#kiddos sticking together in the face of the apocalypse...

[fortegrace]

I drew the future-past gang for the Future Witness: Lucina Zine over at @holoframeworks. Leftover sales will be opening at a later date so go and give them a follow for updates!

[autistic-robin]

dysfunctional, angsty el-mike-will fic because i really wanted to write from a byler-aware el’s pov

PART I : EL

The first time she killed the demogorgon, all the way back in ‘83, El thought it was over. The flashing lights sending shadows rippling over Mike’s face, the fear in his eyes as she turned toward the monster, the sound of its screech unfolding around her like Papa calling her name. 

She thought she was gone. But there wasn’t any fear in her, not like there was when she was alone in the lab, not like there was when she hurt Lucas, sent him flying across the junkyard. She was not the monster; she was the sacrifice. She was the protector. Enough, she’d said. No more. She wonders now, three years later in the cold white-walled hospital, how different everything would be if she really had died. Would Max still be alive? Would Mike still be cold to Will? Would Hopper be okay, with just Joyce? She knows it is morbid, but with Max asleep and Mike angry and Will far-away in his head, El feels alone. A small part of her wonders if that is how it was always supposed to be.

She shifts in the waiting room chair, cold leather sticking to her legs. She is waiting for Steve, who is on his way to pick her up. He told her he would be here at four-one-five. Four fifteen. El has been watching the clock on the wall, watching the minute hand tick past three, then four, then five. He is late. 

“Those chairs suck, don’t they?” 

El looks up at the sound of his voice, sees him rushing over to her, looking frazzled. 

|  frazzled: adjective. showing the effects of exhaustion or strain.  | 

“They are not that bad,” El lies, but she still takes Steve’s hand when he offers to help her up. “Where were you?”

He rubs a hand along the back of his neck, apologetic. Guilty. Before Max, El only knew how guilty felt. Now she knows how it looks: shifting eyes, strained smile, weighed-down shoulders. She sees it in Lucas and she sees it in the mirror, every day. 

And now, in Steve.

“Sorry, I was…” he shakes his head, like he’s clearing a thought away. Meets her eyes. “I was helping Little Wheeler with something. He needed some advice.”

El quirks an eyebrow at him. “About Will?”

Steve blanches, blinking a little like he’s Dustin working out a physics problem. “Uh— What do you mean, kiddo?”

He sounds cautious. Careful. El rolls her eyes, feels a small smile tug at her lips. Steve is so oblivious. 

“You really think I haven’t figured it out? I am not stupid. I have seen them together, the way Mike looks at him. I—,”

Steve’s eyes go wide-wide, and El wishes she had Jonathan’s camera. 

“Listen, kid, I swore an oath. Of secrecy.” He shakes his head like he’s clearing a fog. “Doesn’t matter. C’mon, it’s late. I told the others I’d have you back by six today. The Chief’ll kill me if we’re a second later, we both know that.”

He means the cabin. Where El and  Hopper and the rest of the Party have been staying on a “rotational basis,” ever since the rifts opened. That means Mike and Nancy stay over on Mondays and Wednesdays, and Dustin and Lucas stay over on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Weekends are spent at the hospital or Hawkins Middle, volunteering. Hopper and Joyce meet up with Murray to strategize every Sunday night, which means El needs to be picked up from the hospital by someone else— sometimes Jonathan, sometimes Nancy, but mostly Steve. He has a car and the most free time out of all of them with everything that is going on.

El did not know Steve very well before all of this— the apocalypse, the Party is calling it, even though Hopper and Joyce don’t like it when they do. Anyway, whatever it is has changed everything, because now El and Steve are friends. Kind of. 

When they get on the road, Steve pulls a mixtape out of the backpack he carries everywhere. It is a Cyndi Lauper mix that he stole from Robin, and El is not allowed, under any circumstances, to tell her or anyone— Dustin included— that he has it, or her ass is grass. They listen to it every time Steve drives her home. 

“Hurry up, Steve!” El says as he shoves it in the tape-player, and he laughs. The opening synth lines of ‘When You Were Mine’ shake through the car, and Steve rolls down the windows and whoops into the night air, and for a split-second the hot pain lodged behind El’s ribs melts. 

“I know, that you're goin' with another guy; I don't care, 'cause I love you baby that's no lie,” Cyndi croons, and El giggles out the words with her as Steve pitches his voice up comically. He sounds like a dying goose. 

“Steve, eyes on the road!” El shrieks when he closes his eyes to belt the chorus. He snaps to attention, turning the music down against her protests. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, laughing. “Got carried away.”

El rolls her eyes, grinning. Things settle down then, the car going quiet and still as the sky darkens outside. Hawkins is pretty at night, El thinks, no matter what Jonathan says. The sky goes all gray-purple, like Will’s watercolors, and sometimes if she’s lucky, the moon follows them home. Tonight, though, it’s hidden behind the clouds— they are looming and dark, worse than the day the gates opened up. 

El turns away from the window.

By the time they make it back to the cabin, the sky is ink-black outside. Nancy’s car is parked on the dirt path a ways away. Steve rolls up beside it and parks just as the front door of the cabin swings open and El’s dad steps out onto the porch.

“You’re late,” Hopper says gruffly to Steve, shading his eyes against their headlights. 

El hops out of the passenger’s seat and bounds across the space between them, pulling him into a one-armed hug. He smells like coffee and pine needles. There is a permanent furrow in his brow. 

“We were listening to music,” El says by way of greeting. “Got carried away.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair, a gesture El has come to understand is a nervous tic. “Sorry, Chief. You know how the kid gets about Cyndi Lauper. Not that I— I don’t listen to that crap, but… anyway. It won’t happen again.”

Hopper raises his eyebrows. Steve smiles sheepishly. El looks between them. 

“What’s for dinner?” she asks. 

Inside, Joyce is making burrito bowls for everyone— canned beans and tomatoes, pre-packaged rice, things they stocked up on the week after everything went off the rails. They scavenged enough to last them a solid five months, at least according to Jonathan. The Byers family knows how to ration; El learned when they first moved to California. Even though Joyce had a nice new job, they were very careful about saving food. Back then, though, the food was less bland. Now it is an endless rotation of canned vegetables, rice, and “non-perishable” fruit in jars. Pantry staples, Will called them when they explored the remnants of the Quick-Mart on this side of town. 

|  remnants: plural noun. a small remaining quantity of something; a surviving trace.  |

Now, El looks around at the remnants of the people of Hawkins: Joyce, handing dinner plates to Will and Mike; Jonathan, pulling out a chair at the table for Nancy; Hopper and Steve, trailing into the kitchen. Robin and Argyle and Murray will be here soon with the rest of the Party— they’ve been volunteering all day. A calm spills over her as she looks at her friends. Her family. The surviving trace. 

“El, hey,” Will says over the chatter, waving her over. He and Mike are seated at the kitchen table across from Jonathan and Nancy. “Mom’s got a plate for you in the kitchen. How was— how are you?”

There. It’s there again, behind her ribs: the ache. Max’s absence is punching a hole through her, and it’s growing every day. 

El swallows. “The hospital was fine. It was the same. Max is still asleep.”

Mike isn’t looking at her. He pushes his rice around his plate, and the fork makes a screeching sound. El’s hands twitch to cover her ears, but she keeps them at her sides. 

“Well, she will soon,” Will says, his voice quiet but firm. El meets his eyes and is surprised at the fire in them. “I promise, we’re going to fix this, El.”

El feels her expression soften. She knows Will is just trying to help, trying to “boost morale” like Hopper wants them to do, but things have never been this bad before, this broken. And it’s all because of her. 

“Will… we don’t know anything for certain anymore,” she says. 

He sighs, blinking fast, and Mike clears his throat and looks up at El for the first time since she got home. 

“Well, would it hurt to at least try for some optimism? Moping around isn’t going to change anything, El.”

His voice is flat. El steps back, feels her power wake up like a cat arching its back. 

Before she can respond, though, Jonathan slams his glass down on the table beside her. “Don’t start, Mike.”

“Why are you pissed at me? I’m just trying to help!” Mike says incredulously, swinging a hand out in outrage. He knocks Will’s glass over, and water floods the table. “Shit!”

“I’ll get the napkins,” Nancy sighs, and Jonathan shakes his head and follows her. El can hear Joyce and Hopper talking in tense whispers in the kitchen, oblivious.

“Jesus, I’m sorry, Will,” Mike is saying, trying to mop up the water on his shirt. Will is sitting rigidly, like if he breathes the wrong way Mike will run from the table. 

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” Will says, his voice tight. Mike recoils like he’s been slapped, dropping his hands from Will’s shirt, and there’s a beat of heavy silence. El stares hard at the water spreading over the placemats on the table. 

“I… El, look at me.”

El meets Mike’s eyes and wishes she hadn’t. He looks the same as he always has, so genuine. Earnest. His face is wide-open with guilt. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” He breathes in, shakes his head at himself. “I just hate seeing you so defeated. I guess I just got angry about it, for a second. But that was no excuse to lash out. And I’m sorry.”

They broke up three weeks ago in the hospital parking lot. It was anticlimactic. El guesses that for Mike, though, the wound has not scabbed over yet. He is looking at her like she is a broken toy, and it makes something in her snap. 

“I don’t care, Mike,” El tells him, even as his eyes widen in shock and a hot flash of guilt grips her. “I don’t have the time to care about your feelings right now.”

It’s the first true thing she has said to him since they ended things. Her voice is not her own, though. It is heavy and hardened by malice. 

|  malice: noun. the intention or desire to cause harm; ill will. |

Mike’s eyes are wet with frustration. Beside him, Will has tensed up; he is staring at El like she is a bomb that’s about to go off. 

Well, she is not. El is not a weapon, not anymore. If she was, Max would be awake right now.  “Enjoy your dinner. I am going to bed early.”

She turns to leave.

“We didn’t kill her, El,” Mike says in a hard voice, and she stops in her tracks as the full weight of the guilt hits her— Max lying cold and still like a broken doll, Lucas’s shoulders shaking with the grief of it, I’m not ready I’m not ready I’m not ready—

Mike keeps talking. 

“I know you think that’s what happened, but it’s not true. There’s nothing either of us could have done—,” 

“Hey,” Hopper cuts in, heading towards them with a wary expression. Nancy, Jonathan, Joyce, and Steve follow him, identical worried expressions on their faces. “Everybody just needs to take a breath.”

“It’s fine,” Mike tells Hopper, still staring at her. “El. It’s not our fault.”

“But we did kill her, Mike,” El says, because he needs to hear it. The rest of the group has fallen scarily silent, but she doesn’t care— can’t. She needs him to hear her, for once. 

“You distracted me. With a lie. You don’t love me, because you never have.”

Mike opens his mouth to retort, but El rolls her shoulders back and says, “No. Let me finish.”

It’s wrong, she knows it is, but El is tired and wounded and wants Mike to feel it. Wants him to understand; this is their punishment. 

“You have never loved me,” El says, her voice a hard, cutting thing, “because you can’t. No matter how hard you try, you can not do it.”

Mike’s chair scrapes hard against the kitchen floor when he stands. He’s breathing wrong, too short and fast like he’s run a mile. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

El risks a glance at Will. His eyes are wide and confused, glued on Mike. 

“I said take a breath,” Hop presses, holding his hands out like one of the hostage negotiators in El’s old movies. Mike flips him off, even though he’s shaking, and that does it.

El glares at him, and it takes everything in her to tamp down the twist of power in her chest, crackling like a hungry fire. 

“It means exactly what you think it means. Come apologize to me when you are done lying.”

El pushes past a wide-eyed Nancy, ignoring the feeling of Will’s stare boring into her. She heads down the hall to her old room, throwing a hand out to shut the door. It slams satisfyingly, rattling the frame. Her breath is coming in short, ragged pants, Max’s bloody face bright on the backs of her eyelids. The room tilts. 

Someone is knocking on the door, frenzied. “El! El, come on, open the door,” Will pleads. “I’m sorry. We’re sorry.”

“You didn’t—,” El starts, but she can’t breathe right and it comes out shallow. She reaches a hand out and grasps at nothing, sinking down onto her bed. Max in the hospital bed like a broken baby bird, the sound of Lucas’s screams, the whole of Hawkins swallowed up all because she couldn’t concentrate. “You didn’t do anything.”

“El, the door’s locked,” Will says. He sounds like he is crying, El realizes dimly. “Please let me in.” 

El breathes in deep, tries to hold it— Joyce taught her this on the cold bathroom counter their first night in Lenora Hills. She’d had a nightmare. Hopper, torn apart in the mall. In for four, hold for four, out for six. 

In, hold, out. In, hold, out. 

The knocking stops, and El hears Will slide down to sit on the floor outside her room. A beat of quiet stretches before he speaks again.

“I’m not leaving you. Mom and Hopper are talking to Mike. You’re not in trouble, nobody is.”

El lets out a shaky breath. When she opens her eyes, the room is still and quiet. 

“I need to be alone, Will.”

He sighs, a sound she knows too well. 

“Well, I don’t want you to be.”

El gets up and moves towards the door, but instead of opening it, she sits down with her back against it like Will has on the other side. She can hear him sniffling, and a pang of guilt courses through her. 

“I am sorry I ruined the night,” El says quietly. 

“No, no, you didn’t ruin anything,” Will rushes out, sounding painfully sad. “You have nothing to apologize for, okay? We’re all struggling, El. All of us. You’re not alone.”

She sticks a finger under the crack in the door. Will pokes it with his thumb, and El smiles to herself. Back in Lenora Hills, they spent more than one sleepless night in El’s room, coloring with Will’s best set of pastels and “shooting the shit.” She has missed him horribly, ever since the lab. Part of her is hurt that he didn’t feel important enough to talk to her in her trance, but she figures it all happened so fast he didn’t have time to think much about it. 

Nobody did.

“Mike’s trying his best, y’know,” Will says softly. There’s a warmth in his voice that El does not hear often. Some of her hurt loosens, but the image of Max’s glassy eyes flashes in her mind, and she knows she can not forgive him. Not yet. 

“I know,” she says back. “But arguing with me won’t bring her back. He is wasting his time. Our time.”

“El,” Will sighs, at a loss. He has never been able to accept disharmony in their group. 

| disharmony: adjective. a lack of agreement; conflict; division. |

“I will forgive him when we bring Max back,” El says. “But until then, try to get him to give me space. I don’t want to hurt him, Will, but I… can not be around him without doing it.”

“Okay,” Will says. His voice is quiet, scratchy like his throat hurts. “And El?”

“Yes?”

He clears his throat. El pictures him blinking fast, like he does when he’s nervous after he gets called on in class. 

“What did you mean, earlier? When you said… Mike ‘can’t’ love you?”

El sighs. She can not tell Will the truth, as much as she wants to. She heard things in Lenora, bad things about Stacy Ellis and Maria Davenport— that they’d been caught kissing beneath the bleachers and been suspended. That they were ‘sick’ for it. She thinks it must be the same for boys— that love between them is seen as wrong, somehow. El doesn’t understand why, but she knows it’s supposed to be secret if you feel that way. Sometimes, she guesses, lying can protect you.

And as mad as she is at Mike, she has to protect him. She knows Will wouldn’t care— quite the opposite, if her suspicions about them are true— but it would be like… if Will told Mike that El still wets the bed sometimes. Just mean, wrong. Not her place. 

“I was… lashing out,” she says carefully. “I just meant that I am not… the right person for him. I am not who he really wants.”

Will seems to go still. El hears his breath hitch.

“How could you—? El, of course you are,” he says, sounding pained. “What have the last three years meant, then, if you’re not… if you’re not each others’ soulmates?”

“Will,” El says, “I was confused. We both were. Mike has said the same thing to you, hasn’t he?”

A pause. 

“Yeah,” Will sighs, suddenly sounding very tired. “Yeah, but… he was just insecure. You guys will work it out.”

He does not understand. Something deep in El’s chest twists painfully, and she leans her head back against the door.

“Maybe,” El says. “But maybe not.”

She taps on the door, their secret code for when one of them has had a nightmare and cannot sleep in their room alone: short-short-long-short. Will echoes it back to her, and for a moment, everything feels half-normal again.

“I gotta go find him,” Will says. He clears his throat again. “Call me if you need anything, though, okay? I mean it.”

El feels a ghost of a smile float across her face. Her sweet brother. She hopes they make it out of this so she can see him happy. So they can all be happy. Will and El and Max and Lucas and Dustin and Mike, all together where they belong. “Alright. Love you, Will.”

“Love you, too.”

And then the floorboards creak with the sound of Will leaving, and El is alone. 

[rowyn-writes]

Inner Demons (Jack Kline x Reader)

Warnings: Angst, violence, self-loathing, mentions of death, smidge of fluff, small spoilers for 13x23

Pairings: Jack Kline x Reader

Characters: Reader, Jack, Sam, Dean, Castiel, Mary, Bobby.

Word Count: 2k

AU: Soulmates

Summary: When Jack runs away after accidentally hurting you, you run after him.

Requested by: @ivyyie

You sat in the bunker, chatting happily with the survivors of apocalypse world. You loved meeting new people, and this was no exception.

You were 22, and had been hunting since you were little. Your parents had known Sam and Dean, two of the greatest hunters of all time. So when they passed away, the Winchester's swore to look after you. Although, you had said repeatedly that you didn't need their help. That was a lie, of course; you loved living with them. They were like the older brothers you never had.

Dean came up to you, a grim look on his face. "C'mon, kiddo. We need your help with something."

· · ·

You stood underneath Mary's umbrella as you looked at the dead body of Maggie. You felt your heart break at the sight. She had been an awfully sweet girl, and you knew that Jack had been close friends with her. You squeezed his hand gently, trying to give him a little bit of comfort.

"I - I-" Jack mumbled, shaking his head. I said I'd protect her, and, Sam. . ."

"Stop, Jack." Sam interjected. "This isn't your fault.'

"Sammy's right." You agreed gently. "There's no way you could have stopped this."

"What happened to her?" Dean questioned.

"I don't know." Mary said with furrowed eyebrows. "Doesn't look supernatural"

"Looks like some son of a bitch beat on her until. . ." Bobby broke off, not being able to finish his sentence. You looked away from Maggie, seeing her like this was too hard for you.

"Who would do something like this?" Castiel growled

On the way back to the bunker, Jack was silent. You could tell he was blaming himself for what happened to Maggie. He was so angry.

"Jack." You whispered. "You can't blame yourself. There's sick people out in the world that aim to hurt people. Not just monsters are capable of killing someone like that."

"I promised that I would protect her." Jack insisted. "I promised that I would protect all of them. That they wouldn't have to worry about Michael and his army. And they come back here just to be killed? How is that fair, Y/n?"

"I never said it was fair, Jack. Nothing's fair. Good people die all the time, and the worst ones stick around for the longest time. It's infuriating, but that's just how it is."

"But why? I don't understand. Bad people are supposed to be punished." Jack's voice shook in anger.

"I used to say that when I was younger. I would ask my mom why that would happen, and she would say, 'When you're picking a flower, do you pick the beautiful one, or the one that's wilted?' Of course I would say the beautiful one. And she would reply with, 'That's how God works. He picks to most beautiful ones for his garden.'"

"Your mother sounds like a good woman." Jack noted.

"Yeah, she was." You nodded. "We're going to find out who did this to Maggie and make sure she finds justice." You assured Jack.

You decided to help Sam, Dean, Castiel and Jack interview people who were close with Maggie.

"Word is, you're friends with Maggie." Dean inquired as he entered the library.

"Um, yeah, since we came over." The girl said. You didn't have a chance to speak with her prior to this, so you had no clue what her name was. "Me and her, we didn't have anybody else, so we kinda stuck together."

"So I'm sure you know she went out last night." Sam raised an eyebrow at the girl. She nodded. "Well, she didn't come home."

"Um. . . Is Maggie in trouble?"

You looked down at your hands, not sure how to tell her what happened. Although, Cas seemed to be prepared.

"She's dead." He spoke up, rather nonchalantly. You smacked your palm against your forehead. Castiel could be really insensitive at times.

"She. . . No, that's not. . ." The girl was obviously in shock. Her only friend was dead. "We were supposed to be safe here."

"We need to know where Maggie went," Sam pushed. "Who she was talking to."

The girl shook her head. "I don't. . . There was a boy."

"What boy?" Jack demanded, looking up.

"Nate." She informed him. "He works at that store out on Route 281. Maggie, she had a crush. That's why she snuck out last night. She was going to meet him."

"All right." Dean grumbled, running a hand over his face. "Well, let's go talk to this boy, Jack-"

You all turned to see that Jack was now gone. "Shit." You mumbled, grabbing your jacket and bolting out the door.

You knew how Jack could get when he was upset or when someone he cared about was hurt. It never ended well.

You, Cas, Sam and Dean hopped into the Impala, driving like mad to the store that Nate worked at.

You were worried, not only for Nate, but for Jack as well. If this kid didn't murder Maggie, and Jack hurt him, it would kill Jack. Hurting innocent people was one of Jack's worst fears.

You were the first one out of the car, bolting inside the store. To your horror, Jack was holding Nate against the wall by his throat.

"Jack!" You exclaimed, running up to him. "Jack! Stop!" You put a hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to leave Nate alone.

Jack whipped around, his eyes glowing orange. The next thing you knew, you were sent flying back into a shelf.

You gave out a grown, holding your injured arm. "Y/n!" Dean called, running up to you. "Are you okay?" You nodded, very visibly in pain.

Jack continued his assault on Nate, refusing to let up.

"Jack?" Sam pleaded. "Let him go!"

"Alright," Dean muttered, pulling his gun out of his waistband. "Jack!" Three loud shots rang out, making you flinch. You slowly got to your feet with the help of Cas. The Nephilim dropped Nate and turned around, and as he did so,

Jack had a look of surprise on his face as he gazed at the four of you. "You. . . Shot me?"

"To get your attention!" Dean yelled. "You're acting like a psychopath!"

"Jack," You said, limping to him.

"He killed Maggie!" He growled.

"Maggie? Maggie's dead?" Nate whimpered.

"Jack, Nate didn't do it. Look at him." You whispered. "He's destroyed. He would have never hurt Maggie. Not in a million years."

"Y-you're hurt." Jack noted, looking at you. "I did that. I made you bleed."

"Jack, it's okay, you didn't kn-"

"I'm so sorry." He cried, running out the door.

"Jack!" Castiel called out.

Dean put a hand on his chest, stopping him from following after Jack. "No, hey, just – let him go."

"Yeah," You huffed. "Fat chance." You pushed past Dean and ran after the Nephilim.

You looked around, not seeing him anywhere. "C'mon, Jack." You mumbled. "Where are you?" You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. You knew you could find him, you just had to use the bond that you shared.

You figured out a long time ago that Jack Kline was your soulmate. You felt what he was feeling, whether it be sad, happy, angry or confused. And all you could feel right now was self loathing. If you could just get a feel of where he is right now, then you would be able to find him.

There were trees surrounding him, and it all seemed oddly familiar. You knew the forests of Kansas like the back of your hand. You would often go exploring around there whenever you were bored and Sam and Dean were off on a hunt. You recognized the large oak tree that sat in the middle of a clearing. You knew exactly where Jack was.

You ran as fast as your hurt ankle would let you. It was probably just sprained, but it was going to hurt a hell of a lot worse when all of this was over.

As you approached the clearing, you could hear Jack talking to himself. He kept hitting his chest, as a way of hurting himself. Your heart broke as he continued talking.

"You keep hurting people!" He yelled. "You keep. . ." His voice cracked as he cried. "Hurting. . . Why do you keep hurting people?!"

"Jack?" You said timidly.

Jack turned around, clearly horrified to see that you followed him. "Y/n! D-don't come any closer. I don't want to hurt you!"

"You're not going to hurt me, Jack." You held your hands out, trying to show that you wouldn't harm him.

"I already have!" He pointed out, seeing your limp, your bruising wrist and your cut cheek. "I did that to you. You're in pain because of me."

"Jack, I'm a hunter. I've felt things ten times worse than this. I'm not in pain. I know you didn't mean to hurt me, you were just startled is all."

"But I almost killed Nate!" He yelled. "He was innocent. He never murdered Maggie and I almost -" He broke off into sobs. You came closer to him, gently putting a hand on his shoulder. He refused to look up. "I'm a monster. I'm just like him."

"Jack Kline." You said sternly, drawing his attention up to your face. "You are not a monster. Do you hear me?" He stayed silent. "And you aren't like Lucifer either."

"You don't know that." He whispered.

"Yes, I do. I've met Lucifer, and I've met you. Jack, you are the most compassionate person I know. You feel everyone's pain and you feel emotion on a completely different scale than other people. You brought those people from Apocalypse World here and gave them another chance. Lucifer wouldn't have done that. But you cared enough to do that." You cupped Jack's face in your hands. "You are good, Jack. Something that Lucifer's not. He will never have your compassion, and he will never know what it feels like to love and be loved."

You felt Jack's tears hit your fingers. You gently brushed them away. "It's okay." You assured him.

"But it's not." He insisted quietly. "I've hurt people, Y/n. People are dead because of me. What I've done is unforgivable."

"Jack, we've all made mistakes. And yes, some are worse than others, but we've all been where you are. Me, Sam, Dean, Cas, we all know what it's like. We are here for you, because we are your family."

"You haven't made a mistake where someone's gotten killed though." Jack took a hold of your hands and lowered them to your sides.

You swallowed hard. You had to tell him. That was the only way to get through to him. "Jack, when I was younger, I made a mistake. A mistake that got two people killed." Jack looked at you in surprised. "I was on a hunt with them, and I was supposed to be a lookout. I had been awake for days because I had been having nightmares and refused to sleep. So while I was supposed to warn them if I saw anything, I fell asleep and they were both killed by vampires." He stayed silent as you continued to talk. "They were my parents. I'm the reason they're dead." You were now crying. "We make mistakes Jack, and some of them get people killed. It's a fact of life and it's what happens when you're a hunter. I've made peace with my inner demons, and I can help you do that too. Just let me help, Jack."

"I'm sorry." Jack whimpered as you both continued to cry. "I'm so sorry."

You shook your head as you brought him in for a hug. "It's okay. It's all gonna be okay, I promise." You buried your head in his chest, breathing in his scent. "I love you."

Jack shifted slightly, making you look up at him. "You. . . Love me?" He questioned.

"Yes. I love you, Jack." You repeated yourself. "I love you like Dean loves Cas. I love you like you like Sam loved Eileen. I love you, Jack Kline."

Jack gave you a weak smile as he looked down at you. He hesitantly pressed his lips to yours, obviously unsure if what he was doing was right. Your mouth moved against his, your tears mingling together.

"I love you, Y/n Y/l/n." He mumbled against your mouth.

The two of you stood there, holding each other, completely content.

[iamnightduchess]

What was Mikasa like while she was pregnant in It's Gotta Be You universe!!! I can only imagine Reiner was extremely caring and Mikasa being grumpy or easily frustrated here and there haha. I love those two in that universe so sweet.

Hello Anonie! Any Dad!Reiner & Mom!Kasa Asks are always my favorite 💖 We've seen ReiKasa's parenting (and some pregnancy) and the twins' headcanon here. Let's see more of that period in the Ackerman-Braun family's household:

Reiner x Mikasa (ReiKasa) Fic AU Headcanon #10

Fic Universe : It's Gotta Be You

Before they conceived the twins 6 months after their wedding, Reiner and Mikasa had a false positive. It wasn't Mikasa who cried. It was Reiner. He really wanted to be a father so badly.

Mikasa was the first to notice that she might be pregnant for real and she took the UPT (10 boxes! Just to be sure because she didn't want Reiner to be devastated again) without telling Reiner. Since she's an MO, she had her OBGYN's support to get an ultrasound during a shift to confirm.

The way Mikasa shares the news of the pregnancy with the daddy-to-be: she gave him a tiny wrapped gift box with a video player of the mp4 of the ultrasound and a message saying, "Hi Daddy, we can't wait to see you in 32 weeks!" They found out they're having twins immediately and Reiner cried, again, when he heard their twins' heartbeats for the first time through the video. Reiner sometimes replay the video on the big screen on the days it got too hard for him at work.

The following month after they conceived, they decided to keep it hush at first. However, Karina and Gabi noticed that Reiner's been having really odd food poisoning symptoms and that he actually threw up during a family dinner because they were having sushi that night.

Turns out Reiner had Couvade Syndrome or Sympathetic Pregnancy. This gentle giant had lost more weight in the first twelve weeks of their pregnancy and his nausea gets triggered when he sees any seafood. He'll need to snuggle up to Mikasa and be babied haha

He'll lie on her lap, facing her growing belly and said, "I'm going to tough it up for you, kiddos. You better let Daddy eat those mean grilled ribs Uncle Niccolo said he'll bring over this weekend." Then he would whine to Mikasa and said, "Mummy, I'm so hungry." He survived on isotonic drinks, cookies, saltines and fruits diets in the first 3-4 months like a parakeet 😆

When Reiner got the downsides of her hormonal effects, Mikasa gets the upside of her hormonal changes; namely a spike in her libido 😈 Reiner was blessed and cursed at the same time.

