#this thought inspired by the fact that before i watched supernatural i vaguely knew about emmanuel cas and purgatory and thought that

[caspock]

btw i think season 9 of spn should’ve had the s1 ouat plot

[twdmusicboxmystery]

ToTWD 1x06: La Dona, Part 1

Okay, so this episode was weird. That’s the first thing I said to my fellow theorists after watching it. This episode is so weird. I’m not even sure what we’re supposed to glean from it. And that doesn’t happen very often. It’s very bizarre. Feels like a supernatural horror flick. I knew I’d need to watch it a bunch more before I really “got” it. But I was busy the first part of the week, and @galadrieljones​ beat me to the interpretation of it. So, I’ll give you predominantly her observations today, and then I’ll do mine tomorrow. Enjoy!

@galadrieljones:

So first off, this episode begins with some extreme psychological disorientation re: the exaggerated crane shots that sort of spin around over the woods and then zero in on Dali and Eric climbing a steep hill. I saw this as them sort of clawing their way out of hell, in a way, and I knew immediately that things were not going to be as they seemed, once again.

That brings me the names. This was very interesting to me!! Idalia is actually of Italian origin, meaning “of the sun.” Further, the nickname “Dali” conjures the Spanish surrealist painter Salvador Dali, who painted “The Persistence of Memory,” or the painting with the melted clocks, inspired by the theory of relativity. I think the allusion to the Surreal here is purposeful.

The melting clocks, too, are so loaded for me, in terms of all the ways tptb likes to use clocks, and to mess with time.

There are a couple instances of blatant Find Me callbacks—notably the isolated cabin in the woods, the screened in porch, and this painting of a fall landscape with a river running through it.

 (I had to brighten up the shot of the painting considerably. But I do see a distinct river.)

When you were writing about the non-linear storytelling of Davon, @twdmusicboxmystery​, I was thinking about Find Me and how it’s also told out of order. I thought of the railroad spikes and how they’re also out of order (we see three and then two). Something is going on here. They’re teaching us to appreciate stories being told out of order, via flashback, and also through goggles of extreme disorientation, memory loss, repressed emotions, and psychological trauma. Do with that info what you will. This episode informs Find Me. Ann I also agree it reminds me of “Ghosts.” It somewhat reminds me of “On the Inside,” thought the twist in “On the Inside” is that all of it was actually real. Everything in “La Dona” is a delusion.

In terms of the timeline, I can't prove it, but I get the sense this is happening relatively soon after the turn. Like within a year maybe. They were with a community and things went bad. The dialogue in the end is vague but it sounds and seems like something went bad with the woman named Maria, that Dali killed her, and the other ppl in the community were asking questions, so Eric killed them. We see him killing humans in his flashbacks just before he “sees” Maria “alive” outside the gate.

In terms of characterization: The roles of the characters are deceiving. Both seem like the antagonist at some point. At first, it seems like Eric is unhinged and indifferent to human life, but later it seems like Dali has somehow deceived him into killing for her, that she has some sort of control over him.

Eric really reminds me of Chris from Fear. He even looks like Chris. Chris wrestles with indifference, Darwinian thinking, and he has a very hard time coping with the fact that his dad “killed” his mom (who was bitten). This causes him to overcompensate as a “protector.” He kills Reed, a member of the hostile pirate group who tries to commandeer the Abigail, and after that, everyone starts to view him differently, and he’s never the same. He slowly starts creeping everyone out, esp Alicia. At Celia’s compound she’s convinced he’s going to kill her, and it’s all based on a huge misunderstanding. Eventually, Chris, who is super confused and struggling to cope with the realities of the new world, begins to think that nobody trusts him, and in this, becomes a person no one can trust. He eventually gets himself killed when he falls in with a rough crowd who, after he is terribly injured in a car crash, execute him. Chris is a cautionary tale. He’s the bizarro Carl. He’s Carl after the prison if Rick had not had Hershel as a mentor. A lot about this episode feels cautionary, or as usual, inverted.

Eric also seems like a kind of alternate version of Daryl, like a younger version of Daryl, if Daryl were more confident and sure of himself. Or maybe if Daryl were who he is in "Alone," but all the time, and with awareness of how charming he actually is. Eric is handsome and aloof. A classic bad boy. This is affirmed by the parrot: “Hola, guapo," ie: "Hello, handsome." One of his outfits later in the episode even reminds me of Daryl's outfit in Alone: Black jacket over tan/neutral shirt. I personally thought the actor was super hot, too. Lol. But that's just my opinion.

Dali is a less obvious character to me. She’s not a clear Beth proxy, just as Eric isn’t a clear Daryl proxy. Eric is the one who wants to “live” and not just survive, but Dali has a spiritual connection to this place and seems to be in touch with the powerfully feminine “witch” forces at work in the house. There are subtle implications that she herself may be a bruja or have some connection to Alma, or like she has some sort of “powers” that she doesn’t understand. I think it’s just illusion. I don’t think there are actual paranormal things happening in the episode. It’s psychological horror, like that old story “The Yellow Wallpaper.” She has “witch” energy. It’s unclear what her role was in the events from before La Dona. She blames Eric for something really bad that happened, but he says they did it “together.” How much is she controlling him vs. how much is he controlling her? It’s unclear.

I don’t know if perhaps Eric and Dali are being drugged. They do eat the soup, and they do drink the water. Toward the end, Eric comments that the water tastes bad. There’s a whole to-do in the beginning, too, about how the water “works.”

This would bring us back to "What We Become" and the possibility that Daryl may have been drugged or drinking too much alcohol during Find Me. All the mushroom symbolism, Carol dosing the caffeine pills in "Ghosts," etc.

Okay, so as an “Alone” replay, or more if an “Alone”-gone-wrong situation: Things really crystallized for me when Eric basically proposes to Dali, asking her to “settle down” with him in “this sick ass house.” The sick-ass house reminded me of the suck-ass camp, as well as Alone as a marriage allegory. In Alone, Beth and Daryl come upon an undertakers residence and a funeral home. It’s been lived in, but the owner isn’t there. They eat some of his food, but leave some, too. Daryl proposes that if he comes back, they just “make it work.” In La Dona, Dali leads them to a bruja’s house. How she knows about this place is questionable and has something to do with Maria, the walker who is following them. Inside, Alma offers them food but no more. When Eric shows he’s unwilling to “make it work,” she “dies,” seeming to “curse” them. The house is filled with ominous, Catholic iconography, some of which seems to be alive with malice. The funeral home, on the other hand, is a genial, warm place. It feels physically and spiritually clean, with the funeral room uplifting and full of music. Even as the home is situated in a cemetery, it doesn’t feel haunted at all, or, like I said, Beth and Daryl are “new haunts.”

Toward the end of La Dona, there are framed photos of Eric and Dali lying in bed, but it looks like they’re lying in coffins. In Alone, Daryl lies in a coffin and refers to it as a bed.

Now this is the one where I like laughed out loud as I was nursing my baby. When Eric names the bird Paco, he says he's naming it after his sister's dog. I said to myself, this better not be a one-eyed dog. And then...it was lol. Yet another moment where I felt tptb were talking directly to us. Eric calls the bird Paco, after his sister’s one-eyed pug. The one-eyed disposition of the dog along with the parrot actually meet, too, via the pirate theme. The parrot is a proxy for the one-eyed dog. Both also provide warnings to the characters.

Another interesting Alone parallel happens when Dali is slashing at imaginary walkers in the heavy fog. This is an allusion to the other half of Alone, when Maggie, Sasha, and Bob fight off a bunch of actual walkers in very heavy fog.

In Alone, I always took that as a metaphor. There are many hidden dangers in this episode. Beware. Ofc in "La Dona," the dangers aren't merely hidden. They're imagined.

On a simpler note: The Bruja as a figure of Mexican folklore fits with the Chupacabra as well as La Lechuza, from Fear. I haven't worked this one out yet. There is a lot of crossover with the Native American imagery in this episode, like when Alma's voice can be heard whispering "Get off my land," or something to that effect.

Um, so...the Jesus frogs. That was crazy? Idk what to make of that. Does anyone have any ideas on what the heck was going on with those hopping Jesuses?? They DID look like frogs, and frogs are a thing, ofc. "Go Tell it to the Frogs" and "Them" both have big frog themes. Frogs are a Biblical plague, etc. Maybe it's that simple. Idk. But it was crazy and I was not expecting that!! Also, Ann, I thought of you fondly when the peacock feathers in the wallpaper started blinking like creepy eyes.

Here's something else I wasn't sure of. Eric seems to have two dots tattooed (?) under his right eye. I thought they were maybe just freckles but the actor Danny Ramirez doesn’t have freckles there, so that’s a choice.

My final note is on folie a deaux.

This is very interesting to me. It's the type of disorder that Gina thinks she and Blair are sharing in Blair/Gina. It's a kind of shared psychosis between two people, or MORE. If you read the above snippet you'll see folie a deaux can be shared across many people, and the delusions are usually brought on by an "anchor," or one person who originates and "spreads" their psychosis to others. It's a real phenomenon.

