure you were okay.” I smiled. “Grief can make people do crazy things.”

”Look, I'm sorry about what happened to him. I am. But if Matt killed himself it wasn't 'cause of grief.” 

“No? Then why?” 

“It was guilt. Angie's death was Matt's fault and he knew it.” He said it almost bitterly, piquing my interest.

”How, Neil?”

“Well, she really loved that guy. But the night of the accident she walked in on him with another girl.” Neil explained. “She was really torn up, that's why she crashed the car. Um, look, I gotta get ready for work, so ... thanks for the concern, but... seriously, I'll be okay.” 

We left the house, a little more assured than last time.

“Well, that vengeful spirit theory's starting to make a little more sense.” Dean shrugged. “I mean, hell hath no fury...” 

“So if Angela got her revenge on Matt, you think it's over?” Sam asked as we got into the car. I was in the driver’s this time to give Dean a break. 

“Well, there's one way to be sure.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Burn the bones.” 

“Are you high?” I scoffed. “By ‘burning the bones’ you mean burning a still rotting body. That could release an angrier spirit.” 

“C’mon,” Dean chuckled, “since when are you afraid to get your hands dirty?” 

We were digging Angela’s grave, the three of us panting as we tossed soil into a large pile. When we were done, Dean gestured to the coffin.

“Ladies first.” He joked to Sam, who winced and opened the coffin-

“What the hell?” I exclaimed. The coffin was empty. 

“This can’t be possible.” Sam frowned. 

“They buried the body four days ago.” Dean fumed. 

“I don’t get it.” 

I aimed my torch at the side of the coffin, seeing inscriptions. I got in, bending down so I could see the letters properly. 

“Beanie? Got something?” Dean called. I pulled a pen and a flip notepad out of my inside pocket, balancing the notepad on my knee as I quickly wrote down the inscriptions, every small marking possible. “Beanie!” 

“We need to get back to the safe house.” I clicked my tongue, holding out my torch to see the paper. “I’m not translating this thing in a graveyard.” 

“Alright, what now?” Dean asked, sitting down at the table. I sipped a cup of coffee, taking out every language book in my satchel and laying them out on the table, opening them to the title page. Then I reached in, digging my hand around, shoulder deep. 

“Ivy, say something.” Sam urged.

“Alright, then.” I cleared my throat, still searching. “Where is this thing? Oh, right. So, that is an Ancient Greek dialect, as you know. But it’s gonna take me days to find the right one, and we don’t have that kind of time, so I need a little help.” I closed my fingers around a long cylindrical vial full of clear liquid. “Is this the truth serum?” I pulled the cap off, tapping the side twice. It glowed blue, so I smiled. “This is it.” I dipped a finger in it and made an inscription on the paper, feeling proud that I could actually still somewhat retain something from my witch days. “It’s actually relieving that I can still use some parts of sorcery.” I poured a careful amount in my hand and flicked it, drops of water landing on the front pages, but they absorbed the liquid and were left dry. 

“What are we waiting for?” Sam whispered. 

“Wait for it.” I grinned, and then the pages of every book started moving, flipping back and forth, searching for the right dialect. 

“This is cool.” Dean laughed, his hands out and his expression like a child. “We’re experiencing witchery firsthand, Sammy.” 

“I can see that, Dean.” Sam quickly replied. Then some books started closing with a snap, all of them shutting until one in the top left corner opened on a page with the exact dialect on it. I picked it up, placing it down on the left of the sheet I’d copied the scripture down on. 

“Vitam superiorem voco. Legiones inferorum voco. Magnam virtutem invoco, o diabole, ut hanc animam vivifices. Mihi, illis, vitae.” I recited.

”Hey, you might summon a body!” Dean warned, but I waved him off. 

“I need to inscribe this on a coffin for it to work, so chill, you little squirrel.” I chuckled, then looked over them again. “Translation: I call it a higher life. I call the legions of hell. I invoke a great power, O devil, for you to revive this soul. For me, for them, and for life.” I whistled. “This is an incantation for a ritual typically used in necromancy. You can use it to chat to souls on the other side or revive fresh corpses. But you can’ just do a random person, it has to be someone close to you and it requires a blood sacrifice.” 

