#she can tell me about scotland and we can both eat nice food. win-win

[fingertipsmp3]

Just sitting here eating breadsticks in the calm before the storm tbh

[astrodances]

**SLIGHT SPOILERS for “The Fight for Castle McDuck!” ahead!**

Because writing Goldie and Louie texting is so much fun.

*****

Yet Another Secret of Clan McDuck!

Goldie both loves and hates room service.

She loves the anticipation of knowing that a nice, hot meal that she didn’t have to make herself can and will arrive at any minute, ready for her to dig into after a long day of going after her next mark. But at the same time...she hates the actual waiting.

Still, it gives her time to freshen up, relax a bit. Maybe get a movie started on the TV, or text a certain green...nephew.

Only a week ago now, Goldie found out from her sources (while heading down to the Underworld to get a certain fallen wreath) that Louie had been at The Spice-A-Torium in Instanbull the week before that, facing off against Rockerduck himself, with the help of yet another kid to add to the family list (how many did that make now?). Of course, Goldie had texted him right after hearing that to see how he fared (she knew things could get spicy at those dealings), but what she didn’t tell him is that her source had said that Louie had used her as a reference in a couple of side deals, calling her “Aunt Goldie,” and that now, people were identifying him as “O’Gilt’s nephew.”

She really should’ve reminded him not to throw out ties that casually, that people could use it against him, or even her, but...they both have reputations that protect them (and if not, well, they’d be messing with the wrong aunt then). And, if she’s being honest with herself...she likes the way “O’Gilt’s nephew” sounds.

Not that she’s going to tell him that anytime soon.

Goldie sinks into her room’s couch, her phone already out and opened to her texts, and wills her heart to ignore that increasingly-familiar familial warmth bubbling up once again. Scrooge and the kids are staying in Dismal Downs for a couple of days, and it’s bad enough that she’s planning on sneaking into McDuck Manor before they get back not to steal something, but to surprise Scrooge and Louie when they get there.

But that doesn’t mean her heart has to make a big deal out of it.

Goldie: How’s the castle, kid?

It’s getting close to midnight in Scotland, so Goldie won’t be surprised if she doesn’t hear from Louie until tomorrow on the half-chance he’s already asleep. She drops her phone to her side and picks up her water bottle from the end table, taking sip after sip.

After a minute, her phone buzzes with a message, then another, making her smile more than she has any right to.

Sharpie: Cold as ever. And y’know, we found some magical bagpipes, saved them from some bad guys, and had some statues of our ancestors come to life. Typical day. 😝

Sharpie: Also we met our Aunt Matilda.

Goldie smiles again, this time though over Scrooge’s sister. She’s met her exactly twice, both times by circumstance (her past self would never have let her get close enough to Scrooge to willingly want to meet his family), but each time ended up being a riot as Matilda would tease Scrooge for having a girlfriend, thus helping her give him hell (yet another trait of her past self). Looking back between those meetings and the first night she met the triplets, Goldie now knows exactly where the boys get their teasing gene from.

Goldie: I like her. Give her my regards.

Goldie looks up and finally takes stock of what’s on TV. Whatever channel she put it on has delved into a new movie, some comedy from the forties. She can live with it, so she turns her attention to the time on her phone just as a new message comes in.

Any minute now. Food.

But for now, she’s looking at a selfie of Louie with Matilda leaning over his shoulder, waving at the camera. They’re surrounded by bits of concrete and other debris, with their sleeves rolled up and their clothes covered in dust, and Goldie can just make out the back of Scrooge’s broadcloth coat in the background as he lifts something onto a pedestal of some sort.

Sharpie: She’s right here. She says hi!

Goldie grins and nods silently at her phone, happy to see both of them looking well, but surprised at how...awake everyone seems to be in the castle at their hour.

Goldie: Hi Matilda!

Goldie: Also: did a twister take a wrong turn in Glasgow?

Sharpie: Right. The statues? They kinda made a mess of things, so we have to fix them. There was...a lot of fighting here tonight.

She doesn’t press it, not now. She’s about to eat, and everyone there seems to be happy for now. Luckily for her, Louie saves her from having to think of something to say in response.

Sharpie: Wait, oh man, hang on.

Goldie does as told, watching with renewed interest as a few seconds pass before those three little typing bubbles pop up. Briefly, she considers that the statues have come back to life.

After more than a minute of on-again/off-again bubbles, she finds herself getting interested in the movie and drinking her water again. Just as she takes a long sip, a new text chimes in.

Sharpie: Aunt Matilda wants me to ask you, how are things in Goldieburg?

Goldie does a spit take, her water spraying out into the room and all over her phone screen. Whatever brain cells she has left are used to automatically wipe her screen across her sleeve to dry it, because she’s otherwise occupied with her face heating up and Louie’s last word echoing through her head.

Goldieburg???

Matilda’s teasing. It must be her teasing, though...Goldieburg...is definitely a new one. One she can’t even begin to imagine the origins of, though she suspects that Scrooge’s face is probably just as red as hers right now. She also suspects that another fight is starting up, and judging by the fact that Louie was able to send his last text, she’d wager that Matilda is winning.

A knock on her door draws Goldie’s attention away from her phone, but does little to calm the growing turmoil within her. Of course her food would arrive at this moment. She spares a final gawk at her phone before getting up and throwing it to the couch cushions.

It takes all remaining ounces of her self-control for Goldie to ignore the bellboy’s questioning stares at her frenzied appearance as he pushes her room service table into the room, pops open the wine for her, and tells her that she can call the front desk at anytime for them to come get the table when she’s done. She doesn’t know how much she actually tips him, but judging by the wide, bubbly grin that replaces his stare as he rushes out, her mind was far from her wallet when she opened it.

Food. Also far from her mind, for now.

Goldie snatches up her phone as soon as the door is locked again, hoping that there’ll be some explanation waiting for her.

It’s not that she’s embarrassed by the teasing - heaven knows that she’ll be the first to tease Scrooge, for any number of reasons - but this one seems so...personal. So specific. She supposed she should be flattered to affect Scrooge so much that he came up with this, whatever the circumstances. And perhaps that’s it - maybe it’s not the shock of the...uniqueness of “Goldieburg,” but rather it’s that stupid schoolgirl-crush-like warmth creeping through her veins at the idea of Scrooge getting flustered about her around his family, of him telling them about her - however involuntarily or distractedly, it seems - in a way other than a cautionary warning.

That, and Louie knows about it. Somehow, she has the feeling that this is going to be so much worse than him - any of the kids, really - calling her “aunt.”

There are notifications for seven new texts and a photo.

Sharpie: Uncle Scrooge says for you to totally read that last text and to definitely bring it up next time you see him

Sharpie: And that Goldieburg is his favorite place in the whole wide world

Sharpie: and that I should stop texting if I wanna stay in the will

Sharpie: wait what??

Goldie notices a time jump between the last text and the next.

Sharpie: Good news, I’m still in the will, thanks to Aunt Matilda.

A picture follows, of Matilda holding Scrooge back with one arm looped under his shoulder and the other holding him in a headlock. There’s a dead-seriousness in Matilda’s eyes but otherwise she looks like she just won the sibling battle to end all sibling battles. Scrooge, meanwhile, is redder than his coat, missing his hat, and looks ready to break Louie’s phone, even though there’s no way in hell he’s getting out of his current predicament, especially considering that an emu is holding one of his legs in its beak. Still, the photo seems to have been taken from a safe distance away.

(Goldie will have to ask about the emu later, when things aren’t so....chaotic.)

Sharpie: Sooooo...does this make you the mayor of Goldieburg? Or is Scrooge the mayor and you’re the leading citizen? 😂

Sharpie: Oh! Apparently there’s a Goldiesota, too!

Goldie is now very certain that she is on fire, especially with that penultimate text. It seems that she and Scrooge are both definite victims of teasing here now. She buries her head into her free hand and rubs it down her face, pausing to type out the only response she can manage right now.

Goldie: I no longer like Matilda.

Louie’s response is immediate.

Sharpie: Awww

Sharpie: But she likes you! In fact, she says she would *love* to live in Goldieburg.

Sharpie: I would, too! I can just imagine it - cons and schemes widespread, with no laws getting in the way. Infinite gold that holds its value. It’d be paradise!

Sharpie: Though I’m sure Uncle Scrooge has something different in mind.

Sharpie: Wait ew. No. Nevermind.

Sharpie: But you know what I mean.

Sharpie: 💛💛💛💛💛

Goldie rolls her eyes, and takes a deep breath. Suddenly her appetite is back, and the movie seems very captivating. She needs a distraction right now, anything to quell the butterflies. She may be warming up to the idea of family, but right now, she feels like she’s being pulled straight into the heart of the castle across the ocean, and that’s a little too much.

So she throws her phone on silent and wanders over to the room service table, taking a swig of wine straight from the bottle before lifting the tray cover on the center plate to see the juiciest-looking steak one could ever hope for, still steaming.

Culinary bliss.

By the time she finishes eating, Goldie is certain that all of Castle McDuck is asleep, or that they should be. She saw enough debris in those pictures, they’ll need the rest to finish cleaning up tomorrow. So she dares to turn her phone face-up again and take it off silent mode.

Handfuls of texts from multiple people, and several missed calls.

She delves into those from Scrooge first. As much as she doesn’t want to talk to him yet about all this - and she’s sure he feels the same way - if he tried to reach out to her, then she knows he’s going to at least provide the basic facts, without any teasing. An anchor point for her to refer to in her other texts.

Sourdough: Don’t listen to any of them, the hellions! I swear it’s not what you think. Whatever it is you’re thinking.

Sourdough: We can talk this over if you want, dear. Whenever you want.

Sourdough: Or not talk it over. I personally would like to forget Matilda ever opened her big dumb mouth.

Sourdough: Correction. Matilda does “not have a big dumb mouth and tell her that I am the best sister you could ever hope for, or I’ll serve Emu-tilda her breakfast in your hat.”

That text earns a particularly amused snicker from Goldie. She can just imagine the giant bird she saw in the picture earlier staring Scrooge down as he typed that.

Sourdough: Look, can I call you?

Goldie surmises the missed calls from Scrooge happened here.

Sourdough: Never mind. We’ll catch up after this trip. When I’m *not* surrounded by these...troublemakers. Good night, love.

The butterflies have moved from Goldie’s stomach to her heart, and an entirely new anticipation fills her with excitement. If she was a schoolgirl in this situation, she imagines this would be like having to wait over the weekend to talk to her crush on the playground on Monday. Never mind the fact that she’s not even trying to figure out how to get out of this, at least not yet, she realizes belatedly.

There’s one more text from Scrooge, sent after a time jump.

Sourdough: Do NOT believe anything you hear about Clan McScrooge!

Goldie has to stifle a laugh at that, and guesses that she’ll definitely be seeing more of “Clan McScrooge” in her other text messages. But first...

Goldie: Good night, Scroogey. 😘

She’s so tempted to send “Scroogey McScroogey,” but between that and “Goldieburg,” she really shouldn’t tempt fate when they’re all each other has in a boat surrounded by teasing family.

It takes all of five seconds for Scrooge to send back a response, one that’s so simple but enough to tune out the night’s noise for a few moments.

Sourdough: ❤️

She imagines him fumbling to put his phone back on his nightstand next to some big ornate medieval-style bed, his mind already luring him back to a deep sleep. Never mind the whole “Goldieburg” thing, it sounds like he already had an exhausting night between the fighting and the statues and the bagpipes. And the emu.

