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utterlyhopeful-fics · 5 years

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Broken Edges- Part 6

I’M BACKK 😘🥳

The wait is over and Part 7 will be posted tomorrow afternoon! (I can GUARANTEE a fight..or two.) Feedback is always appreciated. As always, I hope y’all enjoy the next chapter. Let me know if you’d like to added to the tag list!

Steve Rogers x Reader/Bruce Banner x Reader/Frank Castle x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: language, general angsty angst, fluffy Bruce

Catch up HERE

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(The Next Morning)

Stirring from an inherent sleep, Y/N sensed a firm hardness pressed against her right cheek. She continued to further nuzzle herself deeper into its solemn comfort, calmness overtaking her sanity. Time seemed to transpire differently when locked in a technological jail cell. Her left leg was partially thrown over Frank’s as they lay entangled in one another as if they were any ordinary couple waking up on a late Saturday morning.

Her lids remained darkened as a small moan escaped her lips accompanied by a tender stretch of her achy bones. Frank instinctively pulled her closer reluctant to let go. He couldn’t help but think he would definitely die a happy man if he got to hear that cute noise every damn day. His hand lightly gripped her chin tilting it upwards as they found each other. Fleeting, momentary peace.

Their noses on the cusp of brushing, their slightly chapped lips just mere inches away, Frank’s breath tickled a trail along her skin. It was a transcendent moment for the pair as they internally debated on who would dare make the first move. Y/N’s gaze traveled towards his lips as she unknowingly licked hers wandering what he tasted like. Would it be a searing kiss made out of desperation or a slow lustful kiss to savor? Whichever one it was, Y/N couldn’t deny she craved his touch.

He cupped her jaw moving closer to his targeted destination. It was then she felt a fire spread in her belly causing her heart to ramp up speed. After seconds of contemplation, Frank leaned the rest of the way in delivering an earth-shattering kiss upon Y/N’s forgiving lips. Her hands perched at the base of his neck slightly tugging at the thick black hair that had grown out over the past couple months. He moaned in response deepening their kiss as Frank situated himself on top of Y/N, pushing his hips against hers, creating a delightful electricity between them. Now this is something Y/N could get used to.

Y/N wanted more, desired to be closer to Frank. Frank made her feel alive, like she wasn’t the broken woman Steve forced her to be. He pushed her to be her own true character, igniting the spirit Steve only wanted to extinguish. It felt brilliantly powerful to be noticed and appreciated, and Y/N was addicted. Without thinking, Y/N wrapped her legs around Frank’s hips pulling him in like a second layer of skin. God, this man drove her wild. But somewhere deeply enrooted in Y/N was cause for concern.

She pushed the lingering thought as far away as humanly possible not wanting to think about him during her time with Frank. There was only one other man in their universe that made her feel complete, acknowledged, and understood; Bruce Banner. But she never got the courage to tell him instead burying her feelings in a secluded spot locked securely away.

But that was a story for another day. She wasn’t sure what the future held for her at this point. What she did know was that she needed to make the best of what she was given; Frank. So, Y/N squeezed her eyes tighter hoping to shake any thought of Bruce away, unwilling to let it encroach on this exact moment, but that was always easier said than done.

Y/N pulled away from his kiss finding Frank’s predatory glance. The military forced him to be a man of control but around her he found it next to impossible to resist the brazen woman he’d grown to care for. With their husky pants intermingled; Frank risked to speak first.

“Tell me to stop and I will. But—you have to do it. I can’t think clearly with you sometimes.”

Before her mind even had a chance to form a coherent thought, her lips were responding; “Don’t, I want this. I want you, Castle.”

“Thank fucking God.”

She pulled him down again reigniting their enthusiasm, unable to wipe the smile that appeared during their kiss. But reality creepily slipped back into her conscious just as an alarm blared through the tiny space; its echo uncomfortably surrounded them thickening the available air. Frank shot up first putting a protective arm over Y/N as her fingers gripped his forearm in return. This was new.

A sudden buzz notified them that the door had been unlocked as an unseen figure stalked closer inwards. Y/N heard the peculiar tone before actually seeing him. His heavy German accent mingled with his well-spoken English. Who was this guy?

“So happy to finally meet your acquaintance Ms. Y/N. I’ve heard wonderful things about you. My father spoke very highly of you. My sincerest greetings.”

Another maniac with an accent. Awesome.

Frank’s eyes bounced between Y/N and the dangerous man who just made his grand entrance. A look of apprehension betrayed his brown orbs.

“Uh, hate to break up the compulsive obsession but who the hell are ya?”

“My name is Helmut Zemo. My father, Baron was the sole creator of everything that we now stand for. Don’t you think he’d quite proud, hmm?”

Zemo actually had the audacity to bow as if she were royalty. She was certainly no queen especially to such an anarchist bunch of crazies, but she had no other choice than to intently listen to the stranger in front of them. After all, they were Hydra’s current lab rats searching for an impossible end to their demented game.

“God, you really are a cocky son of a bitch.”

A shrewd smirk slithered across his lips; “Tsk tsk, Mr. Castle. They weren’t wrong about your…spirit?”

Frank and Y/N hazardously got off the bed, Frank keeping a towering determined stance. How did she never notice how tall Frank was until now? With Frank looming over her, she moved to his side mimicking his posture before speaking.

“What the fuck do you want with us, Zemo? Do enlighten us.”

He snickered unable to contain the laughter tickling his throat; “Oh my my, you really are a feisty girl. We have great plans for you…. for the both of you. I would like your compliance but it is by no means required. Vrstehst du?” (Do you understand?)

“ты мудак.” (You’re an asshole.)

Frank whipped his head in Y/N’s direction; “Wait, you speak…Russian?”

“I’ll fill you in later Castle.” She squeezed his hand hoping to relay any sort of comfort.

Zemo’s shrewd voice reverberated; “That’s not all she does Mr. Punisher. That’s barely the tip of said iceberg for our beautiful girl. You are in for a treat my friend.”

Frank’s New York accent shined through in his times of nervousness bringing him back to the brave boy roaming the crooked streets; “Let’s get one thing straight out of the gate. We are NOT amigos so don’t play coy with me dipshit. That ain’t no plan of ours. What the hell is your endgame?”