“Blood sacrifice?” Sam repeated. 

“You heard me. Person we’re looking for most likely has a rune in their arm. But best bet? Dr Mason. Man knows his Ancient Greek.” I drew air in through my teeth, stacking the books one by one and placing them in my satchel. 

“I know we’ve never really touched the subject, but…” Sam pointed to my arm, the one with the rune on it, “how do you get by without your powers?” 

“I’ve done a lot of hobbies, and one was hunting. I’ve been training since I was around six or seven, which was when Dad taught me how to draw pretty shapes with salt, what he called holy water and oil. Then when I was ten, he gave me books on different creatures and how to kill ‘em. Then when I was thirteen, he took me to a range in the middle of the woods where he taught me to shoot. By the time I was off to college, I was an expert marksman, a good fighter since he’d put me in martial arts, I knew almost everything there is to know about things and how to kill ‘em. I only got my powers at 19, so I could get by pretty well if I didn’t have ‘em.” 

“Your dad taught you well.” Dean smirked. 

“Yeah, by the time I was, what, fifteen, I could just do this.” I covered my eyes, aiming for a target board on the wall and firing, uncovering my eyes and seeing that it hit bullseye. 

“I couldn’t do that at fifteen.” He grumbled. I checked the time, then cleared my throat. 

“I’ve gotta go, boys.” 

“Why?” Sam asked. 

“I’ve got a date.” The two whistled, making me grimace. “You’re both idiots.” 

“Well, c’mon, we need to get you ready!” Sam grinned, starting to fluff up my hair. Dean folded my jacket’s collar, clicking his tongue. 

“You go and spend some time with Xavier, we’ll confront the old man.” Dean winked. 

“If we need you, we’ll call you.” 

“Thanks, guys.” I smiled. “Even if you two are both annoying.”

”You’re like our sister, Beanie.” Dean smirked, taking my necklace and hanging it down the front of my shirt, where the green stone was visible. “But if Xavier breaks your heart, I am taking my pistol and going for him myself.”

”I don’t know, maybe I can talk to Angela to get the deed done.”

I was waiting for Xavier outside a bar, when I felt someone’s presence. 

“Who’s there?” I frowned, putting my hand on my gun. 

“Don’t shoot.” Angela was beside me. “You’re Ivonne. Ivy.”

”Speaking.” I still kept my hand on my gun. “But why?”

”I know your brother. Carter.” She explained. “We met on the other side and asked me to find you. He wants to tell you who took over his mind the night he died.”

”Tell me.” I gritted my teeth. “Angela, so help me, tell me who did it.”

”It was-“

”Ivy?” Xavier was walking towards me, and the next thing I knew, Angela was gone. “Hey.”

”Hey.” I grinned, pecking him on the cheek. “It’s been such a long time.”

”I know, eight hours is way too long.”

After a while of talking, I got a phone call from Dean. I picked it up, sighing. “Really? Three hours?”

’It wasn’t Dr Mason.’ Dean replied. ‘But, uh, we need some help with the rest of this.’ 

“Do you need my help so you don’t verbally assault anyone else?”

‘Pretty much.’ 

“I’ll be there.” I cut the call, grimacing. “The boys need me.”

”That’s fine.” Xavier shrugged. “I don’t mind it, cause I know how it is. Go, solve the case.”

”Ok, Xavier.” I smiled, giving him a kiss. “Thanks.”

”Go get it, then thank me again.” He grinned, and I picked up my stuff, got a taxi and drove back to the safe house. I unlocked the door, hung up my jacket, and went into the kitchen. 

“You needed me?”

”We think Neil is the one who brought back Angela.” Sam explained.

”Is there some voodoo that you can use to track the spell’s caster down?” 

“There should be, yeah.” I nodded, reaching in my satchel and pulling out a spell book and a bundle of rosemary. I arranged the rosemary into a rune, writing Neil’s name onto a sheet of paper and taking Dean’s lighter, muttering an incantation before burning the paper, letting it fall onto the rosemary. All of it burnt to ashes, but then turned red and started forming a person. A person who looked like the spitting image of Neil himself. “There we go.” 

