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quirkykayleetam · 5 years

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Trying to Wake Them Up

This is part of the Broken Pieces Universe as requested by the FABULOUS @captivity-whump. The previous piece is Self-Harm and can be found by searching my blog for the title or any character names.

Beth could not open her eyes.

It felt like she was falling. Down, down, down into blackness she tumbled. It didn’t really trouble her. Her thoughts were hazy; they wouldn’t stick together. It reminded her of being a child in school when she knew the answer in Spanish, but couldn’t make her tongue form the English words.

So she drifted. Between language and memory and unconsciousness, she drifted and floated and fell like a feather in the wind.

God, it was so peaceful. Discomfort pricked at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t, didn’t focus on it. Nothing seemed so dire that she couldn’t just rest for a while.

The discomfort got louder. Again, she tried to bat it away. This time, however, she couldn’t just feel it. She could hear it. It was quiet at first, a distant echo in the towering blackness, but if she focused on it she could almost make out words…

“Beth! Oh gods, Beth! Please...Please wake up for me.”

Fear. Suddenly Beth could remember what fear felt like. It radiated through that voice with the power of one thousand suns.

Something was wrong.

Beth did not care that the voice was scared for her. If the darkness was really that bad, she could face it, handle it on her own.

No, she cared because the voice was scared of losing her. Someone needed her.

And by God, no amount of pain was going to dissuade her from getting back to them.

Beth bucked against the air current around her. She struggled against the darkness. Twisting this way and that she listened for any taste of that voice, any touch of discomfort and she ran toward it as if she were running for her life.

Thoughts got easier even as everything else got harder. Beth could suddenly feel weight pressing on her chest, choking out her drifting sense of peace. It was all that she could do to take in breath after shuddering breath, to convince suddenly deadened limbs to move towards that voice. Exhaustion pulled at her like gravity, begging her to lie down for a moment, to give in to darkness and rest. Beth kept going.

“I’m here, Jay-bird,” she whispered. “I am never going to leave you alone.”

Beth could not open her eyes.

She ached. Every muscle in her body lay drained.

If this is the worst goddamn hangover of all time, she thought, please let me have seen Jay smile before I blacked out.

Jay!

Beth couldn’t see them. Her cement-laiden eyelids still wouldn’t cooperate, but she could feel warmth beside her, a scarred hand grasping hers so tightly she thought it would break. That, at least, didn’t hurt. That felt right. She tried to squeeze back.

I’m here Jay-bird. I’m home.

Something must have happened.

Beth felt the warmth beside her stir quickly. While Jay never let go of Beth’s hand, they stood up. Their voice rang through the room, too loud and tinny, though Beth couldn’t make out the words. Another voice answered, deeper and calmer this time.

Another body joined Jay on the bed. After more movement, Beth felt something change in her left arm. Warmth trickled into it.

She tried to focus on Jay’s hand, to stay with them, as the blackness swelled up to take her again.

The last thing she could hear was the voices talking to her. They were warm this time, comforting instead of terrified. Beth let that lull her to sleep. A hand came forward and lightly brushed her bangs out of her face. It wasn’t Jay. She didn’t seem to mind.

…

Off-white popcorn ceiling. Pale green striped wallpaper. These things may have told Beth that she was safe in her room when he eyes finally opened, but it was Jay’s tear-stained face staring back at her that told her she was home.

They held hands for a while, just breathing. Beth could feel Jay counting with each and every inhale.

“Wha?” Beth’s voice cracked and she winced lightly. “What happened?”

“I came out to the kitchen to get some water. Last I saw you were sitting at the table, but… But then you were sprawled out on the tile, your orange mug cracked and…”

Jay refused to look Beth in the eyes. More tears streamed down their checks.

“Beth, I was so scared.”

“Because of your mom?” she asked.

Jay nodded.

Beth looked down at herself. A quilted blanket covered most of her, keeping her warm, with only her left arm extended to hook into an IV tube. She wished she could sit up, take Jay into her lap, do anything to make her look caring and strong instead of feeble, but it was no use. She was feeble. She settled with grasping Jay’s hands with both of hers, putting all her strength behind her words.

“Jay-bird, your mother never meant to leave you. She had a stroke that muddled up her brain and that’s all. And I have heard you call that mug an ‘offense to humanity’ enough times to know you’re not gonna miss it.”

“But what if...what if you get sick and Morgan Security find out? What if they get you declared an unfit caretaker? That’s why I couldn’t call 911 or a hospital or… I had to try Daniel. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to be if they take you away.”

This time Beth’s fingers left Jay’s hands and gripped onto their face.

“You will be who you always were and who you always will be: The strongest goddamn person I have ever, ever known. But between you and me, if Morgan Security tries to stick one pinky toe between us, I will march into your boss’s office with 13 news reporters ready to make our story go public, hush money be damned. Then when they turn the cameras off, I’ll shove his head so far up his ass he’ll be watching his left kidney til kingdom come, you hear me?”