Zemo loved baiting people especially those within his control; with no route of escapement. He thrived off the fear accumulating under the surface of their skin, the tremble of their tone, but his favorite, oh his favorite was when he forced the light to leave their eyes all hope being abandoned. This will be fun he thought.

“You two seem to be getting along swimmingly. I’ve been reviewing your records and we seem to have contrived the perfect genetic match. A phenomenal super goddess and ex-Marine forced vigilante. The perfect sob story if you ask me.”

Frank surveyed his odds of bulldozing his way out of this hellhole but upon counting the bodies surrounding him immediately recognized he was outnumbered. He needed Y/N in a place where they could utilize her powers, but that didn’t seem very plausible.

“Genetic match? What the fuck are you talking about, Zemo?”

“You’ll realize soon enough All in good time.” Guiding his eagle eye towards the hidden camera, Zemo simply smiled. He started his trek towards the door leaving his patients bewildered behind him with his hands clasped behind his back, his spine straight, and shoulders pointed. Authority my ass.

“Initiate Phase 1.”

Once again, the door bolted shut locking Y/N and Frank back into their designated room without any sign of answer coming their way. With the glass barrier back between them panic caressed through the stagnant air. Reeling from the minimal information given to them, Y/N was stunned into temporary silence. Frank’s attention was on the woman in front of him; “Fuck, Y/N. Where the fucking hell are your Avenger friends?”

(Avengers Tower)

If someone were to ask Bruce Banner his favorite spot on planet Earth, he would gladly pick his lab until the end of time. Beakers and test tubes couldn’t talk back. For once in his forsaken days, he got to be in control, fully in charge if only for the briefest of moments. Procedures and mechanisms released him of his anxiety, overall calming his heart rate from escalating to the point of disaster.

The newspapers got it all wrong about his pent-up aggression towards mankind. They forgot he was human himself. Though some found it easier to treat him as a science experiment, others decided on kindness and friendship. Y/N was one the fortunate few that didn’t manage to piss him off. Given her cruel upbringing, Tony prepared the team for the worst possible outcome, a deranged mutant finally freed from her own hell.

He remembered the way her blonde hair caught the sunshine on a perfect spring day when he watched her lost within her latest read, her clear aqua blue eyes meeting his as an equal, and how he felt electricity run threw his joints the first time his skin briskly touched hers. Nothing but a greeting yet somehow, he knew she was going to be phenomenal. Y/N adjusted to the high-tech superhero gig faster than he expected learning compassion and self-care since becoming her own woman. She never bothered with romance, or her appearance….at least that’s what he convinced himself of. It began with long nights chatting until dawn, two friends passing time with more than enjoyable conversation.

The Stark library was her clandestine fascination, Y/N worshiped divulging into a book lost in articulate words seemingly drawing her further from her own twisted reality. It was effortless to be around her and Bruce was addicted to her quiet and comforting nature. Not many people brought ease upon him. The couch was their second escape as it became routine to sneak away, propping her feet atop his thighs, stopping her glasses from slipping down the bridge of her slender nose as he pretended to not get distracted by her graceful actions.

Y/N had this habit of biting just the edge of her lip when a story truly piqued her interest, her limbs tightening with anticipation as she unknowingly squeezed his triceps unable to tear herself away from the worn pages.

Countless nights were spent hidden away from the troubles of their world. Some sleepless and others occupied by gentle naps. One in particular stuck out more than others…

(Flashback)

13 days. 13 agonizing days since he last saw Y/N, hugged her, and simply conversed with someone similar to his own IQ. Nick Fury had selected Cap and Y/N for an undercover mission in Russia. Incognito as a loving husband and wife on their honeymoon while trying to confiscate (insert cool piece of tech). In the past couple of weeks, Banner felt her pulling away, getting a little more out of reach every time, and he loathed it. Little moments at first; less time in the library, nightly talks dwindling, but the worst part was the body language Y/N aimed at Steve.

Sly smiles here and there, a touch of the palm when no one was supposed to be looking, and Roger’s stupidly irritating smile that made Y/N blush every time he looked her way. Bruce was an idiot, it was just easier to remain oblivious, unaware of the changing atmosphere at the Tower.

Steve and Y/N had just landed the quinjet as Friday notified Stark and Banner of their successful arrival. They were all giggles and soft whispers upon approaching the dock like they had a secret only they knew about. Bruce side-eyed the lovebirds through the glass not wanting to show his true colors or annoyance. It was then that Steve drew Y/N into his chest pressing a passionate kiss upon her lips before looking around, noticing the room bare of any witnesses, or so they thought.

He saw the foolish smile and glimmering light shine from Y/N’s ocean eyes before huffing and heading towards his hideout. Bruce knew she wasn’t coming tonight. It seems Y/N would have other nightly plans he’d rather not think of or else the Hulk was sure to make a scene.

So, he numbly headed towards the elevator before clicking the 5th floor button clueless to the doors slamming shut. Bruce instinctively opened the library door and settled into a chair across from the couch. He wouldn’t dare sit there. It held far too many memories of what-ifs, almosts, and could’ve beens. If only he had the balls to tell her how he truly felt. Oh well.

It was half past twelve when Bruce was deterred by the low chime of the door informing him someone else had entered the room. Odd, he supposed. He thought he would get his sanctuary for another blissful night. As he gawked at the unknown presence, he immediately noticed who the intruder was; Y/N. His book snapped shut forgetting about marking his page as his feet found footing on the plush carpet. She hadn’t seen him yet. The door shut behind Y/N as her back rested against the wood frame before quietly sighing.

Her appearance was disheveled, her blonde tendrils thrown into a sloppy bun as she wore an over-sized t-shirt that certainly didn’t belong to her. Steve’s. Her lips plump as if she had just left her lover’s bed in hopes of seeking him out, or so he wished. He stayed seated not wanting to draw additional attention to his strange behavior.

“Y/N- you’re…back.”

“Bruce, just the guy I was looking for.” She coyly smiled genuinely happy to see him.

“Ohhh, is that so? I figured you’d have other things to catch up on. It’s good to see you Y/N, really.”

