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chickensarentcheap · 2 years

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Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 94

Title: Painful Truths

Warnings: some angst, brief mentions of child abuse

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @youflickedtooharddamnit, @asirensrage, @residentdormouse, @tragiclyhip, @secretaryunpaid, @raith-way, @jvstjewels, @arrthurpendragon, @ocappreciationtag

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28860450/chapters/103593033

He watches her from the top step; wayward strands of dirty blond hair tumbling into her eyes and down the sides of her face. Her focus intense and unshakable; immersed in the masterpiece that she’s in the midst of creating. Two years ago they’d turned the old storage area above the main house garage into an art studio laying down new floors and putting in insulation and allowing Millie to go cover the walls with brightly coloured, hand painted murals. In the past twenty four months, the space has become her escape; retreating there with life gets too hectic and she needs time away from it all. It hasn’t been easy being the oldest of seven; often put on the back burner in favor of the much smaller kids. Art has been her one constant; the comfort and the relaxation that she sometimes so desperately craves. And she’s turned the space into her very own; paintings and sketches tacked to the walls or displayed on easels, intricately designed wind and sun catchers -made from wire and pieces of beach glass- hanging in the windows and dangling from the ceiling. All of her supplies stored in plastic bins neatly organized on wheeled carts; paints, markers, pencils, and various craft ‘must haves’.

No words are spoken as he joins his daughter; setting a plate of food on the tv tray she'd set up alongside her work station. A buffet of fattening goodies she’d gathered before fleeing the house; an open bag of chips, a container of gummy bears, and a half eaten package of Oreos. She’s always had a sweet tooth; inherited from her father along with his incredibly fast metabolism and his inability to stay still for more than five minutes. And squeezing the meal in between the generous helping of snacks, he steps behind her chair, settling his hands upon her shoulders. Disheartened when he receives no reaction or acknowledgement; ignored when he lightly squeezes her arms and then drops a kiss on the top of her head.

“What’cha working on?”

“A project for school.” She doesn’t look away from the project in front of her. “I know we’re not going right now, but I still gotta hand things in. I don’t want to flunk.”

“Nothing wrong with repeating a year if it comes down to that. A lot of people have done it. Especially when things are out of their control.”

“I do NOT want to be behind. I don’t want to be stuck in that place for an extra year. All my friends will have graduated and I’ll still be going to school with my little brothers and sisters. And I’d be in the same grade as TJ. Uhhh, no thanks. I’d rather not be in a class with him.”

“You know, your brother isn’t as bad as you make him out to be.”

“He’s a pain in the ass. He thinks he’s just soooo cool.”

With a dramatic roll of the eyes, she tosses a dull charcoal pencil to the side and reaches for another. A habit she’d learned from watching him sketch over the years; arming himself with a healthy selection of fresh pencils and using each one until they’re dull and need sharpening again. He isn’t nearly as devoted as his daughter; Millie often spending hours at a time hunkered over a painting or a sketch or painstakingly sanding down beach glass in order to use in mosaics or for jewelry. But he can vividly remember the effort he’d put in as a kid; when his old man was either at work or gone on a drunken bender. Sometimes he’d be gone for days and even weeks at a time; long enough for the happiness and peace of mind to return to their home and for his mother’s easy going nature and smile to resurface. It had been here that had fed his love for art; recognizing his talent before he even started school and always making sure he was well stocked with pencils and paints, canvases and sketch books. Drawing had been his strong suit, and he’d sit out on the back porch and sketch his surroundings; his mother’s flower gardens and the expanse of beach a hundred yards away and every ripple of the ocean and shimmer of sun upon the surface. When his father was gone, mother and son were content; able to chat at the dinner table and dance around the kitchen to music flowing from an old transistor radio. They laughed easily; cuddled on the couch with bowls of popcorn and sugary drinks as they watched reruns of eighties sitcoms.

And he could create. He didn’t have to worry about his father’s old fashioned ideas about what ‘made a man a man’. In the old man’s mind, art was for females, and there was no way any son of his was going to indulge in ‘girly shit’. Tyler had rebelled; refusing to abandon his love for drawing in favor of pursuing more physical pursuits. He was already playing football and soccer and surfing as much as he could; art was what helped him relax and express himself in ways words couldn’t. And when his mother passed away, it was the one thing that made her feel close to him; the hours they’d spent bonding over their love for drawing and the way she’d always praised his talents and efforts and continued to nurture him despite his father’s beliefs. His defiance had led to more than one severe beating; bruises, a busted ear drum, split lips, broken noses and orbital bones as small price to pay in order to keep doing what he loved. But eventually the old man had completely snapped; locking his son in the backyard shed with nothing but a bucket to piss and shit in while the drunk burned all of his drawings and supplies.

He’d spend two days in that dark, confined space. His father eventually coming to his rescue; dragging him out by the hair and forcing him into the house and into an ice cold shower. Then packing his things and abruptly shipping him off; a month-long stay at a military style camp that whipped troubled boys into shape.

It would be decades before he’d even consider drawing again. Sitting on the back deck at the place in Telluride and watching as Millie -only four years old at the time- filled up the pages of a kids’ art pad with various doodles and sketches of the world around her. The house she lived in and the enormous backyard with its goat and chicken pens and the mountains looming in the distance. Pictures of her family; her little brothers making messes and her mum baking delicious goodies and her dad fixing something around the house. And there were drawings of just the two of them together; recreating their trips to the ice cream store or the ‘daddy and daughter’ dates he’d take her on and the snuggles they’d have on the backyard hammock. Everything so intricate and well executed; right down to the smallest details like the bump on the bridge of his nose or his various scars or the freckles on her mother’s face. And one day he’d ripped out a page of paper and grabbed a pencil and joined in; Millie watching with wide eyed wonder -and surprise- as he effortlessly drew a picture of Esme as she puttered around in the vegetable garden. After that, Millie would always request that he either draw with her or for her; climbing into his lap and then quietly and intently observing as he created whatever she requested of him.

But then financial worries had started to consume him; working construction and doing renos and landscaping jobs around town weren’t paying cutting. They were still drowning in a sea of debt; a steep mortgage and car payments, day care expenses and grocery and utility bills. And the lingering medical expenses they’d racked up in both Dhaka and Australia; the long and arduous road of healing that had taken place in order for him to even get back on his feet again. He didn’t have any other skills that he could capitalize on; he’d joined the military fresh out of high school and eventually passed the training for SASR and planned to make special forces his lifelong career. Once he couldn’t handle the physical toll of it, he’d become an instructor; one of the many in charge of whipping standard soldiers into peak physical and mental condition under harsh and brutal circumstances. But his son’s illness and his terrible decision during those weeks leading up to his death had completely destroyed his best laid plans. Turning him into a grief and guilt stricken man that sought solitude in the outback as a form of punishment; turning to booze and pain meds to numb both the physical and the mental anguish. Eventually he’d find his way to the job; a chance meeting in a bar in Broome that would put him in contact with a mercenary who would then pass his name and number along to Nik Khan.

He’d been good at it. A successful soldier turned mercenary with no concerns for his own well being. And it had paid damn good money; he knew he could get his young family out of debt and put food on the table and clothes on their back and shoes on their feet. There’d be left over cash, even. He could spoil his wife and buy her tokens of his love, affection, and appreciation; a brand new car and her closet filled with the brand new wardrobe she hadn’t had in years.

But he’d gone about it all wrong. Returning to the job without discussing it with her first. Annoyed by her apprehension and angry towards his decision; not understanding why she’d doubt his skills and his abilities and try and talk him out of earning easy money. He wanted to provide for his family and so far, he felt as if he hadn’t done that; the overdue notices and the mounting interest on their previous debt were all testaments to what a horrible job he was doing. Being a mercenary was something he could do in his sleep; sometimes killing people nothing more than a small price to pay in order to be able to financially support his wife and children. But as the tally climbed in regards to the lives he took, his body began to pay the price; old war time injuries that were aggravated and new ones that would leave him hobbling and bed ridden at times. And the PTSD; undiagnosed at the time yet relentless and excruciating. At first he relied solely on drinking to numb the pain; Esme able to handle living with him as long as he kept things under control and didn’t become the man he was before. And despite promising her he wouldn’t, it all began to slip away from him; his self control spiralling and his mental issues increasing. He once more fell into the chaos that was alcoholism, and when booze suddenly wasn’t enough, he returned to the Oxy.

And nearly lost his family in the process.

It’s been eight years. Almost nine. Since Esme had kicked him out of the house and the world began crumbling around him. What had followed had been the longest six months of his life; court appointed supervised visitations with the kids, the nights that his wife would call him and express her loneliness and her desperation and her undying want and need for him. Every so often, he would spend the night at the house; arriving after the kids had fallen asleep and allowed to make love to her and to fall asleep in his bed. THEIR bed. But the heartbreak of his disintegrating marriage that would settle in as the sun began to rise; knowing he had to be out the front door before Millie and the boys woke up so as not to confuse them. It had been incredibly toxic, yet either of them had been able to stop; sex was the one thing they’d always been amazing at and it was the only time they weren’t at one another’s throats. Eventually Esme pulled the plug on their ‘arrangement’; she couldn’t handle seeing him wander out the front door and then endure the agony of worrying about whether he’d ever walk back in. In turn, he threw everything had into the job; taking on more and more dangerous missions that could easily end his life. He’d felt used and slighted. And angry. Despite knowing she’d been in the right to throw him out in the first place. He had become a monster; a drug and booze addicted piece of shit that punched holes in walls and ripped doors off the hinges and said horrible, hurtful things to the person he loved more than life itself.

But when all seemed irreversibly damaged and lost, Esme had reached out to him; she missed him and wanted him to come home. But only under certain rules and stipulations; he had to agree to rehab and counselling before he could even think about being under the same roof as his family again. The decision had been easy; he’d devoted himself to doing everything she asked and then some. Together they began repairing things between them; attending individual and couples therapy, learning how to communicate properly, and acknowledging the mistakes that both of them had made. Slowly but surely, things began to improve and the bond between them was rejuvenated; growing stronger with each passing day as they found themselves appreciating and enjoying one another more. And they’d found themselves falling in love all over again; somehow deeper and more profound than it even before. Intently focused on feeding and nurturing the sides of their relationship that extended far beyond just being spouses and two people raising children together. Faithful lovers. Loyal confidants. Steadfast supporters. Fervent and hungry lovers.

And best friends.

Years later, there’s days it’s STILL a lot of work. Where they’re exhausted by their hectic lives and they don’t remember to prioritize one another; so caught up in the kids’ schedules that their marriage gets pushed to the back burner. But somehow, they always find their way back; whether it be through a lunch date or a weekend away. They take time out to rediscover each other; finding joy in all those things…those moments and those memories…that make their love and their bond unlike anything either had ever experienced before.

******

“He’d be the first to have your back, you know.” Tyler says now, as he helps himself to a handful of chips and then snags a wooden chair from the corner; old and rickety and splattered in paint, glue, and various shades of glitter. “If you ever got into some deep shit, TJ would be the first to stick up for you. And bust some heads.”

“I don’t need my little brother sticking up for me. I can bust heads all on my own.”

“There’s only eleven months between you guys,” he reminds his daughter, and bites back a wince as he carefully lowers himself into a chair. The pain is widespread; a dull and continuous ache that has taken up residence in every inch that separates the roots of his hair from the tips of his toes. A stronger dose of medication is keeping it somewhat under control; a powerful narcotic that he’s been assured is less addictive than Oxy but far more effective than anything he can get over the counter. “And I wouldn’t exactly call him little. He’s at least two inches taller than you are.”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s eleven months or eleven years. He’s still my younger brother. I don’t need him fighting my battles for me. I can’t fight them for myself.”

“You’re blood, Millie. And I know he gets on your nerves. In the same way you get on his. But he’s still your family and he’d still beat the hell out of anyone that even thought of messing with you.”

She gives a derisive snort.

“ You know what else I know? I know that things are really tough right now. They’re scary and they’re stressful and we are all feeling it. Whether some of us want to admit it or not. And you’ve been in one hell of a mood today.”

“Do you blame me? You’ve been in a hell of a mood since you got back from Tasmania. You haven’t exactly been a ray of sunshine, you know.”

“No. I suppose I haven’t been. Guess I’m not holding it together as well as I thought I was. But I’m not immune to it, you know? Yeah, it’s your mum that’s missing. And that’s hard enough. But she’s my wife. I wouldn’t have any of you if it wasn’t for her. She is the love of my life. The one holds me together when I’m falling apart. And now she’s not her. And I’m sorry if I’m having a hard time dealing with that.”

Millie chews pensively on her bottom lip. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m just saying that…”

“Whatever mood you’re in right now? Trust me when I say that I’m in an even bigger one. I may be a mess, but I’m still your father. I’m still capable of taking care of you. Of ALL of you.”

“I never said you weren’t. And I don’t blame you for being a mess. You have more reason than anyone to be that way. You’ve known mum the longest. You’ve been through a lot of bad things together. Mind you, it’s normally YOU getting into trouble.”

“Yeah, the irony of it all isn’t lost on me, either. And you know who has always been the one to pull me out of bad spots? To keep me going? Your mum. And now she’s not here and I’m feeling pretty goddamn lost. She’s been the one constant in my life. The same way she’s been yours. Who is the one that’s always been around? The one that’s taken care of you when I haven’t been able to? Who keeps shit running when I’m off working?”

“Mum.”

“She always steps up. She always makes sure that you guys are taken care of. No matter how stressed or scared she is. There is no one in this world I trust the way that I trust her. And I miss her. More than you could ever imagine. And I’m scared too.”

“That you’ll never see her again?”

“I worry about that, yeah. I worry that the last time I saw her really WAS the last time. It terrifies me, Millie. Thinking about a life without her. She is much more to me than just my wife and the mother of my kids. That is my best friend. The person knows everything there is to know about me. Every deep, dark, and even dirty secret. Yet she still sticks around. She still loves me. And a life without her scares the shit out of me.”

“You wouldn’t do something stupid, would you? If that DID happen. Like you wouldn’t go back to the way you were in Colorado? You wouldn’t do something to yourself, right?”

“No. I wouldn’t go back to being that guy. And wouldn’t do anything to myself. Because my kids need me. And I would owe it to your mum to keep going. But I’m not going to lie to you, Millie. I’m in a bad place. Same way you are. And it would make things a hell of a lot easier if we were on the same team here. Instead of butting heads all the time.”

“I don’t mean to, dad. I really don’t. I just…I don’t know…” Sighing heavily, she returns her attention to the drawing in front of her; chewing on the inside of her cheek as she concentrates on her creation. “...I feel too many things. And I don’t WANT to feel ANY of them.”

“We don’t have a choice. We feel what we feel. And believe me, I am NOT faulting you for that. And I do NOT want you keeping all that inside. I don’t want you thinking you have to. It’s not going to make things worse for me because you get emotional. What is going to make them worse is you getting emotional in the wrong ways. And that’s what’s been happening. Understand what I’m saying?”

She nods.

“I know what it’s like to keep things bottled up. I did it for years. I was doing it when I met your mum. Hell, I was doing it after I met her. For a long time. Because that’s what I was taught to do. Because it was drilled into me that I was somehow less of a man if I didn’t.”

“Grandpa taught you that?”

“I wasn’t even allowed to be sad when your grandma died. I was a little boy. I never even got to say goodbye to her. My entire world fell apart. And you know what would happen if I cried about it? You know what he would do to me? If he even thought I was going to cry?”

“Beat you up?”

“It screwed me up. For a very long time. And it taught me some very toxic things. That your mum helped me deal. That she’s STILL helping me deal with sometimes. And I don’t want any of my kids to grow up thinking there’s something wrong with them for being emotional. For feeling the things they do. But what I DO want is them dealing with things the right way. That’s all I’m asking. Remember how I was? In Colorado? Even when we first moved here?”

“A little. You’d get super angry. If mum tried to talk to you about how you were feeling. And then her feelings would get hurt and she’d get upset and then you guys would start to fight. I always hated that. When you’d fight. I hated when you guys yelled at each other. I always used to worry that it meant you hated one another.”

“We’ve never hated one another. Not even when things were at their worst. There’s never been a second I haven’t loved your mum. In the same way I know she’s always loved me. Even during those times she didn’t like me very much.”

“It’s been nice, you know. How you guys are now. The way things have been the last couple of years. It’s like you’re a different couple. You guys talk more. Like REAL talk. No one getting irritated or pissed off. Just nice and calm. And you guys laugh more too.”

“Your mum and I have had to work really hard at things. To get to where we are. And sometimes we still have to work at. You won’t ever see us give up though. Neither of us knows what those words mean.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re both stubborn as hell,” Milllie muses. “Sometimes I think mum is even worse than you.”

“She is definitely worse than I am. But you know what else keeps us going on? Finding ways to keep shit together? We love each other. More than any of you could ever understand. We want to be together. We LIKE being together. I mean think about it…” Reaching out, he tucks loose strands of hair behind her ear. “...would we have seven kids if we DIDN’T like one other?”

“Oh God….” Grimacing, she makes a dramatic gagging noise. “...dad! Ew. Just….ewwww.”

“I know, I know. You hate hearing stuff like that. You hate when we hug or when we kiss or…”

“It’s just…I don’t know….you’re my parents! I don’t want to see that stuff! It’s bad enough that I know how babies are made and it’s obvious you guys do stuff like that. Just…gross. So gross.”

“One day, you’re going to meet the person..guy or girl…that will totally change your mind about that stuff. But in all seriousness, I really do need you to calm your shit, okay? I know it feels like the entire world is falling apart.”

“Falling apart AND on fire.”

“But we need to stick together. We need to help one another. We’re all on edge and we’re all sad and we’re all scared. But I need you on the right side of things. I need you working with me, not against me. I don’t want to fight with you, Millie. I don’t want to lose my patience. You think I like snapping at you? You think I enjoy hurting your feelings? I feel like shit knowing I’ve done things. And I’m sorry. I am. I didn't mean to make it seem like I was taking things out on you. I would never hurt you. You know that.”

“I know you wouldn’t. I know you don’t mean the things you say. I know you don’t mean to yell.”

“Acting like you have been? Getting lippy with me and Nanny Stel and grandpa Koen? Losing your temper? Throwing fits? Even getting physical with your brothers? That’s not good, kiddo. You’re just pushing us away. Don’t do that. Please. We need each other. Right now more than ever.”

