#like honestly seeing the straws pulled on my dashboard is like...really?

[luvevee]

Idk maybe it's fine to accept Sada and Turo are just really shitty parents who neglected and abandoned Arven instead of pulling the shortest straws in an attempt to make them seem like they were just sad workaholics who got too caught up in their work like a bad hallmark movie

[boimgfrog]

hey @pantoranprincess​ i uh. i wrote it <3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139768

full fic under the cut

The two men were seated at a table, enjoying lunch despite the… cozy size of Luke’s office. Conversation flowed easily, albeit mostly one-sided.

               “anyways, that’s when I saw Obi-Wan, my first master-” Luke paused, noticing Din’s helmet tilt slightly at the name, “you do know who Obi-Wan was, right?”

               Din froze, not expecting the Jedi to pick up on his confusion, “the name sounds familiar… Bo-Katan mentioned him once,” he took a sip from his straw, “said he was a sister-seducing- man-whore? Was he some kind of escort?”

               He waited as his words washed over Luke. The jedi blinked twice, a smile flickering past his lips.

               “yes,” Luke nodded, “he was, excellent job,” he spooned more soup into his own bowl, hiding his smile behind its large spoon.

               “and he was your master?” Din asked, tilting his head forward.

               “mhmm,” Luke set the spoon back into the bowl, matching din’s gaze through his lashes, “taught me everything he knew,”

               Din coughed, turning his attention back towards his lunch. he sipped at it, ignoring the blush that crept under his helmet.

The jedi huffed, eyes twinkling. Something told Din that maybe, just maybe, he’d lied about the Obi-wan thing.

                                                          -><-

The back of Luke’s head hit the ground, pulling a wheeze from his body. Above him, Din stood poised, cradling a very fussy green toddler. He extended a hand toward the fallen jedi, but Luke waved him off, leaning up on his elbows.

“’s nothing, no offense but,” he gestured to Grogu, who had calmed down some, “he’s no Vader, I’ll be fine,” this time, he accepted Din’s hand, hardly dwelling on how easily he pulled him up.

“Vader?” Din asked, shifting the baby to his hip, and pocketing the darksaber he’d previously been using.

Luke looked up at the Mandalorian, tilting his head with a smile, “Darth Vader? The emperor’s right-hand man?”

Din’s helmet betrayed to hint of recognition. Unbelievable. No way, there’s no way he was this clueless.

“big cape, scary helmet? Red lightsaber?” Luke tried, wracking his brain.

“oh, you mean like the guy on those old recruitment posters?”

“those- the recruitment posters?”

Din nodded, “I’d see ‘em plastered up in bars and stuff, back before the empire fell,”

Recruitment posters. Din, one of the best bounty hunters Luke had ever met, king of Mandalore himself, had only heard of Darth Vader via recruitment posters. Luke felt his chest flutter. He nodded along with whatever Din said next, mind elsewhere. If he hadn’t heard of Darth Vader… what else had he managed to miss?

                                                         -><-

“Din!” Luke called from down the hallway, footsteps tripping as he ran inside Din’s ship, “Din! My sister’s here,” he said, knocking on the solid metal hull, “She wants to meet you!” his voice made it sound like an important event, though Din could hardly see why exchanging niceties with the sister of a backwater jedi warranted such flare.

“mm,” Din pulled back the door, peering down at Luke who was bouncing on his toes, “why?”

Luke ignored him, grabbing Din by his gloved hand, and dragging him towards his office, “this could be a big opportunity for you,” he rattled on, eyes shining beneath his mess of dust-streaked hair, “it’s good for you to make connections like this, given your newly-found title-”

“connections?” Din interrupted, “what do you mean?”

Luke spared a confused glance back at the Mandalorian, still steadily walking him towards his sister, “my sister? Leia Organa?”

Din offered up no response, but Luke was enamored by it nonetheless. He could understand not knowing much about galactic history, after all, he was under the impression that Din lead a particularly... sheltered childhood. But things that were happening now? The new republic?

“she was the princess of Alderaan? She helps lead the New Republic?”

“Alderaan...” Din paused, “that’s the one that blew up, right?”

“yes,” Luke dropped Din’s hand, unhooking the tarp that shielded his office from view, “yes, it’s the one that blew up,”

“mm,” Din hummed thoughtfully, “is she a jedi too?”

“sort of, I’ve been helping her train,” Luke said, checking his hair in the gleam of Din’s helmet.

“must’ve been why they blew up Alderaan then,” Din held still, “they were trying to kill her before she got too powerful,”

Luke’s hands stilled. He stared up into the Mandalorian’s visor, “huh,” he said, unable to stop his lips from twitching, “maybe so,” Luke turned around, brushing the tarp aside for Din to enter, hiding his smile behind the fabric.

                                                          -><-

It was almost cute, how little Din seemed to know about the galaxy he lived in. it didn’t really matter, of course. Most of it was just history lessons, nothing that would seriously impede him on a mission or in battle. And he wasn’t stupid by any means. He could speak more languages than Luke could count on his hands, flesh and robotic, and had flight skills that could rival even the most trained X-wing pilot. Still, it was hard not to feel fond when the Mandalorian only just now realized that Luke and Leia were twins.

“how was I supposed to know!”

“Din, starlight, our father would’ve been found out the second one of us was born, how exactly did you think he managed to swerve the jedi code to have another baby?”

“listen-” Din huffed, biting back his argument when he saw how ecstatic Luke was over this whole ordeal. Luke only nodded along expectantly, crossing one leg over the other. He was nothing if not encouraging.

“to be fair,” Din started, scowling at Luke’s twinkling smile, “she’s a princess, and you grew up on Tatooine,” he huffed, “and you never mentioned your dad was a jedi,” he added quickly, hoping Luke would miss it in his euphoria. No such luck.

“Din,” Luke stood up, reaching to cradle the Mandalorian’s helmet in his hands, “Anakin Skywalker? Did you think that was a coincidence?”

“it’s a big galaxy, there’s like half a billion ‘Djarin’s out there,” Din answered, but the bite had left his voice. It was hard to be frustrated when Luke was so close, all soft smiles and saying “Din” like it was a prayer.

Din leaned into the jedi’s touch. He’d blame it on the weight of his helmet later, and Luke would play along, teasingly offering to hold the helmet if it ever got too heavy. It was only ever teasing though. Luke never asked for more than Din was willing to give.

                                                         -><-

 They were pressed together, Din’s arm wrapped lazily around Luke’s waist, the jedi’s head leaning against his cold, armored shoulder. The beaches on Luke’s planet were nothing special, but the sunsets, oh the sunsets were spectacular. Grogu had been poking at Luke’s brain all day, playing memories of beach days on coruscant and building sandcastles with the crechemasters, until Luke finally caved and suited the baby up for a day in the water, inviting Din along.

Grogu had the time of his life, taking turns force-throwing sand at his dad and splashing his master until they joined in the fun. After a full day of entertaining the little gremlin, though, the two men had decided to impose Nap Time on the kiddo, sprawling out together on one of the many beach towels Luke had brought. (“you didn’t grow up on Tatooine, Din. Trust me, sand gets everywhere”)

The baby was fast asleep against Din’s armor, wrapped up so his head didn’t get bruised by the beskar.

“this was nice, huh?” Luke asked, shifting to look up at the Mandalorian. His eyes brushed over the thin stripe of exposed facial hair before he pulled his gaze away, embarrassed. Even the smallest of glimpses got his heart racing. Ridiculous, honestly.

“mhmm,” Din absentmindedly rubbed circles on Grogu’s back with his thumb, “could’ve done without all the sand in my armor, though,”

Luke laughed, “ugh I know,” he shifted again, pulling his arms from the poncho he was wearing, “I always get so much sand and dust in my hand, it’s the worst,”

Din tilted his helmet, “in your hand?”

“yeah,” Luke fiddled with his glove, pulling it off before tugging on one of his fingers, revealing the intricate system of wires, “you didn’t know?”

Din knew he was staring, and he knew that wasn’t polite but he just- “you’re… part droid?”

Luke laughed at that, a full, hearty laugh, one that had him gasping for air and rolling on his back. Din reached for his hand, holding it up so that it didn’t hit the sand as Luke fell back.

“yes,” Luke said, catching his breath, “I suppose that’s one way to put it,” he flicked his finger again, closing the wiring hatch. Din hadn’t removed his hand, so Luke twisted their fingers together, “you really didn’t know?”

“how was I supposed to?”

“the lifting things six times my weight didn’t tip you off?”

Din sputtered, “you’re a jedi??? You lift things six times your weight all the time???”

That got Luke laughing again, eyes twinkling in the setting sun. He was teasing Din, yes, but he was also so, so deeply fond of him. This, Luke asking questions, Din answering truthfully even though it made him look silly, this was everything to Luke. Luke trusted the Mandalorian, of course he did, and this made Luke feel like Din trusted him as well. just the thought alone was enough to make the Jedi smile wider, letting his head fall against the Mandalorian’s shoulder once more.

                                                           -><-

Luke paced around Din’s ship. It was bigger than his last one, and somehow even harder to navigate.

“Din, where’s your holoprojector?” Luke had promised to tell Leia when they were getting close, and they’d be closing in on Coruscant within the hour.

“don’t have one,” came the response from the dashboard, stopping Luke in his tracks.

“don’t- do you at least have a data pad?” no holoprojector? Maybe Din was poorer than Luke thought.

“yeah,” Din shuffled around for a moment, before handing Luke a beat-up data pad that was at least a century old.

“Din this thing is ancient,” he said, frowning at the actual layer of crust on the screen, “does it even have holonet?”

“nope,”

“wh-“ Luke was dumbfounded, “how do you get your news? What if something big happens??”

“if I need to know it, someone will tell me,” Din said as if it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy, but the thought left Luke reeling.

“Din, starlight, you didn’t know who Darth Vader was,”

“I did so-”

“yeah, from recruitment posters-”

“it still counts-”

“no it doesn’t-”

They fought like that for a moment, back and forth, until it dawned on Luke.

“holy stars,” he said, cutting Din’s rant short, “Din, is this why you didn’t know about Obi-Wan? And Anakin being my father? And Leia and the new republic?” Luke sat down in the co-pilot’s seat, scooping up Grogu and setting him in his lap.

Din grumbled, turning his attention back to hyperspace, “it wasn’t important,”

“starlight it was Darth Vader-”

The two started arguing again, bickering in that old married couple kind of way. Luke couldn’t help but smile at the situation. All this time, all these silly little accidents and conversations, all because the Mandalorian hadn’t bothered to install a holoprojector in his ship. It was amazing, really.

“I don’t see what the big deal is, you don’t know anything about Mandalorian culture,”

“Din no one knows anything about Mandalorian culture,”

Din slumped in his seat, hands gripping loosely at the steering controls. Luke leaned forward, bumping the Mandalorian’s with his head until Din faced him, pressing their foreheads together softly.

“hey,” Luke said in hushed tones, “for the record, I thought it was kinda hot,”

Din let out a breathy laugh, pulling back slightly to look in the jedi’s eyes.

“that says more about you than it does me, Skywalker,”

Luke matched his laugh, Din joining in before resting his forehead against Luke’s again. They were gonna get an earful from Leia when they landed without a party to welcome them, but for now they would simply rest, all shiny armor and gentle curls, bathed in the glow of hyperspace.

[apiratewhopines]

This one is a gift for @teamhook because she is one of the most generous people I’ve ever met.

Thanks to @jrob64 for giving me advice on artwork and to ultraluckycatnd for reading over this chapter

Midnight

Chapter 1 — The Prince

Summary: In which our heroine meets cute

Chapter 1 of 7 on AO3

“But don’t forget folks,

That’s what you get folks

For makin’ whoopee”

-Makin’ Whoopee, Eddie Cantor

Emma Swan had been in some tight spots, but she’d never been in a run out of gas on a deserted highway with a dying cell phone battery and a stomach as empty as her bank account kind of situation before. In truth, she blamed this unfortunate situation on the same person she blamed all the misfortunes of her adulthood. Neal Cassidy.

There was a time a few short months ago she would have done anything for the man responsible for her current circumstances. Neal had been too good to be true. A real Prince Charming, down to the supposed trust fund and a smile that made her believe in happy endings.

She’d been a sucker. She heard one was born every minute, she just never thought her time would come. After all, one of the few things she learned in the foster system was how to spot bullshit from a mile away. But he looked at her with his soulful eyes and whispered promises in his smoky voice and she fell for it. More than once, actually, and all she had to show for the wasted years was a voicemail box full of collection calls and a wolf at the door.

Because Neal Cassidy didn’t just leave her. He stole her identity, maxed out her credit cards, and took out half a dozen loans in her name. Then he proceeded to use the money to wine and dine a wide assortment of women, the sheer number of which would make Casanova blush. All the while professing his undying love and spending his days eating all her food and watching television from his favorite seat on the couch.

Seriously, you could still see the faint outline of his backside on the cushion.

As countless victims of his schemes started showing up at her door looking for the man who made them feel alive while killing them one dollar at a time, she listened to tears and rants and misery with ill-disguised impatience. How had she become the counselor to the trail of broken girls he left in his wake? When was it going to be her turn to moan and groan and swear she’d never love again?