Jay sniffed and smiled slightly.

“And then I’ll come bail you out of jail?” they said.

“Damn straight! And then you’ve got an avowed criminal looking after you. I’d like to see what they do then!”

With a chuckle that said he definitely wasn’t listening, Special Agent Daneil Wei poked his head in the door.

“Do I hear that the invalid is finally awake?”

Jay nodded earnestly.

Beth flipped him the bird.

“In that case, Jay, do mind coming down here are helping Dr. Stephens? He’s starting to get hungry and I hear you make a mean omelet and grilled cheese.”

“Yeah, sure! I mean...if you’re sure you’re gonna be okay?”

Again, Jay turned their big blue eyes to Beth. She blessed the fact that Jay had no idea what those eyes could do to people. And curse the fact that she had ever made them cry.

“Go ahead. You still need to fatten yourself up. And remember to follow my lead: If you’re going to break any cookery, make sure it’s the ugly stuff!”

Before Jay could leave, Beth pulled him into a hug, whispering in his ear.

“You do know Daniel works for those Morgan Security mooks, right? You’re not exactly going far off the grid.”

“Yeah,” Jay said. “But he saved me.”

Beth stared at him blankly.

“When I was trapped with...with the Faceless Men. It was Daniel who go me out and brought me back so I guess I trust him? Plus, I kind of like him. Don’t you?”

The kid’s face was so full of hope that Beth couldn’t let him down.

“Yeah, Jay. I kind of like him too.”

With that, Jay ran to cook for the doctor who (presumably) patched Beth up. Ducking his head and scratching behind one ear, Daniel came all the way into the room.

He was still in a full black suit though he’d dropped his tie somewhere, rumpling the otherwise pristine dress shirt underneath. Christ, Beth thought, he would have had to come straight from work and then stayed here through the night.

“What really happened?” she asked finally. “Am I really okay?”

“That depends,” Daniel said seriously. “When’s the last time you slept?”

Beth tried to remember, but between Jay’s night terrors and panic attacks, it certainly had not been this week. Maybe not even the one before that.

While Jay passed out uncomfortably fast after the adrenaline left their body and often took naps during the days when they could feel the sun on their skin, Beth found that she couldn’t. She stayed up hours after Jay’s episodes writing down everything she could think of: triggers, coping strategies, what worked, what didn’t, anything she could to make it easier on Jay next time around. Usually, by the time she finished she could see the sun rising through the kitchen window and, with a sigh, she would go about their day.

“Dr. Stephens found unhealthy levels of caffeine and alcohol in your system. Not sleeping, not eating, it seems like your body just had enough.” Daniel said.

“Do you agree then?” Beth said softly. “That I’m an unfit caretaker?”

Daniel sat down beside her in the chair Jay just left, taking a breath as he massaged his eyes. In that moment, Beth knew that if he said it, she would believe it. What she said to Jay was true. She would not leave them for the world. But if he needed more than her, better than her… She couldn’t say she would be surprised.

“I’m ex-military,” Daniel said. “I’ve seen friends come home more scars and less limbs than they started with to people who had a lot more reason to help them than you.”

Beth winced.

“Don’t.... I’m not trying to… Beth, please don’t look away. I’m trying to say that I don’t think any one of those people had any less of a chance or a hope than Jay has even with whole families to support them. That is on you. The way you understand their brain? It’s downright uncanny sometimes. And I know for a fact you don’t think that way. You just care so you learned. You’re wicked funny when the chips are down and Jay needs that more than ever.”

Daniel lowered his voice, his dark eyes meeting Beth’s.

“You just need to take care of yourself too. That means full meals, even if Jay can’t eat them. And resting, starting with 24 hours where you are not getting out of this bed.”

Beth opened her mouth to protest.

“No buts. Jay’s already found a sleeping bag to lay out here. If they have any problems, you’ll be here like you always are. Like you always will be. Besides, after the scare, they did fine last night. Wouldn’t leave your side for anything. I think you’re forgetting that Jay’s pretty damn strong too.”

With a start, Beth realized that Daniel had sprung forward, capturing her hand in one of his. It was warm, almost hot, calloused where Jay’s was scarred and much larger than her own. When they both noticed, he drew back a bit, giving her room to slip away. Beth decided she didn’t mind.

“Hey, Beth!” Jay said, head coming around the corner. “When you said to only break the ugly dishes, did you count that purple one with brown on the corners?”

“That is from New Mexico,” Beth said. “If you break it, you’re driving out there to get me a new one!”

The room faded into comfortable silence. Jay lingered.

“Is everything okay?” they asked.

“Yeah,” Beth said. “From now on we just need to be more sure to take care of each other. Do you think we can do that?”