Mikasa was the one who has weird cravings. Fries on milkshake, pickled jalapenõs, celery sticks with blue cheese dip, greasy barbecued lambs with lemon slices and pineapple. Reiner was envious of her appetite.

Reiner and Mikasa has a very active lifestyle, so this woman does not give up her daily jogs and weekly workouts even when she's pregnant with more than one baby. When she's doing her yoga in the living room, Reiner would be on the couch with his hands in a cheese balls jar because he's so nauseous but hungry all the time. How he still managed to retain those abs, he has no idea 🤣

Mikasa got even more temperamental in the second and third trimester. She twisted Connie's arms and almost broke his neck because he called Mikasa huge.

As her pregnancy progresses, Reiner makes sure he'll give Mikasa foot and back massages every night.

The first time they felt the babies move, it was when they were watching a zombie apocalypse movie at home.

They brought Gabi along for baby nursery shopping. The three of them ended up arguing over the color scheme. Luckily Annie and Pieck, who are already mothers themselves, stepped in to help the mom and dad-to-be.

Annie, Pieck and Sasha hosted a surprise baby shower for Mikasa while Armin, Jean, Connie and Niccolo threw a dad-get-together for Reiner before the babies arrive.

Mikasa was always the physically stronger one during their pregnancy. However, the day when they had a scare because one of the twins weren't moving like usual, Reiner was the one who held a hysterical Mikasa in the emergency room the whole night, comforting her and he never let her go at all.

Baby Miraé was born before her brother, and Reiner got to hold her first. He was so proud and so fascinated of his princess that he'd almost forgot that they still have another baby on the way.

Oh yes, Mikasa almost broke Reiner's hand when she started her active labor. Right after she pushed baby Rémy out, this mummy asked for a giant cheeseburger like a boss b*tch she was, all while she was getting stitched.

Reiner was Mikasa's rock. In return, he will always be Mikasa's big baby even after the babies are born.

---

I hope the headcanon's ok! I enjoyed writing it very much 💖 Thank you!

[lils-writes-stuff]

Fiery Bruises//Arsonists Lullaby

Sister Winchester!Oc x Supernatural

summary: Lillian Winchester is the best thing the brothers have ever had, and when she gets hurt, they won’t stop until they can fix her. 

warnings: MAJOR TW: this story has to deal with rape, sexual assault, and the trauma with those instances, please do not read if these are triggering to you. ANGST, sexual assault, cursing (maybe), mentions of murder, supernatural level gore stuff

A/N: This is my entry for @bi-danvers0​ writing contest, I hope y’all enjoy it!

Cold, cold and violated, that’s how she felt. She tightly wrapped her jacket around her body and walked down the streets of Lebanon that were lit up by glowing orange street lamps. She wiped the snot running out from her nose and wiped a tear from her cheek in the process. 

The crisp November air was enough to make anyone freeze, and she could smell the rain that was soon to come. The damp air and the cloudy night sky could tell anyone that though. Shortly after the rain would follow the snow, only making this time of year for her even more unforgettable. 

Lillian Winchester had never felt so helpless in her life.

Her boots padded against the ground softly, and her ripped jean-clad thighs rubbed together. She lightly tripped over a crack and stumbled forward, never falling to the ground, but she was glad no one saw because it was embarrassing.

 She had already felt enough embarrassment for a night. 

She stopped walking when she heard rapid footsteps behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up in instinct, the voice in her head told her to run. She turned to the right and rushed down an alleyway, hoping to Chuck that it was not who she thought it was running down the sidewalk.

 “Lillian?” Castiel’s voice called to the youngest Winchester.

All night, the Winchester brothers and their angel friend had been looking for the young girl. She went out that afternoon for some alone time (i.e., a time where she could shop and be a girl and not a hunter). It was two a.m. now, and she hadn’t even called them. 

“Cas?” 

Cas let out a sigh of relief when he heard the young girl’s voice in response to him.

“Lillian, thank god, we’ve been looking for you for hours,” Cas said as he walked closer to the girl tucked into the side of a dumpster. Rain began to come down from the sky, making Lillian’s curly hair straighten out, and her clothes stick to her body. 

She quickly stood up, wrapping her arms around the angel’s neck and hugging him. She didn’t let out a cry; she couldn’t. She was too embarrassed to let her brothers or angel friend know what had happened. 

She wasn’t ready to talk about it. 

“Come on, let’s get you back.” Cas guided the dirty-blonde to the car he had brought into town and drove the two of them back to the bunker, after calling Sam and Dean to let them know he had Lillian.

 -------------------

“Lillian,” Dean breathed when he saw his baby sister enter the door of the bunker. He set down the beer bottle in his hand and stood up, walking to meet her at the bottom of the stairs.  

She gave a half-smile and a small wave to the two men who were now standing beside the war room table. 

“We were so worried, bug,” Sam said, his tall frame covering her in a hug. 

“Hey, kiddo, don’t do that again,” Dean said to her when he went in for a hug. He pulled back, placing a hand on her right shoulder, making her tense up the let out a whimper. 

His hand was placed on her shoulder as he passed by her in the store.

 “Lillian?” Dean questioned with concern as he saw the young girl’s eyes gloss over. “Are you alright?” 

She quickly snapped out of her memory and looked at the three men in front of her. But she couldn’t see their faces, because all she could see was him. 

He was the worst monster she had ever faced.

 “No.” 

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

Her home was the one place she was supposed to feel safe, but everywhere she looked, all she could see was his face. He was always smiling at her and if he was there long enough, she could hear his voice whisper what he said to her.

“You want this.” 

She grabbed the trash can beside her bed and threw up in it again. 

“Cas, what’s wrong with her?” Sam asked the angel who had left his younger sister’s room minutes ago.

 “She-she uh.” Cas stumbled over his words as he tried to explain what he had found out while he was in there. Lillian didn’t speak to him, and when he would get close to her, she would curl into herself and turn away from him. And when he reached his hand out to touch her, she screamed. “I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean ‘you don’t know,’ can’t you do the mind-reading thing?” Dean asked aggressively. He wasn’t trying to be mean, but that’s how he sounded. “She said she wasn’t fine, but now she won’t even talk to us? What the hell is going on?” 

Sam let out an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. He heard the scream she let out when Cas was in there, and it broke him to pieces. This was his baby sister, who was stronger than most everyone. 

She was an orphan until Dean and Sam had found her. When Dean got sent to the future where it was the apocalypse by Zacheriah, future Dean introduced him to the younger sister he found. Of course, in that future, this Lillian was half insane from the time she was in but she was all the future Dean had and that was enough for him to hold onto.

When Dean was sent back to 2009, he went and found a fourteen-year-old version of the girl he saw in the future. She was in a foster home in Dallas, Texas, and from that moment on, she was a hunter. 

Lillian peeled the white t-shirt off of her torso and looked at her body. A sports bra covered her breasts, but she could see some bruises peeking through on the top. Her left side was a giant bruise, still in the early stages, but it was dark and covered most of her side. 

When she turned to look at her other side, she could see the top of a bruise on her hip below her jeans. She slowly unbuttoned the top button of the three and pulled the top of her jeans down. The bruise was in the shape of four fingers that were pressed into her side. 

She let out a sob, and tears began to roll down her face. 

His hand gripped her hip tightly as he had her cornered behind the small department store. She kicked and thrashed, not being able to scream from the hand placed over her mouth.

She was fighting so hard, but he was a lot bigger than her. And no matter how hard she bit at his hand, kicked at his legs, or pushed at his chest, he wouldn’t budge.

It burnt where he had touched her. Not the welcoming kind of fire either, the kind that hurt, the kind you didn’t want.  

Knock knock. 

“Lillian?” Sam’s voice said through the door. “Can I come in?” 

Lillian quickly fixed her jeans and pulled her shirt back over her head. She then walked over to the door and undid the look, allowing her brother to come in. 

When Sam entered, he looked and saw the young girl sitting criss-cross on her bed. 

“Hey.”

 She didn’t respond, just kept staring at the threads of the blue blanket on her bed. 

“Hey, bug, look at me,” Sam said, trying to coax her to look at him. 

She looked up at him, eyes bloodshot and the rims of them red from tears. They were empty like she was a shell, her soul not having anything left to feed on.

 “What’s wrong?” 

She didn’t respond again, her lip just quivered, and she let out a sob.

 “It hurts,” she whimpered. Her side burned, searing hot pain, and her hip ached in so much pain. “It hurts so much please make it stop Sammy, please.” 

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

“That’s all she said?” Dean asked as he stood out in the hallway with Sam and Cas. 

Sam nodded with tear-stained cheeks. All he could do was cry when he heard her plea, but he couldn’t help her because she wouldn’t tell him what was wrong. Watching her sit there and cry and whimper in pain was too much, and he had to leave the room.

 “She wouldn’t tell me why or what hurt,” Sam explained, then whipped another tear that rolled out of his eye. “I-I couldn’t sit there and watch her plea and not be able to do anything, I just, it was just-”

“No, Sam, it’s okay,” Dean stopped Sam before he could continue and try to blame himself for something that wasn’t his fault. “I’ll go see what I can do.”

“You were asking for it.” 

“This is what you want.” 

“A pretty face like yours gets this.”

 “You can’t resist me.”

 “The things that I’m-”

“Lillian, look at me.” Dean’s command made Lillian look up at him in the mirror. He stood behind her from where she was leaning against the sink in her room. 

Her hands were placed on the white porcelain as she leaned against them to keep herself steady. 

“It burns, De,” she said, not giving any more explanation to the words that were burning in her mind and the pain that was searing her side.

“What burns, Baby girl? Talk to me.” 

She shook her head, tears rushing out of her eyes. “No, no, no.” 

Dean walked closer to her when she pushed herself off the sink. “Lillian.” 

She was panting, trying to catch her breath. She crossed her arms and placed them over her head, exposing her side to her brother.He could only see a small portion of it, but Dean knew that bruise was large.

 He sucked in a breath when he saw it and quickly walked closer to Lillian so he could inspect it. “Sweetheart-” 

When he reached out for her she jumped back and screamed again. 

Dean’s heart shattered into two because now he knew what had happened.

 ---------------

“Yeah, thanks, Donna. See ya soon,” Dean said before hanging up the phone with one of the women he knew could get through to Lillian. Sam had handled calling Jody, and they both would be down to Kansas by that evening. 

Dean had red hot tears of anger rolling from his eyes as his mind couldn’t help but think of the monster that did something so unspeakable to his baby sister. She was sweet and innocent, besides killing a monster, she wouldn’t even hurt a fly. She was the kindest person anyone had ever met, and that sicko probably took advantage of that. 

There was an empty beer bottle on the table. Dean picked up the brown colored glass, inspecting it, then throwing it with all his force at the stairs in front of him. The bottle shattered and dropped to the ground. 

Sam stepped into the room quickly after hearing the sound, afraid something worse then a bottle breaking had happened. But it was worse because when he looked at Dean, he saw the face Dean got when he knew he needed to kill something that was hurting someone. But this was more personal because this was Lillian, the girl who he raised from fourteen and was practically his daughter.

“Dean,” Sam spoke softly. 

Dean didn’t look at his brother for a second. His head dropped and he sucked in a breath. He then turned to his younger brother. 

“As soon as we get a name or anything that can identify this guy-” Dean puffed his chest and took on his protective stance- “we’re going to kill this son of a bitch.”

Before Sam could have any response, Dean turned around and made a beeline for the kitchen.

“Sam?” Jack’s voice said from behind the tall man. 

Sam turned around to look at the Nephilim who stood with a concerned look on his face. “Jack, uh, hey, good morning.”

 It was morning now, seven a.m. to be exact. And besides Jack, no one else in the bunker got any sleep.

 “Is-is everything alright?” The younger boy asked quietly. He could feel the heaviness in the air and he was concerned.  

“Um, no Jack, no, not really,” Sam said sadly, looking down at his jeans from the day before he still had on.

 “Why? Did you guys find Lillian? Is she okay?”

 Oh, Jack, she is far from okay, Sam thought to himself. 

“Cas found her, yeah,” Sam explained before he could go into more, heart-wrenching detail about what happened to his sister. “But she’s not alright.” 

“Maybe I can help her,” Jack perked up with a boyish, then taking off to Lillian’s room. 

“No, Jack,” Sam called to the boy who was already at Lillian’s door. 

Jack opened the door to the young girl’s room and what he saw was his first real heartbreak.

 Lillian sat on the ground beside the sink in her room. She had no shirt on, just a sports bra covering her and it looked like her bruises had grown and taken on new colors. What little mascara she had on was smudged underneath her eyes and her hair was matted together at the ends.

 She looked so broken.

 “Hi, Lillian.” Jack squatted in front of her. He had a soft smile on his face as he tried to make her feel safe. He reached his hand out to touch her side so he could heal it, but she screamed, making Jack fall back from his squatting position. 

Sam quickly ushered Jack out of the room before he could scare or upset her anymore. 

After the door to her room was closed, Jack turned to Sam with a sad expression.

 “What happened?”

 Sam sighed and looked away, trying to figure out the best way to explain the situation. 

“She um...we believe that Lillian was hurt by a man.”

 Jack still didn’t understand the severity of the situation. “But she faces male monsters all the time who hurt her.”

“No, no, uh, this is different,” Sam responded with a huff. “He hurt her...uh, sexually.” 

Then it started to click with Jack. Things he had learned from Dean about picking up women.

 “When they say no, they mean no.” 

Jack let a tear slip from his eye. 

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

It still burnt, the pain wouldn’t subside. 

Lillian was sitting on her bed with her knees pulled up and her back against her headboard. She had turned on her TV but she wasn’t paying attention to what was on it. Some hallmark movie playing was just background noise for her. The cherry song playing in the movie as the protagonist walked down the street of some small happy town made tears prick in her eyes. 

She stared at the screen, never once blinking as she didn’t absorb the information in the movie. His voice just kept replying in her head. Flashes of the events from the day before were going through her mind.

Her muffled screams, her tears, everything she did was no use because he wouldn’t get off of her. 

There was a light knock on her door, one that sounded nothing like her brothers or Cas.

 She stood up and unlocked the door and then scoured back to her bed, going right back into the position she had been in.

 “Hey, sweet girl,” Jody said as she entered the room softly, Donna following close behind. 

“Hiya, Lillian,” Donna greeted.

Lillian looked up, a sense of comfort from the two women forming in her. She gave them a half-smile and a wave.The two women looked at each other before they sat on each side of her on the foot of the bed. 

Outside the youngest Winchester’s room stood the four men of the bunker, anxiously waiting for a prompt so they could go kill the man who did this.

 “Hey,” Jody said, laying a light hand on Lillian's sock-covered foot. “We’re here for you.”

 And that’s all Lillian needed before she broke down. The flood gates opened and her tears and sobs came pouring out.

 “Okay, okay, shhh,” Donna said as she moved to the top of the bed to hold the fellow blonde. She reached a hand to Lillian’s face and wiped some tears from her freckled skin. 

“Lillian, if you’re ready,” Jody began, saying the last part to let her know that she didn’t have to answer this right now. “Can you tell us what happened?” 

Lillian was sucked back into her mind for a second, the events flashing in her brain. 

The four men that stood outside the room listened to the cry that was let out. Each of their hearts breaking at the sound of the sob they heard. 

“I need some air,” Dean muttered, leaving the three others and heading away from the hallway.

 “I was in the last store I was going to for the day,” Lillian began when her breathing was somewhat even. “He walked behind me, his hand grazing my shoulder and a smile on his face. He started to talk to me, and he seemed so nice, and he was cute, so I talked to him, and I flirted with him. But when I went to leave, he followed me...I thought he was just going the same way as me at first, but when he went into the same diner, I knew it wasn’t a coincidence. He stared at me while I ate, and then when I left he caught me outside. He asked me for my number, but I told him no.”

She paused and took in a shaky breath. 

“He wouldn’t let go of my arm, and I kept trying-” she punched the palm of her hand- “and trying-” another punch- “and trying.”

Her voice trailed off into a small sob. Jody and Donna both had tears running down their faces as they listened to her.  

“And then, he pulled me down an alley...and I, and-”

Jody and Donna had a fire in their eyes that was fueled by hot anger in them. They could imagine how people just passed by and did nothing, not thinking anything of it or not wanting to get involved. They saw it too often being cops, and it was sickening.

“You don’t have to tell us the rest,” Donna assured the young girl, knowing it would be too much for her to do right now. 

“Lillian,” Jody said, prompting the blonde to look at her. “What was his name?”

She didn’t want to say it. She was afraid that if she did, he would come in there and hurt her again. 

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Jody said in a comforting mother tone. “He can’t hurt you anymore, no one here will allow it.”

 Lillian nodded, feeling comfort in that. 

“Malachi, Malachi Jacobs is his name.”

 -----------------

All Dean saw while he drove was red. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the son of a bitch who hurt his baby sister. No one who hurt her ever lived. Ever. 

Sam sat impatiently in the passenger seat of Baby, his leg bouncing in anticipation. He had cried too much that day and he needed to get rid of the problem. 

Although, even if they did kill the monster, that didn’t mean Lillian’s trauma would go away.

 Cas sat in the backseat, a stoic expression on his face. He was ready to take any measure needed to make this man suffer.

 “How could someone do this to her?” Sam asked the question he had been keeping inside since they figured out what was wrong.

 Dean glanced at his brother before panning back to the road. “I don’t know,” Dean replied coldly.

“She’s just so, she’s so nice and sweet and, and-” 

Sam couldn’t wrap his brain around the fact that some man, no boy, thought he was so entitled to something that he would...ugh.

“He probably took her kindness and light flirting as an open invitation,” Dean explained through clenched teeth. “And he’s going to die because of that, so.”

 “Dean, we’re not actually going to kill him,” Cas said, but instantly regretted it after.

 “No one hurts my baby sister and gets away with it. No one.” 

That was all the answer the other two needed. 

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

 “Okay, here we go,” Donna said as she helped lean Lillian under the hot water that streamed from the showerhead. 

The hot water ran down her back allowing her muscles to relax. The feeling of the water and soap going across her skin made the fire go away. She felt as though she was washing away all the bruises that burned and all that would be left was the memories.

When Donna was done washing Lillian’s hair, she handed the young girl a towel and allowed her to be by herself for a little bit.

 Lillian wrapped the towel around her body, her wet hair stuck to her shoulders. She walked up to the fogged up mirror on the wall and wiped it clean. She looked at her reflection, the girl standing back looking completely new compared to the one from earlier. 

She still had the same scar on her right cheek, the same freckled skin, the same bright blue-green eyes, all the same, physical appearance. But she couldn’t help but hate her body a little more after what happened. 

It felt tainted, used, abused, and all the things in between. She looked at her bare sides and only saw the way his hands had grabbed her. She looked at her wrists and saw the way they wrapped around them and squeezed them so tight, it cut off her circulation. She looked at her lips and saw the way he muffled her cries for help.

 She let a singular tear run from her eye before she wiped them away and walked back to her room.

 After she got dressed, she sat in the middle of her bed. No voices filled her head now, but she could still feel that burning sensation in her mind. 

It was like the memories were branded in her brain. No matter how many good memories her psyche would drag up, the new ones immediately pushed them away. 

“Hey, Lillian, can I come in?” Dean’s voice came through the door along with a knock. 

“Yeah,” Lillian replied loud enough for him to hear.

 Dean twisted the knob slowly and walked into the room. It was a lot brighter than when he walked in earlier, both her lamps were on allowing a cool glow to cast across her room. 

Dean looked at the girl who sat on the bed, damp hair slowly noting together as it dried. She had one of his old henley’s draped over her torso along with a pair of leggings adorning her legs. Dean walked over to her dresser and grabbed the blue hairbrush that was sitting on top. 

He made his way to sit behind her, his right leg folding under his left. He reached up and began to gently brush the hair cascading down her back.

 As he brushed away the knots, the two of them sat in silence for about a minute. Dean continued to brush his younger sister’s hair, even though the knots were gone now. It was calming her, he could tell by how her shoulders relaxed and she didn’t tense up when he would move her hair. 

“Did you kill him?” Lillian asked, breaking the silence. She had her head resting on the arms folded over her knees, curled up in a ball.

 Dean sighed. “No, but he’ll never come near you again though I can promise that.”

 While Dean did want to kill him, Sam had come up with something better. They had Jody call one of her friends from the precinct in Lebanon and after Malachi had taken a good beating, he was arrested. And he was going to spend a long time in prison. 

Lillian felt relief wash over her. Dean saying that he would never bother her again made her feel much safer.

“Dean,” Lillian said softly. Dean hummed in response, still working the brush through her hair that matched his in color. “Do you think I deserved it?”

 Dean stopped brushing. 

Lillian turned back to look at him, tears running down her cheeks. Man, was she sick of crying. 

“Baby girl, why would you even think that?” Dean asked with a broken heart at her question.

 She shrugged, Malachi’s words ringing through her head. “He said I did.” 

Dean’s jaw locked and he ground his teeth together. “I should’ve killed him.” Lillian didn’t respond, she just gazed down to the bruises on her wrists. 

Dean took notice of how she was staring at them and grabbed her hands so that she would stop. He moved her hands to the side and placed his hands on her face gently so she would look at him.

“Lillian Elizabeth Winchester, don’t you ever believe what that monster did to you is what you deserved, okay?” Dean said sternly, but his voice was kind. “You are beautiful, kind, and deserve the world. Never believe what he did to you is what you deserve, because you don’t no one does.”

He pulled her head forward and placed a kiss to her forehead and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her lightly not to hurt her bruises.  

 -------------------------

Dean ordered pizza that night for everyone. Jody and Donna decided to stay and hang out till the next day, deciding the harsh weather outside would be too much for them to drive in at night. 

“Is she gonna be okay?” Jack asked as they sat around the war room table eating.

 Dean had told Lillian that there was pizza but she had yet to come out of her room yet. She had moved to her bed and decided to watch the Scooby-doo marathon on TV. Dean was happy with that because at least now she had something to distract her. 

“She will be,” Jody said softly with a sigh. She would be fine, but not right now, maybe not tomorrow but she would be. 

They were silent for a few seconds as they all ate. Then Dean and Sam perked up as they saw Lillian enter the room slowly.

 Her arms folded over her chest as she walked into the room, moving over to the chair between Dean and Sam. Where she normally sat.

 “Hey,” Dean said as he watched her sit down in the chair on his right. “How ya feelin’?”

 She shrugged. “Fine.” That was how she felt, fine. Almost numb, but the memories still burned in her brain when they reached the surface.

 Sam reached with his over with his hand and placed it on her shoulder hastily, and when she didn’t flinch, he pulled her closer for a hug. She sunk into his side and wrapped her arms around his torso from the side and squeezed him tight. They both let out a soft sigh, feeling safe and sound with each other.

 Dean smiled at his two younger siblings, basking in the happy moment. He reached his hand over to the box and pulled out a large slice of pepperoni pizza, plopping it onto a plate beside it.

 Lillian smiled as Dean sat the delicious food in front of her and reached over and hugged him also. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and placed a kiss on top of her head gently. 

When Lillian pulled away from the hug, she looked at all those around her at the table, giving a gentle smile to them. “Thank you,” her voice crooked out. “Thank you guys for being the best family I could ask for.” 

While the memories still burnt in her mind and the trauma undoubtedly would never go away, she was glad she had these people. These wonderful people who made the fiery bruises and searing memories a little less painful. It was almost like they were an extinguisher for the flames that were burning her. 

Lillian Winchester may have felt hopeless for the past day, but with a family like this around her, she knew that she wouldn’t ever have to feel like that for long.   

[southernrays]

location: Fairvale + Jesup/Atlanta in flashbacks date: The second week of July 2020 + Ray’s entire life availability: closed solo tldr: Ray ponders his love life before-during-after the apocalypse cw for: transphobia, disclosure talks, transitioning, divorce, drugs (mentioned not used) and all of the general heart break affiliated with young love.

000.

Ray fell in love too easily.

It had always been a problem, really, but there was no real fix. Ray loved deeply, easily, and with his whole entire heart. He had done so since he was a kid, and he would probably always do so, apocalypse or not.

001.

His first crush had been on Brittany Walker when he was six years old. That was before he was Ray, before he was even Nate, but a crush was a crush.

Brittany was the most popular girl in their elementary school. Jesup was a small town that only grew smaller the older they got, and Ray was one of ten in his class. Brittany was classically pretty - blonde hair, blue eyes, a big smile, and kind eyes - but Ray knew it was more that that. He didn’t want to be Brittany’s friend, he wanted to be her best friend, and got jealous of everyone else. When the town got a new set of siblings, brother and sister, and Brittany started hanging out with them instead of him, Ray’s father noticed the frowns and sad looks at the dinner table.

“What’s wrong, champ?” David had asked, the nickname sticking from a t-ball championship streak of two years. Ray had pouted over the okra on his plate, and not just because it was slimy.

“Brittany has new friends and likes them better. But I like her more than anyone else on the playground.”

“Is that right now?” David had amusement in his eyes when he tried to keep a straight face, and Ray was old enough to see it. He was deceptively perceptive for his age and already a good people watcher at the bar. David knew that.

“I’m serious Dad. I’d marry her, like you and mom.”

Ray was still just six, though. He didn’t notice the tense of his father’s shoulder, the way he glanced over to make sure that his wife wasn’t in the room. He didn’t notice the frown lines on his face or how unhappy he had been for the last six years. He didn’t know that the divorce papers will be signed before their next Christmas, and it will be spent without Regina Turner. That all of his birthdays and holidays and life events would be without her, forever, very soon.

“That’s a whole lot of like, kiddo.”

“I mean it, Pa.”

“That’s alright champ. You can marry whoever you want to when you get older, alright? I’ll love you no matter what.”

“Alright dad,” little Ray had said with a wrinkle of his nose. “Don’t make it weird.”

David’s laugh had filled the kitchen, and Ray felt better about it all.

002.

Ray didn’t have a type growing up. The people he liked, he liked individually, not because they fit into a mold that checked off imaginary boxes. In high school his eyes turned towards a new girl in town that’s aesthetic screams southern gothic in an unironic way. Hailee wore her eye liner too thick, kept her music too loud, wore too much black and metal, and glared at everyone at Jesup’s only high school like their mere presence bothered her. Ray had no idea, in retrospect, why he was drawn to her, but he was. Ray was finally Nate by then, finally himself in his own skin and his own clothing and no one could take that from him. Not the busybodies of Jesup, not his mother’s stinging palm on his cheek, and not any pastor of a Church he wasn’t apart of, praying to a man he didn’t believe in. 

Ray was unapologetically himself, and maybe he was drawn to someone else like that, too.

Hailee avoided him like the plague, too, at first. She scoffed at his worn levis and dirty cowboy boots. She ignored Ray when the popular crowd stopped by his locker. Ray was popular, too, in spite of his transition and small town gossip. His father owned one of the only bars in town that made him cool, and a source of liquor for unage drinking and parties. Ray didn’t care much for that, but he did appreciate the socialization of it all.

“Hey, Hailee, wait up now,” Ray had called out, almost not recognizing his own voice after his second puberty. 

“What do you want, Nate?” Her eyes had narrowed, pretty and green despite the kohl surrounding them. 

“You to come to Nick’s party this weekend. What do ya say?” Ray rocked back on his heels, nervous of her answer. People in the hallway stopped to look at them, and Ray wondered what they saw. Was it the stubble on his chin, his recent growth spike, and the new squareness of his hips? Or was it the same kid that had been there since pre-school, unable to leave that old, uncomfortable skin behind.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah? You do that, then. I can pick ya up on the bike if you want?” 

Her eyes flashed with something dangerous, then, and Ray knew he had hooked her. What kind of edgy girl could resist showing up to the party on the back of a sick motorcycle?

They find themselves in a closet, of all places, in the middle of the night. Ray tasted tequila on her lips when she slotted their hips together. He pushed back, pinning her against a wall as he slipped his tongue into her mouth. The groan she let out was sweet music to his ears and she melted like putty against his strong frame.

“Worth comin’ out for the party?” Ray asked against her lips. She bit his lip in retaliation before deepening the kiss. Ray’s hands wandered, fingers trailing the skin exposed by the black crop top she had decided to wear tonight. They separate when Ray needed to come up for air, harsh pants filling the small spaces of the closet.

“I didn’t expect it to be so good,” Hailee mumbled against his lips, and Ray can’t help but freeze.

“What? Kissin’ a redneck?” He tried to joke off, desperate for her to make some small town hick joke. Because Hailee was from Indianapolis. She was supposed to be edgy and alternative and beyond all of the small town gossip. She was different from the other people Ray had been taking hayrides with since the days of diapers. 