Well, she did get around to the swearing to never love again part. Some mistakes don’t bear repeating.

The final straw happened two months ago. Neal had disappeared after their final fight. His righteous indignation at being called on his crap and inability to find a plausible excuse for the stack of overdue bills and statements she found stuffed in the back of his gym bag made it difficult to share the same space. She wanted him gone even as her hands itched to touch him one more time.

Unfortunately, leaving her drowning in debt with the knowledge he cheated on her for the majority of their relationship wasn’t enough for him. He decided to do some collateral damage on his way out of town.

He did the unforgivable. He went after Granny.

His target was meant to wound her. While he lied and schemed the entire time they were together, she had been an open book for the first time in her life so he knew Granny was the sole connection she formed as a foster. Her brief stay with the woman before she aged out of the system was a time of peace and healing. Granny was responsible for helping her get on her feet and the two maintained a friendship years later.

Emma received the frantic call from Ruby explaining her grandmother had been tricked into giving Neal a blank check so he could do her grocery run. Hours later, she received a notification from her bank saying her checking account had been wiped out. At that point, the tenuous control Emma had on her emotions disappeared. She sat on the kitchen floor of the apartment she was about to lose, staring at empty walls that still echoed with his laughter in her weaker moments, and she broke into a million pieces.

So it was no wonder she vowed to have her vengeance. To do anything and everything to make him pay. Luckily, since he skipped out on a court date, catching him would also get her paid.

Tracking him had taken more time than she liked to admit. She was good; even penniless and running out of options, she recognized her worth and knew she possessed hard to find skill sets. But she had a sinking sensation that he might be better.

Now she was stranded on the side of the road with nothing except her most uncomfortable shoes to keep her company. But damn did they make her legs look good and with everything else in her life collapsing around her, somehow that seemed important.

Squaring her shoulders, she climbed out of the car and pondered her next course of action. She was unfamiliar with the state road connecting the two small towns on the Maine coast, so she had no idea what the odds were that a good samaritan would happen along. She had just enough juice in her battery and lettuce in her account to call for an Uber to take her to the seedy nightclub where Neal was last seen. Or she could walk the rest of the way in her mile-high heels knowing she never looked better, even though she would probably not be able to move the next day without a significant amount of pain.

What she would do if she found him or where she would stay if she didn’t weren’t questions she was ready to entertain.

Sighing, she pulled out her phone and with a huff of frustration opened her app. Pleading with whatever powers that be to let her last long enough to see herself through to the other side of this, she leaned against her beaten down yellow Bug and waited for the black sedan to show.

Of course, her phone died immediately after she booked her ride, finally giving up the ghost even though she didn’t get a chance to see the name or license plate of her hired car. Getting more anxious by the minute, she paced along the shoulder, careful to keep on the pavement since the ground was soft from recent rain. After what seemed like forever, but had probably not been more than half an hour, the headlights of a lone car crested a nearby hill.

“About time,” she muttered. To make sure the driver knew she was not pleased with the delay or the prodding pace he maintained despite the fact the sky seemed ready to open at any moment, she moved out into the middle of the lane and placed her hand on her hips. Pride kept her from squinting even though the bright high beams made her eyes water as the car approached.

Slowing from a crawl to a stop, the driver put the car in park and jumped out. It was dark and the man was dressed all in black, but as he moved around to the front of the car, she got the impression of blue eyes and a stubble-covered jaw that could probably cut glass. Great, just what she needed. A sexy Uber driver.

“Alright there, love?”

With a British accent. He probably smelled like bacon, too.

“What took you so long? I’ve been waiting all night.”

Moving closer, he smiled with a hint of confusion. “Had I known you were waiting for me, I would have been along sooner. Tell me, do you always accost strange men in the dead of night on empty roads?”

“Only when I’m paying them to take me where I need to go,” she grumbled, walking toward the back door on the passenger side. She pulled it open as he protested, and glared at him over the top of the car.

“Love, I think there may be a bit of a mix-up—“

“It’s fine. I won’t give you a bad rating for being late as long as you don’t talk to me. I’ve been driving for hours to get here and I need to think.”

She heard him sigh and saw the flash of his teeth as he smiled at her again. “Very well. Would you like me to get your bags?”

“You’d have to go to a pawn shop in Boston to accomplish that,” she joked, dropping into the leather seat and noticing for the first time the expensive luxury of her rented carriage. She supposed if she was going to spend her last dime on a ride, she could have done far worse.

She resisted the urge to use the low ambient lighting of the dashboard to get a better look at her temporary chauffeur. The glimpse she got outside was more than enough to know she needed to keep her distance. It didn’t stop her from feeling the weight of his stare as he peeked over his shoulder while clicking on his seatbelt. Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw his tongue flicker slowly over his bottom lip before he turned his attention back to the road.

“Nice dress. Where are we heading this fine night, Miss…?”

“You’re really terrible at this. Is it your first time being a driver for hire?”

“What gave it away, love? It’s quite an unexpected development that came about just this evening. But you know what they say, you never forget your first.”

It was everything she could do not to laugh. She had a feeling it would only encourage him and if she was heading into battle, she needed her wits about her. “The Snakehole Lounge.”

“At the risk of sounding cliche, why would a nice girl like you want to go to a place like that?”

“I’m not a nice girl,” Emma informed him without a hint of irony or bravado. “And your rating is going down with each syllable out of your mouth.”

“Tough lass,” he murmured. “But do yourself a favor. Stay away from the Snake Juice.”

Little did he know that even if she wanted to have a drink, and boy did she ever, she used the last of her meager funds to get to this backwater place and she wasn’t sure where her next meal would come from. “I’ll do my best.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence. She spent the time looking out the window at the trees flying by and trying to ignore how every time she looked away, her eyes caught his in the rearview mirror.

Honestly, it was probably a good thing they were the only people for miles around or he would have gotten them both killed.

Less than fifteen minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of a shabby nightclub. Even the multitude of neon lights flashing “Girls! Girls! Girls!” and “Half-Price Beer Buckets” did little to enliven the dingy exterior. They didn’t bother with a bouncer, probably because no one actually wanted to get in.

Before she could say anything, her driver was out of the car and rounding his way to her door. She didn’t have a chance to object as he opened it and looked at her with avid curiosity. She had to admit she was impressed he didn’t give into it and ask any questions.

“Since we’re out of the car, am I allowed to speak again?”

Perhaps she had been too hasty in her internal praise. “Thanks for the ride. I hope your next passengers are more chatty since that’s what you’re into...overall, a solid three stars.”

“Three stars? I’d be surprised, but I had a feeling you were warming up to me between the baleful stares and eye-rolling.”

Gifting him with another of the said eye rolls, she adjusted the hem of her skirt to show a little more leg and walked away. She knew if she stayed a second longer she would give in to the almost magnetic pull of him and say something foolish like, ‘What’s your name?’

—

The inside of the establishment was every bit as horrible as the outside. The low lighting obscured the grime and wear that would be glaringly obvious otherwise. She wasn’t surprised. It seemed like the kind of place Neal would gravitate to since he was a dirty little rat.

Music heavy with bass pumped out a rhythm entirely too fast for the energy of the place. The few patrons who persevered this far into the night looked anemic as tired dancers did their best to act like they wanted to be there. Pulling her ID from the scrap of a bra she wore under her dress, she flashed it at the lone employee who manned the entrance and the bar. He gave it a cursory glance and turned back to his phone.

Snapping her fingers under his nose to get his attention, she pulled out a grainy photo of her quarry from the same location and asked, “Have you seen this man recently?”

“I’ve never seen anyone. Ever.” The man grumbled, not interested in the slightest. She wondered if he would stop her if she walked behind the counter and helped herself to a drink. She was leaning toward no and tempted to try.

“Tell you what buddy, take a good look at this picture. Then look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t seen him and we’ll end the night without any trouble.”

Something in her tone must have penetrated his disillusionment and he gazed at her with more interest than he’d probably shown anything in years. She waited as he glanced at the photo for a few seconds. “No, sorry. If he’s been here, it wasn’t during any of my shifts. Is he your husband or something?”

“He’s something alright,” she muttered. Defeated, she turned around without another word. She used the last of her resources to fund a wild goose chase, but at least it got her into town. Only thing left to do was find a park or quiet bench somewhere safe to sleep for a few hours and then she would tackle whatever came next. It wouldn’t be the first time she roughed it, although she had never attempted it in formal wear before.

Pushing the door open with unnecessary force, she immediately froze. Her three star driver was waiting at the curb as if it wasn’t the middle of the night and she hadn’t given him the brush off.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

“Yes, especially since I’m pretty sure our business is done,” she replied, walking past him and wishing the man could be a tiny bit less handsome. Now that the streetlights of the small town were there to illuminate their interactions, she couldn’t deny he was ridiculously attractive and exactly her type, complete with a black leather jacket and messy hair begging to be pulled. And, heaven help her, he was determined to extend their acquaintance apparently.

“It’s just good sense, love. I figured you’d be in need of transportation again, so why waste the gas to leave when I’d have to turn around after you called for your next ride.” He matched his stride to hers as she did her best to increase her pace.

Sighing, she stopped at the corner and looked at him. “Listen, I could tell you my phone is dead and I need to make a few more stops, that I’d pay you when you drop me off at my place at the end of the night, but it would be a lie. I’m chasing down a bounty. I need the money to pay for a ride and I need a ride to make the money. A smart man like you can see the problem. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

She turned away again but felt him leap into action behind her. He moved to cut off her escape and said, “Double or nothing.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Double or nothing, sweetheart. I take you to wherever you need to go tonight and when you collect your fee, you pay me double whatever the normal fare is for jaunts like these.”

“What if I don’t find him?”

“That’s where the nothing comes in, lass. A smart woman like you can see the benefit of such an arrangement.”

She studied him, hoping to find some ulterior motive in his seemingly selfless offer, but all she saw in his expression was an earnestness bordering on being painful and a thirst for adventure barely contained. Perhaps this was how he got his kicks in an isolated town. He propositioned strangers and gambled on fate. “No strings? No funny business?”

“This whole business is funny, but I’ll behave myself if you will. We’ll have much less satisfaction that way, but I’ll do my best to rally my spirits and overcome my disappointment.”

With a rueful shake of her head, she stuck out her hand and introduced herself. “I guess we’re doing this. I’m Emma Swan.”

“Killian Jones, driver extraordinaire and captain of this fine vessel, at your service. Where’s our next stop?”

“I need to go to every seedy bar and filthy dive in the area so you tell me, Captain.”

—

She wasn’t sure what it said about her newfound companion that he was able to rattle off several places in a matter of seconds, but as the night stretched on and the miles racked up, she found she rather liked her tour guide. Which was probably a good thing since at this rate, she would be splitting the bounty fifty-fifty with him. Who knew the twin cities of Storybrooke and Misthaven had so many sleazy places to hang out?

“I’m afraid we’ve reached the end of the line, Swan. Are you sure he’s in the area, because every traveler worth his salt makes a point to stop by Moe’s Tavern while visiting our fair city.”

“I can see why. The thrift-store ambience is delightful and the watered down drinks are to die for,” she murmured as she rested against the side of his car. She was tired and weak from hunger and as much as she wanted to curl up in the back seat and sleep, she was scared she’d get used to the comfort he was offering and do something she might regret later.

She was trying to figure out how to cut and run without seeming ungrateful when her stomach growled loudly.

In a playful tone belaying the concern in his eyes, he asked, “Was that your stomach? Bloody hell, am I in danger? Are you going to try to eat me to satisfy the beast within?”

Feeling a blush color her face, she avoided his gaze as she said, “Sorry, I...um, I skipped dinner.” And breakfast and lunch for that matter.

Taking up a position next to her, he nudged her with his shoulder. “Tell the truth, when was the last time you ate something, lass?”

“Hmm, what day is it again?”

“As I suspected. Come on, I know just the spot.” Pushing off from the car, he gently moved her and opened the door to the backseat.

She wanted to fight, to tell him she could take care of herself. She would have too, if she had any energy at all. Meeting his eyes for the first time, she joked, “You lost a gamble, Captain. That doesn’t mean you have to feed it.”

“I consider it an act of self-preservation. I figured you for a man-eater the first moment I laid eyes on you, but I’m afraid you might prove me right in unexpected ways if we don’t get some food in you soon.”

“As long as eyes are all you plan on laying on me, I accept your gracious offer,” she replied with a narrowed stare. Before Neal, she trusted her instincts. She would have insisted they were infallible, but he had shaken her confidence. She couldn’t risk being wrong about Killian Jones of the electric eyes and perpetual helpfulness.

“No strings. No funny business, Swan. Those are the rules. Get in, your chariot and dinner awaits.”

He stood a few feet from her, urging her into the car and she wasn’t sure what drove her to say it, but before she could change her mind, the words were out. “I’d rather ride in the front this time if that’s okay with you.”

His smile could have melted metal, tempted angels to fall, and inspired devils to repent. It was probably lack of rest and food causing her stomach to do flip flops. Or at least that was what she was going to tell herself.