This episode seems like a strong play on folie a deaux, or a shared delusion, except neither one of them is sure who the anchor is. Eric says, “You’re the one seeing things. Don’t start planting seeds in my head," which makes it seem like it's Dali who's the anchor; however, Eric is having his own brand of hallucinations, tied mainly to the bird. In the end, it doesn't really matter, as they imagine they are being sucked into an abyss of walkers and sucking vines, but the truth is, they are actually stabbing each other to death.

With the episode aligning so closely to Alone, I am now wondering how the folie a deaux works into the Alone template. I’m still thinking about it. I really don't know. But I think it could also be tied to "Coda." We've talked so much about how Coda is from Rick's clearly skewed point of view, and how in the episode, he seems genuinely out of his mind...

Anyway, that's all. Sorry for the length. I found this episode to be truly fascinating. Interested in any/all thoughts and additions!!

@twdmusicboxmystery:

This is wonderful! Thanks so much for posting it. And honestly, other than some of the clues you mentioned, I wasn’t sure exactly how to interpret it. I kind of wanted to do with this episode what I did last week with Davon (watch it like 4 times, lol). It was only after watching it several times that it really came clear to me. But I haven’t returned to La Dona yet. 

I do have some of the things you said (and laughed at) in my notes. Like when Eric said he wanted to stay (I thought of Daryl wanting to settle down as well) and I picked up the one-eyed dog reference. Definitely felt like a twisted version of Alone to me. But a lot of these other things, I missed. I’ll try and watch it again later tonight, but you’ve given us a good direction for interpretation here. 

I love the fog pointing to the Maggie/Sasha/Bob side of Alone. The foile a deux reference is super compelling. I hadn’t thought to connect that, but no way Blair and Gina randomly mentioning is and a few episodes later we have a couple with a shared delusion, is a coincidence. 

Actually, I love that because it shows they were using one episode to foreshadow another, seemingly irrelevant episode. 

I’m not sure what to make of the Jesus frogs, either. You could see it as a really twisted resurrection symbol, I suppose. And she definitely rejects them. I’ll think about it more as I rewatch. 

I’m also thinking about what you said about Maria. Even though she’s not a “main” character in the episode, I kind of think she might be pivotal to the interpretation. Not sure why yet. 

@wdway:

Great job of explaining this episode. I needed this. You guys are so much better at this type of thing than I am. I've only watched it once but I think I'll wait till after I read @twdmusicboxmystery’s notes and then watch it again and have a much better understanding of what tptb wants us to grasp from it.

@galadrieljones:

I’m glad my notes resonated!! When Alma’s voice says to Dali “This is my land,” that just reminded me of that weird thing Leah says in Find Me. She asks Daryl what he’s doing out here on “[her] land.” Is Leah a “witch?” What does she mean by that? Alma has walls. Leah just has a cabin? What “land” is she referring to?

I know we’ve talked about her as Hecate/Huldra, like a keeper of the dead. Wondering if this isn’t a more pointed way of making that same argument. And then there’s Trail of Tears stuff, the Chupacabra, both Daryl symbols. Idk where I’m going w this, but I feel this ep has a lot to do with both Find Me and Alone.

[twist-shout-and-shells]

Loki: Religious Predestination v Free-Will

And how that affects his relationship with Mobius, narratively speaking

So. In case it isn’t clear by *gestures at my whole blog*, I’m a Supernatural blog. I’m a DeanCas blog. I haven’t been around much lately because there are very important, Orwellian things going on in Brasil, but I still keep up with the fandom. And, more important to this post, I still keep up with whatever Marvel’s doing, which means I get up at 7 am every Wednesday to watch Loki.

(Before we start, I’d like to note that I had never actually published any meta on Tumblr. The most I had done was give it to my philosophy and biology teachers as school essays. So, bear with me, okay?)

Well, what does Supernatural have to do with Loki? Not much, except for the narrative they very obviously share. The characters are different, their motivations too, and so are many of the variables that surround, but deep down, at the core, it is the same narrative of Religious Predestination versus Free-Will. And yes, that drives me all the way up the walls.

Religious Predestination is the idea that all events, past, present, and future have been foretold, “written”, predicted by divine, omnipotent beings. There are different types of Predestination, but the two I think fit the most here are Double Predestination and Middle Knowledge (yes, most of my knowledge of this comes from Wikipedia, sue me).

The first claims that God (or whichever omnipotent divine being is responsible for the predestination, in this case, the Time-Keepers) chooses from his own will who will be “condemned” and who will be “saved”. This applies to the show when we consider the fact that Loki has been “predestined” to be a villain. Is all he’s ever been, it’s what he was “born to be”, while the Avengers were all born to be heroes, according to the decrees of the Time-Keepers.

Meanwhile, Middle Knowledge defends that, before the creation of the world (or, in this case, the Sacred Timeline), God already knew every choice that every free-will possessing creature could make in any given circumstance, and He chose the “timeline” that most suited his will. This version also makes sense when we consider the existence of multiple timelines and that the Time-Keepers united them and decided what would be the proper flow of time.

Now, which exact version of Religious Predestination to pick isn’t exactly my point here. My point is that I) everything about the TVA screams Religious Predestination allegory, from the minutemen and other agents being “created” to the words “decree” and “dictate” being thrown around whenever Ravonna is on screen or someone’s talking about the Time-Keepers (who just so happen to be kind of worshipped at the TVA, as there are so many statues of them. They are treated like gods. They are gods.). Do you know what else is a Religious Predestination allegory? Blade Runner. Do you know what was one of the main inspirations for the TVA’s design? Blade Runner! That could mean nothing or that could mean something given *gestures vaguely at the rest of this post*.

So. Loki seeks to escape his “Destiny”. He wants to make his own choices without them being decreed by divine, omnipotent beings. He wants his successes and failures (but mostly his successes) to be his own, and, most important, he doesn’t want to be what everyone expects him to be. Not anymore. Not after what he saw at the TVA. Because everyone is telling him that he was “born to be” a villain (or, at the very least, a side character), he will now want to prove to everyone that he can be more than that. Because he is that “insubordinate, stubborn, and unpredictable” (even if he plans on overthrowing the TVA, I don’t think he sees that as an act of villainy. Maybe he never even planned on actually overthrowing the TVA, maybe he just wanted to get the Variant).

And Mobius, well. Mobius is a good TVA agent. Not all good, of course, ‘cause he has shown more than once that he doesn’t completely agree with how the TVA does things (“They should be scared” “Not of us”), even though, at the end of the day, he believes in them and accepts their mission because he believes they are doing the right thing (unless I’m completely wrong about Mobius, he is the true villain of the show, and has an evil plan of his own. Sorry, I saw a post and now I’m paranoid). So, what happens when an already questioning, though devoted, agent of the Time Variance Authority like Mobius comes into contact with someone like Loki, who pretty much worships Chaos? After having studied Loki’s whole life, and admittedly being a big fan? Well, this happens:

(If looks could kill indeed, Mobius)

Loki is supposed to drag Mobius out of his comfort zone at the TVA, to make him question things harder. Because it would seem “good people are never truly good”, so what’s behind the TVA’s Orwellian, Blade Runner-y scenario? And, even if they’re just really boring and full of paperwork, why should anyone dictate the proper flow of time? What about Free-Will, what about Chaos?

That is how this sort of narrative is supposed to go. Because Loki and Mobius are complete opposites in where they came from and who they wanna be, but at the same time, they’re much alike, as Ravonna even says. She accuses Mobius of being just as insubordinate and stubborn as Loki is. Loki was born and he wanted to be king because he thought (and was led to believe) it was his birthright. Now he wants to tell his own story more than ever ‘cause how dare the Time-Keepers predestinate Loki. Meanwhile, Mobius was created and all he’s ever known is the TVA’s order. But he is stubborn at heart and he craves humanity (the jet ski???), even if he believes he can’t have it because it’s too chaotic or simply not meant for him.

Mobius doesn’t see Loki as a villain (“no one bad is ever truly bad”?). He believes that Loki can be better. And Loki, if I’m reading this right, should help Mobius see that he’s, you know, kind of working for an authoritarian agency, what with “dictating the proper flow of time” and all that. (Yeah, yeah, I know. Multiversal war this, multiversal war that, but isn’t Doctor Strange’s next movie called Multiverse of Madness? Also, has anyone ever actually met the Time-Keepers? Or do all the TVA agents just blindly follow their orders? Maybe we’re bound to have a Multiverse by the end of this anyway.)

(And I’ve seen this narrative before. Faithless man meets angel, makes angel question Heaven’s orders, angel finds out Heaven is not that good after all, angel literally fall for the faithless man. In between, there is a lot of staring and standing too close and betrayals. It’s ridiculous how similar it is.)

So, where was I going with all of this…look, narratively speaking, from what we’ve seen so far, these two are a perfect match (and I’m not even mentioning Loki’s thing for older men in positions of power, which Mobius is completely aware of

). But there is a big, big distance between the narrative pointing towards something and the creative (though, let’s be honest, probably the executive) powers following through.

Now, it wasn’t just the Religious Predestination thing that caught my attention here, no. It wasn’t even the Blade Runner parallels (I’m quite sure Loki has Galatians Syndrome, but that’s a whole other post). It was how similar the plot of Loki is to the plot of Where Mischief Lies by Mackenzi Lee. It caught my attention to the point that I’m nervously glancing at my book while writing this. But I don’t want this to be too long, so I’m gonna put that on a separate post.