He expected more out of Hailee - maybe more than he should have, maybe more than what was fair - which is why the disappointment felt so much worse with her.

“No, you know...” A brief pause of hesitation and Ray prayed, dear God for her to say anything but what he thought she was going to say. “Kissing someone like you.”

Ray flinched back like someone had dropped a bucket of ice on him. His eyes sting for a brief second of embarrassment before the rage took over. He takes one deep breath, and then another. Man, testosterone was a potent thing, wasn’t it?

“I... I’ll see ya ‘round Hailey.”

“Wait - Nate - I didn’t ... I wasn’t trying to-”

Ray doesn’t hear the rest. He doesn’t need to.

003.

Dating Xavier was a mistake, plain and simple.

Ray was new to the area. He was finally free of his town, free of the stigma and the knowing looks, and the everything else that came with a town so small it felt like a fishbowl. Here, in Atlanta, he got to start over. He could be Nate from the beginning, without any need to pretend otherwise.

And Nate was a useless bisexual. Always had been.

Xavier was kind of a douchebag. He met Ray at a bar, of course, his band playing on the makeshift stage. Xavier was a drummer. He was so dang pretty, easy on the eyes, and kissed in a dirty, grungy sort of way that had it’s charms. He was nothing like Jesup kids; Xavier was spoiled, wild, a city boy through and through, and Ray craved the simplicity of it all.

Xavier (who went by X) was not a good guy and did drugs (most X) and got crossfaded out of his mind after shows. He stayed up crazy hours, usually high, and wrote all sorts of lyrics for his band. Their relationship, if you could call it that, was very brief and mostly physical.

“You should play guitar, babe, like for real, you know?” Xavier said, waking Ray up at five in the morning to tell him that.

“Why’s that, handsome?” Ray had answered, sleep still clogging his voice as he rolled over. It looked like X hadn’t been to sleep yet, which made sense considering the binge he had been on.

“It’d make you more edgy, right, like, you’d be hotter. Everyone’s hotter if they play guitar.”

“S’that why you’re a drummer?” Ray teased, but the fun nature of it went over Xavier’s head. He leveled a big scowl at Ray, and Ray sighed.

“No need to be mean, Nate.”

“Was just a joke, baby.” Ray opened up the covers of the bed, glancing at the clock again. Xavier’s pupils were so dilated that he couldn’t see his pretty brown eyes. “Come to bed soon?”

“You know I have to finish this song. We hit the road in three weeks for our tour.”

In that three weeks, Ray picked up a guitar and had his first lessons, broke up with Xavier, and never saw the guy again.

He was not more edgy, not in the slightest, but he did have a new guitar and a whole city to explore.

004.

Meeting Luci had been accidental in every way. He had picked up an extra shift at the bar that his manager forgot to write into the schedule, so when he showed up for it there was double staffing and no need for Ray to be there. Instead of spending a Friday night alone, at his apartment, he decided to stay. Ray nursed a couple of beers as the bar filled up and texted his friends to show up early.

The Drunken Crown was a sort of themed bar-slash-pub in Atlanta. It was smaller, which Ray appreciated, and had theme nights on the daily. A lot of the college kids from nearby spent their time there, and the average patron was generally on the younger side. On Fridays and Saturdays their theme rotated, and tonight’s was Historic Night. 

His friends arrived a bit later, dressed in Spartan battle gear. They did a couple rounds of shots before most of them took to the dance floor, leaving Ray laughing as he refused at the bar.

Ray had come dressed in an honest to goodness toga, including a gold spray-painted leaf crown and golden accessories. His time in the gym had definitely paid off as he was finally bulking up and gaining more definition in his shoulders. One or two girls had been orbiting around him, but Ray didn’t make any passes at anyone. He sipped on his beer, watching his coworkers make their rounds, and decided to people watch for the evening.

A group of flappers were tearing up the dance floor. Ray could see his buddy, Blake, drunkenly approaching them and attempting some dance moves that made him look ridiculous. Some guys in three piece suits were making out by the entrance. A group of hippies were eagerly chatting and mingling at the bar. Ray saw at least three girls who looked like some extras in a Nirvana video begging for some kind of song change from whatever was on the speakers.

Luci had been dressed up as an old writer, someone Ray knew the name of but couldn’t remember, not truly and definitely not any more, and kept all to herself in the very corner of the bar. She was sipping on some mixed drink and Ray’s eyes stopped on her. What was her story? The quiet girl, alone at the bar, barely hanging onto the fringes of all of the activity. 

He was intrigued, and he wanted to know.

A simple introduction was given. Ray prodded, trying to get a feel for the quiet girl, who opened up immediately when asked about her costume. Ray was no academic, but he appreciated the passion in her eyes when she spoke about something, voice louder than either one of them expected.

“I’m Nate, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

And it was. Luci was his opposite in so many ways. He hadn’t expected to see her again after that night, too shy to ask for her number and unsure if she was interested in giving it. His coworkers had given him hell for chickening out, and Ray just gave them a good-natured smile.

A week and a half later, Luci came in, dressed normally, while Ray was working. He spent the entire night neglecting his duties, trying to get a conversation out of her and working his own natural charm. And she came back the next week, and the week after, too. Soon Ray was brave enough to ask for her number. And she gave it to him.

Being with Luci was different. Their first date, Ray had taken her out of the city to a local dirt track. They went mudding in ATVs and Ray nearly fell off of his trying to impressive her halfway through. Luci’s eyes had been wide the entire time, soaking up the whole thing with a curiosity that Ray came to associate with her. One date turned into two, which turned into a whole series of exploring together. 

They took turns taking each other outside of their comfort zones. Ray taught Luci how to have fun the country way, with mudding and camping, and picnics in the bed of his truck as they watched the sun rise together. Luci surprised Ray with her deep thoughts, her sharp mind, and the push to better himself with her. She didn’t let him keep up his self-deprecation. They would have late night conversations, under the stars, all alone, wrapped up in each other.

She met his friends, his family, incorporated herself in his entire life.

Ray fell head over heels. And he told her so, earnest and eager and open to love. Open to a lifetime of learning and exploring with her. 

And she left him, at the edge of the cliff he was ready to jump off with no parachute, without so much as an explanation. And she took a part of him with her, whether she realized it or not, that never really came back.

005.

There were more. Some before Luci, some after. Each person was different - different backgrounds, ages, race, gender, personalities - but one thing always remained the same. Ray loved too hard, too much, too easily. Ray was open to the idea of commitment, and committed, too easily. 

 It didn’t matter who he was dating, he was the constant, he was the issue, and it hurt to admit.

Ray tried, and he loved, before-during-after the outbreak. And it went like this:

There was Rob, a brewmaster he met while at school. They dated for over a year, before graduation hit; Ray wanted to go to Atlanta and Rob wanted to go to family back in Miami.

“It’s like - you know - I really like you Nate. I like you a lot. But long distance? It never works. It’s better to end it now.”

There was Sage, a wild child trust fund girl that wanted to save the rainforest with Daddy’s money. She laughed when he asked her to be his girlfriend.

“That’s cute, you thought we were dating? It’s not that serious babe.”

There was Fi, a survivor in a camp Ray had stumbled across after leaving the Fort. She was the reason Ray stuck around for three weeks. They had had an awful fight before the camp was overrun, and she hadn’t made it out alive.

“You’re too soft, Ray. I’d chew up your sunshine and spit it out. I don’t want to see you again.”

There was Ronnie, the permanent student with four different bachelor degrees. He cheated on Ray with one of his roommates after six months of dating.

“I was bored, Nate. I’m not ready to just settle down, dude. You’re smothering me.”

There was Destiny, a small town, kindred girl he found in Atlanta not too long after Xavier. She had looked at him in the worst way when Ray had come out to her.

“I’m - I’m not - That’s not what God would want for you, you know?”

There was Jenny, a financial advisor that Ray had met through the bar and mutual friends. She had always been so carefree, maybe too carefree, maybe just too free in general.

“Oh Darlin’, I don’t think so. We’re not exactly endgame, are we?”

It didn’t matter who, when, where they were. Ray wasn’t worth keeping around - that was the universally proven fact. It was one he had to stomach his entire life, and well, it sucked, but Ray was not one to stay down. He washed off the mud, dusted off his boots, and got back up again.

000. +

Ray tried not to play the self pity card. It just wasn’t his style. But with the outbreak, losing his family, and trying to re-invent himself yet again? A relationship was the last thing he wanted or needed. Fairvale was a clean break, it was (mostly) mess free. He could be whoever he wanted or needed. He could start over, again. He could protect himself and his heart.

Love mucked all of that up. It always had.

So when he caught himself - again, Ray, really? - people watching with his eyes settling on one person, he ignored it. When he felt that small flip-flop in his belly at their smile, he pushed it down. When his day would brighten at the familiar face of a kind-of-regular-that-showed up, Ray decided he would not have a crush again, thank you very much, and make things uneven. 

He could not afford to give up his heart any more than he already had. He couldn’t afford to be let down, disregarded, by someone again.

[homosexual-having-tea]

klaus and five silently judging people together?

Ok so I may have gone more in the direction of Klaus and Five vibing and having Auntie Annies lollll

Five groaned sliding down in his seat. “Jesus Christ, how long does it usually take Allison and Vanya to go shopping?”

“Well, this is the first shopping trip I’ve been invited on, so I can’t judge. Now, this skirt or that one? They’re both very me, wouldn’t you say?” Klaus asked, holding two glittery skirts up to his waist. “I think the pink one would be very look at me, I’m here but black just goes so much better with-”

“Klaus, I swear to hell, if that sales lady calls me your son one more time, both skirts are going to be red. Can we leave already?”

“Red? Why would they- oh, it’s blood, blood, gotcha,” Klaus placed both skirts back on the rack. “As funny as it that she thinks little old moi-” he paused to wave his hands dramatically at his face- “is responsible enough to raise a child, I suppose murder isn’t ideal. You ever had a cheesy pretzel?”

Five raised an eyebrow in interest, uncrossing his arms slightly. “They don’t have shit like that in the Apocalypse, Klaus.”

Klaus grinned. “Ah, you’re just being snarky ‘cause your blood sugar is low. Come on, kiddo, we can go get lunch.”

“Don’t call me kiddo, asshole.”

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

“Soooo...?”

Five glanced up. “So wha’?” he mumbled around a mouthful of pretzel.

“So, do I get a brownie point for knowing good mall food or what?” Klaus grinned. Five muttered something before swallowing his food with a sip of lemonade. He placed the cup back down on the table, exactly on top the water ring it left.

“The carbohydrate levels in this are probably going to kill me,” he said without much actual anger, smiling faintly.  

Klaus cooed, clasping his hands together. “You love it! See, spending time with me isn’t that bad once you get used to it, Fivey!” 

Five rolled his eyes, giving up on covering his smile. “Shut up, Klaus. I’m allowed to complain, I-”

“Lived through the Apocalypse, we all know. Finish your pretzel, old man. I’m willing to bet anything this is better than roaches and expired Twinkies” Klaus laughed, leaning back in his chair, his arms folded behind his head.

Five chuckled in quiet agreement- the pretzel was actually good though he wouldn’t tell Klaus that- sipping on his lemonade, before nodding at something behind Klaus. “Is she wearing the same dress as you?”

Klaus gasped in mock outrage, turning around to glare at the woman across the mall who was, indeed, wearing the same star-printed dress as him. “Oh, she does not look as good as I do in this,” Klaus said, dramatically bunching up the fabric in the skirt.

“It makes her look green,” Five added under his breath. Klaus cackled, agreeing as he turned to face his brother. He grinned widely, tilting his head to the side.

“Fashion police much?”

“What? She does! She shouldn’t be wearing gold. It makes her look like broccoli.” 

Klaus laughed again, holding a hand against his face. “My brother is a tiny, murderous Regina George- don’t worry, I’ll explain that joke later. What about her?” he asked, pointing discreetly at a person walking out of a store.

“Not bad, honestly. Just not a good height for her skirt. It makes her look like a stick,” he commented, stone-facedly sipping his lemonade. 

Klaus giggled again popping a cinnamon pretzel bite into his mouth. He pointed out various people around them, laughing at Five’s assessments of their fashion choices.

“How did you of all people get so invested in fashion?” he asked, still grinning widely. Five shrugged, sliding the empty pretzel bag neatly into a corner of the table.

“Delores and I used to go into old malls to pick out outfits for her, and I started to really enjoy our trips. I guess since I got back, I kept interest in fashion to keep something we’d done together around.” Five said quietly, fiddling with the hem of his bronze cardigan sleeve.

“Firstly, that is literally adorable. Really wish I coulda met Delores. I think we would have gotten along well,” Klaus smiled. “Also, since my lil’ bro is a bitchy fashionista, I think we should go get you some new clothes since we’re here. You’re a growing boy and that sweater of yours barely fits anymore.” 

Five sat up a little bit, loosening his crossed arms as he smiled faintly. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

[jcmorrigan]

001 - Kingdom Hearts

Favorite character: On the villain side: VEXEN IS BEST ORGANIZATION XIII MEMBER. Shoulda stayed evil, though. I like it when he complains and screams about everything and hates everyone. He's one of my favorite villains, just, like...in general. So fun to write. Also attached to Demyx, but I actually liked him more in III than II because it reminded me of my rawr lolspeek weeb days when I f/o'd him without knowing what f/o'ing was and then transitioned this to shipping VexDem like heck. On the hero side: MY GIRL KAIRI! But honorable mentions go to Sora, Riku, Aqua, Ven, Terra, Xion, Roxas, Lea, Ienzo, any Disney character I loved beforehand (this is way too fuckin many to list), Merlin (OKAY I WILL SINGLE HIM OUT), Yen Sid (I'LL SINGLE HIM OUT TOO), you know what let's also single out the Mickey+Donald+Goofy power trio...just...any KH hero who isn't part of the Yozora stuff or the KHUX stuff. ...Except I also LOVE Strelitzia, and she is the only KHUX-exclusive kiddo I care about but I care about her MANY. (Oh, and there's a least fave I have who's a "hero" but that's a debatable label). I would go on about why I love all of them but...that's too many characters to elaborate on

Least Favorite character: See, I think the real answer is Yozora, but the thing is I just tend to forget about him or not care (unless I'm doing a weird AU where he's Noctis' bratty Nobody, don't ask). He kinda represents the Shark Jump and I don't like watching that scene where he literally petrifies Sora for not being strong enough. But again, I can just kinda forget about him if he's not fed to me through a social-media unit. The one I LOVE TO HATE is Master Eraqus. The man actually triggered me back in the day. He is purity culture. He is the overbearing parent who will not accept you unless you are perfect. He is by and large the reason VAT didn't communicate with each other properly. He was the one who taught Aqua to think in absolutes. He lied to Ventus for years and then insisted to kill him was the only option, and then, when Terra tried to defend his brother figure/friend without knowing WHY Eraqus was doing such a thing, Eraqus didn't offer an explanation and instead switched targets to Terra citing that the problem was Terra's lack of OBEDIENCE. Eraqus is just very "my way or the highway" and uses his moral high horse to justify doing things that utterly lack compassion in any regard, which is something that GETS to me on a deep level, and let me tell you, I hated him for so long until I realized he was actually a super fuckin fun guy to imagine as a Bigger Bad in AUs that either have the KH protags teaming up or have villain protags needing a "greater good lawful evil" figure. And I just have found too many good memes about him cheating at chess and killing children. I have to laugh. Making fun of him is fun. He's a ridiculous character. That said, this recent trend of "erase everything bad he ever did and paint him as the ultimate hero of the saga" makes me raise eyebrows for SEVERAL reasons

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): VexDem, SoRiku, Kairi x Jaune Arc (RWBY), Aqua x Rosalina (Super Mario Galaxy) x Bayonetta, IsaLea, Ventus x Papyrus (Undertale), that was six but they all needed to be mentioned

Character I find most attractive: Ienzo. HOO BABY he is adorable. I saw someone make a Valentine's Day gifset of KH and FF characters shortly after III dropped and seeing his smiling face paired with a romance quote made my heart FLUTTER

Character I would marry: Probably Ienzo, see above. He's also a very kind guy. Favorite redemption in the modern era.

Character I would be best friends with: I hope the Destiny Trio would adopt me into their friend circle the way they've tended to do with every other inter-world denizen they've come across. I would love to have them as my positivity squad. Or, y'know, two positivities and one "it's okay to screw up" guy. Just. I would love to hang out with them. I often worry that I'm unlikable to my faves, but even though I would usually prefer to hang with the villains, I can pretty much guarantee these three would be open-minded about me. (Do I kiiiiinda wanna be friends with Vexen though? Of course I do. He'd hate me but maaaayyyyybe he would see me as one of his pet idiots who makes him look smarter, and we could bond over our fragile egos?)

a random thought: You ever think about that one NPC lady in Traverse Town who refused to tell you where she was from because it was none of her business? You ever wonder where she WAS from? What her world was like? How she ended up being the survivor of the Ansem Apocalypse when it hit her? All I know is that when I read her lines out loud (I used to read KH speech balloons out loud all the time), I gave her a Southern accent for no discernible reason and I stand by it. That woman has a twang.

An unpopular opinion: I don't want KHUX to be canon because I feel it's smaller-scale and takes a lot of mystery out of the worldbuilding. I always assume that the KHverse just includes ALL worlds in fiction, and that includes their thousand-year histories, meaning the Age of Fairy Tales should've happened long long long LONG LONG LONG ago and not five generations. And whatever screwed up the world should've been more than just five people having a fight, and whatever saved it should've been more than just five people getting along, and Daybreak Town really suffers from having to stick to mobile-friendly graphics and therefore is the least aesthetically attractive KH town ever, and I don't like that Lauriam and Elrena used to be such selfless people. I do still love Strelitzia because she's shy and relatable and quirky (sitting on the roof) and she questions authority and if you go with shipping subtext she's probably bi (or pan?), but I don't like the "Lauriam's dead sister for his arc's drama" bit. I liked when Marluxia was angry because he wanted to run Organization XIII but it was in the hands of an idiot who wasn't him. And more than anything I just like imagining that the Age of Fairy Tales was something bigger, further in the past, and more mysterious than something designed for a mobile game. Scala ad Caelum, however, I like a lot better because there IS a lot of mystery there and also it's a very pretty town with an amazing design.

my canon OTP: I really only count the Disney couples as the "canon" ones, so this is a question of picking my favorite Disney couple that shows up onscreen. I hope I'm not forgetting an important one, but I think the title has to go to Aladdin/Jasmine, which is always perfect in everything. (This would be an ENTIRELY DIFFERENT STORY if KH had ever adapted Treasure Planet, and if it ever gets the mind to adapt Treasure Planet then even if I don't care about that game I will immediately declare that Amelia/Doppler takes the KH canon OTP crown. *taps watch* Get on it Squenix)

Non-canon OTP: SoRiku, which I counted as "basically canon" after DDD until III decided it wasn't sure. But I'm just a sucker for how DDD is the two of them all "HE'S GOT MY BACK AND I'VE GOT HIS AND I'D DO ANYTHING FOR HIM SO LONG AS HE'S HAPPY." It's just the best kind of Friends-to-Lovers, except when you take all canon into account it's Friends-to-Rivals-to-Enemies-to-Friends-to-Lovers and that's a very juicy dynamic. BUT ALSO: VexDem, which is a nostalgia ship SO STRONG I had to accept that it eclipsed my former Vexen ships by a mile and I wanted to go back to my roots. That one, I have a much longer essay about that I'll just have you refer to so I don't repeat myself for pages. To make a long story short, their scene in III was JUST DELICIOUS.

most badass character: OOF THEY'RE ALL BADASS but in the end it's between Sora and Aqua, because Sora gets the widest RANGE of abilities across the series that he masters while Aqua gets the most POWERFUL abilities due to her Mastery (Command Styles seem like they'd be the most OP things ever in-universe and I'm here for it because flashy battle moves make brain go brr).

pairing I am not a fan of: SOKAI, Xehaqus, RikuNami, Vanitas/anyone not evil

character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): OH BOY. KAIRI THE MOST. YOU ALL KNOW WHY: lack of screen time, Fridging for drama, forced romance to invite death flags (they really wanted to milk that death to get people talking didn't they?), giving Alyson Stoner ZERO direction to actually follow up on Hayden Panettiere's performance. But then I remember that they made Vexen redeem and lose his entire personality and I just...uuugghhhh. I can't believe he died twice in this series. And then Demyx is FUN but also I know he's flipped sides as well, which means he won't be fun much longer! Xehanort seems to switch motivations to whatever makes him the biggest threat (and several of Eraqus' old flaws seem to be mysteriously glued onto him), Sora isn't a motormouth anymore, Riku just doesn't get anyone who cares about him anymore because everyone's distracted by Sora and Kairi, IS ANYBODY GOING TO ADDRESS THE ACTUAL ISSUES THAT DROVE THE WAYFINDER TRIO APART, oh God Marluxia and Larxene you're good guys now what have they done to you

favourite friendship: I really like each of the trios. But you know what's even BETTER than the trios? If you put...all of the trios together...meaning Sora, Riku, Kairi, Mickey, Donald, Goofy, Aqua, Terra, Ven, Roxas, Xion, Lea, Hayner, Pence, Olette...and then you added Isa back in there...and you gave them Ienzo...and you brought back Naminé...and you say that Subject X is Strelitzia and you have her turn back up so she can have justice done...AND YOU HAVE AN ULTRA KEYBLADE GROUP OF FRIENDS. As for Vexen, any purely platonic relationship I have for him is a crossover but trust me I have many crossover pals for he

character I want to adopt or be adopted by: See everyone I listed above in the friendship question. They can either mentor me or let me be their big sis/mom. But also, I will GLADLY be Merlin or Yen Sid's daughter. (But also would I kiiiiinda wanna be a VexDem daughter? This is the worst idea. Still wanna try)

[mirkwoodshewolf]

My #1 fan; Ben Hardy x child sister reader

*Author’s note*

Hey guys well here I am with yet another BoRhap boy story, this time it's of Ben Hardy (god it's been FOREVER since I wrote a story of Benny boi) but here it is. Now this is a Big Brother!Ben fic so unlike the last time there is NO ROMANCE, JUST FLUFFY PLATONIC GOODNESS THAT I CAN DISH UP!!!! Also in this fic I would like to point out that I do NOT OWN WORLD OF DANCE!! IT BELONGS TO J-LO AND NBC and all the people involved with the making of this amazing dance competition (if you haven't heard of it, go check it out the recent season is out NOW!!) Also watch the video links (from actual previous competitors on the show) to get a feel of what I'm seeing for the dances cause I am NOT  dancer so I do not know all the moves that you dancers do out there, but I hope you all still enjoy this fic :)

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@queensdivas

@platawnic

@queendeakyy

@geek-and-proud

@kairosfreddie

@iambambi5

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God it feels like it’s been forever since we’ve seen each other.  From the time I got my first real American movie role in X-men Apocalypse, everything just seemed to fold right before me.  From my biggest success of Bohemian Rhapsody (where I became best friends with probably the three greatest guys in the world), followed by the Netflix movie 6 Underground with Ryan Reynolds (and yes he’s just as hilarious and humble as he presents himself).

My life has just exploded from there, I try to be home whenever I can but when I do, she’s just as busy as I am.  

Now that things have calmed down on my end and she’s preparing for an upcoming audition on a dance show, I can finally take the time to go see her (especially now since I’m in LA where she’s to audition). God I haven’t seen her in years, I wonder how she’s been?

“BENJAMIN!!!” Joe’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts and I turned to him.

“Hmm what?”

“Geez mate you were really out of it back there. We’ve been trying to get your attention for like 10 minutes.” Gwil said as he sipped his beer.

“Oh sorry guys, I was just—thinking.”

“And just who was it that had your attention so badly that you tuned out from the rest of the world?” teased Rami.

“Benjamin Hardy are you cheating on me!? Oh my god you’re cheating! Who is it! What’s their name!?” Joe accused me.  I rolled my eyes as I shoved him.

“Is it a girl?” Rami asked.

“Oh great. Now I gotta get breast implants just to get you to notice me.” Joked Joe.  We all looked at him strangely and I said.

“Not in that way, but yes I am thinking about a girl. My sister actually.”

“Your sister? You—never mentioned a sister before.” Gwil said.

“I kinda like to keep her separate from my name.”

“What you guys don’t get along?” asked Joe.

“No, no we get along amazingly. We’re each other’s #1 fans. But ever since Bohemian Rhapsody everyone now knows my name. I don’t want people comparing the two of us and making her feel like I’m outshining her. That’s one of the other reasons why I changed my last name from Jones to Hardy.”

“Is she an actress too?” Rami asked with a head tilt.

“No, no. She’s a dancer actually.”

“A dancer? Fancy.” Joe said in a posh accent.

“What kind of dancing does she do?” Gwil said.

“Mostly contemporary. But she also does ballet and a bit of Hip-hop. This one competition she was on, she actually combined ballet and hip-hop together. Got 1st place for it, and was the youngest winner to ever win the Glasgow dance competition.” They all whistled.

“She must be good then, how old is she?”

“She was 7 years old.” They all gaped at me.

“You’re joking right?” Joe said with wide eyes and a gaped mouth.

“No, not at all. In fact in her ballet school where she trains, she’s actually the youngest student to have been chosen to get a full run scholarship to the London Academy for Dance. Once she’s 12 years old, they’ll give her the full ride.”

“Wait, wait, wait. How old is she now?” Gwil asked.

“She’s nine.”

“So they’re gonna hold onto her scholarship for another three years?” Rami said.  I nodded.

“Damn she must be good for them to do that.” Joe said with a sigh.

“She is. Fell in love with dancing at 2 years old and did her first pirouette within the first three months of joining her ballet school.”

“Geez, and my sister couldn’t do one till she was about 9.”

“Guess my sister’s got yours beat.” I teased to Joe.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah don’t rub it in.”

“So Ben, when was the last time you saw her?”

“Five years.” I said as I sipped my beer solemnly.

“Wait what? You haven’t seen your sister in five years!?” Joe gawked.

“I told you guys, ever since X-men it’s been one project after another. And even when I did have a break, she was out of state doing a competition either with her school or as a soloist. But—hopefully that’ll change in the next few weeks. She’s actually here in LA.”

“She is?” Rami said.  I nodded.

“Yeah. She’s auditioning for some sort of dance show they film here.”

“So you think you can dance is doing a junior competition now?” asked Joe.

“No not that one. It’s a recent one. They’ve only done like 3 or 4 seasons of it. I think it’s called Dancing world…..no World of Dance. That’s it.”

“Oh that show is awesome! I’ve auditioned for that show.” Joe bragged.

“No you haven’t.” Rami exclaimed at Joe’s lie.

“I’m serious I auditioned during their first 2 seasons. Couldn’t commit cause of obvious reasons.”

“I’m calling BS on that.” Gwil said as he leaned back.

“Uhh excuse me; who got the part of the Disco Deacy? Me. Who perfected the BAB dance? Me. I’m perfectly qualified to be a dancer. In fact why don’t we go see your little sis and she can be the judge!”

“What?”

“You heard me, right now! Let’s go see her!” Joe said as he downed his drink and stood up.

“Hang on guys……”

“Well besides of Joe’s reason, I think it’d be fair for us to meet your little sis. I mean we’ve practically seen each other’s siblings. You all met my twin Sami and my sis Jasmine.”

“I agree with Rami, and you all met my older brother at my engagement party.”

“And of course you all met John and Mary at the BoRhap premiere.” At this rate I knew I wasn’t going to win this argument.

“Fine. I—guess I’ll call up my mum and ask her where she’s rehearsing at.” I just hope (y/n) doesn’t mind having my friends come and see her rehearse.

Cause when she’s in rehearsal mode, she can be quite the little jumpy bug.

*My POV*

Two days.  I had two days till the Qualifier rounds for World of Dance.  I had my routine down to the T and my mum says it’s perfect (but she has to say that she’s my mum), however I’m still doubting myself on some of the moves, or if I’m not showing enough emotion (cause J-Lo loves herself some dancers who can convey emotion).

I was sitting in the rehearsal room having myself a break after rehearsing my dance for the past half hour.  I had this studio slotted for a 45min. rehearsal so I had about 15 minutes left to practice.

“I swear each time you dance your routine, you get more graceful every time.” Mum said as she came in with some lunch.

“Thanks mum, but is it good enough for the judges?”

“I know it is.” I chose not to respond to her. Like I said she has to say these things, but I know there are some flaws to my dance.  I didn’t stick the landing hard enough, I tripped up on the landing from the 540, my leg wasn’t straight enough with I lifted it outward, so many flaws. “Oh I forgot, there’s a little surprise waiting for you downstairs.”

“Mum I—I don’t know. I mean I haven’t even found out if I’ll make it into the next round.”