“Your heart’s desire, Swan. I promise that’s all I want you to have…” He closed the back door with a firm finality that echoed through the night and somehow felt momentous in the thick air of summer. When he opened the passenger door, the light seemed warmer and it bathed him in softness and shadows. He waited patiently as if he knew something had shifted between them and he didn’t want any sudden movements to break the odd spell.

Then her stomach growled again, angry at the promise of food being delayed while she gawked at the man who was determined to rescue her in every imaginable way.

“And dinner, of course.”

“Of course,” she whispered, taking care not to make contact with his body as she slid into the seat. She was glad the door was already closed when she left out a huff of air. Good thing she had sworn off love or she may be in some danger.

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

[peterthepark]

okay SORRY but i love with all my heart your steve smut so pleaseeee do more !! one idea i had was that they go to a diner late at night, have a quiet date, and it escalates, possible in his car?? that may be a crappy idea but y'know i made an attempt

enjoy babes! 🖤 i may have uH went a little all out with this one but i hope you’ll like it

Like A Virgin

Steve Harrington x You

Warnings: smuttttt & fluff

The diner was quiet, despite the bright and loud neon signs that flickered obnoxiously outside. Silverware clinks against the ceramic plates as Steve scrapes up the rest of the food. He chews softly; his jaw clenching as he watches you sip on the straw of your milkshake. You let out a hum when your straw sucks onto the cherry that had sunk to the bottom of the tall cup. Steve can’t help but to grin devilishly when he sees the vibrant, red cherry disappear between your glossy lips with a pop. You flash him a shy smile, turning your head away from him as your stomach becomes full with sudden butterflies.

The jukebox in the corner of the diner hasn’t stopped playing Madonna ever since you both arrived, and honestly, Steve seems quite excited at how playful the music is making you seem.

“Can you tie a knot with the stem?” He asks, pointing at you. His elbows are propped up on the table, while his hands rest against his chin.

“Only good kissers can do it.” You respond, tongue poking against the side of your mouth. “Done.” You stick your tongue out at him. And surely enough, it’s in a knot. Steve exhales deeply, leaning back against the red booth as his gaze focuses on the knotted cherry stem.

“Well, well. Would you look at that.” He chuckles, biting his lip. He crosses his arms against his broad chest, eyeing you.

“So you admit it? That I’m a good kisser?” You lift your shoe from off the ground, placing it delicately between Steve’s spread legs. He smirks at the sight of the bright pink pumps, running his hand softly up your calf.

“A little proof won’t hurt.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively, lips slightly puckered as you shift to lean forwards on the table.

Now, Steve Harrington was a gentleman.

But with the way you were acting, he began to consider otherwise.

You and Steve were supposed to be at a summer pool party, but once you showed up to his front door, he knew he had to take you somewhere else. You’re wearing a mini dress, the kind with slits on the sides and a thick belt around your waist. The signature Barbie-colored dress matches your too-tall heels. Steve smacks his lips at how your curled hair tries to escape from its loose ponytail, messy strands framing your dolled-up face. The blue eyeshadow on your eyelids glimmer celestially under the yellow light as you dab at your lipstick, glancing up at Steve with a innocent smile.

“Let’s go home.” He says abruptly, before throwing a couple dollars onto the sticky table. Your face is a mixture of surprise and disappointment. He wanted to go home. Already?

“What? I was having so much fun.” You whine, following him out of the booth. He waits for you, holding his arm out for you to grab on. You’re tugging at the hem of your flamboyant dress, fearful that it was riding up your thighs too much. You’re pouting as Steve opens the door, placing a protective hand on your back as he takes you back to the car.

“Steve?” You call out to him after he chivalrously yanks open the passenger door for you. Getting in with a sigh, you roll your eyes at his sudden change in demeanor. He starts the car, cranking the music to a ridiculously loud volume.

But you’re taken by surprise when he reaches around you to lock the car and instantly, he has you pushed you up against the door. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing at your skin as he mashes his lips against yours. He moans into your mouth, attacking your neck with intensity and passion.

“Holy fuck, Y/N.” His hands are grabby, tugging roughly at the white belt that was wrapped tightly around your waist. He throws it onto the floor of the backseat blindly. “Do you have any idea how fucking good you look tonight?”

Steve shrugs his jacket off, bunching it up and carelessly tossing it onto the dashboard. You take the opportunity to climb into the back of the car, giggling as Steve whines for you to come back.

But nevertheless, he follows your movements. He parts your legs with his knee, grunting as you sit forward to tug his shirt over his head.

“Hold on.” He takes the shirt from you, laying it out on the leather seat. “Wanna make you as comfortable as possible, angel.”

You bite down on your manicured nail, blinking up at him with a lustful gaze. “Ooo, angel? That’s new.”

You push Steve against the backseat, straddling his lap. Your dress is lifted up to your ribs, and you grind expertly against him. Steve gasps when he reaches between your thighs, realizing that you weren’t wearing anything under that dress - for this whole time.

He groans as you drag your lips across his broad, bare chest; his skin is littered with stains from your lipstick, mixing themselves with the hickeys you were giving him. You pull at Steve’s hair, earning a wanton moan from the back of his throat.

Now, that was unexpected.

“Steve Harrington likes getting his hair pulled?” You chuckle. You lift his chin with your fingers so that he looks up at you, hands placed firmly on your ass. You shift in his lap, whispering dirtily against his ear. “Baby... you should’ve just told me.”

Steve is speechless, jaw ajar as he looks up at you in awe.

This was different. Normally, he’d be the one in charge during sex.

But this... this unlocked a new feeling in him. It was unfamiliar. It was uncharted territory. And he liked it.

“Talk to me, Stevie. What do you want?” You mumble against his skin, inching your way down his lap and onto the hard floor of the backseat. “You want me to suck your dick? Yeah?”

Steve nods, throwing his head back. Licking his lips, he shuts his eyes as you unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants, pulling them to his ankles - along with his boxers.

A loud, filthy moan escapes from his lips as you lick a stripe on the underside of his hard cock. All he can focus on is the sounds that your mouth is making; saliva builds up around your fists as you quickly bob your head up and down, pumping the rest of him with your smaller fists. Steve takes your hair, pushing you down softly onto him so that you gag. He chuckles, and a hum vibrates through his chest as you pull away with a dramatic pop.

Just like the cherry.

Steve meets your lips with his, tasting himself. It’s so dirty and filthy, but shit, does it feel good. You place yourself in his lap once more, a hand balancing on his shoulder before you reach behind you, taking him into your hand once more.

“You’re so fucking fine.” Steve takes the dress off of you, letting it collect onto the floor with his other clothes.

He groans into your bare breasts, boldly sucking onto them with his full lips. He’s blushing profusely: cheeks and neck red with your lipstick and his natural flush. Your hands brush through his hair, pulling at the small curls at the back of his head. His huge hands cover your back as you sink down onto him, moaning lustfully with a wide grin.

“God, Harrington. You make me feel so full.” You yelp as he snaps his hips into you, hitting your pubic bone as he tries to bury himself deeper inside you. “Holy... holy shit. Holy shit!”

The car creaks, swaying from side to side as Steve pounds into you. Your breasts are pressed up against his chest, bouncing slightly as Steve thrusted in and out of you. It was purely sinful in every way. His mouth is smeared with your glossy lipstick, smudged at the corners and painting his lips with a glistening texture. He’s moaning into you, cheek pressed up against the valley of your breasts as his hips buck up to match your pace.

His middle finger draws figure-eights on your clit, rubbing harshly as he tries to get you to cum. He’s so close, needy to get there.

“Fuck, Y/N. Yeah, just like that. Goddamn, pull my hair again.”

“Uhuh, yeah? Steve... fuck!” Your fingers pull and tug at his hair, and Steve is trying everything in his power not to cum right then and there. He rams into you at a faster speed, smiling as you place a hand on the roof of the car with parted lips.

“Oh, my... Steve! I’m there - I’m - I’m cumming!”

Steve doesn’t hold back this time. He feels you clench tightly around him, breaths heavy as your body convulses with aftershocks. Your hands trail up his shoulders, cupping his face. He’s cumming, too. It overwhelms him, grunting with a gruff voice as you bounce onto him for one last time.

Your eyes are hooded, and you inhale before you let yourself fall against Steve’s chest.

“That was - that was amazing. Holy fucking crap.” You smile blissfully, closing your eyes as you embrace him.

“And you’re - you really are a good kisser.” He chuckles nervously, moving his hands up and down your arms.

“Guess that cherry stem myth is - well, I guess it isn’t a myth anymore.”

“I’ve got the real deal right here.” Steve sucks a mark on the side of your breast, smirking proudly at the masterpiece he’s created.

“Now, let’s actually go home?” You laugh at him with a teasing look, yelping as he spanks your ass playfully.

“Whoever said there wasn’t room for a round two?”

[sheepsandcattle]

Chapter 20

A fortnight later, he sees him for the first time in six weeks.

For the first time sober, at least.

Thank God Jordan’s not the type to feel awkward, because Curly feels weird as fuck when he picks him up, but J has that going right out the window when he drops into the passenger seat and starts grumbling about some bloke that was meant to lend him his car.

“He thinks I’ve been hooking up with his girl,” he’s already saying as Curly pulls out of his street. “He knows I’m a queer – he’s always tweaking though, he ain’t right, I’m tellin’ ya.”

They go to a cafe for lunch where he gets pizza, Jordan gets a burger and they share chips in the centre of the table and it’s… Well, nice wouldn’t be the word for it. Jordan is oblivious, of course. Head bowed as he sucks his shake through the straw, his cap not quite shadowing him enough to cover the spray of freckles that last month’s sun must have brought. The lost time feels heavy. Curly’s enjoying being back in Jordan’s company and loves that they laugh and make fun like nothing ever happened, but it all feels a bit… Unsettled.

He’s always been stubborn like that though. Can’t take no for an answer; can’t take nothing for an answer.

Curly’s dad used to say he could always feel when an ‘if,’ ‘but,’ or ‘maybe’ is in the air – usually when Curly was trying to get his way and was looking for loopholes when his old man told him no. Now, as they cough at the end of each conversation, fill silences with chewing and slurping and stop-start words like they both keep changing their minds, there’s a definite ‘maybe’ in the air.

Maybe they can pretend it never went wrong.

Maybe they can just be mates, forget about all the other bits.

Maybe they’ll just pretend they never spoke in the first place, make it easier on their friends and themselves.

He’s almost there; nearly at the point where he’s feeling just content enough to let it all slide, but then Jordan’s foot nudges his and that’s what does it.

And to be fair they’ve been kicking each other since they sat down, with every playful dig they’ve made at each other, but this time is only gentle -an accident- and J’s face drops for barely a second. Curly’s just talking about those nose bleeds he gets and how he used to get them all the time, but now not so much; “just when I’m stressed or… Overdoing it,” he says as he catches J’s smile disappear for barely long enough to notice, before the pulls his leg away entirely, props his foot on the edge of his seat and hooks a tattooed hand over his knee to keep it secure at his chest.

He nearly says sorry -doesn’t know why- but then Jordan’s clearing his throat before he says, “well that explains it.”

It takes Curly a second before he clicks into what he’s on about. “I can’t believe it happened at the party,” he groans. “I can’t believe I don’t bloody remember it.”

“Bet your shirt remembers it.” The man snorts. “What do you remember?” It feels like a bit of a dig, but Curls knows better than to bite Jordan’s head off for the sake of saving his pride now. Jordan slides his milkshake across the table to Curly as he raises an accusing brow. “Anything at all?”

That phone call comes to mind; the morning-after call; Jordan saying “about what you said;” the call getting cut short before he could ask exactly what that meant.

“I remember calling some bloke a bigot for being up Morrissey’s arse.” He pauses to take a drink through the straw, humming as he rubs his head at the thought of his next recollection; “I remember fully nutting the bathroom wall.”

Jordan’s laugh is loud and comes from absolutely nowhere. It has one of the waitressed looking curiously in their direction and Curly hides behind his hands, shaking his head as he speaks.

“Put me out of my misery, J,” he wines. “What hell did I say to you?”

Jordan hesitates, retrieving the milkshake. “Well…” Curly reckons he’s just stalling. Was it that bad? He has a million scenarios running through his head; countless things he’d told himself were true about Jordan just to keep the guy out of his mind these past weeks. It would have been so easy for any one of them to slip out, whether he ever meant it or not. “Do you remember telling me you love me?”

He chokes on absolutely nothing.

“It’s fine,” Jordan is quick to say, a little amused by the looks of it, the tight git. “I wasn’t gonna say shit – I know you were out of it. I just… I mean, honestly, I wanted to see your face when I told you.”

“Evil little cunt,” he reaches across the table to knock the beak of Jordan’s cap.

“Besides,” J’s still giggling as he adjusts his hat. “You said it among… A lot of other things I’d like to think you also didn’t mean.”

“I’m so sorry,” he grumbles. Course he didn’t mean it; for once that’s not something he needs to convince himself of. He and Jordan had a mint few weeks together, but fucking hell, love wasn’t even a thought that crossed his mind. “Really, I am.”

“Don’t worry. I think that’s what you meant to say.”

“What else did I say?”