“I don’t mean to freak out. And I’m sorry that I did. But everything is annoying me. Every time TJ or Declan open their mouths, everytime Addie whines. Which is A LOT.”

“Addie’s six years old,” Tyler reminds her. “She’s still a little girl. And she’s a little girl that feels huge emotions. She’s scared, Millie. She’s looking for comfort. From anyone and everyone. And you’re her big sister and despite all the times over the years you’ve called her annoying or yelled at her for getting into your stuff, she wants to be with you. She loves you. You make her feel safe. So cut her some slack, okay? That’s all I’m asking.”

“I knew she’d go crying to you. She’s a big time daddy’s girl. And everyone said I was when I was little.”

“You were. We’ve always been close. But you’ve always had a very independent streak to you. You’ve always been a strong kid. Addie’s made of different stuff. She’s more fragile. Emotionally. And she’s very clingy and needy. Always has been.”

“She’s always been your precious,” Millie grumbles. “Always.”

“I remember a time when you wanted a baby sister. I remember how excited you were. To find out mum was having a girl.”

“Until she became the center of the universe. YOUR universe.”

“Have you been holding onto that all this time?” he inquires, as he stands and makes his way across the studio. “ For the last six years? Is that how long have you been waiting to bring this up?”

“I suppose so.”

Fetching the plate of food he’d brought with him, he sets it down in front her. “Eat.”

“Thought I wasn’t allowed to. For making Takota cry. That’s what grandpa Koen said. After he kicked me out of the kitchen.”

“Grandpa Koen means well. He does. But he’s pretty old school. Personally, I don’t want any of my kids to starve. No matter how big of a pain in my ass they are.”

Tugging playfully on her ponytail, he leans down to press a kiss to the bridge of her nose when she tips her head back and smiles up at her. “Do you want to talk about it?” Heading to a bar fridge located across the room, he snags himself a bottle of water. Uncapping it he rejoins her, taking a swig as he takes a seat on the edge of the desk. “This thing about Addie? Being jealous of her?”

“I never said THAT.”

“It’s what you were getting at. Calling her ‘the precious’ and saying she’s the center of my universe. Sounds like jealousy to me.”

“I guess maybe I’m a BIT jealous. That she gets so much attention. You’re always taking her side for everything. The second she goes to you and says that one of us has done something to her. You never even give us a chance to defend ourselves. Or let us explain why we did what we did. You just take her word for her.”

“When my barely forty pound six year old comes to me and says someone pushed her down the stairs or clotheslined her off her bed or tripped her in the hall, it’s hard to ignore. And I think a black eye or a bloody nose or a goose egg on her head is evidence she’s telling the truth.”

“We don’t MEAN to hurt her. She always wants to play with the bigger kids. And she always gets hurt when she does. That’s not our fault.”

“She’s a lot smaller than you are. Don’t you think you should take things a little easier on her? If you’re going to let her join in, don’t you think you should calm it just a bit? She’ll eventually get bored and move on to something else. And you can’t tell me you’ve never hit for the sake of just hitting her.”

A blush creeps into Millie’s cheeks and settles in the tips of her ears. “She gets on my nerves.”

“She’s just a little girl. A VERY little girl, compared to you. You really think we’re going to sit by and just let you smack her about and pull her hair and push her around just because she ‘annoys’ you? Why don’t you just tell her to leave you alone?”

“I do. She doesn’t listen! And then she whines that I won’t pay attention to her and the whining just drives me insane and it makes me snap! Dad, she’s so annoying! And you and mum just let her get away with it. You don’t even scold her or anything. You just keep spoiling her. And if you keep doing that, she’s only going to get worse.”

“Addie’s…” He searches for the correct words. “...different. Than the rest of you. And way different than you ever were when you were little. She’s more fragile. Especially her feelings. And she’s nowhere as independent and confident as you. Or even Brookie. She needs more than you do. And I know maybe that makes it seem like your mum and I don’t have as much time for you and that we…”

“We used to do lots of things together,” Millie laments. “Before Addie came along. And then mum had her and everything changed. All you seemed to care about was the new baby.”

“New babies are a lot of work. I couldn’t just let your mum do it all by herself, could I? I’ve always been hands on. With all of you. And Addie was a preemie and she had some issues and your mum and I may have gotten a little too caught up in them. But we weren’t trying to ignore the rest of you. We still tried our best to give you what we could.”

“I miss doing stuff with you. I miss going into town and just browsing around. I miss just the two of us going places together. Remember how we used to go and get ice cream all the time? Just us? And we’d always have the best talks. I know I was just little, but it was always the best time. Because you never talked to me like I was a baby and you always listened to me. Why don’t we do stuff like that anymore? Just US.”

“How many times have I tried to? How many times have I asked you if you wanted to do things? Especially on weekends. Are you really going to sit there and act like that doesn’t happen? That I don’t ask you if you want to do things? You’re not gonna deny it, are you?”

“I mean, you do ask but…”

“You’re the one that always comes up with excuses. You’re the one that’s always busy doing other things. And I get it; you’ll be a teenager soon and there’s things that are more important than hanging with your parents. But how long did I try, Millie? To keep our Saturday mornings going? The breakfasts out, the surfing or the bike riding or the hiking or the fishing? Once I was back on my feet after Nathan, how long did I try for?”

“I don’t know. A year. Or so.”

“Two years. For two years I tried to keep things going. And for the first eight months, you were all in. You never missed a Saturday morning. You were the one who’d be awake before the alarm and come in and wake me up. And then suddenly that stopped happening and you started missing a Saturday a month. Then it turned into two. Then three. Then you’d skip entire months all together. But I still tried, didn’t I? To get you into doing things?”

She nods.

“I never gave up on that stuff. You did. And you know what? That kinda hurt. Because we always WERE close. You were my first. After Austin. You made me a dad again. You were the one that made me clean myself up and get my shit together. So I could be the dad you deserved and the husband your mum deserved. So we could be a family. And when you started backing away…”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I wasn’t doing it to hurt you. I just…I don’t know…things just got…weird.”

“And that’s what your mum said. When I talked to her about it. She said that she remembers being that age and how everything started to change. Her body, her emotions, the way she dealt with things. She was the one who assured me it wasn’t personal. That it was just you growing up. Whether I wanted to hear that or not. And now you’re almost thirteen and…”

“Not for a couple more years. I’m still a kid, dad.”

“But you’re not that little girl anymore. The one that thought it was cool to hang out with their old man. You’ve got friends and you’ve got your surfing and your MMA and soon you’re going to have boys...”

She arches both brows and stares at him pointedly.

“And girls,” he adds. “And I’m alright with all that. I remember what it was like to be your age. That weird stage of being an ‘almost teenager’. But for you to say it’s because I don’t make the effort to be with you? That’s not fair Millie. Because I make every effort to be here for you. And for your brothers and sisters.”

“But you didn’t always.”

“No. I didn’t,” Tyler admits. “There were times…a lot of them…where I didn’t put any of you first. Where my family came second. And believe me, I’m not proud of that. I may have been a grown ass man, but I still had a lot of growing up to do. I still had a lot to learn. And if it hadn't been for your mum giving me chance after chance…”

“She saw the potential. That’s what she told me. That when people used to meet you, all they saw was a total mess. But she didn’t. She saw past all of that bad things and the mistakes and she saw this really nice guy. Someone that deserved a better life.”

“She was the first person who ever saw any of that. Or maybe she’s just the first person I LET see all of that. And I am sorry. There were a lot of times I wasn’t a good dad. Where I didn’t put you first. But I’ve been trying Millie. Since we moved back here. I’ve been trying to be the best dad for you. I really have.”

“I know. And you HAVE been. You’ve been an awesome dad. You ARE an awesome dad. But I guess I’m just angry about things. I don’t want to be. But I am.”

“Angry about things I’ve done?”

She nods. “I’m angry you left. After you came to the house in Mumbai. Mum begged you to stay. I saw it, you know. I heard her crying. I was supposed to be asleep, but I HEARD her. You guys were outside. In the driveway. So I spied on you. Mumma was grabbing onto you and you were trying to get in the car. She kept grabbing at your clothes and begging you not to go. To just stay. To let someone else handle things. To just walk away and stay with her and all us kids. And she was crying. Really hard. I’ve never heard or seen her cry like THAT.”

Tyler hasn’t thought about it in years; the utter heartbreak and devastation that he witnessed his wife go through in just a flicker of time. The tears that had pooled in her eyes spilled down her cheeks; the ferocious way she’d clung to him and attempted to keep him from leaving. At the time, he’d chalked it up to her hormones and the unpredictability of the situation they were all caught up in. Not only had she just found out that baby number six (and seven, unbeknownst to them at the time) was on the way, but she was stuck in foreign country while her husband returned to the very place that had nearly claimed his life years before. Anyone would be emotional considering all the cards that were stacked against them.

“She begged you dad,” Millie continues, as she struggles to hold back tears of her own. “She was worried something bad was going to happen to you. And she begged you to stay. But you left anyway. And I’m mad at you for that. Still. But I’m not mad for me. I’m mad for mum. Because you didn’t even care. You didn’t even listen to her. You just left.”

“I DID care. And I did listen to her, Millie. But I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t walk away. I had to take care of things myself.”

“No. You didn’t. There were all kinds of people that could have helped. And you were already hurt! Yet you still went back out there. And you broke mum’s heart. But you didn’t see it. We did, though. All us kids. We saw what it did to her. How sad it made her. How worried she was. We were the ones that would crawl into bed with her. When she cried. We were the ones that took care of her. TJ and Tanner and I. Just like we used to be the ones to try and make her feel better. In Colorado. When you left us.”

“I never left you. That’s not what happened. I would never leave you. Not unless I had to. We’ve been through this; why your mum and I couldn’t stay together and I couldn’t keep living at the house. I had nothing to do with you or your brothers and everything to do with me. I HAD to go, Millie. I wasn’t in a good place. And I certainly wasn’t being a good dad to any of you.”

“You could have told her you were staying. Just like you could have listened to her. In Mumbai. But you left both times. And both times mum totally fell apart. You think I don’t remember? Because I was so little? I remember a lot. About Colorado. About how you guys used to fight. How mean you used to get. All the times you punched holes in walls and stuff like that. I remember ALL of that.”

“And I’m sorry that you do. Because that was the last thing your mum and I wanted; you and your brothers hearing and seeing all that. But there was a lot going on. And none of it good. You were too young to understand then and you’re too young to really get a grasp on it now. And I won’t put that on you. Adult stuff. You don’t need to know about what went wrong. All that matters is that your mum and I made things work. Because we wanted to be with one another. We wanted to keep our family together.”

“Why did you leave? You could have told mum you were staying. You could have…”

“I couldn’t stay, Millie. I was really screwed up. Your mum had every right to kick me out. It was for the best.”

“The best for WHO? Not for us kids. We thought we did something wrong. That maybe you left because you didn’t want us anymore. Mumma always told us that wasn’t it. That it had nothing to do with us.”

“What she told you was the truth. It didn’t have anything to do with you. Your mum and I had issues. I was a mess. And you all deserved better than that. Better than what I was giving you.”

“Then you stopped coming to see us. You just stopped showing up. You didn’t come to the house, you didn’t come to school stuff, you didn’t even call on my birthday! It’s like we didn’t exist anymore! We thought you didn’t want us! That you just forgot about us!”

“Millie, it was never about you or your brothers. Or even your mum. It was about me. MY issues. And they were bad and they were causing really bad problems. Your mum didn’t want that around you guys. And I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t have wanted someone like me around you either.”

“But we didn’t know all that. Mum tried telling us. She did. But it still felt like we did something wrong. And when you’re little, it hurts. A LOT. When your dad stops living with you and then suddenly doesn’t come around anymore.”

“And I’m sorry. That I made you and your brothers feel that way. There was never a time I didn’t love you or I didn’t want you. I wasn’t a good person. It was better that I wasn’t there. And I’m sorry that I got so screwed up that I stopped coming around. But I wasn’t in a good place, Millie. I was drinking, I was taking pain meds. I was really messed up.”

“I just wish we’d known that then. Mum never told us stuff like that. I mean, we knew you guys weren’t getting along. You were always fighting. But we didn’t know all that other stuff.”

“Because you were too young. You were just a little girl. You hadn’t even turned five yet when things started going really bad. You didn’t need to know everything. Not at that age. But I am sorry, monkey. That I hurt you. And your brothers. I never meant to. And I wish it never happened. I wish things had been different. In Colorado.”

“You’re glad we left though, right? You’re glad we came back here?”

“I think leaving and coming back home…our REAL home…was the best thing we could have ever done. I don’t think your mum and I would have ever survived. If we stayed there much longer. And to be honest, I don’t think I would have survived. I was killing myself. Slowly. And if your mum hadn’t called me and said she missed me and wanted me to come home? I probably would have been dead within a couple months. If not sooner.”

“Don’t say that, daddy,” Millie whimpers. “Please don’t say that.”

Curling his fingers around her wrist, he gives a gentle tug; the wheels on her chair gliding smoothly across the floor as he pulls her into him. And as her arms circle his torso and she buries her face in his chest, the mountain of emotion finally crumbles; her sobs loud and gut wrenching as they echo throughout the studio. It’s extremely rare for pre-teen Millie to have emotional breakdowns; her stubborn and assertive personality creating misguided stoicism. And his heart aches as he attempts to hold back his own tears; a palm cradling the back of her head and an arm wrapped securely around her waist. Despite her age and the trials and tribulations of impending teenage-hood that often wreaks havoc around the house, she’s still his little girl. That beautiful blond haired, blue eyed miracle baby that he’d once cradled in his arms; rendering him speechless and leaving in him complete and utter awe of her mere existence.

After Austin had died, he’d never once considered the chances of becoming a dad again; a life of love and happiness and domesticity only awarded to men far better than him. It hadn’t seemed truly real until Millie was squirming and whimpering in his arms; securely bundled in a blue and pink striped blanket with the matching beanie covering a head full of dirty blond hair. It had been one thing to anticipate and plan her arrival; painting the spare room and putting together a crib and rocking chair and hanging impossibly tiny clothes in the closet. To experience that sense of both disbelief and joy when attending doctors appointments and ultrasounds; speechless every time they got to see her moving in the womb and were able to hear her heartbeat. And the wonder every time he’d feel her kick and squirm; seeming to respond to his voice and the weight and the warmth of his hands upon Esme’s stomach. But to actually witness her birth had been something else entirely; a moment he’d missed out on with Austin and had always regretted. The relief and the happiness so profound, he’d wept like he ever had before; entire body trembling as he stood by the bassinet and watched the doctor clean and tend to his brand new daughter. And the way his hands had shock when it came time to cut the cord; needing assistance from one of the nurses in order to be successful.

So many things had been rushing through his mind at that moment; unexpectedly meeting the love of his life in the midst of a mission and his extremely close brush with death. Had things ended differently, he wouldn’t have never known about Millie Had he perished on the bridge, Esme would have gone back to the states; sentenced to a life as a single, expectant mother without even a picture of her child’s father to share. And if she’d chosen -despite his survival- to cut all ties with him and head home, there was a chance that she never would have informed him she was expecting; possessing no contact information for him and likely harboring a fear of rejection.

But he HAD lived and she had stuck around, and now they were face to face with the consequences of their five days together; a wedding band on his finger and a brand new child in his arms. An eight pound, seven ounce blessing with his blue eyes and her mother’s feistiness. The best possible ending to what had been a frightening and unpredictable time; two lonely and broken people finding each other in the midst of chaos. Love somehow finding them; blossoming in the most unusual of places at the most stressful of times. And they’d been determined to create something out of almost nothing; succeeding in making not just a comfortable existence together, but an incredible little human being.

Despite the initial struggles both he and Esme had experienced adapting to the departure of their old lives and the new one together, he soon found himself relishing his roles as a new husband and father. Money had been extremely tight, but they’d been happy; content in that little two bedroom apartment with its second hand furniture and its close proximity to the beach. His ongoing physical healing and the continuous fight to stay clean and sober had kept him from any thoughts of returning to the job, instead concentrating on taking care of his wife and his daughter and bettering himself as a human being.

Every moment he’d spent with Millie had seemed wondrous: marveling over her impossibly tiny feet and hands, obsessed with every sigh and coo, and every yawn and stretch. He’d missed out on the first eight months of Austin’s life; his boy already crawling and exploring by the time he returned home from a tour in Afghanistan. With Millie he’d been able to sit back and enjoy every second; present through Esme’s entire pregnancy and able to attend every appointment and coach her through labor and delivery and witness their daughter being born. And he’d enthusiastically thrown himself into the dad experience; wanting to be as hands on and attentive as possible. Fetching the baby in the middle of the night and bringing her to mumma for a feed, proudly carrying her down the streets in a baby carrier or even in his arms, showing her off to every curious pedestrian or beach goer that couldn’t resist taking a peek at her.

Perhaps some of his attentiveness and devotion had been guilt driven; he hadn’t been around during Sarah’s pregnancy and hadn’t been there for Austin’s birth. Or his death, for that matter. And his mistakes the first time around had fuelled his desire to ‘get it right’ with both Millie and her mum; filling him with the desperation to be a good husband and father instead of an epic failure. In return, his bond with Millie had been firmly cemented. In fact she’d been a daddy’s girl right from the start. Responding primarily to his voice while in utero and then contently snuggling into his chest in the delivery room; her grip surprisingly strong as her hand closed around one of his fingers. And he’d been pretty certain he’d never seen two more beautiful beings in his life. His newly born baby girl with her bright blue eyes and her smooth, pink skin and his exhausted yet exhilarated and relieved wife; tears streaming down her face and her hair damp from sweat and matted to her forehead. The love and pride he’d felt for so profound and all consuming; growing stronger with each second that she battled to bring their daughter into the world. HIS daughter. A life he’d had a hand in creating. And truly didn’t think he deserved.

*******

“Don’t talk like that,” Mille sobs. “Please, daddy. Don’t say things like that.”