“Trust me love, you’ll like this surprise.” She raced over to the door and opened it and soon coming in my brother and his three friends from his film Bohemian Rhapsody.

“Benny!” I cheered as I hopped off my seat and raced right over to him.  A huge smile spread across his face as he extended his arms out and caught me as he picked me up and spun me around.

“Hey kiddo oh it’s been forever! Oh you’ve gotten so big since I last saw you.”

“I missed you Benny.”

“I missed you too kiddo. God you have no idea how much I missed you.” he said as he repeatedly kissed the top of my head.

“Your brother happened to be in LA so we planned a little surprise visit for you.” mum said as she closed the door.

“And I hope you don’t mind that I brought a few friends over.” Ben said as he gestured towards the three actors who starred with him on Bohemian Rhapsody.

“I don’t mind. I’ve heard so much about these guys that I figured it’s about time I met them in person.” He set me down and I walked up to the actor who played the legendary Freddie Mercury. “Rami Malek, right?”

“That is correct, and you must be his famous little dancing sister.”

“Well I wouldn’t call myself famous yet, but I hope to be one day.” We shook hands with each other.  I then moved onto the next one, the tallest out of all of them who even looked like Brian May even without the wig. “Now forgive me if I pronounce your name wrong, my Welsh isn’t that great. Is it—Gwilym.” I pronounced the “I” like I was saying “ice cream”.

“Close, it’s pronounced Gwilym. Think of the “wi” like will.”

“Right, sorry.”

“No worries—(Y/n) right?”

“Yeah.” We both shook hands with each other and I told him, “Can I just say, I thought you were phenomenal as Brian May.”

“Well thank you love, I take it you’re a Queen fan as well?”

“Yeah. You can thank Benny for that. He introduced me to the band when I was a little girl. I even did a dance routine to White Queen when I was around 4-5 years old.”

“Wow, if you remember it, we’d sure like to see it.” Rami said.

“I think I might remember it. Again it was a while ago so I might improvise something if I don’t remember the whole routine.”

“No problem there.” Rami said with a warm smile. I then moved on to the last actor who played (my personal favorite member of Queen, John Deacon).

“So you’re the famous Joe Mazzello that my brother won’t shut up about.”

“Sure am kid. And you’re the world time dance champion and scholarship holder for the best London dance academy ehh?”

“You could say that.”

“Well little missy I happen to be a dance champion too, and I challenge you to a dance off!” Already I could see Ben, Gwilym and Rami either shaking their heads or rolling their eyes as Joe’s proclamation.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with my brother would it?”

“And if it is?” questioned Joe in a challenging manner.

“No reason.” I shrugged. “Just hope you’re prepared to lose.” The guys all oooh in a challenging manner and that’s when Joe nodded along.

“Okay, okay little one. But I’m giving it all I got so you better watch out.” I gestured that the dancefloor was all his.  Gwil went over to the stereo and went through my Spotify app till he found the song that Joe wanted to dance to.

He chose Wham’s ‘Wake me up before you go-go’. I’ll admit he has some pretty good moves—for an amateur.  After doing a minute and a half of his little on the spot dance moves, he posed as he panted heavily.

“It was okay.” I shrugged.

“Okay?”

“Yeah I mean—it was…..cute. It was cute. For like an Instagram or TikTok video.”

“Okay then little miss Prima donna. Show me your little ballet moves.” Challenged Joe.  Oh he don’t know me very well, do he? I first took off my ballet shoes and put on my sneakers.

I told Gwilym which song to play and he nodded to me that he would wait till I was ready before he played the song.  I now stood in the middle of the room and took a deep breath before turning to Gwilym.  He nodded and pressed his finger on my phone to play the song and soon YG’s “One time coming” began playing.

Play video

With this song I unleashed my Hip-hop background. Poppin and locking my body when needed, going in time with the beat, even doing things with my limbs to which no one had ever seen (like this one move where I had my right arm out and only by moving my left index finger, either the upper or lower portion of my arm would move up).

The guys and my mum were amazed and just in awe at my dancing.  And when I did a little patterned tip-toe strut with my arms tucked in like duck wings, did I hear the guys exclaim and just flip out.  When my minute and a half dance break was over, I flipped my hair towards Joe telling him that he got owned.

In pure defeat, Joe collapsed to the ground and lay there dead while my brother came up and hoisted me onto his shoulder.

“The winner and undefeated champion of the dance. (Y/n) Jones!” I bowed and thanked the guys and my mum as they cheered. Benny set me back down on the ground just as Joe finally came up and revived himself.  I stood before him and he said.

“You surprise me kiddo. I accept defeat. Benjamin is yours.”

“Well he is my brother. But—we can share him.” At hearing that, Joe took me in his arms and spun me around thanking me repeatedly.

“Do you think whenever we get some free time, could you show me some stuff. I really liked that little tip-toe strut.”

“I learned it from a friend of mine whose into Hip-hop back at my school. In fact he competed on the first season of World of Dance he and his group. They didn’t win but they got to the Semi-finals.”

“That’s awesome. You really are the dance master. And I can’t wait to see what you bring to the World of Dance stage.”

“In fact (Y/n), can we see your routine?” asked Ben.

“Yeah I was just about to ask that. Ben’s told us that while you can combine certain genres of dance, your main focus was on contemporary. I’ve always been intrigued anytime someone says they’re a contemporary dancer.” Gwilym said.  I turned to my mum and asked her how long did I have for rehearsal.

When she told me five minutes, I knew I could show them my audition routine that I had planned.  But after that we had to leave cause the next group to come in had to set up their things and warmup.  

The guys all took a seat along the mirrored wall while my mum handled the music.

Once my song began playing, I did my entire routine before the guys.  Showing Ben’s friends that while I can unleash the beast in Hip-hop, I can be as graceful and elegant as a swan.

After the routine was done, I got a standing ovation from all four of the guys as they applauded and whistled.  I gathered up my stuff and as I did, the guys all swarmed around me telling me what an amazing job I did, and that for some of the *cough*Joe*cough* I had them crying by the end of my routine.

We then left the dance studio and Ben’s friends allowed us to have our own personal family time (since Ben and I hadn’t seen each other in literally five years).  We said our goodbyes and soon our mum took us out to eat as sorta a family reunion/congratulations on all of our combined successes.

It was time.  The World of Dance qualifier rounds.  Today was my filming date and I knew in several weeks they would soon air it on TV worldwide.  Now I have performed in front of crowd before, but this—this was something else.

And not to even make me twice as nervous, I have seen what people comment on the show or the specific dancers.  Most of them are nice comments but then again it’s the Internet so there’s bound to be haters out there.

This one girl from last season just a few years older than me got so much hate in fact, that she ended up shutting down her Twitter page and I’m told she gave up on dancing all together.  I don’t know what I’m gonna do if that ends up being me.

I was running my routine through my head and stretching myself out.  With me to support me was my mum, Ben and Ben’s friends of Bohemian Rhapsody, Rami, Gwil and Joe.  With each dancing group or person that went up, I got more and more nervous.  Soon a producer came up to me and said.

“(Y/n), you’ll be on up after The Jumperz.”

“Okay, thank you.” I told him.  He nodded and walked away from me, at that moment I felt like I wanted to puke.

“Hey kiddo, how’s it going?” I looked up to see Ben standing over me.

“Good, very good.” He sat down beside me, his brow furrowed with concern.  Crap he knows, he always knows.

“You sure?” at this point I knew I couldn’t hide it anymore.  I tucked my legs into my chest and curled myself into a ball.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore Ben.”

“What do you mean?” he questioned.

“Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. Can we go home? Yeah, yeah let’s go home.” I said as I stood up.

“Now hold on, hold on love.” He took my hand into his stopping me from even walking away. “Let’s just sit down and talk about it real quick.” He stood up and we went outside of the room and stood along the hallway.

I leaned up against the wall with my arms crossed over my chest protectively and my leg bouncing with anxiety.

“Talk to me sis, what’s going on?”

“I just……I’m scared Ben. I don’t know why I am, I’ve performed in front of an audience before, I don’t know why I’m this nervous. It’s stupid I know.”

“Hey, hey, hey. No it’s not.” He said to me gently as he cupped my face, trying his best to not ruin my makeup. “You’re human, you have every right to be nervous. I’ll bet not a single one of these dancers you’re competing against isn’t feeling what you’re feeling now. And some of these guys might’ve been with well-known performers and are still feeling the nerves.”

“Is it always this nerve wracking for you every time you film something?” he nodded.

“Of course it is. I’m always worried about people’s reactions to me on screen. Even with all the positive feedback I get, I always keep my eye focused on that one negative outlook, no matter how many people say I’m good in a role.”

“I just don’t want the haters to pull me away from my dream like they did to that one dancer that came on the show last season.”

“Come here, have a seat in my lap.” He sat down on the floor and guided me till I was now sitting on his lap, holding me like a teddy bear. “There will always be haters and trolls out there in the world. That’s just what they get off of, is by bringing other people down, especially kids who go on shows like this. It’s wrong and vile but I won’t say you won’t encounter some hate. But the one thing you must keep in mind; is to never, ever let them dictate on who you are as a person.”

“Do you think I can do that?”

“Absolutely. You’re incredibly talented, you’re smart, kind, the most talented person I’ve ever met. I mean yeah I can dance but nowhere near to the level that you can. Hell you even beat out Joe in that little dance competition when you first met him a couple days ago.”

“I did do that, didn’t I?” he chuckled.

“You schooled him.”

“Ben no one says that anymore.”

“Whatever I’m a 90’s kid that was the lingo back then.”

“Back in the ancient times.” He scoffed.

“Alright miss smart-aleck I guess since you’re feeling well enough to sass me off you don’t need me anymore.” He plopped me off his lap and went to stand up but I gripped his shirt and begged.

“No Benny please!” all I could hear was his soft laughter.  I hit his arm and pouted. “You are so mean!”

“Aww sissy, you know I can’t help but be a little cheeky with you.” he teased as he playfully nudged my shoulder with his arm. I smiled and nodded.

“Yeah I know cause that’s your job.”

“It is my job. Well one of the many qualifications of being your Big Brother. The most important one though, is to be there for you when you need it.” He stroked the top of my head and I hugged him.

“Thanks Ben. I’m glad that you could be here.”

“Me too. And hey, accepted or not. I’m proud of all that you’ve done in your dancing career.” He whispered in my ear as he gave me a snug embrace.  

After our little bro-sis cuddle, we separated from each other and he asked me, “Do you still feel nervous?”

“A little but not as much.”

“Okay so there are two options we can do here; we can shake out the nerves, or my favorite—I can tickle them out of you.”

“No Ben you’ll ruin my costume!” I whined out as he chuckled.

“Okay, so we’ll shake them out then.” We both stood up and did our nerve shakeout.

Which was basically what he learned in theatre which was just shaking out your hands and feet counting backwards from 10, but each time we’d count, we’d go a bit faster.  Once we got one, Ben picked me up and spun me around before setting me down.

“Better?”

“Better.”

“Good, oh wait one last thing before you go out, gotta shake out those negative thoughts in that brain of yours.” He cupped my face in his hands and playfully shook my head around as he growled out in an angry tone, “Get out of my sister’s head you dirty rotter’s!”

“Ben!” I laughed.  He stopped as he grinned down at me.

“Had to make sure. You look beautiful, and I know you’re gonna wow everyone out there, especially the judges.”

“Thanks Benny. I love you.”

“Love you too kiddo.” He gave my nose a peck before escorting me back into the dance room.  A producer was calling out my name, I looked up at Ben and he nodded to me before I went racing off towards the producer to tell him I was here.

When he saw me, he guided me towards the corridor where I would walk down, go up the stairs and racing across towards the stage. I could hear the chanting claps of the audience and their cheers and soon I heard the announcer say through the speaker.

“Give it up, for (Y/n) Jones.” I raced across the corridor, took the steps two at a time before racing across the catwalk towards the stage.  As soon as I came on stage, everyone cheered and soon I was standing before Ne-Yo, Derek Hough, and Jennifer Lopez.  They greeted me with waves or nods and I waved to them.

“Hello sweetie.” Jennifer greeted me.

“Hi.” I waved back to her.

“Why don’t you tell us your name?”

“My name is (Y/n) Jones and I’m from London, England.”

“Oh a British Dancer. Finally someone from the UK.” Derek proclaimed.

“So how old are you?” Ne-Yo asked me.

“I just turned nine last month.” At that the crowd cheered for me and that’s when Ne-Yo said.

“Well happy belated birthday.”

“Thank you Ne-Yo.” He winked at me and said to me.

“Let’s see what you got (Y/n).” I nodded and handed my microphone to one of the assistants before racing off towards the back of the stage as the lights went down.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in before exhaling slowly.  This was it, make it or break it.

*Ben’s POV*

From backstage, my mum, the guys and I along with the other dancers could watch and see what was going on stage.  I pressed my hands together in a prayer motion as I had them against my lips, c’mon little sis I know you can do it.

*Play video*

Her song routine, Ashes by Celine Dion soon came on through the speakers and she began her routine.  The lights softly lit up in a sunrise color of yellow, orange, and purple.  She truly shined as her dance went on, going slow when she needed before finally sticking the landing or going with the beat of the song.

That entire stage was hers to command and she used the entirety of that stage for her routine.  I could hear the judges voices sound impressed with my sister’s routine, especially once the chorus struck and the hard drumbeats of the song kicked in.

The crowd was just in awe and applauded my sister, dazzled by her grace yet strength she was giving them in her performance.  Doing her 540’s, leg lifts, front flips, she was like the Freddie Mercury of dancing on that stage as she showed her true colors on that stage, especially as it lit up with her as the song got more powerful.

By the end of it when she stood up and just gave that pleading face of help as she reached out towards J-Lo, the lights went dark and the entire audience went nuts.  

“That was even amazing with the lights.” Said Joe.

“Agreed, she really lit that stage up.” Rami agreed.

“That’s our girl.” Mum said as I wrapped my arm around her.

“Alright, alright, alright, alright (Y/n). Now remind me how old you are?” Derek said.

“I just turned nine.” At that point Derek stood up from his chair flipping his pen which made everyone laugh. “Girl you look like you’ve been doing this for 20 years.” Everyone laughed.

“How old were you when you got into dancing?” asked J-Lo.

“I was 2.” (y/n) responded.

“Well it shows that you definitely have a passion for this. And you literally have been doing this your whole life. Just seeing you being able to do moves that—I couldn’t even do at your age till I was much older, that to me…..shows you have true love for dancing. And you already gave me goosies little missy and we just met you.”

“Uh-oh Jennifer with her goosies.” Ne-Yo said.

“She gave them to me, the goosies do not lie!”

“No they do not.” Derek said before he continued, “But just like Jennifer said. I mean my sister and I we did some contemporary a bit as kids but nowhere could we master it down just like you’ve done (Y/n). And that final move where you just landed right on your knees. I literally jumped from my seat.”

“Yeah it was like you had no bones little miss.” Ne-Yo said as my sister smiled and laughed. “Besides from what both Derek and Jennifer has said. Your timing is what really stuck out to me. Like it was like you were a part of the song itself. Like first you’d be like all smooth and fluid when the beat was gentle. But when the drumbeat kicked in hard with boom- boom boom-boom. That right there is what really stuck out to me.”

“I completely agree.” Derek said.

“Alright we’re gonna lock in our scores and we’ll see if you make it to the duels (Y/n).” J-Lo said with a smile. (Y/n) nodded and that’s when the lights dimmed down on her and we watched as the three judges locked in their scores, while making their silent commentaries to each other.

“Okay (Y/n), you need an 88 or above to qualify for the duels, let’s see what you scored.” The host said as he came out and stood beside my sister.  The lights shown down (like those game show lights whenever something gets suspenseful).

First up was Derek’s score; he gave her an 90.

At that my sister made a face of shock as her smile widened and she covered her mouth in shock.  The crowd cheered and up next was Ne-Yo’s score.

He gave her an 89.  Finally J-Lo’s score was a 92.  When the scores rounded up together was 90.3.  Her score shined up on the ceiling scoreboard and (Y/n) couldn’t believe it, poor sissy was even crying.

“Congratulations (Y/n) you made it to the Duels. How’s it feel?” the host asked as he held his microphone to her.

“It feel just—absolutely amazing. All three of you have been an inspiration to be in wanting to become a dancer and this just means so much to me. Thank you for letting me get this opportunity.”

“We can’t wait to see what you bring us, cause already little Miss, you’ve got the competitive edge. It better only get better from here on out.” Ne-Yo told her.  She nodded and thanked the judges one last time before running off the stage.

As she came running towards us, I had to be the first one she saw.  I cheered for her as I opened my arms out for her and she raced towards me before leaping right into my arms.  I spun her around as the two of us laughing joyously.

“You did it kiddo! I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks to you Ben. I kept thinking about what you said, I dedicated my performance to you.” I felt myself tear up as I buried my face into her ponytailed hair.

“I would’ve been proud of you either way.” At this point the rest of the guys as well as our mum came up and congratulated her.

That night we celebrated her victory on making it to the next round of World of Dance.  Drinks for me and the guys, we danced, sung some karaoke, and just partied all night long.

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

If Only In My Dreams

Chapter 3:  Faithful Friends Who are Dear to Us

Chapter Summary: A skype call ensues between our two protagonists.

Pairings: platonic prinixety & platonic moxiety

 Word-count: 3468

Over-All Fic Warnings: abusive parents, homesickness, misunderstandings, crying, loneliness, hurt/comfort

Inspiration:  this ask right here

AO3 LINK, Chapter 1, Chapter 2

This was such a chore to write, but it’s finally done!! Many thanks to @theeternalspace for beta’ing as always. There will be an epilogue following suit, but I can’t promise when I’ll post it considering this chapter took six months to write haha

- 

Virgil stared at his phone.

“I’m such a screw-up.” He whispered underneath his breath.

He hadn’t responded to any of his best friend’s texts and now Patton thought he hated him. When in actuality, that was very much the opposite. Virgil loved his best friend so much that he feared the idea of being rejected by him. It had been so stupid to ignore Patton like that.

Of course Patton would think he think he hated him. Virgil had given him the silent treatment all week. Worse, Virgil had broke his promise of reuniting with him in Florida. It’d been so easy in the moment to avoid breaking the truth to Patton. He was now paying for the repercussions of his actions.

Would Patton still want to be friends with him after all this? Virgil wouldn’t want to be friends with himself.

Roman cleared his throat, causing Virgil to jump. He’d almost forgotten he was in the same room as him.

“I know it’s not my place,” He began, “but whoever this “Patton” character is to you, they seem to care a lot about you.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow, “You’ve been reading my text messages?”

He really should be more pissed off about that than he was. Virgil coveted his privacy, protecting his phone from prying eyes like a hawk. But he could hardly bring himself to care about that in the midst of his pity party.

“Only the ones that popped up on your screen. I don’t know your phone’s password, I swear!” Roman said, attempting to justify it, although he looked as ashamed as he rightfully should be, “They even tried calling you at one point. I was going to answer it, but Logan advised against it. Said it was an invasion of your privacy.”

Virgil glanced back down at his phone. Well, that explained why it was on the coffee table and not his hoodie pocket. His phone screen went black and he pressed the home button, turning it on once more. Patton’s last two text messages peered back at him. 

Patton Hart 💙: Hey kiddo...are we still friends?

Patton Hart 💙: It’s okay if we aren’t!! I know how you are, Virge, you don’t have to feel obligated to remain friends. Seasons come and go, y’know? Not everything lasts...and that’s okay. I still cherish every memory we spent together. But if you want me to stop meownoying you with texts, I’ll understand.

Virgil let out a strained sound, something halfway between a sob and a laugh. Trust Patton to still slip in a pun in a text like that. Patton loved puns. Virgil also loved puns, a dark secret of his that Patton alone knew. Virgil couldn’t openly admit to liking puns. It messed with his edgy emo vibes. 

Meownoying. What a godawful, cheesy pun. In any other context, Virgil would be covering his mouth in a poor attempt to mask his laughter.

He glanced over back to Roman, who stood a few feet away from him. Roman crossed his arms in a relaxed manner, eyes wide with concern. He opened his mouth, his breath hitching at the last second. For the first time since Virgil had known him, Roman looked hesitant. It was clear he wanted to help in some way, but he didn’t know how. Virgil didn’t blame him. They may have spent a whole semester living in the same apartment, but they were at best acquaintances and at worst, strangers.

Virgil sighed, gripping onto his phone tighter.

“Patton is my best friend. Or at least he was,” He said, staring down at the carpeted floor, “The two of us have been friends since middle school. We had planned on meeting up while I was back home in Florida. You can guess how that turned out.”

He wasn’t sure why he was telling this to Roman. It was stupid. Maybe being alone in that apartment for three days without heat caused some brain damage. He explained what had happened to Roman. Well, almost everything. He left out what exactly kept from getting another flight.

Several times he looked up at Roman, expecting him to laugh or make fun of him. Roman did none of those things. He instead leaned against the side of the couch, patiently listening to him. After he finished, there was a lapse of silence. Then Roman spoke,

“You should talk to him.”

Virgil groaned. That damn dreaded phrase. Of course, what else could Roman say? It was true. Only talking would solve this situation. It didn’t mean he didn’t still loathe the idea of it.

“I know.” Virgil said, gritting his teeth as his gaze drifted to the floor, “It’s just I’m...scared.”

It was stupid, Virgil knew, to be afraid of contacting Patton. It wasn’t like the apocalypse would come to fruition or anything. The best-case scenario is that they would remain friends. The worst-case scenario is that they...wouldn’t remain friends and god, that felt worse than death to Virgil. Patton was his only friend, the only person who knew him better than even his parents. Virgil was going to lose him, and like everything else in life, it was all his fault.

He doubted that Roman would understand. From what little he knew of the other, he was confident, cocky, fearless--

“There is no shame in being afraid, you know. I were you, I think I would just as afraid.” Roman said, causing his whirling thoughts to grind to a halt.

“Really?” Virgil gawked up at him.

“Well yeah,” Roman said as he sat down on the couch beside Virgil, “even the bravest of knights have fears.”

“If they’re brave, how can they be afraid then?” Virgil quirked an eyebrow.

“Because bravery is not the absence of fear, it is the ability to continue despite it,” Roman smiled softly, “it is okay to be afraid. However, you must question whether or not is worth it to conquer your fear.”

When Virgil kept staring at him blankly, Roman continued.

“Friendship is like—like a ship!” He snapped his fingers together, “Made up of you and a fellow seafaring traveler—a friend. Together you embark on a wondrous journey, experience amazing things together! But sometimes you might encounter stormy weather or some sort of…sea-witch that threatens to wreck your friend-ship. 

“And! You can only save it if you gather the courage to do so. If you jump ship out of fear, the ship will sink. I suppose the question you must ask yourself is: are you willing to go on living with your friendship becoming a shipwreck, or are you willing to attempt to save it from such a fate?”

“Wow…” Virgil said, after finding his voice, “that was incredibly cheesy.”

He’d known Roman had a flair for the dramatics. Once before midterms he found Roman saying a eulogy over his broken jar of crofters jam at 4am in the morning. Still, as cheesy as it’d been, Virgil couldn’t help but be moved.

The fear of rejection was a strong fear. But could he truly live with regrets? Regrets about how he hurt Patton? Regrets about how he didn’t try to fix it? He knew all those fond memories he shared with Patton would become tainted with those regrets. He didn’t want that to happen.

“But,” Virgil spoke up again, “you do have a point.”

-

Anxious_EmoNightmare is calling…

Patton sunk to the floor beside the refrigerator. He ignored its insistent beeping for him to shut the freezer door. Instead he focused his attention on his phone. Virgil’s profile pic stared back at him. Not a picture of himself, rather, but a drawing of the two Patton had made and given him.

Virgil was an amazing artist, with the knack of creating art that invoked true emotion from the viewer. Patton’s art, on the other hand, was barely a step above stick figures. Still, Virgil treasured Patton’s art enough to use it as a profile pic.

“Aw shucks, kiddo, it’s nothing compared to yours!” Patton had laughed, ducking his head bashfully.

“Yeah but...it’s special ‘cause you made it,” Virgil’s cheeks flushed before mumbling under his breath, “Besidesmyartiskindashittyanyways.”

“What was that?”

“My art is kinda sh--crappy!”

“I will physically fight you if you don’t stop talking about you and your art!” Patton gasped, “Your art is just as--as wonderful, unique and superb as you are!” “No it isn’t.” Virgil groaned, hiding his face with his hands.

“Yes it is!”

“Not it isn’t.”

“Is.”

“Isn’t!”

Patton smiled slyly, “No it isn’t!”

“Yes it is!” Virgil yelled, before the realization dawned on his face.

“So, you doooo admit it.” Patton said as he attempted to keep himself from chuckling.

“You--you tricked me.” Virgil protested, before the two finally burst together into laughter.

That memory usually made him smile. Not today, with his heart hammering in his throat. He stared at the skype call notification, vision blurred with tears. God, he was sick of tears. It felt like in the past year alone, he’d cried enough tears to last a lifetime.

He knew he had to pick up. Time was running short. Hastily, he wiped away his tears and shut the fridge door with his phone-less hand. He took one long deep breath, then pressed accept.

At once the phone screen went blank. A small part of Patton hoped it stayed blank. Then a fuzzy pixelated image came to life--the familiar face of his best friend Virgil filled the screen. He was hunched up in his signature plaid hoodie. The purple bangs that covered half his face made it difficult to tell if he was making eye contact. Patton didn’t recognize his friend’s surroundings at all--meaning he wasn’t at his apartment. Perhaps he was at a friend’s house. The very thought of Patton distracting Virgil from his new friends made his stomach squirm.

Patton swallowed, “H-hey--”

The call immediately ended.

He stared at his phone’s home screen, eyebrows furrowed. Should he call back or…?

Anxious_EmoNightmare is calling…

His phone started buzzing again as Virgil’s profile pic popped up once more. This time Patton clicked on it within the first buzz. Virgil appeared again, fiddling with the sleeve zippers of his hoodie. Patton could hear him taking in slow, measured breaths.

“Uh, sorry.” Virgil said, breaking the palpable silence, “I got...anxious.”

“It’s okay, kiddo.” Patton mustered up a thin smile.

 Distantly, in his mind, he worried about what was the cause of Virgil’s anxiety. He knew Virgil was inherently an anxious person whose many fears were largely unfounded. Patton knew this and still loved him, anxiety and all. 

Patton’s words did everything but alleviate Virgil, who shrunk even further into himself.

“Look Pat, I’m just gonna come out and say it:  it was really shitty of me to ignore your texts for a whole week like that, I shouldn’t have done that--”

“It’s okay, kiddo!” Patton’s smile grew flimsier, unable to keep his voice from cracking, “I know you were probably busy with your friends and all.”

Virgil flinched as if Patton’s words slapped him in the face. He didn’t understand Virgil’s reaction, which alarmed him. Patton usually had a great read on Virgil. Or at least he did five months ago.

“Friends?” Virgil echoed.

“Yeah, friends,” Patton said,  “I, um, called your mom--”

“You called my mom? Why?” Virgil demanded.

“I was worried sick!” Patton cried out, a spark of rage he didn’t realize he possessed ignited, “You weren’t responding to my texts or my phone calls. It’s been a whole week-- and with the blizzard, I thought maybe you died!”

Tears rolled down his cheeks as Patton pressed on, “So I called your mom, because I had to know that you were at least okay. And she told me you decided to stay in Massachusetts and--and you were probably busy hanging out with friends. Which is fine! I’m fine! But at least text your best friend and tell them what the hell’s going on.”

Virgil stared at him, pupils dilated and mouth agape. In the stillness, all Patton could hear is Virgil heavily breathing into the mic. Any other time it broke Patton to see his best friend look so...devastated. Not this time. It felt almost triumphant to incite such a reaction in Virgil. 

Patton leaned against the refrigerator, heart clanging loudly inside his chest. He hated being angry. He didn’t like how it made him feel. There was just something savagely satisfying about lashing out in anger and it scared him how much he liked it. Patton was angry, yes. He was also frustrated, hurt, confused and a thousand other related synonyms. None of which justified lashing out at Virgil in that way.

“Look, Virge. I’m sorry--”

“No,” Virgil cut in, grimacing, “Don’t apologize, Pat. You have a right to be upset and I--I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore. I mean, you probably have better friends back in Florida…”

Virgil choked, unable to finish his own sentence. His voice had been relatively calm up until this moment. It’d been that faux calm, one that came from practicing words one hoped never to utter. If Patton knew anything about Virgil and his anxiety, that was most definitely the case.

“Virgil,” Patton inhaled, “I don’t have...any other friends.”

“What?” Virgil asked, looking up at him incredulously.