As she swipes back to see her conversations, Goldie immediately notices an unknown number with a few texts waiting for her. After reading the first one, she makes a contact for it.

Emu-tilda: Goldie! This is Matilda, Scrooge’s favorite sister.

Emu-tilda: Louie gave me your phone number to help make sure you’re okay.

Okay? Goldie pauses, a wave of uninvited guilt washing over her, and she fights every instinct to immediately switch to Louie’s texts. Instead, she wills herself to read through Matilda’s, if at a faster speed.

Emu-tilda: I’m sorry about Goldieburg and all. When I saw that it was you that Louie was talking to, I wanted to get under Scroogey’s skin a bit, so I told the bairns a tale from ages ago.

Emu-tilda: I’m sure Scrooge will fill you in, and if not, I’ll be more than happy to.

Goldie makes a mental note of the offer, and of the ensuing picture of a smiling, somewhat frazzled-looking Matilda with her arm wrapped around her emu, posing for the camera. She’ll respond to her texts later, but for now, she switches to her conversation with Louie, having to scroll back up to where he left off.

Sharpie: An update: Uncle Scrooge got out of the headlock, and is now chasing Aunt Matilda on her emu around the room.

Sharpie: Matilda’s on the emu, that is. Scrooge can’t catch his breath.

Sharpie: Oh! Now they’re in the hallways!

Sharpie: And Scrooge has a sword from the wall.

Sharpie: He’s totally defending your honor.

A blurry picture follows of Scrooge from behind, wielding a sword as he runs after his sister, a scowl clear on the visible side of his face. Goldie saves the photo - she can definitely use this later.

Sharpie: Wait no, now the emu has the sword!

Another picture, this one much more stable, follows again. Indeed, the emu has  somehow gotten ahold of Scrooge’s sword and is now chasing him through some sort of dining hall. Matilda herself even looks surprised and worried as she clutches at the feathers on the bird’s back.

Another keeper for the camera roll, if only for the sheer hilarity of it all.

Sharpie: Ok, Great-Grandma Downy is awesome. She totally just yanked the sword right out of the emu’s mouth while she was still running. Emu’s confined to Matilda’s room for the rest of the night. We’re all having some hot chocolate around a fire.

Sharpie: So, all’s well that end’s well.

There’s another time jump before the last batch of texts.

Sharpie: Right...?

Sharpie: Aunt Goldie?

Sharpie: You’re not mad about all this, are you? We’re all sorry for teasing you and Uncle Scrooge, and I know he didn’t mean anything bad by Goldieburg.

Sharpie: Are you ok?

Judging from the next few texts, Goldie guesses that this is when the missed calls from Louie came in.

Sharpie: I’m guessing you’re busy. At least, I hope so.

Sharpie: Again, it was all just some family teasing. Y’know how it is.

Sharpie: If it makes you feel any better, you can bring up Clan McScrooge the next time you talk to him.

Sharpie: Goldie?

Goldie blinks up from her phone, overwhelmed by the growing panic radiating from the texts and the guilt rekindled in herself. The idea of Louie, let alone anyone in Scrooge’s family, being this worried about her, even if there’s no actual cause for it, makes it hard to swallow and she finds herself quickly reaching for her water, chugging down the last third of it.

Y’know how it is.

She can’t say that she does. Her own family was never this close, never bounced back this easily after fights. They never...cared like this.

Maybe her heart’s right in making a big deal out of this.

After a few deep breaths, Goldie finally answers Louie.

Goldie: I’m ok, Sharpie. Was just eating dinner, had my phone on silent. Didn’t mean to scare you.

She’s very much surprised and totally-not-touched when he immediately texts back. He should definitely be asleep at this point.

Sharpie: Oh good. So, you’re not mad?

Goldie: Mad? No. Curious about the emu? Most definitely.

Sharpie: 😂😂 Understandable.

Goldie: You should be in bed though.

Sharpie: Oh I am! Couldn’t sleep yet though.

Goldie: Uh-huh. Love you too. Now go to sleep.

Sharpie: 🥰😴💛

Goldie: 💚

Not even half an hour ago, Goldie would have sworn off her impending trip to McDuck Manor in the name of not wanting to face Scrooge after the revelation of Goldieburg. But now the trip is back on, and she can’t deny to herself that she’s eager to see the ones she cares about.

That, and pay a visit to Scrooge McScrooge, mayor of Goldieburg.

[marril96]

Cassandra

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Rowena’s horrible day gets even worse when everyone in the Bunker suddenly starts confessing things to her.

A/N: This fic is inspired by Joe Hill’s book Horns.

Editor: @oswinthestrange

Rowena was having a horrible day.

First, Sam had called her — because of course he had — begging for help yet again, and she, the redeemed fool, agreed to meet up with him and the rest of his little entourage as soon as she could without a single sound of displeasure she clearly felt. She did roll her eyes, quite epically if she dare say so herself, and mumble a few Scottish things you didn’t understand, but she still packed her necessities and, with you in tow (the two of you were a package deal. If the Winchesters wanted one, they had to deal with the other. Those were the rules), headed for the Bunker.

Then, once they’d all established they were dealing with a particularly nasty witch, Rowena stupidly accompanied the boys and their pet angel and nephilim and had nearly gotten herself cursed. Jack had blasted the witch with his power just in time, preventing her from finishing the curse. She had used the commotion to get away, but the good news was, Rowena was okay. Even you, ever the worrier, could see that.

Hours later, when you and Rowena, through joint effort, managed to locate the witch (she was good at cloaking her location, but not good enough for one of the most powerful witches in the world and the witch who’d meticulously studied under her for four years), Rowena had cleverly elected to remain in the Bunker while the hunters dealt with her. You happily supported her decision. After all, if she stayed far, far away from the fight, tucked inside one of the safest, most warded places around, you didn’t have to worry. It was a win-win for everyone, including Sam and Dean. They preferred to do their job the old-fashioned way. And plus, Sam had been giving her odd glances ever since she’d been attacked earlier. It was better to stay out of their way and protect her arse in the process.

Just when she thought she’d finally - finally! — caught a break, something had to pop up to prove her otherwise, because of bloody course it did.

Rowena was in the library, head buried in a grimoire she’d recently acquired at an auction. The bloody thing had cost her dearly, and from what she’d seen so far, it was worth every penny. Money well spent, no matter how loudly — annoyingly, really — you disagreed. She’d originally intended to leave the book at home, but had changed her mind at the last minute. One could never be certain when boredom would strike, and it was best to be prepared. A smart decision, in hindsight. Then again, that was what every — alright, almost every — decision of hers was.

While she was busy going over new spells, you were up in the temporary bedroom the Winchesters lent the two of you, watching some no doubt trashy movie on your laptop. Rowena didn’t particularly care what you were doing. You weren’t pestering her, weren’t leaning over her, as you tended to do at times, pointing at random spells in languages you didn’t understand, and asking what each one was for. You’d given her peace to study her new toy thoroughly, and for that she made a mental note to reward you later. She already had a few things she knew you’d like in mind.

Rowena’s precious peace shattered as soon as the door to the Bunker swung open and the Winchesters and their angels walked in in their loud, laughing, talking glory.

Much to her relief, though, after an exchange of greetings and a relay of news that the evil witch was finally dead, the boys had enough decency to quiet down and scurry elsewhere, each to their respective corner of the Bunker.

Rowena returned to her book, hoping for at least half an hour more of peace, when Dean walked into the library. She paid him no mind, concentrated fully on a particularly complicated spell in Gaelic, scanning the words, absorbing them to the best of her ability. If she ignored it, it would go away. At the very least she hoped so.

It — he — stayed. And stared at her. Obviously so; she could feel his eyes burning into her head, gaze sharp as blades, intent, insistent.

Rowena pretended not to notice. If he wanted something, he could very well ask. He was a big boy. She didn’t need to hold his hand and patiently get the words out of his mouth.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of uncomfortable silence, Dean said, “Rowena, can I ask you something?”

Rowena raised an eyebrow, curious, but kept her eyes on the old, yellowed page of the grimoire. “Sure.”

“If-if a dude likes another dude — like likes likes him — does-does that make him gay?”

She looked at him as if he’d just admitted to killing you (that, at least, would have been a valid reason for wasting her time). Why was he asking her that? Out of everyone in the Bunker, what made him think she was the appropriate person to ask that question?

Dean was smiling nervously. Stupidly. He looked like he wanted to be everywhere but here.

Good. That made two of them.

“Yes,” Rowena replied without missing a beat, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which it was, if you weren’t an idiot.

Dean shifted his feet uncomfortably. “What if that dude’s usually into chicks?”

“That would make him bisexual,” she told him.

Whatever game he was playing — whatever bet he and the boys made — she wanted no part in it. She was about to say so when he, with the grace of a clumsy cat that had just fallen into a tub filled to the brim with water, spoke up again.

“Okay, but what if he’s only into chicks, and there’s just this one guy he really likes?”

“Maybe he’s bi-curious,” Rowena said, tone firm, curt, to the point. A clear indicative that she did not want to participate in this conversation, and if he didn’t leave her alone anytime soon, she would get nasty and very, very Scottish.

If Dean picked up on it, he didn’t show it. He looked around for a few moments, lost in thought, then his eyes fell back on Rowena and, in the tone of a child in a sweetie shop, he said, “Dr. Sexy did a photoshoot for Busty Asian Beauties.”

Rowena blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, bewildered.

“I don’t know,” Dean replied, just as confused. His brows furrowed in thought. “Why am I telling you this?”

With a deep, hard sigh, Rowena buried her head in her hands. She slammed her book shut; no use studying it now, after this… whatever this was. A conversation? Confession? Heart-to-heart? The thought sent a shudder through her, stomach twisting with disgust.

Whatever it was, she didn’t want to be having it, and she certainly didn’t want to be having it with Dean.

A cup of tea. That was what she needed. A good, fresh, steaming cup of tea to get her mind off the Winchester’s problems, if one might call them that.

Rowena stood up; she threw a glance to the book, wondering if she should take it with her and, a whole second later, deciding against it. She headed for the kitchen, leaving the confused, conflicted Dean alone to his thoughts. Charles knew he needed some of those.

“Bloody bampot,” she muttered on her way out.

If he heard her, Dean gave no response.

As soon as she stepped foot in the kitchen, a nice, appealing aroma filled her nostrils. Sam was making dinner. Some kind of meat, sweet, juicy, no doubt as delicious as that from her favorite restaurant. Rowena’s stomach grumbled, an automatic response to the new sensations. She remembered she hadn’t eaten yet; so focused on the grimoire, she’d forgotten to. She could use some sustenance.

“Hey,” Sam greeted, smile wide on his mouth, warm and friendly as always.

Rowena returned it just as brightly. “Hey, Samuel. Mind telling me where the teapot is?”

“Right there.” He pointed to a cupboard to his right. “You guys, uh, gonna stay for dinner?”

“We might as well.”

The trip home would be hours long. Best eat now than stop somewhere along the way, in the middle of nowhere. Rowena shuddered as her mind flashed to a few diners — and she was using that word generously — the two of you had stopped at on your various travels. The last time you’d brought her to one of those places she’d spotted a rat she could’ve sworn was the size of a chihuahua. Ever since then she had a strict no-roadside-diner rule. No matter how much you pleaded and whined, she wasn’t stepping foot in one of those places. Even if her stomach screamed and snarled and begged for food, and you nagged at her like you sometimes tended to do, her decision was final.

