#that should have been what stung Gabriel the wrong way

[quietwingsinthesky]

the Gabriel/Loki episode of the winchesters was good though. That one can stay.

[unecoccinellenoire]

Before Gabriel inevitably loses the Rabbit Miraculous...

He hackles rise as he realises he's not alone.

"It's ok," a woman's voice says, "you've time to watch it. Mini-bug and her cat are distracted elsewhere.

He turns to find the very red-haired woman he'd just stung into motionless stood behind him. But this one is clearly older. At least his own age he'd hazard from the grey tufts around her temples that he can't understand why she doesn't dye.

Gabriel doesn't trust an enemy's apparent help, "Shouldn't you be stopping me?"

"I stay out of the way of my younger self. Things go," her mouth twists, "wrong otherwise. Trust me there's a lot I would have changed if that wasn't the case. It's not like I don't get the impulse."

"Why are you here then?"

"Call it nostalgia. I wish it was only Hawk Moth I dealt with."

"Monarch," he corrects.

She shrugs, "history remembers you as Hawk Moth. Aren't you going to watch?"

There doesn't seem much other choice. She clearly wants him to.

Gabriel puts his hand to the porthole and there is is. Emilie. Alive and well.

And him.

Him with gray hair, and the wrinkles the last few years have given him.

"Is this the future?" He asks.

"It's a future." She says.

"Yours?"

"That would be telling."

"Mine?"

"You're from the past compared to this, any of the futures you see here could be yours."

Her reticence with such important details infuriates him, but his fury has not time to build when he can't look away from himself and Emilie.

"Is this what happens if I fix the Miraculous?"

It's not a question aimed at anyone but himself.

He gets an answer anyway.

"Does it look like it is?"

The Emilie he can is see looks young. As if she's slept while Gabriel's toiled, in what seemed at times like it was in vain. But that doesn't mean anything. She'd always been so careful with her appearance.

It's possible even that this is further into the future than he's realised, and that's why he looks older than he really should.

But Emilie doesn't offer the smile he's hoping for for, instead her eyes are soft and almost sad as her head tilts even as there is the slightest hint of an upturn on one corner of her lips, "isn't it obvious dear?"

"Obvious?" Gabriel recognises the annoyed huff he makes, and it's strange to see that with Emilie when he's been so convinced she was all he needed to be happy, "perhaps to you. I can't see why Nathalie would want to move out at all. Why is our home suddenly so unsatisfactory to her after all these years?"

"Exactly." Emilie nods, "she's been here most of her working life. And then she just came close to dying. I imagine that's made it very obvious what she's missing."

"What do you mean?"

"Gabriel have you ever known Nathalie to have a boyfriend?"

Gabriel blinks in tandem with his double in front of him at the unexpected remark.

"Well no but,"

Emilie finally smiles but there's something condescending in it and it doesn't fill him with joy after all, "It would be a bit difficult to bring one back here wouldn't it?"

"Nathalie knows we don't approve of strangers in the house," his counterpart says, "but she's a smart woman. If she cared about that sort of thing she'd figure out a solution."

"She has," Emilie says, "that's why she's leaving here."

Her Gabriel frowns, "I'd never thought it was something that important to her."

Neither has he. Though that makes sense if this is his future. Still his stomach feels unsettled as he watches the scene in front of him. He's never thought of Nathalie leaving him.

During dark nights while she slept and he watched terrified that she's stopped breathing he's had to confront the idea of losing her. But her leaving is quite different.

Emilie shakes her head, "a near death experience changes everyone. We've taken her twenties and her early thirties. Let her enjoy the rest of it."

"I just," Gabriel reaches up to take off his glasses and wipe them clear, "you really think this is why Nathalie wants to move out. Just so she can- date?"

The innocuous word sounds disgusting on his lips, and Gabriel's not sure he could say it any differently.

Yet it makes sense. Nathalie values love or she wouldn't help him. After reuniting him with Emilie why wouldn't she want an Emilie of her own?

"What else could it be," Emilie says, "as you say she's always seemed satisfied here."

Gabriel takes his hand away. "Why did you want me to see this?"

Bunnyx doesn't answer and when he turns she's gone.

He almost turns back to the window onto that scene to see where it goes, whether Nathalie does leave, but without her guarding presence it doesn't feel safe.

Besides it doesn't matter. What matters is going back and ensuring Emilie, and therefore Nathalie never get ill in the first place.

What he saw is a future that Gabriel never plans to let happen.

There's no reason to think about it.

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH4

Yall ready for Uncle Jagged? I’d say out of the first 7 chapters, 4 is probably the one I tweaked the most from the original. It’s still roughly the same, but you’ll notice several key differences. Our girl is gonna get all the love she deserves!

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Previous   First   Next   AO3

Chapter 4: The Change

“Do you think we should ask her what’s wrong?” Eliott whispered at lunch the next day as Marinette pushed food around her plate.

“I dunno. It could make things worse,” Macy said.

“But she looks so sad.” Martin winced.

She should have known they’d notice. It’s not like she was trying to hide it. Her heart was too heavy to lift up anymore, and for once, she couldn’t find her smile. There was no light to shed on the situation. No motivation to even go looking for any. She was a ghost of the confident girl they’d met yesterday, so she couldn’t blame them for having whiplash. Still, it was sweet of them to worry.

She set down her fork and forced a pained smile. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine,” she said.

“Did Gabrielle get to you?” Martin shrank, glancing around as if her posse were poised to strike.

“No.” She shook her head, chewing her lip contemplatively before continuing, “It’s my old school. Yesterday my best friend was akumatized because I left, and-”

“Oh, that’s so scary!” Macy gasped. “We’ve had a few akumas here before.”

“Yeah, I think I recognize some of you,” Marinette said, then quickly added, “-from the news.”

“Is everything okay?” Eliott asked.

“Not exactly…” Marinette shifted her gaze back to her plate. “She and I agreed to go our separate ways after everything.”

“Marinette, I’m so sorry,” Macy said.

“It’s probably for the best.” Marinette shrugged. “There’s this girl at my old school that’s a huge liar, and she has everyone wrapped around her finger, including my best friend… my ex-best friend. I tried several times, but I could never prove that she was lying. Then she started turning my friends against me, and—yeah.”

“Wow, no wonder you left,” Eliott said.

Macy stretched across the table to take her hand. “Hey, you have us now, and if there’s anything we’re good at, it’s forgetting about our problems for a little while, so why don’t we do something fun tonight?” She suggested. “I hear Jagged is playing a concert in town; we could go if you want.”

“But I thought it was sold out.” Marinette’s eyebrows knitted together.

“Well, aren’t you friends with Jagged?” Eliott asked. “Ask him for tickets.”

“I- we’re not really that close. I mean, I designed for him a couple of times, but I don’t really think that he would do that. Besides, I wouldn’t want to trouble him…” Marinette rubbed the back of her neck.

“It doesn’t hurt to ask,” Macy said.

Marinette eyed her phone with pursed lips before pulling up her Instagram. Of course she followed Jagged, but she barely interacted with him. He probably wasn’t even the one running the account—most celebrities had an assistant for that. Her request would probably get buried among the thousands of other comments, but it was worth a shot. She typed a quick message and hit send, praying he wouldn’t be too upset with her for asking.

“I’m surprised that a girl as connected as you doesn’t take advantage every now and then,” Eliott said when she set her phone down. “I mean, you know a lot of famous and powerful people.”

“I don’t like to bother anyone.” She curled her shoulders. “Besides I don’t know him that well.”

“Jagged called you his favorite little lady when you were on that TV show with him.” Macy reminded her. “I think it’s safe to say that he likes you enough to give you a few free tickets.”

When Marinette’s phone vibrated on the table, they all crowded around to read Jagged’s reply.

“Yo, Marinette! It would be totally awesome if you could come to my show tonight! The floor’s sold out, but I’ll have Penny send some backstage passes for you and your friends!”

“Well, well, well,” Eliott said. “Looks like we’re going to see Jagged Stone.”

♪♫♪ Better Without You ♪♫♫

Alya toyed with her stylus, gaze fixed on the desk in front of her as she attempted to piece together the last 24 hours. After everything they’d been through together, how could Marinette end things like that? Her stomach churned, recalling the drained look in Marinette’s eyes the night before.

Maybe she’d overreacted. Marinette was her best friend after all, and best friends didn’t abandon each other for no reason. It wasn’t like Alya wanted to stop being friends. She was just so hurt and confused that she’d said it on impulse. She never expected Marinette to agree, but maybe she felt the same way Alya did. Maybe she thought Alya didn’t want to be her friend anymore, so she let her go despite how painful it was. It was a nice thought anyway.

“Good morning, Alya!” Lila greeted with her usual cheeriness, though her face fell upon seeing Alya’s forlorn expression. “Is everything alright?”

“It’s nothing.” Alya blinked out of her trance, shifting in her seat.

“It doesn’t seem like nothing.” Lila pried. When Alya remained quiet, Lila placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You can trust me. We’re friends, right?”

“Yeah…” Alya weighed it for a moment before turning to face her. “It’s about Marinette.”

“Oh, I see! You’re upset because she left.” Lila nodded in understanding.

“I tried to talk to her yesterday, but things didn’t exactly go well…” Alya lowered her gaze to her lap with a frown.

“Did she tell you why she left?”

“Not exactly…” Alya bit her lip. “I mean, I have a hunch, but she denied it.”

“It wasn’t because of me, was it?” Lila gasped, and Alya averted her gaze. “It was, wasn’t it? Oh, I never meant to upset her. I even tried to ask her to be my friend in the bathroom the day I came back, but all she did was yell at me and call me names. I didn’t want to tell anyone because everyone loves her, and I didn’t want to start trouble, but she was the reason I got akumatized.”

“She yelled at you?” Alya’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and Lila nodded.

“I just don’t understand what I ever did to her to make her not like me,” she said. “I’m really sorry that she’s taking it out on you.”

“It’s not your fault. Marinette was always a little eccentric. I just don’t know what pushed her over the deep end.” Alya sighed, leaning against her fist. “I guess…our friendship didn’t mean as much to her as I thought.”

Lila eyed her with pursed lips before a smile stretched across her cheeks. “If I was your best friend, I would never leave you like that, Alya,” she said. “In fact, if you want, I could move up to sit by you, but I completely understand if you’re still torn up about Marinette. I’d never try to replace her or anything.”

A small smile curled on Alya’s lips. “Thanks. I could use a friend right now.”

Lila placed her bag on the desk, beaming as she took her new seat. Alya eyed her with a contemplative frown.

She’s a liar. I’ll never be friends with her.

“Just promise me one thing,” Alya said.

“Anything.”

“Promise you won’t ever lie to me,” Alya said.

Lila blinked in surprise but linked their pinkies together nonetheless. “I promise, Alya. You’re my friend. I’d never lie to you.”

“Thanks, Lila. You’re the best.”

♪♫♪ Save Rock and Roll ♪♫♪

“So, you guys really aren’t friends anymore?” Adrien asked later that evening.

Marinette’s chest tightened. Adrien had called her after his Chinese lesson, having overheard about her split from Alya at school. She didn’t dare wonder what people were saying about her—even thinking about it made her skin crawl. Maybe it was for the best that she was going to see Jagged Stone tonight with her new friends. She needed the distraction.

“Nope,” she said. Setting her phone on the dresser, she grabbed sweater from her closet and held it up in front of the mirror.

“Are you okay?” Adrien’s voice was laced with worry.

The corners of Marinette’s eyes stung, and she chewed her cheek, focusing on her outfit. Adrien had already seen her cry once in the last 24 hours. She wasn’t about to let it happen again.

“I don’t know.” She hung the sweater back on the rack with pursed lips and shrugged. “It hurts, but so did being pushed aside for a new girl.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you two were close.”

“Not close enough, apparently.” She swiped through hangers with a little more force than necessary.

“And you’re sure you don’t want to try to work things out?”

Marinette tapped her finger on the bar and nodded. “If I tell her that Lila is lying, it’ll just be more of the same. Even if we told her that Ladybug called her out, Lila would still twist it and make herself the victim.” She grabbed a jacket and slipped it on. “How do I look?”

“Incredible, as always,” Adrien said, bringing a flush to her cheeks as she brushed her hair in the mirror.

“Sorry your dad won’t let you come with us,” she said.

“I’m used to it by now. He barely lets me go to the movies.” Adrien sighed, swiveling back and forth in his chair.

“I’ll try to get Jagged’s autograph for you.”

“Thanks. I promise we’ll do something together soon, even if it’s just sitting on a couch eating ice cream,” he vowed, and Marinette smiled.

“I’m glad I still have you,” she said. “You have no idea how much it means to me that you understand.”

“I’ll always be here for you. Even if I can’t leave my house, you can call me anytime,” he said.

“Thanks, Adrien.” She picked up her phone and waved. “I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun at the concert!”

After he hung up, she pressed a soft kiss to his picture on the screen. Who knew that all she needed to do to get Adrien’s attention was change schools? This was the most they’d talked since they met, and although she wasn’t ready to tell him her feelings, she was loving the attention.

“Ready to go?” she asked her kwami.

“This is your first time hanging out with your new friends outside of school! I’m happy that you’ve made friends so quickly,” Tikki said.

Marinette hooked her purse over her shoulder with a smile. “I have a good feeling about this group. Even if they are insanely rich, I feel like they’re different. They aren’t stuck up or arrogant like Chloe or Gabrielle. They’re nice.”

“Marinette! Your friends are here!” her mom called from the living room.

“Coming!” Marinette closed the clasp of her purse and skipped down the stairs.

“Got your phone?” her mom asked.

“Yep.” She nodded, holding it up.

“And you’ll call us right away if anything happens?” her dad added, arching a warning brow.

“Of course.” She stretched up to kiss his cheek. “Bye, Papa. Bye, Mama.”

“Have fun, sweetie!”

Marinette waved over her shoulder as she headed down the stairs. The limo was waiting outside, and Macy’s butler opened the door when she approached.

“How exciting is it that we have backstage passes to see Jagged Stone?” Macy squealed. “Honestly, Marinette, you’re the best.”

“I still feel a little weird about it,” she admitted sheepishly.

Eliott glanced up from his magazine and rolled his eyes. “Jagged wouldn’t have given you the tickets if he didn’t want to. When you have connections, there’s no shame in using them. That’s how you make friends in high places,” he said. “Don’t worry. We’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

“Then your old friends will all wish they didn’t turn their back on you.” Macy linked her arm through Marinette’s. “Because you’re already the most incredible person I’ve ever met, and I’ve only known you for a couple days. You stood up for someone you didn’t even know, you’ve got all kinds of celebrity connections, and you are wearing the cutest jeans I’ve ever seen!”

“Thanks, I stitched the pattern in myself.” Marinette ran her fingers over her trademark flowers.

“When you start your own fashion line, I want to be your first customer,” Macy said, and Eliott set down his magazine with a scoff.

“Not if I get there first,” he said.

Macy stuck her tongue out at him as they pulled up to Martin’s building. Macy’s butler opened the door again, and the scrawny boy climbed in timidly.

“Hey, Martin.” Marinette smiled.

“Are you sure it’s okay if I come too?” he asked.

“Of course! You’re our friend now,” Marinette assured him.

Martin shifted his gaze to his lap with a small smile.

On the drive over, Macy and Eliott chatted about how annoying their expensive phones were, leaving Martin and Marinette to sit in silence.

“Um, thanks for this,” he said, stealing a quick glance before fixing his gaze back on his shoes. “I’ve never really had any friends. Everyone just kind of walks all over me.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Marinette pressed a hand to the side of her mouth. “I used to be a lot like you.”

“Really?” He blanched.

“At my old school, Chloe Bourgeois used to torment me all the time, but one day someone stood up to her for me and helped me find the courage to do it myself. It gave me a lot more confidence, and I was able to branch out and make more friends.” She lowered her gaze with a frown, heart sinking. Now wasn’t the time for a pity party, so she shook it off and continued, “That’s why I stood up for you because I know how much it changed my life when someone did it for me.”

“Wow,” Martin said. “I still don’t think I could ever be as confident as you.”

“Never say never.”

Awkward silence stretched between them while Macy and Eliott continued gossiping about various celebrities. They were so comfortable with each other that Marinette didn’t know where to interject. She decided it was better to leave them be—she had enough to think about anyway.

She leaned back against the seat with a sigh, recalling old memories of sleepovers and birthday parties and scheme after scheme to get Adrien’s attention. All of that seemed so far away now, and she was left with a gaping hole in its wake. She missed her friends. She missed her old school. She missed all of those memories, and more than anything, she wished she could go back.

But too much had changed now. Lila had everyone wrapped around her finger, so things would never really be the same. Besides, being around Lila wasn’t good for her, and if her friends couldn’t see the truth… It was best for her not to be around them either. Even if it left her feeling empty. Those holes would fill with time, and she’d make new memories with her new friends. Her old life would fade, and eventually she wouldn’t even remember what it was like before.

She had bigger things to worry about anyway—such was the lot she took on when she accepted the call to be Ladybug. Superheroes couldn’t afford to take chances, and Marinette couldn’t afford to have bad friends. This concert was a fresh start for her, a chance to carve a new life with new people who wouldn’t toss her aside like old bread.

When they arrived at the venue, Penny was waiting for them by the back entrance. She draped their passes around each of their necks and clicked her pen.

“Don’t lose these and keep them on at all times, okay?” She instructed before pressing a hand to the Bluetooth device in her ear. “Yes, I’ll go check on Mr. Stone now- uh, come in, the show will be starting soon.”

“This is so exciting!” Macy bounced beside Marinette. “I can’t believe I’m gonna get to meet Jagged Stone, and it’s all thanks to you, Marinette.”

“Yeah, thanks for hooking us up, Marinette.” Eliott echoed.

“It was you who encouraged me to ask, Eliott, and we wouldn’t have gotten here without Macy, so really we all had a hand in it.” Marinette waved it away.

“This is a disaster!”

They all stopped short as Jagged stormed into the hall.

“My lucky jacket is ruined! I can’t do the show like this!” he cried.

Penny rushed to his side to investigate the ripped article in his hands. “I’ll get with wardrobe to see if they have a different one,” she said, but Jagged shook his head indignantly.

“If I can’t wear this jacket, I won’t do the show.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“But Jagged-”

“It’s lucky! All of my best performances happen when I’m wearing that jacket, and who knows what might go wrong if I go on without it!” he whined.

“Jagged?” They turned to Marinette, her friends standing behind her with bewildered expressions. “Is everything alright?”

“Yo, Marinette, you made it, rock on!” He pulled her in for a tight hug. “Too bad I have to cancel.”

“All of this over a jacket?” Martin asked, shrinking when Macy and Jagged turned to him with cutting glares.

“A rockstar’s show isn’t just about music, Martin. A performer’s wardrobe can be the difference between a rock legend and a rock nightmare,” Macy explained with a scoff.

“She’s right. I can’t go on like this. I look ridiculous without it!” Jagged said.

“Maybe I could fix it?” Marinette piped up, and everyone’s heads whipped around to face her.

“Could you really, Marinette?” Jagged perked up.

“The concert starts in 10 minutes. People are already in their seats,” Penny said, consulting her schedule. “Can you make a repair that fast?”

“I can try.” Marinette shrugged.

“Then I leave the fate of my show in your hands, Marinette.” Jagged handed her the jacket. “I have total faith in you.”

Marinette examined the tear in the shoulder seam with a determined frown before pulling out a mini-sewing kit. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she set to work trimming excess threads.

“She carries a sewing kit around with her?” Eliott cocked a brow.

“She’s a designer, of course she does,” Macy said.

Everyone watched her work in eager anticipation, and after a few minutes, Marinette pulled the thread tight to close the gap. Knotting off her work and clipping the last thread, she held it up proudly.

“Done!” she said, and everyone breathed sighs of relief.

“Marinette, you’re my hero!” Jagged cheered. He cupped her cheeks, planting a kiss on her forehead before donning his jacket. “If you hadn’t been here, I wouldn’t have been able to perform. You’re a real lifesaver.”

“3 minutes!” One of the stage-hands announced as Penny passed Jagged his guitar.

“If you ever need anything from me, you’ve got it, Marinette.” Jagged winked.

Marinette bit back a shy smile as the arena erupted with cheers.

“See? If you hadn’t asked Jagged for tickets, you wouldn’t have been here to help him,” Eliott said pointedly as they stood on the sides behind the curtains to watch.

Marinette glowed with pride. Eliott was right. If she hadn’t used her connection to be there, then Jagged would have canceled. It was a weird coincidence, but it eased her guilt about asking for such a big favor, like she was paying Jagged back.

What would her friends back home say if she told them she saved Jagged for real? Of course, Lila would probably come up with something bigger and better to one-up her, but at least she could tell Adrien about it later.

“I want to dedicate this next song to a very special young lady,” Jagged said into the mic. “She has been a huge inspiration to me, and I want to invite her on stage to sing this one with me. Clara and I wrote it to honor the heroes of Paris, and tonight she was my hero, so come on out here, Marinette.”

“No way!” Macy gasped as they all shoved Marinette out onto the stage.

“Marinette is exceptionally talented.” Jagged wrapped an arm around her as she joined him. “In fact, if it wasn’t for her, tonight’s show wouldn’t have happened, so tonight this song is a tribute to you, Marinette. You’re my everyday Ladybug.”

Marinette cupped her hands over her mouth, cheeks hot as she took her place at the mic. As Jagged began to play a familiar melody, she looked at him for her cue.

“Another day, I’m back at school. I think about him, he’s so cool.” She glanced at her friends who gave encouraging nods. “He looks at me, I look away, but does he see me anyway?”

Sensing her unease, Jagged sang along with her softly until it was his turn to take up the second verse. By the second chorus, Marinette was gaining confidence as the crowd cheered them on. She removed the mic from the stand and paced across the stage, touching hands with people in the audience. She was no Clara Nightingale, but she was having fun performing with Jagged. As she belted out the last chorus with Jagged, a familiar rush pulsed through her veins that reminded her of Ladybug.

She was powerful. She was confident. She was free.

[pixiebuggiewrites]

Sorry Wrong Number!

Description: When Damian Wayne receives a mysterious text message he's not sure what to make of it. Little did he know that it would lead him down a rabbit hole of information regarding a villain in Paris and a superhero team led by a girl in red and black spots.

Meanwhile, the Miraculous team is struggling. they're down a member and there's seems to be a new peacock in town. The teams only hope is to reach out for help-leading to new alliances, friendships, and romance.

This is my first real fanfic so any constructive criticism is appreciated!! Just keep it friendly please

Masterpost - Next - Ao3 link

Chapter 1: Marinette’s bad day

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was no stranger to bad days. In fact, over the past two years she had become well acquainted with them.

                                                          ----------

Two years ago If you told her that Lila Rossi would somehow actually manage to take almost everything away from the then 14 year old designer she probably wouldn't have believed you. She had faith in her friends which, looking back was a pretty big mistake. She was less than surprised when most of her classmates began freezing her out. It stung but it’s not like they ever really helped her during Chloe’s original reign of terror so in a sense nothing really changed except for the person behind the pain.

What did surprise her-and perhaps stung the most-was that her closest friends left her as well. Alya had been enamored by stories of celebrities and quick to end their friendship when Lila cried about all of the terrible things Marinette had done and said to the transfer student. Nino remained mostly neutral but was dating Alya so it wasn’t exactly easy to hang out like they used to.

And Adrien? What a bullet she dodged there.

The sweet boy who gave her an umbrella and became her first real crush had proven himself to be way too passive. His many speeches about the high road and how nobody was being hurt had chipped away at that crush until there was barely a spark left.

A spark that was finally put out when she discovered that he was her (now former) superhero partner.

Luckily the young heroine wasn't completely alone. While she hadn't told them the full story with the Lila situation lest either of them get akumatized her parents still had a sixth sense for when she was low on fumes and would always find a way to brighten her day. Her Uncle Jagged and Aunt Penny were still there too, having become part of her family in all but blood and name. It had come as quite a shock the first time she came downstairs for family game night and saw the two of them sipping hot-cocoa and exchanging stories with her parents as Fang slept on the floor, But it had slowly become a regular occurrence in the Dupain-Cheng household for them to drop by whenever they had the time.

She had made new friends too. Her and Luka grew closer and even dated for a couple months before realizing that their melodies worked better platonically, becoming best friends ever since. The two would regularly have  ‘creativity sessions’ where Luka would test out his newest songs as Mari worked on her designs.

Her and Kagami had also grown closer once they both realized that their blossoming friendship was more valuable than a battle over a boy that they both had kinda grown out of their feelings for. They had started meeting once a week to enjoy some orange juice and fence and it had just evolved from there, Marinette had even been the first person Kagami came out to as gay. Kagami was also the first person she decided to share her identity as a superhero with. Luka had already known-a result of his second akuma as Viperion-but it felt different to make an active decision to share that part of her life with someone.

The most surprising addition to her friend group though, was one Chloe Bourgeois. Marinette wasn't really sure what to expect when the blonde had asked her to talk after school one day, but it certainly was not an apology. Chloe had explained that she had been in therapy for the past few months trying to better herself, and that seeing how Lila was really drove the point home for her in accepting how wrong her previous actions had been. Their friendship was rocky at first, as that much history doesn’t just disappear overnight, but it had slowly grown as the heiress proved over time how she really had changed. Sitting next to each other in class had led to them passing notes which led to them grabbing lunch together sometimes which somehow, eventually, led to the two becoming pseudo-sisters. She had been the third person to find out she was Ladybug, when one day she swung into her room mid-transformation only to realize that Chloe had shown up early for their sleepover that night.

At some point in all of this, her three friends also became friends with each other, forming a close knit group. Their varied personalities all seemed to balance each other out, which made them the perfect team in more ways than one.

 Which is why she decided to make them all permanent Miraculous holders.