Anyway, I hope at least some of this made sense, and thank you so much for reading through my rambling!

[voiceless-terror]

hi friend!!!! i love your writing!!! if you're taking prompts from the bingo card (if you're not then feel free to delete this!!), how about N5 for Jon? :) i hope you have a great day!!

‘fighting to pay attention to urgent information’ ahh i love this prompt!! thank you so much for the ask, it means a lot since i love your writing so much (and it  inspired me to starting posting my stuff, to be honest). Here you go, I hope you like! This takes place right after Sasha makes her statement to Jon in season one.

Sasha is talking but Jon can’t hear her.

It’s all muddled in his mind. So many things have happened over the last couple of weeks- Martin’s worm attack and now Sasha’s encounter with Michael- and his mind is refusing to process. She gave her statement in his office and was now explaining the situation to Martin and Tim while Jon stood awkwardly in the doorway, trying to nod at the appropriate time.

“We’ll need a plan of attack if Prentiss comes or if any of us encounter Michael again,” she’s saying. “Martin’s already living here, but-”

A plan. Yes. A plan would be good but Jon can’t think beyond Sasha bleeding in his office and Martin throwing open his door demanding to be heard. The worms on the pavement crawl and creep and remind him of something he thought he’d finally put behind him but he’s been chasing it the entire time, hasn’t he?

His body feels at once too hot and too cold. Jon’s never understood that about illness. How a body can burn with fever and shake with a chill at the same time. But he’s not sick, he’s just...overwhelmed. Needs to eat a normal meal, needs to get some sleep. If he could just get a deep breath in his lungs the black spots would stop dancing in front of his vision and he could pay attention and come up with a plan. 

But every other word is ‘worms’ and ‘infestation’ and all matter of disturbing things and his mind goes wild with imagination, horrible scenarios playing out in his mind as his breaths turn into an uneven staccato of sound that he tries to stifle.

“-could get more CO2 you think? Jon?” That’s your name.

“A-Ah, yes. I’ll t-talk to Elias.” Sasha nods and Jon is relieved to have said the right thing. The fog in his brain lifts; the panic eases for just a few moments but it only reveals more physical pain and he starts to shake. He knows he needs to sit down soon or he’ll be lying on the ground either way. So he slowly backs out of the room, hoping no one notices as his hands grasp at the wall for balance. He manages to stumble back to Document Storage before he hears someone calling his name. But he’s lost now, barely breathing as his heart stutters in his chest and he sinks to the floor.

________

Martin had been watching Jon while Sasha spoke. Martin watched Jon a lot- innocently, of course, and Jon never seemed to notice. He was either willfully ignorant or really that oblivious. 

Martin was starting to double down on the ‘willfully ignorant’ theory. 

Jon was nodding along, sure. But his face held a detached blankness, as if each word were in one ear and out the other. Of course he would zone out during this conversation; it involved real, actual supernatural occurrences. He only contributed once, a vague promise to talk to Elias, who was turning out to be a very useless manager. Martin thought Jon was getting better about this. After all, he seemed to believe both Martin and Sasha’s stories. But he watched as Jon moved further and further out of the room when he should be contributing to the conversation. He disappeared down the hallway and Martin let out an irritated sigh, drawing Tim and Sasha’s attention.

“What’s up?” Tim asked from his perch on Sasha’s desk. “Don’t worry, we’re gonna figure this out-”

“It’s not-” Martin got up, starting to make his way down the hallway. “It’s Jon. I can’t believe he would just walk out on this. I’m going to go talk to him.”

“Martin-” Sasha sounded hesitant but he ignored her as he spotted the open door to Document Storage. Why would Jon go  here instead of his office? This was Martin’s room with his things. And I didn’t exactly keep it clean. “Jon?” he called out. “Jon, you need to- what are you doing?”

The man was leaning against his cot, knees brought up to his chest as he stared at the floor. His glasses were tucked into his sweater and his hair was a mess, as if he’d been running his fingers through it. And he was ignoring Martin in favor of whatever the hell he found so interesting about the floor. Martin stooped down to his level, ignoring the twinge in his knees on the cold cement. “What’s going on?” he asked again, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. God, Jon could be so infuriating at times, but he was still concerned.

Jon barely spared him a glance and tightened his arms around his knees, looking like a ball of tension. His shoulders moved very minutely upwards in a sort of shrugging motion and Martin thought he heard a mumble of ‘’nothing, fine,” under his breath and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He moved in closer, setting a firm hand on Jon’s bony shoulder- when did he get so thin?

“Look, I know it’s a lot,” Martin tried for comfort, though it was getting harder and harder to do so these days when the man refused to see reason. “But you can’t just bury your head in the sand whenever someone says something you don’t want to hear, alright? We’re all struggling and it would be a lot easier if we had a boss who actually listened instead of- shit.”

Jon was shaking so much. How had he not noticed? His breathing was off, like a sputtering engine as his white-knuckled grip dug into his knees. His face was ashen and sweaty. He was clearly unwell but he opened his mouth anyway in an attempt to respond. His eyes did not meet Martin’s.

“It’s- it’s all I think about,” he began, his voice more of a croak than the smooth baritone Martin was used to. “She’s after us, after you and Sasha and now there’s Michael and I don’t know what to do.” Martin watched in horror as his eyes filled with tears and his voice trembled. “And- and what if I go home and she’s waiting there? What if she gets Tim? What if we aren’t safe anywhere?” A slender hand shot out and grabbed onto Martin’s sweater, startling him as Jon’s eyes met his own with a desperate fervor. “I-I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. And Elias doesn’t even care, just w-watches while we all scramble around doing- doing-” his voice broke into a hacking cough and Martin couldn’t witness any more. He dislodged Jon’s hand and backed away. Seeing Jon like this was uncomfortable and he wasn’t sure what to do about it, so he went into his natural problem-solving mode. “I’m going to get you some water, yeah? You’re- you’re not well, we can talk about this later.” Despite keeping his voice soft and low, Martin watched as Jon shrunk into himself, desperately trying to stifle his coughs. “I’ll be right back.”

He hightailed it out of the storage area, eyes firmly on the ground and steps so quick he didn’t notice Tim until he ran right into him.

“Oof! What’s wrong, Martin?” Tim said as he grabbed him by the shoulder. “Boss giving you trouble?” Martin shook his head, voicing his next words as diplomatically as possible. 

“He’s, um- I think he’s sick?” Tim’s brow furrowed in concern. “I’m just going to get him some water, yeah.” He walked off before Tim could ask another question; he didn’t want to leave Jon alone for too long but he also didn’t want to be subjected to Tim’s questioning.

It only took him a couple of minutes to grab some water and a cold towel but by the time he got back to the room Jon was laid out on his cot, eyes barely open as Tim said something Martin couldn’t hear and smiled softly at the man in the bed. He knew they’d all known each other before the Archives; it was something that he thought about quite a bit, to be honest. But he’d never really seen Jon interact with someone like this, so quiet and trusting that he nodded off right in front of them.  

“There you are!” Tim said, uncharacteristically quiet. He reached out and Martin handed over the supplies, still stupefied by the whole situation. 

“Just gonna let him sleep for a mo’ before I force this down his throat,” he chuckled as he gently placed the towel on his forehead. “Glad you checked up on him- didn’t realize he was having a rough go of it. I’m usually a bit more observant.”

“We’re all having a rough go of it, Tim,” Martin felt like he had to explain some of his frustration. “How did he let himself get to this point? I mean, he’s always so skeptical on the tapes but it turns out he’s worked himself up so much he’s sick and it doesn’t make any sense.”

“We all tell our lies, Martin,” The words weren’t said unkindly, but he remembered that Tim knew about his resume and though he didn’t think the man would ever tell anyone it did seem like the words were rather pointed. “His coping mechanism is all this skeptic nonsense. Don’t get me wrong, it’s terrible and very annoying,” Tim conceded, giving Martin a knowing look. “But not all of us ended up here accidentally. Most of us are here for answers. For a reason.” Tim’s far off look reminded him that he knew so little about the people he worked with. He wondered what Tim’s reason was, what Jon’s was. And if they would ever feel comfortable enough to confide in him. 

Martin doesn’t know how to respond to those words, so he does what he does best- deflect and nervously offer his services. “I can throw the kettle on, maybe order some takeaway? Food would probably make him feel better.” 

“Yeah, reckon it would,” Tim’s just staring at Jon as he fitfully dozed. Tim may not have been attacked directly but he looked tired and worried all the same. “He likes Thai.”

Martin noted the fact down for his mental file on Jonathan Sims. Hates spiders. Likes his tea with milk, no sugar. Hates my handwriting. Likes Thai. It’s not very comprehensive.

Later, when he’s making tea in the break room, he watches as Sasha slips into the hallway to Document Storage, attempting to go unnoticed. She’s got a hand to her shoulder like she’s trying to rub away the ache and Martin grabs some paracetamol out of the cabinet, knowing both her and Jon will need it. Everyone in the Archives likes to hide their pain, himself included. But maybe for one night they could help each other out. Four tired humans against two eldritch abominations.