Y/N walked over to their sofa before propping her elbows along the edge, resting her jaw in her palm. Her memories didn’t serve him justice. He was kind, handsome, and beyond attentive to her intellectual needs.

“I missed you. Steve isn’t big on reading…or talking much for that matter. It’s nice to see a simulating face.”

“Psh, I’m sure you managed just fine without me. You always do.” He tried to hide the disappointment seeping into his voice. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away. Above all, Bruce reminded himself that he was her friend first regardless of his growing feelings.

“You made it back in one piece. I assume the mission went well?”

She chuckled, her fingers fidgeting in her lap unable to sit still; something was bothering her.

“Indeed. Steve is uh, quite the charmer. Almost too believable if I do say so myself.”

Bruce stood up suddenly catching Y/N off guard as he made his way back to the shelf to return his latest adventure. Out of his peripheral vision, Y/N began moving his direction closing the gap between them. With his back faced away from Y/N, he felt a small hand reach for his shoulder in a soothing manner. Y/N stood behind him as the silence lingered on. Before he could grasp what was happening, her arms encircled his waist as Y/N hid her face between his shoulder blades. Her touch brought calmness to his anxious mind; his muscles instantly relaxing as his own hand guided on top of her resting on his stomach.

She mumbled a modest “Hi.” before burrowing back into him. Bruce couldn’t conceal the blush that crept into his cheeks. He was merely glad she wasn’t able to see his reaction. No other words needed to be spoken, it was pure and simple. He steered her hands upwards as he kissed the indention by her thumb, directing her hands over his chest finally resting upon his beating heart. It was unspoken, mutual admiration both parties thrived off of. Y/N and Bruce just didn’t quite fully understand the significance of their unexpressed connection.

But that was the past, now he had the atrocious opportunity of living in the present with no Y/N in sight.

(Present Day-Avengers Tower)

“Meeting dismissed. We are staying on alert until Y/N is found and brought back safely. I suggest you all be ready to go. Rogers and Banner, stay behind.”

Fury’s tone mixed with Tony’s eyes shooting daggers initiated an uncontrollable eye roll from the Hulk. This outta be good. As everyone else made their way towards the door, Steve huffed unsure of what was about to go down knowing it wasn’t good news.

Natasha was the last of the bunch remaining. Her hand grasped the knob in hopes of hightailing it out of the stuffy office before hearing Tony’s callous voice; “Ah ah, Romanoff. You seriously didn’t think you’d get off that easy, now did you?”

“I don’t see how this has any ties to me. I don’t know what—”

“What I’m talking about? Of course, you do my dear, you’re not that dull. Or did sleeping with Cap disable your inability to decipher between respectful decency?”

Nausea caught in Steve’s throat as his eyes met Natasha’s. Fuck. Bruce lounged in his chair with a satisfied smirk; Steve had the sudden urge to punch him but withheld…at least temporarily.

Tony and Fury resembled two very pissed off individuals; each leader trying to top the other. Silence encapsulated the room, everyone stared at one another unsure of how to proceed with the events in place. So, Director Fury stepped up first; “Can anyone tell what the hell is going on with the lot of you? Wait a minute, don’t answer that. I already know some of you have already lost your damn minds.”

“Language.”

“Language my ass, Rogers. Since you so kindly volunteered to share first, please do so.”

His breath staggered, his jugular beginning to pound under his skin, sweat beaded across his dewy forehead. Sink or swim time.

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Tags: @kaithezaftig @awesomefanficlover@marvelfansworld@sergeantjbuckybarnes @hista-girl @calwitch @silent-loucidity@flightofthefantasies @lovely-geek @shannon124 @hulksmashin-bannerpackin@siren-queen03 @heyiamthatbitch @girls-inred @kielemarie @donner5822 @sophiria @iluvsumbucky@xstevenat @artemis-lana @bla-369 @itsallyscorner @jay-the-mothafuckin-gay @artemis-lana

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seenashwrite · 5 years

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Some Dean

Word Count: 4K Category: One-shot, On-The-Hunt, Humor, Creature Feature, Behind-the-scenes Canon-Compliant, Teamwork, Friendship… and, to hell with it: Fluff Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Sam, Cas Warnings: None Anti-Warning: There’s no images or links to anything creeptastic below the cut, those of you with squicks/phobias need not worry, I’m not that big of an a-hole Author’s Note(s): *This is a re-post minus tags & links in an effort to get it to show in searches*; if you’ve no knowledge of the children’s story “Charlotte’s Web”, this may not be for you; more post-story Overall Summary: Sometimes good things come in small, albeit eight-legged, packages.

Dean had always liked spiders.

Well, “like” may’ve been overstating; Dean had always held an appreciation for spiders. They weren’t nasty like rats or sneaky like snakes, with spiders you knew where you stood: in his experience, anything supernatural aside, you leave them alone, they’ll leave you alone. Plus, they were badass - spiders packed a lot of intimidation into a small package, could be killing machines when they wanted to be, and mostly he appreciated that they were efficient and effective when it came to dealing with the annoying bugs that occasionally popped up. He did live in a basement, after all; the world’s tiniest were not deterred by any amount of warding or weaponry.

So when he’d notice small, barely-there wisps of webs in far corners or between the bottom of a bookshelf and the wall, stretching from the carved wood to the sticky bricks, he’d leave the homemade traps be for a week or two if they were empty, and sure enough, they’d have captured some crawlers next time he made a run-through with the vacuum. It was an amicable relationship - Dean never saw the spiders, just their handiwork, and the webs seldom popped up in the same space twice. Plus, they seemed to know the kitchen was a no-fly… spider… zone, so all was well.

And then came Charlotte.

Charlotte - as Dean had eventually started calling the garden spider, much to Sam’s dismay - did not have any regard for the out-of-sight, you-don’t-get-the-boot arrangement, nor did she have any regard for giving Dean his space. The day they met, he’d sauntered into the garage, popped the Impala’s trunk, tossed in a bag and a shotgun, yelled at Sam to hurry up, then went to reach for the driver’s side handle, caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and froze. And he wasn’t the only one.