“Well, I do have friends!” Patton quickly amended, “Not just friends friends if you know what I mean. They’re more like acquaintances if I’m being honest. They’re work and school friends--so they tolerate me because they have to, not because they like me and really they think I’m too  annoying and childish--sorry! I’m rambling. I--I haven’t really kept in contact with anyone out of high school besides you. I know it’s pathetic, but you’re my only friend Virgil and I don’t want to lose you--please.”

Virgil blinked at him. Then he laughed, hard enough for tears to come out. High and lilting. Nothing like his usual quiet chuckles. Out of all the outcomes he imagined, Virgil laughing wasn’t one of them. Except it happened. Usually getting a laugh out of Virgil was the highlight of his day. He’d never imagined hearing it would cause his heart to break. He almost considered ending the call there, forgetting it even happened. 

The hurt in his face must’ve shown, because Virgil ceased laughing abruptly.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh, I just…” He pauses, fiddling with the ends of his hoodie strings, “Honest to God, you’re my only friend too.”

“What?” Patton croaks out, eyes bulging, “But your mother said--”

“Yeah, well, like a lot of things about my life she was wrong.” Virgil snapped, his ire obviously reserved for her and not Patton.

“Virgil, what...happened?” Patton asked, soft and hesitant.

He was beginning to think that he had the story all wrong. Maybe Virgil didn’t hate him. That he hadn’t change plans last minute without informing Patton or ignored him out of malice. He was still the Virgil Patton knew and loved. He had to be.

Virgil’s fingers tightened around his hoodie strings. His eyes were closed, and Patton could tell by his controlled breaths he was trying to quell his anxiety.

“It’s really stupid,” Virgil begins, “and most of it is my fault because I got anxious and then my one rational brain cell left the building. My mother--she--well, she--”

Virgil let out a huff, frustrated by his inability to speak. Why had he thought a Skype call would be a good idea versus simply texting? Screw it being a show of genuity--he had always been better at transcribing his thoughts in written words rather than spoken ones. He could form his thoughts into a semi-coherent message whereas real time didn’t leave much room for error.

“It’s alright, Virgil,” Patton spoke up, “take your time.”

He looked up at the screen, at Patton who smiled back at him. Not mockingly, but a real, authentic smile meant to reassure him. It was then he remembered why he treasured Patton’s friendship. In high school, people always overlooked Patton as a bubbly airhead. They overlooked his kindness, his refusal to let anyone feel excluded from things. He may not have ever received the top grades in academic subjects, but he possessed wisdom in spades.

Aided by Patton’s encouragement, Virgil continued. His words weren’t perfect. He stumbled and stuttered his way through an explanation. But Patton waited patiently until he regained control of them again. Virgil told him everything. 

He admitted to Patton what really happened in the phone conversation between him and his mother. How he accepted her words without a fight, like a coward. How he felt abandoned by his parents, out of sight out of mind. How he spiraled into an anxiety attack, believing he couldn’t tell Patton. Couldn’t let him down or expect Patton to help with his air fares. He thought Patton would forget about him, too busy with hanging out with his real friends to notice Virgil’s absence.

He told him about the broken heater. How he wallowed in his misery rather than figure out a short-term solution for his problem. Waddled up in blankets, lying on a couch. If it hadn’t been for his roommate Roman--well, he didn’t want to think about it. 

“He kidnapped you?” Patton asked, gasping.

It had been the first time Patton had said something. All up to this point, he remained attentively listening. Occasionally he nodded or hummed sympathetically to let Virgil know he was paying attention.

“Well, sort of,” Virgil grimaced, “The cold kinda got to me. He was worried I had hypothermia and got a bit panicked. He took me to his brother’s place and offered to let me stay here for the rest of the break. He, well, he encouraged me to talk to you. He’s...a pretty nice dude. Don’t you dare tell him I said that, or it’ll get to his head.”

“Got it.” Patton said, nodding sagely as if the chances of them ever interacting weren’t slim. His eyebrows furrowed, waiting for Virgil to lead the conversation in what direction he’d prefer. A terrible decision, really. Virgil knew the words he had to utter, words that could truly do nothing to fix the damage already done.

“Patton, I’m so sorry about everything,” Virgil blurted out. Quick. Like ripping off a band-aid. He shut his eyes tight, unable to see Patton’s reaction. Because if he couldn’t see it, maybe it’d hurt less when Patton denied his apology. Anxiety logic.

“Virgil...” Patton said softly, “of course I forgive you.” 

Immediately a colossus weight lifted up of Virgil at those words. But Patton wasn’t finished speaking, “Who I can’t forgive are your parents.”

“My parents?”

“Virgil, I only know a little from what you told me about them,” Patton hesitated, “but from what I know, you deserve better. They belittle you, refuse to acknowledge your own feelings and insist you only do things their way...that’s not love, Virgil. That’s not how family should act. After all, you can’t spell ‘FAM’ without I L Y.”

Virgil gaped up at Patton’s grainy image on the screen. This news shouldn’t be a huge surprise to him. He knew his parents did some questionable things when it came to parenting. But he had always thought it was his anxiety over-magnifying things. Making mountains out of molehills. 

To hear someone point it out and insist it wasn’t right and to have that person be Patton…well.

“You’re not mad at me?” Virgil blurted out, “But I ruined everything, if maybe I’d--”

“Virge, I was more worried than upset,” Patton interrupted firmly, “I was worried about losing our friendship, but more importantly I was worried if you were okay.”

“Oh,” Virgil said faintly, “Well you shouldn’t worry, ‘cause that’s my job.”

“I care about you, I’m going to worry whether you like it or not, mister.” 

“Well maybe I’m not worth worrying over.”

“How dare you!” Patton gasped dramatically, “I will physically fight you!”

“Pat, you’re not even here with me--”

“I will personally book a ticket to Massachusetts if I have too!”

“Wait you’d do that? For real?”

“Well, of course,” Patton said, “we’re best friends, aren’t we?”

Virgil stared at him. Patton’s tear-encrusted face alit with a soft glow. His lips pressed into a small smile, one that always been reserved for Virgil and him alone. He felt both foolish and grateful. Foolish for ever doubting Patton. Grateful for the fact that Patton refused to give up on him, even when Virgil himself believed he should.

“Yeah, of course,” Virgil agreed, a lump forming in his throat, “I, uh, value our friend-chip a lot.”

Patton’s resulting squeal almost broke Virgil’s eardrums. But that was okay, because he’d rather be deaf if it meant he was still friends with one Patton Hart.

[goofygomez]

Hope Ch. 1 - Clouis Story

Description: Clementine has been feeling very under the weather lately. She decides to take a walk outside the school, her mind full of questions. One simple answer could change her life.

Wordcount: 3136

This was my first ever (and last) Clouis series. It is 23 chapters long, and I will try to post one per day this month. Enjoy!

---

“Calm down Clementine, you don’t know shit yet.”

That was what she kept telling herself, pacing her small room. Early morning sunlight seeped through the cracks in the window and cast odd shadows on her desk decorations. In her five years at Ericson’s, she’s amassed quite the collection of animal skulls now displayed proudly all over her and Louis’s room.

“You’re just late, no biggie,” she told herself firmly, shaking her head.

She looked over to the bucket on the floor beside her bed, fresh vomit sticking to its inner surface and frowned. The bed covers were strewn around and five pillows covered the bed from head to toe. Clem had found out the hard way that Louis was indeed a pillow hog when he’d brought all his stuff to her room four years ago. Half of his ‘stuff’ was his pillows, which he guarded jealously.

Louis himself was not around. He’d woken up early for the morning shift and had let her sleep in. Clem had been rather sick the past few days and he didn’t want to bother her. How considerate, she thought, rolling her eyes. As she tried to move toward the bed, another cramp reached her abdomen and she bent over in pain, clutching her stomach.

“Thirteen years surviving the apocalypse, and I’ll get killed by a fucking stomach bug,” she mused, chuckling at the irony of her statement.

Standing up firmly, she pushed through the pain and walked out of her room. The hallway was empty except for Aasim, who was moving a stack of chairs somewhere. Over the last couple of months, he’d been trying unsuccessfully to grow a beard. It was not suiting him very well, Clementine thought. He looked over up and down and raised an eyebrow.

“Louis said you’d be in bed all day,” he pointed out.

“Do I look like I’m in bed?” she asked irritably, rolling her eyes.

Backing off, Aasim nodded, “Alright, sorry. Good to see you on your feet.”

He waddled as best he could down the hallway. “Wait Aasim, I’m sorry!” she called out to him as he disappeared into the courtyard. Damn these hormones, she thought.

“No, that’s not what’s happening here!” she chastised herself, shaking her head and walking down the path Aasim took.

Outside, she saw Aasim setting the stack of chairs down next to a hunched Violet, who thanked him. AJ was sitting on the steps to the admin building, talking absently with Tenn. Her small boy had grown into a strong ten-year-old, every day taking more and more after his father. He’s Alvin’s son alright, she thought with a smile.

When AJ spotted Clem exiting the dorms he sprinted in her direction, launching himself at her. Doubling over in pain, Clem groaned under his weight and almost collapsed. By now, he was almost the same height as her, and definitely more athletic. He backed away, a concerned expression on his face.

“Shit, sorry Clem,” he blurted, helping her to her feet.

“It’s okay kiddo,” she assured him, ruffling his hair. “I’m just rather tired this morning.”

“There’s the most beautiful woman in the apocalypse.” She heard the sing-song voice coming from her left and turned to see a very giddy looking Louis walking in her direction. ‘Chairles’ was hoisted on his right shoulder, and he had rid himself of his usual trench coat for a much more comfortable leather jacket.

“And there’s the funniest man in the apocalypse,” she responded, on hand on her hip and a smile on her face.

“Wow, you get beautiful and I get funny?” he feigned offense, clutching his heart dramatically. “This relationship feels unbalanced, Your Majesty.”

“Well, you are funny,” AJ stated matter-of-factly. Louis looked at him for a moment and eventually nodded.

“That I am, little dude,” he agreed, pulling Clem to him and planting a soft kiss on her forehead. He always joked that they were a perfect match purely because their heights allowed him to do that often, and she would always flip him off. In reality, she really enjoyed it, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.

Before she had time to respond, another sharp pain caused her to groan in discomfort. Louis looked at her in concern, and eyed her up and down. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m just having a stomach ache, that’s all,” she said, giving him the most reassuring smile she could muster.

Not altogether convinced, Louis pursed his lips but nodded at her. “Alright, if you say you’re okay, I believe you.”

“Thank you.”

Gingerly, Louis led Clementine and AJ to the tables, which Aasim and Violet had already vacated. A few years back, through general consensus, both of them became the leaders of their community. They would usually come to Clem about smaller issues that they thought required her survivalist expertise. They had stopped, however, a couple months ago after Clem and Louis announced their impromptu wedding, earning cheers from the whole school, AJ the most vocal among them.

Right now, Clem was mostly thinking about what had come after the actual makeshift wedding, and its dire and worrying implications. She gently clutched her stomach, feeling a warmth she hadn’t felt before. They had been a little reckless, she thought ruefully. And more than a little drunk. She traced the small cracks in the table with her fingers, her eyes following the shapes absently.

Meanwhile, AJ and Louis indulged in light conversation. They were talking about the boy’s eleventh birthday, which was fast approaching. Clementine hadn’t known the exact date, so she and Louis looked at the calendar and decided on a rough estimate. In the end, they’d settled for January 18th. Her head was throbbing in pain, the sounds of their voices becoming blurs as she closed her eyes shut.

“Clem!” she heard at one point, her eyes fluttering open and searching for the source. She saw both Louis and AJ staring at her with raised eyebrows and blushed.

“Yeah, sorry,” she blurted, nodding. “What is it?”

“I was just telling AJ that I have some time for another piano lesson with the little dude here.” Louis ruffled the boy’s hair and AJ laughed. “You okay being out here by yourself for a while?”

“You can come with us and watch me play, too,” AJ suggested, his eyes lighting up at the thought.

Clem smiled at him but gently shook her head. “No, I think I’ll wait out here. You guys go on ahead and practice.”

Nodding, Louis turned to AJ, “Well, it’s just you and me today, buddy,” he said, a grin decorating his freckled features. The boy smiled and stood up, balancing his weight on the balls of his feet. They each gave Clementine a kiss on the cheek, Louis capturing her lips the second time and leaving a sloppy grin on her face.

When they entered the admin building, Clem was left alone in the courtyard. She tried to rub the sleep off her face, only getting a dizzy feeling from it. Instead, she looked around and examined the surroundings. In five years, the place had not really changed much.

The gate was now properly sealed with wood and metal sheets, bound together by the combined forces of duct tape and rope. The kids had not been able to contain themselves, and a couple of graffiti were painted onto the boards. Most of them were vulgar words, a couple alluding to the victory over the Delta five years ago. The light from the rising sun shone on them, giving the impression that they glowed in the dim morning light.

The watchtower was essentially the same, save for a couple minor adjustments they’d deemed necessary over the years. Her eyes skimmed the walls and landed on the big archway that led to the graveyard. She was thankful that it had not gotten any new additions these past years, though they had added a small shrine in honor of each of the deceased. On it were whatever photos they had been able to find of them, and small notes from their loved ones.

Sophie’s grave, although it had already been dug before the war on Delta, had been the hardest to fill. To this day, Minnie regretted not going back for Sophie’s body, but there had been nothing they could do. The herd that consumed the compound had been enough incentive never to go back to that place. Instead, they’d filled the grave with the rest of her belongings, and Minnie had placed a lock of fiery red hair on her shrine.

As a gust of wind made her shiver, she buttoned up her jacket. Her mind was racing a thousand miles an hour, and the uncertainty was not helping. Shaking her head, she sat up and took a piece of paper from her breast pocket. She and Louis had decided that keeping a way of leaving notes for the other on them was important for these exact situations. She used a crayon to write him a small message.

‘Louis,

Out for a walk, won’t be long.

Love, Clem.’

Leaving the note pinned to the table with a small rock, she made her way to the gate and opened it. Slowly, she slipped through the gap and closed it behind her. The woods beyond were filled with traps, ranging from boulders hanging from trees to bear traps hidden among the shrubbery. A few birds chirped happily as she passed through the trees, creating a soft melody that clashed with her jumbled thoughts.

As she walked, careful not to set off any traps, she saw the sun begin to rise along the tree line. She let the warmth embrace her, still shivering from every cold breeze that crept from the north. Hugging herself, Clem trudged through a small patch of tall grass and kept her pace. She didn’t know how long she’d been walking, but before she realized, she arrived at a wooden fence.

It wasn’t unlike the fence that had separated her childhood home from the forest in Georgia, though a couple of planks had rotten and been torn down. She squeezed through, dizziness settling in as she stumbled on the other side. Pressing her hand to the side of her face, she pinched the bridge of her nose and opened her eyes slowly. The urge to throw up had thankfully passed, and she was looking at a parking lot of a convenience store they had found last year while scavenging.

Cars that had been picked clean years ago littered the place, most of their tires stripped off or rotten. She looked up at the sky and saw that the sun was already at its highest point, meaning she’d taken almost twice as long getting here as last time. Cursing under her breath, she took out her knife and walked forward.

As she got to the door, a sharp clinging noise came from her right and she jumped, her knife trained in that direction and her left hand covering her stomach protectively. A squirrel jumped from behind a trash can, holding what appeared to be a potato chip bag in its hands. It eyed Clementine curiously, its tiny hands crumbling the top of the bag slowly.

She slashed at the air and scared it away, shaking her head and turning back to the store. Inside, the shelves were mostly ransacked, gathering dust since the apocalypse started. To her right, there was a short line of shopping carts and to her left a rack filled with greeting cards. ‘Happy Birthday’, ‘Merry Christmas’, ‘Happy New Year’ she read absently, flipping through them. A sharp pain in her abdomen reminded her why she came in the first place, and she set out to find the pharmacy inside the store.

Empty boxes and crumpled bags littered the shelves and floor as she walked. The chirping of the birds seemed to have followed her, as more of them perched themselves on the windowsill of a shattered glass pane. The crunching of dirt and litter against her boots announced each step she took. Her eyes scanned the area every few seconds, alert in case anything happened. It would not do to get killed now, she thought ruefully.

She walked into the pharmacy office and searched the back shelves for whatever had been left. There wasn’t much. The office was a smallish room with barely any room for light to pass through. Only a broken half window decorated one of the walls, leading to the back to the convenience store. She dug through the boxes, ridding them of pill bottles that had been emptied long ago.

“No, no, no,” she kept muttering, discarding the items as she went through the office. After a few unsuccessful searches, her hand grazed a much heavier box on top of one of the highest shelves. “Damn, where’s Louis when you need him?” she mused, her hands on her hips.

Standing on tiptoes, she managed to hook her finger around one of the cardboard flaps of the box, pulling it to her. It turned out that wasn’t a great idea, as the contents of the box came pouring down. Now, strewn on the floor were small boxes with names such as ‘Trojan’ and ‘Durex’, which had no real meaning to her. She sorted through them until she found what she had been looking for all along: a pregnancy test.

She read the back of the box, familiarizing herself with the instructions and then taking the short stick out. Eyeing is with curiosity, she pursed her lips. Good thing I didn’t bring Louis then, she thought with a grin. She followed the instructions, however reluctantly, and then sat down on a box while she waited.

During the two minutes that the box advised, she busied herself by scanning the rest of the office. She could see posters for some health care business. They advised people to always have their shots up to date. Didn’t do much good now, did it? she thought. She wondered, after all these years, how many people were actually left.

“Not many, probably,” she reasoned out loud. Before her morbid thoughts could take another turn, a faint beeping escaped the small stick in her hand. How it still had a working battery after over thirteen years, she didn’t have a clue. She decided not to question it and, taking a deep breath, looked at the small screen. It was…

A loud bang from outside the office brought her eyes upwards. Stuffing the stick in her jacket pocket, she drew her knife and prepared for the worst. Soft growls and gurgles came from the front of the store, and she sighed in frustration. “Did you guys learn to sneak around or something?” she said to no one in particular, rolling her eyes.

At least it wasn’t raiders, she thought. She walked outside and inspected the store. About fifteen walkers had wandered inside and were making their way toward her. She tried to keep them spaced out, taking them out swiftly. As she drove her knife in the skull of the tenth walker, a sharp pain in her stomach brought her down with it.

“God damn it,” she swore, clutching her abdomen with one hand and the knife with the other. Before she could bring herself up to her feet again, a walker fell on top of her, its teeth dangerously close to her face. With all the force she could muster, she struck its skull from the side with the knife. The dead weight of the walker weighed her down, making her groan as she tried to escape its clutch.

With barely enough room to spare, she squeezed away from its grip and scrambled to her feet. She was surrounded by at least seven of them, slowly dragging their feet toward her. Broken glass crunched under their dead weight, creating a cacophony of sound combined with their loud growls and the chirping birds.

“Alright, come here!” she yelled, brandishing her knife again. “C’mere fuckers!”

-

“You’re overreacting, Louis,” AJ assured the man, watching him pace the courtyard. Violet and Aasim were seated on the table beside AJ, eyeing the gate nervously while Willy stood on the watchtower, scanning the tree line.

“What do you mean, little man?” Louis exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. “My wife could be in trouble out there!” The sun was scraping the treetops by now, a crescent moon creeping its way into the sky on the east. Omar was already preparing the fire for dinner, and Ruby was collecting some vegetables from the greenhouse.

“She’s been out longer,” the boy reasoned, shrugging. “Clem can take care of herself out there, don’t worry.”

“He’s right, Lou,” Violet spoke up, her eyes glued to the dark exterior. “Clem will pro–.”

“LOUIS! VIOLET!” came Willy’s booming voice. “She’s back!”

Louis’s head perked up and he rushed to the gate, looking through the bars into the darkness. He spotted Clementine stumbling her way through the trees. She was clutching her stomach and her face was contorted in pain, but what caught his attention was the amount of blood on her jacket.

“Clem!” he exclaimed, opening the gate and running to her. He wrapped her arm over his shoulder and dragged her inside. As soon as they crossed the walls, she collapsed under her weight. “What happened?” he cried, his eyes scanning her face closely.

“I…” she trailed off, too out of breath to talk. It was only then that Louis saw her hand clutching the right side of her abdomen firmly.

“Clem…?” he whispered, his eyes eyeing her hand warily and then finding her own golden eyes. “What do you have there?”

“I’m sorry,” she said simply, closing her eyes. It’s wasn’t her words that threw him off, but the small smile that crept up her face. Frowning, he looked down at her hand. She promptly released her grip on her jacket and revealed a small white and pink stick and a piece of folded paper in her pocket.

Louis took the stick warily in his hands and inspected it. It was thin on one side, and it got progressively thicker. Its tip was moist, and on the thick side was a small screen. On the screen, displayed in bright pink, was a small plus sign. Confused, Louis took the paper and unfolded it. Inside was a picture of a woman holding a baby and a small message below it.

‘Congratulations, you’re gonna be a daddy!’ it read.

His eyes widening in shock, he looked back up at Clementine, whose eyes were open again. Her pain seemed to have diminished enough for her to smile at him. Taking a deep breath, she nodded and took his hand. “It’s positive.”

[rowyn-writes]

Funny Business

Warnings: Angst, fluff, language

Pairings: Gabriel x Winchester!Reader

Characters: Gabriel, Dean, Sam, Castiel, Rowena, Jack (mentioned only)

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: You’re Dean’s daughter, and you’re all getting ready to go to apocalypse world to rescue Jack, your best friend. When Gabriel sees that you’re upset about Jack’s absence, he tries to cheer you up and confesses that he likes you.

Requested by @daisyelll​

You missed your best friend.

It felt like Jack had been in apocalypse world for centuries. Of course you missed you grandmother, Mary, but you weren't really that close with her.

Yeah, Dean Winchester was you father. He had you at a young age, 22, to be exact. Your 'mother,' wasn't really ready to be a mom yet, so she had given you to Dean in hopes he would be a good father to you. And he was.

Dean didn't want you to grow up the way he did, so he never took you traveling. Most of the times, you would stay at Bobby's house, but your dad called to check in every night and to say 'I love you,' before you would fall asleep. Whenever he was in between hunts, he would always come see you and do a 'Daddy-daughter date,' where he would take you to the movies and go out to eat.

When Sam was stuck in the Cage with Lucifer, Dean came and got you, taking you to live with him, Lisa and Ben. You loved your little dysfunctional family. Lisa was a good female influence in your life, seeing as how your own walked out on you. That's why you were devastated when Castiel wiped Ben and Lisa's memories of the Winchester's.

But that all happened when you were a kid. Now, your 21, and desperately trying to find a way to bring your best friend back from apocalypse world.

You had never connected with someone like you connected with Jack. He was like your brother, and you'd kill to protect him.

"Where is the Witchy Winchester?" A Scottish voice filled the air. That was a nickname that Rowena gave you. A few years ago, you had dabbled a bit in magic, and ever since, she had been adamant on training you.

"Rowena!" You said happily, hugging the woman.

"Y/n Winchester." She smiled as she looked at you with sad eyes. "How are you, deary?"

"I'm powering through." You assured her. "I'm just ready to get my family home." Your father rested a hand on your shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

"We'll get them back, sweetheart." He kissed the top of your head.

"It would be a lot faster if this dumbass, impotent archangel would grow a pair and lend some grace!" You growled loudly enough for Gabriel to hear from wherever he was in the bunker.

"Oh whatever, Baby Winchester! You try being tortured by a Prince of Hell and see how you feel." He called back.

"I was." You deadpanned. "And do you see me acting like a little bitch? No." Sam and Dean snickered at your comment.

"Alrighty then," Rowena said before your argument could continue. "Let's get started." She set down a large bowl on the table, along with a bunch of other ingredients. "Fruit from the tree of life." You began gathering your things, such as clothes, non perishable foods, water, and of course, weapons. You and your father had argued earlier on in the day about you joining them to go to apocalypse world, which ended in a screaming match that you won. You definitely got your temper from you father. "Blood of a most holy man." Sam tossed over a pack of glow sticks that you put in the bag. "And ah. . ." Rowena reached up and plucked a hair out of Dean's head.

"Ow!" He complained, rubbing the back of his head. You rolled your eyes as you continued to pack.

"Something from the other side." Rowena finished, adding his hair to the mix.

"Hey. How’s Gabriel." Sam asked when Cas entered the room.

"He said he needed a minute alone." He said, his voice a low rumble. "He wanted to extract his grace by himself. In private." You shivered at what the Angel told you. You did not want to imagine what he was doing to extract his grace. Your uncle and father had the same disturbed look on their face as you did. "So I left him alone in Dean’s room."

You bursted out laughing, your eyes crinkling at the edges like your dad's did. "You what? No." Dean seemed very grossed out at the thought of what Gabriel was doing in his room.

"I hate to interrupt, but I can’t be the only one to noticed the rather glaring hole in this plan." No one seemed to pay attention to the witch as you continued packing up for the trip. "We open up the rift, it gives us a day to find and save your Mom and the boy. And it’s a very big world over there, and you’re not even sure where they are, so. . . "

"She's right." Cas spoke up. "The clock may run out on us."

"Yeah. It might." Sam seemed indifferent and unconcerned. You couldn't help but feel the same way. All you wanted was your family back together. You tucked your loaded gun into the waistband of your jeans, covering it with your flannel shirt.

"Yeah, well we don’t have any better ideas." Dean shrugged.

"Mm, that’s inspirational."

"Here it is!" Gabriel exclaimed, walking in with a very dim looking vial of his grace. " The final ingredient - a fresh serving of archangel grace."

You raise your eyebrow, tilting your head to the side. "That's pathetic." You announced, earning a snort from Rowena.  "Dude, I could give more 'grace' than that, and I'm a human. You could do better." Gabriel scoffed at your words.

"That is the jet fuel of divine emissions." He proclaimed. You gave a little gag, as Dean and Sam gave him disgusted looks. "It’ll be more than enough to get the job done."

You, Rowena and Cas gave each other skeptical looks. You all knew that there was no way that was going to work.  You shook your head as Rowena added more ingredients to the spell. You strapped two katana's on your back, adjusting them so they fit comfortably.

"Ya know, we won't judge you if you chose to sit this one out, kiddo." Your dad tried to convince you to stay back once more.

"Dad." You whispered, linking your hand with his. "I want to go. You're my family, and we don't leave family behind. Never." Dean gave you a small smile as he squeezed your hand. You noticed from the corner of your eye that Gabriel was watching you with curious eyes.

Rowena called you over to her, needing assistance with casting the spell. It was a rather powerful one, meaning it might need two witches instead of one. "Ready, deary?" You nodded.

"Koth Munto Nuntox." You both bellowed, motioning your hands towards the place where the rift was supposed to open. It gleamed orange, but you could tell the light was fading. There was no way anyone was going through that rift.

"Okay, everyone ready?" Cas asked the group.

"Yeah, all right." Sam nodded.

"Let’s do this." Dean agreed.

"Let's get our family back."

As you go to step through the rift, just like you expected, it began to fizzle and lean to the side. You all tilted along with it.

"Okay, that was very, very fast." You noted. The group seemed to agree with you.

"One could even say premature." Rowena remarked, making you laugh. Gabriel seemed to be flustered by you laughing at Rowena's joke.

"Um. . . I thought it would be enough." Gabriel coughed.

"All right, great. What do we do now?"

"I think we all know what to do." You said grimly. Rowena sent you and Sam a terrified look. You gripped her hand to give her reassurance. "I don't like this as much as the next person, but we need an Archangels grace. And it seems there's only one left on this god forsaken world that can actually provide his grace."

"No." Sam shook his head.

"We need to get Lucifer."

.

. .

. . .

You had decided to stay back while Sam, Dean, and Cas went to get Lucifer. Gabriel had already offered his assistance before coming back to the bunker. You were holed up in the library, starting at old pictures and videos on your phone. All of them were of you and Jack.

You giggled as you watched a video of Jack trying ice cream for the first time. "Ah!" He exclaimed, rubbing his temples. "Is it supposed to hurt? Is this some kind of torture that humans use on each other?"

The video shook as you began to laugh. "No, silly. You just ate it too fast. It's actually really good if you slow down and savor it!"

You felt a tear roll down your cheek as you scrolled through pictures of the two of you. He was your best friend. Your brother. And it hurt like hell to be so close to getting him, but still not quite there.

"Hey, Baby Winchester!" Gabriel said happily, walking into the room. "Guess who just captured Lucif-" He cut himself off as he saw the state you were in.

You quickly wiped away your tears, exiting out of the video app on your phone. "What do you want, Gabriel?" You sniffed.

"Are you okay?" He asked, seeming genuinely concerned, which shocked you. The Archangel never cared about anyone but himself.

"I-I'm fine." You nodded.

He frowned as he approached you, sitting down in one of the arm chairs. "Hey, what's with the waterworks?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, shaking your head. If you spoke, you were sure to sob. You calmed yourself before you began to speak. "I miss Jack." You confessed. "He could always make me laugh when I needed to. And right now, I really need to laugh." Your voice broke as you talked.

