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hotchley · 3 years

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pallbearer

Not completely sure what this is, but it was sparked by the posts about Kevin being a pallbearer at Haley’s funeral. Saw it in my drafts and decided to finish it because yeah, why not?

It’s Eid somewhere (India and Australia for sure) so take this as a little gift from me to all of you because you’re lovely but I suck at writing fluff, so it’s pretty much just angst and a bit of Reid being a good friend to Hotch because I live in the nice world where they have a good relationship :)

As always, absolutely no proofreading, and it low-key sucks, but nothing else is working so...

Trigger Warnings: references to death, funerals, grief, just general sad things

read on ao3!

After they get back from the case that took them from the funeral, Reid, who is still using a cane, leaves without telling anyone.

Derek panics because he’s meant to be taking Reid back to his apartment- there’s a lift that functions and it means Reid isn’t being stupid- then Garcia tracks his phone and realises he’s going to see Hotch. They can’t interrupt that, so they don’t.

Why is Reid going there? All alone?

To apologise.

He goes there himself, takes the lift up because he knows his limits and rings the doorbell. Hotch doesn’t answer and he panics, so he rings it again.

When Hotch does open the door, it’s clear he wasn’t expecting any sort of company- least of all his colleagues/family. He still lets Reid in, and he asks him if he’d like anything to eat or drink. Reid declines, because Hotch shouldn’t have to be running around after him. Not now.

They’re sat in silence for a few minutes- they both try and justify it by saying Jack is asleep- but then Reid speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Hotch seems exhausted by all the apologies- after all, people are only giving them because there’s nothing else they can say- but Reid doesn’t say things lightly. It always means something. And he knows how Reid’s intelligence is always used against him. The team asked him to recite the phone call because they wanted the information, but Spencer would always associate it with a way in which he failed.

So although he hates the way everyone is apologising to him, he won’t tell Spencer to not. Spencer needs to say the words so he feels like the forgiveness Hotch has already given him- the forgiveness he received the moment Hotch saw him come into the office where Jack had been hiding- is deserved. And Hotch needs to hear the words from somebody that is saying them despite knowing everything about the situation.

It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts enough to speak, and even then, the words do not feel adequate.

“You did everything you could Spencer,” is his soft response.

“Not about Haley’s death. Of course I’m sorry, but what I meant was- I’m sorry I couldn’t carry the coffin. You know I would’ve if I could’ve.”

Hotch meets his eyes, and sees his own tears reflected in Spencer’s face. There’s a certain innocence to Spencer’s expression. One that Hotch thought his own failures would have permanently taken away. He should have known better. Spencer is nothing if not resilient. But then he thinks of the situations that forced him to become like that, and he wants to scream into the void because of how unfair the world can be.

He doesn’t though. That would only make the situation worse.

Instead, he sighs. “I know Spencer. I know. But I- even if you could, I wouldn’t have wanted you to.”

Spencer frowns. “Why not? Will, Derek and Anderson were all pallbearers, and I probably knew Haley about as well as them. It would’ve made sense for me to carry Haley’s coffin. You know that. I can see it in your face.”

It would have made sense. It would’ve made much more sense than Kevin Lynch. But Hotch’s words are the honest truth. It wouldn’t have mattered- not to him anyways- whether or not Spencer was able to carry that weight. He wouldn’t have asked. Would have rejected the offer if it was given. Found anyone else to be the final person.

“I know that.”

“So why would you not have asked?”

His reason- the true reason- is one that steers the majority of his decisions regarding Spencer. It is one that clouds his judgment and forces him to confront how human he is, and how the team were the only people (aside from Haley- who had always been perfect) to teach him that love didn’t need to hurt.

That people came back when they were angry.

The words that would explain his actions have been on the tip of his tongue since Gideon left. They almost slipped out after Chester Hardwick. And then Owen Savage. He wanted to say them when Reid almost died at the hands of Benjamin Cyrus, but he had pulled away at the last moment, too afraid of the consequences. He got stupidly close after the anthrax case.

Something had always held him back. But Haley’s death reminded him of how fleeting life was. Haley died protecting her son, knowing Aaron would make the right decision and raise him to be a good man, but she should never have doubted the love Aaron had for her, and that was his fault. He wasn’t going to repeat that mistake.

“Because parents want to protect their children from all the evil in the world, no matter how unreasonable that may seem,” he blurts out.

Spencer’s brow furrows, and the resemblance to Jack terrifies him so much he almost laughs. He repeats the words to himself, clearly searching for some other meaning behind them. But in that way, Hotch and Reid are similar. They will only rarely say things they don’t mean.

“Oh,” is all Spencer is able to say.

“I’m sorry. It’s not fair of me to tell you that I look at you and see-”

“Can I hug you?” Spencer asks, cutting him off.

Hotch nods, unsure how else to respond. Spencer doesn’t use the cane as he moves onto the other sofa, opting to use the cushions as his support instead. When he’s close enough to reach out and touch Aaron’s hands, he takes them. Hotch cannot look at them, even though Morgan had washed and bandaged them almost immediately, so he stares at the ceiling instead.

Spencer’s touch is gentle and almost not there, but it feels like the safety of a childhood home that he had only ever read about in the books that served as his one escape in that little town that had no mercy for any boy that dared to speak out against their father.

“You’re a good father. To all of your children,” Spencer says.

“I know I’ve failed you. All of you. More times than I could possibly count, even though I remember every single one of them. But I always told myself that the one thing you would never do is carry a coffin that contains the body of someone you loved because of this job. Or because of my failures. It’s the only promise I’ve been able to keep.”

Spencer realises that Hotch is right. Although both him and Morgan had been on the time when Adrian Bale attacked, Hotch had organised the funerals without any input from the two of them, with all the pallbearers being family instead. No agents had died after JJ had joined, but the option of carrying Haley’s coffin hadn’t even existed for Emily.

It saddens Spencer to know that the only way Hotch is able to show how much he loves the team is by shielding them from certain horrors, and to protect them from the aspects of their jobs that cause them to wonder how much longer their hands will go cold when they see crime scenes. It makes him want to rage at the world for taking this man- this good and loving and kind man- and destroying him.

But his anger will terrify Aaron. Everyone’s anger terrifies him, because he always feels responsible. Always feels like it’s his influence, or his actions, or his failures. So he doesn’t say a word, knowing Hotch will appreciate the silence. He also knows that Hotch will understand and accept the silence for what it is: all of the words and emotions he would never be able to put into words, but so desperately needs him to believe.

It’s a haunting image. There is one one man so young he may still be a boy, and he is trying to hold the fragile and broken pieces of a man he had always believed was invincible and able to come back from anything together.

It is also a beautiful image. It proves that every child will eventually learn that their parent is not invincible, and that they get hurt and fail and mess up in the same way every single person does, but that the knowledge will not destroy them. If anything, it will comfort them because they will learn that no human is perfect, but they can still be good.

It will also be a moment ingrained in both their memories forever. Even if Spencer’s wasn’t eidetic, he would remember it. Because Aaron would not be able to keep this promise. The team would carry Emily Prentiss’ empty coffin only nine months later. And Spencer would carry Maeve Donovan’s, despite Aaron’s pleas to let somebody else handle the pain for him. When Spencer turns to him, and says he has to do it because he’s not a child that can be protected from any evil in the world- not when it emerges from the same cracks that should only contain love, they will both flinch.

Because he is right.

Because Aaron failed.

Again.

It’s funny, in a twisted sort of way, that his failures will always be associated with the bitter tang of death.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #sad aaron hotchner #hotch whump #hotch angst #tw grief #tw funerals #tw death references #sumayyah writes cm

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docholligay · 4 years

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An Overwatch Christmas Carol: Stave I-- Morrison’s Ghost

All thanks for the sponsorship to @keyofjetwolf. 4,500 words

Jack Morrison was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. HIs death was registered in both the United Kingdom and the United States, and his small pittance of a savings account and a life given over to a quick signature. Jack Morrison was as dead as a door-nail.

Wilhelm Reinhardt was dead, to begin with. Died that same grey and cloudy day in a pile of rubble. His coffin, sent to the Lindholm family plot in Sweden, with nary a stir from the occupant, and buried there, a name carved in stone, dead as the man below it.

Lena Oxton was dead, to begin with, though her grave had not yet even sunk into the ground, dirt still piled high over the top of it, but please know that it was no less sure, that she was dead. Angela Zeigler had pronounced her herself, and while a bit harried, these last months, she was never one to miss a heartbeat.

No, all of them were dead, when our story begins.

Did Ana know they were dead? Of course she did! Ana was Jack’s partner and roommate and perhaps sole great friend in this earth, and Reinhardt was her sometimes companion and always admirer, and the silence of Tracer ever missing from a room was impossible to ignore. She saw their pictures hung in the Overwatch headquarters, having given their lives in the pursuit of making the world they occupied a better one.

Besides all that, she was no great fool in matters of the mind, however you might find her in matters of the heart, once I allow the tale to truly begin.

And so, you might say, why all the preamble? Why not let the story speak for itself? Well, I tell you this, because if you do not remember that our assembled parties have all taken their last breath long before this day, nothing wonderful can come of the story laid before you here.

But enough. This is a story you know, and a story you do not know, and like all stories known and unknown it begins with a hero, or perhaps a villain, or, in the best stories of all, simply a main character, with affiliation to good and evil fleeting and half-decided.

So brings us to Ana Amari.

There are people, in this world, immediately assured of their own correctness, and Ana was one of them. This is not to say that she thought of herself as having done everything in the most perfect way possible, or that there had never been something that might have gone differently, given different choices, but simply that she had nothing on this earth for which to apologize. Ana was a child of revolution and struggle, and it was well known that all people did what they had to do, and she had always and ever done that.

Ana was a genius in some respects, as most of us are, and a particular point of her genius was her ability to justify everything she had ever done as being rooted in a good idea, an impossible choice only she was willing to make, and her skill in deciding others were simply looking for someone to blame.She had changed, she reasoned, in the way many people who fail to see the original problem do. The balance of power no longer held her, and her child was grown, and these changed circumstances allowed her to believe that it was a changed self.

Ana moved through her life as if she were on trial, every conversation twisted into something that made her into a criminal. She would not be forced to speak against her own effort, and so she antagonized and snapped and refused to answer. They would not force her to admit guilt, to imprison herself.

Only the weak did such things.

It was a terribly chill December day, and the grey pall of a London winter cast out of the city as she moved to the cafe on her side of the Thames. She watched London always--she had never learned quite how to not pay attention to every given moment and movement--looking at the people who passed by, their clothing and manner changing as she moved through the city.

The city was dressed up for Christmas, tinsel in windows, softly glowing lights strung up inexpertly, banners of evergreen strung over the streets as the inhabitants of the areas got richer. Happy Christmases were exchanged along the street between shopkeepers and customers, acting as if they knew or cared for each other at all. It was not a time of year Ana especially relished, not so much for the fact that she had never celebrated it herself, though she did not and would not, but for the fact that it reminded her even more keenly of a universally held truth.

They were fragile. Londoners were mostly spoiled children who had no idea of what a harsh life might look like. The Omnics had come, those years ago, but they had not needed to rebuild a society out of the flames of the old one. They did not know what it was to have to be strong. To be firm. They were the sorts of people who let a date on a calendar upend their entire lives, pretending at all these childlike ideas. Take away some ridiculous pudding, and the whole of society might collapse.

A mother crouched down by her daughter on the sidewalk, holding her small hand and telling her that it was was very disappointing when we couldn’t get a little cake to take home, she understood.

Ana chuffed and shook her head as she walked by, her mental point proven. This was how children were prepared for the world to listen, to give them what they wanted. To hide from them the fact that sacrifice was demanded of people who wanted any good to come of it. It was no question that the sorts of people who attempted to empathize with a four year old’s want of pastry couldn’t understand Ana.

In some ways, she found comfort in this. If people accustomed to the plush robes of a gentle life could not understand her, it was merely that they did not understand the sort of things that needed to be done. She almost could not fault them, though she certainly found occasion to do so anyhow. Sheep do not understand the sheepdog. People like her were made to protect the world for people who did not have the strength to be like her, to do difficult things.

The cafe was a simple affair with a black awning, and in summers, Ana imagined there must be plenty of seating on the sidewalk in summer, but now there were only a few small tables crowded into the place, covered in a red gingham plastic. Black and white photography covered the walls, every square inch devoted to a memory that was certainly somewhat different from the lived experience of it. It smelled of bacon and beans and eggs, and it didn’t make much sense for Ana to be there, but the coffee was some of the most competent she’d found, the prices were right, and the English insistence on beans at breakfast was one of the few sensible things about them, this place preparing them with a bit of cheddar, if lacking much else by way of seasoning. They had a ready selection of newspapers, it was at nearly the halfway point between her apartment and her work, and she was accustomed to her little spot in the corner.

Today, there was somebody in it. Not a tourist, but perhaps worse. A blonde woman with a round, almost dollish face, and bright blue eyes, a cozy pink sweater wrapping her like a blanket.

Ana found sentimentality a crime, regret a worse one, and found weakness in softness. For these reasons, Ana Amari had never particularly bonded with Mercy, who had encompassed all of these things from the first time Ana had met her. She was a brilliant doctor, and few people could reasonably say otherwise. Her work was integral to the development of several new weapons. She was a private physician to Overwatch’s most complex cases. She was all of this, and Ana could admit it, but she was also the sort of person who cried in her office at times, who questioned the good of what they were doing because the means made her uncomfortable, the sort of person who let her heart overtake. Mercy was as bad as Moira, in her own way, Tracer had once struck her for saying, even if it was true.

All of this might have been complicated enough, but then, while Ana was temporarily dead, Mercy had gone and married her daughter.

Mercy sat looking at Ana with a small smile on her face, hands folded in her lap and what seemed to be salmon on toast in front of her. Across the table, there was a steaming cup of coffee and a plate of beans with cheese on toast.

“I asked them what it was you were ordering every day.” Mercy nodded. “They know you very well.”

Ana closed her eye and sighed. Mercy never knew when to leave anything alone. Which might have been fine, if she had ever bent Pharah’s ear to understanding what Ana had done was all to the good. But she seemed to constantly be needling Ana to apologize, to reach out to Pharah. When was it going to be Pharah’s responsibility to admit that she was wrong? The she had never tried to understand her mother?

“Do I look like I need you to buy me breakfast?” She stood, looking down at Mercy, who shook her head.

“Ana, please. Sit?”

“I don’t know what possibly we could share here.” But she sighed and sat down anyway. At least there was breakfast, and the order was right. “But go on.”

Mercy nodded hopefully. “The baby is doing well, the doctor tells me,” she gave a small giggle, looking off away from Ana, “Though, I am not needing too much input, I remember my rotation and have been studying up. A new mother’s anxiety, it must be, you know how that feels.”

Ana took a drink of her coffee. “I was running an operation to my eighth month. But then,” she shrugged, “ I was so much younger. Less to worry about.”

She looked back to Ana a moment, and then looked down at her salmon toast. “Yes. We have....we want this very badly, so I am, more nervous.”

Ana said nothing, simply began to eat her beans and sip at her coffee.

“Ana,” Mercy straightened her back, “I was thinking. Wondering. If you’d like to come for dinner, on Christmas.”

Ana looked over at her with a long, flat stare.

“Not to celebrate! But, we always, everything is closed, and, Fareeha is making a wonderful dinner, we watch movies, you would be alone, and with it almost being Fareeha’s birthday,” She leaned forward, “And the new year, there are so many changes that will be coming. I thought that, maybe, since there are so many new things--.”

Ana set down her fork with a high clink, and chuckled. “Now we get to it. What do you want?”

“Nothing. For me. Ana, you can snap at me, and be--be dismissive of me, all you are wanting for the rest of your life, that was before Fareeha, even, but I love her--”

“You have never understood things between me and Fareeha. You can’t.”

“All you would need to be doing is apologizing. Things have been,” Mercy gave a little sigh, “Fareeha, I think, would forgive you, if you tried. With the baby, and with the sadness of Lena--”

Ana chuckled. “Just because you will hold my grandchild hostage doesn’t mean I’ll apologize, Angela,” she shook her head, “I did what I had to do. There is absolutely nothing to forgive. Just because Fareeha refuses to understand, does not, even for a minute, mean I will bend my knee to--”

Mercy stood up, hands balled at her sides. “Then--then don’t! I--” she lost the words a moment, tears streaming down her face, and she wiped at them, buying her face in her hands, “I was wanting to help you, is all of it! I want to help her! I want,” She let out a sob, and continued, very softly, “My parents are dead, Ana. For our child, I was wanting…” She shook her head and wiped her eyes. “No. I will go, now. I won’t try again. You can...win, if you are thinking this is winning.”

She stood up and smoothed the front of her skirt, puling the coat over her shoulders, tears still streaming down her face. Mercy was like this, Ana thought. She was soft, in all the ways Ana was happy she wasn’t, and she good too emotional about things, things that didn’t even really concern her. What she and Pharah had as problems, was her and Pharah’s business.

As she moved to leave the table, dropping a few pound coins next to her coffee, she turned back, stopped, and then took one look back.

“You, are a terrible person,” she jutted out her chin, feigning strength, “Fareeha deserved much better than you. But,” she took a deep breath, “I still hope she forgives you, someday. Someday, I hope you will deserve it.”

Ana sat back in her chair, and picked up a newspaper.

Ridiculous.

____________

Ana lived alone, now, in that tiny and dark apartment in Brixton with the two small bedrooms barely enough to be called such. It had never occurred to her to live anywhere else. The hallways were dark and dank in the best of times, but the place was cheap, and she didn’t need any kind of frills to entertain all the guests she didn’t have.

There was a chill coming up the stairs, and Ana attributed it to the cool of the December air, wet and icy on her face, and the poor maintenance of the building. It hardly mattered. The hallway was dim and still, a lightbulb at the end of it flickering out the last of its life in some desperate Morse code Ana could not decipher. She turned to unlock the door, when her sniper’s eye caught the movement, just a little.

She turned toward the flicker and shadow. Silence. Nothing. Of course nothing, this hallway was always quiet as the grave, small people in their small lives coming and going like mice nibbling for crumbs. Another flicker, and he was there.

The dark shadow at the end of the hall, strong and bricked and dead for years. Darkness again.

Ana dropped her keys in the moment, and bent down to pick them up. Had she eaten today? Clearly she was seeing things, if she needed to--

She raised her head, and he was there, grey and dead and big as life, standing next to her. She did not even have the time to gasp before his mouth through open and emitted a yell of pain and agony and deep loneliness, one that cut into her spine and made her shiver. She jumped back to ready herself to fight, but another flicker and it was gone. Nothing there, just the dingy carpet that always had been.

She took a slow breath. Another.

“Ridiculous.” She opened the door and went into her apartment.

It was spartan, only a few small things giving any identity to the people who had lived there at all. Ana had made few changes since Jack’s death, other than emptying out his bedroom not because she needed it so much as she wanted the memory gone. There were two pictures on the mantle. A small television. Two tea cups in the small area that passed for a kitchen.