The web was thick at the edges and delicate in the middle, stretching from the side mirror to the handle, upon which Charlotte perched, her crafting put on hold. She wasn’t terribly small, but not remotely large; she would’ve easily fit on the pad of his thumb. And she was clearly of the brave - or stupid, perhaps - sort, because she didn’t immediately scurry off. She took in the sight of the giant creature before her - technically, there was eight of him, what with her four pairs of eyes and all - and she opted to see what would happen.

What happened was that Dean turned, grabbed a shop rag, and began cursing under his breath as he whipped the web into nothingness; by the time he stopped, Charlotte had skittered to places unknown.

Dean tossed the rag away, gave the handle a good eyeballing before he grabbed it, opening the door and saying in a low voice through grit teeth, “Not. The. Car.”

“What not the car?” asked Sam, bounding up the garage steps.

“Nothing,” Dean replied.

This nothing continued for six weeks.

Charlotte was a determined artist, it seemed, not to mention a fast one. She spun webs of all sizes and shapes, covering the license plate in quilt-panel squares, weaving long, ropy trails around and between the wipers, and at one point obscured the back window in a lacy pattern that Castiel noted looked like a fine guipure. She liked to travel, too, as more than once the brothers would exit a given roadside motel room to find Charlotte had been busy during the night, Sam’s personal favorite being when she’d decorated a hubcap in a complex Fibonacci design, though he’d never have let on to Dean.

On the initial occasions following such a discovery, if Dean happened to spot her, he would scold her with a sharp “NO!”, walk in her direction briskly, and she’d retreat, slipping into the trunk or under the hood, but it wasn’t long before she’d stay put, even edge closer, cutting the distance between them, eventually so bold as to crawl onto the roof of the Impala, watching as he dismantled her webs.

“Really?” he asked one morning after the latest wipe-down, bending slightly so they were eye-to-eyes.

She calmly extended one leg to the side, held it out til he got the hint, turning his head, following what he’d presumed was a point, and sure enough, he’d missed some cottony puffs that were still stuck on a tail light.

Looking back at her, he said - begrudgingly - "Thanks.“

Dean had dealt with stranger things.

"One day I’m expecting to come out and see ‘terrific’ in a web,” Sam commented during a return trip from the latest hunt.

“What?” Dean asked.

“You know - the kid’s book. Charlotte’s Web. You read it to me when we were little. About the farm, and saving Wilbur the would-be bacon?”

“Charlotte’s anti-bacon?”

“No, I don’t think— it was— it— she was just pro-pig.”

It was after this conversation that Dean took to calling their frequent tag-a-long Charlotte. To be specific, it was after he’d brought a BLT with him into the garage while working on the car, and she’d happily investigated a bit of bacon that had escaped his plate. A point to the pro-bacon column, he thought.

Dean informed her that he was fine with her hanging around, he was even fine with her fancy webwork, but she needed to cool it when it came to the car, explaining with lots of gesturing to make sure the message got across, just in case. He’d looked it up. Spiders did not have ears.

He’d also looked up things on spider life spans, and arachnid health in general. Sam found him in the library one evening doing just that, frowning at his laptop screen as he scanned. Castiel was nearby, returning some books to their places on the shelves.

“What is he doing?” Sam asked in a hushed voice, and Castiel opened his mouth to respond, but Dean spoke, diverting their attention.

“Did Charlotte look pale to you earlier?”

Now Sam frowned. “Dean… what?”

“I mean, she’s light brown, but she looked a little yellow earlier,” Dean explained, scrolling further down a page, but then closing the window with a huff and turning in his seat to face Sam. “Can’t find anything.” A pause; a thought. “Hey, I should put out a devil’s trap drawing for her, maybe a new pattern’ll perk her up.”

Sam was, in a word, startled. “Do you think of her as a pet?”

“Why do you care?”

“Oh, I dunno - because a spider is stalking us, and you’ve named it, and you talk to it, and—-”

“What, you got a thing about spiders to go with your thing about clowns, even though your imaginary friend was a clown?” Another pause. “Come to think of it, that explains a lot.”

“Sully’s not a clown, and no, I do not have arachnophobia, what I do have is a worry that - if it is a female - it may lay a bunch of eggs, then we’ll have an infestation. Is that what you want? Bunch of spider babies in your Baby?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “She’s not gonna do that.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Did she pinky swear?”

“Would you like me to have a look at her?” asked Castiel, and the concern in his voice was less for Charlotte and more for Dean, and less in the sympathetic way and more in the tiptoeing around someone who’s slipped into psychosis way.

Sam crossed his arms. “Taking it outside hasn’t worked, neither has trying to leave it wherever we’ve been hunting - this is getting ridiculous, will you just kill it, already?!”

Dean stood, walked over to him, defiant. “We not been doing enough killing for you lately?”

“It’s just a spider, Dean!”

“I know that! Maybe I just don’t wanna be scraping moist spider guts off my boot.”

“Does this spider communicate with you?” Castiel asked, the concern still floating under his words.

He was ignored.

“It’s not your pet, it’s a tiny insect - you don’t even know if it could be poisonous!” Sam exclaimed.

“Not an insect, genius, and Charlotte would never bite us—-”

“What is wrong with you?!”

“Have either of you considered the possibility that this is no ordinary spider?” Castiel suggested.

“Gee, thanks, Cas - no, hadn’t noticed that this is weird,” Dean shot back with a look.

“So you get that this is weird?” Sam checked.

“Our life is weird, what’s some more? And at least this is fun weird, is that so bad?” Dean replied, and the touch of melancholy in his voice caused both Sam and Castiel to stay quiet for a few moments.

The silence was broken by the ring of Dean’s phone - a case awaited them.

And, of course, Charlotte.

Dean looked up from the map as Sam came back into their motel room, six pack in one hand, phone in the other, kicking the door shut as he spoke.

“Jane called. She says a container ship from the UK was bringing in illegal cargo, for some rich people who wanted exotic animals for canned hunts—”

“Douche move.”

“—and apparently when they went to unload, the crates were all busted up. The hold was covered with what was left of the bodies of the animals. All except for one. Three guesses.”

“Big bad bacon?”