Pressing a kiss to her temple, he runs a palm down the length of her hair. It’s so bittersweet; how quick she’s growing and maturing. Somewhere along the road she’d stopped being that little girl that was practically glued to his hip. The one who paired shimmering tutus with her favorite superhero t-shirts or teamed flowing princess dresses with a pair of extremely well loved Spiderman sandals. Who’d sit between his legs or on the kitchen counter while he tended to her hair; excitedly rambling about her expectations for the school day or what she’d play with her friends at recess or the weekend activities she was looking forward to. And every Saturday since moving back to Australia, they would stick to an established routine; waking up before the rest of the house and having breakfast together. Millie standing on a chair pushed against the stove; chattering away while she proudly mixed pancake batter or cracked eggs into a bowl.

Afterwards, if the weather and the waves were just right, they’d go surfing; Millie riding on his back at first until confident enough in the water. She had taken to it quickly; possessing phenomenal balance and talent, a love for the sport, and a respect for the ocean and its power. On the days where the conditions weren’t favorable, they’d go hiking together; taking pictures of their surroundings as they followed a well beaten path through the woods and to a clearing that led out to a stretch of the beach. Once there, they’d splash in the surf and Millie would insist he hold her plastic bucket while she hunted for shells and intriguing rocks to add to her collection and pieces of beach sea glass that she could use in her craft making. Sometimes, their day together would extend past lunch time; driving into town and grabbing a bite to eat and then following it up with ice cream and some shopping. Millie always insisting that they bring something back for mummy; a bouquet of flowers or her favorite cupcakes or even a new journal to write in. After all, mum was stuck at home; relegated to taking care of all the other kids while Millie and daddy got to spend time together. She didn’t want mum to feel bad for being ‘left out’, and it was only right that they got her a little something to let her know that she was loved.

And then Nathan happened and everything changed. Esme’s attempt to protect Millie and the others from the direness of the situation backfiring; Millie turning against her when the truth was finally revealed. After that, she became even closer to her father; possessive and overprotective and jealous when anyone else got to spend time with him. Including Addie and the twins that would arrive several months later; hating when he took the time to feed or nap with them instead of devoting all of his attention to her. It should have been dealt with at the time; a simple ‘sit down’ to answer all of Millie’s questions and explain the decisions that were made would have done all of them a world of good. But their lives had been upended and they were struggling to cope. Tyler facing complication after complication; overwhelmed by physical therapy and counselling and unbelievable pain. Esme trying her best to hold things together on her own; take care of him and keep the house running and look after their horde of children. What should have been an easily solved problem between Millie and her mother became a years-long ‘grudge match’; the little girl hurt and bitter that her mum had lied to her and unwilling to listen to reason. Or forgive.

Drawing away, he cradles her face in his palms and uses his thumbs to clear away her tears. “I didn’t say it to hurt you. Or punish you. I said it because I think you needed to hear it. About just how bad things actually were. How bad I was. I think you’re old enough to know the truth. All of it. Especially if it helps you get rid of some of this anger you’ve got going on. Especially towards your mum.”

“You went away. Mum was begging you not to go. And you STILL left.”

“I didn’t have a choice. People were threatening my family. I couldn’t trust anyone to get the job done. I had to do it myself. And your mum understood that. I didn’t leave to hurt her. Or you.”

“And then you got hurt. You almost died. And she lied to me about it. She didn’t tell me the truth. I deserved to know!”

“You were six years old, Millie. A little girl. And your mum did what I would have wanted her to do. And that was to keep things from you and your brothers. Until she knew the outcome. One way or another. She did the right thing. Exactly what I would have asked her to do. You’re older now. Almost a teenager. You must be able to understand why she did it.”

“It just hurt. That she would lie to me. I’m supposed to trust my parents. And then she went and lied and…”

“And you never gave her the chance to explain. It’s been FIVE YEARS. That you’ve been holding onto this grudge. This hate for her.”

“I don’t hate her. I could never hate her. She’s my mum. I’ve just been angry. And hurt and…”

“And you let it destroy things. Or try to. Between you and her. And that broke her heart. To have you turn on her like that. To not even let her explain her side. She didn’t lie to you to hurt you. She lied to you to protect you. You must realize that now.”

“But you’ve always taught us that lying is bad. That we should never do it. No matter how bad the truth hurts.”

“There’s times where you don’t really have a choice. That protecting the people you love means you HAVE to keep things from them. It’s being able to figure out just what those things are. What’s worth keeping to yourself and what’s worth bringing out into the open. I’ve not always made the right choice. I’ve kept things from your mum that came back to bite me in the ass. That caused nothing but problems. But there’s other things that I was smart to hold onto. And I did it for her. To protect her. In the same way she was protecting you. Understand what I’m saying?”

“How do you know what to lie about? How do you know if it’s better to lie or tell the truth?”

“Trust your gut. It normally doesn’t lie to you. Sometimes, you’ll screw up. You’ll make the wrong decision, but you'll learn from it. And next time you’ll do better and you’ll be better. Your mum did the right thing, Millie. When she kept what happened from you. Had I been conscious and able to talk to her, I would have told her not to tell you.”

“And you’re not just saying that? So I’ll stop being mad at her?”

“I’m saying it because I believe it. Because your mum is an incredibly smart and strong woman and has always done what she thought was best for her family. Especially for her kids. And I’m sorry that you felt hurt or betrayed by the decision she made. But she deserved so much better than what you gave her. What you’ve been giving her. Believe me, I’ve been in your place. I haven’t always been the best husband or man or friend for your mum. And I regret those times. I always will.”

“But she’s always stayed with you. No matter how bad things got.”

“I’m a lucky man. I met someone that loves me. Bullshit and all. That knows the kind of person I am and the kind of person I WANT to be. But I made life really hard on her. In Colorado. And I can’t take back the things I said or the things I did. I can’t erase the times I hurt her. All I can do is hope she forgives me. For all the times I screwed up.”

“If she didn’t forgive you, she never would have taken you back. She never would have stuck around. Do you think she’ll forgive me? For how bad I’ve been?”

“I think she already has. I think she realizes that you were going through some pretty heavy stuff too. We made a huge move and we had Addie and we were trying to get settled here. And then I started the business and went back to work and then Nathan…”

“Is she mad at me? For how horrible I’ve been? Do you think she hates me?”

“Millie, she could NEVER hate you. She’s your mum. There’s nothing you could do to make her hate you.”

“I said some horrible things, daddy.” The tears fall once more. “In New York City. Horrible, mean things that hurt her feelings. That’s why TJ got upset and kicked my ass. Because I was so mean to mum. The things I said to her…”

“She told me. And while it wasn’t right for him to beat you up…”

“I just get so mad at her sometimes. Because it always seems like she likes everyone else more than me. That she’s nicer to them. She’s always nagging me and getting on me about stuff and…”

“Because you don’t listen to her the first five times she tells you something. Everyone has limits. Including your mum. And you haven’t been making life easy on for a while now. And we’ve talked about that, haven’t we. Many times.”

Millie nods.

“Your mum isn’t perfect, Millie. She’s never claimed to be. And I know she can be neurotic and overbearing and hard to deal with at times. But you’re not exactly a picnic to be around. You’ve made things miserable for her. And she’s tried to fix things and she’s tried to talk to you and…”

“I just snapped. I said things I didn’t mean. And I thought things too. Really bad things. About how I wished she would just disappear. Go away and never come back. I didn’t mean them! And now I can’t tell her I’m sorry. Because she’s gone and I don’t know if I’m ever going to see her again!.”

“You’re going to see her again. I promise. I’m going to go and find her and bring her home. And nothing or no one is going to stop me.”

“You don’t even know where she is. Or if she's even alive. You don’t…”

“I talked to her. She called me. Or one of the people who has her called me, I should say.”

“What?” Millie’s hands swipe at her tears. “You talked to her? You talked to mum?”

“There’s someone that’s helping her. He’s going to get her out of wherever she is. And he’s going to take her somewhere safe and then he’s going to call me and I’m going to go and get her. Bring her home.”

“But she’s okay? She’s not hurt? Who has her? Why did they take her? Why…?”

“She’s okay. Hanging in there. Your mum’s the strongest person I’ve ever known. And the smartest. She’ll be alright. I don’t have answers for the other stuff. I’m still trying to piece all of that together. Once Auntie Nik and Yaz get here and we start working on things, we’ll find out more.”

“But she seemed okay? Did she seem hurt? Or scared? Did she…?”

“She’s scared. But she said she’s not hurt and no one has tried to hurt her. And now she has someone on the inside that’s keeping an eye on her. He’ll make sure that nothing happens to her. He gave me his word.”

“And you trust him?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure yet. But your mum does. And she’s got damn good instincts. I’ve got nothing but faith in her. She knows what she’s doing. Even when I don’t trust anyone else, I always trust her. Always.”

“Did she say anything? About us?”

“She said she misses you. And loves you. All of you. You gotta be strong, yeah? For her. That’s what she needs right now. And it’s the only reason I haven’t completely lost it already. Knowing how much she needs me to keep my head on straight. But I DID talk to her and she said she’s okay. That gives you some hope, right?”

“I wish I could have talked to her. I could have apologized. If she calls back, can I talk to her, too? Just really quick. Just so I can say the things I need to say. I just want her to hear them. Can I, dad? Talk to her if you hear from her again?”

“Millie…”

“Please? I just want to hear her voice. I just want to tell her I love her. That’s all.”

“IF I hear from her again, I’ll let you know. Everything is so crazy. Crazy and unpredictable. But at least we know that someone is watching over her. Making sure she’s okay. That’s all we can ask for right now. But I will find her, Millie. I will find and I will bring her home and everything will go back to normal.”

She manages a shaky smile. “I know you will. You never go back on your word. Or break your promises. And if you’re promising to bring mum back…”

“It’s a promise. Your mum will come home. Now…” Clearing away the last of her tears, he leans in to press a kiss to her temple and then reaches for the plate of food. “...I want you to eat up. Gotta take care of yourself.”

“You know….” Millie crosses one leg over the other and settles the meal in her lap. “...you really should practice what you preach, dad.”

“I know. Sometimes I’m a ‘do as I say, not as I do’ kind of guy. But I’m doing alright. Aren’t I?”

“Not as well as you think you are. We’re all pretty smart, you know. We know when you’re struggling. We can see it. And you’re always telling US to be open and honest about what we’re going through, so why can’t you do the same?”

“Because you’re kids. And kids don’t need to be burdened by adult problems.”

“Aren’t we already? I mean, our mum was kidnapped. It’s kinda hard not to be burdened by THAT.”

“Just know that I’m hanging in there. I’m keeping shit together. At least up in my brain.”

“Are you going to be okay? To go and find mum? ‘Cause those guys really did a number on you and…”

“I’ll be fine,” he assures her, and then reaches out to affectionately ruffle her hair. “Kinda better each hour that goes by. So…” His knees crack as he stands, and he tries -unsuccessfully- to bite back the grimace that accompanies the discomfort. ��....just WHAT are you working on? I get it’s something for something for school. But what kind of something?”

Millie wheels her chair over to the desk. “We had to pick a picture. That means a lot to us. And then draw it. I picked this one.”

She holds aloft the item in question; a glossy print of a photo he’d taken -via cellphone- nearly twelve years ago. An exhausted Esme just mere minutes after their first child had been born; damp hair matted to her forehead and the sides of her face and tears spilling down her cheeks. Her head tossed back against her pillow and her eyes closed; completely overcome by pure, raw emotion as she cradled her baby girl against her bare chest. She had waited so long for that moment; before they’d ever met in that shack in the outback. Longing to be a mother yet doubting it would ever happen; her tumultuous marriage to Mark leaving her broken and battered and vowing to never trust another man. Truly believing she’d never allow anyone to get that close again; refusing to offer up her heart and soul only to have them crushed once more. But fate had intervened; life had put the wheels in motion and caused their paths to cross under the wildest and most dangerous of circumstances.

“ It was in that memory box that mum made for me. Do you remember it? She gave it to me on my tenth birthday.”

Nodding, he plucks the photograph from his daughter’s hand and once more perches on the edge of the desk. It doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would; seeing such a beautiful memory while caught up in something so ugly. And he wonders if it was the phone call earlier; the relief of knowing that she’s alive and unharmed. For now.

“She started putting that thing together when she was pregnant with you. She used to sit at the kitchen table in our old apartment and work on it. Putting ultrasound pictures in it and clipping out newspaper articles about important events. Carted that thing all the way to Colorado. And then all the way back here.”

“None of the other kids got one. They just got baby books. How come?”

“Your mum wanted something special. For her first one. Something none of the others would have. You know…” He once more perches on the edge of the desk. “...I actually remember taking this. You were only about ten minutes old. If that. I remember the nurse giving you to me; talking about how you already looked like your daddy. It didn’t even seem real. Holding you. I was afraid it was just a dream.”

“It must have been pretty emotional. Considering…well… you know…Austin.”

“I never thought I’d be a dad again. I actually never thought about it all. I figured a guy like me? Someone who screwed up as bad as he did? He doesn’t get second chances. Thought I was going to spend the rest of my life miserable and alone. It’s what I thought I deserved. Punishment.”

“And then you met mum.”

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. I did. In the strangest and most screwed up way possible. I don’t regret it though. How things happened, where things happened. Maybe a lot of people would say it was all wrong; getting caught up in something like that while on the job. I just figured that something that felt that right? No way it could be wrong. I’ve never regretted a thing.”

“I don’t think mum does either. She told me once that it was meant to happen. That so many things had to take place to lead her to you. And that’s GOT to be true, dad. I mean, she was from Colorado! You’re Australian. How else would you have met? I mean, I guess mum could have come here on vacation. But Australia is a big place and then chances of running into you…”

“Highly unlikely.”

“Was she happy? When she found out about me? That she was going to have a baby?”

“She was scared at first. Mostly about how I’d react. Having a baby is a huge deal and we hadn’t known each other that long. Guess she was worried I wouldn’t take the news too well.”

“But you were okay with it? Having a baby? Especially so soon after meeting each other?”

“Once I got over the shock, I was good with it. I didn’t realize I had even wanted to be a dad again until she told me about you. And yeah, your mum was happy; once she knew I wasn’t going to lose my shit and tell her to get lost and never contact me again. Which never would have happened in the first place, but…”

“She told me that she wanted to be a mum for a long time. And that she never thought it would happen once he broke that asshole she was married to first. She thought that was her one and only chance. I don’t why she’d think that. I mean, look how pretty she is. How smart she is. She’s a good catch. Why wouldn’t another man want her?”

“Sometimes you believe the awful things someone says to you. Especially if they’ve spent a long time saying them. He’d told her a lot of things that weren’t true. That she was stupid and ugly and that no one else would ever want her. That she was lucky to have him. Someone abuses you for that long, you start to think it’s true. That you’re not worthy of anything better. So you stick with what you have. You convince yourself it’s better than being alone.”

“I’m glad she got rid of him. What a drongo. Too bad you didn’t get a chance to kill him. I bet you wanted to.”

Tyler nods in agreement.

“If she’d never gotten the courage to get away from him, she never would have met you. And none of us kids would even be here. And that’s kinda sad to think about. How close we came to never existing. If she’d never left him and met you…”

“But she did. She walked into my life and turned it upside down. She was a handful. Right from the start. I remember looking at her and thinking there was no way she could handle being in Dhaka. She was so tiny and I thought that made her weak and fragile. I tell you, I found out right quick that that wasn’t the case.”

Millie laughs. “She put you in your place, huh?”

“More than once. And she’s still doing it. Twelve years later.”

“Well someone has to keep you in line,” Millie chides, and then plucks the photo from his hand. “You really remember taking this?”

“I remember everything about that day. Like it happened not long ago. Or should I say those THREE days. You were a stubborn thing. Thirty six hours it took. From start to finish. You weren’t in a hurry, that’s for sure. Your mum was amazing. The nurses and doctors kept pushing her to have a c-section but she wouldn’t budge. She was determined to have you the normal way. Only reason she said she would ever give in is if you were in danger. But you weren’t. You were just giving us a hard time.”

“In other words, some things NEVER change.”

Grinning, he reaches out to ruffle her hair. “You’ve got your moments, that’s for sure. It was incredible. Seeing you born. Helping your mum through it. I already knew how strong she was, but seeing THAT? Totally cemented her status as the strongest and fiercest person I’ve ever known. She’s tiny, but she’s mighty.”

“Looks like it was pretty emotional for her. Getting to hold me.”

“A lot of emotions all around. But seeing her holding you? All tired out and crying like that? Happy because her dream of becoming a mum finally came true? She’s never looked more beautiful.”

Millie smirks. “You really are a sap, dad.”

“Sometimes,” he admits. “Guess I have my moments too. You okay now? After your chat?”

“Not entirely. But I will be. And as much as some of the stuff hurt to hear, I really did need you to say them. I guess I’ve been a failure as a kid, huh?”

“No. You haven’t.” Getting to his feet, he clasps her face in his hands and presses a kiss to her forehead. “You’ve just been a kid. Who’s gone through some pretty heavy shit. You could never be a failure. I’ll leave you to it, alright? Give you some time alone. I know the house has been pretty insane the last couple days.”

“More insane than usual, that’s for sure.” Readjusting her ponytail, she tucks wisps of hair behind her ears and then returns to her artwork.; chewing pensively on her bottom lip and tapping the pencil before calling out to him. “Dad?!”

Pausing in the stairs, he glances over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Just so you know, you’ve never been a failure either.”

Emotion threatens to choke him, tightening both throat and chest. Yet he manages a smile and gives a nod: one of both acknowledgement and appreciation before continuing on his way. “I’ll try and remember that.”

#Tyler and Esme series #Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction #Chris Hemsworth #Chris Hemsworth Extraction #Tyler Rake fan fic #Extraction fan fic #Tyler Rake x OFC #Esme Rake #Rake kids

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calaofnoldor · 4 years

Text

Dean, Don’t

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 1,906

Summary: You’re heavily pregnant and highly irritable. Luckily, Sam Winchester is the sweetest moose to ever moose.

Warnings: pregnancy (and all its related symptoms), ill-fated attempt at humor, disgustingly sweet fluff (seriously, you’re gonna need a tooth brush)

A/N: this might be my first ever attempt at this genre, so please don’t judge me too harshly :)

MASTERLIST

“Wow… geez, you look ready to-“

“Dean,” Sam shot his brother a warning glance as he guided you into the kitchen, a giant palm held gently against your aching lower back, “Don’t.”