Shortly after her 16th birthday, Master Fu asked her to take over as guardian of the Miracle box. He wasn't getting any younger and had managed to find a way to preserve his memories after passing on guardianship, so that he could still help should the need ever arise. Marinette was apprehensive but she had technically finished all of her training and she wanted Fu to have a chance at a nice retirement so she said yes.

The next day, just hours after she wished her teacher safe travels she made a very important decision. A decision to revoke Chat Noir’s ring.

You see, as Guardian it's kind of important to know who holds the magical pieces of jewelry that are your job to protect. Therefore Fu made the ever wise decision to tell her before promptly riding off into the sunset.

To say that Marinette was upset at the atomic bomb dropped on her was a bit of an understatement. She actually made the executive decision to have Kaalki portal her out of Paris just so that she could mentally unpack everything without risking an akuma. She stared up at the sky from the field she had landed in for what felt like hours and eventually came to accept a few things that she’d honestly been feeling for awhile.

Like the fact that sacrificing himself every other battle wasn't actually that heroic, especially when most of the hits he took for her she would have dodged anyways. Or the fact that he would act out whenever she asked him to take things more seriously by showing up late to akumas and threatening to quit. She had been considering talking to Fu about his behavior for awhile but was always stopped by the fact that they had been fighting together since day one, she wanted to believe in her kitty but finding out he was Adrien had been the last straw.

As Adrien, he had remained passive in the face of injustice many times. He had rarely if ever taken any real action in stopping Chloe’s behavior and he seemed to be taking the same approach with Lila. She understood that Gabriel definitely was partly to blame for his skewed worldview, but Adrien had been going to public school for 4 years now. He had been present for multiple mental health awareness assemblies and they had even appeared together as Ladybug and Chat in an anti-bullying PSA a couple years ago. It honestly baffled her that he still truly believed that the high road method could work.

Simply put, she just couldn't trust him to act as a hero anymore. She made a plan, but for it to work she needed help.

Well she had been planning to expand team Miraculous anyways, but this gave her the perfect chance to set those plans into motion. Marinette needed people she could work well with and she just happened to know three people who would make perfect teammates. Luka had already been appearing as Viperion more as Chat showed up to less fights, so the only real change was that Sass would get to go home with him at the end of the day. Chloe had been a bit harder seeing as all of Paris knew she had been Queen Bee, but Marinette was nothing if not determined. After a couple of weeks of her working with Chloe and Pollen on a new suit design, Abeille Royale was born. The finishing touch was Chloe and the new hero to be spotted near each other in public with some assistance from Trixx and they were good to go. Which just left Kagami.

Her original plan had been similar for the one she had for Chloe, but then she remembered something. To preserve balance the Miraculous of destruction needed to remain active, which meant she needed a new black cat. Now she could have jumped in front of oncoming traffic to see who saved her, but she was not willing to test her luck that much even with the boost Tikki gave her. This meant she needed to pick someone she already trusted. She didn't see a Chloe/Plagg team up going well for anyone involved so that was gonna be a hard no. Luka would have possibly worked, but the power of the snake was just too valuable of an asset to take off the roster. But Kagami? Now that would work.

While it was true that Kagami was much more well suited for the dragon, she would still work well as the black cat. She enjoyed a bit of chaos, but was disciplined enough to not be dragged into any of Plagg’s crazier ideas. She also understood the responsibility of holding such a powerful item, not one to take such a duty lightly. After talking with her about it Kagami had accepted the position becoming Kuro Neko.

After that they just had to get the ring back which was surprisingly easy. As Chat didn't know that she had given out more Miraculous again, she just had to wait for him to show up to a patrol. She played distraction and Abeille snuck up behind him with a venom, freezing him as she took back the ring. Finally, she cast a spell that would prevent him from sharing anything about him being Chat Noir as a safety measure. While he may not have as much knowledge about the miraculous as her, he did have some information and she was not going to risk letting Hawkmoth get his hands on any of it. And with that problem solved she finally had her team.

And from there things got a bit easier, with an actual team helping her and the seeming disappearance of Mayura akuma fights began to end way quicker and it felt like they were slowly making progress towards finding Hawkmoth. 

But when can things ever stay that nice?

                                                          ----------

Again, Marinette was no stranger to bad days but coupled with the week she had been having so far her patience was wearing thin.

Earlier that week, Chloe had shown up to the bakery in near tears. After calming down she shared the news that her Mother was going back to the states on Thursday, which while a bummer wasn't the issue. The issue was that she was bringing Chloe with her. While the blonde was happy to be getting time with her Mom, she didn’t want to abandon her team. Marinette assured her that while she wouldn't be able to be on the front lines anymore, she didn't have to quit the team. Seeing as the young heiress was scarily organised (perhaps even more than Marinette) She could continue to remotely assemble case files on each akuma and keeping tabs on any possible leads to Hawkmoth's identity. In addition, the city Chloe was moving to seemed to have heroes with ties to the justice league so they could finally try to get help again since they never responded to the video messages Ladybug sent at the beginning of her hero career. She had no idea how news of the akumas never made it out of France, but she suspected it was a mix of magic and corrupt officials. The plan was to have Abeille track down the heroes and explain the situation, with Ladybug teleporting in if necessary, and to establish a line of communication between them while requesting assistance.

From there the rest of the week was spent with the four friends enjoying as much time as possible together before their bee had to fly an ocean away. Kagami and Chloe also finally admitted their feelings for each other and while long distance isn't easy, they were going to try and make it work. And if Marinette lent out Kaalki every once in awhile? Well nobody had to know. If anything it was her duty as future maid of honor.

But still Thursday came and tears were shed as Chloe got ready to board her private jet. As hard as it was they stayed and watched as she took off, before all heading back to their respective homes.

Which brings us to today, the first day of school Marinette would have to endure without Chloe.

The day started off well enough, She woke up on her first alarm for once which gave her plenty of time to do some morning meditation before getting ready and heading down to the bakery and grabbing breakfast. She enjoyed a small croissant and some fruit while catching up her parents and helping out here and there before heading out to school.

Which is when her day began to sour. 

First she ‘tripped’ over somebody's foot while heading up the front stairs. Then in English, it was announced that they would have a partner assignment and she was paired with Alya, her former best friend who now hates her guts. At least it wasn't Lila. Alya tried to get switched on the grounds of ‘not wanting to work with a bully’ but partner assignments were final so the red haired girl settled for glaring at her throughout the class leading up to their lunch hour.

Things didn't get much better after lunch either. She came back to class early to avoid bumping into Lila’s group in the courtyard only to come face to face with the liar minutes later when the girl came to the back of the class and ‘spilled’ her iced coffee on the designer’s sketchbook. On the bright side, Marinette only ever brought a travel book with her to school after the first time this kind of thing happened. It was still annoying to clean up though.

After that, the rest of the school day went by mostly without incident. There were a couple of little jabs from her former friends here and there but nothing she wasn't already used to.

Eventually the final bell rang and she breathed a sigh of relief. She had a new bath bomb waiting for her at home and she was excited to use it. But first she had to get out of school without having to interact any further with her classmates, which turned out to be easier said than done.

Adrien decided to invite himself to walk her home, which meant she was due for another speech about the high road. She honestly wasn't even sure what she did this time and she didn’t really care to find out.

These talks had become such a regular occurrence that she tended to just kind of zone him out as he followed her home. It was kind of impressive that his bodyguard never came for him, maybe Gabriel gave in and loosened the leash after Nathalie quit? She was a bit surprised he still hadn’t found a replacement considering it must be quite difficult to run such a large company when you never leave your house but she supposed that's what technology is for.

Eventually, they reached the bakery and the bluenette was free at last. She even took the side entrance that led directly into the apartment stairs so that Adrien couldn't follow her in. She may have been a little petty in closing the door a bit harder than necessary, but she didn't really have the energy to care at that point.

The rest of her evening went by in relative peace. She had already caught up on homework over lunch and it was a slow time of year for commissions, so she helped out in the bakery until after dinner.

After telling her parents good night, she went to go enjoy her bath. Just as she went to go unwrap her fancy bath bomb, her room began to shake, causing the bath bomb to fall from her hands and shatter on the floor. Before she could even process the poor cherry-blossom scented bombs fate, the akuma alarm sounded. While that explained her room shaking, having to fight hawkmoths fashion disaster of choice really wasn’t how she wanted to end her already crappy day. Nevertheless, she walked back into her bedroom, slightly grateful  that she hadn't actually gotten in the bathtub yet, and called for Tikki.

Tikki, who was already waiting after hearing the akuma alarm flew over and gave her the rundown on what had been in the alert.

“It seems to be a new akuma, powers are unknown but they're headed for the Eiffel tower, Kuro Neko and Viperion are already on the scene since it was their night for patrol anyways.” the small Kwami informed her.

Marinette sighed in resignation. New akumas were always a bit of a pain. Not knowing the enemies powers and weaknesses was dangerous, not to mention it made the battle drag out a good bit longer than one against a repeat. Her work wasn't over after the battle though. The next day she would need to assemble all of the information regarding the battle, track down and conduct an interview with the victim about what led up to their possession, and send it all over to Chloe so that she can assemble a case file. 

Accepting the fact that she likely was not going to get much sleep that night, The heroine got into fight mode.

“Tikki spots on!”

And with that, she swung off into the night.

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

Well well well look who finally got around to cross-posting this asdfg, anyways I hope you enjoyed chapter 1!! I have 5 chapters up on ao3 at the moment so I’ll probably post one a day here until I'm caught up so that I'm not spamming the tag on accident.

Oh also!! I'm not really sure how tag lists work but I will try my best to figure it out so if you wanna be included in that just reply and say so.

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens Secret Santa 2020 - “Lights Will Guide You Home” (Rated PG13)

Summary: While watching the kids for the night, Crowley takes them all on an adventure, which includes a trip to the states to look at the Christmas lights. He drives them around to see bigger and gaudier displays, but Aziraphale is a little confused when he finally gets to see Crowley's favorite. (1556 words)

Notes: Written for Micha (@one-with-the-floor) as part of the Good Omens Secret Santa 2020 gift exchange.

Read on AO3.

"How about this one, kids? This might be the brightest one yet! ... Kids? ... Kids?" Crowley looks in his rearview mirror and scowls. "Oi! When did the little buggers fall asleep?" 

Aziraphale turns away from his window and the house beyond covered in every twinkle light available on the Eastern Seaboard (he suspects) and gives Crowley a confused look. Then, remembering that they aren't alone in Crowley's Bentley, he peeks over at the seat behind them, where five children snore softly, heads leaning on shoulders, fast asleep. "About five houses ago, I believe? Give or take? That's the last time I heard any ooo'ing or ahh'ing."

"Which house was that?"

"The one with the nativity scene made up of inflatable dragons breathing fire and wearing Santa caps."

Crowley's brow draws together as he tries to recall. "Oh, yeah. Right." He looks over his shoulder so he can see the pile of children properly: Warlock dressed in his stiff new Christmas suit, Adam a bit less formal in khakis and a pale blue polo, the rest of The Them a hodgepodge of wrinkled trousers, thick-soled shoes, and shirts of various fit alongside Pepper's red velvet gown, which her parents forced her to wear (a fact she stated numerous times throughout the evening) and which she accessorized with a faux leather jacket and a bulky pair of Doc Martens. "What's the deal with them knocking out so early? They're kids! They're supposed to be boundless founts of energy, aren't they?"

"Early? It's close to one in the morning!"

"Yes, but if you take into consideration the clan of gingerbread people they decimated, then washed down with a gallon of cocoa, they should be bouncing off the ceiling! We've been out for, what? An hour? Two?"

"Try four," Aziraphale says, checking his watch to be sure. "Did you have to miracle us all the way to the states?"

"Yes," Crowley says definitively. "They do Christmas a little differently out here. Bigger. More grandiose."

"That's an understatement," Aziraphale mutters as they pass a house so festooned with lights and animatronic creatures, he can't see the structure they're affixed to. "As is, I'm not sure how exactly you're getting away with miracling the lot of us abroad."

"When Hell finds out I used my magic to take five children across borders without passports, they'll be ecstatic!"

"But will Warlock's parents? Or Adam's?"

"Who's going to tell them?" Crowley shoots his angel a significant look, but Aziraphale matches it, arms crossed over his chest, glaring sternly, and Crowley backs down. "Look, their parents ditched them with us so that they could go off drinking and regaling and having a good time."

"Ditched them?" Aziraphale chuckles at Crowley's skewed point of view. "We offered!"

"And we promised these kids a good time!"

"You definitely delivered," Aziraphale says, smiling at his memories of their night: the snowball fight that ended with them crashing an outdoor service; the horde of snow zombies they built in the yards of a quiet and unsuspecting neighborhood; the hills they zipped down using trashcan lids as sleighs. Aziraphale was horrified by most of these to begin with, but that didn't last. Not when he saw how thoroughly the children enjoyed themselves. 

Crowley, too. 

But driving around, looking at lights? That was an unexpectedly tame suggestion. And Crowley was rather insistent. "But why did you want us to see Christmas lights?"

"Because it's important."

"How?"

"This is the only time of year you get to see this," Crowley explains, gesturing vaguely.

"And what's that? Enough wattage to coax down passing aircraft? Or are you perhaps referring to the eight-foot Santa mooning passersby?"

"No," Crowley replies. But that Santa was hilarious! The children spotted him from miles away and made Crowley drive over. They spent a good fifteen minutes pointing and laughing, making the kinds of off-colored jokes that make parents shush! But more hilarious was his angel's scandalized reaction - his dramatic tut, followed by an even more dramatic, "God Lord." "Humanity." Crowley sighs. "I know I talk a lot about Christmas becoming vulgar and over-commercialized. And come the day after, it'll be back to the business of not giving a shite about their fellow man, trampling each other in the shops to get the most ridiculous garbage at seventy-five percent off ..."

"Something you earned a commendation for, if I recall," Aziraphale points out.

"... but when humans light their houses like this, invite their neighbors to gather 'round, they're saying 'All are welcome! Stop on by! Let's celebrate together!'"

"To me, it's more like they're saying, 'Look at me! Look at all of this useless bother I own! Who cares that I'm diverting migratory birds from their destinations? Astronauts can see my house from space!'"

"Agree to disagree then," Crowley grumbles, then goes silent, and Aziraphale knows he's teased one step too far.

"The children falling asleep will make it easier to transport them," Aziraphale says, easing into a new subject until he can think of a way to apologize. "We can miracle them into their beds when we get back to the Dowling's. Then we can do a little regaling of our own."

Crowley grins. He can't stay stung by his angel forever. He's just too sentimental tonight to have a sense of humor. "Sounds about perfect. Been a while since I've done any regaling."

"Tonight's as good a time as any to start."

Crowley turns down a street with fewer lights and no neighbors milling about, preparing to snap them back to London. "Which house was your favorite?"

"Oh, none of these," Aziraphale says snobbishly. "I'm not the biggest fan of modern-day extravagance. I would have to say my favorite out of all the displays was that abbey down by the river: fairy lights reflecting off the water; tasteful nativity out front; evergreen trimmed with simple decorations - wooden star atop, red velvet bows, paper angels ..."

"Leave it to you to choose the one holy place we found, and only because we took a wrong turn."

Aziraphale wiggles happily in his seat. "You know what they say - there are no accidents."

"Yup. And four rights make a left."

Aziraphale pulls a face. "I ... don't think that's correct ..."

"Don't matter." Crowley turns in his seat, looks at his angel. "Do you wanna see my favorite?"

Aziraphale smiles, all thoughts of turns shelved for the moment. "Of course." "Alright. It's back in our neck of the woods, so hold on tight."

Aziraphale reaches to the side, takes Crowley's free hand in his, gives it a squeeze. "Ready."

Crowley snaps his fingers. 

For a single second, the world stops. 

A bright light surrounds the Bentley, engulfs it in its brilliance. In the amount of time it takes for Crowley's fingers to slide across one another, they're home. 

Aziraphale blinks, looks about as his eyes adjust to the lower light. He expected to see a house pulsating with a glow equal to a thousand suns outside his window, maybe with Virgin Mary riding a motorbike behind the abominable snowman while the angel Gabriel wrestles an alligator. But the shapes around him are familiar. His brow wrinkles as he tries to understand what he's seeing. They're not just back in London, they're in Soho.

Right outside his shop. 

"Which one is it?" Aziraphale looks up and down the block at darkened storefronts, most of them as frugally adorned as his own - a rope of garland, a wreath, a silver bell or two, but nothing special. Nothing noteworthy. Nothing even close to the houses they spent the night ogling. 

"This one right here." Crowley points past Aziraphale toward a set of wooden double doors.

Aziraphale frowns. "But ... that's my bookshop."

"A-ha."

"I didn't do much in the way of decorating."

"I know."

"And I don't like when people stop in, so it's not as if I'm encouraging my neighbors to gather."

"Know that, too."

"So, why is it your favorite?"

"Because ..." Crowley scoots across the seat, puts an arm around Aziraphale's shoulders "... it's home."

"You consider a dusty old bookshop home? When you own that mansion of a flat in Mayfair?"

"You consider the bookshop your home, don't you?"

"Yes, but that's because my books are there, my liquor cabinet, my snuff boxes - everything I'm fond of. Everything I adore."

"What a coincidence. Because everything I'm fond of ... everything I adore ... is at your shop."

"And what would that be?" Aziraphale asks sarcastically. "My bottle of Hennessy Paradis Imperial?"

"No. You, you pair of walnuts," a grumpy Warlock responds in Crowley's stead.  

Crowley glares at his young charge over his shoulder. "Rude."

"Look, could you guys take us home first and then make out?" Adam asks.

"Yeah," Pepper agrees. "My entire body is numb except for my right eyelid."

"Plus, listening to adults flirt kind of grosses me out," Brian adds, the rest mumbling in agreement.

"Alright, alright," Crowley growls, sliding back into his seat and putting the car into drive. "We'll drive you ankle-biters home, and then ..."

"We regale! Which I'm confident will include plenty of 'making out'? Right, my dear?"

"Absolutely," Crowley says with a smirk. Aziraphale snorts when their cluster of pre-teens groan.

"I think we're making them uncomfortable, angel." 

"Serves them right," Aziraphale says, straightening in his seat. "I could have happily gone on for another six thousand years without seeing Santa Claus's rear end. Vengeance is mine."

[kasienda]

Restorative Justice - Chapter 2 - Preparation

Summary: Chloé has never been a fan of Ms. Bustier’s community building activities. In fact, she detests them. She doesn’t want to learn about the drab boring lives of her peers. And she absolutely can’t stand it when their confessions make her feel things. Feelings that she doesn’t even have names for. But when Adrien unknowingly shares his struggles with his double life, Chloé vows she will do anything to get Ladybug set things right. Even if it means pissing off the heroine. Chloé was already mad at her anyway.

Chapter 1 - Community Circle

Chapter 2 - Preparation

Two weeks had gone by and Chloé had made absolutely zero progress in her self-assigned secret mission, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. She had spent hours on the roof of the hotel with the bee signal trained towards the sky both during, and not during, akuma attacks hoping Ladybug would give her the time of day. Chloé wasn’t sure what she was going to say exactly, but she figured Ladybug needed to know that she was going to lose her partner if she kept echoing the way his father treated him. It hadn’t mattered, because Ladybug never came. When the spotted heroine hadn’t shown up over the course of several days, Chloé staged a loud conversation with Sabrina during class about how she wasn’t even going to ask for the Bee Miraculous (though of course Ladybug would be better off with Chloé on her team). She just needed to give Ladybug some valuable intel. But Ladybug still hadn’t shown. And neither had Chat Noir. Which stung more than a little bit. Adrien had heard the conversation as well. And supposedly, he still considered her a friend. At least, that’s what he said when she asked if he was mad at her for something. He had seemed genuinely confused at the question. But it wasn’t like she could follow up with a “Then why didn’t Chat Noir show up on my hotel roof when I asked him to?” She supposed that neither of the heroes truly believed she had anything valuable to share with them. God! She wanted to tear her hair from her scalp in frustration. They were both so dumb! 

Keep Reading on Ao3

When contacting them as superheros failed, she figured that she would try their civilian personas. Chloé had taken two steps toward Marinette one morning in the courtyard when the girl was there early for once before promptly changing her mind. Marinette was never ever going to hear her out. As Ladybug, the girl had to at least pretend to be neutral toward Chloé. But as Marinette? Absolutely no way! Really, Chloé didn’t need them to talk to her anyway. She just needed them to talk to each other with complete honesty. But as long as they didn’t know who the other was they couldn’t be that honest. What if she just sent them anonymous notes in their lockers or something? It wouldn’t even have to be long! Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir. Ladybug is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Boom! Done! End of story. Chloé had seriously contemplated it. She had the notes written out and everything. She was just waiting for the opportune moment to slip them into said lockers. But then the whole ‘Lila planting evidence in Marinette’s locker’ thing happened. Clearly, lockers were not secure enough. Chloé had shredded the notes. And unfortunately, the blonde was back to trying to talk to Marinette. Chloé had found her alone at a table in the library during a study period. Marinette had five books sprawled out around her as she frantically scribbled on a piece of paper. Chloé stood in front of the table expectantly. Marinette didn’t even look up. Chloé cleared her throat dramatically, which only earned her a sparing glance before Marinette’s attention was back on her reference book. The blonde thought about just asking if they could talk for a minute, like a normal person, but this was Marinette. And well, Chloé had never been reasonable with Marinette. Especially not when Marinette was ignoring her. So instead, Chloé went and collected two volumes of an encyclopedia before returning to Marinette’s table. She then dropped the books unceremoniously from as high as she could comfortably reach. The heavy blue volumes hit the table with an explosion of sound. Marinette jumped twenty centimeters from her seat, her gaze shooting up in indignant frustration. “Chloé!” she shrieked. “What the hell?” “You were ignoring me,” Chloé observed. Marinette sighed, rapidly moving to collect her belongings. “I seriously don’t have time for this today. Can’t you just disappear until tomorrow or something?” “You need to listen to me!” Chloé insisted. Marinette stacked up her reference books into a neat pile. “I don’t need to do anything of the sort,” Marinette told her before stuffing the last of her work back into her backpack, and leaving the blonde alone at the table. In the library. With dusty books. Ugh.   Really, Chloé needed to just lock them in a closet together or something! Surely, Sabrina could come up with some scheme to get them in a room with no windows and a locked door. Surely, the hotel had some storage closet somewhere that they could use. Or maybe something at school would work better.  Sabrina was amazing at getting people to do as she wanted. And God, that had come in handy on occasion. Adrien wouldn’t be hard. He might even listen to Chloé, but she’d need Sabrina for Marinette. Only Sabrina could still trick Marinette. It wouldn’t really work though. Marinette would probably love the forced alone time with Adrien. And they were both so stubborn. They’d never reveal their identities just to get out of a locked room. Her fingernails clicked on the desk in rapid succession like a series of grace notes. They wouldn’t reveal their identities for their own convenience, sure. But if someone else needed Ladybug and Chat Noir? So, Chloé would just have to lock them in a room together and then inspire an akuma. It wouldn’t be that hard, would it? And creating an atmosphere for an akuma shouldn’t be that challenging either, should it? Like, she had done it by accident how many times now? How very heroic. She quickly realized it couldn’t work anyway. For them to know about an akuma, they’d have to have their phones, but if they had their phones, what would stop them from contacting Adrien’s bodyguard or Alya and Nino to get out of the room? She had tried to approach Adrien directly, too. She only had the five or so minutes before he had to be in his limo after their last class, being shipped off to whatever lesson he had going on that day.   “It’s been a long time since we talked, Adri-kins,” she told him. “We should set up a lunch date to catch up.” He smiled at her. “My schedule is really packed this week, Chloé. Maybe have your people call my people to set something up later in the month?” he said lightly, as he brought his fencing bag to his shoulder.   The brush off hurt more than a little bit. But of course he would want to spend every scrap of free time with his close friends. Which was a very short list, and she was clearly no longer on it. Maybe this whole idea wasn’t worth it in the first place. Like, why was she trying so hard to help Adrien when he barely gave her any of his time or attention anymore? “But maybe I have something important and urgent to talk to you about,” she admitted. He tensed, his green eyes giving a cursory glance over her whole form. “Is something wrong?” He reached out a hand to her shoulder. “Has your mother…?” She waved away his physical comfort. “My mother is in New York!” she snapped impatiently. “She hasn’t spoken to me in weeks.” Which meant she couldn’t have said anything hurtful to tear Chloé to pieces. She had no reason to be upset. None at all. But his frown only deepened, and he stepped forward again. And that’s when she realized he probably would make time for her if she asked. The idiot. “It’s nothing about any of that. I’m fine. I’m worried about you,” she insisted emphatically. And with those words he pulled away, and closed himself off immediately. “I’m fine, Chloé,” he told her with that stupid pasted on fake smile. “What could I possibly have to complain about?” he asked her before walking to the door and waving farewell. She had wanted to run after him so she could scream at him. That had been three days ago. She furiously wiped away the tears that were sliding down her cheeks. Why couldn’t she help him? Why wouldn’t he let her? He was growing more withdrawn by the day! Not that anyone other than her seemed to notice. Which she couldn’t understand! It was so obvious! When he had first come to school, he had been an excited puppy anytime anyone included him in a conversation or invited him to some social outing. Chloé had assumed that the novelty of school and peers would eventually wear off, but a solid year later, it hadn’t. He was still an excited puppy with any scrap of affection. Or he had been until recently. Adrien had been far less animated for the past week. He still smiled and said all the right things when people engaged with him, but it wasn’t real. He was going through the motions. Pulling out the politeness and the charm that had been drilled into him as a child that grew up in the spotlight. And normally, Chloé could have dismissed the change in behavior as a sign of fatigue. The akumas recently had been constant and brutal, and Gabriel showed no signs of easing up on Adrien’s commitments or expectations. But it was more than that because he hadn’t transformed gradually over time as his responsibilities built up. No, he had changed from puppy Adrien to polite Adrien in the span of a few minutes. From sunshine-child to creature-of-the-night literally instantaneously. Chloé had been in class sitting next to Sabrina as always, working on their project. Or well, letting Sabrina take notes on their project, but whatever. Ayla and Marinette sat in their usual seats with their heads together with Nino sitting a few feet away occasionally laughing or shaking his head at whatever nonsense they were saying. Then Adrien had arrived late to class from a photoshoot of something. “What are you guys talking about,” he had asked as he took his seat next to Nino. “N-nothing!” Marinette had stammered, her face turning tomato-red. Nino rolled his eyes again. “Don’t worry about it, dude. Girls are crazy.” And Chloé had watched Adrien’s shoulders stiffen. And his eyes go flat. And of course there was that stupid polite smile in place. He was upset. He was upset that they his friends were keeping things from him. And of course the other three keeping secrets from him would drive a wedge into his soul. How could they not know that? Chloé didn’t care that they were doing it to protect whatever was left of Marinette’s dignity. Chloé didn’t care about Marinette’s dignity at all. They were hurting him. Making him think they didn’t trust him either. Just like his father. Just like Ladybug. And since that day, he had stopped initiating conversations. He didn’t talk about his favorite video games, or whatever anime he had binged that past weekend. He didn’t light up like a supernova when Nino asked him to come to a party or the girls invited him out to ice cream. And worse, he wasn’t accepting their invitations. He was making excuses for why he couldn’t even try. Not even real excuses like whatever stupid lessons his father had him taking, but fake ones about being tired or needing to study. As if! Adrien didn’t really need to study. He was one of those obnoxiously intelligent kids who just absorbed academic knowledge through osmosis or whatever. And even if he needed to study, (which Chloé still doubted), he wouldn’t miss out on time with his friends to do it. He would just stay up all night instead. But he was declining invitations and she guessed everyone was just so accustomed to him not being able to come, that they didn’t notice he had stopped trying. And the second his friends’ eyes were off him, he would wilt like a plant without water. And his so-called friends didn’t notice that either! Not even Nino. But Chloé noticed.