“Can I tell you something?” Sam asked.

“Go ahead,” Rowena replied, teapot in hand, looking through the cupboards for the tea. The Winchesters may have eaten and drank unhealthy (one of them did, at least), but they had decent tea. Not as good as her own (imported straight from Scotland, of course), but drinkable.

“I-every time we see each other, I’m scared I’ll kill you,” Sam said after a moment of uncertainty.

“Having murder fantasies about me, Samuel?” she teased in an attempt to lighten the suddenly somber mood.

She would be lying if she said the thought that she might die hadn’t occurred to her every time they met up, but it was never something she paid too much attention to. Sam was going to kill her — it was fact, it was fate, and overthinking it would do nothing but make her depressed. Why hurt herself over and over again with thoughts of something she had no control over?

Besides, for all she knew, fate might have been changed. Sam had said he’d try to do so, and Rowena had promised herself the same thing.

And if it hadn’t — well, then she was going to go. No point in dwelling on the bad when she could be living her life to the fullest. Living her life with you. She owed it to you to never give up, to keep going forward, and that was what she was doing. She didn’t want to leave you any more than you wanted to lose her. If it happened, you would both have to accept it.

“No,” Sam said and shook his head, outraged at the prospect. “I just… I’m scared there’ll be an accident or something, and you’ll get hurt.”

Rowena had to chuckle. “I’m a big girl. I can take a bit of hurt.” If she could survive Lucifer, twice, then she could survive a wee accident.

“I know that. I guess I just don’t want to be the cause of it. Because…” Sam swallowed, cheeks burning a bright, hot red. For such a giant man, he suddenly looked so small. Almost, dare she say, vulnerable. “I care about you. A lot.”

“Oh,” was the only thing Rowena could utter. Was this one of the Winchesters’ pep talks? One of those conversations where she would officially be declared their friend and a member of the family, and then they’d all share bro hugs and sip beer together?

How was she supposed to respond to that? As much as she hated to admit it, she considered Sam a friend, and she cared dearly about him and Dean and their feather friend and nephilim son. She’d said yes to Michael for them. She tried to tell herself it was for you, but she knew well enough it was more than that. She didn’t want you to get hurt, yes, but she didn’t want them to get hurt, either. She wanted to protect all of you.

“A whole lot,” Sam added after a moment of silence.

“I suppose I… care about you, too,” Rowena said carefully, the words falling from her tongue with unease. It took a lot out of her to say it out loud, to admit she cared to someone who wasn’t you. You made it look so easy. Maybe because you fell for her first, loved her first, trusted her before anyone dared even call her an acquaintance, let alone a friend. She knew she could tell you everything, knew she could bare her soul to you without judgment.

Other people? She’d spent so many centuries manipulating them that she still sometimes struggled being nice to them. It would take a while for her to be comfortable to feel around them.

Sam’s smile widened, stretching from ear to ear, white teeth flashing. “I love you.”

Wait, what?

Rowena raised an eyebrow. “Beg pardon?”

A polite way of saying what was actually on her mind, which was, What in bloody fucking hell?!

“I feel like I can be myself around you. I don’t have to pretend that everything’s okay. You understand that it’s not,” he explained, looking strangely relieved. As if a huge burden had been lifted off his shoulders as soon as those words left his mouth. “Even when I don’t say anything, you just know. You know what it’s like to be hurt. You know that it doesn’t go away. Even Dean doesn’t. He thinks he does, but he has no idea. But you — you understand, Rowena. You’ve been there. You and I are the only ones who know what it’s like, and I feel like that makes this — us — special.”

Rowena was flabbergasted. “Wha—”

“I know you’re with Y/N,” Sam said before she could finish her sentence, though what she was going to say, she didn’t know. “I don’t want to get between the two of you. I can see how happy she makes you, and how happy you make her, and I would never do anything to break you guys up. I just wanted you to know how I feel.”

Rowena stared. Blinked. Gulped. Breathed in and out in deep, hard gulps that hurt her throat.

“Why?” she uttered, voice a whisper, a quiet, little lilt. Her eyes met Sam’s sad puppy ones, the look in them strong, determined. Angry around the edges. “Why did you tell me that?”

“I wanted you to know,” Sam said nonchalantly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why did you want me to know?” she demanded.

She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to know any of it. How was she supposed to be around him now, when she knew how he really felt? Why did he think it was okay to burden her with this knowledge? What would you say when you found out (and you would find out. She had no intention of keeping this a secret)?

What had gotten into this intelligent man’s head to make him so bloody stupid?

“I don’t know,” Sam said. He narrowed his eyes, deep in thought. “I never wanted you to find out about this, but then I suddenly did.”

Rowena was mad, but one look at his face, and some of her anger subsided. He was honest. He genuinely didn’t know why he told her.

Come to think of it, Dean didn’t know why he was asking her those questions, either.

Was something going on? Had that witch cursed them? Had they ingested some kind of truth potion?

“Samuel,” Rowena said with as much patience as she could muster, “when you were at that witch’s house, did you have anything to drink?”

“No,” Sam said, baffled by the question. “We just got in and killed her. Why?”

She ignored the question. “Did she cast any spells?”

“She tried to, but we killed her before she could do anything.” He cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy. “What’s this about?”

“Something is very, very wrong,” Rowena commented, more to herself than to him.

She slammed the teapot on the counter with a bang, startling him, but he quickly regained his composure.

“What do you mean?”

“Let me consult Y/N, then I’ll get back to you. You stay here and keep working on dinner.”

“Okay,” Sam said, uncertain.

“I mean it. Stay!” She raised up a forefinger in emphasis.

“I’m staying.”

“Good.”

Rowena ran out and hurried up the stairs. Thankfully, she managed to avoid Dean. She’d had enough of confessions for one evening.

Before she could reach her bedroom, however, Jack walk up to her with a big, boyish smile on his face and, in a tone that was as cheerful as his his expression, said, “Hi, Rowena.”

“Hi, Jack,” she greeted, returning the smile.

The nephilim looked around, suddenly nervous, almost paranoid. “Can we talk?” he whispered, leaning down to her level.

“I would love to, but I’m in a wee bit of hurry,” she told him.

“Please?”

He gave her the puppy eyes, and just like that all her defenses were down. She could never resist puppy eyes, especially those of children.

“Alright, but be quick,” she allowed. She supposed the curse could wait a few moments. It wasn’t like it would kill the boys. Hopefully.

“I stole Dean’s magazine,” he said.

Rowena blinked.

When she didn’t say anything, he elaborated in a hushed tone, “Busty Asian Beauties. The one with the, um, undressed women.”

Rowena was too flabbergasted to respond.

“They’re, um, nak—”

“I know what undressed means!” she said a tad too harshly than she intended. He flinched as if struck, shocked by her outburst, and she cleared her throat. Must not lose it. Not in front of a child. A child who’d read porn, but nonetheless a child. Curling her lips into a smile that was too sugary sweet to be genuine, Rowena said, “Jack, why did you do that?”

“I wanted to see what it was like,” Jack said innocently. He grinned like a child in a sweetie store. “And I liked it!”

“Okay!”

Rowena’s hand shot up, palm outwards, a stop sign. She did not need to hear this. She did not want to hear this, just like she hadn’t wanted to hear about Dean’s confusion about his sexuality and Sam’s feelings towards her. She wanted nothing to do with any of it.

That witch must have been more powerful than she’d thought, when she’d managed to curse Jack. The Winchesters were one thing, but a nephilim… That required a grand amount of power.

“I liked it a lot!” Jack added.

“I get it, Jack,” Rowena told him. “You don’t have to explain.”

The nephilim’s face fell. “Do you think it’s bad? Do you think I’m bad?”

“No,” she said. “Of course not. You’re a good boy, Jack. Why don’t you go back to your room and… flip through the magazine one more time?”

His face lit up again. “You think I should?”

“Aye. And make sure to lock the door, okay? You don’t want Dean getting wind of this, do you?”

“No. I’ll lock the door.”

“Excellent! Off you go, darling boy! Have a lovely evening!”

“Thanks, Rowena!” Jack said happily.

“Anytime, Jack,” she said, breathing out in relief as the lock to his door clicked.

“Hey, Rowena,” Castiel said, emerging from his own room.

Bloody hell! “Whatever it is, feathers, save it!”

“But—” the angel tried, only to be curtly, rudely cut off.

“Not a bloody word!” Rowena snapped, shooting him a glare that had killed before, forefinger up in warning.

She’d had enough of confessions. She had to put an end to this before she ended up hearing something everyone in the Bunker would regret — though whatever she might hear couldn’t be worse than what Sam had told her. Attraction to actors and pornographic magazines were one thing; excellent teasing material, but harmless in the long run. A love confession, on the other hand…

How was she supposed to act around Sam now? How was she supposed to be around him when she knew that every smile he gave her, every kind word, every joke and laugh came from love rather than friendship?

She stormed into her room and slammed the door shut behind her, practically in Castiel’s face. You were on the bed, laptop right in front of you, eyes glued to the screen. Upon her violent entrance, you let out a startled yelp and shot her a look that told her, wordlessly yet loudly, that you were not amused. You were not in the mood for her temper tantrums.

Well, she wasn’t in the mood for yours, either, and besides, this wasn’t a temper tantrum. You would be bloody pissed, too, if you’d basically been treated like a therapist by people who most definitely should not have treated her as such.

“Y/N, there’s something wrong with the Winchesters,” Rowena said, straight to the point. No use dancing around the issue. The sooner it got sorted out, the better.

“Besides the obvious?” you snarked.

She rolled her eyes. Now was not the time for quips. “I think they’ve been cursed.”

You laughed. “Finally lost it, have you? Took you long enough. I’ve been telling you those guys are pricks, but you never listen.”

“It wasn’t me — it was that witch!” Rowena exclaimed. If she wanted to curse the Winchesters, she sure as hell would not have made them confess grotesque things to her. She was no masochist, not to that extent.

You sighed, face growing serious. “Why do you think they’re cursed?”

“They’ve been telling me things.” Her face scrunched up with displeasure. “Disgusting, repugnant things.”

You looked at her with confusion for a moment, then said in a tone that was too nonchalant for the situation at hand, “Speaking of, I need to tell you something.”

“Can’t it wait?” Rowena said in a tone that made it clear it should wait.

“No.”

She rubbed her temples, urged herself to stay calm. Getting mad at you would do no good for neither her nor the situation at hand.

“Y/N, we’ve got more pressing matters at hand than petty conversations,” she explained in her most patient tone of voice, that of a spent, tired kindergarten teacher at her wit’s end after a whole day of looking after screaming brats.

“I haven’t thought of it in a while,” you told her. “I feel like, if I don’t tell you now, I never will.”

“Is it important?”

“Very.”

Her eyes narrowed, suspicious. She eyed you for a bit, scanned for deception. Finding none, she breathed out and said, “Fine. But be quick. We’ve got to deal with this curse as soon as possible, before something terrible happens.”

Something worse than Sam professing his undying love for her.

You nodded in agreement. “You know how I knew Crowley before I knew you?”

“Yes,” Rowena said. You’d known her son for years before she showed up and practically stole your heart. One look from her, and you were done. It was meant to be.

“I always had the hots for him,” you admitted, a tad apologetic.