“Yup. And she thinks we’re looking at… ah….” Sam trailed off and chuckled.

“Yeah?”

“A cryptid. It’s called The Beast of Dean, a.k.a. the Moose Pig.”

“Why do I think that somewhere, somehow, whatever’s left of Crowley just got a chub.”

They were in a rural area of Virginia, not too far from Portsmouth, and had been for a week, tracking what sounded like a rabid boar, but there was enough of a bump-in-the-night bend to the word on the street that they’d been confident it fell in their wheelhouse. Now that they had confirmation, after a night of research and weapon prep, they were ready to knock out the most recent mission and get back home. The Dean-Moose was large, and it was anything but subtle. The hunt should be an easy one, wouldn’t take long, nothing to it.

Well. One thing. One sort-of big thing. Even though it was also a small thing. Sam’s pro-pig storybook spider and their companion, they’d come to find, had more in common than just a name.

STOP

There, stretched across the Impala’s grill the next morning, was an undeniable message, and given Dean’s jaw-dropped state, it prompted Sam to speak on his behalf.

“Um, Charlotte? Listen, I don’t know if you… you seem nice, and… really smart, but… look, this thing isn’t like that pig in the book.”

“Because she’s read the book,” Dean said sarcastically, breaking out of his stupor and stomping over to the car, sharp eyes looking for the sassy spider; no joy. “Hey, guess what?” he said loudly. “I’m gonna drive so fast that by the time I do stop, your web’s gonna get shredded, how do you like that? I told you my car was OFF LIMITS!”

With one last glare at the web, Dean got into the car, and Sam followed suit. They put on the radio and chatted about anything but spiders and pigs for the better part of an hour as they bumped along the winding back roads. And after parking at the edge of the woods where the most recent sighting of the beastly hog had occurred, they opened the trunk to find another message, one that unfurled neatly, springing open as the lid of the weapons compartment lifted.

REALLY! STOP, STUPID.

Punctuation, and all.

“You know…” Dean began, but trailed off with a shake of his head, snatching up the shotgun and pocketing a handful of the shells with the special filling he and Sam had cooked up the night prior.

Sam removed the freshly-etched-with-symbols machete. Dean slammed the trunk shut. Charlotte did not emerge.

As they walked deeper and deeper into the woods, Sam spoke in a quiet voice.

“When we get back, I’m calling Cas. This is out of control, Dean. The spider’s obviously somebody - or something - dicking around with us. Maybe that’s been the plan, keeping us from killing this thing.”

Dean didn’t look at him, rather kept scanning their surroundings as he responded. “Maybe. She… it… came around before that ship got here. But, yeah. Maybe something’s up.”

Sam reflexively sighed in relief, and at that moment Dean stopped, extended his arm to stop Sam’s progress, as well.

“Shhh. Listen.”

The growl was only audible for a moment before the foliage began to stir.

The hunt, it turned out, did not last long. The defeated brothers wearily tossed their dented weapons into the backseat and practically fell into the front. Dean immediately turned off the radio - the chanting of Duran Duran’s “Wild Boys” had come screaming through the speakers.

“It does kinda sound like they’re saying 'wild boars’,” Sam noted.

“Shut up.”

After they’d returned to the motel and showered, cleaned up their scratches and cuts, swapped torn clothing for intact, Sam went back to researching, while Dean went out to the Impala, damp washcloths in hand, and opened the trunk. It was barely even six o'clock, and there was still enough sunlight that he could see every trace of the webbing was gone. But he wanted to check that his little - former - friend hadn’t done anything else.

She had.

Sitting in the driver’s set, Dean’s eye was drawn to the thin, nearly opaque message across the radio, anchored by the knobs and an ejected tape.

BAD JOB

Dean swiped it away without a word, uttering a small groan and clutching his bruised ribs as he climbed out. He took a few steps, but then pivoted. He opened the door again and leaned in, voice tense as he spoke.

“Tell you what, how’s about I bring you some toothpicks and you join in tomorrow, help us out, get in a few stabs? Be useful, show us how it’s done?”

Dean fell asleep wondering if he’d completely lost his mind.

THIS IS DUMB .

Sam ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes - he’d been out the door first, so the newest message, covering the entirety of the hood, immediately made him brace himself for what was coming next.

But, surprisingly, Dean kept his temper in check; he merely set down his bag, returned to the room for a towel, and briskly wiped down the hood.

“Ready?” he asked Sam, forcing a smile that was likely more unsettling than intended.

Sam kept quiet, answering with a thumbs-up.

Their Everything’s Fine! charade was short-lived.

As with the prior morning, Charlotte had chosen to reinforce her message, wrapping the steering wheel so thickly it was barely visible, and her stance on their mission came through loud and clear.

THIS IS ACTUALLY DUMB .

Sam thought the choice of having the final “dumb” in bold italic for emphasis was a nice touch. And he noted the copious amount of webbing wound around the gear shift with raised eyebrows. And he gulped when he spotted more strands of said webbing emerging from the ignition. He cut his eyes over to Dean and, upon seeing his expression, took a step back.

This time, Charlotte did not hide. She’d positioned herself on the dashboard, right near the puffed-up wheel, standing with what could be described as quite the petulant posture. And much like the day the spider and the hunter had met, Dean froze.

Charlotte held her ground.

Dean’s nostrils flared.

Charlotte crossed her front legs as if they were arms.

Dean’s jaw clenched.

Charlotte tapped a back leg, as if to say Well get on with it.

Dean was still unmoved, and so Sam said, “You know, when you freeze like that, it’s really not as intimidating as you might—-”

“CHARLOTTE!” Dean bellowed.

She turned and sashayed to the glove box, crawling inside without the first indication she felt in any danger whatsoever.

Thankfully, the motel was just shy of a mile from from a modest gas station-diner combo. Sam talked Dean into a breakfast - with extra bacon, a thumb of the nose to both the beast and its defender. After they easily convinced the owner to loan them his truck, explaining their car’s fuel gauge was apparently broken, buying a can of gas for show, they promised they’d have it returned to him by morning.

As they drove back to grab their gear, Dean asked, “You hear from Cas?”