And she didn’t like it. And as loathe as Chloé was to admit it, Marinette wasn’t faring any better. She was probably worse actually. The part-time superheroine had bags under eyes, and she was constantly falling asleep in class only to wake up screaming in pure terror. Chloé did not want to know what those nightmares were about. Then, the civilian side of Paris’s savior and super heroine had randomly burst into tears at least twice in the last three days, and refused to explain to anyone - even Alya - what was upsetting her. But that didn’t mean Chloé had to help her. Marinette had made it clear that she didn’t want Chloé’s help, which was just fine because the feeling was completely and thoroughly mutual. Marinette had always acted like she was some great authority on moral goodness. But Chloé knew Marinette was selfish, too. Marinette neglected responsibilities for her own gain, she lied more frequently than anyone realized, and she pushed her way into situations that were none of her business thinking she knew better than everyone, often making everything worse! Marinette always assumed the worst of Chloé even when she legitimately was trying to help. Which is likely why Ladybug had always assumed the worst of Chloé even in the very beginning when Chloé had tried to help her locate Vanisher’s akuma. Why Ladybug had been so insistent on seeing the worst in Queen Bee even right after she had helped Ladybug and Chat Noir rescue that runaway speed train. The heroine hadn’t been wrong in that instance, but that was hardly the point! But then, something had changed when her father had been akumatized the first time. And the spotted heroine Chloé had so admired offered her compassion, a shoulder to cry on, and a second chance. Told her she wasn’t useless and could become a hero if she wanted to be. Had invited her, Chloé, to race across rooftops and serve as her partner against a vicious akuma, when Chat Noir had been mentally transformed into an actual cat. And for the first time in a long time, Chloé had had hope that she could become something… better. Something… worthwhile. No matter what her mother said, or her classmates thought of her - she could be a hero. Someone others trusted without question, someone people respected, looked up to, and emulated. Chloé didn’t know how to be that person, but she knew that she wanted it. And that she was willing to try. But then a few weeks later, Paris’s heroine had taken it all back. Even after Chloé fought against Hawkmoth with her. Even though Chloé hadn’t done anything differently. Even though she had tried to find others ways to build herself up instead of tear others down by making collages of selfies and videos dressed up as Ladybug rather than targeting others. None of it had mattered. Ladybug had just stopped coming to her with the miraculous. And then, right after Chloé had managed to fight off an akuma all on her own, Ladybug had shown up and said she’d never get the miraculous again because people knew who she was? It was a load of bullshit! Because that hadn’t mattered when her father was akumatized, it hadn’t mattered on Heroes Day! Which led Chloé to one inescapable conclusion - Ladybug was just like everyone else. Someone who changed the rules when it suited them, went back on their word without thought, and wasn’t nearly as kind or compassionate as she pretended to be. Really, Chloé should have known better than to ever hope. She shoved her notebook off the table in front of her, sending it flying into the back of Ms. Bustier’s desk with a satisfying bang when the metal furniture snapped back into form. “Chloé?” Chloé started at the voice of concern. Ms. Bustier slipped into the classroom from the door in the back and quickly approached her. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing!” Chloé spit out venomously, whirling away from her teacher towards the front of the room. Ms. Bustier put down her bag at her desk, rolled the chair from her desk in front of Chloé’s table, and took a seat. Chloé shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t want to talk out her feelings. “What were you working on?” her teacher asked, her voice calm and smooth as a still lake. Chloé shook her head rapidly. “Nothing! It was a stupid idea. I’m clearly not cut out for it.” “Maybe you just need some help,” was the gentle suggestion. Chloé sighed glancing up into the warm face of her teacher. “I… was trying to fix something. But I should’ve known better. I’m really good at making a mess of things. The idea of me fixing something is ridiculous.” Utterly ridiculous. Silence permeated the otherwise empty classroom. It was stifling. Chloé stared into her hands, folded under the desk. Her teacher remained silent, sending her emotions spiraling down to new depressing depths. Even Ms. Bustier didn’t know what to say. Clearly, Chloé was a lost cause. And so was her self assigned mission. “Do you want help?” Chloé looked up, searching the compelling green eyes of her teacher. She seemed earnest in her concern, but Chloé has been burned before. Her childhood nanny, Adele, had promised to help her, too. And then the petite woman had gotten herself fired and Chloé had never seen her again. It’s not like Bustier could actually help, anyway. But then, another thought struck through her psyche like lightning. Ms. Bustier totally could make a couple of kids sit alone in a room together. In a fucking circle. But Chloé hated circles. She took a deep breath. This was for Adrien. For Adrien. For Adrien. “Could… could we maybe do one of those circles? Not the community one, but the other one when people are fighting?” Ms. Bustier raised an eyebrow. “You want to do a restorative circle? Did I hear that right?” Want was not the correct word. But Chloé had tried everything she could think of. And at least the circle didn’t require getting someone akumatized. She forced herself to nod. Her teacher leaned forward and put a hand on Chloé’s knee. “Did something happen? Are you and Sabrina not speaking?” Chloé physically recoiled at the very idea. “What?! No! Sabrina is great. No… this would be with...” her indignation evaporated instantly, and she found her gaze glancing over the shoulder of her teacher’s white blazer. “With Marinette and Adrien.” Ms Bustier sat up straighter. “You’re just full of surprises today, Chloé.” Chloé risked another glance up, but her homeroom teacher was smiling. “Okay, and was anyone else affected by this conflict? Anyone else that you think is involved or might have hurt feelings? Or anyone else that hurt you in this same conflict?” Chloé cocked her head to the side, letting herself consider the question. Really, it just needed to be Marinette, Adrien, and Chloé. But… Alya’s presence could prove to be incredibly useful. And if Alya was there, Nino would likely reinforce everything the brunette would say… The only problem was involving more people would piss off Ladybug even more. Chloé grinned at the thought. She had never been above getting a bit of revenge when it was deserved. (And maybe undeserved). All five of them it would be. “Césaire, Lahiffe, and Adri-kins,” Chloé supplied. Bustier went to her desk and retrieved a notebook and quickly wrote down the names. “What happened?” Chloé hesitated. Technically, nothing had happened, though of course she and Marinette had a ton of history, dozens of fights and altercations that she could pull from, and yet… “I tried to tell Marinette something really important. But she won’t listen to me. And I can’t totally fault her for that, but this is really really important. Like fate-of-the-world-important!” she exclaimed, her hand stretching out to indicate the scope of the situation at hand. “What is it that you want to tell her?” “That she’s a blind self righteous know-it-all,” Chloé ranted. “And she needs to knock it off because she’s hurting someone that we both care about.” “Adrien?” Ms Bustier guessed even as she was taking notes. Chloé nodded. “Yes, Adrien, but she doesn’t even know that she’s hurting him because he will just sit there and take it! He’ll never say anything,” she lamented, her lips twisted into an indignant sneer. “But eventually he’s going to break, Ms. Bustier. And I don’t want to see that! I’ve been trying to get her to talk to me so I could give her some context and explain what she was doing, but she ignores me completely, or won’t even let me say hello before she declares she doesn’t have time for me and runs off!” “I can see how that would be frustrating for you, Chloé,” Ms. Bustier empathized. “But I also need you to understand that the purpose of the circle is to heal things between you and Marinette. It is not so you can yell and berate her when she is not allowed to leave. Do you understand?” Chloé sighed, but nodded anyway. “Now, do you have any idea why Marinette might be acting this way? Any reason at all that Marinette might distrust you or be unwilling to hear you out?” Chloé glanced away toward the classroom window, her righteous anger fading. When she turned to the front again, her gaze remained locked on her nails. “Perhaps,” she admitted, her voice carefully flat. “I may have antagonized her unfairly once or twice in the past.” Ms. Bustier’s lips trembled as if she was trying not to laugh. Chloé huffed out a sigh. “Okay fine, I’ve done a lot to her over the years. But that’s not true this time! Listening to me would make her life far less stressful and get her closer to Adrien.” “That’s quite the claim,” Ms. Bustier commented neutrally. “It’s the truth!” she declared hotly. “Okay. I believe you. Now, is there anything specific that happened recently that would cause Marinette to be more irate with you than she usually is?” Chloé glanced down at her nails, but she really didn’t know what to say. Did throwing a fit when Ladybug said she could never have the Bee Miraculous back count? Because the truth was, since Chloé had figured out the heroine’s identity, she had no idea why Ladybug had given her a chance in the first place. And she was just as confused as to how she had managed to lose that chance a few weeks later. Chloé certainly hadn’t treated Marinette any worse than she normally did in the intervening time. She had even teamed up with the girl once so they could keep Kagami away from Adrien! Ms. Bustier sighed, placed her pen down on her notebook, and leaned forward. “Chloé, in order to facilitate a restorative conversation between you and Marinette and the others, I need to prepare. I can only do that if you tell me what happened.” The blonde nodded. What could she tell her that would be useful in Ms. Bustier being prepared? “I…. figured out one of her secrets, something that is really important to her. And then I told her friends.” “They didn’t already know?” Chloé shook her head. “How did the others react?” Chloé pursed her lips in thought. How would the others react? Adrien was going to turn into a puddle of goo. Alya probably wouldn’t be much better, but she would feel guilty as hell for the whole Lila debacle. Nino was a rock, so Chloé had no idea how he would respond. But Marinette? She was going to be out of this world pissed. And for a second, Chloé hesitated. “Chloé?” “You think I took the time to talk to the plebians?” she countered hotly, too late to actually be convincing. Bustier raised an eyebrow. Chloé wilted. “Okay, fine!” she relented. “But I really don’t know. I could guess, but I didn’t stick around to see their reactions directly,” she improvised on the spot. “Why did you tell them?” She glanced down into the palms of her hands. “Because… they needed to know,” she admitted softly. “They can’t help her if they don’t know. And she…” she was drowning and Chloé worried how long it would be before Marinette was the akuma. And then where would Paris be? “Despite what she thinks, she can’t do what she does alone. She needs them. Especially Adrien.” Chloé clutched at her head with both hands. God! What was wrong with her?! Why was she even trying to help Marinette? Marinette would only be livid. She wouldn’t be grateful. She certainly wouldn’t give Chloé another chance with the Bee Miraculous. This was supposed to be for Adrien! Adrien was the one who deserved to be seen and appreciated. Maybe it was for both of them. Maybe Chloé didn’t need anything in return. She looked up to see Ms. Bustier smiling at her. “And what was this secret?” her teacher asked. Chloe balked. She knew it was silly. Ms. Bustier was going to know everything tomorrow anyway. But she was afraid Bustier would back out if she knew the full extent of what this was about. “I’d rather not say.” Her teacher’s green eyes considered her for a moment, and Chloé had to look away again. She sighed again before the educator spoke. “Thank you for telling me this bit. I need to interview the others and understand their side of the story and then we’ll get something scheduled.” Chloé jumped to her feet, shaking her head violently. “No! You absolutely can not talk to them beforehand!” Ms. Bustier was not disturbed by Chloé’s outburst. “And why not?” “Because Marinette will never ever agree to this if she knows what it’s about. Trust me. But she’s wrong. She needs this. Actually, we all do. I promise, everything is my fault. It’s not theirs.” The words fell out of her mouth unfiltered like a runaway train. “Chloé, I have rarely encountered a conflict where one side was wholly at fault. I’m sure the others have contributed.” This track wasn’t working. “I won’t participate if you talk to them beforehand,” Chloé threatened. “That’s not how this works, Chloé.” “Please!” Chloé begged. “You don’t understand. I can’t explain completely, but Marinette will not come if she knows what it’s about. I’ve already tried like four times this week! We have to blindside her.” “What is it about?” “But Ms. Bustier! This secret… it’s really…” Chloé stammered, searching for words that would not come. “It puts Marinette in a really vulnerable position. I’m not willing to tell you on the off chance that you are not able to pull off this circle. But if we do meet and I am able to actually talk to her, I think the benefit will outweigh the drawbacks of you knowing.” Ms. Bustier’s green eyed gaze pierced through her, and Chloé found it difficult not to fidget on the spot. “You’re asking me to put a lot of faith in you, Chloé,” she finally said. “I know!” Chloé conceded, bowing her head down. “And I realize I probably don’t deserve it.” “I didn’t say that,” her teacher interjected. “But I’m trying to be worthy of it. I swear! I’m trying to be better,” her gaze fell to her shoes. Two fingers on her chin gently urged her gaze up. “All you have to be, Chloé, is yourself.” Chloé’s squeezed her eyes shut, trying to suppress the sudden burn behind her eyelids. She shook her head in denial. A warm hand fell onto her shoulder and squeezed reassurance. Chloé shrugged it off. She didn’t want to admit the contact felt good. She shouldn’t need reassurances like that. She couldn’t afford the weakness. “Just to warn you, Marinette is going to be absolutely pissed. You may think you’ve seen her in self righteous must-fix-all-the-injustices-in-the-world Marinette mode, but this will take things to an entirely new level. And you probably should just let her fly off the handle. I don’t need her to be respectful. I probably don’t deserve it anyway.” Ms Bustier offered a gentle smile. “We all deserve respect, Chloé. But we can also create the space for Marinette to air her grievances and for you to be treated with respect.” Chloé appreciated Bustier’s confidence, but she also knew the teacher only knew the tip of the iceberg. “Ms. Bustier?” she asked softly. Ms Bustier looked up from her notes and gave Chloé her attentive gaze. “Yes, Chloé?” Chloé swayed from one foot to the other, her hands fidgeting at her waist. “Can I ask about the “honor privacy” norm?” Ms. Bustier nodded. “What about it?” “Are you included in that? Will you respect Marinette’s and everyone else’s privacy?” “I’m required by law to report certain things like child abuse or suicidal thoughts, but I will honor privacy in all other respects.” Chloé bit her lower lip. Where did having a secret identity that required you to constantly put yourself in harm’s way fall into that? “So like... any time a student is in danger?” she suggested. Her teacher nodded even though she was taking down notes into her notebook. Chloé cringed. Yeah, this was probably definitely something that fell into the category of something a teacher was required to report. “But…” Chloé glanced away again. “What if reporting it increased the danger they were in?” Bustier looked up at her then and frowned. “Are you in danger, Chloé? Is Marinette?” Oh, what the hell?! In for a penny, in for a pound. “I’m in danger all the time,” Chloé explained with a straight face and was pleased to see Ms. Bustier’s face frowning in growing concern. “I’m Queen Bee,” she declared. Ms Bustier’s frown transformed into an amused smile. “If you wanted that to stay private Chloé, you probably shouldn’t have announced it on live television.” “But that’s my point. I’m always in danger because people know my identity. Papillon knows, and he’s already used me to get to Ladybug before.” Her teacher softened. “Are you worried that he’s going to try again?” “No! I…” she threw her hands down in frustration. “I can’t put this into words!” “What does this have to do with Marinette?” “N-nothing.” Chloé wondered one again, why she was stalling. If her plan worked, Bustier was going to know everything by the end of day tomorrow anyway. “I was just trying to give you an example where sharing the knowledge of a student being in danger would put them more in danger.” Ms. Bustier put her hand on Chloé’s shoulder again, and this time Chloé allowed the warmth to remain. “I can appreciate the nuance of such a situation,” her teacher reassured. “I would never put a student in danger if I can help it. You must understand though, sometimes my hands are tied by legal requirements.”

Chloé nodded, figuring that was close enough. Surely, there wasn’t a specific law about teachers being mandated to reveal a superhero’s identity. There had never been enough instances of teenaged superheroes to codify that kind of requirement. Right? Ms. Bustier smiled kindly at her. “Is there anything else you want to tell me, Chloé?” Chloé pursed her lips. “Not really, no,” she concluded. “May I ask you a question?” The blonde nodded her assent. “Why are you doing this now? Trying to make amends with Marinette, I mean?” Chloé fidgeted nervously. She still didn’t really know how she felt about Marinette. Or about Marinette being Ladybug. But that’s not why she was doing this anyway. “I’m doing it for Adrien,” she finally admitted. “He needs Marinette to actually see him. I don’t know what will happen to him if she doesn’t. I’m really scared for him.” “It’s not Marinette’s responsibility to save him, you know?” “Maybe not, but she’ll want to. When she has the full picture she will love him better than anyone in the whole world. And if she doesn’t, I will be there to grind her face into the ground.” “Chloé…” Ms Bustier chastised disapprovingly. Chloé held her hands up in mock surrender, but she wasn’t actually sorry. She meant it. If Marinette didn’t learn to better appreciate her partner, Chloé would definitely make certain she regretted it. … Chloé walked out of Bustier’s classroom after class feeling more optimistic than she had in the last sixteen days. Ms. Bustier had passed out slips to the five of them requesting their presence at the next day’s lunch period for a restorative circle, which meant this was actually going to happen. Maybe by end of day tomorrow she would see Adrien’s megawatt smile again for the first time in weeks. But Chloé still had one loose end to take care of before she was confident that she could push Marinette into being honest. And that loose end involved Alya. And Chloé couldn’t even delegate the task to Sabrina because that would reveal identities to a civilian, and while Chloé was all for pissing Ladybug off, she did understand the danger of too many people knowing. Not to mention, she didn’t want Sabrina in danger more than she had to be. Sabrina was able to tell her Alya’s whole schedule though. So that was helpful. Chloé left her things with Sabrina with directions to deliver her bags to her car, and left “to go to the bathroom” ten minutes before the last class was over to wait outside Césaire’s 6th period. She was lucky that apparently Marinette didn’t share the class. Alya was one of the last to leave. But when she walked out the door, Chloé immediately fell into step beside the Ladyblogger. “I need to talk to you,” Chloé began without preamble. Alya cast her a dark look. “Why would I want to talk to you?” Chloé tried not to growl. She was only half successful. “It’s about Marinette. She needs your help.” “Why should I believe you about anything regarding Marinette?” Alya snapped, readjusting her bag on her shoulder and picking up her speed, not bothering to make eye contact. Chloé matched her pace easily. “You eat up everything Rossi says about her like a child eats up candy! I thought you’d believe anything,” Chloé shot back. “This conversation is over,” Alya declared cooly, whirling away. Chloé scurried after her. “No wait! I’m... I’m sorry.” That got Alya to pause. “You’re what?” “You heard me,” the blonde growled back. Chloé wouldn’t say it again. No friggin’ way. “So, are you going to listen now?” “This has gotta be big if it got the high and mighty Chloé Bourgeois to apologize for something,” Alya reasoned even as she let her bag fall unceremoniously from her shoulder to the ground as she turned to Chloé. “Marinette needs your help. Adrien does too. But they’ll never come clean on their own and certainly not at my suggestion. I need you to come clean first.” Alya’s dark eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “Come clean about what?” “About being the Fox.” Alya stared at her, her auburn eyes as wide as the Seine. “What?!” she hissed, suddenly up in Chloé’s face. Chloé held her ground, but didn’t resist Alya getting in her space. “I can’t explain. Ladybug will kill me. But tomorrow, Ms. Bustier is going to pull the five of us together.” “Five of us?” “You, me, Nino, Adrien, and Marinette. I’m going to introduce myself as the Bee. I need you to introduce yourself as the Fox. Please! It’s for Adrien... and Marinette too.” She tacked on as an afterthought. “Please trust me as one partime hero to another. I swear, I’m trying to help.” Alya shook her head, her eyebrows furrowed together like an angry cat. “I won’t betray Ladybug’s trust.” “You’ll be helping her!” Chloé countered. “And Marinette too.” “No way, Chloé. You can’t trick me.” And with that, the would-be-journalist stomped off. Chloé watched her go. “Well, that could have gone worse.” ...

[kittinoir]

Phantoms Ch. 10

Read on Ao3

Content warning for Claustrophobia. Feel free to message me for more details

Queen Bee couldn’t stop pacing.

Ladybug was not stupid. If anything, she was renowned for cleverness. If she didn’t think Gabriel Agreste was Hawk Moth, then he probably wasn’t. 

Then again, neither she nor Adrien had realized their partner in crime was their classmate for literal years. How much of him being cleared had been the result of neither Ladybug or Chat Noir wanting it to be someone else? At the very least, it deserved a second look with fresh eyes.

Her eyes.

At least, that was what she was planning to tell Felix when he showed up.

“I know I make it look easy,” Felix said as he stepped through a portal and onto the roof as if on cue, “But I can’t always drop everything to run to you on a moments notice. I’m not a dog.”

Queen Bee smirked as she eyed the dog Miraculous she knew was hidden beneath his starched collar. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Felix said, turning back to the portal where a confused Pegasus was looking back and forth between them from the other side.

“I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say,” Queen Bee said quickly.

“Put it in a message.”

“It’s sensitive information.”

Felix paused, his back to her. Queen Bee was aware of every painful thump of her heart as he stood there, debating. Finally, he waved to Pegasus and the portal closed.

“Well?” he said, turning back around.

“I have a lead,” she said, suddenly trying to figure out how to start. She’d planned to just lay it at his feet and impress the boy who wasn’t impressed by anything, but in thinking about Adrien, she couldn’t help but remember that Gabriel, horrible father that he might be, was also Felix’s uncle. “Gabriel Agreste.”

For a moment, Felix just stared at her. And then he buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.

Queen Bee blinked, unsure what to do next. Disbelief, anger, she’d expected. But crying…?

“I, uh, know this is hard to hear,” Queen Bee said, lifting a hand to comfort him before hesitating and dropping it again. “But I have reason to believe it’s a good lead. I know he’s family, but if you just listen…”

Felix’s shoulders started shaking harder, but then he threw his head back and Queen Bee saw he wasn’t crying, but convulsing with laughter so hard it was silent.

“Gabriel…?” Felix gasped, clutching his ribs. “You think the man that doesn’t even have time for his own son has time to take on the heroes of Paris?”

“I think that Ladybug and Chat Noir got the original grimoire from him before they knew what it was,” Queen Bee snapped, “And there’s only one reason he’d have it.”

“The man’s an eccentric billionaire,” Felix sneered. “One reason? Try a thousand. He’s a collector. He’d want the grimoire just because it’s one of a kind and worth a fortune. He probably has it on display under a glass case.”

“It’s not like he offered it up when Ladybug and Chat Noir needed it,” Queen Bee said.

“Why would he?” Felix asked. “Like I said, eccentric billionaire. When have they ever cared about anything but themselves? Gabriel’s not smart enough or motivated enough to be Hawk Moth. The man hasn’t even left his house in years; where would he have gotten the Miraculous from?”

“The same place he got the grimoire,” Queen Bee tried, but Felix just scoffed.

“An auction?”

“Name one reason it couldn’t be him!” Queen Bee snarled.

“I’ve already given you three,” Felix shot back.

“You really don’t think it’s even worth a second look - even if his house is smack in the middle of your stupid map?” Queen Bee thrust the paper out towards him, the graphic side out so he could see the big, red circle she’d put around the Agreste Mansion.

“I think,” Felix snarled, striding up to her and snatching the map out of her hands, “That if there were two kwamis in one house, either Plagg or Nooroo would have noticed. I think that  if Gabriel were Hawk Moth, he’d have suspected his son by now and targeted him. I think he has no motive, and I think you’re wasting my time."

Queen Bee fisted her hands by her side as Felix folded the map back up and shoved it into his pocket. She was used to being dismissed. She knew Felix could be as mean as she was. She didn’t know why she’d thought he’d be any different.

“Why did you even let me in on your little hunt if you weren’t going to accept my help?” she asked. She would not cry. She would not cry. She would not cry. Not in front of him, and certainly not because of him.

“I thought your ‘help’ would be better than that,” Felix said. “I guess that was my mistake.”

“If I wanted to be talked to like this, I would have stayed home,” Queen Bee sneered. She released her yoyo and turned her back on Felix, hoping he couldn’t see how badly his words stung. 

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere but here,” Queen Bee snarled over her shoulder, shooting him one last venomous look. His face remained impassive, and she left him there on the rooftop as she began her own patrol. It wasn’t technically her day, but she hoped that as much as Kagami didn’t like her, she and Ivan wouldn’t mind her crashing. She wasn’t ready to go home yet.