“Same as the last time we spoke. I shouldn’t speak to you anymore, I’m trying to control you…“

“That in’t true, it’s—“

“I know,” Jordan reassures him. His eyes are set, face blank, but Curly believes him.

“It’s just the shit I told myself to… I don’t know. Justify the way I was.” Curls shakes his head. “I’m mortified.”

Jordan just nods his head and he finished his shake in silence. “Let’s drive around a while.”

***

In England, Curly used to hate driving at night. His mates would ask to go for drives and he’d always make his excuses to avoid being behind the wheel, hating the way the lights on the road would blur together and the noise from the back seats would make him dizzy.

Now it’s the only time he ever really drives at all.

After around half an hour of making beelines through the city, he somehow finds his way back to that carpark by the old shop and parks up right in their corner. J’s gone quiet in the passenger seat, squinting up at the sky as he taps his heel to Curly’s playlist; something Curly knows he’d be doing with or without the music, but takes it as a compliment to his taste.

He follows Jordan’s eye line, up to the moon that’s almost full but not quite, and the light that hovers beside it.

“Uranus,” he mumbles.

Jordan coughs, turning with wide eyes as he chuckles. “What?”

“Next to the moon.”

Curly points, and Jordan looks up again, still smiling as the tail of his laugh trails away.

“Right.” He huffs. “Why the fuck d’you know that?”

Curly shrugs. “Got this calendar from my grandad. He’s proper into it.”

He only gets a hum in response, but it’s alright because Jordan’s not taking the piss at least. He’s leaning forward now, forearms on the dashboard as he ducks to look up at the sky.

“Weird ain’t it? There’s no stars up there, but then you stare for so long they just all start coming out of nowhere.”

J hums again. “Brockton’s kinda nice if you look hard enough.”

Unbuckling his seatbelt, Curly twists in his seat to lean back against the door, just barely feeling the cool glass press against the back of his head through his hair.

For a while, Jordan just looks up at the sky, bobbing his head through the end verse of the song before it finishes and Curls he lets the silence win them over until the track changes to the next.

Jordan finally pulls himself away from the view after a while, opening Curly’s glove box, and begins to dig.

“D’you mind?” Curls frowns.

“I’ve heard all of these songs now,” J explains. “You gotta get a bigger playlist, so—” He pulls a book of maps from the compartment, then fishes out a pen that Curls wasn’t even aware he had. “I’m helping.”

Jordan writes him a list of bands to listen to and, although it’s only ten when he drops him off, Curly promises to stay up to listen to the bands on the list as long as J promises to stay up 'til midnight to watch the sky when the moon and it’s temporary neighbour are at their peak, “but not through a telescope, you won’t fit them both into the view.”

“You think I have a telescope?” J laughs and Curly shrugs as he watches him slip out of the passenger-side door.

“See you later,” Jordan says before he shuts it, but then rounds the car to duck beside Curly’s open window. “It was good to see you, Curls,” he smiles, nods and taps the car roof. “Really good.”

***

It becomes more frequent. It’s usually Curly that drives, since it turns out that Jordan actually got into a fistfight with the guy whose car he was borrowing before, so there’s no going back there any time soon.

It’s strange, how there are so many things that never came up before. So many little facts about each other that they never uncovered before, like how Jordan’s hair is naturally brown (but near-black in high school) or how one of Curly’s bottom teeth is fake because he fell off the top of an outdoor toilet when he was sixteen and chipped it.

“What the fuck did you land on?” Jordan’s pulling a face as he ducks in a little to get a look at the tooth, although Curly knows it’s good as new now.

“Concrete, mate,” he snorts and, for a second, realises his choice of words, then notes that Jordan doesn’t correct him this time, but it’s alright. He gets it. They’re not going there this time and it’s fine. Living and learning and all that.

After their second meeting, he burns some of his favourite songs from Jordan’s artist list onto a CD, mixed with a few new ones from his personal collection, and they listen together when they go for drives. He makes a mixtape just for Jordan too, of songs he needs to hear because he’s sick of hearing him say “never head of them.” He makes him promise to listen to The Streets and New Order in particular at first but then finds out that Jordan only knows “The Cure’s popular stuff” and digs out their entire discography to educate him as a priority.

“They’re the best band out there,” he declares. “Can’t beat ‘em.”

“That explains the tattoo,” Jordan nods toward Curly’s arm where, beneath his sleeve, is a small cartoon bottle with the band’s name scrawled over the label. Although it’s covered, Curly grins at the thought of the man remembering both the tattoo’s placement and design.

“That was my first one. It wrecked. Stick’n’poke.”

“Ouch. Was it worth it?”

“Mate, The Cure are mint. ‘Course it was worth it.”

A few days later, Jordan climbs into his car with all of the CDs in his hands and says “okay, yeah, I get it,” as he ejects the CD already in the player to replace it with one of the mixtapes. “I see why you’re so into The Cure.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, British people talk about really weird shit but—” Jordan shrugs. --I’m used to it.” He gives Curly an accusing look.

***

He isn’t getting ahead of himself this time, but they are always texting and calling each other now. They really are just trying to be mates and it’s going well. They can pretend that nothing ever happened because he supposes that, in a way, it never really did.

Maybe it’s because he’s back in a good headspace that he’s making half-decent money again before long; enough to pay rent and enough to keep himself sorted. Some of his clients (yeah, he says clients now) passed his number on to friends and his connections have almost doubled since his last peak. He’s got a bed frame now. He’s saving for a portable heater.

This new headspace isn’t the magical cure that stunts his cravings, but it’s helped with the habitual drug use. He’s not sure he even realised he’d started defaulting to coke when he had nothing better to do (thought he was doing well, having a hit a day and only in the evenings) but he can feel it now. The world is back in HD again and the days feel nice and long. He’s not losing as much time recently and, where heroin is concerned, his hits are purely necessary now. He takes what he needs and that’s all.

One evening, they’re in Jordan’s apartment and they’re watching American Psycho, crammed up on the same side of the couch with Jordan’s arm draped behind his back. Curly’s now accustomed to hanging his left leg over Jordan’s right because the man shakes it persistently when the plot gets tense and it’s just a little bit annoying. This he can live with.

They both know they’ve sort of been working towards something but are equally unsure as to what it is this time, because it all feels nice and content just the way it is, but it suddenly doesn’t feel like it’s going one way or the other.

He’s not entirely aware that he needs it, but it’s so good to hear it when Jordan says, “hey, Curls? Let’s give it another try.”

[roonil-wazlib-at-221b]

You know?

This was requested by an anonymous person, so whoever you are, anon, I hope you enjoy this!

Pairing: Klaus x reader (Oneshot)

“I’m calling Y/N.”

Klaus’ eyes widen with panic. “No! No, you don’t need to do that—” He lunges for the phone Diego pulls out of his pocket. “Diego! Please!”

“Dude, you’re so dead,” Allison snorts. She lifts her wine glass up to Diego in cheers when he successfully dials your number and puts the phone up to his ear, waiting for you to pick up.

Klaus whines dramatically and throws himself down onto the couch. “Diego, how could you betray me like this? I thought we were friends. No.” He sits up. “I thought we were brothers.”

Diego shows Klaus the middle finger. “He—” Diego starts, but cuts off abruptly. He takes the phone away from his ear. “She hung up.”

“Well, it’s not like it’s a mystery why you’re calling,” Allison mumbles under her breath. You’ve gotten used to it by now; Klaus’s substance abuse, no matter how much you hate it. If Diego is ever calling you when you know he’s been hanging out with Klaus, you just know by now that he’s either too drunk or too high to function.

“Well, let’s drink to my funeral, then,” Klaus says, motioning for Allison to hand him another bottle of wine. She hands it to him, muttering something about him digging his own grave, but Klaus doesn’t mind that. He’s not even that buzzed right now; Y/N has seen him so much worse.

So, so much worse.

“You know, she may have seen you at your worst, but you’re just adding straws onto the camel,” Ben says, but he’s faint. Far away. Fading in and out of view; completely see-through in some parts. None of the other ghosts have been with Klaus for the past three hours; Ben always is the last to go by a long shot. Honestly, Klaus wouldn’t mind just having Ben around all the time if he wasn’t so damn annoying. Ben’s like the damn cricket and Klaus is Pinocchio. “One of them is bound to break the camel’s back.”

Klaus takes a deliberate sip of the drink, smirking slightly when a little more color leeches out of Ben, he turns a little more not-there. He’ll deal with Ben’s reasoning a day when he’s less drunk. A day when he’s less tired. A day when the world makes even a little as much sense as Ben does, and a fraction of how much sense everyone else seems to think it does. Everything is just so weird, when you think about it, and Klaus giggles and hiccups.

“Why are they called hiccups?” he asks out loud. Ben rolls his eyes at the same time as Allison and Diego, though they couldn’t possibly have choreographed that; Ben’s dead! They can’t see him, either.

Diego’s phone buzzes. “Y/N says she’s five minutes away. She says not to let you have anything else.”

Klaus whines when he grabs the wine out of his hands. “Diego! Next time you need your Patch to come pick you up I might not even call her.”

“Oh, you would,” Diego snorts. “Not that I’d ever let myself get as wasted as you, but—”

“I would love to see Diego’s ass reamed by that detective,” Allison snorts. “She’s the only one that can keep you in line, yeah?”

“Allison?” Luther pokes his head into the living room. “You ready to go?”

“Oh, where are we going?” Klaus asks, jumping up and clapping his hands together.

“Luther and I,” Allison says, standing up, “are taking Five to see an R-rated film, because the bouncers won’t let him in without supervision. You are staying here to wait for your girlfriend.”

“Oh, I’d much rather watch the movie,” Klaus grumbles. “Y/N’s going to be in one of her moods. I know it already.”

“Yeah, maybe because you’re already drunk as hell and it is five o’clock on a Monday night,” Five says dryly, popping his head around the corner. “Why does Y/N put up with him, again?”

“Because I’m a joy to be around!”

“Because she’s dumb,” Ben mutters.

“Because she’s dumb,” Allison echoes. “Bye, Klaus! See you, Diego!”

Diego waves her away and the three siblings leave the house, looking like two parents escorting their child out. Five’s form has disconcerted everyone except Vanya, to be honest, especially with the copious amounts of alcohol the boy—man—time traveler?—Klaus honestly has no idea—ingests. He can nearly drink Klaus under the table.

When they open up the door, you’re standing there with your hand raised, about to knock.

“Have fun,” Five mutters as you pass him, and you make a face at him but can’t be bothered to reply. You’re still in your hospital scrubs, tired from a long day at work, and already cranky with your boyfriend despite the fact that you haven’t seen him all day.

“Y/N!” Klaus exclaims happily when he sees you, as if he isn’t the bane of your existence most days. “You should have said you were coming!”

“I did,” you reply shortly. “Come on.”

He has enough sense to follow you wordlessly out of the house and get into your car.

For two minutes he sits next to you, drumming his fingers on the dashboard, as you drive aggressively (more aggressively than usual, anyways) in complete silence. It’s the impending storm that’s sobering him. It’s the 100% effective way to sober anyone up—you may be shorter than Klaus, but goddamn are you scarier than the rest of the Umbrella Academy combined. Except maybe Five; his appearance may not be scary at all, but his penchant for holding sharp objects to peoples’ throats can be intimidating.

“You know—” he starts, swinging his head towards you because you always look so pretty in the city lights, but you cut him off.

“We agreed,” you say tightly. You put both hands on the steering wheel at 3 and 10, knuckles white with tension. “We agreed, Klaus. Are you just lying to me now?”

“No!” Klaus protests. Everything is a little hazy now—Ben’s barely a shadow in the backseat—but he knows exactly how you feel about lies. Hell, he doesn’t like lies either. Lies are bad. Very, very bad. “I really wasn’t gonna drink today, but then I saw Allison and Diego drinking and I decided to join them, and then next thing I knew I drank an entire bottle.” He puts his hands out like What can you do?

“Klaus, there will always be people doing drugs and drinking wherever you go. Just because you see them doing it doesn’t mean it’s an invitation for you to do it as well.”

“I didn’t even drink that much,” he mutters.

“I’m sure you drank a lot,” you reply. “It just doesn’t affect you as much because of how great your tolerance is. Do you know exactly how damaging it is to your health to be high all the time? Putting aside the obvious risks such as kidnapping, robbing, sexual assault or rape, you’re killing your brain cells. Not to mention—”

“I didn’t have any to begin with!” Klaus jokes and you take a turn so sharp he almost falls out of his seat.

“If you would just try to control your powers—” you start but Klaus cuts you off with a bark of a laugh.

“If I get sober enough to control my powers, the ghosts would be yelling too loudly for me to think.”

“And if you get sober enough to control your powers, you can figure out how to stop them from yelling.” You pull into the driveway of your house. “I can’t pretend to understand what it’s like, honestly. But it kills me when I don’t see you trying.”

“I know,” Klaus whispers. “I know. I’m sorry, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” you grunt, pulling your bag out of the backseat before getting out of the car. “You’re always sorry.”

“I love you?” he tries, watching your face, and, like always, it softens. The stress lines on your forehead become less prominent and the crow’s feet around your eyes come out as you try to hide your smile.

“Yeah, I know,” you grin. “I love you too. It just kills me to see you like this, you know?”