Dean quickly raised his hands and the gesture, together with his wide eyes, seemed to say ‘I wasn’t gonna say anything!’, although you knew that was far from the truth. In fact, you knew exactly what he was thinking because you’d been thinking it too – every hour of every day. It was safe to say you really didn’t need any reminders of your current condition.

“Y/N’s already having a rough time with the twins keeping her up all night, and she’s been extra sore lately,” your moose came to your rescue as always. Sam had been doing that a lot recently, not only by shielding you from Dean’s crude comments (and consequently protecting Dean from your wrath as well), but also by comforting and distracting you from the woes of your third trimester.

“Well at least it’ll be over soon, right?” Dean tried again.

“Not soon enough,” you grumbled in reply, before attempting to stretch out your spine with an unfiltered groan of discomfort.

“Aaand, that’s my cue to leave!” Dean announced, grabbing his plate of bacon to go and sauntering off, though not before sending his little brother an exaggerated ‘good-luck-with-that’ expression.

Sam rolled his eyes despite feeling somewhat relieved by his brother’s departure, then turned back to you. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you off your feet.” He wore a sweet sympathetic smile; it was one he had been donning often as of late, but it only worsened your mood.

“Sam, I’m fine. I can’t be constantly sitting or lying down!” You barked irritably, but when you noticed the sad puppy dog look on your boyfriend’s face, your attitude instantly withered.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just hate this so much.” Your fingers began to massage your temples as your mouth continued to utter the words that took you beyond the point of no return, “I’m a hunter, you know? I’m supposed to be able to take down monsters with the swing of my machete! I used to be able to roundhouse kick those inhuman bastards when I wanted to, and now I can’t even put my own socks on!” That much was true. Sam had helped you with your socks earlier that morning.

“And sometimes you being so overprotective only makes me feel more useless,” you added with a defeated huff.

Sam waited patiently until he was certain your little tirade was over. “I know exactly what you’re capable of, Y/N; you never have to remind me. And I can guarantee that you will still be able to do all those things… after you’ve given birth to our beautiful babies, and your body recovers from this drastic change it’s endured.”

He moved closer to you and extended one hand to caress the side of your face, while the other splayed across your immensely swollen stomach. “But baby, right now, at 39 weeks pregnant with twins, you’re not supposed to be able to do all that. I wouldn’t want you to be doing all that,” he chuckled lightly with the afterthought as he pictured your heavily expectant form attempting one of your famous round house kicks.

You raised a brow at him, knowing how his mind worked, and he immediately sobered, “Y/N, my point is you don’t realize how incredibly strong you are already, even without all the pregnant kung fu fighting you seem to be so keen on.”

Although you were tempted to roll your eyes at his teasing, the boyish grin he cast you couldn’t be resisted, and the corners of your lips begrudgingly lifted. But a sudden lurch in your belly wiped the smile promptly from your features.

“Oh,” you breathed in a gasp, placing your hands upon the area of assault.

“What? What is it?” Sam questioned worriedly, as he too moved both his hands to your baby bump. His eyes flickered frantically between your face and stomach, trying to read the situation for himself.

“Nothing, just a really strong kick, I think,” was your reply after a pause. You looked up at him with what you hoped was a reassuring smile. He returned it with a certain tinge of apprehension, so you grabbed his hand and placed it where one of your wayward twins was moving erratically within you.

No matter how many times Sam felt it, he couldn’t help but beam with pride and elation at the thought of his children growing stronger each day, and the fact that you were the one fostering their development made him truly believe he was the luckiest man alive in that moment.

“Wow, I guess they’re really ready to come out, huh?”

“Maybe,” you mused, “Or maybe they’ll choose to torture me for another week. I’m not getting my hopes up.”

Still fondling your belly with one hand, Sam used his other to turn your face towards his. “I am really sorry that you’re hurting. I wish I could make it stop.” He said it with such sincerity, you were almost inclined to forgive him. Almost.

“I would say ‘it’s not your fault’, but it kinda is,” came your playful response, which happily earned you a loving kiss.

When his lips left yours, you continued, “Also, as if the fact that two of your swimmers managed to make it to my eggs wasn’t enough, did you really have to make both of them Winchester-sized too?” You motioned vaguely to the wide expanse of your front side.

Sam said nothing, but rewarded you with a hearty laugh and a second kiss.

Later that day, as you sat snuggled between Sam’s lengthy and outstretched limbs on the bed, the two of you absent-mindedly watched an old classic movie play out on the television. His lips grazed your hairline every few minutes and his hands rubbed incessant circles on your extended stomach.

“How do you know our babies will be beautiful?” You questioned Sam abruptly, your eyes never leaving the screen.

His chest rumbled with a deep chortle that resonated through your back and caused you to smile in turn. “Well, they’ve got you for a mother, don’t they?”

“Psh! You forgot to mention that they’ve also got a father who looks like he was sculpted by the Greek gods! But that’s not the point; genetics is based on chance.” You craned your neck to look him in the eyes.

“Fine. I just have a feeling then, OK?” Sam shut you up with a quick kiss to the lips and you of course assented.

“Do you still think they’re going to be girls?”

“I hope so,” he replied with a pensive smile.

You studied his elegant features for a minute before feeling a smirk form on your own face. “Well too bad, they’re both boys.”

“What? How do you know?” Sam’s brow furrowed in that way you always thought made him look unbelievably adorable, especially for a man of his stature.

“I just have a feeling, OK?” You quoted back at him. “They call it mother’s intuition.”

Sam’s grin returned and you couldn’t remember feeling better in the past month. Dean hadn’t disturbed you all day since the incident in the kitchen, and the support of Sam’s solid torso pressed against your back seemed to be alleviating some of the strain from your body.

But alas, nothing is ever what it seems when you’re living with the Winchesters. A sudden splash of fluid upon the sheets interrupted your scarce and apparently fleeting moment of peace.

It took you a moment to register the wetness between your legs, although Sam was already one step ahead of you. “DEAN!” he hollered towards the hall.

“Sam, I think my water just broke,” you told him in a slight trance.

“Yeah, I know, baby. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and changed.” Sam’s voice was soothing and you began to follow his lead, slowly rising to your feet as he supported you from behind.

Just then, Dean came barreling in, brandishing his gun as his eyes searched frantically for any potential sources of peril. His green gaze turned befuddled upon finding no clear cause for distress.

“Dean, go get the Impala ready. Y/N’s in labor.” Sam’s voice held that composed and assertive edge which it often did when he took the lead on hunts. You would have found it awfully attractive under different circumstances.

As it were, a fresh contraction tore through you when you reached the dresser, and you were forced to bend over to weather the impact, your breathing becoming a little uneven. Sam’s arms were instantly around you, while the sight of your hunched and gravid form awoke Dean from his stupor.

He cleared his throat and his voice seemed a little gruffer than usual, “Uh, OK. Right. So… the bags? What do I need?”

“I’ll get the bags. Just get the damn car ready, Dean.”

Still the older Winchester stood transfixed in his spot, his eyes were somewhat unfocused. “Wow. So this is really happening…”

“Dean!”

“Yeah! On it! Got it! Uh… fight the fairies, Y/N! We got this.” And with that, he finally took off for the garage.

You couldn’t help but giggle to yourself, “He’s right, you know? This is really happening.”

Sam turned around and held your gaze with such reverence and fondness, you nearly melted right then. “I know,” he stated simply, before he crashed his lips to yours in a rushed yet zealous smooch.

“Ow! Yeah, OK, I think the twins are sick of our antics already,” you gushed through gritted teeth as another tightening of your middle took over.

Sam cupped your stomach gingerly on either side, as if he could somehow abate the pain with his touch. “Right, let’s hurry it up then. I think all that soreness you felt before and the twins’ heightened movement might’ve been a sign of early labor.”

“You’re such a nerd, you know that?”

He only responded with knowing smirk, then continued to help you get changed so he could usher you out the door.

Dean met you outside, where he stood by the shiny black car, looking a little more prepared for action than earlier. “You guys good?”

“Yeah, are you?” Sam asked, a bit dubiously.

“Hey, I’m ready to get this show on the road!”

“Am I gonna fit?” You eyed the Impala with slight apprehension. You had always been a fan of the classic car before, but now that Sam had fertilized you so thoroughly, the backseat seemed a lot more daunting.

“Of course, my girl can handle anything. She’ll get you to the hospital in no time so that you can have my nieces.”

“Nephews,” you corrected, but nodded anyway and allowed Sam to help you inside the vehicle.

The boys stood outside for a moment longer. “You alright, Sammy?”

Sam was glowing and Dean couldn’t have repressed the surge of love and pride that rose within him if he tried, despite his ‘no chick flick moments’ rule.

“Yeah, I’ve never been better, Dean.”

“Speak for yourself, asshole!” You would later blame the contraction for your foul language, but it was your shouting through the window that ultimately got you on the road.

“Yeah alright, we’re going! Just don’t be having any babies in my Baby!”

“Dean,” Sam’s bitch face revealed itself once more, “Don’t.”

→ CARRY ON

A/N #2: thank you so much for reading! btw, if any of you sam girls wanna show off your love for the giant adorkable moose man, there’s a ‘sammy the moose’ print now available at lexicolor.redbubble.com!

also available in various styles, as well as on mugs, notebooks, phone cases, and a bunch of other stuff! and if you’re more of a dean girl, i got you covered too 😉❤️

#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #sam winchester x pregnant!reader #sam winchester fluff #they chose family #supernatural #spn #fanfiction #fanfic #fanart #redbubble #imagine #one shot #series #my writing #text #lexicolor

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abarbaricyalp · 3 years

Photo

@sambuckylibrary

SamBucky Halloween Prompt 5: Mausoleum

Sam meets Bucky in a mausoleum in Brooklyn (This fic is set in Brooklyn because I could not make up a reason for Bucky to be in Louisiana despite the fact that I really very badly wanted it set in Louisiana. Bucky is also slightly younger because of fic reasons.)

Rated G: Discussions of death and loss (It’s set in a mausoleum, use discretion) (AO3 link in the notes)

Title from “Little Ghost” by The White Stripes, highly encourage you to listen to the song

One I’m Most Scared Of

Sam hated funerals. He hated that his father wanted him around for them. No other seventeen year old was surrounded by so much death and mourning.

“Sam, you have a gift,” his father said. “You put others at ease just by your presence.”

Sam thought everyone else should invest in a therapist and not a high schooler.

Petulantly, he kicked his heels back against a stone bench as he stared at the walls of crypts and cremains spots. Behind him, the funeral party milled and offered condolences to the bereaved, which actually seemed like everyone in the party. Sometimes, a funeral party seemed less bereaved than relieved at these things. Sam remembered the first time he heard a man’s daughter immediately plan lunch with a group of friends without a waver to her voice or a tear on her cheek. He vowed he’d never be the kind of person that had a funeral like that.

If he even had a funeral. Putting himself in the ground in whatever clothes he died in and then becoming a tree without telling anyone was becoming a nicer and nicer option.

So, he listened to the sniffling without turning around and thought about what kind of tree he’d become. He’d already done his duties of rubbing a wife’s arm, hugging kids, tickling grandkids, listening to the same three stories a dozen times. His father couldn’t expect anything else from him. So he wasn’t thrilled when someone his age sat down beside him.

The guy was handsome in a traditional, classical sort of way. Not as boring as the rich white guys who went to Sam’s school. His hair was side parted and only long enough to make an impressive arch on his head instead of laying in his face. He had a square jaw that was a little comical and his nose was a little fucked up in a kind of endearing way. The way Sam’s best friend looked after getting beaned in the face by a wayward baseball. Like most people who came through the mausoleum, he was sad.

There was no other word for it. Sam had tried to be poetic about his time in the crypts, but there was only so much the clinical-ness of bereaved and the dramatic-ness of tortured or sobbing or anguished could do. And they were rarely entirely true. Sad was just the word for people staring at remains of someone they once loved. Sometimes the simple explanation was the most appropriate. The rest of death and grief was already so complicated. It was easier to just feel sad.

The guy was too old to be a grandkid but too young to be a kid, unless the deceased and his wife had gotten freaky in their elder age. Sam hadn’t noticed him in his previous passes of the party or from the service, where he always sat in the back and made it a game to memorize as many shades of black or ridiculous hair styles as possible.

In fact, the boy wasn’t even wearing black. He was wearing a dark brown jacket, adorned with gold accents and pins. In fact… Sam was pretty certain it was an old military dress uniform.

“Uh...are you just visiting?” Sam ventured when the guy didn’t even bother to glance over.

The guy’s mouth quirked to one side faintly. “Yeah, you could say that. That one,” he said, gesturing to an entombment with a gravemarker that read James Buchanan Barnes March 10, 1922 - February 5, 1942. Son, Brother, Friend, Hero.

“Oh,” Sam breathed and understood the weird military uniform. “Are you related to him? You do kinda look like him.”

The guy turned finally to look at Sam and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, you could say that. I’m Bucky.”

“Oh, jeez, you were named after him too.”

The guy--Bucky 2, apparently--cocked his head in a half nod. “I’m actually waiting on someone. Do you think they’ll be here much longer?” he asked, jerking his chin over to the party.

“Well, these things don’t really have a limit to how long people can be here,” Sam pointed out. “But most people get the point when they start sealing the tomb and all. Uh, this thing you’re waiting for, is it about him? Like, some kind of memorial service?”

It was neither February nor March, so Sam couldn’t imagine why there would be a memorial service for Barnes now. It had been a while since Sam’s father had done a service in Brooklyn and he’d kind of forgotten the cult status Barnes and, to a much greater extent, Rogers had in this town.

“Nah, I’m just waiting on a friend,” Bucky said.

“Well…” Sam settled back against the stone bench. “I’ll stand in for a while.”

“You wanna be my friend? Should I be worried. I think horror movies start off like this.”

“Name one horror movie that starts off in a mausoleum.”

“Murder by the Clock. Mummy’s Tomb. All the vampire movies.”

“Dracula doesn’t live in a mausoleum,” Sam argued lightly. “And I’ve never even heard of those other movies.”

“That’s ‘cause you don’t watch classics.”

“Uh-huh. Or you were just scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and knocked his shoulder against Sam’s. “Did you know…” He gestured back to the waning funeral party.

Sam shook his head. “No. My dad’s the pastor. He did the service. He likes me to be here for moral support.”

“Hell, I don’t think my parents trusted my morals as far as they could throw me,” Bucky snorted.

Sam noted the past tense but knew better than to push for information, especially in a mausoleum during a funeral of all places. “Are you a student around here?” he asked instead.

“Can’t you tell?” Bucky answered as he popped the lapels of his jacket. “I’m a soldier.”

“Right. A soldier who’s home, spending his time in mausoleums in front of his great-great uncle or something.”

“I could be a great-great grandkid. I heard he got around.”

“I heard that was all manufactured propaganda to sell a story.”

“I read it in a book.”

“And I read about time travel and aliens in a book.”

Bucky shrugged. “There are weirder things out there.”

“Right, in a world of super soldiers and Nazis with no faces,” Sam agreed drily.

“You’ll see,” Bucky assured. “Aliens and time travel are both gonna be all anyone talks about soon.”

“Y’know, I didn’t think a guy dressing up as his great-great grandpa-uncle to meet someone at his burial site would be so into sci-fi too.”

“Multitudes and all that. You know, there were half a dozen sci-fi books in his bag when his belongings were recovered.”

“I’ve heard that,” Sam said. Only because it’d been a point in the Oscar-Bait movie a few years ago. “He’d read to Rogers when he was sick.”

Bucky looked a little wistful and then nodded.”I’ve heard that too.”

“Do you ever feel pressure to be like him? Or be somethin’ you’re not, just ‘cause someone looked at your little baby face and named you after a legend?”

That wry, sad grin came back and Bucky shook his head. “Nah. Not really. Do you, though? I mean, obviously not him. But someone.”

Sam traced out the letters of the name of someone who died in 1985. A L E X A N D E R. He nodded. “Feels like everyone needs me to be someone and I let myself play that part until people stopped noticing it was a part.”

“What’s the part?” Bucky asked as he leaned back on his hands.

“I dunno. Someone who-- Well, I mean… Maybe it’s not a full part. Maybe I’m just upset that people only want me to have one kind of personality trait. I mean, everyone knows I’m kind and I’m good with words and I care about people. And I really do want to be that guy. But when I want to be that guy, y’know? Not all the time. Sometimes I want to cry and scream and rage too. Sometimes I want to be quiet for a little while and not help someone else. Just for a few hours.”

Bucky nodded and stared at the rows of internments before them. “Y’know. I’m sure people would understand that if you told them. If you said, ‘I can’t do this right now. Please let me be quiet.’”

“I know that,” Sam said softly. He tangled his fingers together in his lap. “Maybe I’m mostly angry at myself for not being able to say something like that. I’m the guy who helps. If I don’t do that, if I beg a day off, then who am I? What am I bringing to the table?”

Bucky scooted closer and put a hand on Sam’s knees. It sent a jolt through Sam’s body and he worked very hard on not jerking his gaze up to Bucky’s face. “Sam, you just said you have other personality traits, other feelings, other hobbies that aren’t hanging out in a mausoleum. That’s what you bring to the table on the days you can’t be there for everyone else.”

Sam nodded and reached up to rub two fingers under his eye. He wasn’t at full tears yet, but he also didn’t want to get any closer. “Wait, did I tell you my name?” he asked suddenly.

Bucky lifted an eyebrow again. “You must’ve. Or someone else said it earlier. The point is, you’re still you. And you bring smarts and humor and a good head around, even when you aren’t offering free therapy or a crying shoulder. And, Sam, listen, even when you don’t want to be any of that, you’re still kind. I’ve only been sitting here for a few minutes and you’ve been kind the whole time, even when you weren’t trying. It’s not a part you’re playing. Just be who you are and ask for your time when you need it. If people reflect even a quarter of the love you put out there back at you, no one will ever begrudge you some quiet.”

Sam swallowed thickly and leaned against Bucky’s shoulder heavily. Bucky moved his hand from Sam’s knee to wrap his arm around his ribs instead. “You really think I’m funny and smart?” Sam asked eventually.

“You started spouting off propaganda theories and joking about where vampires technically live. Yeah, you’re something else, man,” Bucky laughed. “And I think you’re beautiful, which people always appreciate in people they hang around with.”