She was unnerved, no matter how much of a hallucination the incident in the hallway had been, and her training kicked in. She swept the place quietly, examining every space, every nook every corner for signs of life. There was nothing, nothing at all but the long shadows the light cast across the floor.

Her shoulders relaxed. Of course there was nothing. She needed to eat something, was all, she was no longer young and could not rely upon her body in the same way she had. There was a carton of soup in the refrigerator, and she dumped it into a pot unceremoniously, stirring it until it boiled and she put it into a deep, wide mug that served as a bowl nowadays.

She turned off the unpleasant florescent overhead light, and flipped on her small lamp next to the couch, the one small bit of soft warmth in the place, something that had been her mother’s from a lifetime ago. There was a book on the table, though she likely couldn’t have told you what it was, simply something to wile away the hour while she ate her soup.

Her only minor concession was the knife set upon the coffee table.

The night had been dark, but somehow grew darker, the shadows drawing into the room, as if night itself was being sucked into that tiny apartment that served as fortress for Ana’s personal war. Ana tried not to notice it, at first. It was silly. She was unnerved by the hallucination in the hallway, and part of that had probably been thinking about the past. It was quite natural to think of the past, when someone stalked you to your cafe and tried to wield it as a weapon.

Then someone knocked at the door.

She looked down at the knife, and went to grab it, and then Jack’s bedroom door started knocking too, and then her bedroom door, and the knocking continued, louder and louder and louder, echoing around her as the darkness closed into the room.

Ana opened her mouth to yell, but nothing came out.

It stopped. As suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

Ana considered herself to be grounded and logical, as a person. She wasn’t given to flights of fancy, she didn’t see the world as she wished it were, and she knew what to believe with her own eye and her own sense of instinct. She had never doubted her senses, before. She was a creature that fully inhabited them, that required them to survive. The day she could no longer assess a situation would be the day she died.

It nearly had been, years ago.

But now a prickling doubt hung over her head, that she might be losing touch with those same protective senses, even in the silent darkness of her small apartment. Losing her edge. She had always assumed death would come first. It had for the rest of them.

But there was no angel of death in the corners of this room, only the silence being broken by the sound of heavy, slow footsteps, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. The floor creaked beneath the thing she could not see, and a low groan of pain and deep sorrow came echoed off the walls.

Ana leapt to her feet, grabbing the knife off the table and exposing the blade.

“You picked the wrong flat for this.” She growled. “I’ve had enough for today.”

But the room was so small, Ana could not figure where the creeping, moaning, creaking came from. She looked behind the couch, only to find nothing. Behind her bedroom door, only shadows. Jack’s room had been closed since London, and it was windowless besides. But still the footsteps, and still the creaking, and still the sense of being watched.

A face.

Ana jumped into action, slashing at it quickly, sticking the blade where between the ribs would be, and coming up with only shadow and smoke in her hands. The face became a body, and the body took shape, even in the dull lamplight, as real as it was spectral, shimmering in the line between life and death.

“Who are you?!” she barked, refusing fear.

The ghost took full form now, a familiar shape against the darkness. “When I was alive, I was your partner. I was your best friend. I was your roommate, Ana. You know me.”

The ghost glowered and Ana cocked her head slightly. It occurred to her, briefly, that she had also once been dead, but that was a different matter entirely. It couldn’t be. Jack had died in the Battle for London, she had selected how to deal with his body herself, she had seen him taken away and she had gone home to that same empty apartment that they had shared. She knew Jack. She had known Jack for more than 30 years. Jack was dead. These things she knew.

“Ridiculous.” she spat. “Impossible.”

And yet, it had to be. She moved closer to him as he looked at her, shaking his head in frustration and irritation at another one of Ana’s petty arguments. He did not wear his visor now, the shattered eyes he had only let her see fully visible in the shimmer of his presence. There were chains coming from him, dragging across his back and binding him, some attached to rocks, some attached to nails, all of them heavy, and hard, and he moved slowly even as he did not stop.

“Jack? Jack.” Even his name sounded strange in her mouth.

She nearly reached out to touch him, and then stopped herself. “No. No,” she waved him off, “This isn’t real.”

There were ideas that were worse than losing your edge.

He paced around the living room slowly. “Yeah, because you’ve always been a hallucinator. Why would this be fake? You don’t drink. You don’t do drugs.”

“I buy sushi from Tesco. There’s the reason all itself.” Ana stopped at the side table, and sipped at her tea. “I have some sort of brain tapeworm from a fish. That is all, and I will go to bed, and, that will be all of it.”

“Ana.” He said in that tone, that tone that was too close to real, that too carefully mimicked his annoyance and affection, “Come on now.”

Ana sat down at the edge of the couch and looked over the chair near her. “Can you sit?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, yeah, I can sit.”

Jack, for lack of another thing to call him, did so, setting himself in the chair he had occupied so many times in life. Ana herself was still unsure that she believed any of it.

“Chains? How dramatic.” She sipped at her tea, determined to be unruffled, even as a chill hit across her back.

“I made these chains, and I’m stuck with them. I made them every single time I set myself apart, every time I used my work as an excuse to build a wall,” he indicated to the rock near his foot, “I build this myself, link by link, with my own excuses and my own behavior.”

Ana leaned back. “Comfortable.”

“Don’t joke, Ana. You should see the chain you’re wearing.” He shook his head. “It’s too late for me, but it doesn’t have to be for you.”

Ana sat a moment, looking into her tea, considering all that she had seen, considering the things in her life that she knew were impossible and yet were somehow, still possible. This could be so many things. It could be the beginnings of some mental illness. It could be a hallucination borne out of stress or loneliness. It could be the aforementioned Tesco. But it could also be real, and if it were real, than the world at larger had it all wrong about them.

“You did what you had to do. To save the world. We both did.” She waved a hand and scoffed. “We gave up so much for it, and then they hated us for it. We never got any reprieve.” She leaned toward him, pointing, “We made the sacrifice.”

Jack gave a weak chuckle. “Did we? Or was it just always easier to fight?” He smiled softly. “We could have had families. We could have...built connections. The crisis ended, but we never stopped being there. We forgot how to be people, me, and you, and Gabe.”

“I--”

“You were the most important person I had.” Jack rose to his feet. “I’m here to help you. I don’t want this to happen to you.”

“And how, exactly,” she raised an eyebrow, “Are you going to help me, with all of my supposed problems?”

“There will be three spirits: The ghosts of Christmas Past, Present--”

She stood up, laughing. “Why Christmas? I don’t even celebrate Christmas. I’ve never celebrated Christmas. I--”

“It’s for narrative structure, Ana. Call them the ghosts of Last Tuesday Past, I don’t--”

She crossed her arms. “I don’t know why we need to--”

He shook his head again, “You will be visited by three spirits, one tonight, at midnight--”

“I don’t have time for this, have them all come at once, so I can go back to--”

“ANA!” He howled, and raged toward her and the force of it knocked her into the wall, those empty eyes burning, burning like coals in the darkness of his own death, “I am trying to help you! Do you want to die alone? Do you want to be completely separated from every human being? You can live a long time Ana, and start to realize it’s a hell, and all you’ll do is wait, and stare, at visitors that are never coming, and birthdays you’ll never celebrate, and you’ll know,” He pointed his finger in you’re face, “You’ll know! That you put yourself there.”

“Jack…”

He sighed heavily and plopped into the chair, his hand at his temples. ‘While I was alive, I couldn’t help you, or save you. You were so damn--we--were so damn determined to put walls around ourselves, thick ones, like we were fortresses, and keep everyone else out. And we did a good fucking job, didn’t we? You and me, side by side, shooting down anyone who tried to come over.” He removed his hand but did not look at her, “When I died, who truly mourned me? You?” he chuckled, “Maybe not even that.”

“I did.”

She hated herself for saying it, at first, and knowing that it was true, and then there was a second, smaller hate there, one she could not place.

“Okay. If you say so.” He looked out the window. ‘This isn’t a discussion. You’re going to be visited, and for God’s sake Ana, please just listen. I could never get you to listen. I...that’s all the time I have. Listen.”

He stood up and stepped toward the window as if not under his own power, drifting more than walking toward the dark London night. Ana stumbled to her feet, confused and angry and afraid, calling after him.

“Jack? Jack, why can’t you just--Jack!”

He faded through the window, though Ana knew it to be double tight, and she was left alone in the dark, with but one word, surrounding her and echoing off the walls.

“Listen.”

#HON HON HON #yes it's actually part of the canon ahaha

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olivinesea · 3 years

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Space Is Only Noise If You Can See

a/n: I don’t know why I’m doing this. Maybe it’s because I handle change & uncertainty extremely poorly and that is all my life is rn. Maybe I just need to find out the extent of my evil powers. Regardless, you’re about to experience something unpleasant. TW major character death, suicide mentions, guns, violence, you name it, it’s happening. Only positive is I actually outlined the whole thing first this time so I know where we’re going (it’s not good). ~2.8k

Mr. Scratch surrendered. Or did he? Discuss.

It was always the smell that got to him. The sickly sweet scent of decaying flowers. He wondered who had made the decision to flood all funerals with the same noxious lilies. Didn’t that smell make anyone else feel ill? It lingered in the back of his throat, fogging his vision. He scowled at the offending arrangements—ostentatious wreathes shaped like hearts with hollow messages in a stock cursive font. He had been to so many funerals at this point he was reluctant to admit he sometimes got confused about where he was, who he was mourning. He tried to focus on the portrait of the deceased, but the outline kept shifting.

He blinked hard to settle his contacts, tears always had a detrimental effect on their usefulness. He needed to remember to wear his glasses to the next funeral. A twisted laugh threatened to slip, gallows humor at its finest. No matter how hard he tried, there would always be a next funeral. He wondered how many more before it was his turn, before he no longer had to be the one staying strong for everyone else, pretending the smell didn’t make him choke. He looked again, determined to figure out when he was before he was required to do anything, before he let on that he wasn’t fully present.

The coffin, shiny and black, occupied center stage. Where he thought he’d seen people solemnly walking up the aisle to say goodbye, there was only empty space. He realized he was unnervingly alone. Yet the coffin was not, it was flanked on either side by identical shapes, the light reflecting from their polished surfaces dazzling his vision. He stumbled to his feet, gripping tightly to the smooth wood of the pew in front of him. He rubbed his fingers against it, distracted by the grain, worn down by decades of touch. He looked again and there were six coffins, the once open space crowded and bent to accommodate so much loss.

He swayed, confused, it must be the damn flowers. The whole room seemed to tilt and he fell into the aisle, landing hard on his knees. He looked up just in time to see the coffins, doubled, tripled in size, rolling toward him, shuddering as they picked up speed.

Hotch gasped as he woke up on the jet, gripping the armrest tightly as he scanned the area around him. No one noticed the slight disruption, he knew well how to stay still, how to disappear in response to distress. Everyone was dozing or lost in their thoughts, drained from long days on the road. He counted their heads to check that everyone was accounted for. They were coming back from another case, he wasn’t quite sure from where. His hands shook from holding the seat too tightly so he put them in his lap, absently running his thumb across his other fingers.

He pulled out his phone to check the time and, more importantly, to check the date. He’d been struggling ever since the Scratch case to keep the details of time in order. It was embarrassing and he did his best to hide these lapses in awareness. The disorientation was always worse after one of these dreams. Though he was too practiced to show he was having nightmares, this one was starting to get to him. It had been coming back again and again since that night when he watched his team die. One right after the other, unable to stop it, unable to even be sure it wasn’t himself pulling the trigger. Though they were safe, were still alive at least, he couldn’t shake the fear. It had been so real. And it had been his fault.

He tried to tell himself to let it go, that it was only a hallucination brought on by a chemical attack from a psychopath. A man who was now in prison, successfully captured by his very alive teammates while he sat uselessly on the floor, afraid to trust his senses. However, he couldn’t quite escape the nagging fear that Scratch didn’t surrender, that in the mess of it all he had gotten away. When he let himself think about it, it never made sense that a man so calculated, so many moves ahead of them, would simply give in. He couldn’t be sure that the surrender wasn’t one of the false memories.

There was no way to distinguish between them, the real and the nightmare. He could only convince himself that his team was alive by watching carefully as they breathed whenever they weren’t looking. By their heated bickering over who would ride where. Lately he had even relinquished the driver’s seat, worried that his loosely tethered mind might sweep them all off the road. He fixated on their little habits, certain that these were things his mind couldn’t make up, proof that his family was really there in front of him. The orange fingerprints on case files and every single coffee mug disappeared from the kitchenette, lost wherever Reid set them down before forgetting, caught up in some exciting train of thought. Things that might have frustrated him before became lifelines to reality, the reality he hoped with all his heart was true.

In the immediate days after the attack, he would ask Dave, quietly, for assurance that Peter Lewis was locked up, unable to harm his team. Dave was understanding, remembering how he had been that night, eyes full of loss. But the looks he gave Hotch grew longer and more worried with each repetition of the question. Now, again unsure, he was too ashamed to ask.

It had been so hard to keep things straight in his mind. For awhile he had been writing himself notes: “Peter Lewis is in prison.” Except he would find them again later, letters added, message changed, unable to tell if it was still his handwriting. It didn’t make sense for it to be someone else, fuck he kept these notes in his pockets, in his desk drawer, in his medicine cabinet. He couldn’t remember changing them though. Maybe that was what he had written in the first place. The confusion of the notes started making him feel worse so he stopped writing them. Every time he found another one, he tore it into tiny pieces, all the while trying to convince himself nothing was wrong with his behavior, nothing was wrong with his mind.

On Saturday, rare in its lack of crisis, Hotch was sitting on the couch, finally free to read a book while waiting for Jack to get home. He had been invited to a movie with some school friends. He started thinking about how relieved he was that Jack had friends to do normal things with and lost track of the story. As he scanned back, a little surprised how far he’d read without absorbing any information, his phone rang. His lungs constricted. Fear was always the first reaction to the phone ringing. He leaned forward to pick it up from the coffee table, brushing away his irrational feelings. It was Spencer. That was a little odd but not unheard of. Sometimes Spencer learned a new fact that only Hotch would appreciate and couldn’t wait until they got back to the office to share it. He smiled as he answered, anticipating an excited rush of speech. Instead there was silence.

“Hello?”

Nothing. He listened hard, not sure if he could hear breathing. There was some rustling, muffled and indistinct. Maybe Spencer dialed him by accident. He hung up and tried calling back. It rang without answer. He tried one more time but got the same result, the voicemail picking up quicker the second time. He told himself there was a mundane explanation but anxiety crawled like a spider up his neck. He was about to make another call, was trying to decide who was most likely to be helpful. Penelope? Derek? But then Jack walked in the door, hyped on candy and popcorn and wanting to repeat every joke from the movie. He let it go, if it was important Spencer would call back.

Monday morning and Spencer wasn’t in the office. Hotch had been there since 6 am, buried in paperwork, perpetually stuck in a state of catching up. He didn’t notice the absence until JJ came to ask him if he had any update from Spencer.

“Hmm? No, I haven’t heard from him. Update on what exactly?”

“Oh well he was supposed to come over for game night on Saturday but he said he wasn’t feeling well.” She assumed he was still sick, that he had called out. It was very unlike him to skip out on work, though perhaps he was just very unwell. Images of Spencer, pale and shaky, in the depths of his addiction, flashed through both of their memories and they exchanged looks. It had been so many years, and he did such a good job of pretending it never even happened, but they still remembered. It always came back whenever some uncertainty with Reid popped up.

“Have you tried calling him?” He tried to be logical, not everything needed to be the end of the world.

“Just goes to voicemail.” She raised her eyebrows at him, the silent question—what do we do boss?

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He looked at the files covering his desk, he’d already put in several hours today, he could use a break.

“I’ll go check on him.”

She started to offer to go with him but he waved her off. If Reid was sick there was no reason for both of them to be exposed. If it was something else, well, it was probably better if Hotch was alone for that too. Just as he got to the elevator, Derek caught up with him.

“I hear you’re going to check on pretty boy,” he was trying to sound light-hearted.

Hotch made a noise in response.

“I’m coming with you.”

Hotch looked over at him and saw the steel behind the statement. He wasn’t asking. Neither one needed to say aloud the worry laying just beneath the surface. That dreaded what if that swam around in the back of all their minds. He gestured for Morgan to get in the elevator ahead of him.

They got to Spencer’s apartment with still no word from him. He didn’t answer when they knocked on the door and though neither wanted to admit it, they were starting to panic.

“He better be passed out on cough syrup,” Morgan muttered as he flipped through his keys to find Reid’s spare, still trying to mask his fear. When they got the door open the apartment was cold and empty. The blinds were closed and the room was dark. Once they flipped the lights on everything seemed normal though unoccupied. The apartment was relatively neat, stacks of books and papers operating as some kind of decor.

“Reid?” they called even though they could tell he wasn’t there. They wandered through the small apartment, checking for signs of their friend.

“Hotch!”

Hotch caught the edge of the door with his shoulder and swore as he hurried out of the bedroom to respond to Morgan’s distressed call. He was standing in the small kitchen, looking at the counter. On it were Reid’s keys, phone and wallet. They could have been tossed there upon his arrival. But wouldn’t he have taken them if he had gone somewhere?

“Where is he?” Morgan’s voice was tight.

Hotch shook his head, this didn’t make sense. He picked up the phone and saw the list of missed calls from the office, from JJ, from him. He unlocked it and checked, heart sinking as his fear was confirmed. The last call was to his own phone on Saturday evening.

“Call Garcia,” he said, checking Reid’s messages.

“What’s going on Hotch?” Morgan couldn’t take his eyes off Reid’s phone, the frantic way Hotch was scrolling through it.

He stopped and looked up. “I…I don’t know.” The images from his dream, his nightmare were threatening to envelop him. Reid crumpled on the ground, a gunshot still ringing, dark wood with rounded edges cradling his lifeless body. The phone screen blurred when he looked at it again and he dropped it on the counter, using his hands to hold himself up.

“Hey man, are you ok?” Derek started to move closer but Hotch turned away, effectively closing himself off.

“Call Garcia, we need to start a search.” And I need to get a grip, he thought as the world around him shifted disturbingly. If something was as wrong as it seemed, they would all be looking to him to solve it. He certainly couldn’t do that if he wasn’t even sure if he was clinging to the counter or the floor.

It was hours later when they finally got a lead. It was not the lead that they wanted. There was a report of a body matching his description at a morgue one town over. It had been pulled out of the river in the early hours on Sunday, spotted by a couple of unhappy fishermen. There had been no wallet, no ID, no way to figure out who he belonged to. They had put him down as a John Doe, a presumed suicide and he was being held until they could get around to trying to match dental records. Garcia teared up as she relayed the information to the rest of the team.

“That can’t be him! Are you sure?” Morgan spoke more harshly than he meant to, nerves frayed by hours of fending off worst case scenarios.