Rowena cringed. She’d seen the way you’d looked at Fergus; it was the same way you were looking at her ever since you’d first laid eyes on her. Not something she liked to think about often.

“He was a dick, but he was charming. His accent was hot,” you continued.

“The point?” Rowena demanded, truly, genuinely not interested in reasons you’d found her son attractive. That familiar, disgusted knot twisted in her stomach, making her feel lightheaded. All she’d heard from the boys had taken its toll on her; your admissions weren’t making the situation any better.

“Well, um, you see, back then, I kinda had this thought,” you said, a bit shy. “It was more of a fantasy, really. Of you and me and… him. Together.” A blush crept up to your cheeks. “A threesome. It was really hot.”

Rowena’s jaw all but dropped to the floor.

“Do you think it was wrong?” you asked her. “I know he was your son, but he wasn’t in his real body, so you technically weren’t blood related at the time. I felt guilty for fantasizing about it, and thinking of it like that made me feel a bit better.”

It was very, very, very, very wrong.

More wrong than any and every other wrong in the world.

You should have felt guilty.

Forever.

And ever.

You should have wallowed in guilt.

And, most important of all, you should have kept it to yourself.

Why hadn’t you kept it to yourself?

Why share it with her now? Why tell her when you knew — you bloody knew — it would do nothing but gross her out? Why do that to her?

Were you cursed as well?

But that was impossible — you weren’t anywhere near the witch. Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Jack had gone to confront her on their own. You were at the Bunker the entire time. There was no way she could have cursed you.

Unless…

Oh, dear.

Of course! Of bloody course!

She should have known. She should have figured it out right away. It was blatantly obvious, now that she thought about it.

It wasn’t the Winchesters, their angels, and you that were cursed.

It was Rowena.

She wanted to smack herself for her stupidity.

How did she not notice? It was right there, all but smacking her in the face. Upon their return, the boys were laughing amongst each other. Having fun. Joking around. They would’ve have been in such spirits had they been forced to tell one another their deepest thoughts and desires. They would have taken notice of it. They would have approached her and asked her for help.

She was a bloody idiot!

“Oh, god!” you said in a whiny voice after a few moments of uncomfortable, suffocating silence. “You hate me! You think I’m gross, don’t you? You think I’m terrible. I’m a terrible girlfriend!”

As disgusted as she was, Rowena couldn’t hold back a pang of pain that ripped through her heart like a cold, iron dagger. She brought her hands to your cheeks, cupped them with utmost tenderness, and said in that soft tone of voice she always used to calm you down, “No, darling. You are not terrible.”

“I am,” you said, tears spilling down your cheeks. Your hands fell over hers, warm, slick with sweat. “I imagined those things. And enjoyed them.”

Rowena’s stomach twisted. She swallowed, keeping the unease at bay. “It’s not your fault, dearest. It’s the curse.”

You frowned, confused. “Sam and Dean’s curse?”

“Actually, I think I am the one who is cursed.”

“But you were home.”

“She tried to curse me earlier, remember?”

You gave a small nod.

“She must have done something to activate the curse before she died,” she elaborated.

“Shouldn’t the curse be gone with her?” you asked.

“In most cases, yes,” Rowena said, “but this lass was powerful. She had to have done something…” She let the sentence trail off, lost in thought. How had she done it? A spell?

“Think she threw a hex bag or something at the boys?” you asked.

She looked at you as if you’d just proclaimed her the proud owner of a million-dollar villa, complete with servants and a personal masseur. “I think that is exactly what she did! My smart girl!”

Your cheeks flushed at the praise. “Is this curse dangerous? Are you gonna be okay?” you asked, looking her over in concern.

“Aye,” Rowena said. “It’s more… unpleasant than dangerous.”

“People telling you gross things?”

“People telling me their secrets,” she corrected. Not that there was much difference between the two.

Your face fell. “I’m really sorry.”

“I told you, it’s not your fault,” she told you. “We never have to discuss it again.” She hoped you never would. She wanted to forget about everything she’d heard tonight as much as her mind allowed. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you said with a nod. “I love you.”

She didn’t need a curse to know this was the absolute truth. Still, a part of her warmed up at hearing it now, amidst all the chaos. Your feelings for her were genuine. Always had been, and always would be. Her heart swelled with warmth at the confirmation.

“And I love you,” Rowena told you, just as genuinely. A bit of discomfort and irritation couldn’t make it go away. “I must go find the hex bag now. You stay here. Best to avoid other possible… confessions.”

“Okay,” you said. “Guess now is not a good time to tell you I’ve been jealous of Sam for a while now?”

“It really isn’t,” she confirmed, and you sighed. “That we will discuss later.”

In all honesty, she’d kind of suspected it. There was more than mere protectiveness to your complaints and eye-rolls every time the younger Winchester would call her for help, or invite her over for dinner, or stand closer than three feet away from her.

Finding out Sam was into her wouldn’t make matters any better.

A part of her wanted to keep it to herself, but she knew she couldn’t. She had to tell you. You had a right to know. And besides, especially now that she knew you were jealous, she wanted to assure you that there would never, ever be anything between her and the hunter. She loved him as a friend, but that was it. She would tell him that, and she would tell you, as well. It was only fair.

The two of you were the most important people in her life. She owed it to you both to be honest, for once in her long, long life.

Rowena hurried down the hall, ignoring Castiel peeking out his room once again and saying something so loudly she had to will her own thoughts to get louder to mute him out of her brain. Sam was still working on dinner; she deducted that after catching a whiff of the meal he was preparing, now spreading all throughout the Bunker. Her stomach grumbled once again in response to the aroma. She was hungry. She was tired. She was done with everything. All she wanted to do was eat, take a long, hot shower to wash away all the filth she’d heard today (it felt like it still clung to her skin like sticky glue), plop down on the bed, and never wake up again. Or maybe wake up in about twelve hours. She hadn’t yet made a concrete decision on that.

How was she supposed to find the hex bag? Where was she supposed to look?

Think, Rowena! Think, she told herself. She was a smart girl. She could figure this out.

When the boys returned from their little mission, did they carry any bags?

No, she remembered. There were no bags. None of their own, and they hadn’t taken any from the witch.

They hadn’t taken anything from the witch. No grimoires, no strange artifacts that looked as if they might be cursed. Nothing that could hide a hex bag.

Then…

What if the hex bag was on them?

It was a possibility. Those boys always wore their big jackets and flannel, a minefield of large, spacious pockets. Walking fashion disasters, they were. Full of spaces for hex bags to be tucked into.

How could she gain access to them? She couldn’t frisk them as if it were the most normal thing in the world. She wasn’t sure if she could tell them; for all she knew, the bearer of the hex bag might be influenced to act protective, even violent, of it, and the last thing she wanted was a confrontation. Flirting wouldn’t be of much help, either. Not even Sam, apparently hopelessly in love with her, would fall for it. He knew how much she loved you. They all knew it; knew that she would never do anything to endanger your relationship, that she would never hurt you.

She would have to improvise.

She would do so with the brothers. A much lower risk than an angel and a nephilim, in case things turned sour.

Which brother, though?

Rowena didn’t particularly care about Dean’s confusing sexuality, and she definitely didn’t want to face Sam anytime soon, inevitable as it was.

But then, Sam was her favorite Winchester. Her friend. And Dean had started spilling his secrets first, seemingly out of nowhere. Sam hadn’t done that, which made her like him a lot more than his brother at the moment.

Wait a minute…

Dean was first.

He had opened his big, Neanderthal mouth first.

He had started this chain of events.

It was him. He had the hex bag.

It had to be him!

Grinning triumphantly at her conclusion, Rowena headed for the library. Much to her relief, the Winchester she was seeking was still there. There was an old hardcover book in his hands that looked strangely like an encyclopedia on human sexuality (not that Rowena cared. As soon as she saw the picture of what looked like two naked bodies on the cover, she averted her eyes. Dean was not her choice of nudity-viewing partner, not even if said nudity was scientific).

As soon as she walked in, he shut the book closed and shoved it back on the shelf. Swift as a startled rabbit, he turned to face her with a smile that wouldn’t have fooled even the dumbest of the dumb. And you had the audacity to tell her she was a horrible liar.

“Give me your jacket,” Rowena said, straight to the point.

“Why?” Dean asked.

“I need it. I’m cold,” she lied.

He scowled, suspicious. “I’m sure you got your own jacket.”

“Yours is thicker.”

“I think you’re lying to me.”

“Give me the bloody jacket, Dean!” she demanded.

“Not until you tell me what the hell’s going on.”

She was going to have to do it the hard way, then. “Give me the jacket, or I will tell everyone about Dr. Sexy.”

He gasped. “You wouldn’t!”

“Would I?” She gave him a stare, pointed, sharp as a knife, letting him know she was serious. She needed that jacket, and she would do whatever was necessary to acquire it.

Dean stared back for a few moments, pondering on it. Then, with a mutter of, “Bitch,” he started to remove his jacket.

“Been called worse, dear,” Rowena said sweetly.

“I warned Sam about you,” he said. “Told him you shouldn’t be trusted, but he wouldn’t listen. He thinks he can save you.”

“Och, I don’t need saving,” she told him.

“That’s what I said, but my brother — he’s persistent.” Dean scoffed. “He once called you his friend. I think he’s delusional.”

“Do you now?”

“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I do think you can be redeemed, but redemption doesn’t make someone a good person. And it definitely doesn’t make them trustworthy.”

Rowena would have been offended if she hadn’t had suspicions of her own about Dean’s true feelings about her. His little confession only confirmed them.

Oh, well. What could she do? She couldn’t please everyone.

Besides, Dean was nothing to her. She owed him nothing. No friendship, no trust, no loyalty. All of that was for his brother. She cared about him, but she cared about Sam more.

Dean’s dislike of her was his problem.

“The sentiment is mutual,” Rowena said, taking the jacket from him. She rummaged through the pockets, until finally, in the left one, she felt something soft underneath her fingertips. Wrapping her fingers around it, she pulled it out with a triumphant, “Aha!”

Clutched in her hand was a small, brown hex bag.

Dean’s eyes widened. “What the hell is that?”

“That is the cause of all this… unpleasantness.,” Rowena told him.

Then she threw the hex bag on the ground and, with a single word of Latin, lit it on fire.

And just like that, the curse of truth was no more, its only remnants a small pile of ashes on the floor and the fog of awkwardness as the realization of what they’d done — what they’d said straight to Rowena’s face — dawned on each individual with the intensity of a moving train.

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @dropsofpetrichor @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @thai-inette @darkhumorsblog @wayward-kaia @angel7376 @rowenaisfabulous @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @melisandre02 @a-queen-and-her-throne

[whiskynottea]

An Interruption in the 1st Law of Thermodynamics.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41

AO3

Thank you @theministerskat, for keep betaing this story that goes on forever!❤️ Also, thanks to the @faeriesfanficemporium and @futurelounging for the high school graduation information!

This chapter is for @muykonos, who loves Jenny and Ian dearly, with the best wishes for her new beginning! Love you Muy!

Chapter 42. Puffins

The last time we called ourselves high school students was on a sunny summer day. We found ourselves listening to a long winded speech from our headteacher, one that would make every person in the room extremely anxious about the future - if we had actually been listening to him. I could still hear his voice buzzing in my ears when Jamie found me, took me in his arms and spun me around for so long that I wasn’t sure if he was happy because we had just graduated, or because this would be the last time we had to sit through a speech from Mr. Gowan. We loved him, but he had that bad habit of never stopping once he started speaking.