Sam rolled his eyes and ignored the last comment, thankful that his skin was dark enough to hide his blush and Bucky couldn’t see the swooping of his stomach. “Well, if you think that’s impressive, I’ve got a whole list of things I think are propaganda.”

“I’d love to hear all about it some other time.”

“Is your friend here?” Sam asked, sitting back a little and glancing around.

Bucky’s eyes cast around the mausoleum briefly too. “No. I just don’t feel like listening to any propaganda tonight,” he joked.

Sam jostled his elbow into Bucky’s rib and leaned back against his side. “I can’t remember the last time I actually talked to someone in one of these things. Everything’s always so surface level here. ‘Sorry for your loss’ ‘He was a good man’ ‘Of course we’ll come by the benefit.’ None of it means anything.”

“Well, I wasn’t part of the funeral, so maybe that was a plus. I’m just some guy. Hanging out in a mausoleum.”

“Ah, you’re the vampire,” Sam said with a grin. “Maybe I should get a stake in that casket.”

“There’s no body in it,” Bucky reminded him. “They never found Rogers’ or Barnes’ body.”

“Right, right. The train and plane.”

“It’s just for show,” Bucky said. He reached out to trace his fingers along Barnes’ last name and then held his palm against the stone for a second longer.

Sam put his hand on Bucky’s knee and said quickly, like ripping a bandaid off, “Do you want to get lunch or something? With me? Now, or later. I’m not picky. And then maybe again?”

Bucky turned blue eyes back to Sam and he really did look just like all those old pictures. That same sad smile came to his mouth. “Yeah, I really, really do. Maybe later,” he said and leaned over to kiss Sam’s cheek softly.

Sam’s eyes fluttered shut and his heart kicked up so rapidly in his chest it punched the air out of his ribs.

When he managed to open his eyes again, Bucky was gone.

#sambuckyhalloween2021 #sambucky #sambucky fanfic #sambucky fanfiction #sam wilson #bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier #the falcon #the winter soldier #captain america #writing #bingo #sambucky halloween

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

Text

Small Things

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort Characters: Scott, Gordon, Virgil

More self indulgent Scott&Gordon fluff because I can and because this scene’s been living in my head rent-free for the past week or so. Might be the last thing I write for a while, because uni’s just decided to let me know I need to do 390 hours of independent study for a single module with the deadline in eight weeks, and if you’re any good at maths you’ll realise there’s a problem there (alternatively, stress might drive me to writing loads like January; we’ll see). There are implications of some level of depression in here, so watch out for that.

When an injury leaves Scott unable to do even the most simple things for himself and accordingly frustrated, it takes a brother who understands what it’s like to halt the slippery slope.

Scott was no stranger to injuries, or the frustration of the recovery period. He’d broken bones, torn open skin, and endured worse still, but that never made it easier – and definitely not this time. This time, he was arguably mostly intact, and yet found himself helpless nonetheless.

Burnt palms – both of them, and fingers to boot – meant he couldn’t do even the simplest of tasks by himself. Couldn’t dress himself, couldn’t eat, couldn’t do anything except wait for them to heal as he watched his brothers keep going out on rescues without him.

His family did what they could, Virgil in particular weathering the storm of his frustrations when they spilled over, but no matter how many little gadgets Brains designed to try and give him at least some independence, the fact still remained that he was useless and helpless.

Virgil was conked out on the couch, dead to the world despite his attempts to stave off exhaustion with caffeine in order to keep Scott company as he watched yet another movie – the only activity he seemed to be able to do without help. He’d wake up later, apologetic for passing out as though he hadn’t been on back-to-back rescues with any downtime swallowed up by fussing over his currently-helpless big brother, but for the moment, Scott was more than happy to let him sleep.

Not only did he need it, but the constant smothering was wearing thin. Scott was active, self-reliant and tireless. Even the most well-meaning assistance from Virgil – the one that helped him dress, cut his food, and all the other mundane tasks suddenly beyond his capabilities – was grating. He’d already snapped at him a few times, the most recent of which had been in response to a suggestion he did his hair, moments before John had called in another rescue and Virgil had had to leave before Scott could swallow down the ire, leaving him wallowing in guilt for several hours until he’d returned, dirty and exhausted but still patiently trying to help.

It was an honest relief to see his brother sleeping, even if it left Scott balled up on his own couch, trying to ignore the bandages wrapped around his hands and focus on the movie. He was failing miserably, all too aware that the healing process was still in the early stages and that it would be several more days before he could even think of using his hands. Even with the regularly-applied gel, they still hurt.

The movie was, in theory, one of his favourites. Virgil’s choice, after he’d huffed when asked if he wanted to choose. Right then, he just wanted to turn it off and-

The holoprojection paused, right in the middle of one of his normally-favourite scenes, and he blinked. That hadn’t been his doing. Despite Brains’ best efforts, telekinesis was still eluding him.

“Hey, Scott.” He turned his head to see Gordon jump down into the den. “Reckon you can do something for me?”

Scott held up his hands, in case Gordon had somehow forgotten. “No. Get Alan to help you with whatever it is.”

“Gotta be you, bro,” Gordon insisted, catching his wrists and tugging insistently. “You don’t need your hands for this.”

Despite himself, Scott found that he was intrigued. The promise of being able to do something was a powerful allure. “What is it?”

“C’mon,” Gordon insisted in leu of answering, and warning bells rang even as his younger brother successfully pulled him to his feet. Agreeing to help before hearing the details was always a no with this particular brother. His appetite for pranks was insatiable, and sometimes his timing left something to be desired. Scott couldn’t handle a prank. Not right now.

“Gordon, what are you doing?”

“Trust me,” his brother replied. Two words that often came with warning bells. Scott knew Gordon, though. Knew when trust me meant imminent pranking and warned that he should be running, and when he could genuinely trust whatever plan his brother had concocted. This was the latter, full sincerity with a hint of a plea behind it.

Trust was important in their family. It had to be, for International Rescue to work. Gordon knew that as well as any of them, and when he used that voice, it was always true. Whatever he had planned, he believed it wouldn’t negatively impact Scott.

He sighed, and let his shoulders sag, feeling the tension start to seep away. “Where are we going?”

Gordon’s hand was steady at the small of his back, guiding him gently through the house. Towards the bedrooms, and Scott stumbled to a halt when Gordon stopped outside his room. Of all the places he expected, his own bedroom was near the bottom of the list. “Gordon?”

“Come on, bro,” Gordon coaxed, opening the door and nudging him through it. Scott let him, still confused, and found himself guided to his bed. “Sit.”

Eyeing his brother, and still completely lost as to what he was planning, Scott obeyed. His bandaged, useless, hands rested in his lap, and he glared down at them before glancing back up to see that Gordon had left his side and was rummaging around in his bathroom.

“Hey!” What was he doing?

“Easy, Scott,” Gordon called back, turning around and returning. In his hands were Scott’s comb and hair gel, two items that hadn’t seen the light of day since his hands got burnt so badly they couldn’t hold either.

Scott didn’t appreciate the reminder that, despite Virgil’s pleading, his hair was a sorry mess.

“What are you doing with those?” he demanded, starting to stand. A hand on his shoulder stopped him, and he found himself looking up into compassionate amber eyes. Gordon gave him a small smile, barely a twitch of his lips but in that moment, it hit harder than his usual exaggerated expressions.

“Relax,” he said, clambering onto the bed and settling somewhere behind Scott. Attempts to turn his head were prevented by gentle hands, keeping him facing forwards. “I’ve got you.”

Scott’s mind was scrambling to work out what his brother had planned, and how this came into him doing anything for Gordon, but before he could finish putting the facts together there were gentle fingers in his hair, carding through softly and pulling wayward strands back from his face.

His immediate instinct was to pull away – he let his brothers do a lot, but his hair had always been off-limits, in no small part because it was an obvious target for Gordon and dye, but also just because it was. Even now, he’d refused to let Virgil touch it.

“Gordon-” he started, and the fingers retreated, only for arms to wrap around his shoulders from behind. Soft, comforting, and a far cry from the crushing squid hugs his water-loving brother loved to dish out. A weight against his back, and then a cheek pressed against his. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw strawberry blond hair, and amber eyes looking at him.

“Let me do this?” his brother asked, in that exact same tone he’d used earlier for trust me. Sincere, but a little pleading.

“Why?” His voice cracked, an unexpected show of weakness, and he flinched. Gordon didn’t acknowledge it, seemingly content to let him pretend it didn’t happen.

“I think it’ll help,” he murmured instead. “Please?”

Help who?

Scott didn’t see how letting Gordon do his hair would help anyone. It wouldn��t heal the burns any faster, wouldn’t give him back his independence any sooner.

But he’d never been able to say no to a brother when they asked like that, all quiet and sincere.

“Don’t mess it up,” he caved, looking away. He felt Gordon’s smile against his cheek anyway.

“Thanks, Scott.”

The arms retracted slowly, the cheek also leaving his, and he felt the mattress dip as Gordon shuffled back into position behind him.

Then the fingers were back in his hair, teasing out the tangles and knots that had formed with infinite patience and care. The motions were soothing in their repetitiveness, Gordon’s fingers dexterous and nimble as they preened out the worst of the mess, and despite himself Scott felt a little more tension bleed away.

Fingertips found his scalp and dragged across lightly, almost a massage, for a few brief moments, before retreating entirely.

Then it was the teeth of his comb, running through strands slowly but steadily and pausing whenever they nudged a tangle Gordon’s fingers hadn’t completely erased. Those, the comb bit into lightly, coaxing and cajoling the strands and never once tugging at his scalp.

Scott had no idea where Gordon had learnt to be so gentle with hair.

There was no mirror in view from where he was sat, but Scott didn’t need one to feel the weight of his hair slowly shifting, leaving its unkempt and chaotic tragedy and falling into the familiar style he favoured. Without gel, the strands at the front attempted to flop forwards, over his forehead, and he resisted the instinct to swipe them back.

His hands wouldn’t thank him, and the hair would inevitably get tangled in the bandages, but what actually stopped him was the sensation of Gordon interchanging comb with fingers as he continued to smooth the hair back until it fell just right. Gordon had asked to do this, and despite his initial misgivings, Scott found he was enjoying it. No-one had done his hair for him since he was a kid, Mom fussing and asserting her right as his mother to do so. Not like this.

Distracted by sudden memories, he missed the moment the comb left his hair for good, and startled slightly when the cool sensation of gel seeped through his hair. Gordon had returned to using his fingers, smoothing his hair into position with a precision no doubt born of seeing it so many times, and Scott closed his eyes.

The touches steadily grew lighter, lingering for longer and ghosting over what were presumably stray strands that needed a little more gel to keep in place, until they left all together.

He opened his eyes as the mattress shifted, turning his head to see Gordon slipping off the bed, rubbing his hands with a towel to get the gel off his fingers. Amber eyes surveyed his hair sharply, before Gordon gave another small, tender smile.

“Come on, bro.” Hands cradled his wrists, carefully away from the bandages, and drew him to his feet. “Now you get to judge my work.”

Scott let Gordon lead him to his bathroom, where the mirror hung above the sink. It was something he’d avoided looking at for the past few days, aware of his deteriorating hair yet unable to fix it and unwilling to let anyone else until Gordon wormed his way in with softly pleading sincerity, but a light nudge over the threshold had him reluctantly facing his reflection.

He looked like himself.

There were still bags under his eyes from the sleepless nights, and his skin was still pale and a little haunted, but his hair was gelled back just the way he liked it – the way he laboured over it every day even when he forwent other aspects of self-care because he didn’t have time – and while it was only one thing, it was enough to banish the unkempt shadow he’d become and replace it with something blessedly familiar. Blessedly normal.

Unconsciously, his back straightened, leaving him standing tall once again.

Gordon’s reflection joined his, standing alongside him as a hand rested on his shoulder.

“Any better?” his brother asked, worry in his eyes. Scott tore himself away from his reflection to look down at the flesh-and-blood young man next to him.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Gords- what-?”

“When everything goes to hell, it’s the small things that make the difference,” Gordon said. The reminder was bittersweet – Gordon, too, had once been unable to do even the most basic of tasks unaided. “It helped me. I thought it was worth a try for you.”

A sense of normality amongst an ocean of uncertainty. Something to hold onto when he had nothing else.

Scott raised his arm, resting it lightly around Gordon’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” he murmured, looking back at the mirror where the man that looked much more like himself stood, arm around his little brother. In hindsight, it was obvious; a lack of self-care was a slippery slope – one he’d seen Gordon fight before.

“I know you’d rather do it yourself,” Gordon continued. “But remember, we’re here to help you.” The hand on his shoulder squeezed for a brief moment. “You just have to let us.”

Gordon looked relieved, Scott realised. He hadn’t noticed how worried his younger brother had been until it was gone, but the story was there, behind smiling eyes and a steadily growing grin on his face.

“Thanks,” he said again. There was nothing else he could say. Nothing that properly appreciated what his brother had done for him. Was offering to keep doing, if Scott was reading him right.

He was usually pretty accurate when it came to reading his brothers.

“Could-” he started, mouth ahead of his brain. “Could you-” He couldn’t quite get the words out, instincts still rebelling against asking for help – asking for this – despite it being freely offered.

“Keep doing it for you until you can do it yourself again?” Luckily – in this particular instance – Gordon could read him, too. Scott nodded jerkily. “Of course.”

The hand on his shoulder moved, arm reaching around him until Gordon had him in a half-embrace.

“Welcome back, big bro.”

If Virgil had any thoughts about Scott letting Gordon help when he’d been refused at every offer, he kept them firmly to himself when he was woken by the pair of them returning to finish the movie. Scott did, however, find himself subject to a bear hug, and relieved brown eyes looking him over.

In hindsight, it was obvious Virgil had seen what was happening all along, and Scott regretted getting snappy with him about it. Virgil waved off his apologies, but did consent to go and get some proper sleep in his bed as long as Gordon promised not to leave him alone while he did.

The insinuation that he needed a minder should have grated. Would have grated, half an hour before, when he was still a miserable mess curled up in the corner of a couch. But as Gordon promised, solemn sincerity that Virgil could trust, and settled more comfortably on the couch with his arm around his shoulders, Scott just found himself thankful for how much his brothers cared.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #thunderfluff #thunderangst #small things

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kryptsune · 4 years

Text

Souly Damned Saturdays!~

🌼 Heya! Today we are going to look at the King of the Infernal real, Nas. Along with this info we will be looking at some interesting forces in the Souly Damned universe! Today is Nas day X’D. Let’s get to it! As always my ask box is open!

~King Profile:~

~Prince Profile:~ True Name: Nasaros Alias Names: N/A Nicknames: Nas Soul Flower Type: Narcissus (daffodil) Color Type: Orange/magenta with burnt edges Infernal Hierarchy: King Age Order: Eldest Familiar Form: Lion/ Stag (Phoenix) True Form Appearance Description: ~Skeletal in appearance ~Prominent fangs ~Wears a twisted metal crown ~Fingers with clawed tips ~Orange tongue ~ Spaded almost arrow head like skeletal tail ~ Three sets of wings

Human Form Physical Description: ~Hair Color: Ashy ~Hair Style: Short with a longer “tail” in the back that falls to his mid back ~Eye Color: Orange/Magenta Heterochromia ~Skin Tone: Pale ~Contract symbol mark placement: N/A ~Height: 6’2”

Special Abilities or Powers: All his brothers have and more

Before the Fall:

The Infernal Realm has always existed alongside the Celestial and first Mortal Realm. Originally it was nothing but a prison for creatures of pure evil the same ones that are still considered legends. In this realm are also the imps, infernal blooded monsters with a taste for mortal kind. The Infernal bloods and Celestials have been warring for centuries. A realm closed off from the rest. In essence it is the true Hell. Darrius and his kin used to be the Celestial elite, directing the others. They were revered and looked up to before Darrius turned against his brother Sidriel believing that they should rule the mortal realm as well. His pride and arrogance would eventually be his downfall.

Darrius’ Reign:

During this time period Darrius presided over his son's new territories in the mortal realm. There were no rules, no consequences; they were just able to do anything that they pleased. The Infernal Realm was split open causing chaos to stain the world. Even as his sons were stricken from the mortal realm they found a new refuge in the Realm they used to loathe. The same one that they had once fought wars over. Now they were the rulers of this damned realm. They locked away the Infernal beasts into the depths and took over and with the help of their incredible, yet corrupted, Celestial power the Infernals and their new king began to worm their way into the new mortal realm. Under Darrius they continued their old ways even with the new restrictions placed on them.

The King of The Infernal Realm:

Nasaros is the current king of Hell being the eldest son of his father. Just like his father his angelic blood makes him stand out above his younger siblings. He seems gentlemanly and rather laid back for someone of his status but do not let that fool you. Due to Nas’, blood, he is just as harsh if not more so than his fallen brothers. He is not actually a demon either but rather a fallen angel. He has a silver tongue keeping to flowery language. Nas has an egotistical air about him but it is more subtle. He has an extreme distaste for the Infernal kind as he does not consider himself one of their ilk. Therefore he is not tolerant of any kind of infraction. Demons that do not follow the rules are quickly dispatched without mercy. His abilities are not as well known as the brothers but it can be assumed he can utilize all his siblings abilities as well as some more Celestial ones.

He tends to wear white in the majority of his clothing leaning more toward tailored tail coats and suits. An almost denial of what he has become. He has three sets of wings though they are rarely seen indicating he used to be a seraphim. In his younger years before he was crowned King he was the Prince of the Kingdom of Lust. He began to question the motives of his father asking himself if this was truly the path he desired. When he came to the opposite conclusion, not embracing this new hellish order his father was furious. In an effort to keep his eldest from “infecting” his younger siblings with his ideology he split his son's soul into two separate entities. One as the embodiment of the negative side of his sin and the other the more positive. This creates Naos and Saros.

Unlike his father Nas seems to attempt to reform Hell in a way adding rules and regulations to the more unruly of his subjects. These rules mostly extend to those souls that are wrongly labeled as damned. He knows that any impurity leads the Celestial Realm to shut its gates on some of these souls with no hope for survival. Under Nas’ decree these souls are to not be harmed.