Sam nodded. “Reception’s crap, though - I can only hear parts of his voicemail. He found something about Charlotte, at least, I think. But he didn’t sound upset, like she was dangerous.”

“Let’s just roast the pig and get the hell outta here.”

“I’m sorry she’s not… you know, fun-weird anymore,” Sam said.

Dean lowered his foot, gunning the engine. “Yeah, well. Story of my life,” he muttered.

The truck was returned way before morning, this encounter with their newest foe having gone as well as the first. Then they found that Charlotte had removed all the web from the Impala, though the door to the motel room held some snark:

NICE HEAD

Dean barely glanced at it - possibly a little hard to do with the near swollen-shut, a breath away from blackened eye - and didn’t even bother to clean it off. There was no message from Charlotte the next morning. Dean did bother to wonder if she was gone.

The sound of the tree cracking sent both of them diving behind a small knoll, gasping for breath, cringing as it crashed down just where they’d been not seconds earlier.

“I’m empty,” Dean said, returning his gun to his waistband. “You?”

“About ten minutes ago,” Sam answered.

The beast’s growls now turned into a piercing scream, a most furious howl, angry it couldn’t find them. They heard it turning up earth with its tusks, sending rocks flying, then ramming its head into yet another tree, the trunk buckling under the strain. Dean had managed to send a bullet into its snout, likely preventing it from sniffing them out, if the occasional gurgling snorts were any indication. Sam had earned himself a minor goring to his calf, but otherwise they were intact.

“Think you can run?” Dean asked, gesturing to the bandanna-wrapped wound.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I think so. That the plan? Just make a run for it?”

“You got any better ideas?”

“On three?”

“One… two…. three!”

They dodged trees, though the beast didn’t bother, taking out the smaller ones along the way, picking up speed with every moment that passed, while the brothers were losing speed at the same time.

Dean noticed a large branch in their path up ahead and started to veer off from Sam, pointing to it and yelling, “Keep going! I’ll try to knock Porky out!”

“No!” Sam yelled back, grimacing each time his leg made contact with the ground. “It’ll kill—- HUUUURMMPPHH!”

Sam went down, Dean not far behind, something tripping both of them, causing them to fall with such force that whatever air they had left in their lungs got knocked out. Disoriented, they raised their heads only to immediately duck them, covering up with their arms, as the beast was still plowing ahead. Its hooves hit the ground in between them, tossing dirt everywhere, its speed too far gone for it to stop on a dime. They expected to soon hear it reversing course, so Sam opened his eyes, trying to spot a place to hide, Dean doing the same, trying to spot the branch.

Instead, the sound of the most meek squeal one could imagine reached their ears, prompting Dean and Sam to turn their gazes directly ahead.

They were at the bottom of a small incline, and they watched as the boar’s head rolled their way, their heads slowly turning as they observed it leisurely passing by. It came to a sudden stop against something near their feet. They shared a look, moving in sync onto their knees.

“Uh, Dean?” Sam said.

Dean looked up from inspecting the severed head to find Sam with his hand extended, pushing under something that Dean couldn’t make out, but a shift in position and a tilt of his head allowed him to see the bright moonlight glint off the surprisingly thick, iridescent rope running across Sam’s fingers.

Another look, another in sync movement as they stood, then tentatively walked forward til they reached the body. This time, Dean spotted it right away when he crouched, the finely-wound strands that were stretched between two trees, at just the perfect height to relieve a squatty hog monster of its head. He flicked it with a finger, as one would a string on a guitar, and it was just as taut.

“She clotheslined it,” Sam said, awestruck. “She tripped us so we wouldn’t… That could’ve clipped us at the knees. She… she…”

Dean looked up at Sam, and a slow smile spread across his face. "She’s awesome!”

Sam shifted his weight off of his bad leg, and grinned. “Think she’s any good with stitches?”

How Charlotte managed to spin their salvation in such little time, they’d never know, and they also had no idea how she beat them back to the car, but the evidence was there, across the driver’s side window. .

SOME PIG .

They laughed, Dean saying, “You ain’t lying.”

But before he could say anything else, Charlotte crawled out from under the handle. She scurried up her web, and as they watched, she whipped the “P” into a “D”; the “I” went “E” in a few short passes; the “G” was partially dismantled, then spun into an “A”; and in mere seconds, there appeared an “N”. .

SOME DEAN .

After a quick hop from its tip, a slide to the outside of one of the long connecting end pieces, and a drop of a new line of silk, their eyes followed her as she leapt, letting the momentum swing her clean up onto the roof. And then - Sam would swear to it, many times over the coming years - she curtsied.

“Thanks,” Dean said softly. “You, too.” With that, he opened the back door, gestured for her to climb inside.

Which, she did.

“Yes… yes… that’s very kind of you.”

Dean, Sam, and Castiel were standing outside the bunker, the former waiting patiently - and occasionally impatiently - as the latter had a conversation with Charlotte.

Castiel looked to them. “She says she likes my tie. The material meets her standards.”

Dean’s expression was completely flat, causing Sam to snicker.

“There any reason you didn’t tell us you could’ve been talking to her this whole time?” Dean demanded.

Castiel shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

It turned out that Castiel’s message had been to inform them that Charlotte was indeed a most special spider, more so than what they’d already divined. She was an emissary, an information-gatherer, a spy of sorts, though not a nefarious one. And because she herself was quite the accomplished hunter, she chose to spend time with other hunters whenever her journeys brought her to them.

And now, it was time for Charlotte to start her next journey.

Castiel was nodding his head as Charlotte, who was on his collar, near his ear, told him one last thing. “She’d like you to know that Sam was correct - she does need to prepare to lay her eggs, though she would not have done so in the car,” Castiel related.

Dean shot Sam a smug look.

“And she says she’ll name them Dean.”

Dean blinked. “All of them?”

“Yes.”

“How many we talking?”

A pause as Charlotte answered, and Castiel replied, “Anywhere from fifty to sixty.”

“That’s… a lot,” Dean said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“Not really,” Sam commented.

Another look from Dean - actually, he cycled through several.

“Fine. So maybe I did some research, too,” Sam admitted.