Careening through the streets of Paris with Miraculous-fuelled abilities was usually the perfect fix for whatever was eating her that day, but her fight with Felix wouldn’t leave her alone. It was obvious that he thought she was stupid, no matter what he’d claimed. He hadn’t really wanted her advice as much as he’d wanted a cheerleader, someone to brag to - and who better than the girl who never thought about anyone but herself? Two challenges wrapped up with a neat little bow, a fun distraction while he hunted the real threat. 

For the first time in her life, Queen Bee wanted to hit something. She bit her lip to stifle the feeling as she finally paused to rest at the top of the Eiffel Tower. The metal would crumple under her fist, she knew, if she followed her instinct. It was fading now anyway, along with her frustration. So what if Felix had used her? She didn’t need him. She didn’t need any of them. She never had. 

But as she looked out over the city, she suddenly realized why she felt calmer: she’d already made her own decision.

Gabriel had spent good money fencing in his mansion, but it hadn’t been designed to withstand the Miraculous. Still, even with her enhanced eye-sight, she was too far away to get a good enough look. A few quick maneuvers had Queen Bee dropping silently over the wall and into some bushes. She scanned the side of the house as best she could through the foliage, noting the security cameras. Hopefully none of them had caught her entrance. 

Queen Bee darted through the gap in their coverage to a tree, aiming for the wall of Adrien’s windows. If he could come and go as Chat Noir without revealing himself, then it was probably a sure way in, especially since he was too busy with fencing to wonder why she was there.

Sure enough, a few moments later she was sailing through Adrien’s open window and into his room. Queen Bee crossed the space but hesitated at the door. Would it be better to do reconnaissance as ‘Chloe’ or should she remain transformed? If she was spotted as Chloe, Gabriel would be confused about why she was there, but if she remained Queen Bee, she could fabricate a senti-monster attack - unless he really was Hawk Moth - but then Mayura would be…

“Nathalie,” Queen Bee breathed as it all lined up. Adrien had mentioned she’d fallen ill recently; was it because she’d been using the broken Peacock Miraculous? Queen Bee made her choice. It was too dangerous to go in untransformed. She’d have to take the risk. If Gabriel wasn’t Hawk Moth, he’d buy her cover. If he was…well, hopefully she’d have the element of surprise. Maybe he’d play along to protect his own identity. 

“Please let me be wrong,” Queen Bee whispered, and then she opened the door. 

She didn’t know what she expected. In the handful of times she’d visited Adrien, the house had appeared the same: silent and empty.

But it wasn’t empty. At least, it shouldn’t have been. She could see Gabriel’s study from Adrien’s door in the hall, but no personal assistant was posted outside to screen callers. Perhaps he hadn’t replaced Nathalie. Perhaps the new one was busy running an errand. Or perhaps the eccentric billionaire wasn’t where everyone always assumed he was.

Queen Bee checked her yoyo, but there was no active akuma attack. 

Maybe she was wrong. 

The thought crept in as she inched down the stairs towards the study. Maybe she was totally off. Maybe Ladybug and Chat Noir had been right. 

But even as she thought it, the coincidences wouldn’t stop lining up: how Gabriel’s ‘wine cellar’ wasn’t actually in the basement no one ever saw, but an offshoot of the kitchen; how the three story mansion he owned only actually went up two floors; how she’d seen a window from the outside as she’d dropped in that she couldn’t find the room for inside.

There was only one way to be sure.

Taking a deep breath, Queen Bee seized the handle of Gabriel’s study, threw open the door, and strode inside. 

Empty. Just as she’d thought. 

But then where was Gabriel Agreste? 

She didn’t stop and waste time thinking about it. His absence proved nothing. At least, it wouldn’t prove anything to Felix. She needed something concrete, a reason to convince him to at least consider it, if only to rule him out. 

So she made her way to the shelves of designs and mannequins, running her fingers over their edges, pulling them to see if they’d release a trap door, but…it was just an office. It didn’t prove anything, either. A man as rich as Gabriel could afford to have a second residence, a lair separate from his home. But if he did…there would be tax records for it.

Queen Bee made her way to the desk, trying to ignore the way her skin prickled as she drew near. If she was right, she was standing at the desk of the man who had been terrorizing her home for two years. If she was wrong, she was totally invading the privacy of her best friend’s dad. It was hard not to feel self-conscious when that enormous portrait of Adrien’s mother was right behind her, watching her every move. 

But there was nothing. The desk had no drawers, and when she grazed the angled surface, it lit up, revealing it was actually a giant tablet. There were no filing cabinets and no files anywhere in the room.

“Of course,” Queen Bee muttered, rolling her eyes. “A man as high tech as Gabriel Agreste wouldn’t have any papers lying around. Still, would’ve been nice if he could have left out a file marked ‘top secret evil plan’ in big red letter for me to find.”

Queen Bee sighed and turned back toe Emilie’s portrait as she leaned back against the desk. She studied it for a moment, letting her eyes randomly follow the swirls and eddies as disappointment settled along her bones. It wasn’t that she was upset Gabriel was looking less and less like a probable suspect. If anything she was glad she wasn’t going to have to have that conversation with Adrien. It was Felix she wasn’t looking forward to talking to. She didn’t think she’d been wrong, but she knew he wouldn’t see it that way. Not that she particularly cared.

“He really misses you, you know,” Queen Bee whispered. She reached out, tracing the line of Emilie’s sleeve with one finger. Chloe had gone to her funeral, but with a closed casket, it had felt like the opportunity to say goodbye had been missed, and they were the ghosts, struggling to pick up the pieces she’d left when she’d gone. Chloe hadn’t known how to comfort Adrien, so she’d simply sat beside him in silence, on and off for months, until he’d finally started to wake back up. It was part of the reason Gabriel terrified her so much: not because of his austere nature, but because he was a reminder of what Adrien could have become. 

Queen Bee froze, her attention snapping back to the painting as she slowly ran her finger back up the canvas. There! She slid her finger over one of the black feather-things and it dipped a little, like a button. 

Of course! Marinette had mentioned the grimoire but it hadn’t been anywhere in the office. It was too valuable - it would probably be in safe. A safe behind the painting! A high tech man liked Gabriel wouldn’t waste time on a traditional dial-lock; of course he’d have this painting decoy installed. The only thing between her and it was if it was also finger-print coded.

Queen Bee took a deep breath and pushed the button.

And nothing happened. 

“It doesn’t do anything?” She frowned. Hopefully she hadn’t just called for assistance. Maybe it was a glorified Alexa. Of course Gabriel wouldn’t want something like an Alexa just sitting around his office.

But no one came. If anything, the house was more silent than before.

“Must be a trick to it…” Queen Bee mumbled, leaning in. “Maybe it really is finger-print coded. Suspicious, but still not enough to convince Felix…”

As she lifted her finger, though, she saw it: the discolouration in the paint where months, maybe years of someone pressing their greasy little finger tips to the canvas had worn it down. Not finger-print coded, then.  

She scanned the canvas and caught sight of a second discoloured spot, and a third. Within second, she’d uncovered six discoloured spots, two areas in groups of three: two hands. She has to stand on her tip toes to reach the furthest one, but when she’d gotten into position, she didn’t hesitate: she pushed them.

And screamed when the floor opened up beneath her, a small platform descending into darkness. 

Queen Bee crashed gracelessly to the carpeted floor, whacking her elbow on the desk. If anyone was in the house and hadn’t known she was there, they did now, but she couldn’t quite make herself care about anything except how grateful she was she hadn’t been standing directly on the platform when she’d pushed the buttons. 

Shaking slightly from the adrenaline now shooting through her blood, Queen Bee got back to her feet and pulled out her yoyo. She snapped a photo of the now-empty shaft with the painting in the background and sent it to Felix with a short message: ‘Still think this is a waste of time?’

She sent it off and returned to the shaft.

It could still be anything. It could be nothing. It could lead to an in-home theatre or bowling alley or pool. It could be where Gabriel kept all of his designs on mannequins. It could be just another secret passage in a rich persons house. God knew there was more than one in the Grand Palais.

But this didn’t feel like that. If it were, why weren’t there any normal entrances to the space anywhere in the house? Not even emergency stairs in case of a power outage. Why was Gabriel so protective of it? Why had Adrien never mentioned it?

There was only one way to find out. 

Queen Bee released her yoyo and, with a flick of her wrist, sent the top wrapping around the leg of Gabriel’s desk. She tugged on it, and, as she’d suspected, it held. Something that high-tech would have been bolted to the floor to run the wires through it the way he had. 

Queen Bee gripped the other end firmly in her hand, the wire wrapped around her fingers a few times, but paused before she jumped.

She was the one who insisted they loop Ladybug and Chat Noir into their plans if they found anything solid. She was the one who insisted they don’t take Hawk Moth on alone. 

In the end, it was Adrien that decided it for her. She could deal with Felix’s nay-saying and Marientte’s disappointment, but she couldn’t handle the pain it would cause Adrien if she didn’t have anything concrete to go on. She had to be sure. She had to have proof. Something more than a suspicious hole in the ground. She couldn’t leave him wondering.

So she took a step and dropped into the darkness. 

The shaft was tight, nearly brushing both Queen Bee’s shoulders as she made a controlled descent. Her breath bounced back into her face as the sound of her breathing echoed in the small space. Small blue lights built into the walls prevented it from being pitch black. She hadn’t gone more than a few feet when the passage abruptly widened, splitting into two shafts, one that continued down and one that went sideways, a tunnel under the house.

“Two secret rooms,” Queen Bee whispered to herself as she paused to study the fork. “Both of them only accessible from Gabriel’s highly private office.” Interesting, but as usual, proved nothing. 

“First one, than the other,” Queen Bee murmured, continuing her descent. Maybe one just led to his bedroom. It would explain why Adrien never saw him, but if that was something she stumbled across, she didn’t think she’d ever recover.

Queen Bee continued to drop for another minute, straight down until she noticed the light in the tunnel brightening as she approached the opening. She came to a stop, her toes inches from the opening. Whatever was out there, it would prove her right, one way or the other. Either she was about to drop into a private library, or Hawk Moth’s layer - and for the first time, she found herself actually hoping Felix had been right. 

And that was when she saw it: the tiny white butterfly that flit by the glass tube that descended into the room.

Queen Bee let herself drop slowly into the room as her heartbeat echoed loudly in her ears. She already knew what she would see, but knowing couldn’t prepare her for the horror of the reality.

Several dozen bushed lined the room, as large as the footprint of the house itself. And on them, thousands upon thousands of cocoons, matched only by the number of white butterflies that drifted through the room. 

Queen Bee stepped silently forward as she touched down, tying her yoyo string off on one of the less-occupied branches as she took in the cold reality of the room. This was it. It was more than proof; it was Hawk Moth’s private garden, the place he bred his akumas. And Hawk Moth was Gabriel Agreste. She might not have a photo for proof, but this… Felix would have to listen to this.

And even if she didn’t, she didn’t care. Marinette, she knew, would. For she much as she hadn’t liked the girl, as much grief as Chloe had caused her, she would listen. And she would believe her. 

Queen Bee took another step and a runway suddenly lit up. Maybe it had been Gabriel’s gallery once upon a time - before his hobbies had taken a decided evil bent. She could picture the mannequins lined up, the crown piece from each collection on display. There were no mannequins now - just a cylinder at the end.

Queen Bee’s blood froze in her veins as she took it all in. Her instincts told her to run, but if it was some kind of secret weapon, some horrible senti-monster he and Mayura were cooking up, they needed to know. She knew she was pushing her luck as she jogged to the cylinder, but she couldn’t leave without knowing. 

She could see the glass was opaque as she approached, but like every high tech thing in Gabriel’s house, it adjusted once she got closer, clearing to reveal Emilie Agreste’s very pale, very preserved face.

Queen Bee fell back, slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. 

This was it, she realized as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. This was why Gabriel had become Hawk Moth, why he needed Ladybug and Chat Noir’s Miraculous. To bring back his wife. 

Queen Bee jerked as she felt a sudden sting at her neck, and then there he was, looming over her as her knees gave out.

“Still beautiful,” Hawk Moth crooned, gazing at Emilie’s still face as he wrapped an iron arm around Queen Bee’s shoulders to keep her standing. “Even after all this time.”

“You’re sick,” Queen Bee barked. She tried to push away, but there was no strength in her arms.

“And you’re one of Adrien’s closest friends,” Hawk Moth said as he dragged her closer to the casket. “Surely you of all people can understand why I must do this.”

“Adrien…wouldn’t want this,” Queen Bee slurred. The room had begun to spin, and it was while she was trying to look anywhere but at Emilie she noticed the syringe in Hawk Moth’s hand. “What’d…you do…t’me?”

“Succinylcholine,” Hawk Moth said, glancing down at her. “I don’t want to fight you, Chloe. I want your help.”

“I’d never…help you,” Queen Bee mumbled. Black dots had begun to crowd her vision and she couldn’t feel her legs anymore. She suspected the only reason she wasn’t unconscious already was because her Miraculous was fighting it.

“But we make such a good team,” Hawk Moth said with a knowing grin. “You’re so much more powerful when we work together. And now you know, I’m doing this for my family. I never wanted to hurt anyone; I just need the Miraculous.”

“S’wrong,” Queen Bee said. She was vaguely aware of her knees hitting the hard, steel walkway, then the cool metal beneath her cheek, but wasn’t entirely sure how she’d ended up that way.

“You’ll see,” Hawk Moth said, but he sounded so far away. “I’ll make…help me…”

“…No…” 

She thought she said it, but she wasn’t sure. Her last thoughts were of Felix, and how he might have been right about it being smarter to leave Gabriel alone after all. Then everything went dark.

And upstairs, in Gabriel’s study, Queen Bee’s yoyo unwound and dissolved with pop, vanishing without a trace. 

[obsidiancreates]

Gray Area

(Okay so I had one idea about Aziraphale and Crowley’s wings turning gray since they’re truly no longer on either side and then I thought about what if they never did the body swap thing and... ta-da!)

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Aziraphale tried not to show his panic. He made himself look confident, defiant, unapologetic. Inside he was falling apart.

Worse, he was sure that down in Hell they were about to kill Crowley.

They had tied him to a chair. The room was terribly empty, just white floors and walls and windows with light that was far too bright shining through.

He wasn’t sure when the light of Heaven had become too bright for him. It used to upset him, the way it stung his eyes as he gave reports of his activities on Earth. It made him feel... as though he didn’t belong. As though he wasn’t a proper angel.

He knew now that was accurate, of course. He also knew that he didn’t mind that it was accurate. He didn’t belong, and why would he want to belong with these people anyway? The light did still upset him, but now for other reasons.

His last moments, and the final thing he would see was some overexposed angels smirking at him.

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Crowley smirked at the other demons. “Nice place here. A bit bare though. Going minimalist, are we?”

He may have been about to be punished, likely never to be seen or heard from again, but he’d be double-damned if he wasn’t going to go with style. He was Crowley, after all. Everything had to have some flair to it.

“Yes, we are,” Beelzebub said, their emphasis on the we making it very clear that Crowley was not included in it. “Webuilt this place for you specially. It shall be your place of trial, and it shall be your place of destruction.”

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. He may be dramatic, but at least he was an interesting dramatic. “So what’ll it be then?” he said as nonchalantly as he could, hoping to piss the other demons off as much as possible before he went. “An eternity in the deepest pit?”

He had a feeling that was it. Hell loved it’s torture, after all.

“No no,” said Hastur, a grin forcing it’s way onto his face. It didn’t suit him, not at all, and Crowley leaned away from him slightly. “We’re going to do something even worse. Letting the punishment fit the crime.”

Crowley became aware of footsteps echoing down the hall he’d been lead down just moments ago. Purposeful, quick, but in a way that screamed of discomfort. He turned to watch the doorway.

Micheal walked through.

“Well, that’s unlikely,” he muttered, unable to stop the words before they escaped him. He noticed the pitcher in Micheal’s hands. 

Holy water.

So they were going to kill him then. Well, he should have expected as much. Of course...

He froze. Heaven and Hell were working together, and that meant... “What have you done with Aziraphale?”

He heard Beelzebub laugh from behind him. “You two seemed so desperate not to live without each other...”

“So we decided to do you both a favor and not make either of you go through that,” Micheal finished, unable to hide the satisfied glint in their eye. “We thought it merciful,” she lied right through her pearly white teeth.

“And we thought it would kill you to know your little lover boy was going to die because of you,” Beelzebub said. At least they had the decency to be honest about it, not like that helped anything.

Aziraphale was going to die.

Aziraphale was going to die.

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“Ah, Aziraphale.” Gabriel’s voice boomed from behind. He walked into view, and Aziraphale resisted the urge to glare at him. If he was going to die, he was going to die with dignity.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be just a little sassy. Crowley would sass them. He would do his demon proud.

“You could have just sent a message. A kidnapping, in broad daylight?”

Gabriel shrugged and turned to Uriel. “Have we heard from our new associate?”

“He’s on his way.”

Gabriel grinned. “I bet you’re going to like this. I really do! And I bet you didn’t see this one coming.”

Aziraphale clenched his jaw. ‘Hellfire,’ he thinks, ‘You’ve somehow gotten ahold of Hellfire.’ 

And then he noticed Micheal’s absence. And a chill ran  up his spine.

“You don’t get this view down in the basement!” a voice said. A demon walked over, walked on the grounds of Heaven, and smirked at Aziraphale. The demon threw his hands out, and Hellfire shot out at a small circle marked on the floor. The fire went up, twisting into a tornado, and Aziraphale could almost feel his hair singe from where he sat.

“So, with one act of treason you avoided the war. You ruined our entire plan, everything we’ve worked towards for six thousand years.” Gabriel was barely concealing his anger as he spoke.

“Well, I think the greater good-” Aziraphale tarted, knowing he was about to push Gabriel over the edge.

“Don’t talk to me about the greater good sunshine, I’m the Archangel fucking Gabriel!” 

Unfortunate placing of the f-word, Aziraphale thought, but he didn’t mention it. Instead he frowned and said, “We’re meant to be the good guys, for heaven’s sake!”

“Well, for Heaven’s sake, we’re meant to make examples out of traitors. So, into the flame.”

The ropes around his arms were removed, and Aziraphale stood up. He straightened his bow tie, his hands shaking more then he thought they ever could. He swallowed. “Well... lovely knowing you all. May we meet on a better occasion,” he said, giving them a small smile, determined to take the high road.

“Shut your stupid mouth, and die already.” Gabriel gave the most ingenuine smile ever to exist.

Aziraphale’s own smile fell away. He looked at the fire and closed his eyes. He stepped in.

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Crowley watched Micheal pour the holy water into the bathtub. She could have just miracled it full, but no. No, they had to make a show of it. He could appreciate that, to a degree, but all he could think about was what was happening up in Heaven.

Micheal poured the last of the water. She left the room, and Beelzebub grinned. “Go ahead. Any last words?”

Crowley looked at the tub. Holy water... this was really it. He was... he was really about to die. Forever. He pushed down his feelings and smirked. “This is a new jacket, and I’d hate to ruin it.”

He pulled his jacket off, and his pants, watching as the other demons rolled their eyes. At least he was irritating them. He took his glasses off last.

“Go on already,” Beelzebub prompted. “Or I’ll have Hastur push you in.”

‘I’m sorry Angel,’ Crowley thought. And he got in.

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Aziraphale had expected agony. He had expected intense burning, the pain of having every atom of your being burning up, just unspeakable pain.

He hadn’t expected it to feel rather like a sauna. A sauna that was a bit too hot, but a sauna nonetheless. He cracked his neck and sighed. It was almost nice, really.

He opened his eyes. He still had eyes to open, which was very unexpected but he couldn’t complain. Gabriel and the other angels in the room were staring at him, wide-eyed, all of them much farther back then they had been when he’d stepped in.

He smiled at them. His wings felt especially warm, and they stung quite a bit.

“It may be worse than we thought,” Gabriel said.

Aziraphale’s wings stung more, and began to hurt a bit. He brought his wings in front of him.= to see what was wrong.

They smoldered at the tips, the feathers smoking and graying. He watched the fire flick at his feathers, white singeing to gray, the smoke of the bottom feathers staining the ones higher up.

They were... a soft gray, somehow. Almost silver. The tips of the feathers on the edges were a dark, smoky gray, but the rest were light, pleasant. He rather liked them.

Maybe... maybe if he was okay, he could dare to hope...

“Well,” he said. He looked up and beamed. “It seems that The Almighty has other ideas for me.” He wasn’t sure if that was true, but he wanted the other angel’s to believe it. “Thank you for the fire, I was feeling a bit chilly. May I take my leave now?”

Gabriel nodded, slowly, his lips parted in shock. “I think that would be best.”

“Thank you.”

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Crowley flicked the water at the window, watching with glee as the demons behind it scrambled away. Even the walls sizzled where the water hit them.

But he was fine. His skin was a bit red and irritated, but he was fine! “I don’t suppose anyone here has a rubber duck?”

Hastur just stared, not blinking. Beelzebub and Dagon had both stepped back to avoid Crowley’s splashing. “He’s not one of us, anymore,” Beelzebub said.

Crowley brought his wings out, just to see how much they’d spray the water everywhere with their unfurling. But as they curled around him in order to fit in the tub, he noticed something.

As holy water dripped down his wings it left streaks, streak of gray amongst his other pitch-black feathers. The water stayed clear and pure, but it was... almost like it was washing his wings. 

Hastur made a choking sound. Beelzebub ran to the window, where all the demons of Hell (or at least, the ones who were best at shoving through crowds) were gather, watching with open mouths.

“What are you looking at! Nothing to see here, nothing to see!”

Crowley leaned back into the tub. He stared as his feathers lightened in the water, becoming a dark gray, like a stormy cloud. They were even lighter in the places that the droplets had dripped down, streaks of near silver. 

He grinned. Oh, he grinned.

Because perhaps, perhaps, if a demon could survive a bath in holy water, an angel could survive Hellfire.

Of course, he wasn’t really a demon anymore, was he?

“I came for the- oh, Lord.” Micheal froze, mouth agape.

Crowley was still grinning. “Micheal! Miracle me a bath towel, would you? This has been nice,” he hissed the last word, “But I think I’m done.”

Micheal handed him a towel, pure white and fluffy as can be. She jumped a bit when he reached out to grab it.

“I think,” he said, sitting up and flicking holy water at the remaining demons in the room, “That it would be best if I was left alone for a while.”

Hastur had backed away so far that he was pressed against the opposite wall, his hands opening and closing like he was trying to claw through it to get even further away. Dagon and Beelzebub stood to the side, still, silent. They nodded. Crowley turned his yellow eyes to Micheal, who smiled nervously and nodded too.

Crowley smirked. “Right.”

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Aziraphale shut the door to his bookshop and leaned against it. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily as he slid down. He miracled the door locked and curtains closed.

He brought out his wings to look at them again. 

They were... quite beautiful, in his opinion.

The darkened edges of the outer feathers, the way the lighter ones were pale but still clearly not white, the way they gleamed like silver when the light hit them but seemed to be a simple soft gray when it didn’t...

They were not the wings of an angel, but not the wings of a demon, and he quite liked that.

He stood up and walked to his phone. He was still shaking a bit, and as he dialed Crowley’s number it got worse.

What if he had been wrong, and the demon hadn’t...

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He wouldn’t allow himself to go there.

He was just one number away from calling when he heard the door open, and a familiar voice shout “Angel!”

His heart raced. He dropped the phone and ran into the main room. “Crowley!”

Without a thought he ran at the demon and pulled him into a hug. Crowley froze, stiffed, but after a moment he hugged back. 

They’d never hugged before. But Aziraphale didn’t care, and clearly neither did Crowley. They held each other for a long time, just... happy.

Finally Crowley pulled away, gently, and Aziraphale did too. 

“Angel,” Crowley said, taking off his glasses. “I- I’m glad you’re okay.”

“And I’m glad you are, my dear.”

Crowley’s eyes shifted, and Aziraphale realized that he hadn’t put away his wings. “Ah, yes, it um, it seems the Hellfire had a bit of a... a side effect?” he tried. “I quite like them, truthfully.”

“I do too,” Crowley said. He stepped back and smiled. “What do you think of mine?”

He got out his wings, and Aziraphale gasped. They were a beautiful dark gray, with streaks of lighter gray that, Aziraphale noted with surprise but joy, matched Aziraphale’s own. 

“They’re gorgeous,” he breathed. He laughed a bit. “Do you think... do you think this is because we’re on our side now? Do you think She may have had something to do with it?”

“Who know? Who cares? We’re free, Angel. We can do anything!”

Aziraphale looked his demon, or whatever he was now, in the eyes. “Anything,” he repeated, grinning. “Well... how about we start with lunch? At the Ritz?”

Crowley grinned back. “Sounds good to me.”

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(I am very proud of this! Look at these boys! Living it up! After this the Ritz scene from the show happens, and yeah! They just go about happy! Whoo-hoo!)

@victory-cookies @a-humble-narcissus

[flightfoot]

Justice for Alya (And Adrien. And The Rest Of The Class): enigmaticEditor's "Outfoxed"

AO3

(Spoilers for Chapter 1 of “Outfoxed”)

“Outfoxed” by enigmaticEditor (@captorations) stands out among “Lila Exposed” fics as being one of the few of that genre that douses Alya and Adrien in sugar while refraining from salting the class or anyone besides Lila and Gabriel.

It starts when the glamour around Lila breaks, when Lila makes a claim - or at least IMPLIES a claim - that Alya knows for a fact cannot be true. Lila ‘accidentally’ exposing a necklace that looks an awful lot like the Fox Miraculous and implying that SHE’S Rena Rouge.

And everything comes tumbling down. All the lies, all the deceptions, they all shatter like glass.

This isn’t an unusual way for Alya to discover Lila was lying. It’s everything that happens afterwards that make this fic stand out.