“Neil resurrected Angela.” Sam breathed. “The things you’d do for love.” 

“But these things are typically what you shouldn’t do.” I clicked my tongue. “Sam, anything in John’s journal?” 

“No lore.” He shook his head. 

“What, you can’t just smoke ‘em with a headshot?” Dean asked. 

“Man, you watch way too many Romero flicks.”

“Well, they can’t be unkillable.” I pulled out a book and opened it. “Oh, god help me, this is in Babylonian even though it’s an Ancient Greek manner of killing the revived. Give me a second.” I peered at it for a second. “The most sure-fire way to kill these things is through a blood sacrifice. Theirs. In order to get the blood, they say you have to ‘nail the dead into their grave beds’.” 

“We have to find dear Angie, then.” Dean resolved, storing his gun on his person.

”But Angela’s going to be hard to neutralise, so prepare silver bullets just in case.” I replaced the cartridge full of lead bullets in my gun with a cartridge of silver bullets. 

“Got it.”

We unlocked the door to Neil’s house, my gun held up. 

“Hello? Neil?! It's your grief counsellors- we've come to hug.” Dean called, and I gave him a look. “What?” 

“Really?!” I whispered as he pulled out a gun. 

“Silver bullets?” Sam asked. 

“Enough to make her rattle like a change purse.” Dean smirked. 

“Wilted plants.” I nodded. “And creepy basement door. Unless he keeps his private collections down there, I’d say this is a good place to keep a killer zombie.”  Sam opened the door and both Dean and I sped to the landing, holding our guns out as we stepped down the stairs. However, it was empty. 

“Sure looks like a zombie pen to me.” 

“An empty one. You think she’s gone to get someone?” 

Dean pulled back a vents revealing a hole. “Nah, I think she’s gone to rent beaches.” 

“Look, smartass, she might kill someone. We gotta find her, Dean.” 

“Well, Matt was killed because he cheated on Angela, right?” I asked, hands in my pockets. 

“Yeah.”  They both answered. 

“So it takes two to tango. Plus, Angela’s roommate Lindsey seemed a little too attached to Matt’s death.” I deduced. “I think we need to pay another visit to Lindsey.” 

We drove up to Lindsey’s house, running up to the front door. We opened it and I ran past the boys, aiming at Angela and firing three times. She writhed, screaming and facing us. I shot one more time, hitting Angela in the chest, and she cried out and ran out of the window. 

“I’ve got you.” Sam whispered to Lindsey, holding her. Dean ran out of the window that Angela burst through, running back in a second later. 

“Well, that dead chick can run.” Dean scoffed. “I think we should have a little chat with Neil.” We made sure Lindsey was safe before running to the car, getting in and driving off to Neil’s house.

”So the silver bullets, they did something, right?” 

“Something, but not enough.” 

“Time to try the nailing into their grave thing as a Plan B.” I grimaced. “I know where we can get a pole from, so I’ve made a call. This is probably where all the vampire lore comes from, now that I think of it.” 

“How the hell are we going to get Angela back to the cemetery?” Dean asked. 

“You tell me, Winchester.” We pulled up at Neil’s office, knocking sharply on the door. When there was no answer, I took a picking tool and opened it, all of us advancing into his room. 

“What are you guys doing here?” Neil asked, standing up. 

“You know, I've heard of people doing some pretty desperate things to get laid, but you -- you take the cake.” Dean scoffed. 

“Ok- who are you guys?” 

“You might want to ask Angela that question.” 

“What?” 

“We know what you did, Neil.” I persisted. “You brought back Angela. Kid, I’ve gone through a fair share of rituals myself and I know one when I see one.” 

“You're crazy.” Neil stammered. 

“Your girlfriend's past her expiration date and we're crazy?” Dean scoffed. “When someone's gone they should stay gone. You don't mess with that kind of stuff.”

”It’s black magic, Neil.” I sighed. 