“It’s time for her to go,” Castiel announced. “She says she’s enjoyed your company immensely. And she apologizes for the web you’ve yet to find. It seems she was in a cranky mood that evening.”

“That’s okay. Tell her it’s okay,” Dean said, walking closer. “Tell her that, um… it’s been great knowing her. Don’t be a stranger. All that.”

Castiel smiled. “She knows.” He raised his hand to his shoulder, and Charlotte climbed onto it. “I’m going to give her a boost,” he explained, and then to Charlotte he said, “Please do give Mr. Anansi the Winchester brothers’ warmest regards.”

They watched as Charlotte prepped a silk balloon, and after a gentle wave of Castiel’s hand, off she flew.

“It would be… cheesy of me to comment it is angelic, their flight, wouldn’t it?” Castiel asked.

“Yes,” Dean and Sam answered in unison.

They began to walk back inside.

“What was that at the end? About Anansi?” asked Sam.

“Networking,” Castiel replied.

“I wouldn’t worry about us ever having to tangle with him,” Dean said. “I mean, not with Charlotte on our side. She’ll talk us up. She’s a talker.”

“Plus, there’ll be all the Deans,” Sam added.

“Yup. Exactly. We are cool with the spider kingdom,” said Dean, and with great confidence.

Dean was incorrect on this point, as he and Sam would later learn, during a case involving a young lady by the name of Muffet.

But that’s another story.

Want more stories? My Master Post is linked in my profile, and it tells you about getting on the Tag List, too! If for whatever reason it gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to send an Ask and I’ll link you.

Re-blogs and feedback are fuel for a writer’s soul - please do let me know if you enjoyed. 😘

Author’s Note #2 - The Jane mentioned is a character from my story Supernatural: Revelation, which you can find linked on the master post -or- just go straight to AO3, same author name SeeNashWrite 😁

Author’s Note #3 - This also included a prompt which had languished in drafts - albeit with the note “Anansi” from the get-go, thankyouverymuch! - which was from the cringeworthy submissions:

You can find all the #Nash300 Follower Celebration Master List of Madness stories (wherein I asked followers to send me prompts consisting of three words to make me cringe) via the Master Post.

Author’s Note #4: The beast of Dean mentioned is actually a thing, give it a google! And so is Anansi, check that out, too. If you don’t get the Muffet reference, well, I can’t help you with that. 😉

#Supernatural Fanfiction #SPN Fanfic #Supernatural Fanfic #fluff #Dean Winchester #Nash Writes

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arc852 · 6 years

Text

Different Perspectives

Summary: When a borrower!Roman gets stuck with a human!Logan, it's clear from their different perspectives that they both still have a lot to learn. Also later on featuring a borrower!Virgil and human!Patton, who have their own perspectives to bring to the table.

Warnings: Being trapped, feelings of helplessness, panic attack and death mention

|| Next Chapter (AO3 Link)

Roman struggled against the sticky tape, trying to get out of his shoes in order to jump back to safety. Unfortunately, he ended up tripping and fell forward on the sticky tape with no way to stop it. He just barely managed to keep his face from sticking to the floor. He tried moving his arms up, but they wouldn’t budge. He was stuck.

Panic blossomed in Roman and he felt his breath get quicker, more erratic. He was stuck, this was it. Virgil was in a room way across the complex, so getting him to help was out. He was going to die here. If not by lack of food and water then by-

The floor rumbled beneath him and Roman’s breath hitched. The human was coming.

“Yes, I’m checking it now Patton.” Logan rolled his eyes. Logan had discovered much of his food had been going missing. When regular mouse traps failed him, Logan decided to put down glue traps to stop the rodent thief. However, his always empathetic friend Patton was worried about a mouse getting stuck in the trap for days, and insisted Logan go often to check if any creature was there and to let it be free.

Logan was fed up with these constant reminders to check the trap. If the other traps had failed, this one was likely to fail as well. He seemed to be dealing with no ordinary mouse. However, as he reached the kitchen and spotted the trap just behind the lower cupboards, he noticed a wriggling figure.

“...Oh.” Logan leaned closer and confirmed that this was indeed no ordinary mouse. In fact, if he wasn’t a man of science, Logan would dare to say it was a tiny man caught in his glue trap. But that had to be impossible!

Impossible or not, there was indeed a little person staring fearfully up at him as it was stuck lying on its stomach in the glue.

Roman’s struggles picked up once the human came into view. No, this couldn’t happen! He wasn’t going down without a fight.

But of course, none of his limbs budged. Roman’s worst fear was about to be realized. He was helpless and at the complete mercy of a human.

This wasn’t going to end well for him.

“I’ve got to go Patton.” Logan said, quickly hanging up the phone. This certainly changed things. He had expected a mouse, not a person. Well of course he expected a mouse because people aren’t supposed to be a few inches tall-

No, he couldn’t focus on that. What was important now was saving the poor trapped guy. Logan quickly googled “sticky rat trap” and after finding nothing useful, added “unstick the mouse” for good measure. He read through the wiki-how article once before getting up and gathering the necessary materials.

Logan put on gloves, as instructed. He bent down and looked at the tiny man again. Honestly, every time he looked down the situation seemed even more baffling. “Sorry about this.” Logan gave as a warning, before picking up the trap.

Roman didn’t, couldn’t, speak as he felt the surface he was on being lifted. It filled his stomach with butterflies and nauseous. Though the nausea was more from thinking about the situation he was in then the actual movement.

Not having any other option, Roman stayed still and hoped that despite what happened, it would at least be quick.

Logan set the glue trap with the person into a tupperware container four inches deep. Just as the Wiki-how said, Logan covered the man with a towel and ever so gently placed his gloved hand on his back to keep him still while he worked.

“It’s alright, don’t panic.” Logan instructed in what he hoped was a calming voice. The instructions didn’t say talking to the ‘mouse’ would help it stay less stressed, but Logan figured with this scenario it was only polite.

Logan glanced back at his phone for more instructions, pulling the vegetable oil out of a top cupboard. He carefully began to pour some into the container, rubbing it in with the cloth where the creature was attached to the glue.

Roman stiffened as he felt a weight drop onto his back, in the back of his mind registered that it was gentle, but he was not focused on that right now. He was more focused on the fact that there was a human touching him.