Jay nodded. Beth watched as a light filled their eyes.

For the first time since their abduction, Jay looked the most like Jay they ever had.

Maybe I’ve been doing this wrong, Beth thought. Jay isn’t just a victim, they’re a survivor and they survived for a purpose. They just needed a purpose to live for too.

With this entry for Original Characters to fill the Trying to Wake Them Up Square for @badthingshappenbingo I officially have a BINGO!!!

Tagging the Broken Pieces Crew: (If you want to be added or taken off this list, just let me know!): @stoic-whumpee, @whatwasmyprevioususername, @whumpty-dumpty-fell-off-the-wall, @straight-to-the-pain, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @0idril0, @fallingstormphoenix, @whump-fantasies, @imagination1reality0, @whumpback-wail, @whump-tr0pes, @untilthepainstarts, @captivity-whump, @burtlederp, @redwingedwhump, @whumpiary, @captivity-whump, @blue-flare10

I know this is an unusual entry: There’s lots of Emotional Whump and we don’t usually get Beth in physical pain, so please let me know what you think!

#Whump #Trying to Wake Them Up #Passed Out #Emotional Whump #Recovery #Broken Pieces #Beth #Jay #Daniel Wei #Whumping the Caretaker #quirkykayleetam writes #Hurt/Comfort

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headfulloffantasies · 5 years

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Angel With a Shotgun

Chapter 8

I accidentally posted these in the wrong order. Chapter 9 comes after this.

Bobby talks to H

Bobby called H as soon as he got the boys tucked into bed. Sam was still woozy. He kept dropping off in the car, to Dean’s horror. The poor kid was so worried his brother was hurt. Bobby didn’t even bother trying to separate them. He just let Dean crawl into Sam’s bed and flicked the light off.

Bobby went down into the kitchen and dialed the phone. H answered on the third ring. “Mr. Singer?”

“I got a dead demon here,” Bobby said in lieu of a greeting. “Where can I meet you?”

H swore. “You killed a demon? You sure? It might be faking-,”

“I’m sure that a portal to Hell opened up under it,” Bobby snapped. “Tell me where you are or so help me God-,”

“Alright, alright,” H sighed, the phone speaker crackling. “I’m at a place called the Fore Inn. Couple hours west of you. But Bobby, I don’t know that I can help you with a demon problem. It’s a bit above my pay grade.”

“You’re the only person I know who knows anything about this whole mess. You’ll do.” Booby hung up.

He waited until morning to leave. The night was spent sitting in his armchair with the shotgun across his knees. At first light, Bobby called Ellen. He owed her a bottle of Jack for babysitting.

Bobby got down on one knee by the front door to say goodbye to his boys. Dean stood tall; his little shoulders squared.

“I’ll be back by tomorrow morning,” Bobby promised. Dean only nodded, the perfect soldier.

Sam’s lower lip wobbled. It hurt Bobby’s heart to leave so soon after Sam had had a scare.

“One word,” Bobby said. “And I’ll stay. If you don’t want me to go, I’ll stay.”

Sam sniffled and shook his head. “You’re going for us. So the thing in Ms. Lyle won’t come back.”

Bobby wrapped Sam in a hug. “Such a smart boy. I won’t let anything happen to you again, d’ya hear?”

Sam nodded, his floppy hair rubbing against Bobby’s cheek. Bobby took a step back. A tug on his sleeve redirected his attention. Dean held out Bobby’s shotgun. Normally, Bobby would tell him off for touching the gun. Guns weren’t toys. Instead Bobby took it carefully from Dean and ruffled the boy’s hair. “I’ll be home soon.”

Now Bobby was walking up to the Fore Inn. It was shaped like a castle, if you were a Frankenstein enthusiast. One half of the building was a round, turret shape. The rest was stucco and green gabled windows. It was, in a word, tired. An Inn that had seen better days, if the peeling yellow wallpaper and musty front desk proved anything.

Bobby rang the bell. No one came. He peeked behind the desk. The usual CCTV was playing in black and white under the counter, and the row of room keys was full. Not a single key missing.

The hairs on the back of Bobby’s neck stood up. If H wasn’t staying in a room, why had he asked Bobby to meet here? Bobby glanced at the security video again and his stomach lurched.

The top corner of the screen showed a hallway with a cleaning cart parked outside a room. The room door was open. A hand curled around the bottom of the doorframe. It didn’t move.

Bobby smelled a rat. He turned on his heel, ready to run back to the car. He didn’t get more than a few paces over the gravel driveway.

A man in a trench coat and a wide brimmed hat leaned against his car. H.

Bobby crunched over the gravel to meet him warily.

“Howdy, Mr. Singer,” H greeted him cheerily.

Bobby gripped H by the lapels and slammed him onto the hood of the car. H’s hat flopped into the dirt. “What’s going on?” Bobby snarled.