Naos: Out of the two Naos is the more gentle. He tends to be very shy when interacting with others only making his presence known when necessary. He is not the flirty type but rather the romantic if you manage to catch his affection and favor. His appearance causes him to wear darker colors like black. Unlike his unruly brother, Naos enjoys the peace and quiet. He is easily flustered. Sometimes he will sit in the garden and sing a soft little tune. His personality is very soft but he is also very possessive and overprotective.

Saros: If there was a complete opposite to Naos then Saros would be it. He is haughty, prideful, lavish, and over the top. His outgoing demeanor causes him to throw lavish banquets and parties surrounding himself with the elite of Hell. Saros is the negative aspect of lust. He is needy and uses pleasure as a manipulation tool. He drinks and sleeps around not giving it any thought. He is also possessive though it is more treating something like a trophy then someone to be treasured. He is the true embodiment of carnal pleasure and debauchery.

These two Princes, though two halves of one whole, eventually become one once more. This only happens though when Darrius is usurped and Nas takes the crown. He then goes on to reform the old Infernal ways impressing an almost Celestially similar level of organization and rule of law.

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The New Order:

The new shift in power causes some unrest among the denizens of Hell. Their old order was to corrupt and damn souls for all eternity no matter the cost. The spilling of blood was of no consequence. That however changes when Nas comes into power. His decree is that demons (his brothers included) should be conducting themselves with more decorum then they used to. No more earthly rampages. No more innocent deaths. The souls not meant for Hell are put under his protection. He cleans up Hell by holding demons accountable for their more sadistic tendencies. The humans have long since forgotten their presence. To them they are nothing more than superstition and Hollywood fabrication. The new global ability to communicate in mere seconds leaves them with a poor reputation.

Nowadays they are known for making more deals. In fact under the royalty the most prestigious job in Hell are the deal makers. The demons that are associated with soul collection t is one way to gain more power as a demon. The more souls the stronger and potential more abilities gained as well. These demons appear on earth offering their services disguised as humans tempting wayward souls. The Dukes, Lords, and even Princes also do deals of a higher caliber though they rarely leave Hell (currently). It would take a very powerful soul for them to gain any interest even if they are summoned. An example of this would be during the 1920’s.

Each demon of high status also has a specific sigil used to summon them. It is, as stated previously, very dangerous and usually only 30% effective. Some demons, Crimson as an example, will gladly show up for a little bit of carnage or to mess with souls. Contrary to mortal belief demons do not take to sacrificing lightly in fact it is highly frowned upon. Any mortals of an occult stupid enough to try and summon any of them usually end up choking on their own blood.

The Red String of Fate:

The Red string of fate is a constant in the world that has consequences when altered. It is very similar to the idea that our destinies are intertwined with others and if that string is cut it creates a butterfly effect. Demons tend to do as they please but when it comes to altering the course of humanity it is a very harsh offense. Under the Prince's father this offense was minor but when Nas took control of the throne that sentence increased. A demon tampering with or severing the string of fate is exiled, banished, or executed. If one string is severed it is possible to re form however multiple could cause an apocalyptic event of biblical proportions. Contrary to human belief demons have no desire to obliterate earth. They rather like their little playground. Anything that would jeopardize the fate of either Hell or Earth is grave.

The Blood of the Innocent:

Innocent souls subjected to the selectiveness of the Celestial elite are thrown into the Pit just by association with any type of demonic ritual. Innocents sacrificed for summoning are branded as corrupted and therefore unworthy to enter Heavens gates. These souls are considered pure and are housed in the Capital away from any demons that may cause them harm, especially that of children. If a mortal is sacrificed to a specific demon then that Prince is made responsible. This occurrence however is rare as the horrors that befall those that try this kind of act… are too horrible to describe. It takes someone really greedy or stupid to even attempt such a thing.

Pure souls are constantly in danger as demons feel their power and have an almost instinctual desire to devour it. This is an outcome for those types of souls but the process is painless (if the demon in question desires it). It is better than living an eternity in Hell anyway. Some are kept at the palaces if a Prince sees fit though that is an even rarer occurrence than the former.

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#demons #Souly Damned #SD Saturdays #Nasaros #worldbuilding #info #askbox is open #original content #Nas

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kyber-kisses · 4 years

Text

Through a Mothers Eyes (Part 2)

Dean Winchester x Reader

Find Part 1 HERE

Warning: more best friend dumbassery, more crack. . . More of Dean and Y/N being oblivious about their feelings for eachother. The usual.

Summary: Mary meets an old friend of the Winchesters and apparently she’s the only one who can see the very obvious feelings the reader and Dean have for each other.

A/n: The chapters for this series are gonna be a little shorter than my normal ones, but I hope you guys enjoy either way! Also, feedback is greatly appreciated!

It didn’t take very long for Mary to see that you were quite the character. You brought a vibrance and liveliness to the bunker in a way she had yet to see before. You also brought out a liveliness in Dean too, one she hadn’t seen in him since he was four years old.

. . . And it had only been three days.

In such a short amount of time she found out so much about you. How you were raised in the life like her sons, how you had stuck with them through everything, along with everything in between. You were eager to learn about her too, holding conversations over coffee or while helping to make dinner. She could easily see why you and Dean were such good friends. . .

She just didn’t understand why there wasn’t something more.

Because it was there. It was there in the way Dean sat up straighter and lit up when you entered the room and it was there when the two of you cracked dumb jokes until you were both falling out of your seats with laughter. She wondered if anyone else saw it too.

It was early Friday morning when she almost stopped dead in her tracks while entering the kitchen, a new scene folding out in front of her that once again made her question why the two of you weren't together.

Sam was seated at the kitchen table, head in his hands and looking three seconds away from a mental breakdown while you and Dean worked at breakfast, singing along terribly to the music coming out of your blue tooth speaker.

An amused expression took over her face as she crossed the kitchen, her arrival yet to be noticed by anyone until she put a reassuring hand on Sams shoulder, the younger Winchester popping his head up instantly.

“Mom!”

“You okay, Sam?.”

Sam tiredly zoned out, looking off at some point in the distance. “They’re on their fourth round of singing Glen Campbell’s Rhinestone Cowboy. Fourth. round.”

A chuckle crawled up the back of her throat as she turned to look over her shoulder once more. It was both amusing and slightly embarrassing to watch as you and Dean danced to the music, singing into your “microphone” spatula. Every once in awhile you would pause to flip a pancake but then you were right back to it.

“With a subway token and a dollar tucked inside my shoe

There'll be a load of compromisin'

On the road to my horizon

But I'm gonna be where the lights are shinin' on me-“

A moment later you and Dean caught sight of Mary, you shot her a wide smile and wished her good morning alongside Dean.

“You want any pancakes? Y/Ns a master at making them!” Dean raised his voice to make sure he was heard over the music.

“I’d love some, thank you!”

“Blueberries?”

“Sure.”

The older Winchester turned back to help you, pausing when you made a silent communication by raising your hand in the air, a blueberry pinched lightly between your thumb and forefinger. He quickly tilted his head back, catching it in his mouth when you tossed it. A high-five was exchanged and then you were back to your singing. . .and dancing, if anyone could even call it that. It was clear now that the two of you were doing it to annoy Sam, grinning like idiots as you moved to the music, eyes focusing on Sam. Embarrassment was too strong a word. You tipped an imaginary cowboy hat at the younger Winchester.

“Its like living with children.”

“Like a rhinestone cowboy

Riding out on a horse in a star-spangled rodeo

Rhinestone cowboy

Gettin' cards and letters from people I don't even know

And offers comin' over the phone!”

Mary turned back to Sam, the hunter mindlessly looking into the black liquid inside his mug. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yep. I mean, it’s getting pretty annoying . . . And it DOESN'T HELP THAT THEIR DANCING IS TERRIBLE!”

His words were loud enough to get you both to stop in your tracks, head spinning around to glare at him as the music continued to play in the background. You flipped another pancake, eyes still trained on Sam.

“We’re not terrible dancers!”

“Yeah! I mean Y/N is. But I’m great-“

You picked up another blueberry lobbing it at Dean and nailing him in the back of his retreating head as he passed a full plate over to his mother. “Hey!”

“Hey!” You lowered your voice several octaves in attempt mimic Dean, chuckling as you did, even when he glared at you again.

“You’re a delinquent.”

This time you nailed him in the center of the forehead, the blueberry leaving a small dot where it made impact.

“You’re a delinquent-“

The fire in Dean eyes grew as he took a menacing step forward, rolling his sleeve back up.

“I’m gonna-“

“Alright, that’s enough you two. How bout you sit down and eat?” Mary breathed, trying to hide the underlying chuckle in her voice. The two of you may not be children but you certainly acted like it.

You narrowed your eyes at Dean while you gathered up everyone’s coffee while he grabbed the pancakes, the two of you plopping down in silence besides each other.

“Are mornings usually like this?”

“You mean every damn Friday morning?” Sam questioned, stabbing at his pancakes. “Then yes. Yes it is.”

“Are Friday mornings some sort of special occasion or something?” Mary questioned over the lip over her mug, watching the two of you curiously.

“Fridays Y/Ns in charge of breakfast, I only show up because she like my help.” Dean spoke through a mouthful of pancake, quickly earning him a smack on the back of the head from you.

“You insist on helping me, and don’t talk with your mouth full. That’s gross.”

“You’re gross.”

You rolled your eyes, uncapping the can of whipped cream before spraying a generous amount on top of both your pancakes and coffee. “Great comeback there. Really original, Dean.”

“You know what? Sue me.”

Letting out a deep sigh you stabbed your fork into your pancakes. “Mary, you should know that your son is an idiot.”

“Oh, I know. You don’t need to tell me.” She grinned, finding Deans reaction priceless when his jaw dropped open, a second later your were using your freehand to push it shut once more. When you let go you reached for the can of whipped cream again, spraying more onto your plate.

“Y/N, you might want to cool it with the whipped cream-“ Sam began, reminding you that he was still there. You licked the remaining portion off your thumb.

“Nah, makes it easier to do this-“ scooping a portion of it onto your hand you brought your hand back and lightly smacked Dean across the face, a hefty thwap being heard over the music in the background.

Dean froze before slowly looking up from his pancakes and turning to you, face stoic and covered in whipped cream.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

You grinned and took off from the table with a laugh, disappearing down the hallway. Dean attempting to follow only for his socked feet to slide over the linoleum and slow down his attack.

Once she was sure the two of you were out of earshot she turned back to Sam. “Seriously?’

“what?” This time it was Sam's mouth that was full, his eyebrows knotted togther in confusion. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Y/N and Dean.”

“What about Y/N and Dean?”

“Are you sure they aren't together?”

Sam choked on his pancake, quickly reaching for his coffee. “Y/N and Dean? Together? Like together together? No! Hell no!” He cleared his throat with a shake of his head. “What would make you think that?”

She wanted to slap a palm against her forehead. “Are you serious?”

Sam shrugged. “They've been like that for as long as I can remember, doesn't mean anything.”

“You're telling me you cant picture Y/N and Dean as a couple?”

There was a grimace as Sam quickly shook his head. “I don't want to picture that! Y/Ns like an annoying older sister to me, and Dean is my literal, actual brother!”

Mary let out a sigh of defeat as she took another sip of her coffee. Was she the only one with a pair of eyes around here?

SPN Taglist:

@familybusinesswritingbro@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti @callmekda @jordangdelacruz @orphiceseum @andthatsmyworld @marvelfangirllll @fandomnerdespressourself @gladiosamicitias @castielsangelsx @lxstgxrl-ck @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl @totallyluciferr @supernaturalenchanted @dolanfivsosxox@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts @akshi8278 @defenderrosetyler @heyyy-hey-babyyy @idksupernatural @vicmc624 @all-will-be-well-love@busy-bee-angel-misska @starsandmidnightblue @lilulo-12fanfiction @beanie-beebo @xoxoaudreymarie @greenarrowhead @mrsjenniferwinchester @mysticalfuncollectorus @brebolin @biahblue @noahandthegiraffe @that-one-gay-girl @hollymac79

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester one shot #spn x reader #SPN #bi-danvers writing

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xserpentlife · 4 years

Text

7 Months

Requested: Yes: Could you possibly do a reader x Sweet Pea? Where the reader is Reggie little sister and she's dating Sweet pea and he finds out? Maybe a little angsty and fluffy?

A/N: Thankyou to my favorite human and beta @wayward-river she helped me so much with this fic, so much so we actually co-wrote it. At first I had no inspiration and she helped me so much and gave me inspiration

Warning: a few fight scenes, guns scene from riverdale w/ archie.

You laid back against Sweet Pea as he mindlessly drew shapes on your arms while the TV played, you didn’t even remember what movie you had put in as your mind was in overdrive lately. Sweet Pea had won you over seven months ago. Seven months of pure happiness yet no one knew.

“Pea?”

“Hmm pretty girl?”

“Do you care that no one knows?” You picked at your nails as you stared at the wall in front of you. His hands stopped moving.

“No.” he paused as his hands started to draw circles again. “Do I wish I could take you out and show you off? Yeah, I hate that I have to pretend that I don’t know you at school-” His words were cut off as the trailer door began opening, you jumped forward as you tried to scramble to run to the bathroom but it was too late, neither of you had any warning as Fangs and Toni waltzed into the small living room.

Fangs and Toni stood as they stared at the both of you mouths agape. “What, how, when?” It seems like Fangs couldn’t even form a full sentence.

You ducked your head as you gave a small wave.

“Guys do you uh know…”

“Y/N Mantle… yeah we do.”

“Cool everyone knows everyone.” Sweet Pea tried his best to play everything off.

“Nu-uh, how long have you two lovebirds been cuddled up.”

“First off Fogarty, how weird are you? Second uh, well...”

“Seven months.” You finished for him as you glanced a look up.

“You kept a secret from me for seven months?”

“Fangs I had to.”

“I asked him too, you uh both know who my older brother is… and we’d appreciate it if he doesn’t find out… yet.”

Toni folded her arms across her chest “How do we know this isn’t some ploy you and your southside hating brother has come up with?”

“She would never do that Toni, and I love you like a sister but don’t ever talk to her like that, she is nothing like her idiot brother”

“Pea!”

“Sorry babe, but it’s true…”

“I know, but you don’t have to say it out loud” you pushed him slightly, a chuckle coming out of him, and the smile that made you fall so quick. “Do you guys wanna watch the movie with us?”

“Yes!”

“Fangs chill you’re like a lost puppy”

“Pea be nice!”

“Sorry they interrupted our cuddle sesh and I don’t appreciate it, but you guys can stay cause y/n offered” You drug him to the couch sitting down throwing your legs over his lap and cuddled into his side as Toni took the chair and Fangs leaned up against the side while sitting on the floor.

After a few hours of you mainly sleeping on the side of the couch, Sweet Pea had decided to take you home, you had tried to protest, telling him you’d just stay over but he wouldn’t risk it without a good cover, normally he’d want to piss off the older Mantle but looking at you he just wanted to protect your happiness.

Sweet Pea pulled his truck to the side of the road a block away from your house, he never chanced taking the bike when he wanted to take you home. You shivered as you slid across the seat to kiss him goodnight.

Goosebumps erupted on your arms as his hands rubbed up and down them. “Babe you’re freezing.” Sweet Pea reached into the back pulling out one of his flannels.

You took the flannel not even thinking about where you were headed. It was warm and smelled like him. Woodsy smoke and vanilla, almost like how your clothes smell after a bonfire. You leaned forward placing a quick peck to his cheek. “I’ll text you when I’m behind the enemy lines.”

Sweet Pea rolled his eyes as he gently pushed you out of the truck, watching you until you turned the corner, he never told you but he’d always inch the truck up slowly, making sure he made as little noise as possible to make sure you made it into your house safely.

You let out a content sigh as you walked into your house. Both of your parents' cars were gone, you thought you were pretty safe until you looked up into the questioning eyes of your older brothers.

“Hey Reg, what up bro?”

“What are you wearing?”

You looked down at yourself, your mind trying to calm you down. “Uhm a flannel?”

“You don’t wear flannels, I don’t wear flannels, and it looks a little big on you so I’d say that flannel belongs to a boy.”

You threw your hands up in mock surrender. “Oh you got me, it’s Jake’s we went for Pops and then went to the park and it’s chilly, he was a perfect gentleman. You should be proud at least one of your bulldogs has class.

Reggie watched you as you hurried up the stairs. He wasn’t quite sure if he believed you. You had been acting shady lately and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

You had texted Sweet Pea after school and had been around him and Fangs all afternoon. It was getting pretty late but you hadn’t wanted to go home so you decided to walk with them to the small convenience store for some popcorn and candy for the movie night you had planned, your parents and Reggie thinking you were in Greendale at a friends house.

You walked beside them for a while until you focused on what looked like Archie tagging the side of a building. “What the fuck is he doing?”

At this point both boys had seen what had captured your attention. Sweet Pea and Fangs headed over.

“Hey what the hell are you doing?”

Archie glanced over, “Back off I’m not here for you.”

“Oh yeah? Then whose this message for huh?” Sweet Pea got closer as he shoved Archie.

Archie tried to move forward both Fangs and Sweet Pea stopped him. “This is Serpent Territory you can’t just come here and tag our turf, so why don’t you get your ass back to the Northside, before somebody gets hurt.”

Your eyes flickered back and forth between the two boys wildly. Why couldn’t both sides just get along?

“Get out of my way, or someone will get hurt.”

You had never heard Archie talk like that before. Why was he being like this?

At his words Sweet Pea pushed you back behind him farther as Fangs stepped over blocking your view entirely.

“You just made a big mistake.”

You could hear the click of Sweet Peas switchblade, you looked to the ground as your heart raced.

At this point everything was eerily silent. Until Sweet Pea and Fangs started backing up, Sweet Peas hands behind him making sure he wouldn’t run into you and you were still behind him protected and out of view.

“WHO MADE A MISTAKE!”

What was Archie on?

“C’mon let's go!” Sweet Pea turned making sure he was still blocking you as he mouthed the word run.

You never took Sweet Pea lightly so when he mouthed that with the worried look in his eyes you gave a slight nod as you tried to run away with them as silently as you could.

You stopped a few blocks away.

“What-did oh my goodness.” You put your hands on your knees as you bent down. Sweet Pea laid his hand on your back.

“Hey breathe, we’re okay. Everyone is okay.”

You listened to the sound of his voice as you took a few breaths, standing back up you assessed Sweet Pea. “Are..are you okay?”