Martin could get behind those odds.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065482

[weird-incarnate]

The Origins of Dr. Valentine

So I wrote this in a blast of late night inspiration about the lore behind Dr. Marbus Valentine. This is her origin story, but it does end not really explaining... how she got to the current time period she is in. I was too tired to get to that, so I’ll get to it later. Story is under the cut.

TW: Blood, Murder, Vague mentions of Abuse, A LOT of Christian Religious stuff, Assault, Death.

Summary: The doctor in the woods only helped cure patients of their pain for their last day on earth. Someone is out for her head, not for that injustice, but because the doctor is secretly an angel sent to earth to help humans find peace.

No beta reader we die like men

“Do you know what heaven looks like?” 

I wouldn’t say it was the last question I expected the little girl on my surgical table to ask. She had to have been cold, scared and looking for a sign that if the procedure was to end badly that she had hope on the other side. For the fourth time that day I analyzed the small girl’s frame, taking notes as if I wasn’t already aware of her status. She looked malnourished, and was terrified of every loud noise that came nearby my medical office. While the noises were sparse, the sound of construction on a church close by was enough to startle the girl to tears at a point. 

I felt nothing but a heavy heart as I lay the clipboard on the counter and pulled out a bottle of my cure. She was sick with the plague, yes, but so was half the town at this moment. What concerned me more is the odd quips she said about her father being upset at her for what seemed like merely breathing. The girl wasn’t even seven yet and her father faced her with the back of his hand ready to snap across her cheek if she shed a tear at his spite. She did not tell me this. I simply knew. “It’s…” I started, realizing my voice was sounding much too somber “It’s a place full of light and gentle touch. No one hurts you there. But! I don’t believe you need to see heaven today my child. It’s much too soon for a beautiful child like you.” She smiled weakly and stared at the ceiling of my quaint office. I knew the words did not comfort her. The child did not know what it feels like not to hurt. I looked away from her and poured a droplet of my serum into a herbal concoction. I did not know what was in it. I simply was doing what Archangel Michael told me to do in training. Before… any of this happened. Before I was sent down to this planet. I waited counting the five seconds, like I was told, before walking the herbal remedy over to the child and readying a spoon. “Is it gonna taste gross?” She asked, looking down at my hand offering the offending spoon. I could only chuckle at her soft voice. It hid the pain I felt. No it would not taste gross. In fact just like every other patient, the child took the serum with gusto, not stopping till I had fulfilled the proper dose. That did not cure her true ailment though. Her ailment was her father, who did not accompany her that day. He would never accompany her again. I knew too well that tonight she would die by the hands of her father, in the midst of a drunken rage, and it would be blamed on the plague. It’s what I saw within her soul. After the girl had accepted some food from me, she made her way down the path to town, returning from where she had come. I sighed in abject, unfeelable exhaustion. Angels don’t get tired. Angels don’t feel pain. I reminded myself that as I returned to my little empty office waiting for another visitor to cross my path. It was my mantra. Once night fell, I understood that no more visitors would be stopping by. The girl I saw had only an hour to live, and I could not stop it. So I simply shrugged off my coat, and stretched my wings as I sat in my living room, studying my scriptures. I watched as words appeared on the page, a glowing message from Michael, giving me praise for comforting the girl in her final day. He explained that tomorrow I would not have anyone cross my cottage and I would be free to explore the town nearby. I smiled at the thought of the bread from the bakery, or possibly a new bottle of wine. I would have the whole day to myself to explore the workings of the humans most importantly of all. I found them fascinating. After being in heaven for so long, surrounded by godly presences, you forget how… mundane humans are, and how beautiful that is. I write my sigil, a simple response to let Archangel Michael know I understand his answer, and set down my scriptures. 

I allowed myself to give into temptation for a fleeting moment and went to the kitchen, pulling out one of the bottles of wine the humans had gifted me some time ago. The human terminology for him would’ve been a “potential suitor”. I was immune to the desire of humans. It was silly to me. To chase after someone to spend maybe a handful of decades with before moving on to the next life or facing the judgement of Hell. No, I was immortal, I would never experience that. However, the concept fascinated me. I swirled the wine in my glass, staring out my window into the beautiful forest. It was aglow with fireflies and the sounds of the creatures who call the darkness their home. I sipped my wine, bitter compared to what I have tasted before. I enjoyed it. I stayed there long past the girl’s time, sipping till the glass was empty and internally mourning the loss of innocence. I would not state it outloud for the Holy to hear but I pleaded within my own virtue for the girl to find a better life in the next. Once I saw the sun break the horizon, I realized only then I had stayed the entire night like that. Not that it matters. Angels do not need sleep.

I left the kitchen and donned my cloak I had left so crudely strewn on the couch. I smoothed out any wrinkles and reached for my mask. A simple white beaked mask. It was stuffed with rose petals, sage, rosemary, and lavender. A blend of my favorite herbs. The ones I was told to be my favorite. I placed it on my face, letting my auburn curls fall across my shoulders, and grabbed a basket with some gold coins stashed inside. I checked the sun in the sky again, estimating the time before I left the sanctity of my cottage. 

I made my way down the path the girl had taken, but continued further until reaching the town. It was a small town but bustling with liveliness already. I greeted several members who had seen me before and spoke subtle pleasantries. It wasn’t until I made it to the park did anything of note occur to me. “Hello? Doctor is that you?” I looked up from the dove I had been feeding with spare seed I had bought, meeting the eyes of a tall man. He was built like a warrior, grisly, with scarred knuckles, but he spoke like a gentleman. “Yes that would be me.” I responded smiling, “Who might you be, young man?” “Oh, my name is Damien Matterson. I was the son of one of your patients. I never got to meet you after my mother’s passing.” He replied, returning my smile. I analyzed his face, realizing I could not read him as well as I thought. His soul was muddled. Dark and murky, but hints of grief pointed out. “Matterson, hm? I remember your mother quite well.” It was not an outright lie. Doing so would be immoral. But it was all I could offer. “She was a wonderful woman. I apologize that her passing was so sudden. I did my best to care for her ailments.” 

I looked at him, into his eyes to be more precise. The last thing I had expected to see was unadulterated hatred. The kind that would make the devil shriek. I found myself rooted into my spot, grateful for my eyes being obscured by the mask of a doctor. 

“You did your best, you say? Well… I hope you don’t mind if I sit with you doctor. I would love to discuss that.” He, without further prompting from my approval, sat next to me on the wooden park bench. My skin burned where his leg pressed against mine. I didn’t understand. What was this? Fear? No, that was much too human. 

”You see…” He continued, “I performed my mother’s autopsy… She was not a plague victim as everyone assumed. Even as you assumed. But… I have a feeling you already knew that.” His hand moved from his lap and rested on my shoulder, gripping it with a force that threatened harm. He gazed at me through the corner of his eye. Ripping me to shreds with his wandering look. I knew immediately what I was dealing with. This was not the son of my patient. The patient he was speaking of didn’t exist. Not within the parameters of the story he had concocted at least. I was dealing with a supernatural hunter. Coughing, I tried not to show my fear, straightening up and looking towards the nearby church construction. 

“What did you discover then? I would love to know. It may better my diagnoses if she perhaps passed from a different ailment-?” “Save it.” “E-Excuse me?” I stuttered, as he suddenly gripped my arm and lifted me up and shifted me into a mock escort position, as if this man I had just met was taking me to a wondrous gala. However it was enough for me to sense the weapon he placed against my back. A devil’s blade. The only thing able to harm an angel. He half dragged me into the nearby dense shrubbery, walking for what felt like an eon to me. We did not stop till we reached the ravine the city gathered resources from. But alas. The ravine was empty. 

“So… I found the angel in Brooksburg. Finally.” 

“Sir. I do not know what you mean. Angels only exist in heaven.” Another half lie. I could not completely lie to his face; it was against my nature. Yet he shoved me to the ground, and before I could recover, I was pressed into the dusty ground by the man straddling my back. He peeled off my cloak despite my fight, and stopped, witnessing my wings. I fluttered them about, flapping against the ground as if I could escape and return to heaven, but he dug his knees into them, gripping his knife tightly. 

“Sorry about this. But you have quite the bounty on your wings, sweetheart.” His words stung my skin. I didn’t understand it. I didn’t understand the pain. I kept my mouth shut as I prayed to my virtue, like a false idol, knowing He would not save me. It was not a sin but acceptance of the truth I had seen. He let the young girl perish. Just as many of my other patients had, not from the pestilence, but from the evil that roams this earth. 

I felt the devil’s blade dig into the joint of my wings that connected to my back. Despite it, despite everything I should’ve been capable of, I screamed. I screamed, and begged, and swore in the name of His upon that plateau. It did not stop the blade. I felt pain I did not think imaginable. I had never been able to imagine pain before. It did not stop, till my wings were severed and my spine damaged from his shoddy workmanship with the blade. I lay there bleeding and gasping, crying unholy tears as I watch his shadow stand and remove himself from my back, plucking my dismembered wings like they were his trophy. He dropped the blade onto the ground, thinking nothing of me, as he preened my feathers, caring for them like they were precious. They were precious. They were my way home. But I would never be able to return home now. 