“I’m trying,” Klaus says quietly. “I’m gonna get clean. I’m gonna.”

“I know. I know it’s hard.” You help him out of the car and support him into the house until you get to the living room, where Klaus flops dramatically onto the couch again. “Do you want water? A blanket? Food?”

“Just you,” Klaus mumbles into the pillow he’d stuffed over his face. “Tired.”

You huff out a laugh. “Tell me about it.”

“Did the woman come back today?”

“Yeah. Her name’s Mrs. McKinnon, and today she had a huge fight with her husband in the middle of the parking lot about vaccinations. It was a huge scene, but it scared a few people away so I got a thirty-minute lunch break for the first time in two weeks.” You continue to talk, telling Klaus about your day as you comb your fingers through his hair and he closes his eyes. He’s not breathing deeply enough to be sleeping, so you know he’s listening intently to every word you’re saying.

Klaus may have a lot of faults, but he’s very attentive. It’s one of the things that made you fall for him, honestly. And, despite all his faults, you can’t help but see the small strengths he has, like his listening and good heart.

He’s going to be so good when he gets sober. He just needs to work on controlling his powers. You want to help him but sometimes you feel out of your depth, so it’s good when his siblings try to help too.

You’re going to succeed.

It’s just going to take some time.

You fall asleep like that, with Klaus’s head in your lap and your neck bent at an awkward angle, and it’s going to hurt when it wakes up. When Klaus wakes up he’s going to have an awful hangover, but Ben will be there to watch him and stop him from making any bad decisions while you’re working.

It’s a group effort, especially when the intervention is for someone as high energy as Klaus, but honestly, you wouldn’t have him any other way.

Umbrella Academy Taglist:

@fentanvl @deathswretch @lightningidiot @five-hg @iamsnek666 @ameliatrh

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes

[stunudo]

Natural Minds Pay Back

A Crossover Fan-fiction

Featuring: Criminal Minds and Supernatural

Setting: Season 9 (both shows)

Before Slumber Party for SPN and In the Blood for Criminal Minds

Welcome to Stu’s 400 follower celebration fic! I can’t believe so many of you are willing to have my writings on your dashboards! Thank you ever so much. This is the fourth installment of the Winchesters working with Dr. Spencer Reid. (1. NM Meet       2. NM Chat     3. NM Bunkered) This turned out to be longish, I just felt it needed more scenes. Enjoy! xoxo Stu

“I have striven not to laugh at human actions, not to weep at them, nor to hate them, but to understand them.” - Baruch Spinoza

Immediately after Bunkered

Spencer Reid hated being late to a case, especially since he missed the pre-flight briefing and speculating on the jet with his team. He took a cab to the local precinct and found Rossi setting up the evidence boards, because Hotch was still recovering.

“Here he is folks,” Dave teased. “Good, now you get to play with your maps.”

“Rossi, what’s going on? Garcia didn’t share much on the phone.” Spencer set down his messenger bag and tucked his go-bag beneath the conference table. As Rossi began to point and describe the victims, Spencer listened growing more and more concerned with their timing.

“If this is the fourth victim, why did they wait until now to call us in?” Spencer was sorting through the crime scene photos.

“That’s just it kid, they said they already talked to the FBI. That they were waiting for a partner to aid in the investigation. But as far as I or Garcia can tell, no one at the Memphis field office or anywhere else has been notified.”

The pit in Spencer’s stomach grew, threatening to consume with him with guilt. This sounded exactly like the case he had left to confront Dean about, but this time there were no liquefied organs, no burned eyes. This case may be on a hunter’s radar, but there was nothing monstrous or mystical about it. Along with Rossi, Spencer started building the profile while Morgan and JJ handled the questioning of families and Blake took the M.E.

After Rossi left to grab coffee and a quick meal, Spencer called Dean, avoiding the bustling precinct’s officers. The phone went to voicemail after three rings, Spencer swore underneath his breath.

“Dean, I don’t know how many hunters there are, but it sounds like one of your people got here before my team did. If you have any way of contacting them, please, tell them to back off. I don’t know everything in way of the Occult, but I know unsubs and this is definitely human. Call me back.”

The Winchesters had stopped at a Gas N Sip to change into their matching black suits. After meeting Spencer and some of his coworkers, Dean wasn’t sure why they bothered with the idea that Feds were to look like cookie cutters. Especially since Sam refused to ever cut his hair. Pulling up to the latest crime scene, the Impala’s engine idled as they scoped the increased presence of officers and techs.

“Looks like it’s gotten more attention than the neighborhood watch, Dean.” Sam muttered annoyed.

“Four bodies in a week will do that. Well, let’s find out what we can and head over to the corner after lunch.”

“We have definitely been doing this too long if we see no issue with that idea.” Sam smirked, unfurling his long limbs from the classic car.

“Smile, Sammy, looks like we have company.” Dean nodded towards to two agents in much less formal clothing asking questions of the neighbors to the south. “Dibs on the blonde. You get baldy.”

Sam tisked and rolled his eyes, but let his brother have this one. He had already spotted the ring on the attractive woman’s hand. Who was he to refuse his brother the embarrassment?

“Agents, about time you got here, we’re from the local field office.” Dean boisterously called.

“I’m Agent Petty and this is Agent Nicks.” Sam explained, flashing his false credentials. Dean took a double take as he realized Sam had given him a girl’s last name for the case, it was his turn to roll his eyes.

“Morgan and Jareau, we’re with the BAU out of Quantico. Where’ve you guys been?”

“Just wrapping up with the last family, sorry we couldn’t meet you before you headed out.” Dean improvised, his gruff voice deepening notably. Sam almost laughed, this buff Agent was challenging Dean’s masculinity and both he and the blonde knew it.

“It’s okay, Freckles, our team can catch you up back at the precinct with Detective Cutts.” Jareau teased.

“Excuse me, did you say the BAU?” Sam followed Morgan and Jareau to their waiting SUV.

“Yeah, we’re here to profile this unsub so you all can finally do your jobs and arrest him.” The African American guy was short with them.

“That’s not the same Behavioral Analysis Unit as Dr. Spencer Reid is it?”

“Wait, you guys know Spence?” Jareau looked honestly confused.

Sam and Dean shared a knowing look, “You might say that.”

“The bodies had been staged to appear ritualized, but nothing adds up to any known religions or pagan practices.” Blake explained to the rest of the team.

“Were they completely drained?” Spencer looked up from the copies of the reports she had handed out.

“Yes, but not until after they were killed, all of the neck wounds were postmortem.”

“This guy isn’t slowing down, once he gets a victim he only holds on to them for a day, two tops.” Rossi pointed out the urgency.

“Did you guys get anything from the local field office? We ran into a pair of agents at the last crime scene, said they had spoken with the second victim’s families this morning.” JJ asked.

“JJ, didn’t we tell them to follow us here?” Derek pointed out. “I don’t know how, but they knew who you were, Pretty Boy.”

Spencer had been checking his phone throughout the round table session. He nodded in distraction at the conversation happening around him. He grew more annoyed with being ignored by the moody Winchesters, especially after he helped Kevin with the tablet translations.

“Their old wheels probably broke down on the way here.” Derek joked. “Garcia, my sweet?” He asked into speaker phone.

“Can you patch us through to an Agent Petty or Agent Nicks out of Memphis?”

“Oh, sugar, you know your girl has all the connections... huh.” Garcia paused, “I’m not finding them, any chance there are in a different office?”

Spencer’s head finally shot up. “It’s alright, Garcia, I have their numbers.”

“You do?” All team member’s eyes were locked onto the distracted genius.

“So call them!” Rossi’s Italian temper was starting to show.

Sam and Dean sat at the sticky booth in the greasy diner waiting for T-bone, a friend or distant relative or someone Garth knew, to show up. He apparently had been in the area on a random haunting when he picked up the chatter on the murders. Lucky for this sophomore hunter, Garth sent in the Winchesters, because clearly he had been talking out of his ass to every cop on the case.

“Can you believe this guy?” Dean muttered, staring at the specials on the small plexi stand on the table.

“What? Somebody Garth knows runs his mouth too much?” Sam pointed out the obvious. “Yeah, Dean, pretty believable.”

The waitress came and took their orders and still no T-bone. Dean had checked his messages, a couple from Garth, one from Kevin and then the last and most recent from Dr. Spencer Reid himself.

“Well, that’s great. Spencer says there is nothing to worry about here.” Dean complained, before he wrapped his mouth securely around his double bacon cheeseburger. Sam sprinkled the dressing onto his salad and scrunched up his nose, nodding.

“I know this guy is smart, man. But, uh, do you think he is ready to make that call?” Sam began cutting his lettuce with the side of his fork.

Dean had taken another obscenely large bite and had to chew for a solid minute before he could answer his doubting younger brother. He took a long pull from the straw of his Coke and nodded. “Dude, this guy just helped Kevin translate Aramaic. He has worked cases with black magic rituals and survived ghost possession. He may not look like it, but Reid knows what he’s talking about.”

It was Sam’s turn to chew, he nodded. “Alright, if you say so.” They continued on enjoying the meal in silence and privacy. “Should we check at the hotel where T-bone was staying?”

“What other choice is there? Keep working the case with the feds?” Dean quipped.

The BAU had delivered the profile to the local police, the missing agents obvious to everyone in attendance. Rossi concluded, “Most likely the unsub has already tried to insert himself into the investigation. He is either posing as media or law enforcement, be diligent out there. And only share new details with your superiors or my team. Thank you.”

The team from Quantico regrouped once the officers were given their patrols. Detective Cutts was speaking with a thirty year old version of himself in a hurried whisper before returning to his office. JJ had approached Spencer before they were given new assignments.

“Any word yet on those friends of yours?” her inflection was not hard to profile. JJ didn’t trust the Winchesters and she shouldn’t, they were in fact committing fraud on a weekly basis, Spencer reminded himself. It was a truth he had added to a list of few areas too gray to judge, because he knew they were doing their best to protect people.

“Not yet, but Garcia got me their location. They are working out of a motel just off of I-40.”

“So they’re not local?” JJ stared Spencer down intently. “What’s their story, Spence?”

“JJ, I really should go before they get too far into this alone.” Spencer tried to rush from JJ’s interrogation and cold blue glare.

“If Hotch were here there is no way you would be running to protect some imposters, what is going on with you?!” JJ had grabbed his messenger bag before he could, holding it away from him like a little sister and his favorite toy.

“Very funny, JJ.” Spencer pursed his lips. “I am doing my job, keeping people safe and profiling unsubs.” She watched him, whatever she saw in his stubborn stance or calculating eyes was enough. JJ relented and handed her tall friend his bag back.

“Just, be careful.” JJ added in a low voice.

“See you later, JJ.”

Morgan had watched the exchange, JJ exhaled and gave him a look that spoke volumes. Something was off about their resident genius.

Spencer had been having the confrontation under his breath the entire time driving to the seedy motel where Dean’s latest fake credit card had been used to reserve a room. Penelope Garcia was a nervous mess that the case she had sent Reid on last weekend had snowballed into a real case three states away. Spencer didn’t have the patience to console her, but he thanked her for her help and ended it with a sly, “Alright, Garcia.”

The paint was peeling from the warped wooden door frames along the brick exterior as he walked towards room 9 at the far corner of the L shaped building. That is when he spotted her, well, it really. Dean always referred to his treasured automobile as “Baby’, so the confusing pronoun had lodged itself inside of Spencer’s mind. The trunk was propped open and a sturdy pair of denim clad legs were be visible from the sidewalk.

“You looking for me, Doc?” Dean’s grouchy baritone called out from the weapons’ chest that was his trunk.

“What are you doing working the case, Dean?”

The scruffy hunter didn’t answer immediately, he just closed up the duffel bag with assorted supplies for your garden variety hunt. Salt, salt rounds, holy water, spray paint for trapping demons and other sigils besides knives, handguns and silver bullets to be safe. “It seems to me, we got here the same way.” Dean tossed the bag in the back seat and slammed the door shut. His voice was low, he tugged at his bottom lip with his callused thumb and forefinger. “You got a call from your sparkly tech girl, whom you trust. We got a call from Garth, somebody we-- sort of trust. Saying that something I had already been eyeing, had gone south and we were needed here.”

“I left you a message to back off. This unsub is on a psychotic break, he doesn’t even know he is the one committing these murders, please. Let me and my team do our jobs.” Spencer’s voice cracked, Dean had never seen his eyes so certain, so confident before. Dean smiled gently, nodding in agreement.

“You may be right, Doc. But now I have a missing hunter to account for and that means we’re not done. Not done with your unsub or your case, because until we find T-bone, the Winchesters are consulting.” Spencer gave Dean the side-eye for a few beats until they both broke into mild amusement.

“Is this guy really named T-bone?” Spencer puckered his lips, the inaudible laughter shaking his thin frame.

“I don’t know, man, I guess.” Dean leaned against the small patch of bricks between the door and the window. “Right now, we’re heading to his hotel and then we’ll see where his recon led him.”

“We can help, Dean.” Spencer offered sincerely. “Let me send some locals to check it out, get some evidence if he was taken by our unsub.”