After graduation, the days felt different. They were continuous, shapeless, careless. Time didn’t matter. No alarm clocks, no hurried breakfasts, no studying schedules.

No school.

Joe and Gail left for a trip to the US, a present from their parents, to celebrate their successful exam results. Rupert and Angus had gone back to the Highlands, and Jenny and Ian would soon leave for Lallybroch. Edinburgh seemed empty already.

Jamie spent more and more time training. He had a few weeks to prepare for the Scottish National Championship, and there were whole days when I would only see him briefly before or after his time at the pool. Neither of us complained; the championship was a priority for both of us. But I missed him. And I knew that I would miss him even more when he would leave for Lallybroch.

My favorite days were Mondays. More specifically, Monday afternoons. These were the days when Jamie finished his training early and we would meet Jenny and Ian at Murtagh’s apartment for coffee and board games. Two teams, always the same players. And I was proud to say that Jenny and I were on a winning streak.

We had just finished another successful round of Pictionary, when Ian walked to the center of the room and carefully unfolded an old piece of paper. His smile was shy at the beginning, but it became more and more cheeky as he read.

My eyebrows shot up to my hairline and barely I stopped myself from barking out a laugh when I realized what he was reading.

Jenny Fraser’s, or more correctly, Janet Flora Arabella Fraser’s letter to Santa.  

Dear Santa,

My name is Janet Flora Arabella Fraser, but everyone calls me Jenny. You can call me that too. I live at Lallybroch, together with my mam, my da, and my wee brother. I canna write yet, so my mam is writing this for me, but I promise I will know all my letters when I go to school at Beauly, and I will write to you myself next year.

I have been very good this year and am nice to everyone. I even play with Jamie when he brings his silly swords into my room, and I pretend to lose and die, even though I could beat him every time. The one time I won, he got angry and as red as a tomato. Anyway, I also help my mom cook. And I feed Bran every day. And I clean my room. (Jamie doesn’t, but bring him a gift anyway, okay?)

I am writing to you, because I want a puffin and da said I can’t have one. We have birds here at Lallybroch, but I haven’t seen a puffin yet. I will love it and take care of it, I promise.

Please, it’s all I truly want for Christmas!

Love,

Jenny

PS I know the Santa we saw at Beauly with my mom wasn’t real, but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want the wee bairn in his lap to cry.

PSS My mom doesn’t know what puffins eat. Can you bring me some of their food too?

Ian had to stop more than once while reading, almost choking with laughter. I brushed tears from my eyes, feeling Jamie’s silent amusement shaking my body. Jenny was hiding her face in her hands, her struggle to catch her breath audible in the room.

“How dare you,” she finally said, her own face as red as a tomato now. “How dare you, Ian Murray?” she repeated, and started laughing again.

Ian shrugged, then smiled at her. “I dinna remember seeing a puffin at Lallybroch,” he said quietly, as if he hadn’t even heard her question. “Did ye ever get your puffin, Jenny?”

Jamie spoke before his sister could. “Nah, she didna, Ian,” he said, the smile audible in his voice. “Not that year, or the years after that. She kept asking for one, though.”

“Aye, that was what I remember too,” Ian replied, nodding, his face serious.

“What is this all about?” Jenny asked with a raised eyebrow, crossing her arms across her chest.

I was wondering exactly the same thing.

“It’s about puffins, Jen,” Ian said softly. “I think it’s about time ye see one.”

“You got me a puffin?” Jenny asked, incredulous.

“Puffins live free, Jenny,” Jamie rolled his eyes. “I think mam and da told ye that a million times.”

“So what is this…” Jenny’s words faded as Ian walked to her and kneeled on the floor in front of her.

“Tis a gift,” he said, and presented her with an envelope. “For ye. To thank ye, for all that ye are to me.”

I was sure the tears that shone in Jenny’s eyes had nothing to do with the ones brought up by her boisterous laughter only moments ago. She swallowed hard and took the envelope from Ian’s hands. “What did you do?” she asked, in a accusing way that came out even funnier in her cracked voice.

I turned in Jamie’s arms and looked at him, the question obvious on my face. His satisfied, wide smile confirmed my suspicion that he knew exactly what was going on. He lowered his head and kissed me, his lips hot against mine, before urging me to look back towards his sister. I turned to look at Jenny, feeling a shiver run through my body when Jamie’s lips found the nape of my neck. I shimmied to make him stop, and watched Jenny, her attention focused on the paper she had pulled from the envelope.

“Five days?” she asked, at last. “Five days just the two of us?”

“Aye,” Ian whispered, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “To see the puffins.”

Jenny sprang from the couch straight into his lap, squeezing him so tight that I was sure if it would last a moment longer he would suffocate. Ian’s face, however, was the definition of happiness, and his smile, the sweetest I had ever seen.

I felt Jamie wrap his arms tighter around my body, pulling me closer to him.

“Any unfulfilled requests from Santa, Sassenach?” he whispered in my ear.

I took a moment, thinking, unable to remember any. “I don’t know,” I said. “A mummy, maybe? Given the fact that I was in Egypt…”

“Christ, Claire,” he chuckled. “I’m not buying ye a mummy.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Friends,” I said a moment later, and the truth in my words stuck thick in my throat like a piece of stale bread, grazing the tissue, blocking my breath. I swallowed with difficulty, pushing back memories of a lonely childhood, Jamie’s arms around me suddenly feeling overwhelming. “I was always asking for friends.”

“I’ll be yer friend, Sassenach,” Jamie whispered, his voice sweet and honest, and he nuzzled my neck. “Always.”

I swallowed back tears and let my body sink into his warmth, hoping that his heartbeat against my back was telling the truth.

Always.

I looked at Jenny, who was beaming, and gave her a broad smile. I was happy for her and for Ian, who was looking at her like she hung the moon. But it was more than that. I was happy that I was there to share that moment with them, for finally feeling that sense of belonging I had always longed for.

“We’re going to the Orkney!” she announced, excited. “I’m going to see the puffins!”

And like that, she was a little girl again, getting the gift she had always dreamed of.

“What are the puffins, exactly?” I asked, not knowing that I would sorely regret my question ten minutes later, when Jenny was still talking about the clumsy, comical birds who were expert divers and underwater fliers, laid one precious egg every year and left Scotland for the north Atlantic and North Sea outside the breeding season.

“Ye’re going to pay for that, Sassenach,” Jamie murmured in my ear, his fingers drawing patterns on my side.

“Am I not paying for it already?” I asked, making him laugh.

“Aye, but what about my suffering?”

I grimaced and mouthed a sorry. As Jenny went on talking about the puffins, Jamie leaned closer to me, whispering in my ear in his proud brother’s voice, “Jenny wants to see the birds to draw them, ken? She loves their colours.”

Of course. Jenny wanted to go to art school and nothing else would be more inspiring than the wild landscape of Orkney and the wildlife, full of birds, seals, and whales.

It would be beautiful.

--

That night Jamie was remarkably silent as he walked me home.

“What’s the matter?” I finally asked, and he turned to look at me surprised, as if he had forgotten I was even there. He didn’t reply. “Won’t you tell me?” I insisted, but the initial surprise has well-hidden now, his features calm, unfazed, his mask covering thoughts and problems.

“What?” He pretended that he hadn’t understood and gave me a small smile.

It wasn’t enough.

“Jamie.” I stopped and pulled him back to me. “You may not have my glass face, but I can see right through you.”

“It’s nothing,” he said with a frown and a shrug. When he saw me rolling my eyes, he pressed his lips tight, took a deep breath through his nose, and repeated. “Tis nothing, really.”

“You’re too silent. This isn’t nothing.” I cupped his face with my hand, his blue eyes melting as they met mine.

“I love ye, Claire,” he whispered, pressing his lips lightly against my forehead.

“I know, I love you too.” I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. He turned around, instead, and started walking again.

Stubborn Scot.

I sighed a few times along the way, trying to show him that our conversation wasn’t over and I was far from being convinced he was okay. He kept ignoring me and I sighed a few more times – not that it made any difference. Finally, a few blocks from home I stopped walking, this time without any attempt to pull him back to me.

“Are ye alright, Sassenach?” he asked, surprised once again.

“You tell me.”

“I tell…” The realization hit him before he finished his question. “I told ye! Tis fine!” he exclaimed, his hand messing with his hair.

I looked at him for a long moment, my jaw set, my arms crossed across my chest. Waiting. He didn’t speak. I bit my lip hard, nodding, and started walking again. When I brushed by him, I wished him a goodnight and continued towards my place.

“Where are ye going?” His voice came distraught, but I neither stopped nor answered his question. “Claire!”

“Home,” I said sharply, feeling my heart clench inside my chest.

I thought we could tell each other everything.

“Sassenach!” He was next to me within two wide strides, his hand gripping my arm. “What the hell! Why are ye doing this?”

“I’m not doing anything, Jamie.” I wished the words were as painful to him as they were to me, burning my chest. “I can walk home alone. Since we’re not talking anyway.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes at me and let out a short breath through his nose. “Okay,” he said, nodding repeatedly. “Okay.”

“Okay, then. Goodnight.” I started walking again, but his hand stopped me and pulled me back to him.

“Ah Dhia… Ye’re not going to make it easy, right?”

“I? I’m the one who’s making things difficult? You’re obviously not okay and you won’t even talk to me! You won’t even admit that you’re not okay! You’re lying to my face!”

“I’m not lying to yer face!”

“Oh, really?” I asked, my voice sarcastic.

We stood there, breathing fast, our eyes locked in a game of power. I saw his mask slowly melting away, leaving behind only Jamie, my Jamie, as he had always been with me. My Scot.

“Jamie,” I started again, now letting my worry seep in my voice. “What good can I do, when you don’t even trust me with your problems? When you won’t even talk to me?”

He kept silent, and I could hear every beat of my heart crying out to his. Pleading to let me in.

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking his eyes from mine and fixing them on the street. “I’m sorry, Sassenach, I didna mean for ye to think I’m lying to ye. Or that I dinna want to talk to ye. It’s just that...” he stopped, and took a breath as if he had to fortify himself.

“What?” I asked, holding my breath, suddenly afraid of what was to come.

“See… I’m not enough.”

I stood shock-still, trying to process what I had just heard. I hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“Hey,” I whispered, grabbing a fistful of his tee-shirt, and took the last step that kept as apart. “What are you talking about?”

“Did ye no see how happy Jenny was tonight? What Ian did for her… I’ve done nothing for you.”

“Oh god, Jamie…” I ran my fingers across his jawline, his cheekbones, through his hair, feeling my heart melting. “You’ve done so many things for me. I don’t need a trip or a gift to be happy.” Jamie didn’t talk, and I continued, hoping that my words would ring true in his heart. “I’m happy because I’m with you, because you’re in my life.”  

“Aye, but I’m not in yer life that much lately,” he said, and I stupidly thought that his lowered eyebrows made him even more adorable than he already was.

“But that’s just a phase,” I said, my voice strong, sure. “It’s not going to be like that forever.”

Jamie looked at me and a small smile curled his lips. “No, it’s not,” he said, but the smile disappeared again. “But d’ye remember, Sassenach, when we started texting? I had promised you we would go everywhere, and now school has finished and we canna even go on a wee trip in Scotland.”

I smiled, thinking of our very first chat, the night he walked me home. We would travel the world, we had said. Starting from Paris.