Garcia hesitated, holding a folder. “They sent pictures but…I can’t look. I’m sorry.” She started crying in earnest now.

“Oh baby girl,” Morgan put a hand gently on her shoulder and pulled the file away. He was reluctant to open it as well. Hotch saw this and quickly took the folder and walked to the other side of the table where he flipped it open. His mouth formed a grim line and he didn’t have to say anything for them to know. He was glad he took it, happy to spare them the sight of waxy pale skin, the only color a deep purple beneath his closed eyes and his startlingly blue lips. It looked like he was wearing make up, like this was just another Halloween look Spencer was testing out. Hotch stared at the picture a moment too long. This is real, he told himself.

“Aaron?” Dave tried to pull his attention back to the room of anxious agents. Even though they knew, there was still the tortured hope that if he didn’t say it out loud, it wasn’t true.

He sighed, “It’s Spencer.”

Garcia let out a sob and turned into the hug that Morgan wrapped around her. JJ, sitting at the table stared into the distance.

He tried to organize the facts, solidify them in his mind by repeating them silently to himself. He ran his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he normally suppressed to avoid having it sticking out wildly.

“I’ll go formally identify the…” He couldn’t call Spencer a body. “I’ll go see when we can get him transferred to us.”

“I can come with you,” Dave offered but Hotch declined. Looking at the others he felt like they needed someone to stay with them that would ward off anything too impulsive. They were all stunned at the moment but the feeling in the room was unsettled.

“You’re wrong.” JJ spoke without looking at him, her gaze still fixed at a spot on the far end of the table. “Spence wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.”

He realized she was crying and felt a weight start to crush his chest. With effort he moved to where she sat, unable to find anything to say. He touched her hand but she jerked away, suddenly standing and glaring at him.

“You’re wrong,” she repeated before leaving quickly.

There was a hand at his elbow, squeezing gently. “I’ll go talk to her in a little bit. You should get going, it’s already late.”

He tried not to pull away too quickly as he nodded his thanks at Dave, who looked at him curiously.

“Are you sure you don’t want someone to come with you?”

“No, no. I’m fine. I can do it.” He hoped Dave would ignore the shake in his voice. He was fine, he could do this, he didn’t have a choice. He walked to his office to get his things, stopping for a moment to pull out Reid’s phone again. He needed to check the calls one more time, to confirm what he thought he remembered. Sure enough, his number remained the last outgoing call. He didn’t know if it was better or worse that it was real.

~Part 2~

#Criminal Minds #tw major character death #tw suicide mention #tw guns #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #penelope garcia #jj jareau #spencer reid #david rossi #dont hate me

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spencers-renaissance · 4 years

Text

turns out that I need you now (much more than you need me)

Summary: Spencer is suffering in silence and it's only made worse when the team messes up and makes him feel even more hurt and insecure. When Hotch goes to check on him, though, things start to look up.

Tags: hurt/comfort, hurt!spencer, getting together, depression, anxiety, happy ending

Pairings: Hotch x Reid

Word Count: 3.5k

Read on AO3

The crushing pit of loneliness deep inside Spencer’s tummy never really seems to leave, the kind that makes his breath snag and his heart rate speed up just a little. He’s surrounded by people who love him, he knows that, but it doesn’t stop the heartache from consuming him; sometimes it only exacerbates it. When he sees JJ and Emily share a private joke at the coffee machine or Derek and Hotch clap each other on the back with familiar smiles on their faces, it reminds him just how removed he is. The BAU would die for him, he knows that. He’s just not sure they’d live for him.

Sometimes he thinks they notice. When Rossi shoots him a concerned look when he’s a little too quiet on the jet or Alex sits with him for just a bit too long after a case, he thinks you’re so close. You’re nearly there. But then Rossi turns to look out the window and Alex is needed somewhere else, and he’s on the sidelines again.

It’s not like it’s new, either. He’s always been a messy melting pot of insecurities and deep feelings of sadness that never fully go away, but he can’t lie to himself. Ever since the meeting last Tuesday in the briefing room, it’s been all-consuming.

He knows they hadn’t meant to, and they’d probably be horrified if they knew how much it had affected him, but the entire interaction had felt like a knife slicing cold and slow under his skin. The case had intrigued him more than others had done recently and it had been a nice feeling, being excited about the work again, so he’d told them about a study one of his colleagues had conducted during his second Ph.D. and how he’d assisted, and Derek rolled his eyes. JJ and Emily stifled a mocking smile. Rossi had tried not to laugh at the girls while Penelope had looked mildly annoyed he’d derailed her briefing. Alex, to her credit, had looked much more pissed off at their reactions than his tangent, but it was Hotch who was the nail in the coffin.

“Reid, please,” he’d frowned disapprovingly, tone harsh as his words slammed into him. “You need to be quiet. Derailing these briefings with stupid and unhelpful tangents is unprofessional and they need to stop. Garcia.” He indicated for her to continue and she’d looked at him gratefully as they all turned their attention back to the screen.

Spencer’s life, really, was a lucky dip of humiliating moments that chipped away at his confidence and sense of self-worth, but this one felt like it took the cake. The feelings that had plagued him for almost a decade throughout his career alongside these people finally felt validated, and it wasn’t even as earth-shattering as he’d expected. There was no drama, no theatrics. Everyone simply turned away while the bottom of his stomach collapsed and his breathing snagged. Even Hotch, the man he’d loved since he joined the BAU, the man who had always been protective of him, looking out for his feelings, his well-being, everything. Even Hotch couldn’t stand him anymore.

He’d worked the case fine, of course. Despite what Hotch had told him, he knew he could be professional when it was needed and he wasn’t about to compromise that. So he offered his expertise when required and kept his tangents in check, making sure to never relax in case the real Spencer spilled out and he started rambling again. It had taken a long time for him to be comfortable enough to let that side of him reveal itself to the team, and it was excruciatingly painful to pack it back away, lock it up, and pretend to be the person he’d tried to be for the majority of his life.

The unsub was apprehended, which gave him a small jump of excitement and satisfaction for a moment before the reality of the situation set back in and he was brought back down to earth. Alex sat next to him on the jet, placing a reassuring hand on his forearm for a second before offering a smile and turning to her crossword. His arm burned with the need to throw himself at her for a much-needed hug, touch-starvation settling deeply into his bones. Restraint felt painful.

The case is over now, though. There’s no adrenaline rush to keep him going, no puzzle motivating him anymore. He’s trapped at his desk, sat next to Derek and Emily’s banter and it feels like highschool again, making himself as small as possible while he prayed for no one to notice him, listening to everyone having a good time. The paperwork occupies him for a little while, but it isn’t long before he’s pulling out files to consult remotely on cases and begging Hotch for a little extra to do.

If he keeps his brain busy, his broken heart won’t weigh him down so much, he rationalises, but even the trip to the coffee machine feels like dragging himself up a mountain. He feels completely oblivious to his surroundings; like he’s stuck in a sea of molasses and everyone around him is speaking in slow-motion, blurring in comparison to the weight of everything he’s feeling.

It only becomes a problem the Wednesday after the meeting, when he finds that he just cannot get out of bed. He’s been on autopilot for at least a week, probably a lot longer than that if he’s honest with himself, and it’s like that function’s just… stopped working. He can’t get up and grab a banana before jumping in the shower and shaving, shrugging on his suit and drinking his first coffee of the day, he can’t even find the willpower to roll over in bed.

Eventually, his alarm turns itself off and he closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.

★

“Reid? Reid, can you hear me?”

The world gently comes back into focus as he concentrates on the voice coming from behind him, and the first thing he notices is it’s dark outside; somehow the entire day managed to pass him by without him realising. The second thing he notices is how absolutely ravenous he is. Stirring slowly, he eventually rolls over, only to see Hotch crouching by his bed, still in his slightly rumpled suit, though he’s not wearing a tie.

“Hotch?” he questions, sounding as baffled as he feels. Seriously, what happened to make him sleep the day away only to wake up to his boss calling his name? He feels like he should sit up and make himself presentable, but he simply doesn’t have the energy and his bed is far too warm for him to have any desire to unfurl himself from the covers.

“How are you feeling, Spencer?” Hotch replies, voice soft and careful, and that gets his attention. Hotch rarely calls him Spencer and he’s using the voice he talks to Jack or frightened victims with, not him, never him. He meets Hotch’s eyes for the first time, and they’re filled with an emotion he hasn’t seen before, one Hotch has clearly been withholding from him, but all he wants to do is melt into it, sink into the warmth and gentleness he knows will welcome him.

Still, he can’t find the motivation to question anything that’s happening, instead burying deeper down under his duvet and sighing softly. “Tired,” he mumbles eventually, but he realises something else, too, and decides to admit it. What’s the worst that could happen at this point? “Sad.”

Hotch is quiet for a short moment before he replies. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“Don’t think so,” Spencer murmurs, letting his eyes droop closed again.

“I came because I was worried about you,” Hotch says soothingly, answering the question Spencer’s been too tired to ask. “You didn’t show up for work today but we were flat out with a local case all day so I couldn’t come and check on you until now. What’s going on, Spencer? Why didn’t you come in today, or at least call me?”

He has to wait a moment to muster the energy, but eventually, Spencer sits up slightly, leaning against the pillow and the headboard, and meets Hotch’s eyes again. Thinking about what he’s about to say -- what he’s about to admit to somebody else for the first time -- makes him tear up a little, the reminder of the pain he’s been in for years aching deep and raw. “The simple answer is I’m exhausted, Hotch,” he replies, voice thick and eyes droopy. “I’m mentally and physically exhausted and I’m sad, and lonely, and afraid and I feel like I’ll never be happy, I feel like an outsider, the odd one out, and I’m done, I just cannot keep going like this, it’s impossible. And this morning I woke up and I just couldn’t will my body to get out of bed. Not caring about the consequences, I turned my alarm off and fell back to sleep.”

He’d looked away during his confession, but when he looks back at Hotch, he sees that his own eyes aren’t the only ones watering. “Spencer,” he starts, but his voice catches and he has to take a moment to compose himself. “Why didn’t you say something? You could have told me, I-- I would have helped you.” Spencer’s seriously taken aback by the scene in front of him: Hotch is crouched on his bedroom floor, looking genuinely destroyed because of some stupid emotions he’s been feeling?

“No, no. This is my own battle, I don’t deserve your help,” Spencer refutes, defeated. He sinks lower into the comfort of his mattress. “You don’t really want to help me anyway, I’m just a member of the team and you know you can’t have me lacking. I’m an obligation.” He spits the last word out as he closes his eyes against the emotional pain twisting harshly in his stomach.

“Spencer, that’s not how it is at all,” Hotch replies gently. “First and foremost, you’re my friend, and I’d do anything for you, especially anything to help and protect you. That’s how the entire team sees you--”

“You don’t have to lie,” Spencer cuts him off. “I know I’m irritating and the only reason I haven’t been booted off yet is my ability to read quickly and remember important facts. Except that’s the reason you guys resent me: I’m annoying, I go off on tangents, and I’m too clever for my own good. Too socially awkward to fit in, I know it.”

“Spence, is this about what happened last week?” Hotch ventures carefully, and Spencer flinches. “I’ve been meaning to apologise for that all week but there was no good moment, and truthfully I was ashamed. It was an inexcusable way to treat you and handle the situation, I’m so very sorry. I know that it probably made you feel small and scolded, like an outcast, exacerbating those feelings, but that wasn’t my intention, you have to realise that. I was tired, I’d been up all night with Jack who had the stomach flu, and with how time-sensitive the case was combined with the pressure coming from above, I was stressed and on edge. It wasn’t your fault, I’m the one in the wrong here.”

That makes him look up, searching Hotch’s face for signs of insincerity. “You were right though,” he denies, but his voice is weaker, wavering. “Besides, it wasn’t just you, it was everybody.”

“I’m sure that they’d feel awful if they knew how they made you feel, but nobody on this team would ever want to make you sad or feel left out, and they certainly wouldn’t want you to feel ashamed of who you are, or your incredible talents,” Hotch responds, firm and insistent. He reaches out to take Spencer’s hand. “You are so deeply loved by all of us, Spence, I wish you’d believe that.”

He looks away at that, fiddling with the fabric of the duvet cover. “Really?” he asks, hopefully. He finds it hard to believe, but Hotch looks so sincere and his voice sounds truthful. Plus, Hotch doesn’t make a habit out of lying.

“Really,” he confirms, with that small, fond smile that only graces his face on rare occasions and makes Spencer’s insides fuzzy. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to fetch us some dinner and we’ll eat it together on the couch, and then tomorrow I’m going to make a doctors’ appointment for you, okay? I know that that incident last week might have triggered this, but clearly, there are some serious underlying concerns if it was able to impact you so severely and it would make me feel better to know that you’d seen a medical professional, alright?”

“Okay,” Spencer nods, smiling back at the warmth in Hotch’s eyes.

★

Hotch dashes out to pick up a sharing platter with an excessive amount of sides from a Lebanese restaurant Spencer had mentioned he loved ages ago and helps him out to the sofa in his cosy apartment when he gets back. He wraps him up in the fluffy blanket he keeps on the arm of the sofa and hands him a plate filled with delicious food. His actions are almost loving, Spencer thinks as Hotch flicks the TV on to the history channel, knowing that it’s the only thing he’ll really watch, but he quickly quells those thoughts. Hoping is pointless.

“Is that alright, Spencer?” he asks softly, as he sits on the opposite end of the sofa and begins to tuck into his similarly loaded plate of food.

“Perfect,” Spencer smiles, feeling safe and content for the first time in weeks. Having Hotch so close to him feels like a tether to the rest of the world, a grounding force stopping him from floating away.

“Good.”

They watch the TV quietly, appreciating each others’ presence in a soft, familiar kind of way. It’s halfway through the program they’re watching about industrialisation when their plates are empty and resting on the coffee table that Spencer speaks up. “Did you know that the progression of technology really isn’t as linear as we might expect? Ancient civilisations simply invented the technology they needed; they weren’t necessarily primitive just because they didn’t have something that we now deem as essential. The Inca, for example, did have wheels, but they used them for short distances, not for long-distance transportation because of their mountainous terrain. Instead, they had complex road systems that they navigated with pack animals and they built suspension bridges long before Europeans because it was the technology they required. Egyptians never even bothered with the wheel, because their terrain was full of sand; instead, they were excellent at building boats. Technology is invented, lost, invented again all over the world.”

He blushes a little when he finishes his explanation, and looks over at Hotch properly, surprised at the expression on his face. “You’re brilliant, you know that Spencer?” he says fondly, looking genuinely in awe of the man in front of him.

“No,” Spencer tries to dismiss him, “I’m really not, it’s just what I was bor--”

He’s abruptly cut off when Hotch surges forward, crossing the small amount of distance between them on the sofa quickly, capturing his surprised, parted lips with his own. Hotch brings his hand up to rest firmly on Spencer’s jaw, caressing his thumb gently across his cheekbone as he kisses Spencer with a fervent passion he’s never experienced anyone feel for him before.

Spencer’s wide eyes meet Hotch’s melting ones as they pull gently away. “I mean it,” Hotch says softly, running his thumb over Spencer’s bottom lip. “You’re incredible, and I can’t get enough of you.” He presses another chaste kiss to his lips as if to prove he means what he says.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, Hotch, you have no idea,” Spencer says breathily, staring up at him in awe as he tries to appear more put together than his mushy insides will allow.

“Me too,” he laughs softly, warming Spencer’s heart even more. “But if this is going to work, you’re going to have to stop calling me Hotch.”

“Deal,” Spencer giggles, pushing away his blanket in favour of straddling his legs and pressing another loving kiss to his lips. “Aaron.”

“God, I love the way my name sounds dripping from those lips,” he groans, gripping his waist gently, rubbing his thumbs over his stomach as he leans up to kiss Spencer again.

They kiss quietly on the sofa with the history channel playing in the background for a while, losing track of time as they melt into one another. Eventually, though, Spencer gets tired, shifting off Aaron’s lap to sit next to him, resting his head on his chest. Aaron gets the hint and wraps a protective arm around his waist, pulling him as close as possible. “I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough time, Spencer,” he whispers into his hair. “As long as you want me here, though, I promise I’ll do everything I can to prevent you from feeling like that again.”

“I know,” Spencer whispers back, drawing comfort from the musk of Aaron’s cologne and the subtle scent of sweat lingering behind it. “Just being like this makes me feel safe, though. Less alone.”

“I’m glad, sweetheart.”

Spencer nearly squeaks at that, face flushing dark red. “Sweetheart?” he asks, embarrassed.

“Do you not like it? I’m sorry Spencer, I don’t have to call you anything other than your name.”

“No, no,” he rushes to clarify. “I like it, I really do, you just surprised me, is all.”

“Good,” Aaron says, and Spencer can hear the fond smile in his voice.

“Will you,” Spencer starts shyly, before clearing his throat. “Will you stay tonight? I don’t want you to go, I want the company.”

“Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you need,” he says comfortingly, rubbing his hand gently across the span of his tummy.

It’s the best Spencer’s slept in months probably, wrapped up safely in Aaron’s arms. The bed is warm and toasty and he feels genuinely Not Alone, like he has someone in his corner. A night of comfortable and unbroken sleep is exactly what he needs and it’s what Aaron’s comforting presence and protective embrace gives him.

★

Luckily the FBI’s health insurance gets him the therapy he needs and some anti-anxiety medication which together slowly starts to improve his self-esteem and perception of those around him. Aaron’s steady support doesn’t hurt either, always there to give him a cuddle and remind him of all the good in him and others, how loved he is and how he’ll never have to be alone again, not if he doesn’t want to be.

Gradually, Spencer realises that the looks JJ and Emily shoot one another are fond; they both love his little tangents and are fondly amused by them. Spencer had never noticed the smile on his face when Derek rolls his eyes, simply teasing him in the same way he does when he ruffles his hair and calls him ‘pretty boy’ on the way to the kitchen. His entire perception of how others saw him had been completely skewed by his mind, and he was slowly unlearning those immediate assumptions.

And if it ever did go too far, he had Aaron to glare at the offending party, and squeeze his hand comfortingly under the table, giving him a cuddle and holding him protectively as soon as they were in private.

Coincidentally, it’s exactly that ritual that gets them figured out a few months later. A local police officer had been pretty awful to him when Spencer was simply trying to explain how they’d come to a certain conclusion about an aspect of an unsub’s profile. Aaron takes Spencer with him to grab some lunch for the team and as soon as they get out of the SUV and step into the parking lot of the local sandwich shop, he pulls him close and tells him how much he loves him.

They do not see Derek and Emily coming out of the shop with bags of food in their hands having had the same idea as them, mouths open until they pull away and it is much too late. Their sworn secrecy does not last long, not that they’d really expected it to, and soon the entire team is in a perpetual state of teasing. Spencer sort of loves it, though, and Aaron will put up with the type of intrusion into his private life that he usually resents if it makes Spencer smile as wide as it does when Derek or JJ make an off-handed comment about how gone for him Aaron is.