Gabriel's frown deepened. He knew you to be this strong warrior, this tough young woman who feared nothing and no one. And to see you so broken hurt him. He stood up, snapping his fingers as he did so. I Wanna Dance With Somebody began to play.

"Really?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at the man.

"Yes, really. Now get your ass off that chair and come dance with me. You know, many women would kill to be in your position." You glared at him, feeling skeptical. It was known that Gabriel was a huge flirt. Hell, not even two hours earlier, he was flirting with Rowena, who quickly shot him down, clearly not interested.

"If you try anything, I'll kill you faster than you can say uh-oh." Gabriel held his hands up in surrender, silently promising that he wasn't going to pull any funny business. You slowly got up off the couch and walked towards him. He extended his hand, which you hesitantly took. Gabriel spun you around, making you gasp in surprise.

"I'm quite the dancer, if you didn't know." He smirked. You still weren't in the mood to put up with his bull shit. "I'm going to make you laugh, if it's the last think I do." He promised.

"Why do you care so much if I'm unhappy. You barely know me." You mumbled as Gabriel led you around to room.

"Because, from how little I do know about you, I know that seeing you cry is a rarity. You're this badass warrior goddess that supposedly doesn't have any emotion." You were about to question him when Gabriel interrupted you. "You're a legend in the Supernatural World." He explained.

"Yeah, for being Dean Winchester's daughter." You said bitterly.

"Ah, now why is that such a bad thing?"

"Because I want to be known for the people that I've saved and the good that I do. Not for just being my dad's daughter."

"Well, trust me, sweetheart, that's not all you're known for." You looked up at Gabriel as he rocked you back and forth to the music. He clearly wasn't pleased with the fact that you were still frowning, so he picked you up off the ground and twirled you around.

You gave a giggle of excitement as he did so, earning a proud grin from Gabriel. He began hopping around the room, making you laugh harder. "There's that beautiful laugh."

"Beautiful." You scoffed. "Yeah, okay."

"Why do you find it so hard to believe that someone would use that word to describe you?"

You shrugged. "Because no one thinks of me that way."

"Now, that's not true. I'm sure many, many men and women would love to be with you." Gabriel insisted, which made you blush.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" You asked.

"Well, if I told you, I think there would be a multitude of people trying to murder me." He confessed.

You gave him a questioning look, not realizing what he was trying to tell you.

"Jeez, you Winchester's are so oblivious. I like you, Y/n. But I know if I acted on anything, you're family would murder me in a heartbeat."

You looked at him for a moment before grabbing his jacket and pulling him in for a kiss. It took him a moment to kiss you back, but when he did, you were breathless. "Then we don't tell anyone. Not yet at least."

"Ooh, a secret love. I like that sound of that, Winchester." He murmured as he kissed you again.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

I can promise there will be a part two, hehe. 

[jude-grimes]

Walkers and Wolves - Henry Peletier Pt.1

Summary: Y/N’s Werecoyote genes date back all the way to her grandmother and since the start of the apocalypse the only person she’s had is her dad. That was until she met Henry. Now Y/N and Henry are forced to survive on their own.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: none

A/N: Hey everyone! This is part of a series I’m working it. This type of AU is really new to me so please excuse any inaccuracies that I may make. Please let me know what you think and tell me if you want to be tagged in future chapters.

My stomach grumbles in hunger. Dad and I hadn’t eaten anything in days and it was starting to get to us. I make a mental note to go out hunting later, remembering some animal tracks I had seen in the area earlier.

Right now my main focus was finding someplace to lay low for a few days. Dad wasn’t looking so good. Our camp had been overrun a week before and we barely made it out with our lives. He injured himself escaping, leaving his leg with a deep gash and a limp. For some reason he isn’t healing like he should be. I tried to treat the wound normally but he refused, telling me to save what little supplies we have left.

We shuffled our tired bodies along the road, determined to find shelter before nightfall. There were a few dead ones lurking near us. I pull out my knife and quickly take care of them. The walkers fell as I kicked them in the knees and finished them off with a knife to the skull. I was used to the sick crunching noise that was made when the metal connected with bone and pulled my weapon out unfazed.

I turned back to Dad only to see him struggle to keep up with me. I noticed a few buildings ahead where we could crash.

“Dad, look!” I pointed. He attempted to smile but it turned out more like a grimace. I frowned, worried. His wound must be infected badly.

“Good eye, Kiddo. Why don’t you run on ahead and check out one of the buildings. I’ll wait right here.”

“But-” I started but was cut off.

“I will be fine, Y/N. Now go.”

I nodded reluctantly, shifting into my werecoyote form and running as fast as I could.

As I neared the buildings I could see just how worn down they were. Unkempt vines covered the old brick stores and shattered glass once part of big windows littered the ground around my feet. I yelped as a stepped on a shard of glass. The lingering smell of walkers filled my senses and I scanned the area for any danger. I saw none and shifted back.

I bang my hand on one unbroken window of the building, hoping if there were any walkers inside they would come out and make my life a whole lot easier. After a minute of silence the coast seemed clear and I enter what appeared to be an old drug store, knife by my side. The inside was a mess. The shelves were knocked over and there was trash and empty boxes everywhere. Someone had clearly already raided this place sometime ago. Just my luck.

I search for anything that might still be useful as I move towards the back of the store. A loud pop sounded as I took a step deeper inside the rundown establishment and I pull my knife out in front of me. I look around, searching for the culprit of the noise but there was no sign of anyone, dead or alive.

Beneath my shoes, a shiny glint of foil caught my attention.  I stepped back and picked up what was now a crushed bag of chips, half of which was spilled on the grimy tiled floor. I had stepped on them while walking. My stomach howled painfully in reminder of how hungry I was. Without thinking twice I sweep up the crumbs off the floor and back into their bag. I couldn’t care less that it was gross, so close to starving I would eat anything at this point.

I shoved the bag in my backpack with crinkle and moved on to finish scavenging supplies. This time I mind my step, not wanting to risk ruining any other food or items that I might come across. After searching the whole store I find nothing but useless junk. I sigh, feeling defeated. I really hoped that I would find something to get us by for a few more days at least.

I make my way back outside and check on of the other store next to the one I was just in. Again, I come up empty handed. Today was not my lucky day.

Down the road I hear a shout. I turn to see walkers coming out of the woods, all of them headed towards my dad. He was defenseless with his injury, opting to run for his life instead of fighting back. He managed to get a good ten yards away from the dead when he fell, grasping his leg in pain. I run to him as fast as I can, lungs burning and gasping for air. I crouch down next to him, throwing his arm around my shoulder and help him up to his feet.

I start moving forward, trying to leave the dead behind and get to safety. Dad leans against me, shuffling along. We don’t get far before a bony hand grabs my arm and rips me away and causes my dad to fall to the pavement ones again. I pull out of the walkers grip and quickly stab it in the head with knife, watching as it crumples to the ground next to Dad.

“Dad, get away! I’ll be fine!” I scream above the groans of the dead. I doubt my own words as the walkers surround me. From the corner of my eye I see my dad jump to his feet and begin to limp away as the walkers hungry gazes focus on me.

I get into a fighting stance. I will not go down without a fight. One by one I take the walkers down, stabbing them in the heads. They keep coming and it seems like they will never stop. I bring my knife down into the skull of one and it gets stucks. The walkers start to close in and for a minute I think this is the end. I close my eyes and wait for the pain to come but it never does.

I hear a grunt next to me and my eyes open in shock. There’s a boy next me, killing the remaining walkers with a stick. He knocks them down in a swift fluid motions that tells me he’s had years of practice. He distracts the walkers and gives me enough time to free my knife from the corpses head and plunge it into another right before it almost sinks its teeth into the flesh of my arm. I pull the knife out, panting and confused as I look at the boy. All the walkers are dead and I exhale in relief. He saved my life.

The boy and I have a staring contest for a moment, both of us panting like a couple of deranged lunatics. It’s only now that the threat of danger is no longer looming over us that I realize my dad is nowhere to be seen. He must have got away.

I’m about to ask the mystery boy who he is before a group of people come running out of the woods yelling.

“Henry! Stop running away from the group!” One of them yells. She eyes me suspiciously, glancing at the dead corpses piled in the road.

“I’m sorry,” The boy, Henry, says. “I heard screaming and I wanted to help.”

“Well next time don’t. You’ll get yourself killed.”

The rest of the group is huddled together, mumbling something that I can’t make out. Henry and the woman gather around them, leaving me by myself. My heart is racing dangerously, I feel overwhelmed by what happened only moments ago.

I pace back and forth, not caring if Henry and his group think I’m insane. I take deep breaths, trying to clear my head and focus on what I should do next. I need to find my dad. He’s hurt and all alone. He’s close though, I can feel it.

I stop pacing and try to approach the group but stop short as the same woman from before pulls a gun on me and points it straight at my head. I back up right away, hands up in surrender.

“Woah, woah, calm down.” My voice quivers and I look at Henry, noticing his eyes are already on me. “I just wanted to say thanks for saving me but I got to go now.”

With that I turn and walk the other way. As I reach the forest edge I felt a hand on my arm, stopping me. It reminds me of how the walker grabbed me earlier and I swing around, knife in hand, ready to stab whoever or whatever it was.

It was Henry. For the first time I finally noticed his features. Freckles dotted his his face and he had soft, sandy looking looks. We lock eyes and for a moment I forget how to breath.

I shook my head, tugging my arm free from his surprisingly strong grip. I didn’t have time for this. I needed to go.

“Just wait.”

The way he spoke makes me suspect he was related to that woman. They spoke the same and carried themselves the same way. I know that if I ever crossed either of them that I would be in big trouble, no matter how nice Henry seems.

“You can join us,” Henry offers. I can tell he means it but I don’t know if I should accept his offer. “You’ll be safe. We can protect you.”

“Is your group ok with that?” I ask.

He nods. “Yes. So what do you say…?”

“Y/N. My name’s Y/N,” I introduce myself. “And yes, I’ll join your group. But first I need to find my dad, we got separated by the dead.”

Henry smiles, “Welcome to the group! I’ll get the others and we’ll help you find your dad.”

“Thank you.”

Henry waves a hand and beckons over his group. All 7 of them make their way over without question. I walk into the woods, followed by Henry and his people.

I had a feeling this was the beginning of something that would change me forever. Good or bad, that I didn’t know but it didn’t make me feel any better.

Tags// @del-rcys

[feelingsdusk-writes]

Of territory rules, wolves and megawatt smiles

@stetersecretsanta fic for @platypusesrneat. Hope you like it?

"Stiles," his dad says when Stiles is done talking and he can only hear his laboured breathing at the other end of the line. Because Stiles has apparently forgotten how to do that and has to concentrate actively on it or he'll suffocate. It's great, ten out of ten would repeat again. Not. "Listen to me, kiddo," he says in that calm voice that has always reached him, even when they couldn't look at each other without feeling pain and frustration. "Are you listening, kid?"

"Yeah," he lets out between one deep breath and another.

"Good," his dad says decisively, like he's preparing to tackle an insurmountable obstacle and Stiles braces himself for the verdict. "You did what you had to do."

"What?"

"You heard me, kiddo. You did what you had to do. Am I happy that you had to do that? No, I'm not. Do I wish there had been another way to do it? Yes, emphatically yes. But there wasn't, kiddo, and a father has to do what he has to do and I'm proud that you didn't hesitate." The way I didn't, goes unsaid, and Stiles bites his lip, reminding himself that it's been years and things are better now. "I'm proud of you, you'll be a good dad."

"Jesus Christ, dad. I'm not- He's not-"

"But he is, isn't he? Call yourself his big brother or uncle or whatever, but for all intents and purposes, he's your son now. Your responsibility. Unless you're thinking of-"

"No!" Stiles protests before he can even think of it.

"Then there you have it."

Stiles looks at the occupant of the second bed of the motel room and watches for a moment the steady rise and fall of his chest. He takes a deep breath himself and reaches to run his hands through the twelve-year-old's locks. Liam's mouth curves into a slight smile but he continues sleeping.

"What are you going to do now?"

"They want me out of the territory. It may have been justified, but apparently I've demonstrated my capacity for violence or something? I guess they're wary."

"So pure bullshit, you mean. You're the same kid that babysat their kids just two days ago. You haven't just suddenly become more powerful or whatever. If anything, this should show that you're not afraid to defend a child when needed," his dad scoffs and Stiles can't help but smile at it."Come with me, kiddo," he finally says after some more intelligible grumbles. He seems to hesitate for a second before adding. "I... I have a room for you. I thought... maybe one day you'd like to visit and you'd like to have your own space, you know? Just... Maybe until you get back on your feet again?"

Stiles takes a second to answer. They have their issues, his dad and him. The separation and long telephone conversations have helped iron some of them, but there are still some that...

"Yeah," he answers finally. "Yeah, I'd like that. But dad, I'm..."

"An adult with your own life now. I understand, kiddo, I really do. But maybe... I can be part of it again? If you'd like that?"

"Yeah- I- Yeah, I would, dad."

---

It's well into the night and Liam is out like a light when Stiles finally pulls into his dad's drive. As he turns off the car, the lights of the front turn on and the door opens. Stiles smiles because it's been a long time.

(It's a bittersweet smile. The last time he laid eyes on his dad was nearly eight years ago, when he saw him passed out on the sofa of the house they used to have in Fresno. They had just had one of the worst fights they'd ever had. Looking back, Stiles knows that a lot of the things that he let out that night needed to be said, but he'll forever regret the way that he went out of his way to hurt the man as much as he was hurting.)

"Hey, kid," his dad says softly, approaching him almost awkwardly.

"Hey, dad," Stiles says back, reaching for one big Stilinski hug because he refuses to let this be awkward. He didn't leave because he didn't love his dad, he left because he was starting to hate him too and he couldn't handle it. "Missed you," he adds when he feels his dad tighten his grip around him.

"Yeah- I- I've missed you too, kiddo," he replies, voice thick. "So," his dad asks after, clearing his throat a couple of times. "Where's the kid?"

"He's out like a light," Stiles snorts. "I swear, enhanced hearing or not, he'd sleep through the apocalypse."

"Huh, that doesn't sound familiar at all."

"Hey! I wasn't that bad!"

"Should I remind you of the vending machine?"

"The what?"

"The vending machine at the precinct." When Stiles still has the clueless expression after the clarification, John elaborates. "You pestered me for hours for one of those candy bags because I didn't want to buy you, and I quote, just one measly bag of candy. For the record, you had already charmed at least seven deputies out of their own stash and you were so high on sugar that it was a miracle you weren't walking on the ceiling." Stiles emits a dying whale noise at that. "So then you went on strike and tried to chain yourself to the vending machine. Finally, you fell asleep upright against it, slobbering all over the crystal. The other deputies kept getting things from that vending machine and you didn't even stir."

"What?! I did not! You're making this up!"

"I have pictures."

"Oh my god," Stiles whines, covering his eyes, and John pats his back consolingly. Stiles leans on his dad's arm for a moment before he starts moving. "Let's get this show moving, shall we?"

"Are you going to wake him up?" John asks, nodding.

"Yeah, at least so he can see where we are. He won't react well to waking up in an unknown place," Stiles explains rubbing his face tiredly. "I'll probably sleep in his room too, for tonight at least. Or until he wants his own room, in any case."

"Isn't he a little too o-"

"Don't-" Stiles takes a deep breath to stomp on the instinctive reaction of protecting his kid, even against his own dad. "Don't-"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by..."

"Yeah, I know, dad," Stiles sighs. He waves a hand and a rune array lights up on the car, from the bumper to the tail, before vanishing as fast as it appeared. "Just, never say something like that. If he hears you... It's taken me so much time to even begin to fix..." Stiles takes another deep breath. "He wasn't in a good place, before."

"His parents?"

"Uncles. They took him in when his parents died." John straightens up, face going hard as granite. "No, dad, they never abused him. They just... didn't care enough? They provided anything he could need money wise, but..."

"They never..."

"Yeah," Stiles nods. "And then..."

"Scott."

"Yeah." Stiles clears his throat a couple of times, fist clenched and eyes locked onto the kid asleep on the backseat. "A pack is different, ok? Touch is important. Very important. Add to that that I'm his only pack right now. And his anchor too," Stiles says before taking his eyes off his charge to turn them seriously on his dad. "It took me a lot of time to make him comfortable enough to touch me as much as he wants without feeling like... I'm not letting anyone ruin that."

"One room, got it," John nods. "The basement is bigger, if you'd prefer that? We can fit in a bigger bed and also personalize a corner of the room to be yours and another to be the kid's. That way you can be together even when you need some space? Does that sound good?"

"That sounds... awesome, dad," Stiles says smiling, feeling unbelievably relieved that something looks to be going well for a change. "Thanks."

"Come on, let's get you inside. You look like you need that sleep, son."

"What gave it away, the bags or the black under the eyes?" Stiles laughs.

"You look like a racoon," John says dryly as he takes a step back to avoid crowding Liam.

Stiles sends a grateful smile his way and opens the door slowly. "Hey, kiddo," he says softly as he reaches to run a hand through his hair lovingly. "Time to wake up, we've made it." Liam grumbles as he pulls on the blanket to cover his face. When he's done, only a tuft of hair is visible. "Come on, kiddo, there's a bed with your name on it inside."

"Dun wanna," Liam grumbles from inside his cocoon.

He shares an amused look with his dad and then spends the next ten minutes cajoling the kid into moving. The result is that he ends up with a cuddly eighty-something pound bundle in his arms and his dad has to carry the bags inside by himself.

Later, with Liam already completely out for the count again, Stiles bids goodnight to his dad and, after a lot of tense days in which he didn't know what was going to happen, he finally lets himself relax. Tomorrow he has a lot of things to do, but for now he's safe.

He falls asleep in seconds.

---

As much as Stiles doesn't like it, his first stop has to be wherever the local pack resides. Big city packs are much more open about other werewolves staying (since there are universities and other things in their vicinity), so asking for a temporary residency is a mere formality that takes very little time and effort. Beacon Hills is not a big city, however, so that means Stiles has to meet with the local alpha and explain his intentions clearly to get granted residency or at least safe passage for a while. If he doesn't convince the alpha, he'll either have to fight his way out or leave in the next few hours. It sucks, especially since Liam has to be there and he hates putting him at risk, but that's how things are.

He pinpoints the pack lands very easily. The local pack either has or used to have a druid, because there are wards protecting the place. Not very good wards, mind you, but wards nonetheless. And yes, Stiles may or may not be a snob about wards, but hell, even the first one he created was better and less obvious than this one. It's offensive, that's what it is. It hurts his delicate sensibilities and his hand itches to fix it.

Focus, Stiles, focus.

He shakes his head and grabs the kid before he can stick his foot into the only hole on the whole road. Liam smiles sheepishly and with a mighty jump that nearly sends Stiles to the ground, he gets onto Stiles' back for a piggy ride. Stiles huffs out a laugh but makes no move to dislodge him.

"I'm hungry, Stiles," Liam says as he swings his legs back and forth, a distinct pout in his voice.

"Pancakes?"

"Really?" Liam says, perking up. "I thought we were meeting the alpha?"

"Well, kiddo, in the Middle Ages all you'd have to do is howl right at the edge of the pack lands, and they'd be here in a jiffy. But we're not in the Middle Ages, are we?" He feels Liam shaking his head no. "So now that we know who they are, we're going to call them to set a meeting. Do you know what that means, buddy?"

"Pancakes?"

"Exactly. Pancakes."

He walks back to his car, listening to Liam speak a mile a minute about the toppings he wants on his pancakes. When they're almost by the car, Liam slides down until his feet are back on the ground and then rushes to get inside because in his mind, the faster he goes, the faster he gets pancakes.

"If only you were this fast every morning, getting out of bed," Stiles snorts.

"I would be if there were pancakes every morning," Liam replies earning a hearty laugh from Stiles.

"Cheeky little brat," he mutters fondly as he walks to his side of the car and gets inside.

He drives back to the town's center and looks for the diner his dad suggested. Once inside, he calls him to ask about the owners of the land and, from there, it's easy to find a way to contact them and set a meeting.

---

"We've heard of you," Talia Hale says, not quite walking around him to intimidate him but close enough to make him mildly dislike her from the get-go.

"Is that so?" Stiles replies glibly. He's already presented his case, at this point he can only wait for the verdict. He may want to live here, but he refuses to be cowed or to grovel for it. If push comes to shove and Talia pushes for a violent outcome, well, Beacon Hills' territory may find itself without an alpha. Stiles won't start it, but he sure as hell will end it if they put his kid in danger. "Do share," he adds with a smile, polite but razor-sharp. The way he sees things, he has to set a standard here because these people look like they will chew him up and come back for seconds if he lets them walk over him.

Talia studies him intently for a moment before speaking again. "You don't seem very remorseful about what you did."

Liam pales and tenses under his arm. Just for that, Stiles' smile cools down quite a few notches, going well into glacial territory, which makes the two other werewolves present shift into more obvious protective stances. Stiles doesn't even spare them a glance, his eyes focused into the alpha reds of one Talia Hale.

"Well, that would be because I'm not remorseful at all. I did what I had to do."

"Your alpha-"

"Not mine," he cuts in sharply.

"But you were like brothers. Or so they say at least, and my sources are rarely wrong."

"You're prying."

"What?"

"Let me rephrase that: you're sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, madam."

"I'd tread carefully, boy," the older man that stands to Talia's right growls, showing fang, "if-"

"I would too," he cuts in, "if I was you, but thankfully I'm not. But let's not digress, shall we?" The man takes a step forward and Talia halts him with a gesture. "You're prying. The proper authorities were called after the incident and the matter was resolved. The information that you need, you already have."

"Is that right?" she replies slowly. "Because I don't think so. This is my territory and I won't have you bring strife into it."

"Strife," Stiles states flatly.

"We don't know you. What's stopping you from a repeat performance?" the man sneers.

"Well, that would be telling, wouldn't it?" Stiles sneers back.

"Stiles?" Liam whines, obviously picking up on the aggression that's building up. Stiles tightens his arm around him, lifting his hand to squeeze the back of his neck gently.

"You protected him," the younger man finally speaks after watching the exchange. It's telling that the older one goes silent despite the age difference. It's even more telling that Talia goes silent too. "That's what happened, wasn't it? He..." he stops speaking, his eyes taking in the way that Liam seems to be curling in on himself.

"I did what I had to do," Stiles repeats, chin raising a bit in challenge. "And I'd do it again if I had to."

And just like that, the tension in the three in front of him eases. Stiles fights a frown. Were they testing him? He's pretty sure they were and he doesn't like the feeling at all. He's also pretty sure that these people had enacted some sort of play to be able to judge Stiles' character and Stiles just fell into it headfirst. Irritation bubbles inside him despite knowing he'd do the same.

"Lady, my patience is running thin," Stiles says after a beat of silence, smile finally gone. "I've stated our purpose and intentions clearly. Do you grant Liam the right to stay or not?"

"Just the kid?" the older man asks, face falling into a frown of disapproval, and Liam looks wide-eyed at Stiles. "Are you asking us to take-"

"Do not finish that statement, sir, it's as badly thought as your wards," Stiles snarls, hugging the kid to him. "But we digress. Again. Let me spell it out for you: so long I create no problems of supernatural nature, you hold no authority over me. I'm no werewolf."

"You're pack, though, or the kid would be omega. That means the alpha does hold a measure of authority over you," the younger man points out placidly and Stiles narrows his eyes at him. "We're not asking for much, aren't we? Just a little bit of reassurance since we're also protecting a lot of kids under us. You wouldn't begrudge us that, now would you?"

Stiles is very aware that the man's manipulating him, but at the same time he, very reluctantly, can see the truth behind that statement. He sighs in defeat, leveling an unimpressed glare at the younger man and earning an unrepentant smirk for it.

"Do you grant us residency or not, alpha Hale?" he finally scowls, having to resist the urge to smack the smirk out of the man's face very badly.

"I do," she replies, very amused.

"Great," Stiles grumbles. "So if you have no more questions, we're done here and-"

"I do have one question, though," the younger man says, prompting a groan from the older one.

"Peter," Talia says, amused and exasperated at the same time.

"What? He's the one that-"

"Do ask, Peter," Stiles cuts in flatly, shaking Liam playfully when the kid giggles.

"Why, thank you! You're so very kind to indulge me, Stiles."

"I'm a regular Gandhi, what can I say."

"So, my question."

"Yes?"

"The one you said you'll answer, remember."

"How curious, I don't remember saying that."

"You did."

"Did I now?"

"Yes, right at the start of this meeting, which you now very graciously extended by your own choice by saying that so if you have no more questions," he lilts, making a so on gesture instead of finishing quoting. And fuck, he's right, the little shit. "You're really a regular Gandhi, aren't you?"

Stiles smiles shark-like and Peter matches it.

"Do ask then, Peter."

"Why thank you! So gracious."

"Very."

"Oh, for the love of-" the other man groans. "Pup, ask your damn question!"

"Uncle David!" Peter growls, cheeks pinking in embarrassment for the nickname that the older man obviously didn't really mean to use but came out anyways by force of habit.

"Yes, pup, do ask," Stiles snarks mockingly.

Peter narrows his eyes at him and Stiles feels like he's being sized up, as if the man is looking for the most vulnerable part to bite into. He smiles challengingly. Peter smiles back.

"Oh, for the love of-" says Talia this time. "Peter ask your question, please?"

Peter's smirk widens and Stiles braces himself, waiting for the blow that's sure to come.

"So, the question."

"The question in question, yes."

"The question in question that you have to answer."

"That pesky question in question that I'll have to answer when you actually get around to finally ask the question in question, you mean."

"I swear to- Peter, the question in quest- Just ask it!"

"Tsk, no patience," both of them say at the same time and Liam dissolves into giggles, hiding his face in Stiles' t-shirt.

"So, the question in question," Peter says, clearly enjoying the groans it elicits.

"Do ask that pesky question in question, Peter," Stiles smirks, earning even more groans.

"So what's wrong with the wards?" Peter finally asks, putting them out of their misery.

Stiles blinks, surprised.

"Oh, now you've done it," Liam pipes in.

Stiles grins shark-like, enjoying Peter's sudden wariness. He searches in his bag for some snacks and a console for Liam, patting his head as he hands them to him. Liam plops down to the ground right there, getting comfy against Stiles' legs.

And then he lays it on them.

For one hour.

---

The next day is hectic to say the least. He has a lot of matters to settle (from a primary doctor for Liam to their registration certificate, with a veritable ton of other things in between) and it's better to have them done as quickly as possible.

Leaving Liam at home is not an option because he's still wary of his dad, so Stiles has to find new and inventive ways to keep him happy and entertained. Thankfully, he has his own ADHD filled childhood experience to fall back into, so at least he has a head start.

Still, after quite a few hours of bureaucratic frustrations, Liam is one cranky kid and Stiles is frazzled, so he stages a tactical retreat for pizza back at home base. His dad takes a look at the pouting kid and his own nearly manic son and is clearly torn between amusement (karma, Stiles can hear him thinking) and sympathy. Stiles has to remember quite a few times that he's an adult and a rolemodel now, and resist the temptation to stick his tongue out at him and his damn twitching lips.

Still, Stiles calls the whole morning a success. Thanks to Beacon Hills being a relatively small town, everything is practically one step away from the other, so that's saved him a lot of time and effort. Add in that Stiles keeps all his documentation in order out of sheer self-preservation (because his ADHD may be almost gone, but there was a time when it wasn't and not keeping everything in order meant the mental equivalent to blood and tears) and things have gone mostly without a hitch.

As of now, only one big thing remains: Liam's schooling. Liam had already decided that he wanted to actually go to school, not be homeschooled. However, that was before the whole thing with Scott happened, so Stiles doesn't know if it has changed.

"So," he says when they've finally finished lunch and his dad is already dozing before the TV. "School." Liam freezes like a deer in headlights. "Hey, none of that kiddo. Come here," he beckons him.

Liam practically plasters himself against Stiles, his face hidden against his stomach. Stiles squeezes the back of the kid's neck and he goes boneless against him, making him carry his weight entirely.

"I said I wanted to go," he says, muffled.

"Yeah, but do you still want to? There's nothing wrong with changing your mind, kiddo."

"But..."

"Whatever you want," Stiles says firmly. "You can even give it a try, and if you decide that you're not ready yet, we take you out and homeschool you until you feel you are."

"Really?"

"Scout's honor."

"You were never a scout," Liam pouts. "So that doesn't count."

"I swear on my limited edition Chewbacca figurine and Star Wars DVD trilogy."

"Really???" Liam squeaks, turning his head up to look at Stiles with eyes wide as saucers. Stiles nods seriously. "Then I wanna try!"

"Try you will then, my little padawan."