“Me? Baby I’m good. I promise.” He paused as he looked to Fangs. “That redhead on the other hand, he’s in for it.”

You spent the rest of the night wrapped in Sweet Peas arms, he seemed to hold onto you just a little tighter.

Ever since the other night you didn’t like being away from Sweet Pea for very long and it had been a few days, you paced back and forth in your room trying to decide what to do. Your decision was made for you when you pulled out your found and hit his name. Instantly calming when you heard him answer.

“Hey babe can I come over?”

“Yeah, of course, I need to run out with Toni and Fangs though...Serpent stuff is happening”

“Be safe okay?”

“Of course princess, always gotta come home to you plus you’re waiting there for me, even more reason, I love you and I’ll see you in a bit”

You waited for a while, the last time you checked your watch an hour had gone by, an hour turned into two and two into two and a half, it drew the line for you. You were about to leave to go to the Wyrm terrified beyond belief of what could have happened to him. Pea was your world constantly making you smile when no one else could. You grabbed one of his hoodies and your keys about to walk out the door when it slammed open, you jumped back and grabbed the bat next to the counter, you shut your eyes ready to swing until you heard his voice.

“Baby it’s me!”

“Sorry I thought…” You looked up to a bloody and bruised Sweet Pea standing in front of you “What the fuck happened to you”

“There was a fight” You ran up to him placing a hand on his cheek as he leaned into you

“Go sit on the couch baby and I’ll get the washcloth and med box”

“Just come sit with me, just wanna have you close” You looked at him wanting so bad to help him clean up but you knew more than ever that right now all he wanted was you, so you helped him sit and then laid our head across his lap as he leaned down into your touch as your fingers raked through his hair and his moved up and down your leg.

“Tell me what happened, I wanna know Pea, Who did it to you Pea”

“Baby it’s not important…”

“Pea tell me…”

“I can’t”

“Pea. You promised me no secrets. We’re in this together.”

“Fine, it was your brother”

“My brother!” you sat straight up the news shocking you more than anything

“Did you just say my brother did this to you! I’m gonna kill him” You got up grabbing your keys, running out of the house. Pea tried to stop you before you could leave but he barely made it to the last step when you peeled out of the driveway.

You barged into your house slamming the door behind you, silently thankful that your parents were away on a business trip. You ran to the stairs yelling up, imaging Reggie was up there cleaning up his face. “Reginald!”

“Y/N what the fuck are you yelling about” you watched him come down the stairs, dabbing at his eyebrow with a washcloth. You walked up shoving him back

“What the fuck is wrong with you! I can’t fucking believe you”

“What…”

“Like fuck Reggie, I just don’t understand what goes through your fucking... “ Before you could get another word out the door behind you opened, and you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N leave it, it’s fine”

“No Pea it’s not fucking fine”

“What the fuck are you doing here snake, get the fuck out of my house”

“He doesn’t have to leave Reggie, you don’t have the fucking authority to make him, so stop while your fucking ahead or I won’t hesitate to make you bleed form your other eyebrow got it”

“y/n why the fuck are you defending him!”

“Because he’s my fucking boyfriend”

“I’m sorry what!”

“As in I am dating him”

“Yeah, I got that part, what the fuck do you mean you’re dating him!”

“Y/N just drop it, you’re never gonna change his opinion”

“Don’t fucking talk for her snake!” You watched Reggie barrel towards Sweet Pea, you stepped in front of him, quickly being knocked down by Reggie in the process.

“y/n I’m sorry!” Reggie stared at you as Pea reached down checking you out and helping you up, he whispered asking if you were all right before kissing the side of your head

“This is what happens Reggie! You care more about where someone comes from and how they are seen than who they are. Sweet Pea is a good guy, he takes care of me”

“There is no fuckin way he could do that Y/N, I’m sorry I pushed you, but he is a fucking snake, he’s in a fucking gang, I mean he fights people! He does bad shit, ask anyone! The Sheriff, Archie, anyone will tell you they are bad people”

“The ‘they’ you talk about…” Pea grabbed your hand speaking up.

“Listen we don’t have to agree on much, but I won’t let you drag her away from me. I love your sister, I protected her when we got a fucking gun pulled on us because of your dumbass of a best friend, , and I will prot…”

“Wait You were there when Archie went!”

“You knew Archie went to the Southside to pull a fucking gun!’

“No I didn’t know he pulled the gun til after the fact, but why didn’t you fucking tell me”

“Guess we both have that question for each other”

“How did he not know you were there, did he see you!”

“He didn’t see me… I was hanging out with Pea and some of our friends when they caught him tagging the wall, none of us expected him to pull a gun, Pea pushed me behind him to protect me”

Reggie looked between the both of you and then down to your hands that were intertwined. “You, uh.” You watched him take a breath, almost like he was preparing himself for something.

“You uh protected her? Before yourself?”

“Yeah?”

Reggie looked skeptical, “Why?”

“I love her, I’d protect her from anything. I hate seeing her upset and hurt and it’s been hard for her keeping this from you,”

“Did you decide that?” Reggie crossed his arms cutting Sweet Pea off.

“No, I didn’t.”

Reggie looked at you then. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I love you Reg, but you don’t see what I see and I know you take the brunt of mom and dad so maybe that’s why you have this built up hatred but I love Sweet Pea, I was scared to tell you because I didn’t want this to happen.” You motioned in between the both of them.

“Well he showed up looking for a fight.”

You scoffed. “Andrews pulled a gun. He had it coming.”

Reggie sighed. “Look, I can’t tell you I like this...I don’t but if you are happy... I can try. Don’t expect us to be friends though.”

You nodded your head as you wrapped your brother in a hug.

“That's all I ask. Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here before mom and dad get home, there’s been enough excitement for one night.”

You grabbed Sweet Pea as you headed back out the door.

“I know that’s not how you pictured him finding out, but I’m glad it’s out now.”

You smiled as you stood on your tiptoes placing a kiss onto his cheek. “Yeah, me too.”

Sweet Pea gave a soft smile. “You staying with me tonight baby girl?”

“Yeah let’s go home.”

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verobatto · 4 years

Text

Destiel Chronicles

Vol. LXXX

It was a love story from the very beginning.

Is Not Allowed (Part I)

(12x10a)

Hi my dears! And we arrived to one of our favorite Destiel episodes: 'Lily Sanders has some regrets.'

We have a lot of Destiel to discuss here, more of it you have read for sure already in this fandom, because we are late with the subtext, but I decided to divide this meta in two parts.

Married Couple and the Third Wheel

When the episode starts, we have our little moose and Dean having this peculiar dialogue...

SAM: I don't think we have the kind of mom who's gonna stay home and make us chicken soup for dinner, you know? You talk to Cass yet?

DEAN: No.

Sam jumps from mom, one of Dean's concerns, to Cas. He has to take this chance, and he's asking because we could assume, he was seeing something odd between them going on. (Poor third wheel), he noticed, as the insightful person Sam is, Dean and Cas are not talking to each other. He had noticed the awkward silence...

I want to hug that moose...

SAM: So, what, you're just gonna keep walking past each other in the kitchen, not saying a word?

DEAN: Maybe.

I love Yockey, because he's pointing here through Sam's lines how Dean and Cas behave like two lovers fighting. Is a married couple, and he's the poor kid in the middle. And I love his body language, because he is moving the chair as if it was a game in the park, while looking at his brother like "you are two kids. You are so in love and fight like two love birds." Hope in his eyes, because he's making his brother talk with him about Cas. This is a perfect parallel to season 8, the bunker again, and Dean mad at Cas again, but this time Sam is more used to it. And kind of amused.

SAM: Look, yes, Cass killed Billie, but he saved us. He saved Mom. How long are you gonna stay pissed?

DEAN: I'm not pissed that he cares about us, you know. I'm – I'm grateful. But Billie said there would be “cosmic consequences” if that deal got broken. You have any idea what that means?

SAM: No.

DEAN: Neither do I, but I'm pretty sure it ain't jellybeans and g-strings.

SAM: My point is, Cas thought he was doing the right thing.

CAS: I was doing the right thing.

Sam is always Castiel's attorney, he was that in season 8 saying 'Is Cas!", And he is now trying to make his brother to understand why Cas did it.

Sam is saying what Dean always says about Cas, but is not working this time, because they're already married hahahaa. Sorry. But is true.

And the bickering continues...

CAS: No. This is personal.

DEAN: Meaning what?

CAS: Another angel. An old friend. He called out for help.

DEAN: Oh. Good old reliable angel radio.

May I point here how jealous is Dean? Because every time Cas mentions angels or Heaven, he is there to spread his jealousy all over. Just thinking about Cas coming back to Heaven or to his old Garrison, makes Dean lose it.

CAS: He was begging for help and then he just stopped. I need to know if he's still alive.

SAM: Yeah, all right. Well... we'll come with you.

CAS: Both of you?

There comes the sassy look, I love it, Cas is so done with Dean's attitude, but he is not aware he's acting just like him. I know Sam is saying 'Kiss already!'

DEAN: Sure. Yeah, we could help. Gotta make sure you don't do anything else stupid.

Dean's favorite quote to exasperate his angel... The level of bickering is reaching the top, but there's still even more... Are you praying for Sammy?

The awkward silence in the car makes Sam wanting to die. Is the same sensation an old friend feels when an old couple is fighting, and he knows both of them. Being in the middle of that war is stressing.

We, as spectators, don't know if we should laugh or just feel sorry for Sam.

Is a very uncomfortable situation...

Thank you Yockey for writing this clearly as two men in love fighting, making it blatant to any eye watching.

Because we have the exaggerating reactions, the rolling eyes, the frowns and the sassiest quotes and looks. And the jealousy at his maximum expression. YES, DEAN AND CAS ARE IN LOVE AND THEY'RE FIGHTING.

SAM: All right. Guys, you know what? This – this silent treatment thing, it's silly. It's not gonna work. Whatever we're walking into, we should, you know, probably have an actual plan.

Sam is so done with it, he's just throwing some reason over there.

CAS: (sighs) What do you wanna know?

DEAN: Oh, he speaks.

SAM: Enough. Cass, you said when you heard Benjamin, he – he was screaming.

Okay, Sam is scolding his brother, because he had just asked them to stop, and he keeps acting like a child, so, time to stop him.

CAS: It was, um... Look, Benjamin wouldn't call for help lightly. And he wouldn't put himself in harm's way if he could help it.

DEAN: Wow, this Benjamin seems like he's pretty cool, you know. Like he wouldn't make any half-cocked, knee-jerk choices.

Well, look at this, Dean is far from stop, he is trying to annoy Castiel even more. Trying to throw a little of irony, and Cas will reply with some acid words...

Gif set credit @shirtlesssammy 👇

CAS: Yeah, you know what I like about him? Is that he's sarcastic, but he's thoughtful and appreciative, too.

DEAN: Now what is that supposed to mean?

SAM: Okay, okay, the road, road. Dude, watch the road.

This is one of my fav scenes, because he got so jealous over Castiel's words about Benjamin, that is hilarious, he even turns around to face the angel, ignoring he was the driver, and is SO SO BLATANT, AGAIN, SO CLEAR TO OUR EYES THEY'RE TWO LOVE BIRDS FIGHTING.

What is allowed

Let's jump now into a concept that will be explored this season and the following. Something that every angel has written in his brains: Sacred Oath.

Yockey will show us in this episode the two difference about what is allowed and what is not allowed to angels about their relationships with humans.

Pay attention to Castiel's words here...

CAS: Benjamin is always very careful. Long ago, he found a powerfully devout vessel in Madrid, and her faith, it... she gave him everything – her trust and her body.

This speech Cas makes about Benjamin and her female vessel, is nothing else than a profound bond, when he says 'she gave him everything--her trust her body.' He's talking about which kind of relationship is allowed for an angel to have with a human. Sharing vessel, is an intimate act of trust and submission. But the way Cas is talking about it, the sentiment he put on those words, is talking about something else there. So maybe Benjamin and this woman fell in love, and the only allowed way to share their lives together, was through sharing vessel. @emblue-sparks has a very interesting analysis about how this premise introduced by Yockey could be taken as a theory of Dean and Cas sharing vessels since season 13. You can find their thoughts here. I based my current Destiel endgame spec on this too, and in more clues I found mostly in season 15. You can find that spec here.

DEAN: Wait. So Benjamin's a woman.

CAS: Benjamin is an angel. His vessel is a woman. But it – it's – it's more than that. She's not just his vessel.

SAM: She's... She's his friend.

CAS: Yeah. Benjamin would never put her in unnecessary danger.

And we love Yockey, shows us here the genderless nature of angels, based on the vessels. When he says BENJAMIN IS AN ANGEL, he is saying he is not a woman, not a man, even when his pronoun is He/Him.

There will be another example when Yockey shows us fem vessel! Castiel.

When Cas says 'it's more than that. She's not just his vessel." Is giving us clues, again, about the kind of profound bond Benjamin and the spanish woman shared.

I have to cut the analysis here, and I will let the "not allowed" topics for the next meta.

To Conclude:

I consider Yockey as the Destiel guide writer in Dabb's team. Each episode he wrote, he made a guide with steps our ship will follow in the incoming chapters.

This time he is putting in order a couple of concepts about angels, allowed relationships with humans and forbidden relationships.

This is very important to understand Castiel's POV about his own feelings for Dean.

He wrote an old married couple bickering, and Sam represented all of us, trying to survive to uncomfortable silences and bitterness.

Hope you like this meta, see you in the next one!

Tagging @magnificent-winged-beast @emblue-sparks @weird-dorky-little-deana @michyribeiro @whyjm @legendary-destiel @a-bit-of-influence @thatwitchydestielfan @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @lykanyouko @evvvissticante @savannadarkbaby @dea-stiel @poorreputation @bre95611 @thewolfathedoor @charlottemanchmal @neii3n @deathswaywardson @followyourenergy @dean-is-bi-till-i-die @hekatelilith-blog @avidbkwrm @anarchiana @dickpuncher365 @vampyrosa @authorsararayne @mybonsai1976 @love-neve-dies @dustythewind @wayward-winchester67 @angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat @trashblackrainbow @deeutdutdutdoh @destiel-shipper-11 @larrem88 @charmedbycastiel @ran-savant @little-crazy-misha-minion @samoosetheshipper

@shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @mishtho @dancingtuesdaymorning @nerditoutwithbooks @mikennacac73 @justmeand-myinsight @idontwantpeopletoknowmyname @teddybeardoctor @pepevons @helevetica @isthisdestiel @dizzypinwheel @jawnlockwinchester @horsez2 @qanelyytha

@destielle @agusvedder @spnsmile @shippsblog @robot-feels @superlock-in-the-tardis @superduckbatrebel @2musiclover2 @nickelkit @anon-non2 @cea1996

If you want to be added or removed from this list, just let me know.

If you want to read the previous metas from this season, here you have the links:

Vol. LXXV, LXXVI, LXXVII, LXXVIII, LXXIX

Buenos Aires, September 22th 2020 7:03 PM

#destiel chronicles #destiel #destiel meta #season 12 meta #s12 meta #Vol. LXXX

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secret-engima · 4 years

Note

I present, in the Little Nox Dissidia: Little Nox is understandably distressed at being in this place again, as a toddler. Noctis would like to register a complaint, as he carefully balanced a baby LC on his hip, this is not how he wanted to discover a long awaited baby brother. SWORD, big sword, why sword, HELP! Ardyn comes down like the wrath of the Astrals manifest to rescue his nephew(s), & Crystal-o-Vision is how the Citadel discovers they have a few LC extra wandering around.

hgfdhgfd YES. Let’s just- let’s just ignore the usual Little Nox age gap and say that Noctis is 17-ish when Nox is like- 5 for this particular Dissidia blurb. Just for the lols.

-Little Nox is ... AWARE that he knows this place. In a dreamlike sort of way, and he knows it is Not Good that he is here. Let’s pretend, for the sake of Drama™, that Nox shows up with like- Materia’s Champions rather than Spiritus’s this once, and Cloud is honestly a very quiet Die™ when he stumbles on this ACTUAL SMOL CHILD staring out at the desert with a wobbling lip and big eyes.

-Cloud awkwardly hauls the kiddo to Materia’s tower and nearly gets the life scared out of him halfway there when Nox starts throwing a mini-tantrum that involves Armiger (that’s a lot of swords that’s TOO MANY SWORDS-). Luckily for Cloud, Nox is not really a tantrum kind of child so it quickly trails off to miserable sniffling.

-Even so, with that display of magic in mind, when Cloud spots Noctis, who looks so similar to the child Cloud is awkwardly holding and also has the blue sparkle magic, Cloud is all too relieved to speed walk over there and plop Nox into a stunned Noctis’s arms with a gruff, “Found your baby brother outside,” and then speed walk off, leaving Noctis to stare in shock-horror-WHAT at the mini him in his arms who is already relaxing into his grip and tangling young magic with Noctis’s, making it utterly unmistakable that YES. This smol child is, in fact, related to Noctis.

-Someone help him.

-Noctis ends up propping Nox on his hip for a while and getting cooed over by the female champions while someone kindly rigs him a backpack/sling thing out of a cape (WoL is happy to donate his cape to the Baby Cause and all the Champions are an Outrage that there is a CHILD HERE. Not like Onion Knight, who knows a sword and is at least 12, but a FIVE YEAR OLD, Materia is apologetic and confused, because she could have sworn she only summoned old souls that knew combat).

-Ardyn, meanwhile, is a Rampage. He quickly scares the living daylights out of 80% of the crazies under Spiritus’s command and recruits a bemused Sephiroth to the Hunt For Darling Nephew (because Ardyn isn’t optimistic enough to believe Nox is still safe and sound in the hotel room they’d been in moments ago) and even Spiritus is wide-eyed at how Feral this new Champion is.

-Noctis does Not want to go out there and fight things with a newly discovered baby brother on his back, but he also wants to get home asap with said baby brother, so he tentatively leaves the tower with a hovering group of Champions trailing around him (which include Lightning, WoL, Cecil, Y’Shtola, and Cloud Nox-keeps-crying-when-I-leave-his-sight-someone-help-me Strife).

-Naturally, a group of Champions that large gather attention and they get attacked.