Immediately her mind starts racing, trying to figure out what magic was at work and how to break it, thinking of who she needs to recruit… and she remembers Marinette.

Alya both feels a little guilty because she didn’t believe Marinette and Marinette HAD tried to tell her the truth - again, not unusual - but she’s also a bit angry and upset at her which is particularly interesting.

Marinette had tried to tell Alya the truth about Lila, that was true - but she had better means at her disposal to force Alya to see that Lila was lying, to possibly break past her glamour. She’s well-connected and could’ve gotten, say, Jagged Stone himself to refute Lila’s lies. She had the power to bring all that crashing down and yet allowed the rest of the class to continue being duped by Lila.

Normally this accusation is leveled at Adrien in Chameleon saltfics - and that comes up in Outfoxed as well, but I’ll get to that later - not at Marinette, though it holds true for her as well (and moreso than Alya even knows, considering she’s Ladybug and one of Lila’s favorite lies is how close she is to Ladybug). It’s always been something that bugged me with saltfics - and heck, even with canon - so I loved seeing it addressed here.

Her reasoning made sense, especially considering the stress Marinette’s been under this whole time. She was terrified that Lila would become akumatized again and hurt people, hurt her, hurt Chat, hurt Adrien, hurt random civilians. 

Hurting Adrien was ESPECIALLY prevalent in her mind since Volpina had already fooled her into thinking she was gonna let Adrien fall before. And just… while Marinette agreed with Alya afterwards that it would’ve been better to try to do something about Lila, she was just too scared before, with having experienced Volpina going after someone she loved.

I really appreciate when authors have the characters maybe not make the absolute best, most ideal choice in a circumstance, not acting in the most ideal way when viewed as an impassive outsider, but for those characters to act and react in ways that make sense when taking into account their mindset and emotions at the time. Because that’s how people actually operate. 

And Alya just… she UNDERSTANDS! I especially like even before she finds out why Marinette hasn’t tried hard to expose Lila, when she still doesn’t know, and comes across Marinette curled into a ball crying. 

She knows what to do. Has done it before. Knows how to read Marinette and just focuses on calming her down first, prioritizes getting her to a better state before broaching the subject of Lila. With all the salt about Alya supposedly not being a good friend, it was nice to see displayed just why she’s an AWESOME friend to Marinette.

But what really gets to me is the sort-of pep talk Alya gave Marinette after finding out she was reluctant to try harder to expose her, but before she found out more details on WHY. Because while the speech she gave was good Marinette sugar, for the reader, it’s great Alya sugar as well.

The reason why it stung that Marinette was willing to just let Lila continue lying? Why it hurt Alya to see Marinette seemingly just… give up like that? Came down to the philosophy Alya first tried to impart to Marinette when she first met her, “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good people to do nothing”, something which it seems like Marinette can’t make herself believe anymore. But Alya’s there to boost her up, to remind her of how far she’s come and what she’s capable of.

Alya’s hand moved to find Marinette’s. Once she did, she gave it a squeeze and didn’t let go. “You mean so much to me, girl, you know that? I was new here, that first day. I had no one, and not only were you willing to befriend the weirdo who wouldn’t shut up about superheroes, you believed in what I said. You let me inspire you, and you inspire me too. You always have. I know you’re scared of akumas. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you running to hide whenever one shows up, even if it’s nowhere near us. But you’ve been working past it, even taking charge sometimes in your own way! Darkblade, Syren, Captain Hardrock. I remember those too. I liked to think I was part of the reason for that. A part of you, as much as you’re a part of me.” (Chapter 1)

This was just… this was so good! Alya gives some of her fears and insecurities, with being the new girl and considering herself to be a weirdo, while also boosting herself up by being proud of her effect on Marinette. It gives off a sort of “teacher is proud of their student” vibe, since Alya helped start Marinette on the path to standing up for herself.

She also notes Marinette’s own insecurities here with her apparently being afraid of akumas, while using her growth past that to boost her up, much like she boosted herself earlier. Her glowing review of both herself and Marinette weaving together to make both more meaningful and influential than they would be in isolation.

On a personal note, I’ve always thought Alya’s role in Origins with her helping to defend Marinette, encourage her, and Marinette’s deep appreciation and respect for Alya because of that has been massively overlooked, with very few fics acknowledging how meaningful that was to Marinette, to the point that she pushed Tikki to go to Alya instead (though admittedly a lot of that was her own insecurities talking). Heck, both times she transformed in Origins were because Alya was in danger, and Alya’s encouragement helped persuade her to actually jump into the fight with Stoneheart! 

Alya continues encouraging Marinette by giving her own mindset as part of an inspiration.

Tears were beginning to streak down her best friend’s face again. Alya plowed ahead. “I can’t do much to help Ladybug-” God, she wanted so badly to tell Marinette about Rena Rouge, but she couldn’t endanger her. Not now, not ever. “-but I can’t do nothing. The Ladyblog lets me show people, more directly than any news channel ever will, that Ladybug and Chat Noir and everyone else are fighting for us. That they’re real people, brave and determined and wonderful, but in need of our support and understanding, too. Of course akuma-chasing is scary, I’ve probably died more times than anyone else in Paris, but I. Can’t. Do. Nothing.” (Chapter 1)

She’s leading by example, trying to show Marinette how and why she can and should stand up for what’s right. Acknowledging how scared she can be, that there’s a limit to what she can do, but still doing what she can to help. 

If Alya wasn’t scared at all and WAS able to do everything she wanted to do to help Ladybug the speech wouldn’t have been as effective. By showing how she tries anyway even though it’s difficult because the cause is so important to her, she shows Marinette how and why she should do the same. 

After Marinette agrees with Alya about trying to stop Lila they start going over what they know in order to come up with a plan to stop her, Marinette’s newfound determination shining through. She can have some major insecurities, as would be expected of anyone, especially a kid, but what makes her interesting and inspiring is how she works past it, compensates, or how other people help her if she can’t do something herself. 

And then Marinette tells Alya that she wasn’t the only one who knew - Adrien did too.

And that sets Alya storming off to find Adrien before Marinette can explain further.

Remember that Adrien salt I mentioned earlier? This is where it comes into play.

It starts with her thoughts on the situation before even meeting up with Adrien:

How dare Agreste leave his “friend” out to dry like that? It didn’t even make sense. She could understand Adrien wanting to avoid conflict. Nino had shared bits and pieces of Adrien’s home life, and it didn’t seem like the boy had ever had much success standing up for himself. Appeasement must be all he knew how to do. But this? This was something else entirely. He could have at least been there for Marinette. (Chapter 1)

The anger over Adrien supposedly leaving Marinette high and dry while Lila continued lying (and even targeting) Marinette is common in Chameleon-related Adrien salt. But even at this stage, even while angry at Adrien, she still acknowledges his perspective and why he might not do so.

Alya’s FURIOUS right now and it shows, not only in her actions (demanding Adrien follow her and slamming him against a wall) but even in the word choices of her thoughts, with her thinking he has “a backbone made of rubber” and commenting on his “stupid designer shirt”. That anger’s just generally clouding her thoughts right then, which is realistic even if it’s not entirely fair to Adrien; emotions are like that, they’re NOT always fair.

Luckily, Adrien DOES have an explanation.

“You knew what Lila was doing. This whole goddamn time. And you did nothing. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Lila wasn’t hurting anyone-”

“She was hurting Marinette,” snarled Alya. Some rational part of her was surprised she hadn’t been akumatized. Right now, she wasn’t sure who she’d go for first as a supervillain; the liar herself, or her pet enabler.

“-at first! At first, Alya! You didn’t let me finish! I know, okay? Why do you think Lila got Marinette expelled, and then immediately turned around and got her back in? I made her!” (Chapter 1)

I really like this. Adrien has a point - Lila WASN’T hurting anyone, not as far as he knew (and as far as Alya knows for that matter). There was speculation among the fanbase that Lila might promise things she couldn’t deliver on, depriving the class of legit opportunities in favor of made-up ones, but that doesn’t appear to have actually happened. It could be argued that her using her brainwashing magic is inherently harmful, but it’s not like anyone knew that’s what it was; he and Marinette just knew she was lying, and while that’s generally not something to approve of, it’s not the end of the world either. He and Marinette have done it quite a bit themselves, albeit for better reasons than Lila was (usually).

Something I like even better though? This takes into account Adrien’s actions AFTER Chameleon, him finding out that Lila was actively dangerous and malicious and protecting Marinette as best he knew how.

Meekly, Adrien explained the deal he’d made. Implicitly, before that horrible day, and explicitly, after it. He’d been using himself as a distraction almost since the beginning. Drawing fire for Marinette, sacrificing himself, like Chat Noir did so often for Ladybug. And he hadn’t said anything, not wanting anyone to worry about him.

Marinette’s words ran through Alya’s mind, and she checked them against her memories. While she hadn’t paid nearly as much attention to either Lila or Adrien… that bitch really had been all over him for months now. Alya knew Adrien didn’t like being touched unless he completely trusted the other person. The first time Nino had clapped him on the back unexpectedly, he’d nearly fled the room. Chloé was one thing; as despicable as she could be, she had been Adrien’s only friend for a long time. But Lila? Adrien clearly disliked Lila, but had let her do that to him, just to keep her from bothering his friend, and now had signed up to deal with an even worse version of it at his goddamn job to protect Marinette.

Alya was getting a headache. If in the next hour Nino did something to give her this kind of emotional whiplash, she’d shatter on the spot. Her heart was already in pieces, for Adrien as well as Marinette now. These idiots. (Chapter 1)

This whole thing is a really good response to all the “Adrien left Marinette to rot and even discouraged her from defending herself!” salt. Because no. He didn’t. Once he saw that Marinette was in danger he did everything in his power, everything he knew how to do to protect her, even though it meant enduring Lila’s harassment, having to deal with her when he wanted nothing to do with her. Most Chameleon-inspired Adrien salt conveniently ignores that. 

And Alya recognizes and appreciates it, can see what he’s been going through, and just wants to hug and protect her friends who’ve been through so much. 

There’s one last bit of this encounter I want to emphasize, something that Alya needs to knock into Adrien’s skull, something that he needed to hear and understand.

Then she pulled away and slapped him in the face. Not hard, but enough to get her point across. “You were still wrong, Adrien. Lila was harming someone right from the beginning. She was harming you. And you matter too.” (Chapter 1)

This is an important point. She WAS harming him from the beginning. Heck, her introduction, the very first glimpse of her we ever got, was her stroking her finger down Adrien’s chest while he looked VERY freaked out, then her dragging him away and lying to him, and she didn’t exactly improve in subsequent appearances.

She may have deliberately tried to hurt Marinette (as both Marinette and Ladybug, though she didn’t know that) the most, but she’s harmed Adrien a lot too, even though that was not her end goal - she was still fine with that outcome.

But Alya’s on the case. She’ll protect her friends.

I don’t want to go TOO in-depth on the rest of the story - I figure this’ll be more of a rec and review, so I don’t want to spoiler it a lot - but I will say this.

The romance here may not be the main point, but it helps to develop the characters a bit, and the Alyanette in particular serves to show off what an awesome person Alya is by letting Marinette show her faith in her, show why she loves, cares, and respects Alya so much, all while letting Alya demonstrate why that faith is well-placed and just letting Alya have a good time and have nice things.

And the Lila exposure? Puts Alya front and center, letting her do most of it (most of what we the reader see anyway), and letting her have fun along the way.

I’ve seen many Lila exposure fics. But none that shine the spotlight on Alya quite as well as this one does.

[takeiteasypeasybaby]

Save Me: Chapter 66 - What Is Left

~Hey guys! Chapter 66 is out now :) Thank you to all of you who have been reading Save Me from the start or have just joined our family now, I love you all!~

Molly finds herself protecting what is left and discovers the lengths she will go to keep the ones she cares about safe, while Negan asks Molly a question that hasn't been discussed in a long time.

A day had passed and I hadn't seen Negan or Lydia.

I waited for hours outside the cell, just praying that she would choose us.

If she wanted to leave, I would let her because I love her but I also just want her to be safe and I will get her to that place wherever it may be.

Gabriel brought her food three times a day but she refused to see me.

It was my fault that this happened to her so I understood why but it still stung like a bitch.

From sitting on the step outside the cell, I could clearly see the front gates and I would watch them religiously, just hoping that Negan would come back soon.

I knew that they were going far out and that integrating him into our community was key but I still worried about him.

Though I knew he was more than capable of handling himself out there, even without Lucille.

I always wrote Lydia little notes on small pieces of paper about all the ways in which she is strong just to remind her when she felt herself questioning it.

Today, I wrote another and posted it through the cell window, in between the bars as I heard it drop to the concrete floor.

I didn't know if she read them, but the sentiment was still there that I cared about her and that others did as well.

I sighed and started to stand up and walk home as it was getting dark when out of the corner of my eye I saw the gates slide open slowly.

I smiled and said 'thank god' as I ran down to the gates and jumped into Negan's arms.

He was covered in walker blood, so was Aaron.

I didn't ask what happened out there but I could tell by Negan's expression that something bad went down.

He propped me down gently and smiled as I said seductively 'c'mon let's go home, I have a treat for you'.

I grabbed his hand and made him follow me to the house.

Once we were inside, I pushed him against the wall as I kicked the door shut with my foot and crashed my lips against his.

He smirked as he burst into action, taking control of the kiss as his hands travelled up my waist until they landed on my jaw.

His lips tasted sweet and soft against mine but I could feel his hesitation like he was only doing this for me.

I moved us off the wall and manoeuvred over to the couch so I could straddle him.

He smiled gently and wrapped his arms around my waist as he sat up to hold me closer.

I teased him and stood up slowly as I hovered over him, planting a quick kiss on his lips before I started to slowly undress.

His smile faded and he grabbed my hand pulling me gently back to the couch.

I frowned and asked softly, 'what is it?'.

'I'm sorry, I want nothing more than to screw your goddamn brains out, truly' he said smirking which made me chuckle.

'But?' I asked slowly.

'But, there's something pressing on my mind' he replied.

I nodded and said, 'alright, what is it?'.

He looked down sadly and asked 'do you hate me for what I did to Glenn and Abraham?'.

I raised my eyebrows and looked down as I hesitated giving him a reply.

'I forgave you' I replied softly, barely believing it myself.

'It's not the same, do you hate me?' he asked again as I avoided his gaze.

'No, but I wanted to. I hated myself for not hating you, I felt like I owed it to my friends to hate you but I just couldn't. Every time that they would tell me that you were evil, I never saw you that way, even when I went to the Sanctuary' I said hesitantly.

'When I left you, I was heartbroken because I hated myself, not you. It killed me that you killed two people who were close to me, but the part that hurt the most was that I understood why and that if I was in your position, I would've done the same thing. It made me believe that I wasn't a good person, but maybe there is no good or bad in this world, just people who do whatever it takes to survive' I said softly.

He listened to every word until he finally understood and nodded as he wrapped an arm around me as I snuggled closer.

'I never slept at the Sanctuary, not until you. Maybe I got a few hours but never fully. I used to drink until the morning and then get straight back to work because being alone in my thoughts would haunt me. I never let myself stop or think, I just did what was necessary at the time for my people to survive. I only became a monster because that's what the world needed. I thought I needed to stop caring to be a great leader, but turns out I was very wrong. I regret what I did now, I wish I could take that pain away for these people, for you because I'm not that same guy anymore. I feel like myself again, just new and improved' he said softly as he leant his head against mine.

I reached up and kissed his cheek as he smiled.

'I don't think you're improved, I think it's always been in you' I said.

He chuckled, saying 'well, that's thanks to you Molly, you did that' as he kissed my forehead and stroked my hands.

I smiled and said softly 'I love you'.

'I love you too' he replied happily as he held me closer.

The following day...

I stood on the terrace, looking out onto the compound and over the fields as I oversaw the work.

I was in my own thoughts when I heard footsteps behind me and I turned around briskly.

It was Lydia.

She walked up hesitantly and came to stand next to me as we both watched the world go by.

'Hi' she said quietly as I said the same at the same time.

We both giggled and I started to apologise when she said 'I'm sorry Molly, you were trying your best to protect me and you didn't deserve my ungratefulness. I guess being here, being with you and Negan reminded me that the parents I had were gone and that my mother didn't love me'.

I just shook my head and said 'there's nothing to forgive' as I pulled her into a hug as I rested my head on hers.

'I want this, I wanna live here, with you and Negan because I love you both' she said softly which made me tear up.

'I love you too' I replied as I held her tightly.

'Oh, I almost forgot, I had this made for you' I said excitedly as I grabbed the wooden stick from my bedroom.

It had nunchucks on the ends and spiked edging for walkers.

Lydia's eyes lit up as she stared in awe at it.

'For me?' she asked happily.

I nodded, 'mhm, all yours. I even engraved your name on the side' I said pointing it out as we smiled.

'Do you like it?' I asked happily.

'I love it, thank you' she said.

'Can I go train with it?' she added.

'Of course, go see Aaron, he'll give you some tips' I said smiling as she ran out the house squealing with excitement which made me laugh.

Later on in the day, Rosita stopped by to talk.

She wanted to apologise for the way she acted about Negan and swore she just wanted me to be happy and safe.

We talked about our families, Rosita's daughter Coco and her boyfriend Gabriel and of course Negan and Lydia.

The topic of Negan was kept brief for obvious reasons as we both didn't wanna fight anymore, we had been for years and it was exhausting.

It was time to just finally support each other and not judge.

Speaking of judgement, I asked her about Eugene.

He was playing a large role in helping Rosita with Coco, sometimes even more so than Siddiq or Gabriel (the father and the boyfriend).

Rosita told me that it was complicated, because she had feelings for him and he did for her but she loved Gabriel and would never hurt him.

The fact that she opened up to me about this stuff, made me realise that through thick and thin, we could fight like families do but we would always have each other's back.

I couldn't tell her anymore than she already knew in her heart and that was to be with whoever she found herself gravitating to.

Not just sexually or romantically, but practically, who was the person she wanted to share things with?

That's how I knew Negan and I were real, we had a deeper connection than most when we met, one that was greater than the both of us.

I had to cut our talk short because Michonne told me she was going to Oceanside with Judith and RJ for weapons and other resources.

So I would be leader again while she was gone and with Luke leading Hilltop, I felt positive about the coming war.

Everyday I would receive updates from them about how everyone was doing and the current situation, whisperers, hoards, that sort of thing.

The whisperers hadn't found their way to Oceanside as far as we knew, so we usually used it for training and the holding of weapons.

Each day when Michonne would call, Judith would always tell me who beat who at chess and brag that she killed the most walkers, just like her Auntie Molly.

Michonne and I would always laugh and joke about this, but there was always a serious undertone that the whisperers could attack at any moment and that we should always be prepared.

I had to protect everyone and make sure we all could fight well so when Connie and Kelly had asked if they could join them, I granted it because the other day, Kelly had a run in in the woods with a walker and she couldn't hear it behind her.

She wasn't bit, but it screwed with her head, so I asked Daryl to go with them just in case while I stayed at Alexandria.

I knew that Daryl wouldn't say no to helping Connie anyway, so I could rely on him to keep them safe on their journey, plus the beach would be peaceful.

So, we were almost near the cusp of war.

Our people were training hard and fighting in different communities, but all fighting for the same thing - our future.

[impishnature]

Feather Fall (Part 1)

AO3 Fandom: Good Omens Rating: T+ Summary: What is an Angel without a connection to Heaven? A/N: @sightkeeper asked a while back for Aziraphale whump with the line ‘Blood? Oh it’s not mine’ and I wrote 18k words from just that.  Warnings: Thoughts/talk of falling. Graphic violence (later). Panic attacks, blood, self harm. Some of these warnings are for another part but I’m putting them all here.

.

It had been three months since they had saved the world.

Three whole months. Ninety days. Two thousand, one hundred and sixty hours and counting.

And he was counting. Minutes, seconds, days, weeks, it all bled into one as he waited for something to happen- because for some reason it didn't feel like they had saved the world at all.

There had been no joyous occasions, no fanfare or parade. No celebrations except their own minimal affair. Just the peaceful, quiet hum of life continuing on it's path, never knowing just how close they had come to seeing it all crumble around them.

Well that, and the score of snarling angels and demons on their tails.

He could almost understand the demons vicious rage, but the angels? His family? How could they so blindly follow old texts that no longer truly aligned with what the world and humanity had evolved into? How could they sit idly by and watch it all burn, content to fight in a war with no real meaning or end other than complete annihilation? Was the world that the Almighty had created, truly just collateral damage in the wider scheme of things? Did none of them see the contradictions? The hypocrisy? How did their faith override their reason so easily?

And beneath all the questions, all the unfulfilled answers, there was a deeper ache; yearning, cold and hollow. It stung deep in his chest, pulsing pitifully with every fluttering heartbeat- a dagger thrust there by those who should have understood him, should have stood beside him.

Instead, they had tried to kill him with hellfire.

All for choosing humanity over an unjustifiable war. 

All for asking the questions no one else seemed to be asking.

...Had he been so wrong?

Aziraphale sat, lost in his own thoughts, his book forgotten on his lap. It threatened to slip off him onto the floor at a moment's notice that he wasn't even present enough to feel or hear happening. It had been three months. Three months and the only contact his brethren had had was to try and kill him. He'd hoped that it would all blow over, that they'd see the error in their ways and realise that he and Crowley had made the best decision for everyone.

It was wishful thinking, he knew that now.

Neither side would ever admit they were wrong, nor admit defeat. It wasn't in their nature.

A human hundreds of years ago had seen the truth, but it had taken watching his own body be dragged up to heaven for him to accept his fate.

Thankfully, he hadn't been himself then, nor had Crowley been soaked in holy water as the other side had decided. But there had been a hint of barely quelled fury in Crowley's eyes when he returned that let him know that it was not just the actions or hellfire that had spoken out loudly at that meeting. He knew Crowley would never tell him, he'd sugarcoat it or brush it off, but then again he didn't really need to know what had been said. The dagger in his heart still twisted at the implications regardless, that deep rooted sadness that refused to leave. 

Aziraphale tried to shake himself in his seat, the thoughts a dark cloud that needed to be swatted away. He brushed at his chest subconsciously, as if there was a physical item embedded there that he could tug out and be done with. It didn't matter what had been said. They wanted him dead, plain and simple. And when that hadn't worked, they'd cut him off. 

He hadn't realised until then what true freedom tasted like.

For a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased, his mind slipping to warmer thoughts. It had been blissful at first. He'd felt lighter, brighter, like a weight had lifted from him, chains that he hadn't even realised he was wearing crashing to the floor. He no longer had to hide himself, to dim his light to quell questions and curiosity at his actions. He no longer had to subject himself to their whims even when he disagreed, to bite his tongue and smile dutifully at every snide remark or reprimand. And best of all; he could go about his life in peace, spend his days with Crowley without fear of what management might say or think, because none of them had any right to say anything anymore. They may judge him, but without the fear of consequences looming above his head, what really was there to stop him from giving into temptations and living life, however he saw fit? 

He was already dead to them, or he would be if they had gotten there way,  so, what more could he really do to anger them more than they already were? 

But then the doubts had spread.

It had started as a small voice, that hint of sadness, that he couldn't quite escape. And then like a creeping vine it had taken hold. It grew and grew, tendrils reaching into every crevice of his skull, strangling the happiness that he had thought he finally deserved.

Aziraphale swallowed, his eyes open and unseeing as his shoulders raised defensively around his neck. He hunched forward, arms gripping tight to his knees, a bid to protect himself as the cold seeped back through his lungs and the dagger pushed deeper still.

His family had deserted him.

As much as he disagreed with them, as much as he was glad to no longer be under their scrutiny, it still didn't feel quite right to be completely isolated from Heaven. To have their full and unabated disappointment echoing through the silence of a disconnected phone line.

Was this what it felt like to fall? The ache of loss that he couldn't control or reason away. Grieving over something he hadn't even truly wanted, but now that it was ripped entirely from his grasp, never to be his again...

The thought sent a shudder down his spine and he propelled himself from his seat without thought, giving into the need to move, to pace. The book crashed to the ground at his feet, to be stumbled upon and kicked away with little remorse. Shame and repulsion slid heavily into his gut; a meal he wished he hadn't eaten and put him off eating ever again, whilst guilt and fear fizzled through his extremities, tingling down his fingers to keep them restlessly twining together as he paced. 

It was nauseating and disturbingly unfamiliar, as if a beast had taken up residence inside his core and refused to be abated until he begged for forgiveness for crimes he hadn't even committed. 

It roared to life inside of him, it fed on the panic and the paranoia, the doubts and the disorientation. It didn't care who was right or who was wrong, only that he reach a resolution and fast. It whispered insidiously in his ear, voice shifting between Gabriel's and Her's until his heart was clattering against his ribs and beating in his throat, and no amount of reminding himself that he didn't need a heartbeat would halt it.

You need to fix this. You are the fault, the issue. Heaven's closed its gates to you, how long until that is irreversible? What do your opinions matter against that?

Your fall is imminent- that is, if it hasn't started already...

"Don't be ridiculous." The words ground out of him amidst gritted teeth and an uncooperative tongue. The voices hushed against the sound, the beast curious and patient at his interruption. The blood pumping through his ears receded as his own commanding voice took centre stage and pushed the fear back in its place, down to the depths where it belonged. Or perhaps it wasn't his own voice, perhaps it was the accompanying shocked hiss, a spark of gold in the darkness, that lit up his brain and soothed his racing heart.

We picked our side. We picked the human's side. We did the right thing. Heaven and Hell are against us, surely that's got to mean something?

"I'm not falling." Aziraphale stood up straight, closing his eyes for a second to take a deep breath before glaring out at the open air, as if his aggressors were there in the room with him. "I would know. Crowley refuses to talk about his fall, and I will be damned if we place this- this- tiff at the same level as his suffering."