And that's that, Stiles thinks as Liam grins and squeezes Stiles, burying his face on his stomach once again. Stiles smiles fondly, rubbing his back. They'll take this afternoon to relax and go tomorrow to take care of the enrolment formalities. Apart from that, everything is mostly taken care of since Stiles is a freelancer that can work from anywhere so long he has an internet connection.

"Star Wars marathon?" he offers, even though he knows that Liam is so tired that he'll conk out before the first one is over.

"And cookies?"

"Hmm, double chocolate?"

"And snickerdoodles."

"With milk?"

"Yes!"

---

Stiles is a little giddy. It feels a little stupid, but at the same time... Well, it's progress, isn't it? It's been nearly three weeks since they made it to Beacon Hills and it's the first time that Liam has decided to stay at home instead of following Stiles wherever he went. Not that he minds the kid's presence! If he could, he'd bundle him up and keep him by his side to cuddle and keep safe forever. He loves Liam so much... But at the same time he knows that most of his clinginess stems from trauma and other issues, so this feels like a huge step forward. Like he finally trusts that Stiles won't disappear if he loses sight of him, that he loves him. And it also means that he's finally comfortable enough to be alone with his dad. So yeah, progress.

And no, he's definitely not checking his phone again and again like a father leaving his baby with a babysitter for the first time. He's not. Nope. Not at all. He's... He's just looking at his grocery list and taking out his phone by mistake, that's all.

Just.

Peanut butter. He needs peanut butter.

"Uncle Peter, no," Stiles hears a boy say at the milk aisle of the supermarket. A gleeful duet of "Uncle Peter, yes," follows, this time by two little girls, one way more articulate than the other. And finally, as Stiles is getting a premonitory shiver down his back, a "Well, hello there, Stiles," finishes.

Stiles turns around slowly, preparing for battle. He's greeted first by the sight of a little boy with an impressive judgey frown leveled at the rest of his party. A little to the left, a little girl still in diapers is trying to torpedo her way around, seemingly only stopped by the hand another little girl with a shit-eating grin is keeping latched to the hood of her jacket. And then there's a smiling Peter, who makes him instantly echo his shark-smile in response.

"Hello, Peter," he greets back.

"It's been a while. How are you liking our little town so far? I'm sure it's quite a change from the big city. Phoenix, was it? Or was it Philadelphia?"

"Philadelphia," Stiles answers flatly after a bit of a staring contest. "And yes, quite the change in some ways."

"In some ways?"

"Some things never change, no matter where you are," Stiles elaborates, smile still razor-sharp. "There are busybodies and assholes everywhere. You'll be minding your own business and suddenly they appear out of nowhere."

Peter's smile widens. "Don't forget the smartasses, Stiles, there are quite a few of those everywhere too. But language, please, there are kids present, Talia will be most unhappy if they come back repeating what they shouldn't."

"Oh, my bad, I apologize. Busybodies and anuses."

They stand there brandishing a megawatt smile and using it against the other like a weapon of mass destruction for a few seconds. The moment is broken when the little peanut tries to crash into a stand with so much force that the other girl holding her gets pulled after her with a startled eep. The boy grabs the girl out of reflex and Peter grabs the boy, pulling them all backwards to avoid the train wreck. Then he grabs the little peanut by the back of her jacket and hoists her up to his shoulder like a bag of potatoes, earning squeals of laughter for it.

"Speaking of Talia," Peter continues as if nothing happened. "She was wondering if you had any plans for Thursday."

For a moment, Stiles draws a blank, but then it clicks. The full moon. In Philly, most of the stragglers in the city used to join the official pack of the area. It didn't mean anything, it was just a chance to run free for a night without having to worry about being fully in control. Scott and Liam would do that, and Stiles used to join the emissary and druids living there to create an enclosed place for the werewolves to run wild.

Bottom line, Stiles has run with Liam many times before, but never on a full moon. Still, even if he accepts what he thinks Peter is offering, he's not going to leave Liam alone this time.

"That depends."

"Oh? On what exactly?"

"On if there will be a problem with me joining in." At Peter's surprised face he adds. "You don't think that I'm going to leave him alone, do you?"

Peter's smile sharpens. "Surely you aren't insinuating that we-"

"That's not it."

There's a beat of silence where Peter studies him intently. Whatever he finds satisfies him, because he lets that line of questioning die and relaxes his stance. The kids, who had gone abruptly still and silent, start talking again.

"You've done it before?"

"Not like on Thursday, but yeah. I used to... provide the safety measures."

"Oh? That's interesting," Peter hums. He absently dodges a small fist that comes towards his face with the force of a tiny missile. "You do realize that it's not the same, right? That... there are more risks involved because of the special circumstances?"

"I do," Stiles nods. "I have some... tricks up my sleeve to handle the situation. Other than that, I've run with him before."

"You mean he's run you down," Peter snorts, earning a flat stare from Stiles. He raises his free hand placatingly, if slightly mocking. "I don't see a problem with it, but I'll have to run it by Talia first, just in case. She may be interested in those... safety measures too. I suppose part of it was some sort of enclosure?"

For a second, Stiles nearly puffs up like an offended cat, because his wards are much more complex than that, thank you very much. If the amused tilting of Peter's mouth is anything to go by, the man can tell and Stiles has to resist the urge to pout too.

"Yeah, among other things," he settles for saying instead, voice dry as the desert.

"Great," Peter, honest to god, chirps. "Expect a call from her then."

"Sure," Stiles sighs.

And then they stand there, Peter looking at Stiles expectantly and Stiles just wanting to leave and go home to his kid.

"The phone, Stiles," Peter says finally.

"Yeah, I heard you. She'll call."

"My big sister is a woman of many, many talents, Stiles, but even she can't call someone if she doesn't have the number."

And so Stiles gives him his number, of course. But as Peter leaves, Stiles revisits the wording he used in his head and starts to strongly suspect that he's just somehow been tricked into giving the man his number because he's pretty sure Talia already had it.

Stiles groans internally and goes in search of the damn peanut butter.

---

Stiles talks to Liam first, of course. It's nice that they have the option to run with others, but if Liam is uncomfortable then they'll have to find another alternative and that's it. Stiles can create a safe space anywhere he wants, after all, and not all the preserve is Hale land.

To his surprise, Liam is really open to the idea from the get-go. Stiles bets it has to do with the fact that the Hales have quite a few children in his age range. That, and that he won't be alone no matter what since Stiles told him he'd be there at all times, of course.

With that settled, Stiles finalizes the details with Talia pretty easily. Stiles is surprised at first by her openness, but the more they talk, the more he suspects that she's hoping to learn if what he does can be replicated so she can include the human pack members that normally have to sit the full moons out. (Which, if he's right, is very thoughtful of her since not many packs even think to try.) Add in that Stiles is going to provide a very safe enclosure and he can definitely see why she's so open about any thing he suggests.

All in all, Stiles is quite happy about how things are progressing. He could do without Peter tagging along like a particularly annoying puppy while he lays the wards, though, even if their verbal spars are quite amusing.

Still, he'll give it to the man, he does know when he has to be silent... and he's quite adept at catching Liam before he falls into any hole on top of controlling the veritable troupe of kids that have followed them as he lays the foundation of the proximity wards.

Stiles really doesn't know how that happened. It's like fungus, they multiplied the moment he wasn't looking. One moment there was only Liam, the next Talia's terrible trio were there and the next another five little cousins were tagging along. Stiles is afraid that by the next focus point of the ward they'll have their own lacrosse team and then, by the next after that one, they'll have two and will be able to hold an actual match.

(Still, Liam looks so happy that Stiles can't even be annoyed. God, he's turned into such a sap.)

"Stiles!" Liam hollers cheerfully, and that's the only warning Stiles gets before an eighty-something pound projectile impacts into his back and then proceeds to climb him as high as he can. Four tiny growling monsters in diapers surround him right after that, including torpedo peanut (and Stiles maybe, just maybe, should start learning their names), and try their best to bring him down while Liam squeaks and hums and laughs.

Stiles, of course, does his best to resist, but then the rest of the troupe jumps him and a controlled fall is the best he can do.

"The full moon is going to be so much fun," Peter says smiling smarmily from above.

Stiles, who is too busy trying to protect his most vulnerable parts while also pursing his lips as hard as he can so a tiny foot doesn't come inside his mouth, mud and all, just flips him the bird.

---

Thursday greets him bright and early with Liam jumping onto him as if it's Christmas morning. And look, call him weird but, even as a child, the promise of presents wasn't enough to peel him out of bed early, candy and sweets had to be added to the offer for him to even consider moving. Adulthood certainly hasn't made that any better, so having a twelve-year-old jump on him as if Stiles is an elastic bed at the ass-crack of dawn may as well be Chinese torture for him.

Stiles grumbles into his pillow before hiding his head under it and making his best effort at suffocating himself. Because upon the first impact of the meteorite on the Earth, he spied the clock and no. No, no and no.

"Stileeeeees," Liam complains.

Categorically no.

"Stiiiiileeees," Liam whines.

Unconditionally no.

"Stiiiiiiii-leeeeeeesssss," Liam pouts.

No, he thinks, that won't work, he's immune. Liam may have the pouting of an adorable golden retriever puppy (with a destructive power to match), but Stiles has developed a strong resistance to it. It won't work. Nope.

Silence. Why is he silent? No more whining? Has he given up? Has he resigned to the inevitable and is conceding to a superior opponent? Can Stiles go back to sleep until a more reasonable hour?

Wait.

No.

That's not it, he thinks feeling alarm raising like a tidal wave. He can't see them with his head buried as it is, but he can feel them. It's silent pouting combined with the puppy eyes. Nonono, Stiles wails internally, trying his best to resist.

He...

... will...

... not...

Ah, crap, who is he kidding? All is lost. Their combined power of destruction is staggering and he knows his end is near with unshakable certainty. It's penetrating his titanium shield of resolve like anti-tank ammunition going through a lead plate.

Stiles groans and turns, unearthing his head from under the pillow. This earns a cheer from Liam, who now drapes over his stomach and bounces and Stiles groans again. He rises with what's definitely not a pout, lifting Liam over his shoulder like a potato sack on his way up. He ignores the way, even thrown over his shoulder, the kid puffs up triumphantly and makes a straight line towards the kitchen and the coffee machine.

Because look, his pride is in shambles but he still has coffee. Coffee makes everything better, just like curly fries. If Stiles was faced with the decision of what to bring with him to a deserted island, it would be those. And a boat, of course, because he's not stupid. But yeah, coffee and curly fries. Give him those and he'll be happy, he doesn't need anything else. Well, hello, scurvy, let's be toxic friends. Wait, no, potatoes have a lot of vitamin C, don't they? He needs to google...

No, coffee. Coffee's what he needs. Coffee. Black as his mortal soul.

And some actual food to go with that coffee.

He sets Liam down on one of the kitchen chairs and starts preparing a very high-calorie breakfast. It's going to be a very eventful day for both of them (Stiles is going to be running a lot and the full moon shift always makes Liam ravenous) and they're really going to need the extra energy.

"Do I wake grandpa up for breakfast too?" Liam asks.

Stiles has two simultaneous reactions. The first one is to coo and actually get emotional because, well, grandpa, but he covers that one immediately because with Liam the best course of action is to not bring attention to it. The second is a very evil glee because if he has to suffer being up at don't-look-at-the-clock-or-you'll-cry AM, so does his dad.

"Sure, go for it," he says simply, not even turning from where he's measuring the coffee. Liam shoots out from his seat, dashing towards his dad's room. "No jumping on him, kid!"

"I knoooow, because I'm strong and he's old and fragile and something could break," Liam recites as he climbs the stairs.

"Exactly!" Stiles confirms, trying very hard to not burst out laughing.

Liam leaves his dad's door open as he goes in, so Stiles is treated to pained groans almost immediately. Ah, music to his ears. Then it gets even better when he hears Liam explaining very earnestly that of course he won't jump on him because he's old and, well, he likes grandpa and he doesn't want to break any bones. Stiles has to bite his cheek very hard to not burst out laughing.

When Liam dashes back, a very rumpled former sheriff follows. He throws a very deadpan stare towards Stiles and he loses the battle immediately and starts cackling. He accepts the kitchen towel that flies to his head as his fair dues for laughing at his dad and continues cooking breakfast.

After they're done, Liam, still all nervous energy, runs back to their room to get ready. Because he doesn't want to be late, he yells as he leaves, even though they still don't have to be at the Hale's for about six hours. Now alone with his dad at the kitchen, they share a fond smile.

"Grandpa, huh?" the man mutters softly, mystified but clearly happy.

"Yeah," Stiles grins, clicking his mug lightly against his dad's. "Yeah."

---

Stiles has to admit that, for all he's still not entirely sold on the Hales, he likes the way they organize the full moons. He can tell that it's a system they've perfected over the years to be able to accommodate all the participant's schedules and also include the humans in the whole process. For Stiles, who as a rule has seen the opposite, it's a really well-thought out affair.

They try to make it a full-day event if it's on a weekend, during vacation or a holiday. They have lunch together, normally a big barbecue. Then they have numerous activities designed to burn as much energy of the youngest members of the pack because that makes the night easier for the adults that have to keep an eye on them. And that means both the human and the werewolf children. Stiles has babysat enough tiny humans to know why that's a very good idea. What he didn't know is that shifted children are tiny and evil Duracell bunnies that never stop and raze everything in their way while playing. Stiles can't help but to remember how destructive torpedo peanut was on a regular day and blanch. It's a terrifying concept that makes him shudder in dread just thinking about it.

(Nope, abort, abort.)

(Mental picture deleted.)

That changes a bit if the day of the full moon falls on a weekday. Kids that have school and adults that haven't been able to free their day, come for lunch and then go back while the rest continue with the normal schedule of activities. They will join back once school or work is over and the schedule will resume as normal.

It's vacation time, so Stiles and Liam get treated to a very full house when they arrive at lunch time. In fact, even before Talia opens her mouth to greet them upon opening the door, they get treated to the sight of torpedo peanut balancing on the chandelier of the entrance and the five cousins that trailed after them while placing the wards barking like dogs right underneath.

Stiles smiles politely like there's nothing out of the norm and his hand clamps down on the hood of Liam's jacket lightning fast before he can gleefully rush in to join.

"Good afternoon, Talia. Thank-"

"Stileeeees," Liam whines, making grabby hands towards the kids. The pack stops barking and all their eyes, including torpedo peanut's, zero in on Liam. Exactly like a predator's on prey and woah, that's adorable in a creepy as fuck way.

"-you for having us."

"Thank you for having us," Liam parrots sheepishly before fidgeting in his place, eyes going back to the kids.

"Welcome Stiles, Liam," Talia answers placidly, as if her child isn't hanging several feet above her. "Thank you for joining us. Oh that smells divine," she adds looking at the bag Stiles is carrying as she lets them in. "Pecan fudge brownie? And... lemon?"

Stiles nods. "Lemon meringue pie for the ones that prefer something less sweet."

"Oh, thank you! That's so thoughtful, but you shouldn't have. You're our guest, after all."

"It was no problem," Stiles says, hand still holding Liam in.

"Stiles loves baking," Liam beams, finally tearing his eyes from the pack of little monsters that looks like it's planning on eating him alive. "All he makes is super yummy too! The cakes and the cookies. The pies! And the cupcakes and- and- Carrot cake! Even though carrots taste bad, but his cake is good! Everything he makes is super good."

"Even carrot cake, huh? That's truly impressive," Peter says as he glides in. Torpedo peanut lets go of the chandelier and he catches her without even looking. He doesn't even react when she starts pulling at his hair gleefully. "Well hello, Stiles."

"Peter! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Stiles enthuses smiling brightly and Peter, getting the double meaning, echoes his gesture immediately.

"Same, same," he volleys back placidly. "And meeting you is always like finding light in the darkness, Stiles."

Stiles' smile widens.

Peter's smile widens.

They beam at each other as if the light of their smiles has the power of a thousand burning suns in their intensity. Talia groans softly and rolls her eyes.

"Let's let the kids play, shall we?" she sighs. "In the backyard," she adds pointedly.

The poor boy with the impressive eyebrows that Stiles met in the supermarket shows up out of nowhere with a very long-suffering face. (And if this is what the kid's been dealing with since the day started or, god forbid, on a regular basis, Stiles feels for him, he really does.) Stiles lets go of Liam and, after a second of very intense staring between the pack and his kid, he dashes in the direction the other boy is pointing at with a gleeful shriek. The pack of little monsters take immediately after him with high-pitched growls. Torpedo peanut looks considering for a second before she takes her pacifier out, hands it solemnly to Peter and demands to be put down. Then she wobbles forward for a few steps before she picks up speed and runs after them.

Stiles is pretty sure she doesn't know how to brake yet, so the only way she's stopping is by colliding with something that doesn't give into her destructive force. It gets confirmed when he hears a crashing sound that Stiles can't help but wince at. He expects some truly epic crying but, instead, mirthful shrieks erupt after that, followed by, if Stiles isn't mistaken, the oldest girl he met at the supermarket's goading. The boy sighs, looking heavenwards as if asking for patience and then visibly girds his loins before jumping into the fray.

Stiles salutes at his retreating back solemnly, wishing him all the luck. He hears an amused snort and turns his attention back to Peter, arching an eyebrow.

"Let me show you to the kitchen so you can leave that there, Stiles," Peter says, twirling the pacifier that Cora speared on his finger. "If you'd like?"

"That does pacify me, yes." Peter twitches and Stiles is also pretty sure he hears several pained groans coming from different directions. He grins brightly. "Thank you, Peter, how very kind of you."

"If you follow me," Peter motions lazily.

"To the moon and back," Stiles replies cheerfully and he hears Talia groan once again.

"We've got no matches, Peter," a man, Talia's husband Stiles thinks, says from the backyard as soon as they make it to the kitchen. "Could you get me some from the kitchen?"

"Lets hope there are some or you'll have to do a quick run to the store," Talia says.

"Or you could always google it if there aren't any," Stiles says helpfully.

"What?" Talia's husband says as Peter raises an eyebrow. "No delivery device is that fast..."

"But it will give you a lot of matches," Stiles points out, face earnest.

There are several pained groans and Peter looks like he's trying very hard to not wince. Stiles lets his helpful smile descend into shark-like territory.

"Are you sure taking some weight off the grill won't work better?" Peter joins in, eyes challenging.

"Oh my god, Peter," the man cries. "No."

"Joshua, really, just trying to be helpful here," Peter lilts. Stiles bites the inside of his cheek to contain himself, because he's never seen someone pained but at the same time proud of making a bad pun. "Because, you know, lighter."

"People are so ungrateful, it's such a shame," Stiles sighs.

"True that," Peter agrees, looking pointedly at Stiles.

"Right???" Stiles nods, looking at him as pointedly or even more.

What follows is several hours of battle of wits between Peter and Stiles while he keeps an eye on his kid. It's exhilarating and funny because they have to keep it PG with all the little ones around them. They brandish double meaning statements, puns and word games like weapons of mass destruction and Stiles hasn't had this much fun in a long time. Even funnier is that at one point it stops being entirely about one-upping each other and it starts being about how far they can push it before the people around them snap.

And then, the moon starts coming out and it gets even better.

Stiles grants them access into the enclosed safe space half an hour before the night sets in completely and then reminds them very briefly of how the wards work. (Peter's lips twitch like he knows how hard it is for Stiles not to get into it in depth and he has to resist the urge to throw something at the obnoxious man out of irritation.) After that, while they start shifting, Stiles activates his tattoos and the rune arrays he painted on himself this morning as a precaution, even though he doesn't think he'll actually need them. Some of them will sharpen his senses and the others will provide quite the level of protection against physical injury, so he's covered if any accidents happen.

Standing a little bit to the side, Stiles remembers that rumor has it that some of the Hales can do a full shift even out of the full moon and he wonders absently about its veracity while he watches them change.

The first few moments after the shift are chaotic, so Stiles simply observes from the sidelines, keeping a keen eye on Liam. It's like a free for all melee where only the adults have some semblance of control. A little violent because of the instincts running rampant, yes, but not too bad, all things considered. The violence seems to come mostly from the teens and some adults and the pups are clearly off limits, though, so Stiles doesn't intervene.

Liam jumps Stiles like an over-excited puppy as soon as he stops wobbling and gets used to the shift to four legs. He laughs, and lets himself fall, rolling with the impulse. He wrestles playfully with him for a bit before more little bodies join in with playful yips. Stiles is completely aware of how the rest of the pack is watching so he treads carefully.

They let them join, yes, but both he and Liam are unknowns and they're not completely trusted. (Especially Stiles, with his "mysterious" magical energy.) And Stiles is with their pups, he has no doubt they'll try to rip him to shreds if he tries something funny. He wholeheartedly approves, of course, God knows that he'd wipe them from existence without a thought if they even breathed wrong in his kid's direction.

His eyes cross paths with Peter's and they share an understanding right there, in a matter of seconds, smiles bloodthirsty and implacable.

The one that he's sure is torpedo peanut chooses that moment to jump on Liam and they fall to the side. The rest of the pack of terrors follow and Liam starts running in circles. Stiles, right in the middle, watches him fondly.

His eyes come back to Peter's and then an idea hits. He lets his smile widen and then, without any remorse whatsoever, he twists things so that the pups' new target is Peter. Maybe he should feel bad about manipulating kids into doing what he wants, but watching Peter get swarmed is too good to pass up.

Talia huffs, amused, and he grins at her. "I know, I'm such a bad person. It keeps me awake at night sometimes," he sniffs and she huffs again.

He looks towards Peter once again and he's rewarded by the sight of one pup hanging from his ear and another two doing their damnedest to jump on his back. Torpedo peanut is behind him, looking fixedly at his tail and preparing to pounce. Liam is barking like crazy and play fighting from the front.

Stiles can't help it, he cackles...

... and promptly dives to the right, dodging Peter's lunge.

The kids follow the movement and latch onto Peter once again. Stiles leans on the tree beside him, grinning madly. He waggles his eyebrows mockingly and then blows a kiss, winking.

Peter pounces.

Later, way too tired and pinned down by the weight of way too many pups and one adult wolf, he can't stop smiling.

"Ten out of ten, would repeat it again," he says.

"Great," Peter replies after a very smooth shift. He grins and lets more of his weight fall on him. "Then coffee tomorrow."

"What."

"I'm still not sold on how our wards are shit," he adds, lips twitching.

"Say what."

"I mean, it can't be that hard, right?"

Stiles narrows his eyes dangerously. He opens and closes his mouth several times. Then he narrows his eyes even more.

"Are you trying to provoke me into a date, pup?"

"Such absurd ideas you have, Stiles. Who would do that? But then again you said our wards are bad..." Peter lilts, leaning even more on him.

"Let me tell you-"

"Of course," Peter cuts in. "Tomorrow, over coffee."

Stiles gapes...

...and gapes...

...and gapes some more.

And then, he notices one thing: Peter's completely naked.

Stiles squeaks.

(But he doesn't say no.)

Also on AO3.

[poeticsandaliens]

Miracle

Rating: M because Will curses like a truck driver.

Timeline: Post-MS IV (I know, I know. If you look closely, you can see my middle finger pointing directly at Chris Carter.)

Summary: Six times Dana Scully called Will a miracle and what that word really means. 

Tagging @today-in-fic. This fic has been my pet project for the last two weeks and was interrupted repeatedly by the porn I’ve been writing. If you squint it can be read as the same universe as my other post-finale fics, namely Morning Hour, but that’s not really relevant.

‘Miracle’ is a dirty word, dirtier than ‘fuck’ used to be and much less versatile. When you work miracles, you set a precedent. You promise you can save people the next time.

Reading his own files in a government database, long-dead typists call Jackson Van de Kamp a miracle or a monster, savior of the world or bringer of the apocalypse. It’s a tired Superman story, and he’s read every possible ending in his childhood comic books.

He’s not the government’s mail-order Jesus, here to die for their fucked-up sins.

He can prove it, too. He didn’t forgive his murderers; he popped off their heads. And he didn’t die to absolve anyone of blame; he died for the very thing God didn’t want anyone to get ahold of—Knowledge. The Truth with capital T. He died because he taunted some chain-smoking bastard on a bridge. He didn’t mean to get shot, and he didn’t mean to come back to life.

                                                        * * * * * * *

The first time Dana calls him a miracle, Will leaves. He’s used to the word—which makes it worse but easier to hide. Still, he packs up his duffel and promises he’ll be back. He pretends it has nothing to do with them, everything to do with the itch of the road. It’s not her fault miracles make him sick.

He leaves them the adirondack chair. It’s a derelict piece of shit he picked up from some guy’s garage sale, but it’s his piece of shit. He hammered it back together, painted it the color of the Wyoming sky, and planted it in their yard. He hopes they take it as a sign that he’s making them his home, so he doesn’t have to say it out loud.

He drives South and lets the humidity suck him in. He picks a bucket of figs outside Inman, South Carolina with an ancient African American woman who embroidered the entire solar system into her jean jacket. She is an elm tree of a woman, engraved with all the wrinkles of ninety-two years. Then, he buys a bag of boiled peanuts and three honey-sticks from the ramshackle fuel station next to a railroad overgrown with kudzu. The attendant calls it a miracle that a customer has come ‘round. Then he tells Will that honeysuckle is free.

Southerners, he has noticed, toss around ‘miracles’ like they’re cheaper than cigarettes. He likes it.

Will crawls back to Virginia after a couple weeks spent on the road, where he wasted monsoon nights smoking his head away in the Everglades and keeping an eye on the unborn kid. He’s not an idiot; he knows it’s a high-risk pregnancy. If something goes wrong, he’ll know before Mulder and Dana do. He even knew it was a girl before they did, but he’s good at keeping his mouth shut.

He’ll be around for his sister, and they all know it. He’s attached to the kid, even if he tries to hide it. The baby is something untainted by his death count, his back-from-death count, his bloody miracles.

                                                       * * * * * * *

The second time Dana calls him a miracle, he lets it slide. Slip of the tongue, mumbled in between bites of croissant. He’s laughing for the first time in God knows how long, laughing his way through autumn.

Dana sits cross-legged in the grass, sipping tea. She sits in the grass a lot, he notices. Maybe it’s a side effect of being an ex-city-dweller, the way grass relaxes her and she shushes him to hear the cicadas. Will was always a trail-and-cliff kind of boy, raised in the shadow of Wyoming Rockies, but he can appreciate the rickety solitude of this home.

He pads barefoot through the dying lawn and sits down next to her. He’s been home for a week now, longer than last time. Tomorrow, he will shove two hoodies into a backpack and drive to the Appalachians. He will leave behind a companion to his adirondack and a bucket of pine-green paint. This time when he says ‘itch of the road,’ he means it. But for now, he holds up a paper bag from the bakery. “I brought croissants.”

Dana’s eyebrows shoot up; her face splits into a grin. “Thank you Will,” she says as he passes her the bag. The scent of melted chocolate wafts from its wrapping. She bites into the croissant with a contented sigh as he reaches into the bag for his own, butter and chocolate sticking to his fingers.

“You’re a miracle,” she says through a mouthful of buttery goodness.

Time stops.

Will doesn’t register it until he has swallowed. When he looks at her, she’s bright red, her eyes wide and all of a sudden younger than her face. He smiles as reassuringly as he can and lies back on the lawn. She didn’t mean it like that, and even if she did. It’s not her fault.

                                                         * * * * * * *

The third time doesn’t really count. Spring goes out with drums of thunder, and June bleeds into their lives. One morning, Dana cups a naked, watermelon-pink creature in the palm of her hand and stalks urgently across the patio.

“It’s a baby robin,” she informs him. It lies panting on a paper towel. Before he can protest, she slides it into his hands.

He must have startled at the sight of it, the intersection of hideous and adorable, because Dana apologizes for the lack of warning. Turns out it dropped from its nest, and she’s too short to reach the branch. He is pleasantly surprised by this side of her, the tender side that rescues birds and folds bandannas around her neck on sunny days.

Dana leads him to the birds’ nest, sitting seven feet up a tree and already brimming with hatchlings. An alarmed screech from a nearby tree alerts him to the mother robin. He cradles the baby bird in his hand, admiring it for a moment. But just before he lifts it to the nest, he hears—

thud-thud-thud-thud-thud, the newborn’s rapid heart rate strumming his eardrums. This again.

“Are you okay?” Dana watches him, her brows furrowed.

“Uh-huh,” he assures her. “Just got the bird’s heartbeat stuck in my head for a second.” He smacks his ear as if he’s caught water in it, and the sound fades.

“You can do that?” Amazement sparkles in her eyes. Also, he discerns, maternal pride.

“Yup.” He tries for nonchalant, ends up sheepish, scratching the back of his head and avoiding her eyes. Should he tell her? He studies her—tiny and wound up like a sharp violin, bearing an impressive collection of pantsuits and an even more impressive collection of scars. All taut muscle except where a small-for-now baby bump blossoms beneath her t-shirt.