Slowly, Spencer feels that empty pit of loneliness fill back up, the aching sadness eases when he has so many hands willing to help him carry the burden. The happy ending he’d been craving for so long, the ending he’d written off as unattainable and stupid to wish for, he finally had in his hands, and he wasn’t about to let it go anytime soon.

Yes, Emily and Alex were never officially in a season together but shhh I’m writing I can do what I want.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch x reid #my writing #hotchreid

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taztaz92-oneshots-stories · 4 years

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A man, a dog, a monster? Oneshot

Alucard x reader

It was one of those days, where Seras and I had a day off. We decided to hang out with the wild geese, watching a movie together.

At least that was the plan!

It all stated, as I asked the police girl a simple question about her master, "Hey Seras, why does Integra call Alucard 'her dog'?" "Because master is her servant" she replied. "But why isn't she calling you or the soldier's 'dogs'?"

This time, the young vampire didn't know what to say to that, shrugging only. Now this question is irritating her as well. "Your right N/A, I never thought of it before...wait...master can turn into a dog...does that count?"I didn't know what to say to that and shrugged. "So what is he really...a man...or a dog?" we both didn't have the answer to that question now.

But we are determined to find out!

We discussed about a dog behaviour, which he might have, if he is truly a dog. "Okay, we see if he sleeps like a dog in his coffin" I began. Next was Seras turn, "Maybe master has some favorite treats, which he would do anything to get." The thought of him sitting on the floor begging made me laugh.

"Maybe he listens to commands, like 'Sit' or 'roll over'"...I wasn't surprised, as Seras was rolling on the floor, laughing hard...I couldn't help myself either. What can I say, imaginations are a powerful thing! If only he would have some...as the devil himself came through the wall.

"What is so funny police girl, N/A?", his voice was a little harsh, as his eyes had rings underneath them. Did we wake him? "Nothing Master, n-n-nothings funny here", she tried to say, catching her breath. He turned his head towards me, only to get the same answer. "You laugh for nothing and for that you wake me?"

Ops, so we did wake him after all!

"Sorry master, we didn't mean to" said Seras, fearing her master's wrath. "You are forgiven...for now", he said. Before he left he went over to me and pulled my chin up, till his eyes met mine, "If you wake me once more...you will regret it." He gave his fledgling one last glare, before going through the walls again. I swallowed hard, "Maybe we should leave the coffin part for now." She agreed, without any hesitation.

The best person we could ask for is Sir Hellsing herself. Since she is already awake and his master after all. However, as we asked her about the 'dog issue', she looked at us surprised. "That vampire has been in my family's possession for a long time. He is used to get orders, like a dog"she said in a bored manner, leaning back in her chair. "But what is he more...a man...or a dog?"

"A monster Miss N/A" interrupted us Walter.

He came in with a tray for Sir Integra, while he informed her about her regular 'afternoon tea'. Until he faced us "It's easy to forget what he is, once you are around him more often. He is a man alright, in appearance. His nature is that of a monster and his loyalty is the one of a dog. Does this satisfy your question ladies?"

We both looked at each other, before facing the butler, "....no."

"Then I suggest you find it out yourself", said Integra, holding up her cup of tea. "We will!" we said at the same time, before leaving the office. However, Integra doesn't feel well about this looking at her butler, "What do you think Walter, will they be fine?" The old man chuckled at the thought, "For miss Seras she might get a regular punishment for it...but N/A...that's who I am worried about. Alucard seems to be fond of her, but I don't know how he reacts to her...when she disturbs him." "Should I stop them?" her butler shook his head, smiling, "I think your 'dog' should have his fun with her."

Seras and I prepared everything for tonight, it begins around nine o'clock.

Alucard got up from his coffin and sat in the library. My goal is to get close...to smell him. It may sound easy, but I never been this close before. So how should I do that? "Sera?" I smiled sweetly at her. She knew what I was asking for, "No, no, no. I'm afraid what Master will do to me." Duh! Like I wasn't!

So it up to me to find out.

I greeted him with a fake smile, looking at his book with interest, "What are you reading?" "Why don't you come here and I tell you", he said, gesturing to the seat next to him.

Wow that was easy!

I did without hesitation, sit next to him...moving a little further. I yelped, as his arm pulled me right against his chest, "Why so shy?" "I am not. I am just..." now was my chance, I leaned forward and inhaled his scent: blood, gunpowder, soil...but not dog. "Looking for something?" he said chuckling at me. "You smell...nice?" I didn't know what else to say, as his face came closer to me. "Is that so? I wonder what you smell like" he said snuggling into me. His chest was shaking, as he chuckled while his nose was in my hair, "Vanilla, Strawberry...virgin." His tone was quite seductive, when he said the last word.

His gaze was frightening, he didn't smile but was completely fixed on me. Thankfully, Seras gave me something for such cases. I got it out of my jacked and showed it to the vampire. Like a dog, he followed the pack, when I moved it into different directions. I thought, if he is fixed on that, he would get it. With a little force I threw it into the opposite direction, yelling 'Fetch!"

But...instead of getting it...he moved his head towards me...again.

"The blood pack is there...you know...fetch?" I got cared not knowing what he will do; a she came closer to my face. "Are you suggesting that I am a dog?" "N-n-no th—that's not it. I mean..." I wasn't sure what to say, my mind was empty. Unfortunately, he didn't wait for my explaination, as his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me towards him. "I show you what I am" he said, with a devilsh smirk.

Oh god, tell my family I love them!!!!

Seras wasn't aware of the previous situation, as she waited in the basement. She had the task on watching her master sleep. She didn't know what ot think, of what she just saw now. There was me, on all fours with a collar around my neck, the leash was held by the No-life-king. "By foot, good girl" he said, pulling the leash slightly. Unlike him, I felt humiliated. I had to crawl all the way here, being laughed at by the Wild Geese, received an amused smile from Walter and a smirk from Integra. Can this get any more worse than this!!!!

Alucard, sat on his chair, ordering me to jump on to his lab. I didn't have much choice and obeyed. "That's a good dog" he said, stroking my hair tenderly. He didn't stop there, oh no, he told me he wants his new 'dog' to sleep with him inside his coffin. Seras just stood there in silence, trying to suppress a laugh, while I gave her the most deadly glare I could do, "Not.a.word.Seras!"

Walter was right...he is a monster!

#hellsing #hellsingultimate #hellsingalucard #oneshot #reader #alucardxreader #tazthepaw #alucard #vampire #dracula #anime #manga

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lynelovespopculture · 4 years

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A CAOS CHARACTER PROFILE: AMBROSE SPELLMAN

The only male Spellman family member is quickly becoming a fan favorite and given Ambrose’s quick wit, charm and love for his family, it’s not hard to see why. Yet in a show where there are so many rich characters and so much going on in 2 short seasons, is it fair to said that Ambrose is the most underdeveloped Spellman of all?

BEGINNING

One cannot think of Ambrose’s early days, his birth, his childhood, without pondering about the question that people had been asking since day one; who are Ambrose’s parents? Now, normally in a show of this big a cast, it wouldn’t be such a big deal except that Ambrose is a Spellman and the Spellmans are the main family of the series. (SIDE NOTE: I know the CAOS tv show is based loosely on the comic book of the same name but I’m not much of a comic person so I haven’t read it but it keeps coming up in my research but I don’t think Ambrose’s parents are in the comics but since I didn’t read it, I could be wrong.) So, yeah, Ambrose being a Spellman is a big pothole made even bigger when you consider that the other 3 Spellmans are quickly explained how they are related to each other. For example, even though Hilda is played by British actress Lucy Davis with a thick accent and Miranda Otto, an Australian actress which what I think is to my Canadian ear is an American accent, portrays Zelda, we are told very clearly that Zelda and Hilda are two grown unmarried sisters who share the maiden name of Spellman. They have a late brother, Edward, who was the father of Sabrina. Ambrose is not so interconnected within the family. Almost, if not every, viewer of the show have noticed this and with 20 episodes made and not 1 word of explanation, viewers have drawn their own conclusions. There are 2 theories about Ambrose’s parents, one of each is that in addition to Zelda, Hilda, and Edward, there was an 4th sibling. While this would make Sabrina’s his 1st cousin and Hilda and Zelda, Ambrose’s aunts, this theory has its own line of questioning. Why is this 4th sibling never mentioned? I feel like a strong family unit like the Spellmans would talk about all its members. Would it be another brother or another sister? Personally, I think it would be a brother because in this world orphans and illegitimate children are given the surname of Night like Prudence had before her father gave her his name. Also, if Ambrose’s mother was a born Spellman but married, Ambrose would have his father’s last name. The 2nd theory is Ambrose is a distant cousin to the Greendale Spellmans. It’s in the Christmas special that Zelda tells the others that she plans to tell people that Leticia is a Spellman from another country, perhaps like Ambrose? We might not know who Ambrose’s parents are, but we do know what happened to them. Both were killed by witch hunters when their son was very young. There are clues in this show that Ambrose is originally from England. Chase Perdomo, his actor, is British, there’s a union jack on the wall of his attic bedroom and he refers to places in London. After his parents’ death, little Ambrose was claimed by his relative, Hilda Spellman. I believe that Hilda, at least for the first few years, was the little boy’s sole guardian. When Ambrose is in the witches’ cell, Hilda demands to see him, claiming to be ‘the only mother he has ever known’, a claim she cannot make with Sabrina. This would also explain Ambrose and Hilda's very close and special bond. I’m not saying that Zelda and Ambrose hate each other, far from it but he always seemed closer to Hilda. Either Hilda made a special trip to England and decided to stay, or Hilda was already living in England, training to be a midwife when Ambrose came to live with her. A few years later, Zelda came into the household and Ambrose got used to life with 2 aunties. Like all Spellmans before him, at 16 Ambrose signed the book of the beast and was enrolled in Greendale’s Academy of Unseen Arts. His aunts also decide to return to their home in Greendale. After completing school at the Academy, Ambrose was free to roam the world. Ambrose published a collection of poetry at 17, went to several different universities, painted with the Surrealists and even taught stage magic to the world-famous Harry Houdini. During his wild adventures, Ambrose might have discovered he was sexually attracted to both men and women. As much as he enjoyed his life and as dearly as he loved his aunts, Ambrose had always longed for a father figure. This might have been why Ambrose became a follower of real-life occultist Aleister Crowley. It is while following this cult that Ambrose got involved in a plot to blow up the Vatican. He was not the only one involved but somehow Ambrose was the other one who got caught. The witches council offered him a plea deal, Ambrose could go free if only he would name his partners in crime. Ambrose refuses, speaking to Ambrose’s loyal and kind heart. I doubt that blowing up the center of the Catholic faith would be a great concern for the council. I think the real crime is the exposure to the coven.

HOUSEBOUND

After Ambrose refuses to name names, the warlocks of the witches council used binding spells to make sure that Ambrose is unable to leave the grounds of the Spellman house. I suppose that house arrest is not the worst punishment in the world but for a social butterfly like Ambrose, it’s bad. Still, Ambrose doesn’t bow to the pressure. Instead, he makes the most of it. Ambrose collects rare books from all over the world as information to the outside world, keeps himself busy working in the family funeral home. Still, being unable to leave the home, I’m pretty sure that Ambrose must have missed out on a lot. The wedding of his Uncle Edward and the mortal Diana. (Which, I’ve noticed Ambrose never mentions them, it probably means nothing but I like to give you guys all my thoughts) Anyway, some time later, Edward and Diana both died in a plane crash and an infant Sabrina comes to live with her aunts and Ambrose. When the show opens, Ambrose’s house arrest has been in effect for 75 years. Ambrose, not surprisingly, has a hell of a case of cabin fever. Ambrose loves his family but the aunts and Sabrina who is now nearly 16, can come and go as they please. Sadly, poor Ambrose cannot. He’s lonely, the only people he can talk to is his family, the people who come over for a funeral and service people, like delivery and mail people. For most of the first season, Ambrose can mostly be seen dressed in PJs and housecoats. When people dress like that for a long time, it’s a classic sign of depression. However, Ambrose masks his depression well by his humor and his desire to help his beloved cousin with her doubts about her upcoming dark baptism. Meanwhile, on the job front, Ambrose is tending to the body of a young man named Connor. His parents are mortal, so Ambrose is confused to discover a witch’s mark on Connor’s body. It is confirmed by both aunts and Father Blackwood. Connor must be a warlock adopted by mortal parents. While Ambrose is pondering this, Sabrina is running for the house. Having fled her baptism, the entire coven is after her. Ambrose loves his cousin like a little sister, so he gets rid of the coven with a rather impressive bluff about protection spell, then he leaves to do the spell. A few days later, Ambrose finds a lizard on top of Connor’s coffin. He knows that this is Connor’s familiar. Zelda says it’s better just to kill it, but Ambrose rather tries to coax it with food and keeps it in his room. At Connor’s funeral, Ambrose meets Connor’s old boyfriend, a guy named Luke and there’s a spark between the two. Later, they hook up and the next morning, Ambrose discovered 2 things, Luke left his number and sometimes during the night, the lizard dropped dead. Apparently, this means…nothing! I’m serious, the whole Connor storyline is dropped never to be spoken of again! Anyway, Ambrose wants to go on a real date with Luke but he’s still housebound so he talks Hilda into watching over him as he astral projects to Dr. C’s. However, he breaks his promise, he knows he should go but he stays. He is brought back by an angry Zelda who reminds her dear felon that his sentence includes his spirit. Next, the Spellmans are haunted by a dream demon, exposing their worst fears. Not surprisingly, Ambrose’s is that he’ll never, ever leave the house. His dream begins well, Ambrose is given a full pardon, tons of cash and a car to take him to the airport. Yet, just as Ambrose goes to leave, the demon murders him and he is forced to work on his own body. This plays on a loop until the demon is defeated. Even with the day saved, our boy is still depressed. The dream has rammed into him that he is still basically in a prison and worse still, Luke has stopped calling him. As fate would have it, Hilda runs into Luke in the bookstore and decides to help the young lovers by spiking Luke’s drink?! (Seriously? Hilda, WTF??) It works, (I guess) because we soon learn that Luke has an in with Father Blackwood and will speak to him about Ambrose. Indeed, Faustus comes to the house and offers him the original deal; his freedom for the other names. Blackwood says to think about it and Blackwood will return tomorrow for Ambrose’s answer. Before he can consider the high priest’s offer, Ambrose catches Sabrina using the Cain pit, leading to Sabrina getting yet another lecture about how she cannot misuse magic. The next day, Ambrose tells Father Blackwood he’s sorry, but he can’t give up the names of the other warlocks, even now. To his complete surprise, Blackwood says he respects Ambrose’s loyalty and offers to lift his sentence if he would go to work at the academy. Ambrose accepted the deal and because it was Faustus was the one to set him free him, Ambrose sees Father Blackwood as his new father figure.

BACK IN ACTION

Ambrose was, of course, is super excited about his new freedom and job. He walks around the house in his new clothes. On his 1st day, Blackwood gives Ambrose a basic warlock right, a new mouse familiar. Ambrose discovered that the Greendale 13 and the red rider of death are coming to destroy the town. He and Luke rushed to warn the coven. The coven decided to stay at the academy. The Spellmans decided to stay in town and help the mortals. As they gathered in Baxter High, Ambrose didn’t stay long, Luke teleports him to safety because he loves him. Season 2 starts at the beginning of a new school term. Luke doesn’t support Sabrina’s bid for top boy and Ambrose avoids the subject even after he and Sabrina have a big fight. Ambrose is questioning Luke where he was, Luke says he was on an errand for Father Blackwood and this is the last we ever see Luke. At the start of the very next episode, Ambrose can be seen making out with Prudence. This is so odd that even Sabrina questions it. Her cousin only says that Luke is away on business and not to worry. But by the very next show, Ambrose himself is so worried about Luke, he’s asking the fortune teller about him. Instead, Ambrose is told how Father Blackwood will order him to kill Sabrina and their aunts and he does it. Upset, he steals a card and runs off to ask Faustus if he’ll hurt the Spellmans. Blackwood seems confused. So far, he’s been good to the Spellmans, he freed Ambrose and he’s engaged to marry Zelda. He does have some sad news; Luke has died on a mission for the church. Ambrose looks down at the card he stole, it marked for death. As the wedding approaches, Ambrose is depressed for Luke and can’t find his mouse. Sabrina has found her father’s manifesto and because Ambrose is on guard duty the night before the wedding, she can present it to the anti-pope. This turns out to be a massive mistake on the cousins’ part because this enrages Blackwood so much and he fears that the anti-pope will prefer Edward’s work to his that he decides to kill him using Ambrose and the other guards. Ambrose is found over the bloody corpse, knife in hand. Blackwood kills the other guards but Ambrose teleports away just in time. Only in the safety of Sabrina’s room, Ambrose begins to panic but Sabrina assures him that he would never do such a thing. Nick hides him at Grey’s, where Ambrose’s vomits up his mouse and puts together how Blackwood used him. It only takes a suggestion from Grey to wrongly convince Ambrose that Blackwood killed Luke. Ambrose decided to kill Blackwood for Luke, not for the anti-pope. Next, Ambrose makes his dumbest move in the series (well, so far.) Instead, of waiting until Blackwood is alone to kill him, Ambrose chose to attack Blackwood at his own wedding, yelling DIE, BLACKWOOD, DIE! Ambrose is caught and thrown into the witch’s cell. Prudence, drunk on the power that her new last name has given her, tries to get a confession by tricking both Ambrose and Hilda. It doesn’t work and Ambrose even gets a chicken bone key. He frees himself and opens the front door to come face to face with witch hunters! (The same witch hunters that killed Luke, but they never get to know this.) Blackwood returns and it seems Ambrose’s fate is sealed but the other Spellmans are ready. It’s the hangman who loses his head and the dark lord himself excuses Ambrose. Now free, he helps Sabrina with her mandrake problems and learns of the dark lord’s plan to make Sabrina his queen. Ambrose is last seen bonding with a redeemed Prudence and together they leave to track down a fleeing Blackwood.

LIKE THIS? DID I MISS OR FORGET ANYTHING? WHAT CHARACTER SHALL I DO NEXT? LIKE, REBLOG AND COMMENT!!!!!!!!

#chilling adventures of sabrina #caos #fan theory #fanfic #character profile #ambrose spellman #chance perdomo #hilda spellman #lucy davis #zelda spellman #miranda otto #sabrina spellman #luke #prudence blackwood #faustus blackwood

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jj-lynn21 · 4 years

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HOLLYWOOD MOBSTERS Starring Bill Skarsgard and his family ch 2

Warnings: violence discussed, cussing, angst, fluff, smut

ch 1 ch 3 ch 4 ch 5 ch6 ch 7

Thank you for reading @fake-me-out @crazyjam-pot @super-pink-a-palouza @polireader

Photos from esquire Singapore Septemper 2019, Calvin Klein, IMDB and Ejalo’s Instagram

The mud was thick at the cemetery. It seemed to ooze around Bill’s boots as he stood there with Genna’s mother and sister clinging to him in tears. His arms were around them both. He was blank. No more tears to cry. Other emotions buried deep. He wanted to be strong for them. He knew that some how this was his fault because of his family. None of the priest’s words were comforting. His family stood behind him for support. Genna’s Aunts, Uncles, cousins and friends stood on the other side of the coffin as it was lowered into the ground.