It was abhorrent, disrespectful, that his mind would put the two anywhere near one another.

The beast was subdued for a moment, irritated but conceding. It shrunk in size and let him breathe easier as clarity and logic took over his thought patterns.

...The peace didn't last long.

Her voice, quiet and questioning, echoed past all the others. It created space where it needed, growing in form and consistency, engulfing him in its reverberations. 

How would you know?

"I'm sorry?" The words stuttered out of him before he could stop them. A puff of irritation fizzled through his chest, his hands clenching into fists.

What was he doing apologising to an imaginary voice? It wasn't real. It was just his mind playing tricks on him.

She wasn't here. She wasn't talking to him.

And if She was, he hoped that he would have enough in him not to shrink at Her presence, that he could ask all the questions that, over the years of silence, had begun to sit and multiply at the back of his throat every time he thought of Her.

His resolve didn't stop the flow of the voice though. The one that slid across the surface of his brain and mingled with his own thoughts until he wasn't sure if it was Her or him that spoke them into reality.

It was pervasive, humoured by his ignorance and strengthened by his doubts.

How would you know what falling feels like? 

Aziraphale swallowed past the lump in his throat. A strangely hysterical part of his mind was proud of himself for having the foresight to close the shop early that day. Humans weren't all that fond of people having fights with themselves nor imaginary people. "I don't... I've seen it, heard about it. The Fall. They fell from- it wasn't a slow process. It's never been a slow process. There was never any doubt that they had fallen." 

Well, that was then. No one's fallen in millennia. There was also never any doubt that they had lost sight, that they had lost faith. They fell for their reasons, you're falling for yours. 

A sharper voice grated through, Her voice opening up the floodgates for it to return from the depths he'd cast it to. It was darker, less hypothetical, and more disparaging as it snarled at him. 

You never could do anything right. Why would this be any different?

He was suddenly finding it hard to breathe, the need for oxygen to unnecessary lungs somehow desperate and required. The room was closing in on him, shrinking into a suffocating prison built purposefully for him. Each book, each shadow, opened another set of eyes that dispassionately watched his descent, judging him for every little action, every thought, every word, every minuscule movement-

Her voice slipped through the soft breeze, sending goosebumps trailing across his flesh and the hairs raising on the back of his neck.

Perhaps every day you make the choice to fall just that little bit further... 

A soft clatter dragged some of his awareness back into the room. His eyes focused in and out on a small button rolling across the floor away from him with no recognition or recollection of where it had come from.

It wasn't until there was the remains of a bow tie held too tightly in his hand that he realised he'd been tugging at his collar in an effort to get his breathing under control. 

And one day you'll realise with a shock that you haven't been an angel for a very long time.

"Stop it." 

The cacophony of voices abruptly left him, like he had snapped the lid shut on whatever horrific chest they had manifested from. 

Aziraphale stood in the deserted silence, breathing hitching and twisting as the shift took him by surprise and left him hollow, his own voice the only one now flying around his head in a wisp of fear and paranoia born from no one but himself. 

He wasn't sure if he had accidentally miracled the others away or if this was some new harsh punishment set out by his old management.

At least, when the voices hadn't been his own he could pretend that this wasn't all his own doing.

Your choice, your choice- your fault. Can't blame anyone else for this. You stepped over the edge, you made the choice, no one else.

"This is... absurd." He swallowed, his patience and practicality paper thin and fragile against the onslaught, but still there, a thread of sanity in a tumultuous sea. "Utterly ridiculous." Every word added a layer, a knot, another steadying, gratifying breath to his heaving lungs. "You're fine, for Go- goodness- for goodness sake."

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

"We did the right thing." 

Silence rang back at him across the empty room, disapproval and condemnation cloying the air like a stagnant smell that refused to budge. It didn't matter if they could hear him, not really, not when the answer would always be the same.

So many eyes upon him but so desperately alone.

"We did." If only he could believe it himself without a shadow of a doubt- without thinking about how many of his compatriots disagreed, how much pain they were happy to put him through because of his decision- perhaps then the dam would break and the fear of holy retribution would finally leave him. "It was the right thing to do."

The silence remained. His new unwanted companion. How many times had he wished for freedom from their scrutiny? Yet now as the feeling of being watched dissipated into the ether, he couldn't help but feel that every utterance from his mouth turned another spectator away from him, taking a piece of his grace with them.

Turning their backs, one by one. He didn't want their forgiveness- but he needed it all the same.

"It has to be."

Whether or not he wanted it, he was alone. No longer watched, no longer listened to. 

He could do as he pleased.

As long as he was happy to fall for it.

Aziraphale moved. He wasn't sure where or what he was doing at first, just that there was a sharp need at his core to do something. His common sense and logical approach just weren't cutting it today. No amount of philosophical reading or prayer could fix the anxious storm that brewed inside his skull. He'd been able to tamper it down before, even forget its existence when in the company of a rather distracting friend, but it had always returned when he was alone, always bubbled back up, thick and oozing through every pore as if to suffocate him.

So now it was time for another approach. 

Before he knew it, he found himself in front of a mirror, one that he wasn't even sure had been there before this very moment, though he didn't have the mental resources to really think that through at present. It was also rather reminiscent to one he had seen in someone else's apartment, but again- now was not the time to think of such things. Instead he found himself staring at his reflection, inspecting it, almost as if he would be able to see the difference his actions had caused. As if he would see some kind of blemish that would prove his fears correct, or crush them to non-existence with little fanfare, if only he could prove to himself that all was as it should be.

A rather optimistic and unrealistic notion perhaps, but one that he couldn't help but hold onto.

In reality, he wasn't really sure what he was looking for. 

He was unkempt that was for sure.

Aziraphale stared into his own almost unseeing eyes, filled with a strange sheen of dread that he wasn't used to seeing. His chest was rising and falling in sharp bursts, his breathing still quickening under the stress he'd managed to put himself under. He tried to brush past the fear, ignore it for the time being, and instead stare deep and wide eyed into his own gaze for a hint of- something. Something new, something wrong, something- well, different. 

The watery gleam to his expression may not be familiar, nor the pasty pallor of his skin, but it was still undeniably him.

He gave a soft, long, exhale, some modicum of certainty seeping into his system.

As much as he had a soft spot for a certain serpent's eyes... they were hardly subtle.

If he really were changing, he would expect a rather more dramatic change in his appearance, something that would say 'beware of me!' to humans. 

If anything his reflection looked rather more human than it had any right to. With it's soft tremors and heavy breathing, hair wild and matted from fingers he didn't recall running through locks. With his shoulders hunched defensively around his ears as if to weather any storms thrown at him from the outside world.

Not to mention his suit.

A soft noise of distaste clicked across his tongue as his crumpled suit finally made it's way into his vision, taking his attention gladly from rather more important matters. He tried to straighten himself out; dusting off his shoulders, brushing down his sleeves and tugging at the hem. It was a frustrating task, one that usually took only moments, but for some reason was proving rather futile as he twisted and tugged to get his appearance back in order.

It was only when he gave up with a soft huff and went to the final task of straightening his collar, that he finally noted the distinct lack of a familiar bow tie, fingers flitting over non-existent material without thought.

He shook himself, ignoring the drop in his stomach at not noticing a rather vital part of his outward appearance. Pushed down the clamouring voices to check- check again, check everything, you missed something, you're wrong. He didn't need his bow tie, he wasn't going anywhere. Aziraphale continued his ministrations around his collar as nonchalantly as possible, as if he hadn't noticed anything amiss at all. All he had to do was fasten his top button and he'd be able to look at his reflection again and all would be well- 

Oh.

His top button was missing.

His fingertips ran over the yielding fabric, thumbing the hole on one side and pulling perplexedly at the few stray threads on the other where a button had once been.

When had that- oh. Oh, he remembered now. 

Aziraphale swallowed, closing his eyes. He felt his adam's apple bob against his knuckles as he tried to think straight. He'd read about this, hadn't he? Humans had all kinds of words for these situations. Where panic made the mind go blank to the outside world. When just being inside a struggling body was hard enough to cope with, let alone spending energy and effort on anything else. 

The only thing was- he'd never heard of an angel suffering similarly.

Then again, he'd never heard of a demon being afflicted either.

Having said that, though... He wasn't sure he'd heard of any angels or demons going against the grain quite like they had, at least not since the Fall.

He found himself laughing without intention, a mildly hysterical chuckle that rattled through him until he wasn't sure if they were morphing into sobs.

Who was he fooling? No one had ever done what he and Crowley had done before. No one had attempted the things they had achieved. Why on Earth did he think that anything that happened next would have any semblance to what had come before?

All the research, and all the time in the world, would never be able to prepare them for whatever came next.

Because no one had any inclining as to what would come next.

They were all completely in the dark and there was no light coming.

They had to make their own way from now on, their own choices- and whether they liked it or not, the other angels and demons were in the same boat as him and Crowley.

Just like the humans.

Aziraphale blinked, his eyes finding his own reflection once more, not even comprehending the moisture clinging to his eyelashes and leaving glistening marks down his cheeks.

Just like humanity.

His laughter bubbled up again, this time hollow but accepting. Humanity had dealt with this for as long as they could remember. Faith and belief only got you so far, the rest was a choice you made every day. To be good, to do good- there was nothing stopping them, not really, only their own thoughts and feelings and those around them.

Every day they dealt with the knowledge that they truthfully- knew nothing at all.

And that was OK.

It had to be OK for them.

And now, it had to be OK for everyone else as well.

None of them had ever known Her plan. Not really.

They'd hoped they understood, they'd hoped She wasn't setting them up for failure.

Because why would She?

Her and Her plan- they were ineffable. That's all there was to it.

But then on the other hand- they were ineffable.

How on Earth could they ever live up to a plan that they had no way of comprehending? How could they follow those distinct orders without knowing why, or how, or even whether they were following them correctly?

Maybe She hadn't set them up to fail, but at the same time, She had doomed them to failure.

They would forever fall short of Her expectations. Because none of them knew what Her expectations were.

Perhaps, they weren't all that different from humanity, after all.

"Different..."

The word left him in an almost reverent hush.

There was one rather glaring difference. 

Between humans, angels and demons.

He just wasn't sure he was ready to visualise the outcome of his transgressions.

"Stop being ridiculous." He growled, his teeth clamping together as his watery gaze hardened to ice. Self-loathing was bubbling up thick and fast, eclipsing all other thoughts and feelings as it heaved and seethed throughout his frame, it twisted his earlier tremors into something almost unrecognisable, more forceful, sharper in his twitching muscles. 

No other angel or demon would have this much trouble looking at themselves in a mirror.

Not unless they had something to hide.

And he didn't. He didn't-

A soft low swish muffled and dampened the electric air around him. Warmth encircled his frame, his wings unfurling from the ether to rest either side of him, downy and light against the fabric of his suit. Feathers brushed against his neck as, just for a moment, he let himself be cocooned in their embrace, soothed by his own heavenly essence when no one else would embrace him or remind him that he wasn't alone.

Aziraphale let himself stand in that tranquil darkness for a few moments. Let himself breathe in the subtle smell that lingered from the ether they were kept in. He hardly ever got them out and the brush of nostalgia that the sensations brought forth was sustaining him in that instance, reminding him of all the good that he had done, all the times from long before when it had been the norm to wander with them proudly visible. That is, before the humans came along and didn't understand, needed answers to questions they couldn't give and they had begun to hide amongst them instead.

But this wouldn't do.

This wasn't what he had come here to do.

He took a deep inhale, holding his breath for a few more seconds before he unfurled his wings on the exhale. He gave them a cursory glance in the mirror, scrunching up his face in mild contempt at the sorry state they were in, dusty from their containment.

"I'm glad it's only me here right now. The higher ups would have a fit." The words came out in a soft grumble, a half relieved sigh at the notion that he was alone slipping past the pit of loneliness that had been consuming him. 

He really was such a contrary being. One moment he hated it, the next he rejoiced it.

He ignored the hissing notions that still wormed their way into his head, instead turning away from the mirror to find a suitable place to groom himself. His fingers had already started before he had found a place to sit, twisting and tugging at itching feathers that were making themselves known the longer he had them out in the open. "When was the last time I did this? Too long ago. That's for sure."

He continued to tut and tsk at himself as he plopped himself down, focusing on one wing and then the other. It was an arduous task, one filled with somehow knotted together feathers and tweaking unruly down until it lay flat and in position like it should. There were a few that came away altogether but he ignored them as they fell, knowing in the way they dropped off into his hands and fluttered to the ground, that they should have been gone a long time ago if he'd thought to check on them. There were a few difficult spots, frustrating, irritating tangles that he couldn't help but curse and bemoan at, all the while ignoring his heart, threatening to beat out of his chest, every time a stubborn piece of dirt took longer than it should to leave his white shimmering wings.

It wasn't until he finished, back in front of the mirror, fiddling with the hardest to reach feathers on his back that he realised they were all the spotless white they had always been.

There were no darkening stains, no grey spaces or sparse black feathers leaking through like ink on gleaming snow. 

Fear and paranoia shed from his back like another layer of itching feathers, his shoulders falling as the weight on them lifted. 

"See?" The word left him in a puff of air, misting up his reflection in one relaxing exhale. 

He continued to fiddle with some feathers, pushing and pulling them to make sure they stayed in position, ever the perfectionist now that he had a task before him. "I really should do this more often."

He dropped his hands, letting his wings relax before miracling his collar back to how it should be, running a quick hand through his hair to tame his wayward locks. 

"Absolutely nothing to worry about."

[kaesaaurelia]

sick day

For @whumptober2019 day 24: secret injury.

This is a followup to day 5: gunpoint, which was Gabriel/Crowley noncon.

Aziraphale/Crowley, content warnings for references to rape, illness, vomit, and... drug abuse, I guess?  (I mean, it’s just cold medicine, but it’s definitely an abuse of cold medicine.)

Crowley was watching television when the knock at the door came.  His stomach was still roiling from the morning, and he was in such a foul mood that he genuinely hoped it was a door-to-door salesman.  Hell was in the midst of road construction, anyway, and could use the extra building material.

But when he cracked the door open, it was Aziraphale, looking politely worried, as if he would stop worrying if it was inconvenient at the moment.  (He wouldn't, Crowley knew.)  He was holding several plastic bags and two cartons of soup.

Crowley hadn't realized until now that Aziraphale was both the only person he wanted to see right now, and also the absolute last person he wanted to see.  He tried to make himself speak but all that came out was a very hoarse approximation of "Angel?"

"Oh, my dear, you sound positively awful," said Aziraphale.

"Thanksss?" he said, but Aziraphale hadn't waited for a response before bustling in, the plastic bags rustling.

Crowley drifted into the kitchen in Aziraphale's wake and watched him take out a big cardboard box from one of the bags.

"Do you have bowls?" Aziraphale asked him, tugging a block of styrofoam out of the box and pulling a kettle out of it.  He unwound the cord quickly and plugged the kettle in.  At no point did he consult Crowley on any of these decisions, which was actually fine, because Crowley didn't want to make decisions right now, about anything, although he was still very certain he didn't want Aziraphale to be here, and equally certain that he just wanted Aziraphale to sit next to him and talk to him forever about nothing.

"Er.  No?" Crowley said.

"You do now," said Aziraphale.  He filled the kettle up and set it to boil.  "I'm afraid they didn't have a fancy kettle with a lot of bells and whistles, I know you like that sort of thing, but there are only so many bells and whistles one can add to --"

"What are you doing here?" Crowley blurted.

Aziraphale took a bowl out of his cabinet -- fussy porcelain ones, in a blue and white pattern -- and began to spoon soup into it, out of the carton, with a ladle that Crowley also definitely hadn't owned before.  "I'm keeping you company," he said.

"Didn't know you needed soup for that," said Crowley, watching the bowl fill up with soup.

"It's supposed to be soothing when you've got a sore throat," said Aziraphale.  "Which you do.  How's the coughing by the w-- oh, oh dear," said Aziraphale, as Crowley suddenly remembered just how scratchy his throat was and began coughing again.  A nasty little glob of mucus and blood ended up on his hand, which he tried to hide from Aziraphale, and failed.  "Is that blood, Crowley?"

"I'm fine, it's fine, just -- just a lot of coughing.   It's a cold, or ssomething."

Aziraphale gave him a look, the sort of look that made Crowley wish he was wearing his sunglasses.  "When have you ever had a cold before, Crowley?" said Aziraphale.  "Ever?"

In the background, the television emitted syrupy clarinet music as Crowley tried to come up with something to say.  "Well," said Crowley.  "Well I mean."  He cleared his throat.  It tasted metallic.

"Crowley, what happens when you get a cold?  What are the symptoms?" Aziraphale asked, in his I am being very patient with you now, I hope you know that voice.

"Well, there's coughing, and sneezing, and, and headaches," said Crowley, "and... throwing up?" he hazarded.  Seemed a safe bet.  Most human ailments tended to have throwing up in there, and he had definitely been throwing up.  "Oh, and sores," he added, with confidence, because he'd definitely heard of cold sores.

Aziraphale looked no less worried.  "How do you know it's a cold and not... something worse?" he asked.

"Like what?"

"Well.  Well it might be, I don't know, tuberculosis or something," said Aziraphale.

"It's not tuberculosis," said Crowley, rolling his eyes.  "Where would I even get that?"

"I don't know!" said Aziraphale.  "But I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong, Crowley!"

"I didn't asssk you to h--"  Crowley promptly started coughing again.  It went on and on, and Crowley genuinely wondered if he was going to discorporate from this, if his body wouldn't just shake apart from the violence of the cough, and his eyes were watering and his head hurt terribly, and when he was finally able to stop coughing, he was dizzy for a good few breaths.

Finally, when Crowley had caught his breath, Aziraphale said, "May I please stay and keep you company, at least?"

"Fine," said Crowley.  "But I don't want to talk about it."

Aziraphale gave him a tiny, hopeful smile, and Crowley's eyes started watering again, but thankfully, Aziraphale had to turn away for a moment to put the bowl of soup on a plate, and Crowley wiped the tears away before Aziraphale handed him the soup.

Crowley didn't want the soup.  He didn't not want the soup, but his stomach had not been the same since it'd had an archangel dick in it.  Crowley wasn't sure if it was a physiological issue or if his stomach simply objected to archangels on lack of principal, but either way, he'd been nauseous on and off all day and had had to reinstall the gag reflex a couple of times.  He'd decided just to leave it in for now.

Maybe the soup would get the taste out of his mouth, metaphorically.  He took a spoonful.  It was nice.  Salty.  It stung going down, but it didn't make him cough, at least.

"Why don't you go sit down with that?" Aziraphale said.  Normally Crowley would have objected to being ordered around in his own home (or out of it), no matter how gently, but coughing was tiring and there was a couch to loll around on.

Aziraphale joined him in a few moments, with his own bowl of soup, and also two mugs of tea.  Crowley could feel Aziraphale's eyes on him, soft and worried and kind, and he almost told him; he almost said So the actual thing is, your boss squirted holy water down my throat and then stuck his comically large dick down same, and then, not to be outdone in sheer depravity, I bit off his dick and ate it, but the trouble was...

The trouble was, really, that Aziraphale might believe him.  He might not, and Crowley didn't want to think about that, didn't want to consider the possibility that Aziraphale would think he'd make something up like that.  But the real trouble was that Aziraphale might hear that, and think, Yes, Gabriel would do that, and then he would think But that's horrible!  Somebody ought to do something about him! and then -- and then Aziraphale would march right up to Heaven and say -- what?  Crowley was no longer familiar with the procedures of Heavenly Resources, but he couldn't imagine this going well for Aziraphale.  At best, he would end up Falling so Heaven could save face and shut him up.

Aziraphale didn't deserve any of that, so Crowley wasn't telling him, ever.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the television host wander around a dilapidated garden, talking about vegetables and occasionally fondling hedges in an overfamiliar way.  "Where is this house, anyway?  I think I've been there," said Aziraphale, after a while.

"Dunno, I missed the start of it while we were arguing about soup," said Crowley.  "Now we'll never be able to follow the plot."

"We weren't arguing about soup," said Aziraphale.

Crowley stopped talking.  He was aware of Aziraphale, on the other side of the couch, without seeing him; aware of the weight of him on the cushions, the warmth of him, the mild scrape of his spoon against his bowl.  He closed his eyes, and tried to make this be enough.  This should be enough, he knew; it had been more than enough only a week ago.  But now he wanted to lean against Aziraphale, and if he did that it still wouldn't be enough; he'd want Aziraphale to hold him.

He tried not to think about Aziraphale's hands on his back, or in his hair, or how Aziraphale smelled.

After the television provided a thrilling recital of statistics about glasshouses, Aziraphale put his soup bowl down on the coffee table and cleared his throat, awkwardly.  "Was it a... was it a work thing?" he asked, tentatively.

Crowley didn't have it in him to start another fight with Aziraphale.  "Yeah," he said, weakly.

"I'm sorry," said Aziraphale.

Crowley didn't ask what he was sorry about.  "It's fine, angel."

"Is the soup helping?" he asked hopefully.

"A little."  There was a chunk of chicken in his next spoonful, though, and the feel of it sliding down his throat was too much.  Crowley started coughing, getting chicken soup all down his front, and then hurriedly put his bowl down and rushed to the bathroom, whereupon he threw up once more.  The soup did not taste half as good coming up.  "Fuck," he muttered, chugged three glasses of water, and wandered back out, shakily.

Aziraphale was standing uncertainly outside the bathroom, looking more worried than ever.

"It's fine, angel," Crowley said, before Aziraphale could accuse him of anything.

"I brought, er.  I brought medicine," said Aziraphale.  "I don't know if it would help but that sounds -- well.  Very unpleasant."

"Mm.  Yeah," said Crowley.  "What sort of medicine?"

"I don't really know," said Aziraphale.  "I went to the chemist and said, 'Have you got anything for sore throats?' and they did, so I bought one of everything.  They seemed concerned.  I said it was a very bad cough.  Which it clearly is!"

Crowley considered this.  "Well.  Worth a try," he said.  "Did you get any of the stuff with heroin in it?"

"I don't think they sell that anymore," said Aziraphale.

"Ah, well, it's not very good if you drink it anyway," said Crowley.  They made their way back into the kitchen, where Aziraphale dumped his new collection of cough and cold remedies out onto the counter.  "Which one is the best?" Crowley asked, frowning at the lengths of the words on some of the labels.

"I asked, and they said it depended on the cough," said Aziraphale, as though he was suspicious they'd been withholding information.

"Could just try them all," said Crowley.

"I suppose it couldn't hurt," said Aziraphale.  "It is medicine, after all."

Crowley ended up skipping anything in a tablet, because swallowing solid things did not seem like a good idea just now, but he worked his way through four or five (or six? He was beginning to lose count) nasty little plastic cups of various cough medicines, and then downed some tea with honey to get rid of the taste.

"Well?" Aziraphale asked, expectantly.

"'Ss all a bit ssswimmy," said Crowley.

"Oh dear," said Aziraphale.  Crowley made his way carefully back to the couch before collapsing onto it.  "Do you feel better, at least?" 

"Mm.  Nope.  Maybe," said Crowley.  Aziraphale sat down next to him.  "I feel.  I feel drunk."

"Well.  That might be better, depending," said Aziraphale.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, across the terrible distance imposed by the fact that the couch was not a loveseat, and decided just this once, it would be fine to lean up against Aziraphale.  He lurched across the couch, and ended up with his head resting on Aziraphale's shoulder.  "Definitely better," he said.

"Ah," said Aziraphale.  "You are definitely drunk.  Or something similar."

"Sssomething sssimilar," said Crowley, for the sheer sibilance of it.  "Tasssted bloody awful though.  Wine'ss better."

Aziraphale considered him for a moment, and then put his arm around Crowley's shoulder.  It was good.  It was much better than sitting at the opposite end of the couch.

He turned his face so that it was pressed against Aziraphale's chest, and this -- this was ideal.  He felt safe like this.  "'M glad you're here," he mumbled into Aziraphale's jacket.  "Talk to me?"

"About what?"

"Anything," said Crowley.  "Jussst want.  Jussst want to hear your voicsse.  Not work," he warned.  "Bookssss, maybe.  Anything.  After it happened, all I wanted wasss to hear your voicsse."

"Oh," said Aziraphale.  There was a long silence, and from the way Aziraphale's breath had hitched, Crowley realized, vaguely, that he might've said too much.  But then Aziraphale spoke again.  "Well!  Well, I started reading last night and forgot to close the shop, so my first customer today came in at seven in the morning -- can you imagine!  Buying books at seven in the morning!"

"Terrible," agreed Crowley, muzzily.

"Awful," agreed Aziraphale.  "Who raised these people?  So, of course, I said..."  He continued on in this vein for -- well, Crowley didn't know how long, because Crowley fell asleep soon after.

He woke up several days later in his bed, remembered everything with mingled horror and fondness, and resolved never to take cough medicine again.  But he did call Aziraphale and assure him that he was well, and he didn't cough all day, and they arranged to go to the show Crowley'd had to miss before, because Gabriel had mysteriously failed to arrange a meeting, and (Aziraphale had added) he didn't much want to see Gabriel anyway.

[ophelias-dive]

this is my first fic so take it easy on me ok? It’s 5 am and I started writing at about midnight so it’s a quickie, I just needed to get the bellarke hype out of my system so I could focus on work and real world responsibilities. 

Here goes nothing, hope you enjoy

The last 4 min of Matryoshka from Clarke’s perspective, plus the passionate moment I need but will probably never get from J. Roth.

Canon Divergence: Everything is exactly the same except Bellamy broke up with Echo after that fight scene in 6x04

______________________________________________________

CLARKE

Josephine was staring at her, almost grinning. It was infuriating.

“I’m sorry”  the echoing voice said from above, 

“but her brain can no longer support two minds”

Clarke felt a shiver run down her spine from that statement. This time she’s really dying - throat split open inside her own mind - after all that fighting, after she almost made it.