“You know, I can hear the kid’s heartbeat too,” he says, gesturing to her stomach. He tries to ignore her quick intake of breath.

        She stands up straighter, gaging how much he wants to tell her. “What does it sound like?”

        “Like a metronome.” His short-term memory lobs Miami at him. He’s unsure why he tells her any of this, but he does. “When I was in Florida,” he muses, “I bought this shitty electric keyboard. The kind they have elementary school music classrooms, that takes like ten double A batteries and plays a bunch of out of tune instruments. I wanted a guitar but I didn’t know how to play one; plus, I thought it would be cute for the baby. Make a good first impression, y’know?”

        He doesn’t give Dana a chance to respond. “Anyway, I was camping out in the everglades. Just… stretching out and sleeping in the trunk of the car. At night if it wasn’t raining, I would open the sun roof and look at the sky. And I tried to check up on you guys, in here.” He taps his forehead. “Came up with the heartbeat instead. Sometimes I tried to play the keyboard in time to it. I could play some tunes from Pirates of the Caribbean but not much else.”

        A smile graces her lips. “You said you used to love those movies.”

“I did. That’s what the Everglades reminded me of,” he adds. Pirates, tropical marshes, the monsters that lurk in the deep. He remembers sitting on the roof, going through three different flavors of vape, scared to dangle his feet over the car because a gator had taken up residence beside it. He remembers watching the gator breathe, watching its slick, scaly back dry out in the heat, and its jaw hang wide open. He remembers finally climbing down the car and reaching out to touch it. His rational side was terrified it would snap, but he realized, somehow, that it wouldn’t. Not at him, at any rate. Maybe his alien blood is reptilian. Who knows. He’ll never forget what an alligator’s back feels like.

“What happened to the keyboard?”

“It broke. I tossed it before I came home.” He reaches into the bird’s nest and drops the little creature in. It mewls hungrily.

“Miracle of life from non-life,” says Dana. She gingerly touches his shoulder. He listens for the rhythmic creature unfolding in her womb. Life from non-life, skin from stones, cells from silence.

                                                           * * * * * * *

The fourth time Dana calls him a miracle, it is not Dana at all. Dana is inside, flipping three grilled cheese sandwiches while Mulder hoes a disheveled garden. A heat wave barreled violently into Virginia last week, and Dana won’t show her face outside at midday, especially since the baby made its presence clear.

Will pulls into the driveway with three bags of fertilizer and a greenhouse worth of seeds. He tucks his ice coffee in his elbow and unloads the dirt from his trunk. Already decorated in roots and silver dandelions, Mulder empties them messily into the turned dirt.

“Thanks, kiddo,” he says with a grin. A month ago, he might have rejected the nickname, but he’s trying to befriend Mulder. Bridge the gaps he already has with Dana by virtue of telepathy. It’s hard to hide from a woman who can read your mind.

“No problem.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and wanders over to the garden. “Anything I can do?”

“Can you blot out the sun?” Mulder chuckles, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Or, you know, work some human Miracle-Grow on these flowers?”

“Unfortunately,” Will says distractedly, “My talents don’t really extend to peaceable flower-growing. I don’t think that’s what the government had in mind when they cooked up my DNA.” He means it casually. He really does. The same way Mulder means ‘human Miracle-Grow,’ and he was going to let that one go.

Mulder stares at him with those regretful labrador eyes. Shit. One wrong step and he’s swimming in parental guilt. Dana knows why he took the first time. He wonders if she ever told Mulder, or if she let him believe it was wanderlust. Genetic, of course.

“It’s okay,” he assures Mulder. Will doesn’t want his parents’ teary remorse, but he accepts it. They’ve seen Hell, and that’s coming from the kid who’s blown up human heads. So he curbs his annoyance every time they hug him like he’s fine china and doubt him when he says he’ll stay.

“I’m sorry,” Mulder says, “that was insensitive.”

“Naw, it’s fine.” Casually, callously, that’s the only way Will knows how to talk about what he’s been through.

Silence thick with pollen. Mulder shakes sunflower seeds over a haphazard row.

“You were a miracle, you know. Scully wanted you more than anything.”

He knows this. He reads it like newsprint off her brain. And yet—

“I was a weapon,” Will says bluntly. Another comic book cliché to tack onto the list. Not like he’s counting or anything.

“No.” Mulder shakes his head, shoves the hoe into a fresh groove. “They tried to weaponize you, but you wouldn’t have it. Will, you’ve got a choice that Scully and I don’t have—you don’t have to be their experiment. It’s too late in the game for us; we’re old, and we served twenty-five years in the X-files, prodding and being prodded. But those men are dead now, and while the scars may never heal, you don’t have to let them open another wound. You are human, and you’re allowed to have a life. You’re only their weapon if you believe it.”

He says it so forcefully Will almost believes him. Maybe one day he will. Not yet. “I did kill people,” he reminds his father solemnly. He has inherited Mulder’s ability to suck out his own soul.

“It’ll haunt you, and it’s never okay, but sometimes that’s what it comes to.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I killed people. So did Scully.” He was dead when Mulder shot the smoking bastard. He wishes he had seen it for more reasons than one. “Just…” Mulder trails off. “Give yourself a chance. Give Scully a chance. You won’t regret it.”

He wonders if he’ll ever love someone as much as Mulder loves Dana. He wonders if he wants to love someone that much, to bear the everyday risk of losing them. He empties two bags of poppy seeds into the garden.

Mulder has returned to the open car. He lifts a shopping bag out of the trunk and peeks inside. “What’s this?”

“I found it with the sunflower seeds. They were on clearance.” Will shrugs, acts like he didn’t buy it thoughtfully.

The wooden windchimes clink when Mulder examines them—sleeves of birch wood dangling like spiders on a thread. At the top, a cardinal opens its beak to the sky. “It’s beautiful. Your moth—Scully will love this.”

Wisely, neither of them discuss the Freudian slip.

                                                          * * * * * * *

The fifth time Dana says it, they are sitting in the Adirondack chairs, watching the overdue baby struggle against her confines. He comes to rest somewhere between amazed and utterly creeped out at the sight of it, and it probably shows on his face. Things have begun to show on his face recently. Since he pulled his hair into a ponytail and let himself relax, he no longer resembles the drunken guitarist of an out-of-line undergrad rock band. That was how Mulder described the scraggly shape of him when he was on the run. Mulder recognized it in himself, maybe—trying to scare off his enemies, winds up scaring off everybody else.

Scully cocks an eyebrow at him. “You look slightly perturbed.”

“It’s a little freaky looking,” Will concedes, eyeing the bow and flex of her abdomen. Kid’ll be here any day now—tomorrow, he predicts, maybe the day after. His sixth sense will go fucking haywire the second Dana goes into labor.

“It feels even stranger than it looks,” she replies.

He settles into the chair, leaning his head on his hands and stretching his gangly legs in front of him. He listens. Songbirds, wind chimes, the desperate buzz of insects having sex before they die… his sister’s heartbeat thumping frantically against the side of his head. He half smiles.

“It’s miraculous, you know,” she murmurs. “Even if it looks and feels discomfiting, it’s still a miracle.” A weighty pause. “You’re a miracle too.”

This time, the weight of the word ‘miracle’ doesn’t make him ill. His whole life, a catalogue of unexplained events and Sunday mornings in the Presbyterian church, people called him a miracle. On the playground, he healed scraped knees, and kids called him a wizard.

Dana and Mulder, though—they don’t see him as a miracle of Biblical proportion, or a miracle of science, immaculately crafted for a destiny. To them, he’s a miracle of love. His birth is a transcription of amor omnia vincit, and his return is a testament to it. He is a miracle because he was born and because he is a person Dana Scully created with Fox Mulder in a tatty DC apartment. Not because he’s a gritty reboot of a Christ allegory.

He is okay with being this kind of miracle.

He hears a quiet, “oh…” and opens his eyes. Dana scrunches her eyebrows together and squeezes the arm of her chair. “Braxton-Hicks,” she explains. He takes her at her word the way Mulder doesn’t. (Mulder, who suspects the baby is coming every time she so much as grunts; Mulder, who couldn’t be there the three times his son came to life.)

“If she sticks around much longer,” mutters Dana as she shifts in the chair, “she’ll say her first words in the womb.”

“Tomorrow,” he promises. Immediately he regrets telling her, but she looked so uncomfortable just there. She reminded him of his neighbors in Wyoming, a dusty-haired lesbian couple who wore nothing but khakis and hiking boots. Their son must be three or four by now, but he remembers how Lilian taught him to repair his mountain bike in her last month of pregnancy, woeing incessantly about how she couldn’t ride her own. ‘If the baby doesn’t come tomorrow I’m going to lose my goddamn mind,’ she’d told him every day for a week.

Now, Dana gazes at him with ocean-wide eyes. “You know?”

He shrugs self-consciously. “Yeah.”

“How?”

“I dunno. Same way I do all the other shit, I guess.” He wiggles his fingers. “Galaxy magic.”

This time she laughs, and a little bubble of pride wells in him. He can make her laugh through her discomfort, a clear, beautiful sound. He loves her, his mother. She doesn’t feel quite like his mother, but he catches love for her like he caught it for his unborn sister. Or maybe she is something like his mother—not his mom, the titles ‘Mom and Dad’ will forever be reserved for the parents he grieves, and he’s still shaking the nagging guilt that he is somehow replacing them by loving Dana and Mulder.

Maybe this is the kind of love you feel for your parents when you’re thirty, or maybe it’s the kind of love you feel for a step parent who isn’t your mom but who does her best, asks how your day is going and offers what advice she can. Whatever it is, it is keen and familiar, and he clings to it like a lifeline on days the earth swallows him.

Mulder finds them laughing their asses off at the most beautiful sunset in months. Dana glances up at him with an ear-to-ear grin, one hand on her belly and one hand on Will’s shoulder. Weeping tears of laughter, they forget what cracked them up in the first place.

                                                          * * * * * * *

In his eighteen years on this bitch of an Earth, Will has worked two legitimate miracles:

Jerry Abernathy from his eighth grade Algebra class had an allergic reaction to a peanut butter cookie. Somehow, he survived without a single shot of the epi pen he’d left at home that morning.

Alice Mulder-Scully enters the world screaming. The volume of blood on nurses’ uniforms belies the healthy baby. Relieved, haggard doctors struggle to explain the mother’s strong heartbeat. Nothing to see here, tells the look on Will’s face as strangers pass him in the waiting room. He wipes a trickle of blood from his nose and downs an energy drink to stay awake.

                                                          * * * * * * *      

The sixth time Dana calls him a miracle, he is sitting on the porch steps of the Virginia home. Alice’s baby feet kick his knees, and he grins as she struggles from his lap to crawl across the grass. Fireflies light up the gravel drive, flashing and dying, glowing with no particular pattern. They move like stars in space-time, as if he’s witnessing the lifespan of a galaxy in time lapse. Alice giggles as one blinks in front of her nose.

“Bug!” she screams happily.

“Yeah, kiddo, a lot of bugs.” A fox skittered across the property that morning, and Alice pointed at it and called it ‘Dada.’ Mulder was fake-insulted for hours.

Grinning down at her, he begins to rearrange the fireflies. To his behest, insects in mating season are shockingly tenacious, and it takes all his mental effort to control them. It’s worth it as they lazily swirl toward Alice, who bats at them and giggles uncontrollably.

“Bug! Bug!” she pops the word over and over again, snickering as one lands in her tufts of russet hair.

“I assume this is your doing?” Dana appears behind him, and he grins at her over his shoulder. The screen door smacks shut.

“She loves them.”

“More than her actual toys,” Dana snorts. She cocks her eyebrow at him, then lifts her phone and takes a picture. “I never liked fireflies.”

“Not even as a kid?”

“Well,” she chuckles, “maybe. But one of my first cases on the X files ruined them for me.”

“Seems like those files fucked you both over,” he replies.

“Someone had to do our job.” She sits down next to him and wraps her sweater tighter round her frame. “It took a lot from Mulder and I, but it brought us together. And when the ash settled, we gained two miracles.”

Watching Alice clumsily reach for glow worms, Dana wraps her arm around his shoulders. He lets her. Alice’s fireflies scatter and spiral into the stars.

[webcricket]

An Angel’s Elegy

Characters: CastielXReader ft. Sam and Dean Winchester

Word Count: 3216 (Act II)

A/N: Act II of a five-act series charting Castiel’s grief after losing the reader in childbirth. Despite her death, the reader remains an integral part of the story.

Summary: An anguishing journey about the intertwining of love and loss - adrift in a sea of grief and self-blame after losing his love, Castiel abandons hope. Leaving his newborn Nephilim daughter to the care of the Winchesters, he seeks absolution for your death at any cost. Will he ever find his way home?

Beta’d by: The Queen of Angst @willowing-love who has my everlasting gratitude for helping hone these words [and, I’m sure, a bottle or two of my tears stored on a shelf somewhere for her own personal amusement].

Miss an Act? Here’s the Masterlist:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/181477590760/an-angels-elegy-masterlist

Act II

“Hey kiddo.” Dean pinches and massages the exposed skin of your sweat-slick neck where you sit, groaning and hunched, over a mug of tea at the bunker’s kitchen table. The piquant scent of ginger steeping in the liquid smacks his senses from where he stands and he surmises exactly where and how you spent your morning. “You still worshipping the porcelain goddess? Cause if you are, we gotta find you a new religion real fast.”

“It’s nothing,” you mumble into your sleeve. Breath reflectively reeking to fill your nostrils, stomach acid tickling your throat, you do your best to ride out a renewed wave of nausea.

“Nothing?” he asks.

“Mm-hmm,” you affirm.

Swinging a bowed leg over the seat, he settles onto the stool beside you. Perching an elbow on the tabletop, he props his chin up to objectively survey your miserable form. After the briefest of internal deliberations regarding the appropriateness of broaching the delicate topic, he dispels any qualms on the subject of the conceivably ‘no vacancy’ status of your womb and speaks, “Not to be blunt, but it’s been almost two weeks. Have you considered the notion that this may have nothing to do with the blue plate surf ‘n turf special you ate at Vinnie’s Diner? I mean, even bad shrimp isn’t this bad.”

You have considered the notion. At length. And you’ve settled firmly on denial as a plan of action – not that this strategy is necessarily working, but Castiel isn’t due back until tonight and you can’t begin to think about the scope of this properly without him. “No,” you lie. At least you’re sticking to your plan.

“Y/N-”

“It’s not possible.” You’re a hunter. He’s an angel. Both of you societal outliers in tenuous orbit around every impending apocalypse and new and improved big bad. It wouldn’t be right; no matter how wonderful the thought, or how many times you’ve dreamt of creating a family, it wouldn’t be right bringing a life into this messed up world where the path, moment to moment, is so uncertain – where everything could all come crashing down around you in the span of a single heartbeat.

“Oh honey, if the sounds Sammy and I are subjected to from behind closed doors when Castiel is around are any indication, I’d say it’s not only entirely possible but also very probable.” He smirks, trying to lighten the mood. “I told the guy his angel blade doesn’t count as protection. The way you two go at it like rabbits. I’m surprised this didn’t come up sooner.” His diversional tactic doesn’t work except to demolish your hormonally fragile defenses.

You feel a prick of tears stinging your eyes. “Dean, I-,” your voice cracks, “I’m scared.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulders and draws you flush to his chest. Rubbing tactile reassurances into your back as you sob against him, he murmurs into your hair, “I know. I know, sweetheart. I got you though, you hear? And that stubborn pain in the ass angel? He loves you more than anything. We’re in this together. No matter what, okay?”

“Yeah?” you sniffle into his flannel shirt and peer up into his sincere greens.

“Yeah.”

“Thank you, Dean.” You peck a kiss to his cheek and exhale a relieved sigh.

Nose flaring when your morning sick breath fans his face, he grimaces. “Ugh, you smell worse than Sam does after a run!” He continues to grip you tight in spite of any repulsion for your stinky state, contemplatively musing, “Like a ginger tea porta potty.” Reaching up to collect the wetness on your cheeks with a thumb, he grins wide when you smile. “There’s my girl.”

Clutching his hand and pressing your face into his palm, you manage a hoarse giggle.

“Duma, you must allow me passage.”

The shrill laughter of Castiel’s kin rings out into the air, piercing the nighttime quietude of the playground. “Castiel,” his fellow angel sneers, “it appears you’ve developed quite the sense of humor squandering your divine purpose amongst humanity all these years.”

“I see no humor in my request.” His mouth tenses in an anxious line, tongue worrying the pale pink shell of his lower lip. He bows his head in a demonstration of contrition. Heaven’s doorstep is the last place he wants to be, and at the same time, the very place his fractured heart compels him to be.

“Really?” His sister’s unrestrained delight gleams in the grin of her vessel – lips peeled taut over her teeth in righteous ridicule. “Because it sounded to me like you just demanded safe passage into Heaven.”

“I did.” He lifts his chin and squares his shoulders, muscles stiffening in response to her disdain. Flexing his fingers into fists, he feels the bolstering weight of the angel blade tucked up his coat sleeve; a reflexive defiance narrows his gaze.

One angel will not block his path. He might bend her will; if not with persuasion, then by force. But she is not alone; two more angels maintain a wary distance when they step out from the shadows behind him.

Appearance dour, Duma’s eyes spark dangerous and dark in the dim glow of lamplight illuminating the park. “The same Heaven you decimated not so long ago?” she bristles, emboldened by the presence of her brethren. “The one you selfishly betray to serve those mortal stains, the Winchesters?”

“Yes, sister,” he growls, knowing he will gain nothing by denying the truth of the past, “the same Heaven.” The same Heaven your soul inhabits. The same Heaven he must visit at any cost. He stands before his kin in ruin, fatalistic in his desire to look upon your soul once more. Already defeated, he has nothing more to lose.

“Oh, but brother,” she tisks, intake of breath a prolonged hiss. Revolving her back to him, flouting her superior authority given the circumstance, she muses, “It isn’t the same Heaven you remember at all.”

“Duma, please.” He pitches forward, halted by a firm grip seizing his shoulder and the heel of a boot simultaneously striking his calf and bending him to one knee. White hot celestial metal threatens to split the prickly flesh of his neck if he struggles.

She glares sideways, arms crossed, coolly regarding him, judging, “You’re no angel, Castiel. Not anymore. Some of us question whether you ever were at all. There’s nothing for you in Heaven.”

But there is someone. Your name resounds in the thunderous broken beat of his heart; he feels it pulse the length of his limbs, choking his gullet as it climbs to throb at his temples and wetly pool in his eyes. He clamps his jaw to preclude himself from crying it out; the iron tang of blood coats his bitten tongue.

An astute angel, she reads his reticent reaction as a confession to the contrary and reconsiders her assertion, “Or perhaps there is?”

Gulping guilt, unshaven skin scraping on the celestially forged lethal edge of the weapon held to his throat, his eyes cast downward, instinctive in their avoidance of the painful truth.

She skulks toward him. Threading her fingers into his hair, grabbing a fistful of loose curls by the roots, she yanks his head backward, forcing him to meet her penetrating gaze. “Maybe you seek the soul of that woman? The hunter. The one you are so fond of.”  

His vessel strains against the torrent of grief erupting from within at her mention of you; a reflection of firelight simmers in his irises as the vision of your lifeless body consumed by flame blazes in his mind. The raw emotion of anguish rises unbidden and uncontainable to shudder his vessel.

Holding him fast, shrewdly perceptive of his surfacing pain and vulnerability, she stokes the smoldering remnants of the seraph’s heart. “I heard the rumors. I didn’t believe them. Not until now.” Inclining so near that the heat of her breath laps at his skin as she speaks, the question glides innocent yet incisive off her tongue. “Tell me, Castiel. What happened to her?”

A flicker of anguish contorts his fascia. I happened! his mind screams out. His jaw quivers mutely. A muffled mournful mewling abrades his ears. The pungent odor of smoke and ash swirls to suffocate all else. Devastated by the rush of remembrance, the answer weakens his stoic resolve. He staggers under the weight, braced upright by the angel at his back.

Duma scrapes her nails into his scalp to compel an answer.

“I-I failed her,” he admits, telling her what she wants to hear and what he knows by the agony afflicting his heart to be true. Sadness dampens the dusky circles marring his melancholy countenance.

She snarls, “In the end you fail us all. It’s what you do.” Shoving him roughly, deeming him nonthreatening in his present state, she snaps her head, gesturing for her comrades to release him and make for the gate.

Backing off, giving him a wide berth as he fights to stand and stay balanced, the two angels circle around to the Enochian spell-etched sandbox and vanish in a spectacle of swirling purple light.

Trembling, Cas reaches out to catch Duma’s wrist as she turns to join them. “Allow me to speak to her one last time; then do what you will to me as penance for my transgressions. Imprison me, destroy me, I will atone for the wrongs I have reigned upon her and Heaven.”

A sadistic smirk twists her mouth. “Beg,” she simpers.

Expression grey and hollow, any vestiges of pride that remain disintegrating in the submission of the act, he collapses to his knees. Hands sinking into the gritty earth for support, as though he needs the handhold to keep from falling further than he already has from grace, he rocks backward. Sat suppliant on his heels, he turns up his sullied palms in surrender and peers up at her, tone somnolent. “Have mercy, sister,” he beseeches. “I’m begging you.”

Harshness softening, she extends a light touch to smooth his disheveled locks. “Look at you, Castiel. How far you’ve fallen. How fouled by humanity. How exhausted you must be by this relentless battle to yield yourself over to Heaven’s mercy.”

Eyes shimmering and wet, he feebly nods. “Please, please take me with you. Take me…home.” To her, he swallows the rest of the words that rise up, take me home, to her.

Lowering her slender frame to peer into his pallid features, a tender empathetic smile affects Duma’s face as she strokes his cheek with her fingertips. “You’ve suffered much, haven’t you, dear brother? An angel is not made to know this pain of love and loss.”

“I feel-” he professes, hesitating. “I-I feel. Father forgive me.”

“Yes, perhaps,” she relents, cupping his cheek, thumb smearing the brine of tears salting his skin. “Perhaps compassion is the correct course. Perhaps it is what Father would do.”

A shaky sigh of relief shivers his frame. Eyelids fluttering shut, your smiling mien manifests before him and can almost hear the laughter lighting up your eyes. It’s the summer day in the small park near the bunker you first said those three little words to him. The day he learned what the longing in his own heart meant. The day that forever altered the course of your lives. You materialize so near in his mind he might reach out to straighten the crooked halo of daisies ringing your wind-blown hair. Imagining you thus, he relaxes into Duma’s calming caress.

But her gentleness is false and fleeting, meant only to further wound him. “Perhaps not,” she spits, shattering his dream. Clawing at his jaw, streaks of crimson well in the wake of her nails. “This-”

Gaping in horror, the bleakness of the vacant park filling his vision, he recoils and topples backward onto the ground.

“This is your punishment!” She kicks the dirt and motions broadly around them. “To exist in exile here. Haunted by your failures. The love you feel for this woman, the pain too – it is forbidden. You break our most sacred oath, and for this indiscretion alone you deserve death. Be grateful I stay my hand, brother.” Sauntering backward into the whirling gate, she sentences him as it engulfs her, “There is your mercy, Castiel.”

Rolling to one side, he shields himself from the whoosh of leaf litter and sand smattering his fallen form as the gate seals behind her and any traces of the sigil granting access to Heaven are eradicated in her wake. Silence veils the park. Flattening his back to the ground, blues hazily filter beyond the vast black atmosphere of night. Trained toward the heaven denied him, he blinks numbly, the sting of sand and tears naught compared to the great void aching in his heart.

“I’m pregnant.”

An emotion verging on panic churns in the angel’s aspect. Color draining from his cheeks, his gaze falls from your nervous but elated smile to where your palm rests over your belly. It’s then he allows the foreboding niggling at his angelic senses this past month that something about you seemed different the acknowledgement it’s been wanting all along. “No,” he states, as if denying the life he kindled inside of you – the life consuming you – would somehow change the truth of it. No, he thinks, even as the rapid beating of your daughter’s heart assails his ears. No.

“It’s true.” Your smile falters at his disquiet reaction. You exhibit a handful of positive pregnancy tests as proof. “Dean picked them up for me today. He had a hunch. You know Dean and his hunches, right? I wanted to wait until you came home, but-,” you ramble, filling the uncomfortable vacuum between you with whatever words sprout upon your tongue, “-I suppose patience isn’t one of my virtues, is it? I’ve had morning sickness since just after you left to meet up with Jack.” In nervy compulsion, your fingertips dance across his chest and fret at the buttons of his shirt. “Cas?”

Inside, he’s crumbling. The creation of a Nephilim requires inconceivable power. Power on par with the likes of the devil and the archangels or God himself; a power Castiel did not believe he possessed as a simple seraph. He did not understand the enormous power contained in the sentiment of love – nor did he comprehend the pure and untapped potential of this love when wielded by an angel flawed by too much heart. He was careless at the cost of your life. He outstretches an unsteady hand to touch your stomach.

You catch him halfway, squeezing your fingers over his own and lifting the hem of your shirt to flatten his broad palm into the softness of your flesh.

Eyelids drooping, all he can see is the replayed memory of his tentative hand resting on Kelly’s bulging belly. Though not his progeny, Jack spoke to him then. Gave him reassurances. Settled his trepidation. Forged an unbreakable bond. Yet this child within you, his child, is silent.

For all their connection and her power, she is unable to traverse the expanding emptiness shrouding her father’s heart at the thought of losing you. She cannot reassure him this is a beginning, not an end. She cannot show him the radiant gladness and love shining upon her from within your soul. She wills you to speak for her, to give him the comfort she cannot.

Your lips part, voice quavering, “Cas, everything…everything’s going to be okay.”

Lashes heavy, his focus resolves on your anxiously searching eyes. In them he sees bravery; Kelly’s bravery, too, shone much like yours. And now she’s gone, because for all his power, love, and goodness, Jack could not save his mother from her death upon bringing him into this world and neither could the angel. It will be no different for you.

“Angel, say something. Please.”

“It’s a girl,” he says, deflecting his unquelled surge of terror with a statement meant to distract you.

“A girl!” you squeal. Joy crinkling at your nose and eyes, you leap to throw your arms around him. “Oh, my angel-”

He burrows his chin into the delicate skin of your neck. Yes, your angel. Always. As you are his; but no matter how close he holds you now, he feels you slipping away.

Gazing out the dingy windshield toward the playground and Heaven’s bolted entrance, Castiel ignores the insistent rhythmic buzz of the cell phone vibrating on the passenger seat cushion of his truck. The sky above brightens in the violet-orange hue characteristic of the dawn. He scarcely perceives this day’s light; his mind is anchored in another sunrise – your final one.

He can feel the interlocking of your fingers through his own, filling the gaps, giving him something to hold on to. He remembers the weight of your sleep-mussed head lolling to his shoulder, the warmth of your burgeoning belly and body nestled to his torso as you huddle on the roof of the bunker on a whim awaiting daybreak. He doesn’t know yet it will be your last day together.

“You ever wonder what a sunrise is, angel?”

He shakes his head as he did then, a compact smile shaping his mouth. It’s not because he hasn’t thought about it or that he dismisses the notion as trivial; rather, he delights in hearing your meditations on such topics.

“I think it’s a promise fulfilled. A beginning born from darkness. The light is hope.”

Of the opinion the bulk of his Father’s creations are rarely so complex, the angel wordlessly reasons maybe the cycle represents nothing, it being merely the revolution of a planet around a star. A star that one day will blister and die and consume the life it once nurtured. A means only to an inevitable end. Considering the optimistic smile aglow on your face, he humors you, says nothing, and simply nods.

“No matter what happens, the sun always rises. Promise me you’ll remember that, angel.”

You don’t say the words when I’m gone; he hears them nonetheless.

“Castiel, please promise me…”

A jolt judders his vessel at the vividness of the recollection. His fingers contract around the thin air. He glances to the space beside him. Growling and grabbing at the nettling cell, three letters pop up on the screen – Sam. He isn’t sure why he keeps the device turned on anymore. Or for that matter, charged. Or why he even bothers to keep it at all aside from habit. He sends the call to voicemail where Sam will be unable to leave a message in a mailbox already teeming with Dean’s collected alternating raving rants and plaintive pleas for Cas to do the right thing.

The angel briefly ponders stuffing the phone out of sight in the glovebox. Leaning across the seat to unlatch the cover, he decides instead to toss it out the open window. He no longer knows what the right thing to do is and doesn’t need to be reminded of this fact – he lost sight of this and everything else when he lost you. The only thing, right or wrong, he can concentrate on is the objective of seeing you again. If Heaven won’t help him he’ll need a back door and, cranking the key in the ignition, he knows precisely where to go knocking.

Continue reading Act III:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/173598542435/an-angels-elegy