“We don’t like questions, Spence. Isn’t that what the cute blonde called you?” Dean chuckled as Spencer nodded, unflinching at the term of endearment from his best friend. “Hunters might play cops and robbers now and then, but we try to stay off y’alls’ radar as much as possible. But, uh, thanks, man.”

“If you’re sure?” Spencer asked, looking out through his lashes at the confident and emotionally stunted alpha male that was Dean Winchester. “Be careful, Dean, I don’t want to have to arrest you.”

“Yeah, man, we’re good.” The men parted ways peacefully, Spencer returned to the precinct as Sam and Dean headed down to the next interstate exchange to find another cheap motel. Spencer didn’t know what he was going to feed his team, but somehow breaking protocol had become something he did.

This T-bone fella had especially bad taste for a hunter, the motel practically came with its own call girls. Dean scoped the bare legs lining the parking lot as Sam shook his head at his older brother. “That one in the red, Sammy.” He hummed in appreciation and grinned at himself. “Maybe if we wrap this up we can have a little fun?”

Sam was tight lipped, “Dean, I don’t pay for sex or S.T.I.s for that matter.” He slammed his car door and moseyed over to his brother’s side of the car with the supply bag. “The one in the red? I’m pretty sure she’s in transition.”

Dean balked and did a double take, “I’m not even sorry about looking, that is well done.”

“Right.” Sam headed up to the presumably vacant hotel room. He knocked, but the old door swung wide, revealing a maid with earbuds, singing at the top of her lungs while vacuuming. Once she saw the two hulking figures in the doorway, she let out a scream. Sam and Dean grimaced but waved before slowly approaching the young woman. “Excuse me? Did the man that was staying here check out recently?”

“No, he didn’t pay for another week, so the boss says no freeloading. He has been gone for two, no, three days?” The Winchester shared a look.

“Thanks, ma’am. Sorry to startle you.” Dean gave his best smolder in gratitude.

“He was a pig, I have been cleaning all morning. Scribbling all over the walls and the tacks!” She grumbled, but rubbed her fingers together insisting on a tip. Dean rolled his eyes and reached for his wallet.

“Is everything in the trash on your cart, yet? Maybe there is something we can use to track him down.” Sam finished the last part lowly to his brother.

“No, too much for my cart, sir.” The woman pointed across the parking lot. “Its all out there, good luck.” She smirked as Dean slid a note into her palm. He rose his eyebrows in mock gratitude.

After Rochambeau-ing for the joy of dumpster diving, Dean and Sam had worked out the area that T-bone had been canvassing, he seemed pretty convinced that it was a lone Ghoul on account of the blood drained after death. “You know this guy isn’t too bad, if I didn’t trust the scrawny kid I would have agreed with him.”

“Right, well, let’s get over there.” Sam muttered.

“I am going to need like ten showers tonight.” Dean griped as he brushed his hands on his jeans. Sam just laughed, ducking inside the Impala.

Spencer walked back into the precinct; the tension upon his solo return was palpable. He glanced between each of his teammates and Detective Cutts as they eyed him back, warily.

“Rossi, what happened?” Spencer asked apprehensively.

“It seems like your friends have been busy, Agent Reid. They were at the M.E.’s too. I’m sorry but they are now at the top of the suspect list.” The older detective cut in before Rossi could answer.

“You’re wrong, Detective. Sam and Dean are looking for a friend that was investigating the deaths before you and your team even put it together.”

“Reid,” Rossi began gently, “If they’re innocent, why haven’t you been able to get them in here? This could all be cleared up if they just came down for some questions. Isn’t that right, Cutts?”

Detective Cutts grunted, adjusting his utility belt.

“Sir?” Garcia’s voice called from the speaker setting on Morgan’s phone. He didn’t say anything to Reid, but his impatient facade hid nothing from the younger agent.

“Go ahead Garcia.”

“I found them, I sent Reid their hotel information not too long ago, why don’t you just follow up with him?”

“I’m already back, Garcia.” Reid held his opposite elbow across his chest.

“So, no use delaying anymore?” Garcia huffed. “Listen, I know Dean, sort of. He’s a sweetie. I may not be a profiler, but he did not hurt all those people, sir.”

“Thanks, Garcia, for what its worth.”

The team assembled with the locals to bring in the Winchesters. Spencer’s stomach pitched at the idea of arresting Sam and Dean while the real unsub was still roaming free. Free to kill again, maybe even the luckless hunter T-bone. He worked in silence, securing his vest and weapon. Refusing eye contact and even ignoring direct questions from Morgan and JJ. Blake had tried to approach him, but he just shook his head at her before she could work her calming magic over him.

“Rossi, a word?” Spencer interrupted the senior agent and the head of SWAT and Detective Cutts. Once they were alone in the hallway he began his vehement monologue. “We have the profile wrong. We never profiled two unsubs. Sam and Dean may know more than we do, but they are not the killers. We are wasting time while people are dying.”

“I agree with you, but we can’t have people impersonating agents and interfering with the investigation, Reid.” Rossi whispered conspiratorially. “I am going to hang back and continue to work the profile with Morgan and Garcia. I need Detective Cutts gone to do that, do you understand?”

“You want me to lead the Detective straight to Sam and Dean?” Spencer countered.

“I want you to take him and his men to their hotel to get them to cooperate.” Rossi said simply.

“Alright, I’ll get Blake and JJ and head out.”

“There’s our genius.” Rossi smirked. “Be safe.”

Spencer nodded and set his jaw in determination.

As Dean drove, the angel Ezekial surfaced from within his brother’s mind. He was not amused with their current circumstances.

“Why are we dirtying our hands with the filth of your people, Dean?” His monotone voice was unimpressed as always.

“You know, I was beginning to think you had forgotten to wake up. How’s it going Zeke? Comfy? Safe?” Dean glanced over at the beady eyes watching him severely. “That’s what I thought. I am not chasing angels this time, we’re just helping out friends. It’s what people do. I’m pretty sure even angels understand that basic concept.”

“The angels are organizing to seize control and you are chasing after someone you haven’t even met. Prioritize, Dean, I’m only here because you asked me.”

“One more day, and we’re back to the bunker. Zeke, I swear, no harm no foul.” Dean’s voice was clipped, he looked forward and grasped the steering wheel between two tight fists. And just as soon as he appeared, the angel sunk back to the recesses of Sam’s consciousness. Dean was really starting to hate the guy.

Spencer sat in the backseat of the dark Suburban as JJ drove them to the hotel he had departed not an hour before. Blake was making small talk, though Spencer knew it was never small. Every word was carefully placed, every inflection intentional. He was being petulant and not participating, until she purposely attributed a quote to John Donne instead of the philosopher Baruch Spinoza.

“Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet.” Spencer’s voice cracked forward, calling the linguist out.

“Who are these men to you, Spencer?” Alex Blake asked, challenging his overly secretive behavior.

Spencer watched out the window, not falling victim to the attractive pairs of eyes following him in the rear view mirror. “They’re friends. They are brothers that save people, just not in the same capacity we do.”

“Where did you meet them?” JJ asked.

“In my apartment, actually.” Spencer miffed matter-of-factually. “It was after you left for the Pentagon, Jayge.”

The blonde nodded, realizing there was so much yet to learn about her long time friend. “Why do you trust them?”

“Because Dean saved my life.”

“That works for me.” Blake said after the heavy truth settled within the vehicle.

Spencer led the locals into the empty hotel room, following Detective Cutts’ every instruction. The laptop left open to an obvious diversion, but he pointed it out to the officers’ curious eyes. Their weapons traveled with them, so nothing incriminating was recovered. Spencer shrugged at Blake and JJ as they called the raid a wash, agreeing to return to the precinct while the locals “secured” the scene.

Dean and Sam walked into the old maintenance garage on the back acres of the cemetery. The metal rattling of the slamming service door put the hunters on high alert. They had their guns raised and scanned the dark space around the old tractor and golf carts used for collecting discarded flowers and trash. After a few minutes checking the ins and outs of the vast space, Dean realized that he couldn’t hear Sam’s moose hooves. He called out and spun, to meet a large stone to his temple.

The three agents in their vests met back with Morgan and Rossi at the nearly vacated precinct. By the looks on their faces, they had unveiled the unsub. “What did you guys find? Was there another body?” JJ was worried.

“No, but we located our unsub.” Morgan explained.

“Well, who is it?”

“Markus Cutts.” Rossi deadpanned.

“That’s why you needed the detective chasing the wrong lead.” Spencer caught on.

“Right, but now we need to get over to the All Saints Cemetery.” Rossi had been strapping on his Kevlar as he spoke. “Because Mr. Cutts definitely has some new victims.”

Morgan spun the photograph he held in his large hands. It was a security camera shot from the front gate of the graveyard, a black Chevy was parked besides a rusted truck. The license plate on the junker an unmissable T-B1 from Iowa. The returning SWAT were quickly briefed, allowing the BAU lead over Detective Cutts who had been barred from continuing the case.

Rolling over the gravel service entrance, a parade of dark vehicles surrounded the old metal barn. The seasoned team moved in sync through the dimming light of dusk. Spencer and Blake entered at the back while JJ and Morgan went through the hefty door toward the front of the building. While they found no one, the unmistakable sound of groans were growing closer.

Then Morgan batted something off his bare head, “Shit!” he exclaimed understanding freezing him in place. His gun and flashlight flashed upwards to the rafters. Spencer spotted the bodies hanging, secured by one or both ankles from the metal framework above them. Dean was unconscious, his jacket a mocking flag taunting Spencer. He scanned the room, finding the old built in ladder just inside the service door.

“Markus?! Markus Cutts, come out with your hands up.” Morgan called out as JJ sprinted to follow Spencer up to the cat walk. SWAT were working their way through the building, two officers were working on setting up ladders to safely remove the victims from their perch twenty feet in the air. On the higher level, Spencer slowed his pace, checking every access point to ensure he could get to the Winchesters without being blindsided.

Worry held his throat as he saw that it was Sam’s blood that had fallen on to his friend’s scalp. He happened upon who must be the illusive T-Bone first, a mixed young man in jeans and a hoodie hung completely lifeless from the first row of scaffolding. By the color of his ankles and the temperature of his skin, Spencer calculated that he had been dead for over a day. He shook his head at JJ and followed her back to the next row, towards Dean.

Suddenly there was a loud crash and a crouching figure had fallen before JJ on the swaying metal ramp. “Freeze!” Her tone was clear and efficient.

Markus Cutts, didn’t freeze, he snarled at JJ, pouncing forward and she put him down with two quick shots.

Over an hour later T-Bone, Dean, Sam and a fourth unidentified victim had been cut down from their hanging prison. Dean had come to before he made it to one of the waiting ambulances. Naturally he refused to go to the hospital. Instead, answered some of JJ’s questions while Sam’s over-sized body was secured into the back of the nearest truck.

“Alright, lady, are we done?” Dean grunted, “I need to be with my brother, if you don’t mind.” His voice softened, when he caught her startled expression.

Spencer had given his statement for the locals on the shooting of Markus Cutts, who was, as profiled a very ill human (not a ghoul). His father had made his way to the scene despite his orders. Spencer watched the father’s breakdown with a deep sympathy in his chocolate eyes. Rossi approached Spencer and patted him on the back.

“Looks like your friends did lead us to the unsub after all.”

“Rossi, I just want to apologize for my unprofessionalism on this case.” Spencer cleared his throat. “If it had been Hotch, I wouldn’t have even been allowed to speak with them alone.”

“Yeah, well, Hotch is the rules guy. Me? I trust my gut.” Rossi smirked. “Now, somebody is going to have to drive that beautiful Chevy over to the hospital for your ‘gambling’ buddy, right?”

Spencer grinned in the red glow of taillights, a gentle wave sending Rossi off as he brought Baby to a purr. Unhindered and unassisted the Winchester brothers disappeared from Baptist Memorial Hospital before midnight rounds.

“History and experience tell us that moral progress comes not in comfortable and complacent times, but out of trial and confusion.”- Gerald R. Ford

@imagicana @cherry-loves-fanfic @hanny-writes-spn @ilovehuntersinflannel @mxolhfanfics @gubl-oser @there-must-be-a-lock @dontshootmespence @simmvez

[sunnybimbo]

!! Happy birthday Rey!!!! @narwhalsarefalling

I wrote this for u and i hope u like it 

Galra!Hunk where Hunk freaks out and Keith surprisingly isn’t freaking out that much at all?

/dab/ its also for u on ao3 too

Keith heaved a heavy yawn, and a pair of fuzzy ears tickled under his nose. He snuffed, laying his hand atop Hunk’s head as he blinked the remaining wisps of sleep from his eyes.

The bed was hard under his legs and he grumbled under his breath— until he remembered that the two of them were snuggled up in the Red Lion, instead of in a comfortable, soft bed.

A thin, thermal blanket was cuddled around them, thankfully big enough to fit both at the same time. Hunk was curled around his side, out like a light and snoring like a lawnmower. His face was firmly pressed in the crook of Keith’s neck, and he wasn’t sure if it was slobber or sweat that he was feeling soak into his undersuit.