What was even happening? What was the human up to? Roman found it hard to listen to the human’s words when taking in his current situation.

Logan continued the process for a few minutes, feeling incredibly odd about the whole thing. This was certainly not how he expected to spend his evening. But, as the five minutes came to a close, he could feel the glue releasing its strong grip on the little guy. Logan let out a sigh of relief. He would have felt awful if the tiny strange creature thing had died due to his trap.

...Especially before he could learn all about said creature.

Logan carefully tugged on the small body, attempting to pry it up and out of the glue.

Roman suddenly felt the weight that had been on top of him shift after several long minutes. They curled around the rest of his body and Roman shivered. It felt weird, even if the human’s hand was covered by a glove. And then, the grip around him tightened and pulled up.

Whatever the human had done to the trap might have helped a little, Roman doesn’t truly know, but all he does know is that it didn’t help enough because he was currently feeling so much pain. The sticky glue pulled at his skin, but worse of all was his hair. A few strands had gotten stuck along with the rest of him and it being pulled was torture to the borrower.

“Ahh! Stop!”

Logan paused at the sound of the tiny’s voice. The fact that it could speak- and conveniently English, at that- was almost more improbable than the little guy’s very existence.

He waited a few moments. “Sorry, it’s best to just get it over with.” Logan explained, before going at it again and separating the person from the glue as carefully as his comparatively large hands would allow.

Having no chance at fighting against the human’s choice, Roman braced himself as he was pulled up again. It hurt like hell, but he left the glue with all his hair and skin attached.

Now all he had to worry about was what the human would do with him now that he was free.

Logan lifted up the creature, giving it a quick look-over for injuries before setting it on the counter. “Alright.” Logan gave a satisfied nod, pleased the procedure had gone well. He disposed of the trap and excess oil in the trash, setting his gloves inside one of the cabinets.

He folded his arms on the edge of the counter, leaning closer to examine the man.

Roman backed away a few steps as the human’s face came closer. He gulped nervously and subtly looked around for any chances of escape. Unfortunately, his entrance into the wall was quite a bit away and if he were to make a run for it, it would be child’s play for the human to stop him.

Roman might have been free of the glue, but he was still trapped.

Sanders Sides Gt Tag List: @justanotherpurplebutterfly @jade-dragon226-fan @nightmarejasmine @redundant-statements-for-400 @creepycute27 @hetaisawesome @eryn-bagle @hamilin-manuel-miranda @gtanddragons @the-straight-as-a-circle-girl @fandomsailer @myfuckingblogofshit @scorching-scotch @chaoticcharm-stone-posts

Platonic Logince Tag List: @sanders-sides-thuri @logically-asexual @emokittenlikesgore @urtrashhq @hissesssss @completelyclevername@too-random-for-me@tree4life25@deathbyvenusftw@ill-interested@just-another-transblog@johnnyboylaurens@ams-parker@theanxietyofbeinganxious@princelogical@allthemetalsoftherainbow@depressed-alone@theroyalramen@magicmapleleaf@pieces-of-annedrew@saphirestrike@asalwayss@romanssippycup@redundant-statements-for-400@skylagamingfea@clueingforblogs@ladynikitablack@thatonenerdtm @haikyuupaladin@migraine-marathon@alextheodd@sandersfanders@pansexual-cat@hanramz-the-fander@anastasialestina@sanders-sides-shambles@royallyanxious@thestoryofme13@i-will-physically-fight-you@a-blog-just-for-sanders@trashfireiplier@the-optimism-of-the-ostriches@prplzorua@callboxkat@kurna-kovite@221biotchplease@starry-eyed-haiku-dreamer@pattykrabbies@shygirl4991@musicphanpie-b@superintrovertfangirl @silversunshine2012@lockolocka@makemeaplant@today-only-happens-once@rose-gold-roman@aliferous-ly@koalaaquabear @musicsavedmefromdeath@anachronistic-cat@heythereprincey@yourhappypappypatton@dudlebuggs@siriuswhiskers@pinkeasteregg@virgilisaneternalmood@kirsten-the-freak@justabookworm39@funsizedgremlin@logan-exe@thecrimsoncodex@unknownsandersfan@yourmomsafalsehood@robanilla@dementeddracon@v-blue-writer@sassy-in-glasses@blazeimagines101@sanders-fam-ily@trashypansexual@toujours-fidele@lowkey-logicality@do-rey-me@hottopicvirge@rptheturk@candiukas@nottodaylogic@ffsas-side-account@shadow-walker-1201@milomeepit@grey-lysander@baileystarsketches@ace-of-hufflepuffs@voices-and-stardust@deadinsidebutliving@ocotopushugs@datonerougecookeh@lana--22@kentato-kenart@logically-sided@ruuworld@theworldismysupernova @jughead-is-canonically-aroace@mercythemermaids-blog@pearls-of-patton@jade-dragon226-fan@mollycassmith@ace-v-p-d@acrobaticcatfeline@sesame-icecream@nyxwordsmith@roman-is-a-gay@reba-andthesides@thesilentbluesparrow@angered-turtle@emovirgil@misc-merde@captain-loki-xavier@evilmuffin@k9cat@louisthewarlock@asterias-confused-writings@bekkyboo2003@aph-roma@theworldismysupernova@highwarlockofhogsmeade@notveryglittery@cripplingchips@thats-so-crash@cinderlunarcyborg@savingshae@minamishipsit@cashmeredragon@smokeyrutilequartz@nymphaedoratonks@the-feels-are-coming@faacethefacts@radioactivebread@katatles-the-fish@ashbash-the-trashcash@angeliclogan@fanatic564@cinquefoilelove@violetmcl@iris-sanders-athena@ono-its-ryane@heir-of-the-founders@raisin-oatmeal-cookie@pensive-patton@roman-is-a-dramatic-prince@elusivefalsehoods@vulnerablevirgil

#gt #Giant/tiny #thomas sanders #sanders sides #infinitesimal!sides #borrowers #au #different perspectives #chapter 1 #logince #platonic logince #moxiety #platonic moxiety #tiny!roman #tiny!virgil #human!logan #human!patton

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