They all went to the Skarsgard mansion after for drinks and light bites. Bill did not eat. He really had not eat since the wedding. He was numb. His stomach was sick and he felt alone in the room full of people. He nursed a Jack and coke as people approach him with condolences. It just made his stomach worse.

“Hey,” Valter sat in a chair beside him. His girl, Angel, on his lap. Both keeping a somber face. “We have to head back to The University. Classes and shit start back up tomorrow.” He placed his hand on Bill’s shoulder.

Bill put his hand over his brother’s. “Thanks for being here.” He said mechanically.

“You should eat something man,” Valter motioned for Angel to get up so he could. “Angel made the chocolate chip cookies. Best cookies you will ever have in your mouth. I guarantee it.”

Bill looks up, “Thank Angel. We appreciate your baking.”

She just nodded. They start to say their goodbyes. Alex motions Valter to another room.

“Angel, will you go get me a few of your amazing cookies before they are devoured by others?” Alex asked so he could talk to his bother alone. “We are all very proud of you going to graduate business school soon Valter. We would like you of course to work closer in the family business when you graduate. Do what you do now but at Bunny’s. Oversee the bar. The books. Everything that come in and out of there. What do you think? Feel free to give it some thought.”

Valter ponders the idea for a few moments, “Yeah, that would be cool. Hell, Angel is already a dancer at a college joint. Could she join Bunny’s?”

“Of course, if you are ok with her getting ogled,” Alex said.

“Why should I care who looks at her if she is coming home with me,” He thinks. “We will need our own place.”

Angel comes in with a plate full of cookies. She hands them to Alex.

Alex takes a bite closing his eyes making a big show of pleasure, “mmmm these are really the best.” He opens his eyes. “Drive safe Valter. And keep your eyes open.”

Alex walks Valter and Angel out. He nods to Gustaf to follow him. Bill sees this and follows them outside. Valter and Angel continue to his yellow hummer.

When Alex sees Bill he stops, “You don’t have to be involved in this right now Bill.”

“I think I’m already fucking involved so whatever you are discussing, I want in on it,” Bill was straight to the point.

Alex sighed knowing whatever he said wouldn’t sway his brother and maybe him learning more would help him. The three of them walk down to the beach. Its where they discussed a lot of business. The sounds of the waves crashing on the shore would more than likely interfere with any listening devises any of them might have on in case they decided to be snitches on the family. They had all heard of other families being brought down by just one member wearing a wire.

I ran the deal by The Malforals to share some of our shipment with them for what the regular customers pay plus thirty percent. They want to renegotiate. I said I’d send my best negotiator.”

“When did you talk to them,” Bill asked.

“Before I turned in last night,” He looked out to the ocean. “An hour before I was shot.”

“Do I have the authority to get the deal we want what ever it takes?” Gustaf has his hands in his pockets flicking at a pocketknife with his right thumb. He also had a bowie knife down his left sock, a gun down the back of his pants and another tucked in his shirt. He was a little more than just a negotiator. No one found that out until it was to late.

“Always,” Alex said.

“I’m going with you,” Bill insisted. “If these are the people that killed my girl, I want to know.”

“Just keep your cool little brother, “Gustaf implored. “We don’t want to start a war with this family if we can help it. But if they did have anything to do with her murder, I assure you I will have enough fire power to take them out. When is the meeting set up Alex?”

“Tomorrow night at ten at the usual place,” He turns back to the house. “I’ll let the two of you work out any more details. I shouldn’t know everything.”

“You need target practice,” Gustaf hands Bill the gun from inside his shirt. “It has a silencer so no one should hear us down here. I want to see you hit the third palm tree from shore to our right.”

“Just because I don’t use the skills Dad taught us doesn’t mean I forgot,” Bill checks the bullets in the chamber, takes the safety off and shoots dead on. “I fucked up the guys shoulder that shot my girl. I would have shot him dead in between his eyes if I wasn’t in the bathroom when the glass broke. Fuck, I need a new apartment. I’m not going back there but I’m not staying here. Fuck,” He takes another shot without looking and still hits the tree just not completely centered.”

“Let me have it,” Bill hands Gustaf the gun back. “How’s your knife skills?” He puts the gun back in his shirt after putting the safety back on. He hands Bill the bowie knife from his sock. “Same tree.”

“I can hit the farther one but alright,” Bill checks the wind to be a smart ass and tosses the knife hitting right above the bullet. “Well, did I pass your fucking test.”

“I’m not so sure you are in the right head space for this, but I also think you can do what needs to be done,” Gustaf said, “Just try to keep calm. No one gets hurt unless they earn it.”

When Valter and Angel get close enough to see the Frat house they notice yellow cautious tape around the door. Valter turns down a side street.

“What do you think is going on V,” Angel ask nervously.

“I don’t know other than even if we can’t see cop cars it doesn’t mean they’re not there.” He tries to think of his best options. “I’m going to drop you at your sorority or better yet, we should pull into student parking and I’ll walk you there. I love this car, but it doesn’t exactly blend in with our surroundings. If the cops are looking for me for any reason, I don’t want you involved.”

“You can lay low at the sorority until they’re gone?” Angel suggested, “The girls wouldn’t have a problem with that as long as we shared some of your party favors.”

Valter always had cocaine and marijuana close by for a quick sale. Everyone knew where to go for “party favors” to have a real lit party on campus. Most of the time he was just invited and made a killing selling for the family. There were other salesmen on campus but Valter had such pure shit it was worth the extra cost. And no one dare rat him out since they all knew some of his family members if not all were possible killers. Plus, they wouldn’t get what they needed if he wasn’t there. The campus was going to be practically dry when he graduated.

“No, sweetheart,” He parked and grabbed two hoodies from his bag in the back seat. “I don’t want you involved any more than you are just being around me now. Put this hoodie on. I’ll walk you close to your place. Then I’ll get some other transportation to get out of here.” Before getting out of the hummer Valter grabbed the bag from the back that was filled with money, cocaine, weed and some extra cloths.

They both put their hoods up as they walked casually down the sidewalk. About a block away Valter dropped his bag before pulling Angel close kissing her passionately. She fisted the front of the hoodie he wore. They both took a breath looking at each other like they were memorizing how each looked in this moment. Then kissed again his hands on her cheeks keeping her in the moment as long as he could.

“I love you Valter,” She said looking in his eyes.

“I love you to my Angel,” He picked up his bag, glanced around and headed away from her.

She just stood there shocked. She knew he must have thought something seriously was wrong because it was the first time he ever said ‘I love you’. Usually he would answer her ‘I love you’ with ‘ditto’ or ‘I know.’

As soon as he stepped into the road to cross, police sirens blasted. He was surrounded. As several officers manhandle him to the ground Angel covered her mouth so she wouldn’t scream. He would only be pissed at her if she got involved.

#hollywood mobsters #valter skarsgård #bill skarsgard #alex skarsgard #gustaf skarsgard #original story #fiction #fantasty #creative writing #writing #mobsters #crime family #crime #love #angst #bill skarsgard smut

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aevus-blogging · 4 years

Note

animorph lads and controller gents

Oh. Anon no. Anon, you have given me a nugget for angst by god. Okay okay. So. Sorta yes, sorta no. You ready for a rambly oneshot? Be ready for a rambly one shot

According to the yeerks, James Ryan Haywood and Epslin 413 were dead and devoured by the creatures of the cruel and blistering arizona desert. This was only true for one of them though.

Ryan, he had been an involuntary host, picked up from his dreadful foster home by the Sharing with the promise of free food and a safe zone. He had been too trusting of the altruistic organization, up until the point he was being escorted down into the underground bunker area and having his head forced down into that cursed murky water, a slug alien entering his ear and taking control over his actions.

Years he had suffered in silence, fighting tooth and nail when he could. He watched as the Yeerk piloted his body around, forcing him into an arizonan college (closer to the yeerks home base) and into an IT program, minoring in theatre to keep the facade of Ryan’s love of theatre intact, despite the fact the yeerk despised it. Of course he passed with flying colors and soon found himself in an IT job. Still, eight years later Ryan still fought against the yeerk in his head. It was only by luck that Ryan would find his freedom again.

It had been a call, of him having to hop in a car and drive a few hours away to assist a job. It had been utter luck for him that his car broke down mid way through the drive, even more so that he was on the day his yeerk needed to head into the pit to recharge. Ryan could feel himself laughing at the Yeerk’s misfortune. 24 hours and he was a free man once more. While he was excited, the Yeerk was terrified. He had no cell phone, no Yeerk communication device either. He was alone.

Eventually night fell, and so did Ryan’s body in fatigue. As the night drawled on the Fugue started to hit, racking the yeerk and host both in pain. Slowly Epslin 413 died, memories of former hosts invading Ryan’s mind and leaving themselves there. Four other hosts before Ryan. One Gedd, two Hork-Bajir, and one other human, a teen that had been an involuntary host as well, one that managed to free himself the only way he could in the cage, by death. After what felt like an eternity the Yeerk receded out of Ryan’s mind, shriveled up on the cold desert ground. For the first time in forever Ryan laughed, he was free.

It wasn’t until morning that a trucker would pull off and pick Ryan up, that was the true birth of Ryan the free man, and the final nail in James the Controller’s coffin. That was the start of his hitchhiking to Los Santos, ignoring the news of the search for James Ryan Haywood. He stayed low in the city. Always wearing something to obscure his face, no use in someone actually recognizing him, even worse if it would be a controller.

It was no surprise he was mistaken as a hitman, with the whole paranoia and face hiding thing. It was a surprise that Ryan actually went along with it. Maybe it was the fact he had seen too many deaths in his time as a controller that he was numb to it all, maybe a lingering malicious will of the yeerk that controlled him, or, most terrifyingly, maybe he had always had the capability and willingness. But becoming a hitman was a blessing as much as it cursed him. It gave him more freedom, It made it so when he killed a high level controller the Yeerks didn’t think it was a Yeerk thing but a human thing. So he passed the years like that, picking off the controllers he could, making money off his kills.

Then the Fake AH Crew formed. He was sent an invite, a nice little postcard in his mail from one Geoff Ramsey. At first he panicked. Then he decided if this was somehow Yeerk related it would be best to play along right? Thankfully for him it wasn’t yeerk related. It was a bonafide crew, a gang of criminals. Yet as time drawled on in the crew became more and more of a dysfunctional family. Then the day came when they all died, but at the same time they didn’t. They all came back. Some, like Gavin, were up almost instantly, but others, Ryan, took hours to repair the damage. When Ryan did come back it was full of panic and wondering if Hell was home, which of course causes Geoff to laugh. Ryan gets a welcome to Immortality speech (distantly Ryan is glad that he’s yeerk free, the things the yeerks would have done to him if they knew he was immortal). After that the crew gets closer, due to their immortal status and that the more elder ones finally having people who wouldn’t die in fifty years for the first time in centuries, if not millennia.

Ryan went soft, he had relaxed. Most days he only lounged around the penthouse in simple face paint. It had been a mistake. A grave mistake. Geoff started going off on more and more ‘meetings’ spending little to no time in the penthouse for a month. Then one night the lads didn’t come home. There were reports of a meteor hitting Mount Chilliad (Ryan doubted it was a meteor, it was probably a bug ship that malfunctioned). Ryan just hoped the lads hadn’t gone to it, but knowing them and the fact they weren’t home made Ryan anxious. Jack tried to calm Ryan down, telling him that the lads probably were just drunk and that’s why they weren’t answering their phones.

Then they came home, looking ragged as hell, scorch marks on their clothes. They were full of anxious nerves, distrust showing in their eyes as they looked at the gents, like they were expecting them to attack. Then they asked a damning question.

“So, what do you think of the existence of Aliens?” Gavin asked, the calmest of the lads. Then again Gavin was a grifter, more than a century poured into his craft. But the reactions were imminent in the crew. Ryan froze, flashbacks to Epslin 413 and his time as a controller rearing his ugly head. Ryan wasn’t the only one to react though. Geoff had frozen as well, staring the lads down, expression unreadable.

“Why do you ask Gavin?” Jack asked, genuinely confused. Ryan glanced at Jack, of course she doesn’t know. Ryan was willing to bet Jack had never knowingly interacted with a controller before. Ryan went to drop a retort when he saw Geoff reaching for something out of the corner of his eye, his heart turned to ice as he saw what it was. A Dracon Ray. Ryan didn’t think, he just acted. He leapt for Geoff, wrestling the blaster away, dimly he was aware of the Lads yelling, but adrenaline was high in Ryan’s veins. Geoff was a controller. God knows for how long. In the end Ryan won and was holding the alien gun, pointing it at Geoff’s head, snarl on his lips. The room was silent, the lads recognizing the blaster as alien, and immediately were on edge, reaching for their own weapons.

“Yeerk Fucker.” Michael growled, eyes darting from Ryan to Geoff, trying to figure out who the Yeerk was. Ryan could feel himself shake, but stayed focused on Geoff, the one confirmed Yeerk in the room.

“Bet you can’t even work that.” The Yeerk growled out. Ryan barked out a laugh, deftly armed the blaster from years of practice ingrained in his muscle memory.

“Oh don’t I? These haven’t changed since I was a controller.” Ryan said darkly. The Yeerk inhabiting Geoff twisted his friend’s face into a sneer.

“There are no cases of Hosts getting free.”

“My enslaver was Epslin-413. I was used with the intention of working IT and working my way up in a promising company. ‘I’ had to drive through the Arizona desert from one town to the next for a job. The Yeerk was supposed to go to the Yeerk Pool in the small city after the job was done to recharge there. Fortunately for me my car broke down. No one came along that road, not till the fugue set in and Epslin 413 was long dead. I am James Ryan Haywood. I faked my death to escape you parasites, today you will get a small taste of the helplessness you put my friend in.” Ryan growled out, glancing to the Lads.

“Lockdown, three days. No one leaves or enters the penthouse.” Ryan said, voice hard.

“Yes, yeah. Lockdown. Force the Yeerk in Geoff into a fugue. But uh. I have to get one person and we need to explain ourselves.” Gavin said, dashing to the elevator. Ryan bit his lip, wanting to go after him, but the possibility of Geoff Yeerk getting Free was too much to risk. So Ryan tied Geoff down, and Jeremy tied Jack down. Jack was confused, but was willing enough while Geoff thrashed about, causing Michael to have to hold the older gent down.

By the time Geoff was tied down Gavin was back, with someone who looked very very similar to Trevor, if Trevor wasn’t white. The clothes he was wearing were ill fitting, obviously not his own, and he didn’t even have shoes. The new Guy was looking around before zeroing in on the thrashing controller and then looking at Ryan and the Dracon Ray.

“So that’s the former Controller! Hi I’m Alfredo, not my real name but I like that name much better than my birth name. I’m an andalite and I’m here to help!” He said, then to prove his point he started morphing, ripping and shredding the clothes on his body as he went from ethnic Trevor to alien centaur with stalk eyes. Ryan was immediately at attention, memories of Visser Three flooding his mind.

“Andalite.” Ryan said, nodding to the alien.

“Okay. Story Time on what we did last night.” Gavin said, clearing his voice.

“So last night we were fucking around on Mount Chilliad. We met Trevor up there, he was doing some space stuff. We started fucking around, planning shenanigans. Then the ship fell. We of course checked it out, thinking we could snag some cool military grade shit and then gtfo. It was an Andalite ship. Inside was Alfredo and Elfangor. Elfangor was badly wounded, he was dying. Alfredo was in much better shape. Elfangor told us about the Yeerks, gave us some psychic images of them and imprinted some data of the yeerks in our minds. Then he gave us this.” Gavin nodded to Jeremy, who produced a glowing blue box that had Yeerk Geoff’s eyes bugging out.

“The Escafil Device. Or as we’ve been calling it, the Blue Cube. He. He gave us the morphing ability and told us to take Alfredo and run. We did. Visser Three, he was arriving as we were sneaking away. We heard him kill Elfangor. We ran, once we reached our car we realized we were fucked. Couldn’t take them down. And we couldn’t walk about with a blue horse thing. Alfredo, he did some fancy shenanigans and acquired us all and made his own human morph. So began our two hour at a time trek back home after putting Alfredo in a spare set of Michael’s work out clothes. We eventually got home, told Alfredo to wait in the garage, and well you know the rest.” Gavin said.

“Where’s Trevor then?” Jack asked, frown on her face.

<Glad you asked that oh friend of mine.> A voice buzzed in their heads, sounding like Trevor. In a few seconds a fly began enlarging and becoming more and more human like, grotesquely morphing into one Trevor Collins.

“Put your clothes on.” Michael huffed, tossing some clothes to the stark naked man.

“We’ll have to figure out clothes that go with our morphs.” Gavin muttered as Trevor pulled on his clothes.

<Later. Right now is making sure your gent friends are free of any and all Yeerk infestations.> The andalite Thought spoke.

“Are we tying up Ryan too or?” Jeremy trailed off, not looking like he particularly wanted to. Probably didn't help that he was still holding the blaster. Ryan disarmed it and gently set it far away from Geoff.

“If you want, it’s fine. I understand.” Being a previous host he really could understand.

<I think he’ll be fine. Besides what are the odds he overpowers all five of us?> Alfredo responded, causing Jeremy to snort.

“Pretty damn high. Ryan’s our resident murder hobo.” Jeremy said, causing Ryan to huff and mutter am not.

<What’s a Murder Hobo?>

The three days followed a semi strict schedule, Alfredo took the night shift guard with Ryan. Then Michael or Jeremy would relieve them when the sun rose and tell them to sleep. They wouldn't and would linger about till Gavin and Trevor took over at noon as well as feeding. Jack was always cooperative while Yeerk Geoff was as much of a bastard as possible. Then six hours would go by and whichever of Gavin or Jeremy didn’t take morning took night till twelve am in which another feeding would happen with difficulty. Then at Midnight Alfredo and Ryan took over. Over and Over again.

Till the fugue started for Yeerk Geoff. Then it was all hands on deck. While Alfredo hung back, the crew was there to help Geoff through it. Ryan repeatedly apologising to Geoff. He knew what it was like to go through the fugue, the hell of pain that came with it. Not once did Ryan leave Geoff’s side. When Geoff went limp and the Yeerk slug slid out of Geoff’s ear and shrivelled up, only then did Ryan let himself relax.

“You made it Geoff.” He said gently.

“Just barely. God, you went through that too?” Geoff asked, voice hoarse after the Yeerk used it to yell and rage for so long before giving up.

“Yeah. Fun times.” Ryan huffed out, causing Geoff to bark out a laugh as Gavin undid his bindings.

“Super fun.” He drawled out.