-Noctis is doing pretty good holding his own, especially since the other Champions are working hard to keep the enemy AWAY FROM THE SMOL CHILD, when one of the Big Guys (what’s his name- Golbez? Exdeath? WoL’s rival) breaks through the line and goes after Noctis as “the weak link”.

-Noctis can barely start to raise his sword when there’s a shockwave of magic so thick and murderous it sense everyone but him to their knees. There’s a flare of red magic and the snap-crack of a warp and suddenly there’s a Murder Hobo in their midst, tearing apart Spiritus’s champions with bared teeth and blood red magic running down his face in a parody of his old Scourge Face.

-Materia’s Champions can only watch as this new coming shreds the opposition like paper and sends them packing, then stands there breathing lightly with a red armiger spinning dangerously around him.

-The wary silence is broken by Nox leaning as far as he can past Noctis’s shoulder, reaching toward the Murder Hobo with a soft, relieved pulse of magic and a little cry of “Uncle!”

-UNCLE? Noctis thinks frantically as the man turns around and stares with that horrible red mask of magic. A blink and the mask is gone and the man is stalking forward, swords tucked away in armiger as he reaches for Nox with a relieved, “Nephew!”

-What.

-What is going on.

-“Ummmm,” says Noctis, shifting a bit to keep Nox out of the man’s grip. The man just blinks at him, then smiles, “Ah, you must be my OTHER nephew!” He doffs his hat and bows, “Ardyn Izunia, at your service. Now if you don’t mind,” He straightens up with a smile that means Death, “Give me back the nephew I’ve been raising since he was a toddler.”

-Not an idiot, Noctis hands Nox over. He can feel Ardyn’s magic swirling around them anyway, all but screaming protective and loving instincts. This man, for all he’s scary and very dangerous, is no threat to Noctis’s baby brother. He’s also Noctis’s uncle? Apparently? Has to be with that magic and his age.

-Noctis is Very Confused, but kinda relieved to have a Murder Hobo Uncle on his side during this insanity.

-Meanwhile, the Chocobros 1.0 who are watching via crystal-o-vision (XD) are all just- this does not compute. This DOES NOT COMPUTE. That is another SON when Regis is certain he did not HAVE another son (a son that looks just like Noctis at that age, eerily so) and now- now the CHANCELLOR OF NIFLHEIM stands before his sons with magic of his own swirling around them and calls little Nox his NEPHEW. That he’s been RAISING.

-It’s Cor who breaks the silence, Cor who remembers the little blond boy he rescued from a lab and puts the pieces together as best he knows how, leaping to the only conclusion that makes SENSE.

-“He’s a clone.”

-And Regis’s world crashes down around his ears.

-All this time ... all this time he’s had a brother, had FAMILY and now he finds that not only is Niflheim’s chancellor his brother but that Niflheim has taken his son’s blood and MADE A CHILD with it.

-Regis is so furious he can barely breathe.

-The Chocobros 1.0 (plus Titus who is an Internal Die™ when he sees what’s happening) watch the Dissidia adventure with bated breath, watch Ardyn fall into Noctis’s orbit as easily as breathing, DOTING on the enemy prince with a whimsy that spoke of menace but with eyes so soft and calm, with magic that makes Noctis’s shoulders ease without thinking, that all Regis can see is a man who loves his nephews more than anything in the world.

-And they listen, too, as Ardyn tells his story (his cover story, anyway) about running away from the Empire with the little clone boy he found, about how Ardyn himself had been tortured by “Regis’s predecessor” (this only spoken of after a nasty fire spell ruins his shirts and reveals his scars).

-By the time they are all sent back, Noctis showing up in the Citadel and Ardyn and Nox back in their hotel far away, Regis and Co are fully on the warpath and ready to bring the wayward LCs safe home.

#SE asks #anon asks #Secret Engima Rambles #Nox verse #Not How He Wanted To Find Relatives verse #Little Nox verse #dissidia!#this is not how noctis wanted to learn he had relatives

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octoberobserver · 4 years

Text

Hello, Cas - Destiel Fix-It Fanfic

READ ON AO3

“Hello, Cas.”

Dean Winchester has to admit this new Heaven is great and all, but nothing compares to the deep-seated satisfaction of watching his best friend startle at his voice, turning on the spot, their eyes locking.

Now you know how it feels, dumbass.

“Hello, Dean.”

Something settles in Dean’s chest at that.

Cas looks different. Younger, maybe. Less tortured, definitely.

The trench coat isn’t quite right, though.

The sun is still shining, where they stand on the edge of the lake.

Dean has no idea how much time has passed since he left Sam with their mom and dad and hit the road again, one destination in mind, Bobby’s “Cas helped” ringing in his ears. He doesn’t know how he knew where to go, it more of a feeling, than anything else. Like a beacon calling out to somewhere deep inside him.

So he drives.

And finds him at the edge of a familiar-looking pier, gazing out at the water, deep in thought.

So deep in fact, that Dean manages to somehow sneak up on him. He wonders if it’s a particular perk that Jack wrote into the fabric of this place.

Dean Winchester must finally be allowed to get the drop on the angel, Castiel. It’s an intrinsic part of his eternal paradise.

For what must be one of the only times in their many years of friendship, Cas breaks eye contact after a fleeting but heavy glance, looking over Dean’s shoulder to where Baby is glinting in the late-afternoon sun.

“Did you have a nice drive?”

He did.

He hadn’t meant for it to last quite as long as it did, but got lost in the journey, time slipping by like nothing at all as Kansas and later, Led Zeppelin, crooned on the radio.

“I did,” he replies, coming to stand right next to the angel, “thanks for bringing Baby up here.”

He knows it was Cas’ doing. Ensuring his Impala was waiting for him. Not that Jack needed reminding. He smiles as he thinks of their driving lessons.

“Your version of Heaven wouldn’t be complete without your beloved vehicle,” Cas attempts a smile while still not looking directly at him.

Something lurches in Dean’s stomach. The same something that once had him reaching for the bottle and drinking himself into a blackout, numbing stupor.

“Cas…” he tries to speak over the lump in his throat, “back in the bunker, man, I—”

“Sam arrived okay?” Cas cuts across lightly, moving away from him, shuffling along the edge of the lake, eyes downcast.

Dean blinks before stumbling after him, confused.

“Uh, yeah. He did. Lived a long, happy life with Eileen. Just like he deserved.”

Cas says nothing at that, but the tension that mars his shoulders eases a little.

“Eileen arrived some time ago. I got to introduce her to your mom.”

Dean didn’t know that. Hadn’t thought to ask that. Hadn’t thought to ask a lot of things, really.

Guilt rises from the pit of his gut.

“Sammy’s with them all now,” he speaks in an effort to drown it out, “pretty sure Mom is showing her our baby pictures as we speak.”

He chuckles.

“Jack really did think of every little detail, huh?”

Cas gives a nod, short and curt, eyes still downcast and suddenly, Dean can’t take it anymore.

“I thought about it, every day. Saving you.”

The words expel from him, banished from his body before he can stop them.

His legs move on their own volition until he is barely a foot from him, speaking directly to the back of his head.

“‘Gripping you tight and raising you from perdition,’” he quotes in his best Cas-gruff, “repaying the favor from all those years ago.”

He heaves a sigh as Cas abruptly comes to a halt.

“Killing myself somehow to plunge into the Empty on a wing and a prayer, maybe. One last deal to end all deals. But then I...I thought about your sacrifice. You died for me, Cas. So that I could live. So that I could be more than daddy’s blunt instrument. More than the destructive son of a bitch I’ve been since that night in ‘83.”

He pauses, watching the water ripple along the bank.

“I had no way of knowing that some wayward rebar would put a stop to that so soon,” he laughs dryly, holding his arms out, sarcasm seeping into his tone, “‘the great Dean Winchester’ cut down in his prime by some shoddy—”

“I almost asked Jack to bring you back,” Cas interjects, eyes now cast out to the skyline as he wrings his hands, “I was...concerned about Sam. And—the unfairness of it all. I...I didn’t want your story to end like that, Dean. You deserve happiness too.”

His heart gives another lurch in his chest.

So much for being dead. Don’t think the ol’ ticker got the memo.

“I was, Cas,” he half whispers to the water, “I was happy. If even just for a little bit. Because, we, me and Sam, we were finally writing our own story. Not Chuck.”

He tilts his head as Cas slowly begins to turn.

“I just didn’t count on that kinda plot twist,” he speaks around a half-smirk, half-grimace, “always thought I’d go down in a blaze of glory. Not offed by some opportunistic, no-name vamp and crappy reinforced steel.”

He finally lets himself laugh at that. Loud and abrupt and more than a little pained. The sheer absurdity of it. Him, having survived Hell and possessions and God himself.

Cas doesn’t laugh.

But he does step slightly closer.

“He called his kid Dean,” Dean continues, apropos of nothing. “Sammy.”

“I heard.”

“Dean Castiel Winchester.”

Cas blinks, apparently not privy to that information.

“That’s...touching.”

“Yeah,” Dean grins, “really rolls off the tongue, huh? Castiel Winchester?”

Cas shifts his weight from foot to foot, his brow furrowed.

Guilt creeps into Dean’s veins.

“Cas...will you look at me, man?”

A beat passes.

“Please?”

Finally, those bright blue eyes meet his, holding his gaze this time.

“Hi.”

It’s not what he intended to say. Not even close. But it’s a start.

Cas throws him a puzzled look.

“Hello, Dean.”

A shiver, one he hasn’t felt in what feels like a lifetime ago and also like it was yesterday, flows up his spine at Cas’ voice.

“God, I missed you.”

Something unreadable passes over Cas’ face before a smile, small but warm, appears.

“I missed you too, Dean.”

He lets that settle between them for a beat, basking in the words that always manages to sound a little different coming from his best friend than they ever did from his brother.

“Back in the bunker…” he attempts again, only to trail off when he sees Cas visibly tense, eyes darting away again.

He’s waiting for rejection, he thinks to himself.

The realisation hits him like a spike through the back.

Too soon?

“Back in the bunker,” he continues for the third time, voice softer than he could ever remember it being, “I thought that was it. That we were gonna die. For good.”

Cas’ gaze slowly starts to rise again.

“That Billie was gonna kill you, that the last thing I’d see before I died was her destroying you,” he pauses, his breath shaky, “and it broke me. That...fear...I started to shut down.”

Blue eyes meet green.

“And then you started talking,” he murmurs, his pulse speeding up as he recounts the memory he had fought so hard to keep buried, “you said that happiness isn’t in the having. It’s in just being. In just...saying it.’”

A gasp, short and shallow and quiet escapes Cas, then.

But he keeps Dean’s gaze.

“Yes I...I did say that.”

Dean nods.

“You said something else too.”

Cas nods back, a stricken expression crossing his face.

“Dean—”

“I was frozen, paralysed,” Dean cuts across him, taking that last step towards him to halt merely inches from his face, “I...I couldn’t process what you were saying. I couldn’t...make sense of it. You said I was caring and selfless and the most loving human being you had ever known, but Cas,” he takes a deep, shuddering breath, the words lodging in his throat as he blinks back the burning behind his eyes.

“You deserved so much better than what I gave you.”

Cas shakes his head vigorously, holding up a hand.

“No, Dean. What you gave me—”

“All I gave you was grief and anger and pain, man. I know that.”

Cas’ mouth twists at that.

“You always came when I called, you fell, rebelled, were hunted,” Dean continues, swallowing down the bile rising in his throat, “you gave me everything. You gave your grace, your life, more than once—”

“And I did all that, I risked my life, my grace, I rebelled and was hunted because I had changed, Dean. I cared. You changed me. You made me care about everything and everyone. You gave me that. You gave me a place in the world. A place to call home. A family to call my own. That was all you.”

Cas is breathing hard. Dean’s eyes lowers to his chest, surprised to find it heaving. Something stirs in his stomach at the sight.

“Do you understand?”

Slowly, he lifts his gaze back up and nods.

They fall into a silence, nothing but the sound of the water and some nearby birds passing between them.

It’s here that Dean finally decides that his happiness deserves to be said. No Empty could threaten them here. But he’s always been an ‘actions speak louder’ kinda guy.

Turning on his heel, he books it back over to Baby, throwing open the trunk. He can feel Cas’ wide, confused eyes on him and he reaches in and pulls out what he instinctively knows is somehow there, waiting for him. Slamming the trunk, he holds it behind his back as he races back over to the lake’s edge, a little unnerved that Cas may do one of his disappearing acts before he gets a chance to show him.

He takes the last few steps slowly. Closing the distance between them bit by bit as he tries to dredge up every ounce of courage he has ever felt fighting demons and vampires and the Devil and God.

He stops mere inches from Castiel, angel of the (former) Lord, and the best friend he has ever had and holds out his old trench coat, the same coat he had kept with him all this time, on every hunt, on every drive.

“This uh...this belongs to you.”

It’s not the only thing that belongs to him. But Dean can’t quite say that. Not just yet.

“Dean…” Cas’ voice is low, soft when he reaches out to take it, their fingers brushing.

A bolt of electricity flows up Dean’s arm, his grip tightening on the cloth.

“You kept it.”

Cas sounds disbelieving, reverent, loving.

He sounds like he has always sounded, now that Dean lets himself hear it.

See it.

“Of course I kept it. It’s yours. And I…” he lets out a breath, nerves settling as he allows himself to finally experience those feelings within him differently for the first time, like he once said he wanted to, to a priest in a church confessional.

He speaks the truth, out loud, for his best friend, the man who has meant everything to him for what feels like forever, to finally hear.

“I love you too, Cas.”

He half expects the new Heaven to open, a crack in the chassis of paradise to form at that revelation.

But the water keeps flowing, the birds keep singing and Cas...keeps staring.

Not exactly the reaction he was going for.

“It’s...I’m honoured to be considered a Winchester brother.”

Dean blinks.

Ice cold fear, stronger and more intense than anything he had ever felt while he was alive, seeps into his veins, then.

Had he got it wrong? What Cas was saying to him in his last moments? Had that not meant—

He looks down into those deep blue eyes and sees...more. More emotions and thoughts and feelings than Dean could hope to comprehend.

Cas always did look at him a hell of a lot differently than Sam ever did. Than anyone ever did.

With a shake of his head and a mental pep-talk that consists fully of ‘fuck it, I’m already dead,’ he lets his hand slide across Cas’, halting it before he could pull away.

“No, Cas I-I mean yeah, you are a Winchester, always have been, but...that’s not what I meant. I...”

He puts the slightest amount of pressure on the back of his hand, almost squeezing but not quite, it enough to spur him on to make another confession. His deepest and oldest yet.

“What you wanted but...could never have? I-I’m saying you can have it.”

He’s pretty sure neither one of them are breathing at that moment. Not that Cas ever needed to, or that they especially need to now. But, there is a noticeable stillness between them as Cas digests his words.

It’s the longest seven seconds of Dean’s after-life. And considering time moves differently up here, that’s saying something.

A smile, gentle but filled with so much happiness it has Dean’s heart hammering against his ribcage, breaks out on Cas’ face.

“I would like that, Dean.”

Bafflingly, he begins to shed his clothes.

Dean’s eyes widen, panic and something else surging through him as he glances frantically around for any prying eyes. Cas is stripping out in the open, in heaven of all places.

Holy shit. The holiest.

“Whoa, whoa, what—”

It’s then that he realises that Cas is just removing his coat and is now pulling on the old one, beaming.

That settles something in Dean, then. Fills a space he knew had been empty for a long, long time, as his eyes land on Cas with his signature trench coat, striped tie and white shirt, even in paradise.

He hadn’t changed too much, then. And God, (Jack?), Dean loves him for it.

“How do I look?” Cas asks, holding his arms out, looking expectant, much like he had years ago when he had walked out of their motel bathroom, freshly changed and Dean didn’t know quite how to keep his shit together.

He had been so blind.

“Good,” he rasps before clearing his throat, reaching out and fixing Cas’ lapels, smoothing them down and itching to keep his hands resting just over his heart.

Another beat passed as Dean stared doggedly down at the old, brown material.

"You know,” Cas begins, sounding as if he had just figured something out, “in those ‘chick flicks’ you insist you don't like, wouldn't this be the part where you kiss me?"

Green eyes meet those baby blue for what felt like the millionth and first time all at once.

“You wanna have a chick flick moment, Cas?” he asks quietly, because he’s scared and needs a minute to actually get his shit together for the most important thing he never got to do in life.

“After everything, I think we deserve it.”

Dean’s eyes slip closed at that, basking in the timbre of his voice as he leans down to rest their foreheads together.

“Yeah,” he agrees, his breath brushing against Cas’ lips, “we do.”

He closes the gap and kisses him feather-light.

Heaven doesn’t implode, the world doesn’t end.

So he does it again.

A little harder this time, his mouth dropping open in a half-gasp as Cas leans up, pressing against him and clutching at his shirt, his tongue trailing along his bottom lip.

Damn. The pizza man teach him that too?

Any coherent thought leaves his brain when he licks into Cas’ mouth, their tongues meeting. Dean clasps Cas’ jaw in his hand Cas grips his shoulder, right over where his risened handprint used to lie, and his bloodied one stayed on his jacket forever as Dean never could bring himself to wash it before he kicked the bucket.

Emotion wells in Dean’s chest, the word finally ringing within him.

“I-I have wanted that for a very long time,” Cas mumbles against his lips as they break for air from habit rather than necessity.

“Yeah, me too…” Dean replies, tipping their foreheads together again, “I’m sorry it took me so long to realise it.”

Cas’ hold on his shoulder tightens. It’s forgiveness and an apology all in one.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m sorry I had to leave you.”

I’m sorry you died, lies unsaid between them.

Dean merely shakes his head, tilting back to catch his eye.

“So we’re two sorry dumbasses,” he jokes gently, warmth spreading in his chest at the sight of Cas’ bright eyes glistening, knowing his own are in a similar state.

“I prefer the word ‘pining.’ Less dumb, less ass.”

A laugh bursts from Dean then, loud and more jovial than he had felt in years.

“Come on, sunshine,” he grins, knocking their shoulders and staying close, “we got some people waiting to see us.”

For the lovely @itsmajel & @thefriendlypigeon ♥♥

(I’ve not watched a full episode of Supernatural in six years. The finale being the exception, so sorry for any inaccuracies!)

#destiel #be gentle it's my first destiel fic despite writing fanfiction for 16 years now lol

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