“Jamie, we have time,” I said, and meant it. “We will travel, we don’t have to do it right now.”

“Aye, but I didna plan anything for us… Ian has been organizing this trip for so long, and I… With school and training…” He kept trailing off.

I raised onto my tiptoes, pulled him down to me and kissed him, our lips meeting in a soft whisper that soon became a long dance. Unhurried.

“We have time,” I repeated, my whisper brushing against his mouth. “We’re together, and that’s what counts. I’m perfectly happy with staying in Edinburgh. It’s the same to me.” I ran my fingers through his locks, and rested my forehead against his.

“Is it, though?” he asked, and I could almost taste the worry in his words.

“It is, you bloody Scot. It’s our first summer together, but we’re going to have a lot more after that. Right?” I asked, and felt my heart racing in my chest.

This can’t be our last summer together.

“Right,” he breathed and kissed me. “More and more and more…” Each promise coming with another kiss, sealing it.

“Good,” I said, and softly kissed the tip of his long, straight nose.

“But still,” he started again and I sighed, exasperated. “If I go straight to Lallybroch after the nationals… ”

“It will still be okay.” I locked my eyes with his, and neither of us spoke for a long moment.  

“But I’ll be away,” he continued, fear taking the better of him.

Bloody distance. But I had to be the brave one this time.

“Jamie!” I raised my voice and cupped his face with both my hands. “Look at me.” He did. “No matter where you are, I love you. Here, at Lallybroch, in the end of the world. I love you. And I promise you will get bored of me when we’ll live together in Oxford.”

“That willna happen,” he disagreed, and pulled me to him for a kiss.

It was sweet and hopeful, but it quickly became thirsty and urgent. Promising that he would never have enough of me.

“We’ll see,” I said when we broke our kiss, and I laced our fingers together. “Now walk me home, you bloody fool. And never think that you’re not enough.”

Chapter 43

[bringmetolife-pwff]

Part One : Chapter Twenty-Six - Dinner with the Prince and Duchess

The holidays were almost done with for a while as they still had the New Years Eve celebration in less than a couple of weeks.  The Royal family was back home in London and Evelyn couldn't be more excited to see her boyfriend one last time before he went back for the military.

Evelyn had a busy day ahead of her as they had just finalised and shipped out their New Years Eve outfits for Anthropologie and H&M.  Everything was black, white, silver and gold and had loads of sequins.  She couldn't tell which collection has been her favourite so far but she had to agree that this came a close second.  Her favourite probably being their holiday collection.  They had sent them along with the Christmas holiday collection set so that the stores already had them and they would be good to go.  

Later that night though William wanted her to come to dinner with his Pa and Camilla and him.  She had agreed to the invitation and was closing the office at five that day.  

Evelyn had also given her workers Christmas presents as well even if they didn't celebrate the holiday.  She wanted to thank them all for their hard work this year and how they had handled a lot of stressful situations with grace.  She couldn't do this without them.  They all loved their gifts and had chipped in on a gift card to her favourite restaurant which was an italian and Mediterranean food restaurant called Figo Stratford.  They bought enough money on it to where they figured it could have enough of a meal for two - a nice date for her and William whenever he came home.  She absolutely loved the gift.

"Have a good night, everyone!" She heard choruses of 'you too' from her workers as Mary-Kate and Antoine stayed behind.  "That includes you two!  Everyone is supposed to be out of here at five o'clock and it's five now."

"Okay, okay," Antoine let out a loud laugh and shook his head at his boss.  "We are leaving.  Right Mary-Kate?"

"Right."

And so they left leaving Evelyn to lock everything up and then she left herself.  She made it to her apartment thirty minutes later and took a shower wanting to scrub clean for the dinner tonight with William's dad and Camilla.  She knew she needed to look her best.  She used her favourite vanilla moisturising body wash as well and once she was done out of the shower she slayed out her outfit on her bed nicely.  

She had only met the prince and his wife one other time at Princess Diana's concert and she was rather nervous.  

William had sent her texts through out the day to try and calm her down - words of encouragement.  He knew how strongly he felt about her.  How right this was this time.  It was those words that was all she needed to know to get her through the night.  It wasn't that she was worried that they wouldn't like her.  She knew that they did already.  William had told her after the concert how much they all loved her and that encouragement enough but it was normal for those worried thoughts to creep in every once in a while.

She chose to wear skinny black pants, a black and white shirt that had longer sleeves and a scallop design at the edges on the bottom.  She paired it with a long tan coloured dress coat along with some tan faux-leather booties to finish off her outfit.  Evelyn left her blonde hair down straight.  It was chillier at night as Evelyn brought her scarf and mittens as well to make sure she stayed warm while driving to his parents place.  

William had briefed her slightly on what to wear and what not to.  From their conversation on the mobile she gathered that she shouldn't be dressed like she was going to a party but she shouldn't be dressed down either.  She shouldn't be showing any skin that she didn't want them to see which was a given and she was to wear closed toe shoes.  She would have done that anyway as it was a bit nippy outside.  Evelyn also brought a bag for tonight in case she stayed the night.

*

"Hello, darling, you look beautiful," William greeted her at the door and placed a sweet kiss on her forehead.

"Thank you, Wills," she smiled up at him as he took her coat from her and hung it up as he held her hand and led her in further into his Pa's room.

It was beautiful.  There were intricate, delicate designs all the way up the ceiling.  The colour was a powder blue and they had different pictures on the walls and furniture of the family and different places.  

"Hello, dear," Charles greeted the young blonde with kisses on both cheeks and Camilla did the same.

"Hello, it's lovely to see you both again," Evelyn told the couple with a smile on her face.

"Well its about time William didn't hog you all to himself," Charles joked.

"What can I say?  She's irresistible.  I have to have her to myself."

"Okay you two," Camilla put an end to their joking banter.  "Let's get ready for dinner, shall we?"

The father-son duo smiled at each other as Evelyn saw Charles' apples of his cheeks turn a rosy colour.  They headed into the room and sat down at the dinner table that was a nice dark wood.  They had started out with a hearts of romaine caesar salad with garlic croutons and parmesan cheese then moved onto the main course which was herb grilled chicken.  They all had either wine or champagne with water on the side.  Evelyn loved the meal they provided and happily ate it as their was conversation going round the table.

"We all loved your gifts for the holiday," Charles told the blonde.  "You didn't have to get me anything but I very much appreciated the hunting book."

"And I loved my present as well," Camilla told her with a smile.

"So, Evelyn, please tell us about your family," Charles asks the young girl who was dating his son as they were eating their caesar salad.

They had briefly met her family when they were at the concert but they weren't able to really talk to them much at all.  At the first meeting they had thought they were all lovely and well respected.  

"Well," Evelyn started to get nervous as William placed an encouraging on her hand.  "My father is the owner of his own company Bennett & Co. and my mum is technically retired now.  My sister Vivienne is a midwife, my brother Eric is in the military and that is actually how William and I met was through him.  My brother Jake has two twin boys - Samuel and David and a fiancé, Mia.  Sorry, it's a lot - " she started to apologise.

Whilst she was rambling on about her family life - William was rubbing her knee but she couldn't tell if it was for reassurance or for comfort.  Though it could be both.

"Oh heaven's no," Charles laughed lightly.  "A big family, yes.  But the more the merrier.  You have two more brothers, correct?"

"Yes, Noah and Theo.  Theo is an actor and Noah is a photographer taking family portraits and does wedding photography."

"Well, they seem lovely dear," Camilla joined in with a smile gracing her features.  "We would love to meet them properly sometime."

"They would like that as well."

William sent his girlfriend a playful smirk and patted her knee before bringing his hand back to his lap.

"What's been your favourite place you've been to on one of your tours?" Evelyn asked wanting to get to know more about the husband and wife.

"Well, we've been to so many wonderful places, haven't we dear?" The prince asked his wife.

"Oh yes," Camilla told the blonde.  "We both have different favourites.  Mine would be Australia.  The people are so warm and welcoming and it's such a beautiful country."

"Mine would have to Scotland.  It's also where we often go on holidays.  A place I go to get away from all of this," he looked around his room as a sigh escaped his lips.

"I have a friend from Scotland," Evelyn told him.

"Really?  And does she live here?"

"She does," Evelyn nodded her head.  "Her name is Ivy Morton."

"Which does she prefer?  Here or there?"

"Scotland will always be her home but she loves it here."

*

"So, was it as bad as you had imagined?" Will's asked later that night as they were in his room and he was drawing circles on her him as she leaned into him.

"All right," she let out a huff knowing he was gloating.  "You were right and I was wrong.  It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."

"I'm sorry, what?" he asked in a joking manner.

"Shut up," she joked back pushing his shoulder slightly making him laugh.

"You know you aren't the only one who has good ideas in this relationship."

"I know that.  I never said that - you have plenty of good ones!"

"Good.  Glad we acknowledged that I'm the better one of us two."

"Hey," she cried out.  "That's not fair and you know it."

"All right, all right," he waved a hand.  "You win.  Geez woman, keep me on my toes.  Now gimme a kiss."

Evelyn laughed into the kiss which didn't really last very long but neither seemed to mind.  Evelyn was laying with her back on the mattress as William had his head on her chest and he pretended to sleep.  She ran her fingers through his blonde strands of hair in a soothing way.  Evelyn cherished these times with William.  The simple ones where there was hardly anyone around and it was just the two of them.  Not having to go anywhere or worry about what they were doing.

They could be who they wanted to be.

They both knew that the time was soon when they would come out to the world and show their romance for the public - but that time wasn't now.  Now they were cherishing their moments they got with each other.

"You know," Evelyn spoke quietly after they lay in a comfortable silence.  "We should do that though.  Have both families really meet each other."

"I agree," he nodded his head and lowered it to kiss her chest.  "It would be nice to have them all come together instead of running around like little ducklings over at the concert.  How about we discuss with both our parents on when a good time would be for them?"

"Sounds good to me."

--

i wasn't super motivated to write this chapter but i hope you guys enjoyed nonetheless.  i start back to work on the 5th of january so i may or may not be able to update as much.

i hope you all are doing well.

thoughts?

[starshipcaptainjojo]

SPN Series Finale As Written By A Tumblr-Adjacent

OR Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27647983

-

The end of the world started on a Tuesday, because that seemed thematically appropriate. In the five hours since Castiel- his Castiel- had gone to Superhell, Dean Winchester had sat on the floor of what looked like a warehouse and contemplated his existence. 

Around an hour before dawn, Sam had shown up.

“Well today sucked,” Sam sunk down against the wall next to him, unaware that Cas was in superhell and Dean was having an existential crisis. “Hey,” Sam nudged Dean with his shoulder, “Dean. Dean listen…” When his brother didn’t respond Sam let his head hit the concrete wall with a thunk, “Dean, we don’t have time for the existential crisis right now. I want to talk about reality.”

Dean was always having an existential crisis, so even when Sam didn’t know what was going on, he could count on Dean to have an emotional crisis about it.

“Cas is gone,” Dean said, with the same emotional maturity of so many years ago, sitting in a different concrete bunker and thinking about Cas being gone for the first or second time. “For real this time.”

“Right,” Sam agreed with the longsuffering tone of someone who recognized the conversation from the multitudes of conversations just like it that they’d had. “Well, I’m sure he’ll show up again-”

“He loves me, Sammy. He said so.” Dean stared at his clasped hands, processing.