“Angela killed Matt. She tried to kill Lindsey.” Sam exclaimed urgently. 

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Neil whispered. 

Dean stomped over, taking Neil roughly by the collar. “Hey! No more messin’ around, Neil. His blood is on your hands. Now. All of us can make this right, but you've gotta tell us where she is. Tell us!” 

“She’s at my house!” He burst out, looking hounded. Dean spotted a wilted plant and so did Sam and I, so Dean formulated a plan.

”You sure about that?” When Neil nodded, Dean smirked his proud smirk. “Listen. It doesn't really matter where she is. There's only one way to stop her. We've got to perform another ritual over her grave, to reverse the one that you did. We're going to need some black root, some-some scar weed, some candles... It's very complicated, but it'll get the job done. She'll be dead again in a couple hours. I think you should come with us.” Dean stared intently. “I'm serious, Neil. Leave with us. Right now.” 

“No, no.”

I leaned in, dropping my voice to a whisper. “I get your situation, Neil. But more people could die. So, listen to me carefully. Get out of here as soon as you can. But most of all, be cool. No sudden movements. Don't make her mad.” He nodded shakily, and I patted him in the shoulder. I raised my voice deliberately, turning to Sam and Dean. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“You really think this is going to work?” Sam asked. 

“Nope.” Dean shrugged. “But it’s the only plan we’ve got.”

”You ordered a metal pole?” Xavier showed up with a pointy metal rod, which he gave to Dean. 

“Yeah, we did.” I grinned, kissing Xavier briefly. “Thanks, Zay.” 

“We owe you, man.” Sam grinned, shaking his hand. 

“Yeah, we do, Zay.” Dean teased. “I’m kidding. Name’s Dean.” 

“Xavier, as you know.” He smirked, both of them shaking hands. We heard a noise, and I pulled a gun from my arm holster, going in the direction of the sound. I heard steps behind me, so I turned around and pointed my gun at Angela, who stopped short, putting her hands up. 

“Wait! It's not what you think. I didn't ask to be brought back.” She begged. “But it's still me. I'm still a person. Please.” 

“Do I care?” I scoffed, then shot her in the forehead. Her head snapped back as she screamed, and I started for the grave, but she tackled me, and twisted my head back. 

“I could’ve told you who killed your brother!” She snarled. “Now you have to die, just like he did.”

“Yeah, right.” I shot her in the chest, getting up and shooting again. Another bullet joined me: Dean’s. We both fired at her again and again, until she reached the end, to which Xavier fired a shot from his gun, and she fell in. Dean took the pole, stabbing it into her. 

“What’s dead should stay dead.” He growled. 

“WAIT! NO-“ Dean drove the stake through her, and she immediately went limp, cutting off her last plea.

”Finally.” I groaned, replacing my cartridge. 

Dean seemed rather off after we re-killed Angela, and Sam wanted to keep Xavier company, so the other two were driving back to my house in Xavier’s car. Dean’s hands were gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white, and then he suddenly pulled over. He got out and so did I, watching as he sat down on the hood. 

“What’s going on?” I asked, sitting down. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, looking down.

“For what, Dean?” 

“The way I've been acting. And for Dad. It’s my fault that he’s dead.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I know you and Sam've been thinking it -- so have I. Doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Back at the hospital, I made a full recovery. It was a miracle. And five minutes later Dad's dead and the Colt's gone.” 

I sighed. “Dean…” 

“You can't tell me there's not a connection there. I don't know how the demon was involved. I don't know how the whole thing went down exactly. But Dad's dead because of me. And that much I do know.” 

“We don’t know that, not for sure.” 

“You, Sammy and Dad ... you're the most important people in my life.” He started crying, and I took his hand. “And now ... I never should've come back, Ivy. It wasn't natural. And now look what's come of it. I was dead. And I should have stayed dead. You and Sam wanted to know how I was feeling. Well, that's it. So tell me. What could you possibly say to make that all right?” 

“I can’t.” I whispered, but I instead leaned his head on my shoulder, letting him cry it out. “But I know how you feel.”

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