Heaven faded before me as I grabbed the devil’s knife, rage possessing me, and my soul letting it take shape, as I gripped the man’s leg, and stabbed him in his calf. He fell to his knees and I crawled onto his back, stabbing him. I stabbed him till his blood coated my hands and mixed with my tears. I did not know what was happening. I felt pain, fear, exhaustion… Human...I did not stop massacring his corpse till my arms grew sore. I fell atop his body, blood smearing my white mask and dress, and sobbed. I screamed for the angels to hear me. I begged them to take me home and when they did not, I damned them. Damned them with my human tongue as I crawled my way into the forest, and lay in the gravel, waiting to face my fate in hell. 

[thehollowprince]

Top 5 TV shows?

Okay, so I've thought long and hard about this and finally narrowed it down to five shows. And before we list them, to anyone who reads this, yes I am aware of the problems that these shows have, but I love them anyway.

In no particular order, here they are...

1. The Magicians

I fell in love with this show when I first saw the pilot way back in December of 2015. This was a show that spoke to me on a deep personal level. The characters were me, they were people I knew, they used pop culture references that I got and acted in ways that my generation has adapted to in light of (gestures vaguely) all of this.

And that's not even getting into the world of this show (and the book series that inspired it). The magic is grounded and almost tangible. There are times that I feel under the right circumstances (ba dum tsh), that I could do one of them. No wand waving or vaguely latin words. And the magic comes in all sorts of shapes and sizes and disciplines.

Its great.

Sure, there have been some bumps in the road along this ride, but I've made some great friends in this fandom fbat I wouldn't trade for anything.

2. Teen Wolf

I fully admit, the whole reason I started watching this show was the fact that I saw some stills of Tyler Posey as Scott McCall with his shirt off. Look, I'm not proud of it, but I'm a simple man with simple pleasures. Sue me.

But as it turns out, the show wasn't half bad. Not at all like the comedy that I thought it was going to be. A show that dealt with not only werewolves (an oddity in such vampire-infested times), but all sorts of other shapeshifting creatures from various mythologies and folklores. Sure, they missed the mark once or twice (*cough*skinwalkwers*cough*) but all in all I thought they did a really good job.

Also, this is one of the incredibly few shows that I've ever watched that I loved the main character. I usually either only tolerate them or can't stand them, but Scott McCall was a great character and a good friend, in an era of too much sarcasm.

3. Penny Dreadful

This show was criminally overlooked and underrated!

This has got to be one of the best shows I've ever seen, and that's not even factoring in my feelings on the plot. The whole show (all three - incredibly short - seasons) felt like watching a Victorian novel come to life. And I think that's where it lost so many people. PD wasn't like all of these other shows in this particular genre, with over the top action sequences and metaphysical powers like telekinesis and setting fire with your mind. This show was very internal, very introspective. There was a lot of dialogue and the story was character-driven rather than driven by the plot or action itself.

It was ahead of it's time. Here's hoping that the spinoff show, Penny Dreadful: City of Angels gets a better reception.

4. Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Yes, I am aware of Joss Whedon's less than stellar reputation, but I will take my love for this show to the grave. This was the first show I actually started paying attention to and watching with any kind of regularity (minus the Power Rangers, of course) and I wouldn't trade it. This show got me through so much growing up, even though I'm sure I started watching it when I was too young to understand what was going on.

Also, Willow's journey helped me with my own self-realization when it came to my own sexuality.

5. Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood

I love this anime. It's one of the few I've actually watched and one of the only of those few that I've ever rewatched. I highly recommend it to anyone who hadn't seen it because its amazing. And a lot more adult than you would think for an animated show, but it tackles a lot of really important issues while utilizing a middle-age "science" that is often left by the wayside on modern adaptations of anything occult or supernatural related; that being alchemy. They include things like homunculi and chimeras and even the fabled Philosopher's Stone.

And unlike a lot of animes, or even shows, there is an actual ending to this story that wraps up everything our heroes have gone through.

Bonus: Toy Boy - I'm including this because this is the show I just binged on Netflix. I thoroughly enjoyed it for just being a good, entertaining show. It's like a Magic Mike murder mystery, in Spanish. I loved it.

Bonus Bonus, because that's how I roll - I highly recommend Diary of a Future President on Disney+. I know people have issue with Gina Rodriguez, but its a great little show about a Cuban-American family and the issues that arise from being in middle-school. The kids actually look like kids, the mom actually acts like a mom, there's a nice storyline with the older brother realizing he might not be straight. And it's only ten episodes. You could finish the whole thing in five hours or less.

And there's my list.

[protectteamfreewill]

Lost in the Moment

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warnings: none i guess? angst?

Word count: 4.5k

A/N: I wrote this one a while ago.. tonight I figured why the hell not read it again, edit and correct it and post it? So I hope y’all like it, if you do please leave some feedback <3

Also this is inspired by the song Lost in the moment by NF so you might wanna check that out

*I do not own any Supernatural characters and/or gifs I may use*

“Don’t try to shut me out of this. I’ve been here since day one. I’m just as much a part of this as you are,” you whisper, tears threatening to spill as you discretely study his face in the dim light of the increasing amount of shimmering stars. As if it would be the last time you could ever do so. Trying to take in the freckles dusting his nose and cheeks, the emerald green orbs that once carried so much happiness, so much hope, but now had become dull. Both the hope and happiness now brought back to an eventual spark that would light up his entire face but was usually suppressed by emotions such as grief, pain and sadness.

You had known the Winchesters ever since you were a little girl. When you were six years old a werewolf slaughtered both your parents. You would have shared the same fate, hadn’t John Winchester stepped in right when he did. You didn’t have any family to stay with, so that’s why John decided to take you in until he found someone to take care of you. Luckily he never did.

Soon after he introduced you to his two sons. Sammy being just as old as you, Dean a couple years older. At first you didn’t talk. You were timid and distrustful. But Sammy always offered you his toys and both the boys protected you like you were their sister, allowing you to slowly but surely warm up to them, developing a deep and valuable friendship. Even though you were younger, you became especially close with Dean. As you grew up the two of you happened to share the same taste in music, the same love for food, the same kind of humour.. kind of the same everything. When everyone was sleeping the two of you were often still having deep conversations about life or whatever was on both your minds. You were there after he tracked down his first monster by himself, when he got his first girlfriend. You were there every time John thought he had screwed up and he needed someone to comfort him. To tell him he was so much more than a screw-up. Likewise Dean was there the first time you killed a monster, the first time you had a date, the first time you were able to go to prom and got stood-up. He was there every time you had another nightmare about your parents or when the thoughts in your mind got too much to bear. Yes, you got along great with Sammy and you loved him like a brother, but your bond with Dean just went so much deeper. You trusted him with everything you had in you. And he trusted you.

Or at least after everything you thought he did.

You knew there was something going on. Hell you’d known there was something going on ever since the boys succeeded in killing the yellow-eyed demon. Dean had forced you to sit that one out. When both the boys returned they quickly revealed they succeeded, they killed it. Yet they were both rather vague about what exactly happened that night. But you didn’t miss the stiffness in Sammy’s posture or the concealed worry in Dean’s eyes. You had chosen not to say anything about it back then, but ever since that day you knew there was something both the brothers were keeping from you.

Right after dinner Dean had asked you to come with him for a ride in his Impala. Him asking you such thing was nothing special. The two of you often went for a ride together when you had a day off, just pointlessly driving around, singing along to your favourite songs, talking. Most of the times you ended up in your favourite diner, no matter how far away you initially were.

But as you take your usual spot besides Dean in the passenger seat today things feel different. Loaded. After he starts the engine and sets off neither him nor you says anything. The music softly plays but neither one of you sings along.

It’s like the calm before the storm.

This time you don’t end up in your favourite diner. Dean pulls over and stops the car as the sun is beginning to set. Without a word he gets out and runs around the car to open your door for you. You don’t say anything. You don’t get out or even make an attempt to do so. You look at Dean, your brows furrowed and a puzzled look written on your face.

“Would you get out, please?” he asks, begs almost.

“What are we doing here?”

“I thought we could watch the sunset together.”

“Watch the sunset? Dean-“ you exclaim, tilting your head as your eyebrows shoot up. “We never, never, watch the sunset. That’s something they do in chick flick movies, something you claim to strongly dislike,” you proclaim, making sure to emphasise the ‘never’.

“Please?”

For a short moment you scan his face. Noticing the signs of distress, of sadness, of fear, that you know damn well he’s trying to hide. But you know him better than that. You blindly know all his quirks and habits and when and why they surface. So you nod, shortly, taking his hand and allowing him to help you get out of his car. He shuts the door behind you and leads you to the front of the car, leaning against the hood and motioning for you to do the same.

Without another word the two of you view the sunset, watching the yellow ball of fire change to hues of orange, merging with the sky. You watch as the clouds turn to cotton candy, painting the sky a beautiful mix of blue and violet with the occasional pink and still a few specks of orange here and there. After a while the sun disappears behind the horizon, giving way to a thousand of stars. Only to be seen as the clouds slowly drift away.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened the night you and Sammy killed the yellow-eyed demon?” you silently ask without taking your eyes off of the sky, not yet daring to face Dean. You weren’t sure why you were bringing it up, or why you were bringing it up at this specific moment. All you knew was that the matter, somehow and for some reason, was nagging at you. “I mean we never really talked about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. It happened,” he states blankly.