“What?” Sam’s jaw dropped, “you’re kidding, he actually said it?” Sam nodded thoughtfully, lips turning down as his eyebrows went up. “Well shit. Nice one, Cas.”

Dean swallowed, “he’s dead.”

“So what else is new,” Sam snorted, “we’ll get him back, then you can tell him you want to hunt monsters together forever, and we can talk about Eileen.”

“What about her?” Dean let himself be distracted by Sam’s life, per usual.

“I’m going to marry her. Just a thing. You won’t even see it.” Sam nudged him again. “But that’s after we get Cas back.”

“He’s in superhell,” Dean covered his face with his hands. “He’s in superhell with Death.”

“Death can’t kill him if they’re in superhell.” Sam leapt up and held his hand out. “Come on, we’ve broken into hell before. I’ll be mad at you for being such a drama whore once we get Cas back.”

“Deal.” Dean had no other ideas.

 There was a lot of research to do, and Dean couldn’t think about it, so he went to a local fair to distract himself.

There was a flying ride that said ‘fly like an angel’ some angel food cake, some fake wings to win at the prize booth and a craft table where you could make a couples’ frame.

Dean entered the pie eating contest to not think about anything but pie.

“Some of y’all are here to win the money! Others the glory of pie-eating supremacy!” The MC clapped her hands and winked lasciviously at Dean, who forced a wan smile. “Some of y’all just want to impress somebody important, hm?” She licked her lips at Dean.

Her lips weren’t as plush as Cas’s.

Dean shoved his face directly into his pie, and pie into his piehole.

Dean did not win the pie-eating contest, but his pie-eating neighbor also didn’t mention when he’d started crying halfway through eating his second pie and his third-place prize was a puppy, so he still called it a pie-eating victory.

Sam called right as Dean was about to buy too much alcohol and then possibly drive drunk. He had learned nothing in his decades of being alive.

“So I need you to help me with something,” Sam began, “how soon can you get back here?”

“Right now.” Dean handed both his beers to an excited teenager, said “Happy 21st birthday” regardless of the kid's age and got into the Impala. “On my way, Sam.”

He drove too fast and didn’t think about superhell.

“Superhell is being here while Cas is in superhell,” Dean muttered to his new dog as he parked the car. “So superhell is a stupid concept and I hate it. Who even came up with a superhell?”

The dog wagged its tail, because it was a good dog.

“I already love you. Why’s it so easy to tell you that?” Dean ruffled the dog’s ears. “Superhell is not being able to say it when it counts.”

He stomped into their base and almost ran directly into Sam.

“I found a spell to let us call Chuck!” Sam was excited like a giant baby moose. “If we call the operator on a cell phone, we get a straight line to God!” Sam put a spell scroll in Dean’s face.

“I got a dog?” Dean offered as his new puppy immediately leapt on Sam affectionately.

“The hell?” Sam began petting the dog while Dean read the spell.

“The hell?” Dean echoed, reading the passage, which indeed implied heavily that they could trigger pressing and holding the zero button on any cell phone to call Chuck directly if the spell was completed with powerful enough components.

The ritual involved burning something precious to them.

There were only a few things they loved.

“I can’t do it,” Dean was saying, staring at the only viable option.

“Dean, this is for Cas!” Sam wasn’t very convinced. “Maybe we can try something else? Burning something else?”

“No, Sam. This is the only option” Dean clutched the can of gasoline to his chest.

His dog barked once, worried.

“You can’t do this,” Sam held Dean’s shoulders. “We can think of something else!”

The dog whined, looking nervously up at them.

“No, Sammy.” Dean clenched his teeth. “We gotta do this. For Cas. He woulda done it for us.”

He poured the gasoline and lit the match, his dog cowered from their myriad emotions.

“I’m sorry.” Dean ignited the gasoline.

They watched the Impala burn together, the dog hiding behind their legs.

“Say the incantation, Sam.”

Between the sobs, Sam Winchester recited the spell giving them a direct line to God. He wiped his eyes as their phones both lit up red, gold and blue.

“Do it,” he handed the phone to Dean.

Dean hit the button.

“No I’m not bringing Castiel back from superhell,” Chuck said when he answered. “So don’t try to convince me.”

“Okay fuck you,” Dean began diplomatically with the experience and reverence of someone who had averted the apocalypse multiple times. 

Chuck hung up on him.

Dean called back.

Chuck sent him to voicemail.

“I got God’s voicemail,” he told Sam, who made an exasperated sound and used his own phone to call Chuck.

“I said I wouldn’t bring Castiel back from Superhell,” Chuck told Sam directly.

“I’m not asking for that.” Sam looked at Dean, then smiled sadly. “I want to trade myself for Castiel. Send me to Superhell.”

Dean lunged for Sam, but Sam was like a foot taller than him and held him away with his free hand with ease. He’d had decades to perfect the game of keepaway.

“I can’t,” Chuck clucked his tongue, “I can only send people who have admitted to a great and terrible love to Superhell.”

“I love Dean, which sucks,” Sam reminded.

“Yeah but like, not like that-”

“Just send me to Superhell. I was supposed to go to hell years ago anyway, and if Dean and Cas are here together… well then it’ll be worth it. I don’t want to keep hunting, and like you said, I don’t-” he choked and looked at Dean, who was scowling at him and still struggling to steal the phone. “-I don’t have a great love.”

“What about Eileen?” Chuck asked, because he knew everything and was God.

“Well we’d probably break up anyway. Or get old and pass on hunting to our kids and what kind of future is that?” Sam made eye contact with Dean, who had frozen. “What would the point of that be?”

“What are you saying?” Dean’s voice was soft, angry and scared and sad.

“I’m saying I’m tired, Dean.” Sam held the phone close to his head. “Chuck I want you to trade me for Cas, and I’ll go to Superhell.”

“I mean deal,” Chuck agreed, “the way I understand it, Castiel in superhell is what would have defeated me anyway. Done.”

“Sam-” Dean pulled back to speak the words they’d needed their whole lives.

“Don’t tell me you love me, Dean.” Sam smiled, tears gathering in his eyes, “or he’ll send you to Superhell.”

“Sammy-” Dean’s anguished word was crushed as Sam hugged him.

“I love you Dean, be happy.” Sam smiled tightly, hugging his brother until Dean’s arms wrapped around him in return. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to speak. The arms around him changed, tightened, became different.

“I love you,” Dean whispered into a warm collarbone.

“That’s a relief,” Castiel’s voice said, and Dean yanked himself back in shock.

Castiel, as he had always been with his dirty trenchcoat and beautiful eyes and shapely mouth looked back at Dean gently and conjured an exhausted smile.

“I meant that ‘I love you’ for Sam, actually.” Dean chocked on a laugh as Castiel’s soft expression fell. Cas tried to pull away but Dean’s hands on his coat were firm. “But I’ve got one for you too, Cas. Then we gotta go figure out how to get Sam out of Superhell.”

“Wait what?” Castiel began, but then Dean was kissing him, pulling him close by the lapels of his dirty trenchcoat.

 Halfway around the world, Chuck crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, looking out over the highlands of Scotland. 

“I hate humans but damn, those Winchesters are something huh?” He smirked at Death, who shrugged noncommittally and poured him some tea.

“Are you interested in dying after all, then?” She picked up her own tea and sipped it.

“Nah, dying seems so mundane. Happens practically every day. No, I think I’m going to Superhell. There’s nothing in there and I want Dean Winchester and Castiel to really have an interesting time when they try to open it up and get Sam back.”

“You’re a dick,” Sam said, sitting in his own chair, “what are you even up to?”

“I was thinking about what you said, Sammy.” Chuck sipped his tea noisily just to watch Sam flinch, “about what’s the point of it all. Like what are you even going to do with yourself if you guys did beat me?”

Sam didn’t answer.

“Exactly,” Chuck agreed. “You don’t have a future here. You asked to go to Superhell.”

“Where I also have no future.”

“Wrong!” Chuck leaned forward. “Superhell is empty. A void. There’s no future waiting for you there. You’d have to make it.”

Sam stared blankly at him.

“Wow I thought you were the smart brother?” Chuck scoffed a derisive laugh, which Death smiled indulgently at. “Sam Winchester,” he began, leaning forward again. “I have a giant empty limitless superhell I’ve never even bothered terraforming.”

“Yeah?” Sam frowned.

“Sam Winchester, how do you feel about learning to be God?”

[lastbluetardis]

Memories with Sprinkles on Top

This is for @doctorroseprompts​‘ 31 Days of Ficmas, for the prompt ‘hot chocolate’.

Ten x Rose AU, kid fic, part of the Perfectly Matched Outtakes

James teaches his girls how to make homemade hot chocolate, which sparks an afternoon full of stories of the person who taught him to make hot chocolate from scratch--his mum.

AO3

“I’m so bored,” Ainsley grumbled, moving her playing piece up three spaces, and up the ladder she encountered.

It was supposed to be a decent day. Cloudy and a little chilly, perhaps, but nothing a coat and hat wouldn’t fix. But when they awoke to pouring rain and temperatures colder than expected, James knew that the playdate at the park would be a no-go.

Rose had already had plans. She and a few friends had a day of manicures, pedicures, and shopping ahead of them. That left James home alone to try and entertain his girls, but it was difficult to find something that would appease a seven-year-old and a four-year-old.

James frowned at Ainsley. Today was supposed to be a fun day with Daddy, and yet all they’d done was play games that were simple enough for Sianin to understand.

When Ainsley slid her playing piece to the end of the game, winning for the third time out of five, James asked, “Right. As fun as this is, how would you girls like to learn how to make hot chocolate? Not the stuff from the little packets, but the real stuff?”

Ainsley’s eyes lit up, and even Sianin seemed agreeable to their next activity, so he marched his daughters into the kitchen and had them collect the ingredients he would need.

“Right, we need some cocoa powder, sugar, salt, vanilla, and some milk,” he said, grabbing a saucepan and setting it on the stove.

Under his careful supervision, he had them take turns measuring out the ingredients and adding them to the pot. He took charge of the stirring as the mixture heated.

“The trick is the milk,” he explained, turning down the heat to keep it from scalding. “Most hot chocolates use water. And that’s great and all—I mean, who’d say no to chocolate?—but the milk makes it creamy and richer. It was my mum, actually, who taught me this recipe. I think I was about your age, Ainsley. I hadn’t realized hot chocolate could be made any other way until a mate of mine came over and tried the hot chocolate and said it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.”

Ainsley and Sianin sat on the countertop as James reminisced. His mum always had a knack for cooking and baking, and James loved spending time in the kitchen with her. Namely so he could show off to Rose, when he eventually met her, and wow her with his cooking skills. But the quality time bonding with his mum had been nice, too.

“Right!” he said. “Who wants hot chocolate?”

“Me!”

“Mememememeeeee!”

James grinned at Sianin’s enthusiasm, and he opened up the cabinet for three mugs, and for the last ingredient.

“Peppermint!” he proclaimed, plopping a stick into each mug. “Aaaaand…”

He went into the fridge for whipped cream, and added a dollop to each of the mugs.

“Can I have sprinkles?” Sianin asked.

“Oh, sure, what’s one more sugar additive to this cavity in a mug?” He grabbed the sprinkles and decorated the cream of Sianin’s mug with color. “Want some, Ains?”

At her nod, he added some to hers, then shrugged and sprinkled some on top of his own hot chocolate.