“What are you talking about? Do something! They’re both still in there!”

  Octavia’s voice echoed a little softer, like it was closer. Clarke felt relieved that she could at least hear a familiar voice before the end. Octavia was still trying, she clearly cared, and it gave Clarke comfort, like a soft embrace to lull her into the unknown.

 “Latent neural activity continues for a short time after death, but once the head stops telling the heart to beat, it’s over, ok?”  Gabriel’s voice once again confirmed that there was no hope anymore, that Clarke should let go…

“The heart and the head… The heart and the head!” 

It was only a whisper, but instantly she recognized Bellamy’s voice, quoting her own words from years ago back to her. Even dead and buried deep down in her own mindspace, his voice still made her shiver a little bit, and the memory of the day they had that conversation still stung…

Clarke suddenly felt this thumping course through her. A pulse, she realized, her own heartbeat - it was back - because of him. Bellamy was doing that somehow. It dawned on her: It’s CPR. He’s trying to keep her heart beating to give her time, so she can regain control of her mind. She couldn’t believe it, that he was still fighting for her, even now.

“Bell…”  All the hope Octavia’s voice had before was gone, and now she just sounded sad.

“No. I’m not losing her again! Come on Clarke! Come on!”

 His voice was shaky but full of resolve, and it almost sounded like he was crying… And then Clarke felt the unmistakable feeling of having a deep breath being forced into her lungs, Bellamy’s lips distant, but warm. She could almost feel it, could almost feel her whole body again, like it was getting closer, like she might be able to reach it.

“Clarke! Clarke, I need you! Maddi needs you! Now WAKE UP!” 

Did he really say that? Or is she just hearing what she wants to hear, imagining all this devotion? She wants to fight back. She wishes with her whole heart she could find her way back to him, back to Maddi. 

“Bellamy, she’s gone”  Octavia’s quiet tone, almost whispering, couldn’t hide the grief behind her words She had given up. What if O was right? What if Bellamy can’t do it? What if, after all this effort, and both of them fighting so hard together, what if she couldn’t make it?

“NO. SHE’S. NOT! WAKE UP CLARKE, COME ON!”  

He really was crying. That alone almost brought tears to her own eyes, but she didn’t have the strength. But then an even stronger pulse happened, one that shook all of her, and brought her almost all the way back to the surface - She could feel her body lightly, the room was warm and Bellamy’s compressions were much more intense..

“I’m not letting you go. You’re a fighter, NOW GET UP AND FIGHT!” 

Another major pulse, and now she felt her body like she was fully there. The spot where Bellamy was striking felt sore - any other time the pain would have bothered her, but right now it was the best feeling in the world - he struck down again. It gave her the last bit of strength to fight her way back to him, and in one swift move, she grabbed the axe, brought it up behind her head and then down again, right into Josephine’s skull. Instead of feeling the impact against meat, bone and brain, like she expected, the axe slid right through Josephine as she shattered into pieces that fell to the ground, and suddenly everything went dark. 

.

.

.

For a split second, Clarke didn’t know where to go, what to do, until she felt Bellamy once again force a deep breath into her lungs. Instinctively, she reached forward, not wanting to lose contact with his warmth, his lips, and then her eyes were open, and she was back. 

It felt like the first intake of air someone takes after almost drowning, and she pulled it all in with a loud sharp inhale, but it came in all wrong, causing her to gag and cough. 

Bellamy’s hand cupped the back of her head as the other one cupped her face, softly grazing her cheek. He felt really close.

“Just breathe… Just breathe.” 

She concentrated on it, and once her breathing got a bit more steady, she finally looked up. There he was, only a few inches from her face, Bellamy Blake. He looked her in the eyes intensely, expectant.

“Clarke?” 

She was speechless, looking back at the man who just risked everything and everyone, who fought heaven and hell to get her back… All she could do was reach for him as she let out a half-cry half-sigh, and as he hugged her back, she just held on, not wanting to let go, breathing him in. He showed no intention of letting go either, which somehow calmed her down and hyped her up simultaneously. Finally able to speak, her words coming out like a prayer, she repeated back to him

“The head and the heart”

She felt him nod in agreement against her, and couldn’t hold back from burying her face into his neck and tightening the embrace even more. They were both shaking and breathing heavily, and she wanted to stay like that forever, but after a few seconds, a wave of dizziness washes over her, interrupting their bliss. She whines quietly in complaint, and he calls out her name in a breathy whisper, but before she can explain, everything goes dark again. 

______________________________________________________

BELLAMY

He almost lost her. It terrified him, to his core. But somehow, like always, he finds himself with Clarke and Octavia, feeling truly happy, and wishing he could freeze the moment and live in it forever. 

She lets out a quiet whine against his shoulder and he thinks maybe he held her so tight it managed to hurt her. Softening his grip and distancing their bodies, he looks at her and tries to ignore how cold the air between them feels

“Clarke…?” He asks softly, and she looks as if she’s about to say something, but instead, her eyelids fall shut and she goes limp against him. 

“Clarke!” He lays her back into the operating table as he tries not to panic, Octavia silently moves up closer and stares intently at Gabriel, who is too entranced in his own grief for Josephine and takes a second to notice what is happening. The rebel Prime finally realises Clarke passed out and wipes away his tears before checking the monitors and Clarke’s pulse. She starts moving and opens her eyes only a little, drowsily managing to sit up and mumble something incomprehensible.

“mmh…Maddi… safe?” is all Bellamy can understand. 

“We’ll get Maddi, and everyone else too, but first we need to make sure you’re ok” He says firmly, knowing she won’t like it. She stares into his eyes, worried, but doesn’t quite have the strength to argue yet. 

Gabriel clears his throat to get Bellamy’s attention.

“She’s fine, but her nervous system is readjusting. Give her a few minutes, then make sure she drinks all this water and eats something.”  

He says this while opening a cabinet and handing Bellamy a few bars of dried fruits, then sets a couple of water bottles on a table a nudges it closer to Clarke.

Bellamy, still standing next to her, sees that she’s now fully alert again, and as they exchange silent looks, he takes a deep breath that comes out as a sigh of relief. 

Octavia offers a soft smile in Clarke’s direction 

“I’m glad you’re ok. You scared me there for a second.”

Clarke pulls her in for a hug, and while they hold each other, O looks at Bellamy intensely.

“You did it Bell. She’s ok. She’s safe.”

He nods, and slowly scans the room for a stool, then pulls it up next to Clarke and sits there, because there’s no way in hell he’ll leave her side ever again. 

Octavia starts to prepare for the rescue mission, grabbing provisions and shoving them in a backpack while Gabriel opens a hard case full of guns. Octavia makes a small noise of indifference, not impressed, so he opens another hard case next to it, this one filled with swords and knives, motioning to them casually

“What about these?”

Octavia smirks

“Now that’s more like it” 

She grabs two swords and a knife and starts to make her way to the bikes outside, but hesitates before stepping out of the tent with Gabriel, looking back at Bellamy for instructions. Clarke speaks first

“We leave in 15 minutes.” As she says it, she reaches for the water bottle in Bellamy’s hand and he extends it towards her, letting his hand linger on hers, still intoxicated by how good it feels to have her back. She takes big gulps and he watches her intently. 

Gabriel and Octavia walk away from the tent and when their voices fade out, Clarke and Bellamy look at each other again, but this time, it feels more electric than it ever did before, like they’re truly seeing each other for the first time just now. 

Bellamy knows he’s been in love with Clarke for ages, and he always thinks the feeling can’t possibly get any stronger, but it always does. 

Without saying anything, he stands up from the stool and slowly closes the space between them, standing in front of her as she slides down from the table and leans her back against it. Bellamy looks at her face and takes it all in, how beautiful she is, how flushed her skin looks, the strand of hair sticking to the sweat on her forehead. He reaches for it and delicately moves it away, then grazes his fingers on her cheek, and finally says, so quiet and breathy it almost doesn’t emit sound

“Clarke, I-” 

But he doesn’t get to finish that sentence.

_____________________________________________________

CLARKE 

Bellamy is walking towards her, being very intense, and he looks so good it’s almost a sin to just witness it, and then he’s touching her hair and her face and she just can’t hold it in anymore. She almost died, again, and she’s been in love with him for so long it’s embarrassing, and next time she’s sure she’s about to die she wants to go through that knowing she at least got to do this first, so she cuts him off halfway through saying her name with that raspy irresistible voice and just goes for it.

She leans on her tiptoes and puts her hand behind his neck to pull him down, and when their lips touch, he instantly wraps his arms around her waist pulling her close, and her stomach is filled with hundreds of butterflies doing flips and loops as she wraps her own arms around his neck. The kiss is painfully slow at first. They hesitate a few times, lips grazing and teasing, and then finally they melt into it. For a while it’s innocent and soft, but then Clarke gets a little braver and runs her tongue across his bottom lip, and he parts his lips open causing the kiss to ignite, tongues swaying and twisting, bodies pressed against each other tightly, Bellamy’s hands going up under Clarke’s shirt and grabbing at her waist. It feels too good to be true, and when they part lips for a split second, both can’t help but laugh a little, and then, still smiling, press their foreheads against each other. 

Bellamy breaks the silence first.

“I meant what I said. Did you hear? I need you, Clarke. Don’t ever scare me like that again” 

His words made her breath shaky and her heart skip a beat. Her whole skin was on fire. The effect Bellamy had on her had always been intense, and she always doubted it could get better, and yet it always did. 

 “Bell. I need you too. So much. Thank you for fighting so hard to get me back.” 

Bellamy looked at her with a stupid smile on his face and leaned in for another kiss, this time he was glib, playful, as they both indulged in how happy they felt in each others’ arms. He nibbled at her lower lip, then her cheek, then down the side of her neck, and landed small pecks from the nape of her neck into the curve of her collarbone, then blew softly on her skin to give her shivers as he came back up to her ear and whispered

 “Clarke. I love you.” 

He pulled away a little bit to look into her eyes and as she grinned at him, Clarke whispered back, barely audible,

“I love you too, Bell.”

Both of them let out a deep breath they didn’t know they were holding as they exchanged looks, taking each other in. Bellamy reluctantly unlatches from Clarke and steps beside her,  sliding the fruit bars from his pocket into her hand.

“Eat something, you’ll need your strength”

Clarke opened the first bar and took a bite. “So what’s the plan?”

Bellamy squirmed

 “I was hoping you would have one, princess” 

Clarke dwelled on it for a few seconds. 

“I might have an idea…”

[unityghost]

All Cretans Lie

Part 24 of Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels. Here thar be angst, mateys. 

This story is based on a prompt from @commonercommenter​, who suggested:

The voices start to fade, start telling Gabe to hate himself less and less. He finds he’s compelled to do it himself.

Thanks, commonercommenter!

At the moment I'm not taking prompts, but suggestions are welcome. Thank you for reading! Please take note that there are subtle references to sexual assault in this story.

Perhaps Gabriel should have been horrified, or frightened, or - at the very least - just a little bit concerned.

The truth was that he had anticipated this, no matter how much he didn’t want it to happen.

He confined himself to bed that morning, trying to ward off a splitting headache. He knew he ought to drink water, but couldn’t bring himself to move. That he had been up much of the night, caught between vivid nightmares and vague but terrifying images he couldn’t quite recollect upon waking, didn’t help any of what was going on.

When he hadn’t exited his bedroom by lunchtime, there was a knock at the door. Gabriel couldn’t make himself sit up, but he managed to turn over when the door clicked open.

“Don’t mind me,” Gabriel muttered. “Just a headache.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean moved closer to the bed and peered down at Gabriel. “You know, Gabe, just because Sam isn’t here doesn’t mean you gotta hole up in your room.”

“Excuse me?” With all the appearance of effortlessness he could manage, Gabriel pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Pardon my audacity, headmistress, but I have no plans to swaddle myself in misery. I prefer to think there’s a difference between being neurotic and being lazy.”

“Hey look, come on, I didn’t say that.” Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. “I know you don’t need Sam to spoon-feed you. Just thought I’d check in.”

Gabriel groaned and edged into a proper sitting position. He massaged his temples. “I’m fine. Are you looking for help with something? Translations? The Sunday crossword? Leftover coffee that’s gonna go to waste if no one drinks it? Because I’m up for - ”

“Why don’t you just tell me what’s the matter, huh?”

Gabriel froze, then looked away. “I …”

“Even if it’s just that you’re missing Sam. I know it can be a little - ”

“All right, give me some credit, will you? I think I can keep my separation anxiety under control for a couple of days. You know what’d help? A fistful of Excedrin.”

“Are you sick or what?”

“I’m not sick.” Gabriel paused. “Not technically. More … uh …”

Dean waited.

Finally, Gabriel sighed. “Don’t freak out. It’s my grace.”

“Yeah?” Dean sounded unperturbed. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I mean it’s … I mean … right now, it’s …” Gabriel cleared his throat. “It’s not there. It’ll come back,” he added hastily, without meeting Dean’s eyes, “It will. I promise. This happened a hell of a lot with Asmodeus. Made sense: he’d take a truckload of it and suddenly it had a mind of its own, fighting back, in some kind of panic mode. Spring into action so hard it hurt. Then, other times, it was as resigned as I was.” Gabriel’s shoulders tensed. “Can’t say that made him too happy.”

Dean took a few seconds to process what Gabriel had told him. Then, slowly, he nodded. “I just made some lunch. I know you don’t have a strong stomach right now but if your grace is down for the count then you should have something to help get it back in gear.”

“I know. I know I should.”

“Here, come on, come out to the kitchen. Jack’s gorging himself on pizza. You should have some. Or something lighter, if that’s what you want. Come hang out with us.”

“I’m not much fun at parties right now.”

“Jack wants to feed you.” Dean got to his feet and clapped Gabriel on the shoulder.” Come on, buddy, get up.”

No, Gabriel thought, neither of them really wanted him there; and if Jack thought otherwise, he’d quickly recognize his mistake.

Gabriel closed his eyes.

Shut up.

He opened them again.

No one’s lying. No one’s delusional.

“Are you a hundred percent on that?” Gabriel asked Dean.

He’ll say yes.

“Yeah, we’ve been saving you a seat,” Dean told him.

And he means it.

It had been months since Gabriel’s arrival, months since Sam had begun telling him that it was possible to get better - to shake off at least a fragment of his self-abuse, so that the pain became sometimes, and not always; to have fewer dreams, fewer attacks of memory; to ask for help without the fear of violence or derision.

“All right,” Gabriel agreed. “Just … give me a few minutes.”

“Come out when you’re ready. It sounds like you’re sure this isn’t anything to call Sam over.”

“Let the kid have his downtime.”

“Ah, sure, yeah, downtime. Look at all the fun he’s having over in Tulsa.” Dean pulled his phone from his back pocket and, after a few seconds of scrolling, held it out so that Gabriel could read Sam’s text messages: Had to tell them I learned to be “respectfully dominant” toward my wife from my preacher dad. And then, half an hour later: I’ve been prescribed a double dose of prayer; take twice a day.

“Ha,” said Gabriel, “Gross. What is he doing?”

“Masquerading as a religious fanatic so he can get an inside look at what’s going on with kids under ‘Satanic influence.’ Their parents keep ending up dead, which is apparently all it takes for the kids to snap out of it. Not a pretty picture.”

“And is Cas putting on the same show?”

“Probably not as convincingly. Sam’s really good at looking remorseful.”

“And Cas has a penchant for looking confused. Proud of them both. It’s not every day you find that kind of raw talent.”

“So what do you need from me, then?”

Gabriel tensed. “You’re not pissed. That’s … appreciated.”

“All right. We’ll be waiting for you.”

“Consider me officially RSVP’d.” Gabriel forced himself to stand. His head stung, but he wasn’t dizzy or nauseated. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

While Dean was gone and Gabriel was getting dressed, he took inventory of his body - not to assess the effects of gracelessness, with which he was sorely familiar, but to better understand his response to Dean’s invitation to Sam’s absence, and to the question of, What are they going to do to me so long as I’m useless?

Over these last several months he had learned to read each one of them. It was anything but a smooth or rapid process, but Gabriel knew that he wouldn’t have fallen for Sam’s imaginary repentance in a house of prayer - because by this time, he could recognize when Sam was being honest. He could recognize when Dean was being honest. Neither of them had the time for diplomacy, Castiel couldn’t help being frank, and Jack had the colorful forwardness of any child.

There’s nothing to be scared of, Gabriel told himself, just to see whether he could identify his own sincerity.

And there it was. Wherever the assertion had come from, it was likely correct.

“Uncle Gabriel!” Jack exclaimed when Gabriel came into the kitchen. “Dean made pizza.”

“Dean made pizza,” Gabriel agreed.

“You should try some.”

“I … should not. Because I’m not hungry enough to take advantage of his masterpiece.” If that’s okay, he considered adding, but didn’t. “Gonna grab, I don’t know, an apple or something.”

“Uncle Gabe.” Jack looked somber. “You really should. Sam says that - "

“It’s fine,” Dean interrupted. “Guy’s just not up for it. We have apples.”

Jack shrugged. “Okay.” He bit into the slice of pizza, shut his eyes, and made muffled sounds of delight.

“He’s having a religious experience,” Dean told Gabriel.

Gabriel smiled. “I’ve been responsible for some of those, and I wouldn’t disagree with you.”

He spent most of the rest of the day locked in his bedroom, per routine; but, a few hours after lunch, decided to search one of the medicine cabinets for something to relieve his headache. He found two separate bottles of aspirin, one two years past its expiration date and the other unopened.

Gabriel hesitated. If someone noticed that he’d had the gall to take from an untouched bottle of medicine …

But there was what Gabriel told himself, and there was what Sam would have insisted upon.

Within half an hour, the headache was nearly gone.

That evening, he got a knock on his door. When he opened it, Sam smiled at him.

“Oh!” Gabriel was surprised. “I didn’t think you’d be back until tomorrow at least.”

“No, this wasn’t a hard case. Just some witch with too much time on her hands.”

“And I hear you’ve become quite the thespian.”

Sam laughed. “You’re doing okay?”

Gabriel hesitated, and Sam’s face fell.

“Turn that frown upside-down, soldier,” Gabriel said. “I’m not falling apart. But - you didn’t talk to your brother, by any chance?”

Sam looked worried. “He gave me some pizza but … not really.”

“Oh. Well, okay - don’t freak out, all right? Because there’s no need for it. But. When I woke up this morning …”

Sam folded his arms, watching Gabriel with fear in his eyes.

“When I woke up,” Gabriel finished, avoiding Sam’s gaze, “I didn’t have any grace. And it’s fine, it’s - it’s happened before. It’s always come back. Always. If it can rebound when I’m in Hell, having it ripped out of me like a tree root, I figure it’ll be fine. I mean, not fine, just - in flux. Not permanently gone.”

Sam frowned, contemplating, searching Gabriel’s face. “You look like you don’t feel good.”

“I’m not the usual picture of health you see every time you come into my room to mop up vomit in the middle of the night, but I’m in one piece.”

Sam bit his lip. “Sorry I wasn’t here this morning.”

“Don’t be. I survived. You know I always do when you need a break from - ” Gabriel paused. “From routine.”

Useless.

Gabriel stiffened. The word, the thought, had come out of nowhere - a hand clawing its way from what appeared to be an otherwise undisturbed grave.

He swallowed. “Anyway, don’t worry. There’s no problem. I’m …”

Nothing.

Not nothing, Gabriel pleaded with himself, No, that’s not what they think. With grace, without grace, that’s not how they -

“Well,” said Sam, “How’re you feeling?”

Gabriel found himself unable to speak.

Here it was again: that thick, dark feeling that swallowed him up, held him down, and gagged him. That putrid warmth coloring the normal with the sinister and contaminating the benign with the grotesque.

Memories, Gabriel told himself; these were memories. Don’t be afraid. Stop being afraid. It’s okay.

Alarm passed over Sam’s face. “Hey - ”

“Um - ”

“Gabriel.” Sam took him by the wrist. “What happened? Why are you shaking?”

“It’ll stop,” Gabriel told him, but didn’t pull away. “It’s just the shivers.”

“I’ll sit with you.”

Gabriel shuddered, overcome by something like fear, or relief, or uncertainty, or perhaps all three at once. “And I won’t fight you on that.”

Sam led him to the bed, lowered himself so that they were side by side, and gripped his shoulder. “I wish I could tell you I know what that feels like.”

“Oh, trust me, you really don’t.”

“When it happens … is there anything that pulls you out a little bit?”

Gabriel shrugged. “I’d like to say that you do, and you do, but it’s still there; it hangs around until it gets bored.” Then, worried that Sam would think he was ungrateful: “But it’s better than being alone. Really. A thousand times better.”

Sam offered a sad smile. “But you don’t tell anyone when it happens, do you?”

“Why should I? It’s just a feeling. It’s not real. I have to wait, that’s all. No need to call for help.”

“It is real,” Sam objected. “The feeling is real. The next time you - ”

“I know, Sam.” Gabriel closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “It’s habit. Instinct. I don’t want to ask for anything.” He looked up at Sam. “Ever.”

“I know.”

Gabriel was overcome with a sudden chill, so that he shuddered once more. His heartbeat hadn’t slowed at all. An unexpected surge of nausea washed through him.

“Calm down,” Sam said softly. “You’re practically seizing.”

Gabriel shrugged Sam away, and left the room as quickly as he could without actually running.

“Gabriel, wait!” Sam followed him into the hallway, where Gabriel began retching.

“Oh crap, hey, no - ” Sam rushed him into the bathroom and helped him lean over the toilet. “Easy, easy does it. You’re okay.”

Gabriel’s breath came in cold, shallow gasps. In his graceless state, he vomited and let Sam hold him in place as it happened.

“I know you don’t care,” Gabriel sputtered. “That you don’t care about how much grace I have. I - ” He heaved again before he could finish.

That was the food that Dean had given him, Gabriel recalled. Dean had expected responsibility that Gabriel couldn’t exercise.

Gabriel couldn’t be trusted - not with their food, not with their hospitality, not with their kindness. He had unwritten the peace of earlier, had spoiled the maybe of “Let’s have lunch together,” defaced the possibility that things were going to be okay.

“Sam, I thought - I - I asked for - ”

He had asked for what he wanted, asked for their food, stolen their medicine -

“Gabriel,” Sam said softly, “Just relax.”

Sincerity made no difference. However genuine their concern and kindness might be, there was no guarantee it would last. Impatience was always waiting in the shadows; Gabriel could smell it just as he could smell his own vomit then and there. Their affection and dedication was like the aspirin he’d removed from the cabinet earlier: there was a cutoff that Gabriel had acknowledged in the past, an inevitable conclusion that he had somehow managed to dismiss lately.

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered. “My grace isn’t - I’m sorry - ”

He should not have allowed himself access to I think it might be okay. Instead, he should have continued waiting for what had to come eventually. When they made up their minds that he was a burden they simply couldn’t handle anymore, the waiting game - which was a special kind of torture - would at least be over.

Gabriel shivered and gagged.

“Breathe, all right?” Sam sounded as though he was trying hard to remain calm himself. “I’m right here; it’s okay, Gabriel.”

He would be in danger if he forgot his place. He shouldn’t have permitted himself to forget that he was their sick patient, their delinquent foster child, their pet that just couldn’t seem to be house-trained.

The end, Gabriel reminded himself, was long overdue.

“Slow down,” Sam instructed, gently lowering him to kneel on the floor. “Just - I don’t know what I did. I’m sorry.”

Gabriel should have reminded himself that the others were poisoning themselves by touching him, by speaking to him, by listening to his voice, by acknowledging that he was there at all.

“Sam,” Gabriel choked, vomit still clinging to his lips.

“Yeah, hey, what is it?"

“I - I haven’t told you everything, and - ” He paused, waiting to see if he would get sick again.

“You mean about Asmodeus?” said Sam. “I know that.”

“You don’t, though; you haven’t seen any of the worst. You don’t realize just how - ”

“No,” Sam said firmly. “We’ve talked about this before.”

There was nothing left for Gabriel to vomit. All that remained was him, only Gabriel - and that couldn’t be gotten rid of. “I’m better, or I’ve been feeling better; I go back and forth, Sam, and I just don’t know!”

Sam guided Gabriel upright. “Let’s go lie down. In my room. Okay?”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel repeated.

“Come here.” Sam half-carried him out of the bathroom and back down the hall.

“All right,” Sam said, easing Gabriel onto the bed, “There we go. I gotcha.”

Gabriel, still trembling, wrapped his arms around his middle and pulled his knees toward his chest.

Sam sat on the edge of the mattress and peered down at him. “If I scared you - ”

“You didn’t. I - that feeling, it wouldn’t stop; it wouldn’t go away. I feel sick and I can’t control anything right now, and I - Sam, I’m not just trashing myself for funsies. There’s a reason I say you shouldn’t care about me. There’s a reason I’m so convinced of that, Sam. Dozens of reasons.” He swallowed, tasting the remnants of vomit in his mouth. “It’s just that you think you have no proof of it. Dad knows why you’d believe something like that after everything I’ve put you through, but all I can do is cram the really, really effed-up shenanigans as far away from you as possible. Because there are whole lifetimes I just can’t talk about. They’re too humiliating, and - and I can’t let you see what he - what I - ”

“You don’t have to, but you can.”

“And,” Gabriel continued hoarsely, “You’re just going to have to take my word for it. This is the one thing you can trust me with, because I was there. I can’t be wrong about what he made me do.” When Sam didn’t reply, Gabriel went on: “I know this is hard for you to hear. And I’m sorry. You just - if you want what’s best for me, for all of you - I don’t know, I guess I deserve the pain of whatever’s in store for me. Why not let myself get hurt, right? You’d think I’d be eager to let it all happen, wouldn’t you?” His breathing began to shallow. “A slow death. A little more of this here, of me lying on your bed with you looking at me like you’re about to cry; and then I’m worried about what’s best for you, and if I can’t trust myself then I’m wrong and you’re the one with your priorities straight. Sam - when the Cretan tells you all Cretans lie, what the hell are you supposed to believe? This is the most confused I’ve ever been and I can’t figure out what to do with any of what’s tearing at the inside of my head.”