“Okay.. Then are you going to tell me what’s been bothering you?” you try again, getting more cautious with each word you pronounce. Sometimes, much like you, Dean doesn’t want to help. He doesn’t want to be saved, or more so he’s convinced himself he isn’t worth saving. If you didn’t approach the matter in the right manner or approached it too quickly you knew he would instantly put up his walls and there was no chance they’d be going down again anytime soon.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” is all he lets on.

You glance sideways, noting the way he’d crossed his arms in front of his chest, as a protective barrier to guard himself, his eyebrows knitted together and his shoulder feeling tense against yours. He is lying, if it wasn’t obvious already.

“Dean..”

“I can’t,” he snaps, turning his body to face you. “I can’t,” he then repeats, softer this time.

You fully turn around now as well, facing him. “Don’t shut me out of this,” you whisper, searching his face for more clues to guide you. To tell you what’s going on so you could help him. So you could save him. “I’ve been here for you during everything, don’t you dare shut me out of this,” you were well aware almost everyone else in your position right now would probably be mad. Mad that he didn’t trust you or hurt even. But you knew the way Dean’s mind worked. He was trying to protect you. Knowing him he had probably postponed this conversation for as long as possible so you’d have to worry about it as little as possible. But he was going to tell you, and he was going to tell you tonight. You just had to show him you cared enough so he actually could tell you.

He sighs in defiance, his shoulders lowering before he nervously licks his lips. “The.. The night we killed the yellow-eyed demon.. Sammy died,” your eyes widen in shock but you don’t dare to interfere, biting back your gasp and watching as Dean struggles to find the words. “The demon, he- he set up this game. This competition. Sam and some other kids like him, only one of them was supposed to make it out alive. When I saw Sammy, when we-, some kid stabbed him. He died.. he died in my arms,” he chokes out, now struggling to fight back tears.

“Oh my god, Dean,” you take a step forward with the intention of hugging him, but Dean takes a step back and shakes his head.

“No.”

“Dean..” you slowly say as you suddenly realize what exactly this might possibly mean. “What did you do?” he doesn’t reply, just shakes his head again. The tears coming dangerously close to spilling now.

“Did you sell your soul for him?” your eyes wide as you watch him, you can feel your heart beating in your chest, your breath stuck in your throat as your thoughts run a million miles an hour, quickly putting all the pieces together.

“I had to,” his voice cracks. “I had to look out for him. It’s my job.”

“How long have you got?”

“Tomorrow.”

“What did you just say?” you blurt out, unable to process the fact that this was his last night with you.

Often when you were reading you’d roll your eyes at the parts where the protagonist’s world was falling apart, the writer often describing it as a ‘shattering of their entire world’. You’d always seen that as bullshit, always figured the protagonist should keep their head up and figure out something to fix it. But right now that’s exactly how you felt. Your world shattered into a piercing mess of a million small pieces that you could never glue back together. You couldn’t keep your head up. There was no solution to this problem.

“I’m sorry, I-” he starts, but you’re quick to interrupt.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner. We could’ve still figured this out, find a way out of this,” you bargain, desperately trying to find a way out of the situation.

“Would you’ve understood?” he asks, looking you right in the eye as he does so.

And that comment stings more than you would like to let on. You’re hurt. Hurt he didn’t trust you. That after years of relying on each other he kept something from you. “Don’t talk to me like I don’t know what you’re feeling. I’ve been there with you back in the beginning. I know the way your mind works, I know how you put on that brave face while at the same time your thoughts are destroying you. I’ve been with you through everything so don’t you tell me I wouldn’t understand.” Dean looks away from you as soon as you start to voice your reply, focusing on something behind you, probably not wanting to hear anything you just said. “And quit looking away when I talk, I’m trying to be honest with you.”

A shuddering breath escapes his lungs. “This would’ve been so much easier if you’d just gotten mad. You should’ve yelled at me,” he murmurs with desperation in his voice.

“Dean,” you sigh, suddenly realising what he was trying to do. “What were you going to do? Tell me you’re fine, hadn’t I asked? And had I asked make sure I got mad? Make sure I’d hate you? Do you really think that was going to make any of this any easier?”

“It might’ve been easier if you just believed I was fine. Or in case you didn’t if you’d yelled at me, cursed me, gotten so mad you would hate me and didn’t even want to see me anymore. At least it would’ve been for you. And I still would’ve seen a sunset with you. Having taken in the setting sun with all its colours, but mostly having taken in the way the colours illuminated the features on your face perfectly. Having the look of complete awe on your face engraved in my memory,” he rambles, trying to explain his motives.

For a moment you’re silent, giving yourself a little bit of time to process what he just said. Though right now is not the moment to figure out what exactly he did or didn’t mean with those last two sentences. While normally your heart would’ve skipped a beat had he let on something like that. Right now you couldn’t allow yourself to let it get to your head. There were more important things to focus on right this instant.

The fact you were never going to see him again after tomorrow, for example.

“I’ve known there was something wrong ever since that night,” you slowly begin. “Telling me you’re fine would never have worked because I know you’re not. And just for the record, I am mad. I’m mad you didn’t tell me, that you didn’t think I’d understand. But no matter what, I could never- I could never hate you.”

For a while not another word is exchanged and neither one of you moves. You want to step closer, wrap your arms around him and pull him as close as your body allows you to. Make sure you memorise the feeling of his body in your arms, the sound of his heart beating against his chest echoing in your ear, the subtle smell of his cologne you can so clearly smell as you inhale. Memorise every single small detail there is about him to remember. But you’re too scared to do so. Scared he’ll step away again or even worse, scared he’ll fade right in front of your eyes.

Meanwhile it has become dark. The sun is now long gone and the few amount of stars you saw before have now been joined by an army of others. The temperature is rapidly decreasing as well, causing you to shiver since you hadn’t bothered to put on a jacket before you left. You wrap your arms around yourself in an attempt to keep yourself warm before you hesitantly speak up. “So what do we do now?”

“I don’t know, “ he shrugs. “This wasn’t exactly how I thought we’d end up so I didn’t really plan this far ahead.”

“Well what’s something you still want to do before.. before- before you know,” you nervously exclaim, unable to say whatever was awaiting him out loud.

“Can we go get a burger?”

You chuckle, unable to suppress your smile at his request. A request that was so incredibly Dean-like. So simple yet so meaningful for both of you. “Of course,” you nod.

With a single look both of you know exactly what your next destination is going to be and as on cue both of you start moving. You towards the passenger’s seat, him towards the driver’s seat. As Dean once again starts the engine, he immediately turns up the heating to warm both of you up, probably mostly you though. The radio softly starts playing one of your favourite songs and your quiet humming soon turns into a full-on sing along for you both. Before you know you’ve reached your destination, the lit neon sign of your favourite diner strongly contrasting against the dark sky.

As soon as the bell above the door marks your entrance you walk over to your favourite spot by the window. You sit down on one of the booths while Dean takes place on the other one in front of you. It doesn’t take long before a servant comes to take your order. She must be new, working one of her first shifts here, since you hadn’t seen her before. Both you and Dean knew everyone who worked there, and they knew you. Everyone always cheerfully chitchatted with you, it was one of the reasons you loved this place so much.

“What can I get you two?” the girl asks, fumbling nervously with her notepad.

“We’ll have two beers and two bacon cheeseburgers, please,” Dean orders for the both of you, smiling sympathetically at the girl.

She quickly writes down the order before returning his smile. “Coming right up.”

Just like the waitress nervously fumbled with her notepad, you fumble nervously with the paper placemat placed in front of you. A bunch of facts explaining why this diner is the best in the area and a few suggested dishes to try printed on there. You don’t even bother to read them anymore, you know them all by heart. The diner was founded in 1955, it almost went bankrupt until they introduced the magic burger that introduced a new public and saved the company. The secret of the burger was garlic, one of the waitresses once told you in passing. You still didn’t know whether she was joking or not. The place is hospitable and clean and child-friendly. A few suggested dishes are the magic burger, of course, the waffles and the grilled cheese sandwich. Dean and you had tried every dish they ever served, but both of you stuck with the bacon cheeseburger.

“What’s going to happen? Do we still have tomorrow or is it over once the clock strikes twelve?” you ask with a small voice, emotion seeping through. It’s not like hiding them will change anything anymore, so why bother?

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, his eyes casting down. “She didn’t say.”

Your head suddenly jerks up as the thought of Sammy enters your mind. Surely he must’ve known, but if these were his last couple of hours here on earth, wouldn’t they want to spend it together? “Why didn’t you stay with Sammy tonight? I can imagine the two of you would want to have a proper goodbye,” you ask him, voicing the concerns running through your head.

“We did, yesterday. He’s known about this for a year and he has done everything to find a way out of this. For his sake I hope now he’s finally accepted there’s no coming back from this.”

“So you’re really just gone after tonight, huh?” you whisper, feeling as if the situation and its consequences are finally catching up with you. As if you’d been numb to it before, but suddenly it found your Achilles heel and took its chances, fully charging at you. Tears are welling up, threatening to spill.