“Perfect!” he said, and he guided the girls to the table. “Careful, loves, it’s going to be hot. Why don’t we just let it cool for a tick as we load up the dishwasher?”

After the expected whining, James got them to help him clean up the kitchen of the dishes in the sink, then they finally sat down with their drinks.

“Still hot!” Ainsley squeaked after taking a sip.

James grimaced, knowing the annoyance of scalding his mouth, and he stood up from the table and went to the freezer for ice cubes. He dropped them into both of his daughters’ drinks.

“That should help,” he said, sitting back down.

“Can you tell us a story about your Mummy?” Sianin asked, eating the melting whipped cream with her fingers as her drink cooled.

“Hmm? Oh. Sure. Yeah,” he said. “Ehm… Oh! Winter breaks. We always came home to Scotland for Christmas, and I always had terrible jetlag. I mean, my mum and dad must’ve had it too, but they always seemed to fare much better than me. Anyways, I would always sleep like the dead. Hardly woke up ‘til noon, some years. But they let me sleep, no matter what. I think they liked the silence, honestly. But when they head me getting up, they’d start breakfast preparations. Dad would make banana pancakes, Mum would make her special hot chocolate, and I always came downstairs to a hot breakfast and Christmas music. We’d all have a bit of an impromptu—a spur of the moment—singing contest, complete with mouths so full you could barely understand us. Then when the food was gone, we’d all get another cup of hot chocolate and we’d put on the first Christmas film of the year: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. We’d all quote the whole thing as it played, and when it was done, we’d get bundled up and go out for our Christmas tree.”

“That sounds like our Tree Day!” Ainsley said. “Only we watch Rudolph as we decorate.”

James smiled. “When Mummy was growing up, she and her mum watched Rudolph as they decorated their home for Christmas. So Mum and I decided to sort of blend the traditions.”

“Tell us another?” Sianin asked, licking cream from her top lip, even though her chin and cheeks were smeared with it.

They sat at the table long after their hot chocolates were finished, listening as James told various stories about his mum, or his dad, or about growing up in the United States.

The girls were enraptured by stories of the grandmother they never knew. James’s heart ached that his daughters would never know his mum, but he settled in for the afternoon to give them the best replacement for memories—his stories.

[mischievouspoltergeist]

About me :3

1: Name; Charlie, or Char 2: Age; 21 3: 3 Fears; trains, spiders, the dark 4: 3 things I love; Chocolate, my phone, & my dog 5: 4 turns on; biting, good long kisses, touch my thigh and we’re so done, lingerie 6: 4 turns off: too much talking, blindfolds, the mere suggestion of taking pictures, and men being butthurt when I tell them I’m not enjoying something 7: My best friend: Daniel, my best friend of 10 years :3 8: Sexual orientation: I don’t even know anymore 9: My best first date; Went out for a walk around a beautiful lake. It was a good day. The best dates involve exercise for me tbh 10: How tall am I: V.small. 5′4 11: What do I miss: Going for 14 mile walks. Got no one to go with since my mam stopped! 12: What time were I born: I have absolutely no idea. My parents don’t remember anything like that. 13: Favorite color: Bluuueeeeee 14: Do I have a crush: Yes 15: Favorite quote: (gosh this is hard) I guess one that always sticks out is ‘Love that is not madness is not love’ - did a whole art project around that quote a few years ago 16: Favorite place: A beach about half an hour away from me. I just feel so chill there 17: Favorite food: chocolate. all the chocolate 18: Do I use sarcasm: Every other word is sarcasm, baby 19: What am I listening to right now: The sweet silence of an empty flat with the slight hint of fridge noise. 20: First thing I notice in new person: I have no idea. I don’t think like that, I guess. 21: Shoe size: UK size 8. Annoyingly big 22: Eye color: Hazel/brown/green, they change colour for some weird fucked up genetic reason 23: Hair color: Naturally brunette, currently blonde/ginger 24: Favorite style of clothing: Comfortable 25: Ever done a prank call?: Nope! Don’t have the guts! 27: Meaning behind my URL: Peeves from Harry Potter 28: Favorite movie: Harry Potter - any of them 29: Favorite song: Right now? Halsey - Haunting, or possibly Strange Love. Hard choice 30: Favorite band: Probably always be Linkin Park tbh. Those guys slay me 31: How I feel right now: A little bit sleepy but happy 32: Someone I love: A lot of people. I have a lot of love to give 33: My current relationship status: In an exclusive crush-ship 34: My relationship with my parents: Strained, at best. 35: Favorite holiday: A few years ago, me, my mum and my best friend took a nice quiet trip to Cornwall and it was so chill and de-stressed. 36: Tattoos and piercing i have: None 37: Tattoos and piercing i want: I don’t like piercings much, and I want so many tattoos 38: The reason I joined Tumblr: A friend told me to 39: Do I and my last ex hate each other?: Oh my god so much. Well, idk if he hates me but frankly if I ever see him again and I have a hot iron to hand... 40: Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night ” texts?: At the minute I do and I never knew it would make me this happy 41: Have I ever kissed the last person you texted?: Nope 42: When did I last hold hands?: November 9th 2016 43: How long does it take me to get ready in the morning?: Anywhere from 15 minutes to 45. 44: Have You shaved your legs in the past three days?: Hell no. I don’t gots no one to show off to. 45: Where am I right now?: At my dining table in my lovely new flat <3 46: If I were drunk & can’t stand, who’s taking care of me?: Hopefully, my best female friend Charlotte :3 She’s pretty reliable 47: Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level?: Honestly depends what mood I’m in. I try to keep it reasonable but if I’m stressed or angry, the volume increases 48: Do I live with my Mom and Dad?: Nope! Just moved out my mum’s! 49: Am I excited for anything?: THE YU-GI-OH MOVIE OMG 50: Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to?: Yah. Best friend 51: How often do I wear a fake smile?: 97% of the time. I find I feel better if I smile anyway. Fake it til you make it~ 52: When was the last time I hugged someone?: Uhhhhh Sunday :3 53: What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me?: I’d be pretty upset and hurt and confused! 54: Is there anyone I trust even though I should not?: Probably! 55: What is something I disliked about today?: I had to drive a car. Why make me do this 56: If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?: Maria Mena. I just want to. 57: What do I think about most?: Idk. The crush bae. Naruto. YGO. My crushing mental illness. They all take up my mind evenly. 58: What’s my strangest talent?: I don’t think any of my talents are strange! (but I would say that) 59: Do I have any strange phobias?: Windows is pretty odd. I won’t touch windows if it’s dark outside. I rarely want to touch them during the day. 60: Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?: Both! 61: What was the last lie I told?: That I’m totally ready to book my driving test on the 20th February! 62: Do I prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?: Talking on the phone 63: Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens?: I already answered this to hell the other day I’m lazy. So yes to aliens, unsure about ghosts. 64: Do I believe in magic?: Sadly, no 65: Do I believe in luck?: Strangely, yes 66: What’s the weather like right now?: It’s pissing it down. 67: What was the last book I’ve read?: Loving someone with bipolar disorder 68: Do I like the smell of gasoline?: No 69: Do I have any nicknames?: Char, Charmander, Lottie 70: What was the worst injury I’ve ever had?: I crashed my motorbike and sliced my knee right down to the bone. Took 6 hours of awake surgery and some of it was so bad that it couldn’t be stitched. 71: Do I spend money or save it?: Save when I’m well. Spend when I’m not. 72: Can I touch my nose with my tongue?: Nope 73: Is there anything pink in 10 feet from me?: Nope 74: Favorite animal?: Snow leopards 75: What was I doing last night at 12 AM?: Sleeping! :3 76: What do I think is Satan’s last name is?: Fuck knows 77: What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it?: Babycakes - 3 of a kind 78: How can you win my heart?: Say ‘Charlie.... will you walk 14 miles of the South West Coast Path with me today?’ or say ‘Charlie... will you tell me about your bipolar disorder and what I can do to help you?’ 79: What would I want to be written on my tombstone? To steal Spike Milligan’s grave; ‘I told you I was ill’ 80: What is my favorite word?: Probably ‘fuck’ 81: My top 5 blogs on tumblr: I CAN’T NAME JUST 5 82: If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say?: You all suck. Be nice to other people. 83: Do I have any relatives in jail?: Not that I know of! 84: I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is that power?: Hopefully the power to turn invisible whenever I want 85: What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on?: I don’t know. I’m pretty shameless honestly. 86: What is my current desktop picture?: Yu--gi-oh Bakura-shipping 87: Had sex?: All the sex 88: Bought condoms?: Yup bcos safe sex is good and because my friends used to go ‘will you buy them for me? I’m too scared!’ 89: Gotten pregnant?: Thankfully, no 90: Failed a class?: Yup. Chemistry A-level. You only get one batch of materials for your exam and if you fuck up with them, you fail the exam automatically. I very cleverly tipped hydrochloric acid all over myself, my coat and my bag, and my seat, and the floor.... and I basically went ‘hm. Maybe Chemistry isn’t for me’ and dropped out. 91: Kissed a boy?: Yes 92: Kissed a girl?: Tes 93: Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain?: Yes. So overrated 94: Had job?: Yes, several 95: Left the house without my wallet?: Too many times 96: Bullied someone on the internet?: Yes, when I was very young I made some very careless and horrible remarks. Got in trouble. Never did it again. 97: Had sex in public?: When we say public, do you mean were we seen...? 98: Played on a sports team?: Only when made to at school 99: Smoked weed?: Yup 100: Did drugs?: See above 101: Smoked cigarettes?: Not unless they had other elicit substances in 102: Drank alcohol?: A lot 103: Am I a vegetarian/vegan?: Slowly going vegetarian, easier now I live alone. 104: Been overweight?: Yes 105: Been underweight?: No. Too much muscle to allow it. 106: Been to a wedding?: Yes. Two! 107: Been on the computer for 5 hours straight?: All the time XD 108: Watched TV for 5 hours straight?: Yup 109: Been outside my home country?: I went to Scotland once :P 110: Gotten my heart broken?: I don’t know about broken. I maybe broke my own heart once or twice I guess 111: Been to a professional sports game?: Yup. I was 6 and I fell asleep 112: Broken a bone?: Yap. Three fingers, a toe, and my wrist a couple times 113: Cut myself?: Way too much 114: Been to prom?: Nope. I skipped out on that 115: Been in airplane?: Nope 116: Fly by helicopter?: Sadly no 117: What concerts have I been to?: None. Too much noise 118: Had a crush on someone of the same sex?: Yep 119: Learned another language?: Partially 120: Wore make up?: Yap 121: Lost my virginity before I was 18?: Yup, because that’s perfectly legal in the UK 122: Had oral sex?: Yup 123: Dyed my hair?: Loads 124: Voted in a presidential election?: Well, prime minister here, but yes 125: Rode in an ambulance?: 3 times last year alone. 126: Had a surgery?: Several when I was younger, and once last year. 127: Met someone famous?: CHRIS BARRIE FROM RED DWARF 128: Stalked someone on a social network?: So many people 129: Peed outside?: Not in the last 15 years or so 130: Been fishing?: No, thank god 131: Helped with charity?: I volunteer for one now! 132: Been rejected by a crush?: Yep. Lewis Spatcher, when I was 10 years old. Then Rebecca Haynes, 11 years old (then outed me as gay and I had the shit kicked out of me :’) ) 133: Broken a mirror?: Nope 134: What do I want for birthday?: Degus, and all the things I need to keep them