Sam took a second to consider his response. Then he answered, “A few of my law professors brought that up in seminars. The Liar Paradox. I used to tell my professors that whichever way you look at it, that guy couldn’t’ve been a Cretan at all. Which means he has no authority.” Sam offered his hand. “That means there are answers. Somewhere. You just gotta think creatively.”

Gabriel’s throat tightened. “So then what’s the answer?”

Sam took his hand. “I don’t know.”

If Sam was made aware, if Sam could witness some of the depraved acts in which Gabriel had engaged - not because he’d wanted to, and yet they had still happened, every one of them - he would not allow this to continue.

Undoubtedly, Sam would think twice about giving up: he felt he had to keep his promise to protect Gabriel, to nurture Gabriel, to show love he probably had to convince himself he really felt. But he would choose to end it, because Sam couldn’t ignore what he knew, in his heart of hearts, to be right.

Sam squeezed his hand. “You can talk to me, you know.”

Gabriel kept his eyes averted. “I just did.”

“If you’ve got more to say, I’m here.”

“I always have more to say.” Let go. Let go of his hand.

“I have a question,” Sam said softly, and Gabriel caught the hesitancy behind his words. Maybe it was now. This was as good a time as any; Gabriel had, after all, just implored Sam to make it swift.

“Listen,” Sam murmured, “Hasn’t it ever crossed your mind that maybe I worry you’ll give up on me too?”

For a few seconds, all Gabriel could take in was the voice in his head - let go; let go of his hand - and then his mind went blank for a few seconds, and finally he heard what Sam had just told him.

“Uh,” said Gabriel, “No.”

“What about the other day?” A twinge of discomfort flickered over Sam’s face. “When I spazzed out about the - ”

“About that self-destructive young whippersnapper who ran into the middle of the road? I just wanted to help you.”

“Well, sometimes I figure there’s no reason you’d want to do that, and maybe you’ll eventually see why I think so."

Gabriel tried to assess his own response to Sam’s confession. On the one hand, he wasn’t very surprised: Sam’s relationship with himself was hardly more impressive than Gabriel’s. Even so, the very idea was almost laughable - but also sickening, and Gabriel felt some of the nausea resurface.

“Shut up,” he told Sam. Then, after a moment’s hesitation: “Are you lying? Part of me hopes you’re bullshitting me. Part of me hopes you’re the non-Cretan.”

Sam shook his head. “Dean’s given up on me before. The guy who knows me better than anyone. If that’s my metric, then ... “ He looked away before returning his attention to Gabriel and forcing a smile. “Kind of proves me right, doesn’t it?”

“No offense to your brother, but his patience is on the low end of the bell curve. And I know he’s sort of your hero, Sam, but the only one who has the final say in who gets to give up on who isn’t Dean.”

Sam shrugged. “I was just trying to make a point. We’re not really talking about me.”

“Aren’t we, though? Because I feel like self-revulsion has become a tautology with us."

Sam frowned. “What?”

“It’s like we’re throwing it back and forth. In fact, I - Sam, it’s almost as if you’re trying to take it away from me. Like if you keep on hating yourself enough, there will only be so much left for me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s like you go grabbing for it. Except - and you should know this by now - there’s an infinite supply of that ugliness to go around. It doesn’t matter how much you try to take on; there’s always going to be more for me. For all of us.”

Sam fidgeted. “Yeah. Fine. But that has nothing to do with anything. Not right now.”

“I don’t want you to get the idea that this isn’t about both of us. There’s so much wrong with me, but I’m not an idiot. I know why you’re so good at what you do.”

For a few moments, Sam was quiet. Then he asked, “You want some water or something?”

Gabriel recoiled.

“Would you like some water?” Sam amended.

There were a few moments of silence. Then, eyes trained on Gabriel’s hand clasped in his, Sam said, “I don’t know how to read you. Sometimes you seem all right, but I can’t be sure, because what would I do if I got it wrong and didn’t think to check in and you …” He swallowed. “What if I miss something?”

“What if you do? It isn’t your responsibility to take my vitals every day.”

“Gabriel, you know what I mean. If something happened to you, just because I looked away for a second, I …” Sam trailed off.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me.” Gabriel knew Sam needed to hear him say it. “And even if it did, it wouldn’t be your fault.”

Sam shifted his gaze to his lap.

“You’re not stupid,” Gabriel pressed. “You know I’m always going to come running to you when things get out of hand. Plant my feet beneath your window, throw some pebbles, get down on one knee, give a speech. I don’t even have the capacity to - ” Here Gabriel paused, because it was precisely this that had soured the afternoon.

Sam looked back at him. “To what?”

Gabriel was suddenly overcome by a memory that turned his stomach again: Asmodeus, holding him down, as a second demon raised Gabriel’s arms and pinned them to the floor so that he couldn���t defend himself. This, Asmodeus knew, was a more effective method than any magical restraints could have been. Magic didn’t have a voice. Magic didn’t have a body that could be clawed, punched, and bitten to no avail. Magic robbed Gabriel of only so much dignity, because with magic there was no hope; there was no wasted combat, no maybe I can get away from him that bled through resignation to the inevitable. When Gabriel was attacked, he flailed under the foul illusion of possibility.

It didn’t matter how safe Gabriel might be now. That feeling, that awful feeling, had lessened in frequency, but increased in intensity whenever it returned. There was no safety. There couldn’t be. The closest Gabriel might come to being truly safe was to ensure awareness that he would never be safe.

“Hey,” Sam said quietly. “What’s the matter, Gabe?”

Gabriel gritted his teeth. The ceiling blurred. “I don’t know.”

“Listen, your grace will come back, and even if it didn’t we’d - ”

“Have every right to throw me away.”

“No."

“And when it’s good to go, I’m a valuable asset, so if someone finds that out and comes looking for me and offers you payment - ”

“I told you that’s not gonna happen. Gabriel, none of this crap is worth your time.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m giving it my time. My time is running to these questions with open arms. I can’t stop it. I can’t stop myself. He was - the memories are too strong.” Gabriel blinked and felt a tear glide down his temple and into his ear. “I can’t fight them.”

“I can help!”

“You are helping. You’re at the helm; you have been since the beginning. You started digging through the rubble at ground zero. And I - and - ” Gabriel let out a tight sob. “You need to lower your expectations, Sam. If you think you can change me then you’re only going to end up blaming yourself.”

“Okay.” Sam slid his hand out of Gabriel’s and lifted him upright. “It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re safe; everything’s okay.”

Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut but allowed Sam to hold him close. “You and Dean and Cas - you’re good at fixing things. You’re the world’s handymen. You’ve got wits as your wrench and the universe is a blocked sink. But I …”

“Gabriel, we’ll figure it out.”

“Things come back so fast; a - a memory, and then something in that memory - it leads to another memory. Sometimes I remember things I didn’t even realize I remembered. So I hear these voices telling me to clear out before it gets too late, and the next thing I know he’s telling me about how no matter where I am, he’ll always be with me - inside of me. And then I start thinking about how I gave in when it all got to be too much. Which makes me think of the things he did, the things he made me do, the things I let him do.”

Sam tightened his grip. “You didn’t let Asmodeus do anything.”

“I could’ve at least tried to stop him, though; it just - after a while it felt like there was no point in trying anymore. But where’s the honor in not fighting back? How can I forgive myself for going down just because he told me I would lose? I believed him. I couldn’t help it.”

“That’s not - ”

“Except I don’t think I could have won, because I … because … Asmodeus was stronger, yes, but there’s more than that. Asmodeus was right. I know that’s not what you think, and I believe you - at least sometimes. I just - I know it. The same way I know my grace, and when it isn’t there. It’s automatic, Sam; it’s in my blood at this point. I just know he was right, like I know glass will break when it falls. He was right about never being able to escape, never being enough for him, for anyone; never being quick enough to give, and being greedy enough to take everything he had to offer, pretending like I deserved any of it - his food, his love - ”

“Don’t say it like that. He didn’t love you.”

“And so what if he didn’t? Is that better? What does that say about me, that he had me locked up for so long and never even learned to love me? It’s like I told you, he was right. The proof is there, Sam, right in front of you. You see it every day. What have I done to show I’m worth anything more than what he said I was? He saw me as - ”

“He saw you through his eyes. I have my own. And for all your talk about weakness, you certainly haven’t stopped trying to fight back against me.”

That surprised Gabriel. “Nobody’s trying to fight you. I’m just … I need you to … to know what I am. That’s all. For my sake. And for yours too. So that I’m not thrown off when it happens, and you don’t keep forcing yourself into the pain that you do.”

“‘It’ has nothing to do with this. And I’m not in pain. But you are. Which isn’t your fault. It’s not because you’re not trying, or because you can’t get better. It’s because anyone, even you, even any of your family, or any of us, would’ve had to put in the same work you are after being put through so much torture.”

Feeling slightly frantic, Gabriel pulled away. “Wrong. You went through it yourself, Sam, and you’re miles ahead.”

“It was different, and I’m different, and I’m not not still a mess; you know that. You’ve seen that, Gabe. And also, you were there a lot longer, and when you got out you had more you had to face, and - I don’t know,” Sam finished, suddenly helpless, “Just cut yourself some slack, man.”

“I’m trying,” Gabriel grated out, “And I can’t.”

“Not yet, maybe.”

“I can’t, Sam, because I - because - ”

“Because what?”

“Because I shouldn’t.”

Sam didn’t say anything for a moment. He watched Gabriel, studying his face, building an answer from whatever he saw there.

Then, at last, Sam said: “You never have to talk about what else he did to you. Not if you don’t think you can. That’s fine. But you have to trust that I know it was his fault, not yours. Those thoughts, Gabriel, those memories - they can haunt you, they can hurt you, but they shouldn’t make you feel guilty.”

Gabriel remained silent.

“I need you to trust me,” Sam continued. “I know you usually do. You’ve got to take that a step further. Whatever I hear from you … it’s not going to make me think you’re disgusting. No one - not him, not you - can change my mind about that. Do you know why?”

Still, Gabriel said nothing, just looked at him.

“Because I know I’m right,” Sam told him. “I know it like I know glass breaks when it hits the floor.”

Gabriel’s breath shallowed.

“It’s okay,” Sam said. “It’s all gonna be fine. It’s just me right now.”

No more of this, no more crying, no more crying, please -

Sam laid a hand on his arm. “Relax.”

There had always been uncertainty. Not once had Gabriel allowed for a unanimous vote in his mind so that Sam’s declarations of loyalty could be accepted, beyond reasonable doubt, as wholly honest.

Now, looking into Sam’s face, something shifted. For a moment Gabriel felt the same sense of absoluteness, the same unquestionability, that he knew every time he thought about his own worthlessness.

For a fleeting second, the verdict became obvious.

“Just for tonight,” Sam told him. “Just for tonight, let me help; don’t ask why. Just for today. We don’t have to worry about tomorrow.”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel stammered for the third time. “I don’t - I don’t know. I can’t figure it out.”

“You don’t need to right now. There’s a lot to figure out. I know that.”

“It’s not; it shouldn’t be. I know I don’t deserve this, and I know I can trust you, and I can’t make them work together.”

“They aren’t working together. One of them’s a lie and we can toss it.”

“What if I know it isn’t a lie?"

“What if I know it isn’t a lie?”

Gabriel stared at him for a moment, and then turned away as he choked on another strangled sob.

“Gabriel, look,” Sam said, “As much as I want you to learn to trust yourself, this definitely isn’t the right time. If all you’re thinking is that we don’t want you here, or that you can’t get better, then you need to come to one of us instead of taking your own word on blind faith. I hate to say it, but if the question is between trusting what I tell you and what you tell yourself - what Asmodeus tells you - listen to me for a while. Only me."

Gabriel kept his eyes averted. “I can’t.”

“Yeah. Exactly. You have to let me take charge a little bit, Gabriel. Until you can stop being so violent with yourself. Not like - I don’t need to watch your every move, and you don’t have to tell me what you’re not ready to. That’s fine. All I’m saying is if you’re not sure who’s right about you, assume I know what I’m talking about. Just trust me, is all.”

“Sam - ”

“Try. Just for tonight. There’s no contract. Just try.”

Gabriel wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “I don’t - ”

“You don’t have to know. Not right now.”

Gabriel stared at him bleakly, feeling numb. Then he leaned into Sam and allowed himself to go limp.

Sam held onto him. Neither of them spoke.

“Don’t make me tell you,” Gabriel muttered at last.

“I won’t. Remember? You called me out on that. And I’m glad you did.”

“I might never, though. I might never be able to.”

Sam hugged him more firmly. “No worries about that.”

“I - ”

Sam remained still, waiting.

“For tonight,” Gabriel whispered.

“Yeah. That’s all.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

It was then that Gabriel realized that some of the terror had begun to abate. His head hurt, but he no longer felt sick.

There was darkness around him, darkness inside of him, but no darkness in Sam’s embrace.

More importantly, there was no insincerity. Just for tonight, the language of Sam’s touch could be read as easily as anything else.

[boltsandashes]

TWD 10x08 impressions

bullets and overall thoughts under the break.

Ok I was wondering why Lydia wouldn’t have recognized crazy doc guy. ...But it also makes it just... really strange that he’d be so loyal to Alpha’s cause when he was so new and not really indoctrinated? He could’ve only been with her for a couple days at that point, right?

Ooh but I do like that he was the one doing the graffiti 

Fuckfuckfuck did they seriously just expose Dante right away?? So... Siddiq’s death actually meant nothing? What the fuck why would they.......... I’m mad about that.

Is it bad that just seeing Daryl and Aaron in the same shot makes me happy?

...Screw you though Daryl, that was your moment to call Carol out. I think I’m officially giving up hope on him waking the fuck up and doing anything useful this year. 

God Zeke just... wounds me. His eyes. He deserves better.

I hate how they picked Siddiq off and now they’re, what, having Gabriel act like an asshole to Rosita to open up the door for Eugene? ugh

That Aaron and Gracie scene though, that made me emotional in about six different ways. (I’m kind of stung by the implication that Aaron never talks about Eric to Gracie though ngl. But I still liked the subtle reference, so torn.)

Aaand ok. Wow Gabriel, unexpected. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Could be interesting for Gabriel’s character maybe? Depending on where they go with it? I’m not mad that he did a dumb thing and killed their information source, if it’s a sign of interesting Gabriel things to come, because it’s ok for characters to do dumb things sometimes, but damn was that a dumb thing for him to do.

Daryl and Connie are so damn cute that is all.

TBH it’s funny that Daryl says talking to Carol lately has been like talking to a ghost, ‘cause that’s pretty much how I feel about Daryl. He’s just... drifting through. No strong opinions, no strong actions. Not really giving a shit about the people he should be giving a shit about (Lydia) and barely stirring up any emotion when he finally confronts a person who’s been haunting him for years (Negan). He’s just... so barely there this year and really the only time he comes alive at all is with Connie, that’s why I’ve been loving them so much. But I am just... I am so meh on this Caryl thing.

Is anyone else just really annoyed by this unnecessarily twitchy new weirdo with Michonne’s group? Just... everything about the way he’s acting irritates me. Not explaining everything to a bunch of strangers makes sense, that’s fine, but the pointless vagueness and completely unwarranted panic is just... god, just say words.

“It’s time to find Lydia.” Thank christ.

Carol what the fuck is wrong with you?? (I get it, ok, I understand. She’s in revenge mode, she’s being irrational. And I get that as a character arc but CHRIST have you ever seen a more obvious trap in your damn life do not lead your people into this.)

Aaand oh look shocking it’s a super obvious trap who’d a guessed.

So.... yeah, I didn’t love this episode. I feel like I was irritated for half of it and bored for another third. Every single week I keep thinking “Ok but this is what’s gonna wake Daryl up” and then the next episode comes and he just keeps on keeping on. He needs to call Carol the fuck out, and then they can deal with what she’s going through, because as this point he’s really just enabling her and letting her put people repeatedly in danger and it sucks for both characters.

I hate that Dante died so fast, honestly. I hate that he was found out so fast, I hate that he’s just gone now. I also hate that walker!Siddiq didn’t bite him while he was attacking Rosita, during that scene I thought it might be sweet and kind of make his death a little bit meaningful if his walker!self ended up saving Rosita and Coco. Idk that was just a passing thought but yeah, since all the Dante stuff was resolved in this episode it really made that whole thing and Siddiq’s death feel so meaningless.

I’m probably gonna post some more thoughts about the characters and relationships over the next few days –– and please send me asks on anything you want me to ramble about! –– but for the moment I’m just... gonna let it settle in a bit. Maybe I’ll feel better about it later.

[the-cookie-of-doom]

POSSESSION

n. 1. The state of having, owning, or controlling something.

Stiles climbed out onto the roof where Mitch was sitting, looking out at the stars. For the first time since Stiles had met him, he looked peaceful. He got the impression that peace wasn't something Mitch saw a lot of, in his line of work.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," Mitch told him, not turning around. Stiles shrugged even though he knew Mitch wouldn't see. At this point, he wasn't surprised that Mitch knew he was there, no matter how quiet he was being.

"Not tired yet."

"Try closing your eyes."

"In a few minutes." Stiles careful climbed down to sit beside Mitch, warily eyeing the edge. He'd never been particularly graceful, and if ever there was a time for him to fall and break his neck, with his luck it would be now. Casting a glance at Mitch, he saw that the exorcist didn't appear to care about the height. Of course he didn't; he'd seen much scarier things than a fifteen foot drop onto soft grass.

"This doesn't work if you don't go to sleep."

"I will, just…" Stiles chewed his bottom lip. He knew what the truth was, that he was afraid, but he didn't want to say that. Not to Mitch, who was never afraid of anything, never even surprised. "Just not yet."

"I don't like it when people waste my time, Stiles."

"I know, I'm sorry, I'm not trying to."

"Then stop lying to me." Mitch finally turned to face Stiles. His features were mostly cast in shadows, backlit by the light down the street. Not that it would make a difference; Stiles could never get a read on him. Mitch was closed off, better at hiding his emotions than anyone else Stiles had ever met. It made him feel at a disadvantage; Mitch never had any trouble reading him like an open book, even if they were strangers.

"I don't know what's going to happen after I go to sleep," Stiles said after a while, Mitch watching him in impassive silence, waiting.

"You're worried you'll hurt someone." The teen nodded, looking down. "I won't let you." Stiles laughed humorlessly, pulling his knees up to his chest. Mitch made it sound so simple, when it was anything but.

"Will you kill me?"

"Do you want me to?"

"It's rude to answer a question with a question."

"You're evading."

Stiles thought he might have seen the shadow of a smile out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn't be sure. Probably just a trick of the light, since Mitch had never actually smiled around him. He wondered what his smile looked like. He wondered if he would ever get to see it.

"I'm losing time. It started with just a few minutes here and there, and then hours at a time. Now it's full nights. And when I wake up, I'm dirty, but I have no idea where I've gone, and I think… I think I might be hurting people. No one believes me when I try to tell them, not even my dad." Stiles took a deep breath, hugging his legs tighter. He could feel Mitch's eyes on him, heavy and scrutinizing, simultaneously making him want to hide and bare everything. "I don't want to keep living like this. Even if I'm not the one killing people, there's still something wrong with me, and if even you don't know what it is, what hope do I have?"

"I don't know everything. If I can't help you, then someone else can."

"Or maybe no one can." Stiles rubbed harshly at his eyes when he felt them stinging, wetness spilling over. "I just—It feels like God must hate me, or something. It's like I'm cursed. Either I'm insane, or I'm possessed, or it's some as-yet-unheard-of problem, and I just—I can't deal with it. And if this is just some divine plan or whatever—" Mitch scoffed, cutting him off. Stiles' attention snapped up to him.

"God doesn't care about you. He's a kid with an ant-farm and a magnifying glass. Those unfortunate enough to make him want to take a closer look just get burned."

"How can you say that, knowing what you know?"

"I can say it because of what I know."

"Then why did you become an exorcist?" Mitch wasn't looking at him anymore, face tilted up towards the stars. After a minute passed, Stiles thought he wasn't going to answer. He was almost surprised when Mitch finally did.

"This is my penance for the life I took."

It was on the tip of Stiles' tongue to ask what that meant. Then Mitch took out a pack of cigarettes and held one to his lips. When he flicked his lighter to life, Stiles saw the gruesome scar running down his wrist, silvery-white in the light, and he knew there was undoubtedly a match to it on his other arm.

The flame died a second later, once again casting them in darkness with nothing but the stars and moon for light. Stiles felt like he'd briefly glimpsed a sliver of Mitch's soul.

Mitch didn't tell him to go inside again, letting Stiles stay out on the roof with him. Maybe because he knew what Stiles was going through; the constant self-doubt about what was real and what wasn't, the feeling that God had condemned him. The crushing loneliness. Maybe, just for tonight, Mitch had decided he didn't want to be alone anymore either, finding a kindred spirit in Stiles.

After Mitch put his lighter away, his body language changed. If not quite welcoming, it was at least open, leaning back on his arms with his long legs stretched out in front of him. Stiles hesitated, still bound up tight with the way he was sitting, but gradually he relaxed as well. Slowly he moved closer to Mitch, waiting to be pushed away like always, but the rejection never came. Mitch just rhythmically tapped his cigarette on the asphalt shingle, like a metronome. Stiles wondered if it was a nervous habit, and almost immediately cast that thought aside; he was the last thing in the world that would make Mitch nervous.

Stiles watched his nimble fingers move, Mitch's arm not quite around Stiles' waist, but close enough that it would only take a small movement to put it there. Stiles wished he would.

As Stiles watched the cigarette slowly turn to ash, burned away to nothing, Mitch would occasionally bring it to his lips for a deep drag. Each time Stiles would lean a little closer. Each time Mitch would let him.

"Can I have one?" Stiles asked when Mitch put out the cigarette a while later, expecting him to reach for another.

"No."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

Stiles turned so that he could better see Mitch, carefully pitched forward on his hands and knees to keep from falling, the position all but putting him in the exorcist's lap. Whatever question he had died on the tip of his tongue, or maybe it was just an excuse. Permission for something he didn't realize he was going to do until he met Mitch's dark eyes.

When he kissed Mitch he could taste the bitter nicotine on his tongue, sharp and unpleasant. But he didn't care because Mitch kissed him back, pulling him closer with a hand curled around the back of his neck, and it was everything Stiles has been dreaming of ever since Mitch pinned him up against the door with his hand around Stiles' throat that first night. Mitch kissed him breathless, until Stiles' lips were swollen and tingly, and he gave a soft whine of disappointment Mitch broke it.

"You should go to bed," he whispered, lips brushing Stiles' like he didn't want to pull away either.

"I don't want to."

"Stiles."

"Come with me," Stiles quietly pleaded. "I don't want to sleep alone." He knew there were seventeen reasons why this was a bad idea, but he couldn't help but want. And he knew Mitch wanted it too, could feel it in the way he kissed, like he was holding himself back. For a moment, it seemed like Mitch would go with him. Then he took Stiles by the shoulder and shoved him away.

"No," Mitch decided, his tone harsh, final.  "Either you leave or I will."

Stiles reeled back as if he had been slapped. He didn't expect such a cold rejection, especially after that kiss, and it stung. More than he would like to admit, sudden tears stinging his eyes from the humiliation.

Not wanting to show how much Mitch cut him, Stiles pulled away and stalked back to his window, climbing through and slamming it close hard enough to make the glass rattle.

 -

Mitch swore, closing his eyes against the emotional whiplash he was picking up on from Stiles, the closed window doing nothing to serve as a barrier against his projections. Usually Mitch was able to block him out, a skill that had been hard earned, but he was starting to get a migraine.

He'd never seen anything like Stiles before; he wasn't a half-breed, or any kind of psychic, and yet his will was strong enough to get through years' worth of defenses Mitch had built up in an effort to not hear the thoughts of everyone around him. Or maybe he was just distracted by the kiss, by his desire. It had been a long time since he'd wanted someone as much as he wanted Stiles. But the last thing he needed was a teenager panting after him like a puppy, especially when said teenager's father was the local sheriff.

Bruising the kid's pride now and showing him that Mitch was not the kind of person he wanted was in both of their best interests. But even as Mitch tried to convince himself of that, Gabriel's words came to him, haunting. 

There is nothing you have ever done for someone else that wasn't first and foremost self-serving. You can dress it up however you like, but you're a selfish prick through and through, and that is why you will never buy your way into heaven.

In his room, the humiliation and longing and loneliness and a dozen other emotions were pouring off of Stiles like poison, and Mitch cursed because he knew what he was going to do as soon as he saw the tears gathering in Stiles’ eyes.

"Fuck me," he said, bitter, and got up. His soul was damned anyway, right?

-

Stiles sat up in bed when he heard the window slide open, the wood grating against itself in protest. A second later Mitch was climbing through like a spider, all black-clad long limbs and grace. He hadn’t expected Mitch to come after him, and he felt cornered, hiding in his bed with blotchy-red cheeks. He felt like a stupid kid after a temper-tantrum compared to the cool and confident exorcist. 

“What do you want?” he asked, proud that he managed to keep his voice steady. It was probably pointless; Mitch could read him like a book before, and that was without Stiles wearing his emotions on his face. 

That was the question, wasn’t it? What did he want. To save his soul, mostly. To not have to spend eternity in hell for the mistake he made when he was fifteen and saw no other way out. To deport as many demons as he could. To get the hell out of this shitty little town that had a way of getting under his skin. 

But none of that mattered to him now. He didn’t want to leave Beacon Hills if it meant leaving Stiles, and the furthest thing from his mind was saving his soul, when all he could think of was ways to damn it further. 

When Stiles got out of bed and cautiously approached, Mitch gave him the raw, unadulterated, sinful truth. 

“You. I want you.”