“So what next?” He asked

“We wait one more day for Jack, sorry Jack. And as long as she’s clear, we pass off the ability to morph to you three and we start planning a guerilla war?” Jeremy said, the last part coming out more as a question than statement. Ryan nodded at that. Made sense to do it all at once, and to make sure Jack wasn’t harboring a well fed Yeerk.

“Immortality and shapeshifting? We’re going to be set for eternity boys. Good thing Thelon 1111 was a greedy bitch and didn’t want to give up an immortal hist to a sub visser or visser.” Geoff said, causing Trevor to gasp and Alfredo to be taken aback.

<Immortals, that is impossible> “What, y'all are immortal too?” Alfredo’s denial and Trevor’s excitement overlapped as they were both said at the same time.

“Respawn of Six minutes.” Gavin said proudly.

“Damn son. I only have a respawn of two hours.” Trevor huffed out. Ryan stayed back as the others began arguing with Alfredo over this, the andalite refusing to believe such a thing. Until Gavin shrugged and shot Michael in the head. Thankfully Michael was a fast healer and the wound was already stitching itself up, shocking Alfredo to silence as Geoff ranted about killing in the house. This was his home, his family. For the first time since he regained his Freedom Ryan felt strong, felt powerful, like he was more than just a pawn in some galactic game of chess. He would be able to fight these bastards once and for all. The Yeerks thought James Ryan Haywod was dead. They were dead wrong.

#aevus speaks #aevus answers #aevus writes #fahc au #oops i made an entire au and this is just the beginning #i’m so sorry for everyone for my dash #this is 2600 words long #i have made mistakes #Achieve: Morph #ryan centric

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iamcrimelord · 5 years

Text

Report to Chief Constable Valtr: Dangerous Individuals in Yharnum October 3rd.

“Chief Constable,

Per your request we have a cataloged list of all known criminals within the city who are currently being sought after. I must let you know however that the healing church also requested a copy of this list as they believe these figures could be on the verge of becoming beasts due to their violent crimes. Regardless we shall still give chase to them sir, per your orders.

‘The Phantom’: Figure in black seen stalking the Opera House in Cathedral ward. He has already killed one man by hanging him during a performance at the opera, and a number of young men have been slain as well in the general area as well. Most of the killings have been committed by booby traps around and within the Opera House. The likely hood of this being a beast related incident is very minimal as the sophistication of these traps suggests that a highly intelligent mind is behind them, and not one succumbed to a beasthood. Though one could certainly be forgiven in thinking so considering that 4 people are now dead.

Edgar Rowena ‘The Raven”: Former Poet Turned Mad Hunter. We found through our investigation of him, that he went mad after his former brother in law, Roderick Usher murdered his wife Lady Rowena by tricking Edgar into thinking she was dead and then tricked Edgar into having his wife be buried alive, where she died of suffocation. He killed Roderick, chopped him into pieces and hid him in the floorboards of Usher’s house. Three constables were dispatched to catch him but he managed to escape to the roof tops, seemingly flying up there like a raven. Lord Usher’s body was recovered but his heart, by some macabre miracle... continues to beat still. The heart was taken by the church for “research” but I must confess there may be more to this than they are willing to admit.

‘The Black Creature of the Sewers’: The thing about this one sir, is that we’re not entirely sure that its a human doing this. The methodical nature of its crimes are enough to warrant constable intervention however. All of the crimes occur deep within the sewers and many of the victims are the poor and homeless. The bodies do have clear signs of being devoured in certain spots, and there are razor sharp claw marks on any of the bodies. Though this may be due to the fact that the killer is potentially using a trick weapon of some sort. Either way, the church has insisted on working in tangent with us on this one. So far though, the only thing we know is that it thrives in deep water sewage and eats homeless people.

Jack Ripper: This man despite killing over 23 people has not become a beast, indeed it amazes one that any man not riddled with beasthood could bring themselves to kill that many people and yet he has, and not only that, but has escaped capture time and time again. From what we understand, his only weapon of choice is a Dagger of incredible sharpness and has used it to mutilate his victims. He chooses to operate on nights of the hunt when all attention is drawn on hunting beasts, and not protecting the citizens. The church as of now forbids us from operating in the streets during the nights of the hunt, but have promised to have their hunters keep an eye open for him. To be honest sir... I am skeptical of their diligence in that promise.

Doctor Hyde: This is a man who has somehow managed to partially transform into a beast, but still keep his human intelligence. As such he is a most lethal killer as he mingles his intellect with his brute strength. A raving hedonist and sadist he has killed ten people since he came to our notice, beating them to death and then carving up their bodies with a blade. From what we understand after interviewing his former servants, he was experimenting a way to transform into a beast but not lose their humanity and it seems to have worked. He manages to escape our custody by sheer brute force as all constable sent against him are brutally beaten and bloodied by him, three of his ten victims have been constables who died in the line of duty trying to catch him.

‘Leathers’: Not much is known of him as of now, but we do know a few things. He is from across the ocean, he is of very, VERY low intelligence, and his weapon of choice is a marvel of engineering. A saw powered by quick silver that he uses to chop up his victims, according to one survivor, a young woman we found on the outskirts of the woods that lead to Byrgenwerth where she had managed to escape him. From what we can gather by his criminal left overs he is butchering his victims as if they were hogs or cows. We can only assume sir, we have another cannibal on our hands with this one. as of now, he has killed twelve people.

‘Man Beast’: There is no refusing the Church on this one sir. He is a man who has become a full fledged beast and yet...he is as sane as any man that walks Yharnum in the day time. But he has fully become a large black wolf man. He has not performed any murders or crimes, but the Church is going mad trying to catch him. They claim that he could snap at any second because of his advanced transformation, and may be the inspiration behind Doctor Hyde’s own experiments. The odd thing is instead of out right killing him like they do with all the other beasts they insist we catch this one alive if we find it. So far the hunters have had a devil of a time trying to catch him, hence why the church is requesting our aid. Strength in numbers I suppose.

‘The Count’: A man who bears the insignia of the noble family of Cainhurst, he is reported to have three wives, sleeps in coffins and is planning a rebellion within Yharnum. Though as of now we have seen nothing to support this claim. By all accounts sir all we have on him is rumor and conjecture. But Master Logarius of the Church has been screaming at us to arrest him though by law... he has broken none. As such we are for the moment keeping him under close watch in case he is plotting something as the Logarius demands. The Count has purchased real estate all over the city and for the most part goes about his day as any citizen of wealth does. But, as the church demands, so must we do. He mostly frequents Blood Taverns where he drinks large amounts of Blood Wine and is often seen at the homes of various, Women of the Night.

‘The Creature’: We have gotten a frantic letter from one of the scholars at Byrgenwerth that he created something from dead human parts and... well brought to life sir. He claims it is highly intelligent, uncontrollably violent, and...lonely. He fears it may try to kidnap someone or worse. Personally sir I would have discarded this one but a Choir Member from the church passed by our station and gave us an order from Vicar Amelia herself that we are to find this supposed creature and bring them to the church. I suppose with everything going on its not too outlandish a notion but if something is back from the dead does that mean death itself is defeated?

These are currently the most pressing cases we have in Yharnum but we have had reports of other strange cases but we know only a few things about them:

Apparently there is an old woman who can call down large crows to swarm and murder her victims. All else is unknown.

A man who has been experimenting with a Blue Elixir has apparently gone permanently invisible and is committing all sorts of acts but, this may just be an urban myth.

One of the inn keepers has had more than a few of his patrons vanish within his establishments walls, never to be seen again. He used to run it with his mother, a Missus Bates.

Finally sir, we have had reports of ‘killer dolls’ attacking people in their homes. Though upon inspecting the dolls we found nothing. Still, something to be noted.

All constables have been given sketches of the above mentioned criminals sir, as well as all information relevant to our other more mysterious cases. I shall give you an update sir as soon as they are either captured or a new development occurs.

~Constable Dewin.”

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ain-t-bovvered · 5 years

Text

14x12 Commentary (europe edition)

Special episode where a bunch of tired and caffeinated Europeans ( plus a sleepy American) scream together, and then die and try to get on with their day ( lol AS IF)

Hello and welcome:

@purpleskiesandcherrypies (Nat)

@dean-winchesters-bacon (Kat)

@waywardbaby (Zeta)

@ain-t-bovvered (Giul)

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Giu: Oh donatello

Zeta : What a flashback

Nat: ugh... so sick of nick already

Giul: Whatever it takes oh yes cas is gonna do something stupid ?

Nat: "Not even an Archangel"

Giul: Dean doesn’t joke too in terms of stupid decisions.

Nat: Stop it Dean

Zeta : My heart will go on, I’m sorry

Giul: Well that’s creepy

Nat: NO

Zeta: Ohhh fuck

Giul: I’m crying

Nat: Baby NOOO NOOOO Fuck

Zeta : Test drive

Kat : the hand porn though

Giul: That’s fucking terrifying

Zeta : True

Giu: Dean’s face will hunt me forever now. Jensen JFC .

Zeta : Fuck

Nat: Shit

Giu: Dont

Kat : I cried during this

Giu: I am crying

Giu: Hell’s flashbacks tho

I’m hating myself now.

[Dean pounding on the metal ] : No. No!. Sam SAM!

-Up I’m having serious parallels with when he woke up in the coffin after hell.But this time he can’t get out. NICE

- Look at his hands trembling. CAN YALL NOT

[Cell’s lights goes off] the box is dark now.

NO I HATE THIS ALREADY.

-Oh thank god.

Zeta : Sam is naked

Kat : They both are

Giu: OH FUCK

Nat: Shit

- D:” Just a bad dream, it’s fine. I’m ok”

Zeta : Never said I wasn’t scared

Giu: fucking hell

- D: "Never said I wasn't scared.But it doesn’t matter”

Nat: Fuck you

- S:” But what you are talking about is far worse than death. Michael is an archangel, he could literally keep you buried in a coffin, alive, forever.

Giu: Told ya

Kat : Hate this

Giu: That Henley. I love how it rest on Jensen’s hips. distracting.

Kat : Single layer porn!

Nat: I'm not ok .Do I have to keep watching? Ugh

Kat : YES

Giu: the fuck is happening

Zeta : What now?

Giu: They really want to play with this water and drowning bullshit

- Also this episode is already aesthetically pleasing . and that I appreciate .

Kat: They play with so many parallels this week

Kat : It’s like a Criminal Minds episode

Giul: I’m so loving this

Nat: who is he

Giul: Fucker of the week

Kat : UGH NICK GO AWAY

Zeta: Busy bee

Nat: None of that was my fault

Giul: He’s a serial killer so go off i guess

Giul: Yeah well the devil left the rest is all you bitch

Kat : I like the cop lol

- Nick is so empty right now. He’s the most dangerous human honestly.

Giul: Goddammit mark.

Nat: The TALK

- D:”You’re gonna see it through to the end”

Giul: Shut up

Zeta : Mom hates this

Giul: WE HATE THIS

Zeta: Yeah right

- S:” And Cas and Jack, you haven’t even told them”

- D:” Well that’s because I’m not good with the whole big goodbyes, all right? I don’t need to get shaky on this”

Giul: and HE DIDN T TOLD THEM . HOW DARE

Nat: Can I smack Dean over the head?

Nat: Am I allowed to?

Kat: ITS DEAN OF COURSE HE DIDN’T

-D:” Just put the end of this trip out of your head, okay?”

Giul: MY BABE

- C:” Where you able to talk him out of it?”

S:”No so I’m counting on you”

Giul: LOL SAM TOLD HIM

Nat: Awwww Cas knows tho

Giul: good sam

- He asked Rowena’s help too AAAAAH

Nat: of course he would

Giul: WE KNEW

Zeta: Remarkable command of profanity

Nat: LOL Cas about Rowena

Giul: “ Maybe if I spoke with Dean"BAAAABE

- S:”If we don’t find some way...Dean’s gone”

You have to step on my dead cold body first tho

Nat: Dean washed his hands tho

Nat: at least

Kat : He’s a clean freak

Giul: Well remember how he barely touches the public phone booths?

-tHIS EPISODE IS BEAUTIFUL

Kat: This dude is so whacked out

Giul: This is a criminal minds ep. WHEELS UP, where is Rossi when we need him?

Nat: I'm sick of this dude already

Giul: Finally some gore

Kat: BABY

- D:” Do ever think about when we were kids? I know I wasn’t the greatest brother to you”

Giul: DUDE DON’T

Zeta: Regrets

- S:” Dean , you were the one who was always there for me. The only one. You practically raised me”

Giul: U MY DA

Kat: DUDE IMMA CRY AGAIN

Nat: Sammy, stop

Giul: FUCK

Nat: SAMMEEHHHH STOP

Nat: SHIT STOP IT GUYS

Giul: oh this is for the 300 mood

Kat: I think so too

- D:” Things got dicey. You know with Dad, the way he was. I didn’t always look out for you the way I should’ve”

- lol Sam doesn’t want to hear this shit

- D:” I mean, I had my own stuff, you know. In order to keep peace I probably looked like I took his side quite a bit. Sometimes when I was away, you know it wasn't because I just ran out, right? Dad would , he would send me away when I really pissed him off. I think you knew that”

Nat: I fucking cry

Kat: JOHN YOU FUCKER

- S: “ Man, I left that behind a long time ago, I had to-”

- Look you can pin point the exact moment the eyes starts to get watery...damn it Jared.

- S:” And if we are gonna get through this, I have to do , like you said and try and keep my mind off of where we’re going. So if we could not have conversations that sound like deadbeat apologies, I would really appreciate it”

Giul: YES. THANK YOU SAM.

Zeta: Yeah ok I’m hating this

Nat: Fuck, I'm not ok.

Nat: I like the cop

Giul: BITCH DONT

Kat : Told you Ain’t God he’s praying to

Nat: DIGNITY hahahhaha

Zeta: Yep

Nat: FUck

Giul: WELL THAT’s

Zeta: That was so predictable

Nat: Nick's a fucking lsdhfishgoiewahgpieshgäahgeisladhflidshglidsea

Kat : Can he die already? I shouldn't smash my work computers keyboard that hard, probably

Giul: Hey gotta hand it to the guy tho, he’s pretty resourceful

- Sam finding a case. I’m not even surprised.

Zeta: The Winchester boys

Nat: ONE LAST CASE FOR THE WINCHESTER BOYS fuck you

- S:” You had to go there”

Kat: Damn it

Zeta: Enochian

Zeta: FBI

Giul: YAS

Nat: I'd open up that door so fast tho

Nat: and get on my knees

Kat: Control yourself woman

Nat: You know who you're talking to, right?

( that sentence is knitted in the back of our watch biker gang jackets)

Kat : THE COATS

Giul: FBI FBI FBI FBI

Giul: dean sitting so cutely

Zeta: I’m sorry.Has anybody noticed how huge their feet are??

Giul: licking lips

Nat: Dean's such a smol bean next to Sam.

Kat: Dean looks so tiny.GET OUT OF MY HEAD

- This all conversation with the twin is a real guilty trip for Dean.

- Also this confirms that Dean and Sam knows some enochian. And that’s sexy.

Talk enochian to me * trumpet sounds*

Giul: CASTIEL MY BABE

Zeta: Angel on call

Nat: Awww Cas smiles

- C:” Dean” “ [BIG FUCKING SMILE] “Is so good to hear from you”

Giul: WOW he’s so- GODDAMMIT

- [stammering] : ok...well ..good. Ah [clear throat] listen , Cass....

- C:” You are working a case? That Is So GoOd tO hEaR. So I assume that means you’re not going to go through with it. Because I have to say, Dean , this plans of yours, it was born of, of desperation , not reason”

Kat: BUSTED

Giul: WE KNOW

- C:” I-I know that I’m not supposed to know , what I know, but”

- D:” "Look I'm fine with my plan"

Nat: LIAAAR

-C:” NEED TO HAVE A CONVERSATION”

Zeta: It’s good to hear your voice

Giul: MARRIED

Zeta: I love you

- D:” Really?” S: “ Dean, it’s your husband Cass I had to tell him”

Giul: lol can we remember that Cas fucked up Donatello for them?

Nat: How he leans against Baby tho I caught myself staring at his crotch. oops

Zeta: Well....

Giul: Aaaaand flannel again

Giul: Shocking

Nat: SURPRISE It's funnier in Enochian I guess

- ALSO hell yeah for Dean being the smarty pants ! I live for these moments. We all know Sam is the main brain , but seeing the writers giving us these brilliant Dean moments is life.

Giul: He cray. This is so creepy amazing. Finally some spn old style

Kat: I know, they finally have a proper almost scary ep again

Nat: Yes. I still remember how creepy sometimes Season 1 was. oh they're here to save the day

Zeta: The Winchester boys

Giul: MOOSE IS ANGRY . SQUIRREL TOO

Zeta: Bamf much?! The hiss

Nat: Dean, control your anger!

Giul: H. O. T

- Poor guy tho, it’s not his fault .

Kat: Love snarly boys!

Giul: WELL FUCK

Zeta: Baby’s ass! I’m sorry again

Giul: We end the ninja turtle

Giul: UUUUUUGH

Kat: Ugh this bitch again

-Vintage Nick

Nat: I wanna skip Nick. Can I skip Nick?

Giul: NO Mark acting is gold

Kat I hate this whole scene

Nat: He's too good and I hate him

Giul: Wait Why is No NO , fuck no. WHAT

- The fucking ice ....

- N: “Lucifer....?”

Sarah :

Kat: ITS DUMB AF

Kat: I HATE THIS SCENE

Nat: SPN makes me question so many things

Giu: FUCK MARK OK

Nat: TELL HIM. I LIKE HER

Zeta: She kinda hates him

Kat: BUT SHE DOESN’T DO ANYTHING.SHE SHOULD BE THROWING HIM AGAINST WALLS AND SHIT

Giul: Let her leave bro

Nat: NICK LISTEN TO YOUR DAMN DEAD WIFE

- N: “ I can’t”

Kat: Nope he’s gonna be a little bitch

Giul: Oh I’m sorry he’s like a Stockholm victim.

Nat: "I'm sorry." Is he really tho?

- N:”Wherever is darkest”

Kat: Melodramatic much Nick?

Nat: DR CAS

- DR NOVAK

Zeta: Oh hello

Giul: THE OTHER Mr Winchester.

Giul: OOH OOH HOT

Nat: Dean's smirking

Giu: DOCTOR

Zeta: Giuls, u ok??

Giul: I . AM. NOT. EARSKYHGZLYCBTSGKBP FUCK ME

- Doctor: follow me.

Sam scrambling the fuck away from the sexual tension

Dean eyes on Cass [starts the sexual tension]

me [bathing in sexual tension]

Nat: THE HAIR ON CAS THO

- C:” It was necessary, doesn’t mean I don’t regret it. Doesn’t mean I don’t wish there could've been another way”

- C:

- “Please don’t compare this with your suicidal plan. Just stop it”

[ tilting head in angry ]

Zeta: Tell him Cas

- D:” Why don’t we talk about that later”

Nat: "according to your plan, there won't be a later." I love Cas

Giul: YES

Kat: THE SASS

Giul: CAS BABE

- D:” You think this is easy on me?”