“Hush, baby, my dolly, I pray you don't cry,

And I'll give you some bread, and some milk by-and-by;

Or perhaps you like custard, or, maybe, a tart,

Then to either you're welcome, with all my heart,” Dean sings quietly, making sure you’re the only one who can hear him. And despite the events that are eagerly waiting to go down you smile at the recognition of the nursery song Dean always sang for you when going to bed or after you had a nightmare. He’d always quietly mumble it for you, calming you down and allowing you to fall into a peaceful slumber. Sometimes, much like right now, he’d sing it when you were sad. All those years ago your problems were so much smaller. You didn’t have to worry about hell or demon deals. People often told you to enjoy the simplicity you lived in, or at least the simplicity children your age were supposed to live in. They told you that time flies. At the time you didn’t know what it meant, now you had to admit they’d been right.

“I can’t believe you still remember that,” you bring out, still smiling.

“Of course,” he smiles back. “I could never forget it, I sang it for you the first time you had a nightmare and it stuck with me ever since. I also remember how you tried wearing lipstick when you were only ten because you wanted people to think you were just as old as me,” he grins, the memory still seared into his brain.

Your embarrassment paints your neck and cheeks a dark shade of red and you hide your head in your hands, as if trying to hide yourself from the memory. “Stop it!” you bring out while trying to supress the chuckle in your voice.

“Or,” he continues. “how you refused to wear anything that was coloured red, just because..”

“Alright I’ve got two beers and two bacon cheeseburgers for you guys,” the waitress announces, interrupting Dean’s little trip down memory lane. She places the two beer bottles and the plates she’d skilfully carried on the table. “Enjoy your meal,” she smiles before turning around and returning to her place behind the bar. You smile at her before she leaves, your face still showing some degree of redness.

Both you and Dean immediately dive into your food, devouring the burger and the fries that came along with it, washing it down with swigs of beer.

“That was good,” you exhale afterwards, Dean nodding in agreement.

“I’m gonna go pay,” he tells you as he slides out of the booth. As you take a look at the clock you realise why; it’s coming dangerously close to midnight., and neither one of you knows what that’s going to bring. A sudden fear evolves itself deep inside of you. You’d known Dean for almost as long as you remember. You barely had any memories he wasn’t in. And after tomorrow he wasn’t going to be there anymore. The memory of him would slowly fade until you couldn’t even remember the sound of his voice anymore.

As Dean returns you quickly push it down though, not wanting to ruin his possible last moments. He deserves better than that. “Let’s go,” he smiles, holding his hand out for you. But you can’t help but notice the fear that’s reflecting in his eyes.

“Yup,” you simply reply, taking his hand and leaving the diner together. One last time.

A cold breeze hits you in the face the moment you step outside, but you ignore it. Together you walk towards Dean’s car and for the second time tonight the both of you lean down against the hood. This time facing each other right away.

“Look,” he starts. “I don’t know how much time we have left, but I want to tell you the same thing I told Sammy; “stop looking for a way to get me out of this. There isn’t. I made my decision and I don’t want Sammy nor you spending the rest of your lives trying to get me out of it. Let me go.”

You smile, sadly. “That might’ve worked for Sammy, but I think we both know I’m never really going to give up on you,” you whisper, fighting to hold back the tears.

“I know, it was worth a try though,” he nods, a chuckle escaping from between his lips. But it sounds strangled, broken. “There’s just one more thing I’d like to do.”

“Name it,” you answer.

Before you know what is happening he grabs your face and his lips crash against yours. The warmth of his lips seem to warm you to the bone and the world falls away as you completely lose yourself in the moment. He kisses you slow and soft, comforting you in ways that words never could,  while caressing your cheek with his thumbs your breaths mingle. You run your fingers through his hair and down his spine, pulling him closer, wanting to remove all space there’s left between the two of you.

And just as sudden as he pressed his lips against yours, he pulls away again. “Do you hear that?” he asks, still holding your face in his hands.

You shake your head. “No, Dean, hear what?” But he doesn’t reply. “Dean?”

His breath hitches in his throat. As he looks at you there’s nothing but pure terror written all over his face. “Close your eyes,” is all he says.

Desperately you try to understand, try to figure out what he is trying to say, but you have no idea what is going on. “What, why?”

“Just close your eyes,” he begs. Whispering one last word as you refuse to listen. “Hellhounds,” he brings out right before he’s ripped away from you.

As you squeeze your eyes shut, feel his hands being ripped away from your body, you hear his body being dragged away. You hear his painful screams piercing through the air right before it goes dead silent.

 Hesitantly you open your eyes, being met with nothing but the darkness of the night, and you can feel the warmth leave your body. There’s nothing but the tingling in your lips and the searing pain in your soul that reminds you of the man that had stood in front of you just a second ago. And you don’t dare moving. Terrified it’ll erase the last traces he left on your body, terrified it’ll leave you with an even bigger hole than when you lost your parents.

After a while, whether it be ten minutes or an hour, you gather enough strength to move without crashing down on the pavement right away. That’s also when you notice the Impala still standing there, the lacquered black car looks duller than before, as if it knows it has just lost its beloved owner and wants to show its grief. As if on autopilot you walk towards the passenger seat, only realising that’s not your place anymore when you find yourself tugging at the door handle. The keys Dean gave you somewhere during your meal at the diner suddenly burn in your back pocket and hesitantly you walk towards the driver’s seat, unlocking the car.

Dean had only allowed you to take place on the driver’s seat one time before. You must’ve been seventeen and he was supposed to teach you how to drive. You almost crashed against a bunch of garbage cans and Dean never allowed you up there anymore. Too scared you’d wreck his beautiful car. Even after Bobby taught you how to drive a few years later, you had forever lost your right. Tonight that had changed though.

You weren’t sure you were going to find Sammy if you went back to the motel. Maybe he’d left. Unable to stand Dean’s unmade bed, his empty beer bottles or his half-packed bag any longer, or maybe just honouring his last wish and moving on with his life.

As you slide down on the driver’s seat, as the coldness of the leather seeps through the material of your pants and as you place your hands on the cold steering wheel, on the place his hands used to lie, you finally allow your first tears to fall.

[it-stheaulifeforme]

he’d never been one for suckers

Fandom: Playmobil: The Movie (2019)

Characters: Rex Dasher, unnamed vampiric villain and a multiude of black coated minions

Whumptober prompt: October 16th, Pinned Down.

Rated for: blood, unconsensual drinking of someone’s blood, unconsensual turning of someone into a vampire, physical assault, panic, description of someone in pain, swearing, brief mention of guns, fear of losing control and worry over hurting loved ones, implied torture, constant threat, very brief description of injury, mention of a drug-like effect on somebody

Premise: After finding out about some clearly suspicious activity at a notorious organisation, Rex realises he wasn’t one to suspect a more supernatural threat until it’s too late. It doesn’t help that the head vampire of the operations has particular sinister designs in mind for our greatest secret agent, and not ones that he didn’t remotely see coming.

Word count: 2,554

Tagged: @whumptober2019, @unlikelyxmisfit

Additional notes: I got inspired for Halloween and wrote this as a separate AU, a supernatural one separate from my main one but still generally consistent with my own portrayals of already established characters from Playmobil. I simply call this one my vampire!Rex AU, and what used to just be a one-off idea has now turned into a whole universe, so, here we go.

Rex wondered how he’d gotten into this mess, exactly. Sure, he usually put himself in them, because that’s what he did. Especially since there’d been a particular spike in suspicious activity in one of the most notorious organisations he tended to face.

It was why he was standing face to face with the head of it, after he found himself investigating the disappearance of several people and the fact that less people were around during the day. He’d never been one for superstition. There had to be a rational explanation for this, especially after he found out one of them had disappeared before appearing months later as if nothing had happened.

This was besides the fact that he’d been informed that they had his friends.

He'd often been aware that he was always being watched when these circumstances arose. It was different though, this time. He couldn't know that here, the head was berating his minions in one of the strangest ways.

"Don't you dare," he said coldly, pointing at one of his black coated minions, "you know who this is. And I'd be very happy if you stayed away from him. He's mine."

The minion looked sheepish, despite secretly being annoyed. Amongst everyone, they all wanted him to themselves. It was status to do so, with who they were. But they couldn't fight their boss on this, it wasn't their place.

"Yes, sir," he said, trying not to groan.

His boss looked at him with a grin, baring his fangs. "That's good to hear."

So here Rex was, faced with someone with more than enough malicious intent. He knew they had his friends, he knew what they meant. Something else was wrong, though, but it was on the peripheral vision of his radar. His first step was making sure his friends were safe.

But he couldn't quite shrug off the way the man looked at him. Sure, they could be sadistic bastards, but even this made him feel uncomfortable.

"At least tell me where my friends are, before you do anything else." He spoke in a calm tone, despite how much he was being stared at. It unnerved him, but it wasn't enough to shake him...just yet.

"Oh, they're safe," the man said, in a faux affable tone, raising his eyebrows, "it's you who should be worried."

They did this every time. He merely just got angrier, especially as the man made his advances towards him.

He noticed Rex put his hand in his inside jacket pocket by the time he was only a few metres from him, and almost wanted to laugh.

"Oh, really?" he grinned, amused, unable to help baring a set of fangs, "a gun? That's not going to help you here."

Rex had barely found his gun when he was transfixed by the fangs as the man grinned at him. He never felt so wrong in that moment.

He had supposed vampires couldn't be found anywhere near here. They just weren't a thing. Sure, he believed in them when he was younger. Always obsessed with reading about them.