H grabbed at Bobby’s wrists. “Mr. Singer, please-,”

“No.” Bobby lifted him and slammed him back down. H and the car both groaned.

“You’ve been busy, Mr. Singer,” H huffed. “First a rugaru and now a demon. That’s very impressive.”

“I aim to please,” Bobby snarked. “How’d you know about the rugaru?”

“Because I sent it after you.”

Bobby saw the blow coming just in time. He blocked the knife H aimed at his neck and twisted the blade out of H’s grip.

Bobby flipped the knife and pressed it against H’s throat. “Why are you doing this?” H shrugged, suddenly limp and pliant under Bobby’s hands. “Orders from below, Mr. Singer.”

“Below? As in-,”

“As in Hell, Mr. Singer.” His eyes flickered from watery blue to pitch black.

Bobby jerked back, almost losing his grip. “Demon.”

A crooked smile warped H’s face. “Finally. I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out.”

H whistled. A low, bone shaking howl answered. Bobby’s blood ran cold. He’d heard that sound before.

A huge Black Dog came trotting out from behind the Inn. Its fur was matted in viscous red around its slobbering jaws. Bobby dropped H and backed away, holding the knife out. It seemed like a toothpick compared to the beast’s fangs.

The monster pranced right up to H, nuzzling its massive head into his hand.

“How-?”

“Oh Mr. Singer, you’re asking all the wrong questions.”

Bobby hardly head him over the pounding of his blood. “And what might the right questions be?”

H grinned. “I’m afraid I haven’t the time to tell you, Mr. Singer.” He patted the Dog. “Please know that I hold you in the highest regard. Sic ‘em.”

Bobby ran. The beast was on him in an instant, its foul breath curdling the very air. Claws found Bobby’s ankles and he crashed head first into the gravel. He scrambled to flip over. Massive jaws opened over him. Bobby shouted, stabbing blindly. The knife met flesh. The Dog howled, its weight lifting. Bobby stumbled to his feet. The Dog was weaving drunkenly, tripping over its massive paws. Bobby took one step and the thing growled. It charged.

The knife met flesh a second time. The beast howled, the sound reverberating in Bobby’s teeth.

Bobby stood panting, the body of the Dog between him and H. H hadn’t moved, content to watch the Dog rip Bobby to shreds. Bobby advanced. Black smoke dribbled out of H’s mouth.

Bobby tripped through the opening of an exorcism. The smoke slammed back into H. H coughed, stumbling. Bobby charged him, pinning him back against the car. He held the knife to H’s throat.

H laughed. “So, you’re a hunter now, eh, Mr. Singer? Are you going to fight evil and slay demons?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

H smirked, “And what about those boys of yours? We can smell them, you know.”

Bobby leaned his weight behind the knife. “Leave them alone.”

“I get the feeling I won’t have another shot at them. But others will. There’s a plan for them, you know.”

“What plan? Why do you care?”

“What did you think? That Hell was going to let two fledglings go?”

“What’d you call them?” Bobby startled.

H chuckled. “You really don’t know what they are, do you? You’ve got two of the most powerful creatures in existence living under your roof and you’re too stupid to notice.”

“Believe me, I’ve noticed.”

“No,” H wriggled under the blade cutting into his skin. A trickle of blood dripped along the knife’s edge. “You really haven’t. But you will.” He bared his teeth. “If you live that long.”

Blind rage latched itself to Bobby’s skin. He raised the knife and brought it down square in H’s chest. The wound sparked, light coursing through H’s body, scorching him from the inside.

Bobby wrenched the knife out in horror. H’s limp body dropped, blood pooling over the gravel.

Bobby stumbled back. He hit the car and stopped. Great heaving breaths wheezed out of his lungs. He’d killed a demon. Not just exorcised, killed. The poor mook H had been wearing as a meat suit was dead. Bobby glanced away from H’s glassy eyes.

His gaze fell on the knife. The blade was straight on one side sharpening to a wicked point. The other side was viciously jagged. Runes ran down the middle of the blade, etched into the metal all the way down to where it met the bone handle. A knife that could kill demons and Black Dogs.

Bobby looked up at the dead Black Dog. It’s rank fur was like an oil slick against the gravel. In the background, the Fore Inn sat as mournful as ever. Bobby jolted with the realization that H had killed the Inn’s staff.

There were so many bodies. So much evil. Bobby glanced again at H. The fiery glow the knife had burned through him played over and over in Bobby’s mind. Baptism by fire. Cleansing by flames.

Bobby knew what he had to do.

When he sped away kicking up gravel, the Fore Inn was ablaze. It was better this way. All traces of the demonic massacre were swallowed by the flames that filled Bobby’s rear view mirror.

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#angel with a shotgun #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #angel #angel au #supernatural au #wing fic #chapter 8 #bobby singer

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