Keith squinted his eyes in the dark, faintly making out the messages that popped up on Red’s dashboard. She was quiet in the back of his mind, probably just as tired as Hunk and Keith were. They’d been in empty space for nearly two days, but they couldn’t come back until they found a cure for Hunk.

Keith passed his hand across Hunk’s ears again. The fuzzy ones atop his head, that were large and hung so heavy that they swooped low enough to brush across his shoulders if he wanted to.

None of them could figure out how, but… something had happened, and Hunk had been injected with druid magic. And then he transformed into this.

Purple and Galra and more than a little freaked out.

A mission was promptly sorted to find out all they could about what had happened, and they were heading towards an old Galra outpost to meet up with the Blade of Marmora, to figure out what had happened to Hunk. If he could actually be cured.

Keith sighed heavily, knocking his head back against the wall. It hurt more than he’d expected, and his helmet rolled against his knee as if chiding him for not wearing it at all times.

On the surface, he was confused as to why it was him that Hunk chose to go with him on such an important mission to him personally, but on another level— deeper than his mind allowed him to consciously think about— he knew it was because of the quiet moments they shared like this. The trust they shared may not be obvious to most but was still a tangible dependence between the two paladins.

Keith slid from beneath Hunk, allowing him to flop onto his side against the floor. The blanket was tucked around his shoulders, flush against his neck, and Keith allowed himself to pause and drift his fingers to untangle tufts of fur from Hunk’s cheeks.

Red began to prod insistently at the back of his mind, breaking him out of his lovesick revelry, and he pulled back with only a little bit of regret.

He had a job to do.

——————

Keith could remember vividly what had happened when Hunk had transformed into a Galra. They were getting ready for bed. Keith was brushing his teeth in the bathroom, and Hunk was changing into his Altean-brand pajamas when he shrieked from the bedroom. Keith had nearly choked on his toothbrush in his rush to see what had happened, to fight off a hidden assassin in the shadows— hell, even to kill whatever space bugs Hunk seemed deathly afraid of finding in the forgotten corners of the castle.

Instead, he saw Hunk tangled in his nightshirt, with a quickly spreading purple clawing across his belly and up to his chest until it disappeared behind the fabric caught on his shoulders.

Hunk had whirled around, and one of his eyes was midway through its transformation from beautiful brown to frightened yellow. “Keith.”

And he had sounded so terrified.

Keith leaned back in his seat, running his hands along the smooth armrests. Red purred, as if she were curled up in his lap and receiving the petting physically instead of mentally.

That expression burned itself in his retinas, and his heart still stopped when he closed his eyes and saw it again.

Keith glanced back over his shoulder, but Hunk was still a comfortably crumpled pile of thermal fabric and paladin underarmor.

They were a few minutes away from the meetup point, maybe ten or twenty given that he had to find the base once they arrived in its general vicinity. But that was just ten or twenty minutes of him sitting there with a restless feeling in his chest and Hunk’s shallow breathing in the background.

That last part wasn’t worrying at all, since Hunk had explained to him (after Keith had frantically shaken him awake in the middle of a night once, terrified that he was about to keel over in his sleep) that he had mild sleep apnea. He’d been so tired that he’d stumbled over his words so much he had to restart over and over again, rubbing at his eye with the back of his hand. He’d apologized for scaring Keith and pressed a sloppy, wet kiss against his forehead before he collapsed back on the bed, on his side this time, and passed out again.

Keith vaguely remembered cuddling up to him not a few minutes after, burying his face against Hunk’s chest and holding him tight. But that honestly could have been any other night since then, he’d done it so much. He liked the way Hunk felt in his hold: soft and firm and real— and all for him.

Keith always did feel a little selfish being able to steal Hunk’s hugs all for his own in the middle of the night, away from prying eyes and nosy Lances, but he wouldn’t give them up for the world. And a little fur and big, floppy ears wouldn’t make him give them up, either. Even if they became a permanent fixture to Hunk’s person.

———

The night before their excursion, after Hunk had calmed down to where he was no longer outwardly freaking out but rather in shock, the two of them sat in uncomfortable silence in their shared room. It was actually Keith’s room, but Hunk had migrated there after they started… ‘dating’? (They’d never put a label on it, now that Keith was thinking about it. Those were always his best relationships.)

Hunk was furled up on the opposite end, tense and shying away from Keith every time he so much as twitched in his direction.

He wasn’t wearing his pajama top, because the fabric caught on every single hair in its path, but he’d squeezed into the bottoms for decency’s sake.

And Keith wasn’t the best at words but… being the ‘resident Galra’ that he was, he couldn’t just let his… ‘significant other’ (and, more than that: his friend) sit there and feel bad about himself, right?

So, he slid closer, crowding into Hunk’s space, and leaned against his shoulder. He’d patted along Hunk’s leg until he found clawed fingers that tried to hide themselves between his thighs, and he tangled them together with his.

“We’re gonna get you fixed up, Hunk.” He promised.

Hunk sniffed wetly at that, and a startled laugh nearly jarred Keith from his shoulder. When Keith glanced up, though, he couldn’t see any tears. He wasn’t sure if that was because they’d gotten soaked into the floor or not, but Hunk was probably crying on the inside nonetheless.

“It’s scary, Keith.” He had admitted. Then, softer, “I’m sorry for poking fun. When we found out you were Galra.”

Keith rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. “It’s so unfair that you turned purple before I did.” He teased, pulling Hunk close and plummeting backwards against the mattress, pulling him down with him.

Hunk had smiled, then. Shiny, sharp teeth and all, and Keith knew he did something right, atleast.

—————

Hunk woke up five minutes later, and had crawled over to Keith to offer him a water pouch. Keith had been so deep in thought that Hunk had to poke him in the mouth with the straw, as if he were a baby.

He definitely did not pout at the treatment.

“Are we almost there?” Hunk asked around his drink, and he sounded as tired as he looked.

“Almost.”

Hunk huffed through his nose, and began to stretch knots out of his back. “They really need to add side-seats to these Lions.”

“‘They’.” Keith repeated, and the two snorted out a laugh. Who knows? Maybe with enough fiddling with his bayard, Red would sprout an entire four-seater in her cockpit.

They fell in a comfortable silence, with Hunk prodding around Red’s cockpit and Keith focusing on the destination. He needed to focus or he’d probably go insane just waiting.

They arrived soon, though. In between one star system and the next, in a forgotten part of space that surely would have been full of dust bunnies if dust bunnies could survive in space.

“How are you doing?” Keith asked, out of the blue.

Hunk looked startled. “Uh… good, how are you?”

They stared at one another, confusion swirling around the two until Keith shook his head. “No, I mean… How are you holding up?” An amused smile grew across his lips, and Hunk smacked himself on the forehead.

“Oh— I was wondering why you… nevermind. I’m… good.” He finished lamely.

Keith heaved a fond sigh and turned back to focus on landing Red on the fragile meteor. It’s outer shell was deteriorated, and he had to be careful unless he wanted them to fall straight through and destroy whatever evidence they’d find on the abandoned outpost.

“We’re gonna get you through this, big guy.” Keith said, and Hunk took a step closer behind his seat. “No matter what.”

Hunk laughed humorlessly. “You make it sound like we’ll never come back from this mission.” He clutched his stomach with one hand, as if that thought had soured his gut. “I’m just scared of how my moms will react if I have to go back like this.”

Keith chanced looked at him, and Hunk looked downright miserable. And Keith was only just now realizing that the reason why he looked so different wasn’t because of the purple, but because he’d forgone his signature headband. It was such an integral part of his look, but Keith could figure why he didn’t feel up to wearing it.

Red landed without a hitch, and Keith turned to face him fully. “Your moms love you, Hunk. They’ll just be happy that you came back safe and sound.”

“I think coming back with fur means I’m not exactly ‘sound’.” Hunk said, but a smile played at his lips. “But I guess you’re right.”

The two began to dress in their armor as Keith ran the right protocols and hacked into the right systems in order to get in touch with the small band of Marmora agents Kolivan had scrounged up for them on such short notice.

Hunk had trouble getting his ears in the helmet again, and Keith had to sit him down to tie them back atop his head with the headband he had stuffed in a corner of the ship. It was crumbled and wrinkled, but the material was still as soft as ever as Keith ran his thumb across the stitches. He tied up the floppy ears comfortably, and even pressed a kiss against the crown of Hunk’s head before he helped him fit the helmet on over them.

They both may have flushed a bit red at that.

Red opened her mouth and let down the ramp with a faint purr in the back of his mind; words of encouragement to his mission and a promise to cut through the entire base to get to him, if need be. As she always did.

He offered his hand to help Hunk down the ramp completely, but mostly just to hold his hand. He’d promised he was going to fix this, and that’s what they were there to do. If that meant that they came up with nothing on their excursion, he’d still fight tooth and nail to make Hunk not miserable anymore. Whatever it takes.

Hunk smiled at him, nervous and bright all at once, and Keith nudged him with his elbow as they walked towards the meetup. He’d never brought it up before, but he loved Hunk. Maybe after this was all over, he’d have to say it with words.

“Hey, so… does this make me a furry?” Hunk asked, and Keith almost pulled off his helmet to pinch the bridge of his nose. Whatever it takes.

“Or does that make you the furry, for kissing me and stuff?”

Keith prayed that they found a cure soon.

[jinja-neko]

Godzilla vs. Mothra 196

so, I missed last night because I got wrapped up in a project, but I don’t have to work early tomorrow, so I’m back with a drink and more Showa era shame! Prepare for the original sub of Godzilla vs. Mosura, because if a movie is going to be bad, it should be bad on it’s own merits and not because of poor dubbing, dangit.

- Ah the days when all the credits had to be at the beginning of the movie.

- So so far we’ve gotten lots of shots of stormy seas, and now a water filtration plant. I’m guessing this movie’s theme is ‘the ocean’.

- HA! THE REPORTER LADY JUST CONFIRMED IT. ‘I’m looking for a theme!’ ‘THE THEME IS THE OCEAN, RIGHT THERE!’ says other reporter guy.

- I don’t trust this guy’s mustache.

- Ah, I was right, he’s apparently draining the ocean out of a part of the bay? Because of .... reasons? Reclaimed land? I’m not sure.

- Hey look at this strange piece of shiny floating trash. I’ll just pick it up with my bare hands. 

- Egg eating guy is told cover a news story about an egg in the ocean. Funny.

- Priest: ‘I’ve asked the gods to bless the giant egg. Nothing can go wrong, it belongs to us!’ Fisherman-dude: ‘Yeah, that sounds right!’ ...how dumb are you fisherman- dude?

- scientist guy: ‘isn’t this a bit unusual’ he says while STANDING 4 FEET FROM A GIANT, IRIDESCENT, EGG FROM THE SEA.

- some dude straight up bought it from the fishermen. At wholesale price. I wasn’t aware that giant monster eggs could be bought and sold wholesale. 

- ‘This giant egg is equivalent to 153,820 chicken eggs’ I’m curious to know where you got that figure from just by looking at it.

- And some other guy bought it to put in an amusement park. That’s....really boring.

- IT’S THE TINY TWINS! This hotel is infested with  tiny magical girl vermin.

- Honestly though. I watch this knowing about them ahead of time, but people watching this for the first time back in the 60′s must have been SO confused.

- Ah, tiny twins are trying the reporters now. Oh won’t someone give them back their egg?

- HI MOTHRA!

- These guys are being remarkably calm for being confronted with tiny speaking people telling them about a giant moth egg that formed on an island exposed to the H-bomb.

- This is such a socially responsible monster. It comes with it’s own warning system that lets people know about the destruction it’s going to cause ahead of time.

- HA they brought the tiny twins to a business meeting in a box.

- aaand skeezy mustache dude just offered to buy them. Why am I not surprised. At a lower price than he paid for the egg too!

- BYE MOTHRA!

- how surprising. Slimeball business guys haven’t paid their workers. There’s NO WAY this isn’t going to come back and bite them in the butt.

- wait......they’re....COOKING the giant mothra egg?! Oh...no, they’re ‘incubating’ it... with steam.

- don’t worry, we just gave you a radioactive bath. WHAT?

- oh wow, so that thing you picked up early in the movie is SUPER RADIOACTIVE. No biggie though. You’re fine I’m sure.

- Third of the way though, and still no Godzilla.

- OH WAIT, THERE HE IS!

- coming up out of the dirt in the now-drained-of-water bay like some sort of fucked up daisy. Dude was napping remarkably close to land, and no one noticed.

- The sirens on these fire trucks sound like slightly concerned ghosts. “oooOOOOOoooooh?’

- Ok, either the Tokyo Tower wasn’t always red, or the model builders in this got lazy and didn’t paint it.

- it’s neat that this one is within Tokyo proper. People are running past the castle and I’m all ‘hey! I’ve been there! Neat!’

- Godzilla tripped on the moat and fell into the castle. He then proceeded to trash the castle, because HOW DARE.

- Oop and now Godzilla has managed to find that Magical Open Void Space in Tokyo. Apparently it’s just past the imperial palace. Funny I’ve never noticed it before.

- Yes. Let’s sick the giant winged insect against the giant walking lizard. The Moth can TOTALLY take Godzilla what are you talking about shut up.