-Why does it always look like Cas is on the verge of tears and they never fucking show us the real deal

- C:” So then, this is goodbye?”

Zeta:He’s hurting

- ThE FuCK Is tHaT LoOk DeAN

Nat: "Guys.. stop bickering." Is what Sam should have said. lol

lol and Cas holding Dean’s gaze a bit before focusing on Sam. Good moment

- D:” I thought he was too far gone”

C: “Dean if there is a spark of hope. then I have to try “

- Damn these writers are not being subtle.

-C: “ YOU taught me that”

Giul: GUYS I CAN T

Zeta: *pats your back *

Nat&Kat:"Get out."

Giul: when castiel get so riled up I get all tingly.YES ORDER ME AROUND

Zeta: @Giul control yourself woman

Giu: PSH HAVE U SEEN THIS...[gestures vaguely] HOW

- Sam not being subtle too

Nat: Sam's throwing shades

Kat: THE DIMPLES OF DISCONTENT

-I will never get tired of Cas glowly hand

Giul: ANGEL EYES YAAAASP

Kat: Okay dude would be choking on that tube

Giul: CAN I WAKE UP LIKE THAT TOO

Nat: I wanna wake up being surrounded by three hot boys

Giul: [clicks tongue]

Kat: With three handsome men? Yes please

- yeah ok you can’t fucking say that and look up at Castiel, Dean..you motherfucker

- C:” Would do like more grape jello?” [voice deepest than Dean’s closet]

Giul: WHAT WAS THAT VOICE CAS i felt it in my [censored]

Kat: Donatello and his chicken

- Those two whispering like that .... fuck you

Nat: THE dimples

- Castiel’s little awkward smile

- This episode is so beautifully shot I can’t

Kat: I need a gif of them legs @Giulia please ma’am

Giul&Zeta: NO REST FOR THE SELF DESTRUCTIVE.

- D: “We are going out on a high”

i wanna slap him....hard

- D: “ Sorry”

S: “sOrRY “ *chuckles*

- Sam is not drinking beer, he’s drinking hot salty tea.

Nat: Sam's really at it, huh? Trying to guilt trip Dean out of it

Giul: i don’t blame him

Nat: Can't be mad at him, tho

- S:” I have to throw away everything we stand for” aaaaand the voice cracks....good....great...

Zeta: He’s soooooo angry

Kat: Sam’s hair is so fluffy

Nat: LISTEN TO SAMMY DEAN

-S.” You just don’t check out of it “ * snarls and pushed Dean*

Dean is offended of the push.

Bitch you don’t get to be offended

- S: “ if you quit us today, there won’t be a tomorrow. What are you doing now it’s wrong,it’s QUITTING”

Giul: SAM MAD DESPERATE VOICE IS GOOD

Nat: I believe in us, Dean

-Dean doesn’t respond.

- Sam:

- Sam is all of us

Zeta: Smack him

-[Enters desperate hug]

Nat: fuck, now i'm crying

Giul: sobs

Nat: fuck no shit

Giul: OH COME ON

Kat: THIS HUG

- [strained voice] S: “why don’t you believe in us too?”

Giul: It’s too early for this.

-Sam looks like a kid here , a scared sad kid and I CAN’T DEAL WITH IT

Kat: SAM HOLDS ON SO TIGHT

- D:”Okay Sam”

Sam sniffs

D: “Let’s go home”

Nat: I need a cigarette and lots of wine

Giul: MOOD

Zeta: This fucking hurts so bad

Nat: Why you gotta make me cry tho

Giul: GOOD LORD. Stop the voice breaking

- D:” And I’ll keep believing until I can’t”

Kat: MY BOYS 😭😭😭😭

Nat: NO

Giul: JARED WTF

- D:” you’ll have to take it for what it is....the end”

Nat: SAM WON'T DO IT

Giul: STOP IT

-D:” and you have to promise me “ [Dean’s voice get high] “ that you’ll do then what you can’t do now. and that’s let me go”

Giul: HE FUCKING WON T

Nat: FUCK YOU ALL

Kat: JARED STOP YOUR FACE

Nat: FUCK YOU

Giul: JARED FUCK U

Kat: ALL OF YOU STOP YOUR FACES

Giul: FUCK IT FUCK ALL OF U

Nat: I'M DONE FUCK THIS SHIT

-D:” Just don’t hit me again”

- STOP THIS FUCKING MUSIC RIGHT FUCKING NOW

Zeta: i HATE ALL OF THIS

Nat: I DON'T WANNA WATCH ANYMORE, NO MORE SPN FOR ME

Zeta: I HAAAAAAATE IT!!!!!

Giul: AND WE HAVE ALL SEASON 15 too

Nat: FUCK THIS

Giul: YAAAASP GUYS

Kat : NO YOU HAVE TO WATCH NEXT WEEK

Giul: PROMO NOW

Zeta: Yeet

Kat: PREVIEW

Giul: GO WATCH THE PROMO BITCH

Kat : GO I CAN’T FREAKING WAIT

Giul: i LOVE IT

Well well WHAT A FUCKING RIDE.

WE HATED IT.

If you want to get tagged in the future ones send an ask HERE or to @waywardbaby or a smoke signal, idk whatever I’m tired af.

TAGS: @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @destiel-honeypie @mariekoukie6661 @dragontamerm @closetspngirl @rainflowermoon @mattiecat @bunnybaby121115 @aliaitee2 @jacks-word-of-the-day @4evamc @dammitsammy @legendary-destiel @winchesterprincessbride @destielhoneybee @castiellover20

#prophet and loss #supernatural #spn #Episode commentary #spn commentary #spn episode commentary #spn season 14 #supernatural season 14 #season 14 #spn 14x12 #supernatural 14x12

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zmediaoutlet · 5 years

Text

w/l ratio

(a coda for 14.12) (AO3)

They come back to the bunker and it's empty, again. The place has been empty a lot since Dean came back. Sam's part of it, he keeps sending the others out on hunts, but they've started finding their own, too. Living, in this world that's not yet destroyed, and he hopes that's the bigger part of it. Some if it is that they're avoiding Dean, too. He doesn't think Dean knows, or that he'd care if he did, but it bothers Sam. He doesn't need additional evidence for Dean that he's not to be trusted. Used to be their belief in each other was all they needed. Dean's here, and that's a victory, but it's one Sam wished he didn't have to win. His knuckles hurt, a little. He keeps stretching his hand against his thigh.

Castiel sees them both down into the bunker and then announces he's going to pick up Jack. "What?" Dean says, voice a scrape. They didn't talk much on the drive. He's frowning, his arm wrapped under his ribs. "Where's the kid?"

"Tulsa," Sam says. Dean's eyes swing his way and Sam shrugs. "He and Maggie and Cora, and Keith for backup. Just checking out the area." He turns to Castiel, standing stiff by the stairs, watching Dean. "They're staying at the Cowboy Inn, off 75." Cas nods and stares at Dean almost threatening for another long moment and then disappears up the stairs, and when Sam turns around again Dean's eyes have closed, his chin dropped to his chest. "Jack texted. He hopes you're doing okay."

Dean snorts, and leans hard against the map table. "Good kid," he says, quiet, and Sam's still so goddamn angry at him he could throw another punch and break his damn nose, but he wants to hug him again, too, wants to hold him so tight and close that he can't breathe, that he makes some dumb joke about Sam's octopus arms, that he can feel Dean's heart beating.

He doesn't do either. He's tired. They drove all the way through the night into the morning, and Sam dozed for a while in the passenger seat but it wasn't any kind of decent sleep. He kept lurching awake, certain for a second that when he looked over the driver's side would be empty. It's just after three o'clock and neither of them have eaten. That's somewhere to start. "I'm making grilled cheese," he announces, and Dean looks at him, at least. "Want one?"

Dean sucks in his cheek on one side and looks like he wants to say no. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, sure. I'm taking a shower, though, first."

"Try not to take forty minutes this time," Sam says. "I'm not keeping yours warm for you."

Dean huffs and nods, his mouth tucked into something that's nearly a smile. God, they're both tired.

Sam cooks. This is one of the few things he knows he's good at. He used to make grilled cheese on a hotplate in his dorm room, back when. Before that, even, when he was a kid, and Dean was gone. He leans over the griddle, the heat bathing his face. That conversation in the car. So many things left buried, things he wishes would stay buried, and they keep coming up. Nothing ever stays dead. He'd hate that if it wasn't something he'd pinned his heart to, so many times before.

To his credit, Dean is quick, and Sam's got two sandwiches each loaded up on plates when he comes into the kitchen, in clean jeans and one of his henleys and socks, still toweling his hair dry. "Think that might've been a record," Sam says, and hands him a plate.

"You just don't know how to enjoy the finer things in life," Dean says, and if it's not all that much like his normal self it's at least closer. He slings the towel over his shoulder and lifts the edge on the top sandwich. Just a little underdone, to Sam's taste, which makes it just how Dean likes it.

"Hey," Sam says, and then when Dean looks up at him and meets his eyes he doesn't know what to say. He feels like he punctured something, there in the dirt by the car, and he's drained. Dean's expression changes, just like that, and he looks for a second so sad and sorry that Sam wants to cover up his face, hide both of them away, and to stop Dean saying anything he blurts out, "Today's Sunday," and Dean says, derailed, "Uh, yeah," and Sam says, "Let's watch the game."

They've, neither of them, watched more than about two hours total of football this year. Even so, Dean's eyes clear with relief and he nods. "Yeah, sounds good," he says, and then, "You better not root for the Bradys."

Sam snorts and pushes Dean's shoulder. A lot softer than he did before. He leads the way, passes by his room, and when he pushes open the door to Dean's little den he knows without looking that Dean's surprised. They haven't spent much time in here, what with… everything. The other-worlders don't go in here, though, and it's still the same as it was when Dean left it. Two armchairs, side by side.

Kickoff already happened, along with whatever pageantry was involved. Football isn't really Dean's game, he prefers baseball, but he settles in easy enough. He takes the Rams' side, immediately. "Always root for the underdog, Sammy," he says, one sandwich down and the other in hand. "Haven't you ever watched a sports movie? Come on."

"Sometimes data tells us a little more than feelings," Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes. Brady throws another out to Edelman and gains a first down. "Case in point."

"That blatantly ignores the power of a good halftime speech from the gipper," Dean says. He pulls the handle on his recliner and puts his feet up, socks pointing toward the TV. "Turns the whole thing around."

"Yeah," Sam says, looking down at his half-eaten grilled cheese, and sets it aside on the floor. The game's a weird one, slow and staggering. The Rams' coach is supposed to be some young genius, but there's not a lot of evidence of it. The Patriots aren't sparkling either. Sam's favorite thing about football has always been the strategy, ever since he was a little kid watching Brick Holmes. Two coaches, playing chess with fallible pieces. This is turning into a defensive struggle, rather than an offensive one. Linemen holding back a surging tide with everything they've got.

Halftime comes and Dean's asleep, his face turned away in the soft cushion of the recliner so Sam can't see the bruise starting on his cheekbone. Sam picks up their plates and takes them to the kitchen, dumps his congealed uneaten sandwich and washes the dishes. That stupid box, that coffin, is still sitting outside, in the snow. Sam can't stand looking at it. There was a while there, on the drive through the cold hours before dawn, when he'd thought about what could've been. Dean, alone under the oppressive weight of the sea. They've been through solitary confinement, before. This would be worse. And then, on the shore, Sam would be—

He brings a cold six-pack from the fridge back with him. The stupid neon light is on and this room seems—warmer, somehow, than the rest of the bunker. The halftime show's over and the Patriots have the ball. He sets the six-pack down with a clink and says, "Dean," and Dean's head turns toward him, his face flinching somehow before his eyes open. Sam smiles at him and Dean drags a hand over his mouth, pain in the corners of his mouth and in the lines beside his eyes, and Sam says, "Hey, your Rams actually got some points on the board," so Dean can look at that instead of whatever's in his head.

"Damn straight," he says, hoarse, and he accepts the beer when Sam hands it to him. They don't talk much, through the rest of the game. There are a lot of punts. A sack, on the poor Rams QB who looks barely older than Jack, and then Brady throws an interception that makes Dean whistle, and they both hiss when the Rams miss a field goal that would've given them a little more dignity.

"Told you," Sam says, when the Patriots are jumping around all over the field, pre-made hats crammed onto every head. Super Bowl LIII Champions. They look so happy.

"They win all the time, I don't know why they're so damn surprised about it," Dean says. "Pretty boring game."

They're each on their third beers. The Rams players are slumped on the sidelines, leaning against each other, miserable. Sam shrugs. "Touch and go there, for a while," he says, and leans down to get them both fresh bottles. A little warm now, but not too bad. He pops the caps on both beers and waits for Dean to drain his last before he hands over the new. He holds out his bottle to toast. "Defensive victories still count as a W."

Dean scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip, nods. He clinks the neck of his bottle against Sam's, and they take a swallow together. Maybe when Jack and Cas get back they can teach Jack a little about football. For now—he's glad it's just them. "Maybe next year we can make a real bet," he says, eyes on the television.

Dean's ankles cross, out on the footrest of the chair. He sighs, but he reaches out and grips Sam's shoulder, too. "Sure thing, Sammy," he says, and releases his grip. Sam chews the inside of his cheek, eyes stinging, and wishes more than anything that he could know for sure if Dean meant it.

#spn #spn fanfiction #spn 14.12 #coda #never let it be said that sports isn't full of symbolism #my writing

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shirtlesssammy · 5 years

Text

14x12: Prophet and Loss

Then:

Drama llama Dean spent an entire afternoon in a workshop surrounded by half naked men, and now he’s gonna bury himself at the bottom of the sea.

Now:

We open with Dean in the ma’lak box at the bottom on the ocean.

It is uncomfortable to watch. I’ve had a lot of thoughts about Dean dreaming about being in the box. It’s a huge call back to 3x16/4x01 and him yelling for Sam and waking from Hell in his own coffin --the coffin Sam insisted he be buried in --the coffin that Cas, the naive angel that lacked the people skills to know not to just reconstitute him and leave him six feet under. This is as bad, if not worse, than Hell for Dean. Dean’s been very low in the past, but to listen to Death and admit that he doesn’t have free will over this situation? Gah.

It is just a dream though, albeit one that was so visceral, he woke to bloody fingernails and scratches on the motel wall. Sam, who’s also awake, tries talking to Dean about his plan.

For This is a Beautiful Shot Science:

Sam insists that there has to be another way. Dean sees no other option than to lock himself away with Michael for eternity. (Sidenote: I just saw this post come across my dash about Swan Song, and I’M DYING.)

Aaaaaand, it wouldn’t be Buckleming without some torture porn! A man has a woman tied up. He’s dumping salt in a vat of water. Oooh, maybe super crazy demon torture? J/K, just a regular girl who doesn’t deserve to die tortured. Sigh. He carves something into her arm and sends her into the water to drown. Positive Note: She’s fully clothed.

Nick’s in the hospital and and as soon as his leg heals, he’ll be spending a lot of time in jail. Nick’s playing the “devil made me do it” card. And he’s also crying silent tears. NOT BUYING WHAT YOU’RE SELLING, EUGENIE.

On the road, the brothers take a moment to further dissect Dean’s plan. Both Sam and Mary hate it. Cas and Jack don’t even know about it. Sam calls Cas --who clearly gets the newsletter Sam sends out to everyone. He knows.

Rowena and Cas have been on the case to extract Michael, but both have come up empty. Cas offers to speak with Dean. Sam doesn’t think that’ll matter.

Torture Man has a new victim! This time it’s a dude that he’s trussed and laid out on a plastic sheet. Torture Man utters warped Bible quotes while he slits the man’s throat. He then carves something into his chest. Oh man, I have a high capacity for violence on TV, but this WAS NOT COOL TO WATCH. Do. Not. Like. After carving up his victim, he hears whispers and says, “I am the Lord.”

On the road, Michael continues to scream and pound on the inside of Dean’s mind. And, guh, Dean pulls himself together and side-eyes Sam to see if he noticed. He didn’t. SAM. I mean, I get it, he’s doing what he can to stop Dean’s plan. And if Dean really wants to convince his brother this is the best idea, why worry if he sees you struggle?

Anyway, Dean jumps into talking about their childhood, and how he “wasn’t always the greatest brother” to Sam. Sam’s baffled as to where this is going. Dean was his constant family when they were kids. Sam recognizes that Dean was not just there for him as a brother, but he raised Sam. Dean continues, apologizing for siding with their dad, for trying to keep the peace. I AM LIVING FOR THIS CONVERSATION. Dean admits that John would send Dean away when he would get mad at Dean. And, like we know this, and I’m still crying? Sometimes I feel like while every episode adds to the story of Sam and Dean, they’re often forgotten or never mentioned again, so did they really happen? If I ended up in an alternate world where I was rich and famous, I’d think back and rehash the fun in that on occasion. In any event, 9x7 did happen, and it happened on multiple occasions. Sam makes it clear to Dean that he let all that go a long time ago, also please stop with the deathbed apologies. Kthxbye.

Nick outsmarts the cop guarding him and escapes from the hospital.

Sam’s found a case! A nice distraction from their Road Trip of Bad Decisions. They head to investigate.

They arrive at the home of the brother of the last victim.

I found this shot SO weird, but didn’t really think about it again until I saw @neven-ebrez post, and was glad someone put some thought into it. :D We’re kind of hit over the head with brother parallels here. Dean gets to hear what it might feel like for Sam when he’s gone. Sam explains that the graffiti carvings were really Enochian.

The brother talks about a friend, Tony Alvarez, who was more into Bible quotes than the average Millenial.

A Story in Three Parts:

I mean, really. REALLY? Cas has no chill. He also has no filter and spills that he knows about Dean’s plan. At first I was like “oh Cas bby, no” but now I’m ok with it. It’s almost more painful to know that Cas knows about Dean’s plan when Dean doesn’t know about Cas’s deal. (And equally painful to think that Cas doesn’t think about his deal because he doesn’t see himself ever being happy.) (Natasha: curls up into an unhappy knot on the floor.)

Anyway, Dean doesn’t want to talk to Cas about his plan and jumps right into why he called. Does Cas recognise the name Tony Alvarez? Cas says that he’s in line to be a prophet. Dean cuts him off, awkwardly tells him it’s good to hear his voice, and hangs up. He instantly chastises Sam for spilling his secret. “Dean, it’s Cas. I had to tell him.” Sam and Cas are the best brothers-in-law. HUGS.

And if Tony is now a killer prophet, is Donatello dead? Dean checks in with Donatello’s doctor. He’s still around (brain dead and all, but not dead dead.)

Dean and Sam break into Tony’s home, which looks perfectly normal EXCEPT for a creepy office covered with Enochian writing and pinned up photos of victims. They realize that the killer is cycling through different biblical deaths.

Cut to the Sphinx Machine Shop, where a deranged Tony has strung up his next victim. He gets ready to burn him (and I’m just cringing in horror please stop). Fortunately, the Winchesters rush in just in time. Sam tackles Tony while Dean puts out the fire and saves the victim. Tony babbles that God was telling him to kill those people. He manages to get a hold of Dean’s gun and kills himself.

U G H

Anyway, just like that, the whole case is over.

They go over the case with Cas, who speculates that Donatello’s not-dead-yet status has somehow triggered a malformed line of prophets. The answer seems clear...they’ve got to kill off Donatello.

Nick breaks into his old house and flashes back to the trauma of his family’s deaths. (Somehow there’s still electrical service? I’m going to chalk that up to an overzealous realtor, perhaps.) The room ices over as the ghost of his dead wife, Sarah, manifests. He addresses her as...“Lucifer?” AWKWARD. Sarah, played by a jarringly different actress, tells Nick that she’s been a ghost...the whole damn time. She saw him get possessed by Lucifer and that is part of the unfinished business that keeps her tethered to Earth. There are some major you’re-cheating-on-me vibes coming from her.

“You wanted him,” she accuses him. “You still do,” she says, surprising absolutely nobody. Nick tells Sarah that he’s gonna go find Lucifer and he leaves her behind to be a super grumpy ghost for all eternity. Thanks, man.

At the Happy Daze nursing home (rly?) a doctor tells the Winchesters that pulling the plug on Donnie is the right choice. Dean practically smirks at Sam like, “SEE? The nice doctor is telling you to let me be tortured for all of eternity.” Cas meets them in the guise of a doctor.

Doctor Sexy: A visual story in three parts:

Sam heads off with the (real) doctor to see what sort of babbled “nonsense” Donnie’s been dealing. (I take a break to pedantically google the difference between brain death and vegetative states.) Dean gives Cas some serious side-eye and sass about checking up on Donatello, but Cas pulls him back. He explains that what he did to Donatello was necessary at the time, but he still regrets it. Dean attempts to commiserate and Cas spits out, “Please don’t compare this with your suicidal plan. Just STOP.”

Dean pleads with Cas to support his decision. “This is goodbye?” Cas demands in response, and then SAM BURSTS IN. God DAMN it, Interrupting!Sam.

Ugh. MAN. Give Dean and Cas five freakin’ minutes to talk through their issues 2k19. (You know I love it AND I hate it, bbys.)

Anyway, the footage of Donatello shows him speaking Enochian. He’s muttering about striking down the first born of Egypt...he’s just spewing out the Word of God. Cas thinks Donatello’s mind is rebuilding itself and stumbling through old prophecies. (Me: passive-aggressively googles vegetative states again.)

They head into Donatello’s room where Cas, bless him, continues to show an utter lack of an appropriately scaled cover persona. He orders the real doctor out of the room with a cursory “Get out.”

While Sam and Dean wait for Cas to try his healing mojo, Dean flinches as he continues to struggle with Michael. Oh, Dean Bean.

They reunite with Cas just in time for Cas to have his breakthrough healing moment.

For Science

They turn off the life support machines and, after a brief jolt, Donatello pulls through. It’s a miracle! He’s probably not evil, right? I mean, the lack of soul will almost certainly steer him well. (Lord, we’re going to be stuck with this chicken-addicted prophet forever, aren’t we?)

Donatello wants to know what happened and Dean slaps Cas on the shoulder and somewhat snarkily leaves the job to him. Dean. Bean.

Sam greets Dean back at the Impala with beer and misery. After the “win” of getting Donatello back, it’s time for them to head on home so Dean can lock himself into his torture box. Sam delivers an emotional speech about their shared experiences and accuses Dean that he’s checking out of the world too soon. “If you quit on us today, there will be no tomorrow.” Sam rails at Dean, begging him to give them all a chance to save him. “I believe in us,” Sam shouts and punches Dean in rage and pain.

Reluctantly, Dean promises to go home with Sam and hold out for another option for as long as he can. Dean offers a contingency agreement: if they have no other choice in the future, then Sam and Cas have to let him go.

“Let’s go home,” Dean says to them both. Hooray! And...that should get to me but what really quietly wrecked me was Dean telling Sam quietly, “Don’t hit me again, okay?” before they all climbed into the car. Welcome, hello, my heart is now in a coffin at the bottom of the ocean.

After they all depart, the title card fades ominously to white.

Everybody knows what makes Doctor Sexy sexy is his Quotes:

Well, the woman has a remarkable command of profanity.

If we could not have conversations that sound like deathbed apologies, I would really appreciate it.

Dean, it’s so good to hear from you.

Thank you, and it’s good to hear your voice.

“Doctor.” “Doctor.” “Doctor.”

Dean. If there’s a spark, a hope, then I have to try. You taught me that.

No rest for the self-destructive.

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#spn recap #spn 14x12 #prophet and loss #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #nick #donatello redfield #dr sexy #supernatural season 14

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caranfindel · 5 years

Text

Recap/review 14.12: Prophet and Loss”

THEN: Donatello. \o/ Nick. /o\ Michael. The box.

NOW: The bottom of the ocean. Dean in the box. Banging on it with bloody fingers. Water dripping. Creaks. Panic. Calling out for Sam. Phone dying. Darkness!

Title card!

Oh, it was just a dream. Were you fooled?

I mean this frantic battery death is a dead giveaway.

Speaking of dreams, a door opens and we see Sam clad in sweatpants, a t-shirt, and socks. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: if I get nothing else from this episode - and there's a good chance I won't (you know why) - at least I got THIS.

(Tumblr mobile is being an asshole and won’t let me insert any of my own screencaps, and the gif search isn’t giving me many for this ep. But I need to break all this text up with some images. So pretend this is Sam in a t-shirt and sweats trying to comfort Dean after his nightmare.)

Close enough, right?

He apologizes for waking Dean, who (strangely enough) admits he was having a nightmare. And whose real-life fingers are also bloody, from scratching the wall in his sleep. Sam asks if he wants to talk about it and Dean tells him to go to sleep. Sam switches to I know you're scared, and I know we're always maybe gonna die but this is even worse because Michael's gonna keep you buried alive forever and I kinda love the way Sam isn't bothering to sugarcoat the situation at ALL. He's convinced they have to find another way. Dean's convinced there isn't one.

(Sidebar: The guys are in a pretty nice (for them) hotel room. I wonder if this was deliberate. I wonder if Dean said I want a decent hotel room for once, just like he wanted to finally celebrate Christmas, or if Sam picked it.)

Elsewhere, a guy dumps salt into a tank of water and drowns a woman in it, carving her arm up while he's at it. When he's done, he gazes skyward and listens to the voices inside his head.

Cut to Nick in the hospital. Do you care? I don't either. Let's cut to the chase and say he ends up escaping. On to better things.

The Impala pulls up at a rest area. She's pulling a trailer? Oh no, I don't think that's a good idea. Dean asks Sam if he's still with him on the plan, and again, Sam isn't sugarcoating ANYTHING, telling Dean that he gave him his word but he hates the plan and Mom hates the plan and Dean needs to tell Cas and Jack about the plan. Dean's stalling on that because he's afraid they'd "shake" him, and Sam says that being shook "wouldn't be the worst thing" and SAM, YOU MAGNIFICENT BASTARD, I LOVE THAT YOU ARE SO NOT DOWN WITH THIS PLAN AND NOT HIDING THAT AT ALL.

I love that Sam's attitude is yeah, I told you I'd help, so I'm helping, but it's really a stupid, stupid plan and you shouldn't do it. Dean tells him to "put the end of this trip out of your head," so I guess they are actually on their way to the coast right now, towing Dean's coffin. I wonder how they convinced Mary not to come along? (Ha ha not really, I think Mary would have said bye, love you and gone back to shooting pumpkins.)

(Sidebar: Every time I say I wonder why a certain character isn't around, several of you kindly point out that the show can't afford to have these guest stars appear in every episode, and I love you for trying, but I know the Doylist reasons; I'm looking for the Watsonian ones. And usually there are none.)

Suitable for any occasion.

Dean gets out and heads for the bathroom, and Sam (whose hair is adorably fluffy today) immediately goes for his phone and calls Cas and we learn that he already told Cas about the awful, awful plan (BECAUSE OF COURSE HE DID). Cas has been looking for a way to eject and destroy Michael but hasn't found anything. He reports that Rowena went through the Book of the Damned to try to find a solution, "and I told her to do it again and see if she missed something, and the woman has a remarkable command of profanity." (BECAUSE OF COURSE SHE DOES. AND IN A SCOTTISH ACCENT. I WANT TO WITNESS THAT.) Cas suggests that he could speak to Dean, as if he has more influence than Sam (NO) and Sam says it won't matter, he's never seen Dean this set on something.

Cut to Drowny Guy picking out his next victim, muttering about striking down the first born in the land of Egypt, and carving up his next victim. More voices. "I am the Lord," he says. Huh.

The Impala drives through the night. Dean is either feeling or remembering feeling Michael banging on that walk-in door in his head, so he decides it's conversation time. He starts out by apologizing for not always being the greatest brother, and I want Sam to say no, you were a great brother, you were just a crappy mother, but that's not your fault because you were four years older than me and shouldn't have been forced into a parental role. Instead Sam tells him he was always there for him. Dean continues in this vein, apologizing for taking John's side and admitting that sometimes he was gone because John actually sent him away. Sam says he left all of that behind, and then shuts Dean down by saying he needs to keep his mind off the end of this trip, just like Dean said. "So if we could not have conversations that sound like deathbed apologies, I would really appreciate it."

Shhhh. Just pretend.

DAMN. I know some of you are thinking Sam should be more supportive and let Dean talk, especially since he's the one who's always trying to get Dean to talk about his feelings in the first place. But I love the way he's not making this easy on Dean. And I also love that he's insisting on what HE needs, but I suspect that he's focused just as much on not letting Dean play out the Deathbed Apology Tour in his head.

Not only is he doing that, but he's actually looking for a case. And he found one. Dean's all, a case? On my Deathbed Apology Tour? And it does seem like a really odd thing for Sam to do. Unless, of course, you accept that he's stalling his little heart out. Dean decides it would be nice to work one last case together, which is a sentiment Sam does NOT appreciate. Anyway, it's our two victims, who both had "graffiti" carved into them. Enochian graffiti.

(Sidebar: Remember that time someone carved Enochian graffiti on the Impala and neither Sam nor Dean recognized it? Ha ha ha ha continuity.)

The next scene is in broad daylight and the guys are in suits. Or at least Dean is in a suit. We can't see Sam because the person whose door they're knocking on won't open it all the way. So, Dean took his suit on his Deathbed Apology Tour? And when Sam decided to run after him, he grabbed his suit as well? (Eh, it gives me Winchesters in suits and overcoats, so I'm willing to handwave it.)

The guy who finally opens the door is the twin brother of the second victim. There's a heavy-handed little scene here where the surviving brother (the younger brother, it turns out, because he's four minutes younger than his dead twin, and if that reminds you that Sam is four years younger than Dean you're not alone) talks about how close they were and how "losing him was like losing a part of myself" and Sam looks sad and Dean looks guilty. It turns out the dead brother had a super-religious friend named Tony, and a convenient picture reveals Tony had an Enochian tattoo which translates to "the word." Duh duh duuuuh! So, who else knows Enochian? Time to call Cas!

Ah, here we go. A real one.

Cas immediately reveals that Sam told him about the Deathbed Apology Tour because, like Sam, he has zero chill about Dean's plan. He also reveals that Tony is the next prophet in line, after Donatello. Sam doesn't make any excuses or apologize for spilling the beans, and if you haven't figured it out yet, I LOVE THAT. The guys wonder if the apparent emergence of a new prophet means Donatello is dead (spoiler alert: we see him on life support so probably not) and Dean calls his doctor, pretending to be his nephew. Using his real name. I have a feeling Sam would have done a better job, because Dean just asks "How is Donatello? He's still alive, right?" which I find funnier than I probably should. So, if he's still alive, how was Tony activated? Let's go ask him.

Apparently the guys took a long time changing out of their suits, because it's dark when they break into Tony's house. They find his bedroom covered in writing, much like Gabriel's redecorating in the bunker except some of it is English. And some of it is about the killing of first-born sons, and I think that's going to mean something for Dean, but spoiler alert: it doesn't. They also find pictures of his two victims, and a clue as to where the killings happened and what the next one will be.

The next one is actually happening right now, with a guy getting doused with gasoline. Luckily the Winchesters break in and save him right before Tony sets him on fire. Sam gets maybe a little too rough with Tony, and Dean calls him off. Tony claims he's doing God's work according to His orders and Sam's all, yeah, no, whatever you heard wasn't God. Tony immediately believes them, apparently. If I thought God was talking to me, I'd think these guys were heretics or the devil or something. But Tony believes them and gets Dean's gun and kills himself. So, I guess that one took care of itself!

But it's not over, because the next prophet could come online and do the same thing, since Donatello being between "between life and death" might be causing prophets who are "wired wrong." Sam asks how they can stop the next prophet from going loco, and, well, there's one way to get rid of someone who's between life and death, isn't there?

(Meanwhile, Nick breaks into his old house and doesn't recognize his dead wife's ghost, but I can't blame him because she's changed A LOT since she died. He hopes she's Lucifer, and somehow he sacrifices her ability to move on because he'd rather have Lucifer and that's all the time I'm spending on that.)

At the Happy Daze (ugh, really?) Nursing Home, Donatello's doctor tells his loving nephews that they're making the right choice to let him go. And luckily, Dr. Novak is here to help! Hee! The doctor tells them Uncle Donatello is occasionally babbling, just as a reflex, and I don't think actual words are a reflex but okay. Cas and Dean have a sidebar about how much Cas regrets what happened to Donatello, but he had no choice, and Dean's all, I know exactly how you feel, and Cas is all, no you don't, because MY plan was the only choice, but YOUR plan is stupid.

Sam interrupts this with a video the doctor took of Donatello's "reflexive babbling." It's actually him speaking Enochian, saying he'll strike down the first-born of Egypt. Apparently Tony got wrapped up in Donatello trying to rewrite the Bible or whatever (Buckleming!) but somehow this means Cas can fix him, because "if there's a spark of hope, then I have to try; you taught me that." Boom. Take that, Mr. Deathbed Apology Tour. (Although I think Sam would have had something to do with that lesson, but whatever.) They rudely kick the doctor out of Donatello's room, and while Cas does his work, Sam and Dean have a quiet talk.

"If Cas isn't right about Donatello," Sam says, "then where does that leave him? Trapped. Trapped in his own body, somewhere between life and death. It's just tough to think about somebody going through that." Oh my God, Sam, you are the least subtle person on earth and I can't get enough of it. Dean doesn't rise to the bait, but just tells Sam the plan is still on. Then they go check on Cas and watch him work. His eyes go glowy and Donatello wakes up, confused but alive.

The real doctor comes in and says wow, that's weird that you came here to take him off life support and he miraculously came out of his coma. No, he doesn't, but I would. Then Donatello eats Jello and Dean leaves Cas to tell him what he's missed.

Dean goes out to where Sam is leaning on the Impala, drinking beer. And Sam is SO angry. (Sidebar: What was Dean remembering when he said Sam was always a "happy drunk," because it's nothing we've seen.)

Don’t open that shaken-up beer, Dean.

Let's just enjoy this conversation, shall we?

Where's the party?

It's right here. I mean, we're celebrating, right?

Okay...

Yeah, but not too much! Tomorrow morning we're back on track. No rest for the self-destructive.

Well, I will call this a win. Kinda nice. I'm going out on a high.

"Going out" being the operative phrase.

I'm sorry.

You're sorry. {laughs} How sorry are you? Sorry that you planned to keep Donatello alive, but when it comes to you, you just throw in the towel? Are you sorry that after all these years, our entire lives, after I looked up to you, I learned from you, I copied you, I followed you to Hell and back? Are you sorry that all of that means nothing now?

Who's saying that?

You. When you tell me I have to kill you. When you're telling me I have to throw away everything we stand for. Throw away faith. Throw away family. We're the guys who saved the world. We don't just check out of it.

Sam, I have tried everything. Everything! I got one card left to play, and I have to play it.

You have one card today. But we'll find another tomorrow. But if you quit on us today, there will be no tomorrow! You tell me you don't know what else to do. I don't either, Dean. Not yet. But what you're doing now, it's wrong! It's quitting! I mean, look what just happened. Donatello never quit fighting, so we could help him because he never gave up. I believe in us, Dean. {Sam rears back and HITS DEAN!} I believe in us! {Sam HITS HIM AGAIN AND THEN PULLS HIM INTO AN ANGRY, TEARFUL HUG!} Why don't you believe in us too?

I'M DEAD. I CANNOT HANDLE THIS.

YES, this is the real thing.

Dean can’t handle it either. He's only human. "Okay, Sam," he says. "Let's go home." Sam says "what?" in disbelief. HE IS STILL CLUTCHING HIS BROTHER IN HIS ARMS, BY THE WAY. Sam finally pulls away and Dean says "Let's go home. Maybe Billie's wrong. Maybe. But I do believe in us. I believe in all of us." (Because yeah, this is when Cas shows up.) "And I'll keep believing until I can't. Until there's absolutely no other way. But when that day comes, if that day comes, Sam, you have to take it for what it is. The end. And you have to promise me that you'll do then what you can't do now, and that's let me go. And put me in that box."

Sam says "all right," just like he did at the end of the previous episode but DAMN this one is different. Dean PATS SAM'S FACE and says "Don't hit me again, okay?" EXCUSE ME CAN SOMEONE SCOOP UP THAT PUDDLE OF GOO ON THE FLOOR, BECAUSE IT'S ME. And I don't know how Cas got to the Happy Daze Nursing Home, but whatever he drove, he's leaving it here. He gets in the car with the Winchesters and we fade to white.

WELL.

I don't know about you guys, but I had pretty low expectations for this episode. And some of it met those low expectations (lookin' at you, Nick) but some of it BLEW ME THE FUCK AWAY. And by "some" I mean SAM AND SAM AND DEAN AND SAM. Because Sam loves his brother SO MUCH and is SO ANGRY and HURT and BETRAYED and Dean is SO HELPLESS in the face of that anger and hurt and betrayal and he's thinking I thought it was safe to tell you I loved you, since I was about to die, but you are using that against me and it's hardly fair and then he's doing what he can't always do when his little brother wants something, which is GIVE IT TO HIM.

I'm trying to think of other times when Sam hit Dean out of anger. Not in a mutual fight, not when he was trying to stop him from doing something stupid then and there, not when he was under someone else's control, just Sam lashing out in hurt and anger and hitting his brother. The only one I can think of is the hotel room fight in When The Levee Breaks, but I'm sure y'all will remind me of others, as you do.

Dammit. This is one of those episodes where a few minutes of wonderful makes up for a whole lot of nonsense. What did you guys think? And as always, help me stay unspoiled, please!

#spn #14.12 #spoilers #recap #tv recaps

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