- So. we’re now on a super radio active island to ask for Mothra’s help. 1) they’re only wearing yellow rain coat suits, not hazmat suits  2) are the inhabitants small like the twins? 3) IS NO ONE GOING TO NOTICE THAT THE TURTLE SKELETON IN THE BACKGROUND IS BOBBING IT’S HEAD LIKE SOME SORT OF DEMENTED DASHBOARD DOG DECORATION?

- oh, the inhabitants are regular sized. But primary-red.

- I’m pretty sure these guy’s costumes are insulting in some manner to every single native culture that has ever existed anywhere.

- So....the tiny twins are telepathically linked to Mothra. Talk about pulling the short straw of super powers.

- o/~ MOSURA YEH! MOSURAAAAA! o/~ That song that everyone knows but doesn’t know the actual lyrics to.

- back to the army plan! Lets throw a giant net over Godzilla and zap him with ‘artificial lightning’. Do you mean electricity?

- I love how one guys’ reaction to seeing Godzilla outside his window is to get his pistol. Whatever makes you feel better dude.

- Gozilla’s after the egg. Godzilla SNACK!

- Mothra’s having NONE OF THAT. She’s actually got Godzilla by the tail and is DRAGGING HIS GIANT FACE THROUGH THE DIRT. Somewhere, physics is crying ugly tears of frustration.

- Godzilla set Mothra’s wings on fire. WHO’S UNSURPRISED BY THIS DEVELOPMENT? 

- Apparently the humans of the film are. WHAT DID YOU THINK WAS GOING TO HAPPEN WHEN YOU SEND A MOTH AFTER A NUCLEAR FIRE BREATHING LIZARD?

- HA! Mothra somehow managed to knock Godzilla ass over tits into the dirt.

- And Mothra’s toast. Figuratively and literally. She landed all dramatically on the egg though.

- Ah the days before they used MAZER tanks, and had to use regular tanks, which are just as ineffective against Godzilla.

- Wow...are these guys even TRYING to aim? Seriously, HE’S A GIANT FUCKING LIZARD. HOW HARD CAN THAT BE TO HIT.

- Apparently very. A moment of silence for the entire countryside surrounding Godzilla that is now on fire. 

-’ HERE COMES THE GIANT NET! hey, it’s kind of working! BRING IN ANOTHER NET! ah we fucked up. shit.’

- I love the expressions on all the military guys faces when ‘HOLYSHIT THAT DIDN’T WORK. NOW WHAT.’

- PEEKABOO GODZILLA! Japan’s mountains makes for the best game of hide and seek.

-  Clap your hands.. no wait, SING IF YOU BELIEVE IN MOTHRA!

- I DO! I DO BELIEVE IN MOTHRA!

- Ooh, Technicolour egg hatching. SHIT THERE ARE TWO LARVAE NOW.

- dang, there are school children on the island Godzilla is heading for. OH WON’T SOMEONE THINK OF THE CHILDREN?!

- FUCK THESE FISHING NETS! FUCK THAT HOUSE! FUCK THIS TOWN IN GENERAL!

- Being a model builder for this series must be such a thankless job. You go to all the trouble of making your towns and buildings super detailed and believable, and you see it for two seconds before it gets stepped on, set on fire, or both.

- Guys...they’re moth larvae. I’m not entirely sure what you expect them to do against Godzilla. OOH BIT HIM IN THE TAIL. nice.

- wait.....so the larvae cover Godzilla in silk, kick his ass into the sea, and that’s IT? THAT’S THE END OF THE FIGHT? YOUR BREATH CAN LITERALLY MELT ROCKS. SET THE DAMN SILK ON FIRE.

- WHAT A LAME ASS ENDING! Boo.

- Still a better film than Godzilla V. Hedora.

- BUTSTILLBOOOOOO.

[exysexual]

hs au (part four)

(part one)(part two)(part three)(read on ao3)

Neil has never hotwired a car alone before.

It’s different, to look at the innards of a vehicle and rely solely on your own intuition to make it work and to not have the safety net he’s used to. On the run, he never in a million years would’ve expected to miss his mom’s harsh words and harsher hands, but he has to fight to keep his own hands still now.

It’s just…weekends are hard, a shapeless stretch of time until he knows exactly where he’s meant to be again, and this shitty car has been parked on his street for three weeks without moving.

Nobody’s going to miss it, not for a day at least.

He lets out a sigh of relief when he feels it come to life beneath his hands and rests his forehead against the steering wheel.

What now?

All he knows is that he wants to get away from it all. He doesn’t have as many resources as he’d like, doesn’t want to actually up and leave, but still.

He remembers being Chris and Stefan and Nathaniel all too clearly, the fleeting identities that he could discard without a thought. Neil feels harder to shake.

After staring blankly at the dashboard for a minute, he decides to hit up a gas station and go from there.

The gas station by the Jamesons is one of the only places in the surrounding area that sells Sour Punch Straws.

That, at least, is what Andrew tells Cathleen before he slips out of the house.

In reality, the gas station by the Jamesons is the closest place that sells Sour Punch Straws, but it’s also a nice ten-minute walk away and an excuse to get out of the house for a bit.

Kenny and Kendra are home from college for the weekend, and nice as they are, it all gets a bit Stepford-y when the whole family is together.

Also, giving twins such similar names? What’s up with that? It’s like they didn’t even want to give them a chance at differentiating themselves.

Andrew is staring at the candy section, deliberating between Sour Punch Straws and Sour Patch Kids (which will be more artificial? which has more sugar?), when a familiar figure walks into the station and heads straight for the register. Andrew grabs the Straws and hurries as casually as he can to the cashier.

“…yeah, just fill it up, but I’ve only got cash,” Neil is saying when Andrew gets close enough to hear.

Seriously? Why does Neil only have cash? What kind of shady-ass parents does he have that let him drive the car around without a credit card?

The second cashier gestures to Andrew and he saunters forwards, caught somewhere between hoping that Neil will notice him and that he’ll escape without shattering any further illusions.

He watches out of the corner of his eye as Neil slides some money across the counter, gaze fixed out the window. Andrew looks out to find only a pretty shitty car at the pump nearest the station, all scraped up and bare bones.

“Oh, hey, Andrew.”

Andrew turns back to Neil and tries to look surprised as he gives him a nod of acknowledgement. He retrieves his change and candy and follows Neil out of the station towards his car.

“What’re you up to today?” Andrew finds himself asking, stalling out by the front of Neil’s car. Neil shrugs.

“Got the car to myself and just want to get away, honestly.”

Andrew cocks his head. Curious.

“You picking up a teammate or something?”

Neil shakes his head. “I don’t have any plans.”

“What, you’re just going to…drive anywhere?”

Neil nods.

“That sounds nice.”

Neil looks away from the nozzle in his hand and nods at Andrew. “Yeah. It’ll be good.” Andrew bobs his head awkwardly and wonders if he’s supposed to leave now. “What’re you up to today?”

Andrew tries not to feel pleased at the question. “Uh, not much. My family’s having a bit of a bonding day and it creeps me out.”

Neil smiles at that. Andrew looks away instead of trying to memorize it. “What do you mean?”

Andrew kicks at the pavement beneath his feet. How much should he reveal?

“Mostly a lot more prayer than I’m down for,” he settles on. “And too many expectations.”

Neil finishes gassing up and leans on the driver’s side door, a contemplative look on his face.

“What kinds of expectations?”

Andrew swallows uncomfortably. Why had he said anything?

“Mostly Exy stuff,” he shrugs. “There’ve been some college scouts around and it’s getting everybody’s hopes up.”

Neil nods. Andrew clutches the Sour Punch Straws tighter in his hand.

“Anyway, have fun with your…drive or whatever,” he says after a moment. “I’ll see you in school.”

Andrew can feel the other teen’s eyes on his back as he crosses the parking lot. He tries to move smoothly, to not betray how quickly his heart is thumping against his ribs.

Neil drives south because he doesn’t want to recognize anything. He follows the signs on the highway mindlessly, consciously forgets what lies north of Oakland, and tries to lose himself in the familiar motions of driving and passing and signaling.

It doesn’t really work.

Part of the problem is how aware he is of the need to drive inconspicuously. If he’s pulled over, they’ll be able to tell something is wrong with the car, and then they’ll look into it, and then he’ll be investigated–

It seems impossible to remain invisible when you’re trying to be, though. Neil stares at the speedometer, is acutely aware of the speed limit and the cars around him and–

It’s better than thinking about beaches and smoke and fire, maybe, but it’s still thinking of cause and effect, his faked identity and what could happen from there.

Neil tries to focus on what he’s seeing, the clear skies above him and the obnoxious hipsters around him, but it doesn’t work.

He stops at a McDonald’s and grabs some food. He eats in the car, stares at the greasy bag and tries to focus on anything other than his life.

Somehow, he ends up thinking back over Andrew Doe. Andrew Doe, who is overwhelmed by the expectations of his family, who is uncomfortable with their religion.

Andrew Doe, who doesn’t actually seem to take his future for granted.

Doe. Neil doesn’t know much about Does, why somebody ends up with that name– unidentified dead bodies? Unknown arrested criminals?

Abandoned kids?

Maybe, just maybe, Neil has been too quick to write Andrew Doe off. Maybe his quick eyes and incredible hands and sharp mind aren’t being wasted in a comfortable life with a loving family.

Neil doesn’t get back on the road for a long while.

Andrew watches Neil come into class on Monday with a look of casual indifference he absolutely did not practice in the mirror. Neil slouches in, eyes on the ground except a quick glance around the room, and drops into his seat with no acknowledgement to Andrew.

Andrew resolutely does not give a flying shit what Neil Josten does.

After class (a class that Andrew did not pay any attention to, caught between worrying about the Edgar Allen scout coming to their next game and tracing the back of Neil’s head with his eyes), Neil turns to him on their way out.

“Should we start up on the report? We’ve gotten a big enough sample size.”

Andrew shrugs. Two can play at that game, Josten.

“Can we meet after school again and divide it up?”

“Sure, but I have practice.”

Josten nods. They’ve reached the hallway, and Andrew should want to escape to his next class, but he stays rooted to the spot.

“5:30, library?”

Andrew nods, the epitome of cool and collected, and heads off to Bio without looking back.

Neil keeps an ear out for Andrew this time, sets down 1984 before Andrew sits down. Andrew’s hair is damp, part of it plastered to his forehead, and Neil finds his eyes drawn to it.

"Hey," Neil thinks to say. Sometimes he feels like he's pretty good at being a normal high school student.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” Andrew says, and Neil flicks his gaze away, focusing on the clock at the far end of the room that indicates that Doe is 15 minutes late. “Coach is freaking out because scouts will be at the game tomorrow, so he kept us late.”

“It’s fine,” Neil brushes off. He taps a finger against the desk, telling himself not to ask– “What scouts?”

Andrew tilts his head slightly. “Penn State, I think, maybe Berkeley. Oh, Edgar Allen.”

He throws it out there like it’s nothing, like it’s not the top team in the country, like it’s not where Riko and Kevin play, and Neil’s vision narrows to the teen in front of him. His throat constricts, and he forces himself to swallow, but suddenly he doesn’t know how to breathe–

“In and out, with me. On my count, ok?”

Neil blinks open his eyes and he has no idea how he ended up on the ground, or why Andrew is crouching in front of him, or why his throat feels raw and ragged–

“How about you try clenching your fist?”

Neil focuses on his hand, stares as his skin pales and his veins bulge slightly, and the echo in his head disappears. He swallows deeply and then lets out a shaky breath, pushing himself upright.

“You back with me?” Andrew asks, his tone neutral and face blank. Neil licks his lips nervously, eyes darting around the otherwise empty library.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps out, coughing once. “That’s never happened before.”

“Panic attacks are more common than you’d expect,” Andrew shrugs, standing up. Neil hoists himself off the ground, one hand remaining clenched against the back of the chair. He stares at his feet and lets his mind remain peacefully blank for a few seconds before he starts planning again.

“Do you think, um, we could meet some other time?” Neil asks, looking back at the other boy. Andrew is still watching him, his expression inscrutable.

“Yeah, no problem.”

Neil packs his stuff up wordlessly, ignoring Andrew’s movements, and leaves with a tight smile before he starts panicking again where the other boy can see.

Andrew is distracted all through dinner, but the Jamesons don’t mind- Mac had mentioned to them that scouts would be there tomorrow, so they attribute his absentmindedness to that. They skirt around the issue, forcing food upon him and saying a longer grace than usual, but otherwise letting him be.

He flops down on his bed afterwards and stares at the ceiling, his mind replaying the scene in the library on repeat. The casual conversation, Neil’s look of absolute terror, the moment he lost control and dropped to the floor–

It makes absolutely no sense. Panic attacks happen, but some preliminary research tells Andrew that first time panic attacks don’t usually happen to people without anxiety disorders and no triggers.

Berkely, Penn State, Edgar Allen, Exy, college…what is so horrible to Neil Josten? And what could possibly prompt him to look that terrified?

Andrew barely even registers that he’ll be playing in front of them the next day as he spends the rest of the night trying to piece it together. No matter how he looks at it, though, he has only one conclusion: there’s more to Neil Josten than meets the eye.

(part five)