He thought he'd simply grown out of that idea.

"You don't know who we are, do you?" the man asked, a clear sadistic tone in his voice.

Rex almost wanted to say something, but his eyes went from those brilliant white fangs to that...look in his eyes. Oh. Shit.

"I can't tell you just how much I'm enjoying that look on your face."

Rex didn't have time to react as the man was inches from his face, and he was suddenly thrown backwards onto the floor without warning, caged in by the man just about hovering over him.

He attempted to crawl backwards, now fuelled by fear and anger and kicking out at his assailant. The man only laughed, putting his body weight on his legs and pinned his arms to his side via his wrists. He was leaning inches over him now, unable to break contact with those bright, hungry eyes.

"Oh, I don't think you'll be escaping from us this time," the man said with mock friendliness, "you know you're too valuable for us to kill...properly."

"I'm not gonna join your goddamn cult," Rex seethed, although the fear in his chest was palpable, "I don't even know why you'd want me part of it."

He vainly attempted to remove at least his arms, but it was almost effortless for the man to hold him down. He clearly found Rex's comments amusing.

"Oh but I bet you do," he laughed, "you always think you're so clever. You're someone who we've been needing for a long time. And now you're finally scared, and you won't even admit it. Besides, it's not like you have a choice in this."

Rex wondered if there was any possibility of him getting out of this alive. At the very least he wanted to make sure his friends would be alright, even though he couldn't help how scared he was right now. He was always more concerned about others over himself, accepting the idea that someday it might be the death of him.

"Just tell me where my friends are," he said, "they're not going to be a part of this, and that's what matters."

That's who he was here for, right? They wanted him because they had his friends. They had no part in his troubles.

"Oh, but I told you," the man whispered, close to the side of his face, "they're fine. For now. You'll be part of something much bigger, and they won't matter. One less enemy to deal with. Besides, once you're done with, we'll make you deal with them ourselves. None of this stuff you have right now matters."

That scared him, made him more angry than everything else. They wanted him to what? He'd rather die. Properly.

"You don't have anything to do with them!" he spat, "I wouldn't hurt them for anybody!"

"Which is why," the man whispered, "we're doing this. Morality be damned. You're no fun otherwise. It’s everything else we want instead."

He'd been slowly nudging his head to the left, making his neck more available to him. Rex could not have imagined even in his dreams that this would be happening. He’d come across a whole range of nasty villains, but this seemed absolutely impossible. And he didn’t have a huge fear of death, did he? That couldn’t be the problem. It was his friends - he wouldn’t dream of hurting them.

That was the problem. That’s why they had them. So he’d be more animal instinct with them than morality. It horrified him what they had already planned - he was usually able to stop plans in the nick of time, but right now it was undeniable just how far too late it was to do anything now. They’d planned much too far ahead, which said a lot about everybody else. It’d be one of the few things to stop him escaping, him of all people.

He was breathing more shakily now, making a last-ditch attempt to extricate himself even slightly. But the man’s body weight was pressing so heavily into him and he was leaning right over his neck. His pulse was racing, which he presumed only made it easier and more enjoyable for the man.

He just about recoiled enough in disgust as he felt a tongue trail up his neck to just around his ear. Almost as if he was trailing a path up along a particular vein, besides giving himself a taste. Never in his life did he think he’d present such a consumable object, which probably was the main root of his disgust besides the sensation.

“It’s promising,” the man breathed against his neck, “exactly what I thought. So don’t worry. You’ll do fine. We’ll make plenty sure of that.”

Rex only managed a sharp intake of breath as he felt the sudden sensation of two fangs piercing his neck. He instinctively twitched, legs almost instantly now kicking from underneath as the man lifted himself up to get a better angle. He breathed hard, digging his nails into the floor as the pressure increased on his wrists to prevent them from flailing  He continued to thrash his legs, directionless, trying not to let it sink in that it was far too late to escape now - pressed to the floor with fangs in his neck as blood was drained from him.

He remembered, vaguely, a drug-like effect that vampires had, as he was hit with a drowsy, heavy feeling as his movements began to slow down, feet shuffling awkwardly on the floor. Sure, that could’ve been down to blood loss, but it felt almost equivalent to a sedative. He guessed it was a combination. His breathing was barely noticeable, slow and shallow, his surroundings almost like a dream when he was still able to keep his eyes open. There was less pressure on him as the effects really began to sink in as he felt more lifeless, even feeling the man let go of his wrists and the brush of his fingers against the left side of his face and against his neck in an almost loving gesture of cruelty.

The man pulled away, but not before gently licking the wound for any blood that decided to spill out. He turned to Rex, who now appeared still and pale, pupils under lidded eyes staring at him but not quite, now with his blood shining on his lips and just around the edges of his mouth. He grinned, slowly licking it all off as he leant just inches from his face.

“Oh, don’t worry, there’s still plenty there. With a particular addition, of course, that’s the whole point,” he spoke softly, voice nonetheless laced with sadism and a hand gently stroking the side of his face, “your blood was just that much harder to resist than I thought. Take it as a compliment.”

Rex was barely breathing, but he felt a deep sensation of rage. His body was still fighting against itself and it was hard enough to express himself. But it was there, and he couldn’t help but feel it. He didn’t want to believe what they were doing to him. To his friends. He felt sick enough without this venom crawling in his veins.

The man finally got up off of him, and roughly grabbed his collar to drag him against the wall so he could look at him better. He sat limply, arms laid out weakly either side of him. He managed to maintain a semblance of a glare at the man who was now kneeling in front of him with an almost caring expression, as if he just didn’t forcibly take his blood and put some venom in there for good measure.

“Whatever the fuck you’ve done to me,” he breathed, with a great deal of effort, trying to sit up, “this doesn’t mean shit. I’d rather die - properly - than do anything to my friends. Or anyone else for that matter.”

The man amusedly looked at him, head tilted in mock sympathy. His expression was drenched in an air of condescension, despite the softness that outlined his features. Rex felt his hand barely skim the surface of his hair.

“You’re still going on about this? Rex,” he smirked, “of course you don’t understand now. Maybe if you weren’t so keen to fight this, you’d feel better. You’ll come round. This is what this is for.”

He didn’t know if it was the drowsiness, but his face registered a baffled look, eyes narrowing at the man. “That’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. You think I’m going to let that happen---”

He would’ve continued, if it wasn’t for a spasm of pain that ran up across his chest, taking what little breath he was still able to have before he was barely able to restrain a broken cry. He swallowed, making every attempt to breathe as it subsided.

“Oh,” the man laughed, “did I not tell you that would happen? Your body’s adjusting to the new change. I mean, that is venom in your system, after all. You’re just making it worse for yourself. You’ve got no choice in what’s going to happen. You’ll know your place in all this, eventually.”

Rex found it difficult to be mad as his whole body seemed almost beset with these agonised spasms, which only subsided momentarily before starting again. He never really was one to feel fear, but his mental faculties now seemed beyond his reach, what with the intensity of pain he didn’t feel himself capable of feeling hitting him in waves and his cries more chokes than anything else. He wasn’t one to cry either, but he’d never felt like this before. At his most vulnerable. It all felt too much as he felt hot tears drip down his face as his body seemed to not be able to give him a break.

In all truth, he had no idea what was happening to him, but frankly, he knew where the real fear lay. After all, he didn’t care so much about himself as he did about others, right? He had to control himself around others. It was one of his worst nightmares to hurt them. He wouldn’t be blurred by instinct. He couldn’t compromise himself, he wouldn’t compromise himself. These instincts would not override him. The uncontrollable pain seemed to remind him of this very real fear.

The man appeared fascinated, not at all concerned with what he observed. It was natural; he’d done this before. This one was a particularly captivating specimen though. He wasn’t just anybody. This was someone he had to keep an eye on. Instinct could not be overriden, he knew that. But he was far too valuable to just see it through. Rex was clearly fighting this; it’d make things worse in a multitude of ways.

He snapped his fingers, not looking away from Rex, who was making every attempt to breathe and not instinctively thrash his limbs from the pain that was less spasms, and more now what felt generally unending.

One of his black coated minions approached him from a doorway, who had been one of many to hear the commotion, and stood a short distance away.

“I think he needs a lot more attention than we thought. If he’s going to fight us like this, he’s going to make things a whole lot worse. He’ll succumb to this and we’ll make sure of it. He should know he can’t possibly fight his instincts now, but he’s far too much trouble to give us less resistance, especially at this stage,” he said, in a concerned tone, a tone which appeared to sound more suited for a scientific experiment than a person, “so I want you to take him somewhere, you know where, away from the others - for now. I’ll deal with him later; after all, I’ve done all I can do with him right now.”

He sounded almost bored as he got up and turned on his heel, swiftly making his way to the exit at the far end of the room, leaving his minion with the now semi-conscious Rex, immobilised in his agony and staring blankly into the distance as he saw the man open the door and disappear.

[whumpitgood]

Lay Your Weary Head to Rest

Title: Lay Your Weary Head to Rest Author: whumpitgood Fandom: Supernatural Relationship: gen Rating: T Word Count: 9,038 Warnings: major character death, blood, minor language Spoilers: none Summary:  Sam and Dean quit the family business.  This is Sam and Dean’s last hunt.  (Or, How their story should end when season 15 ends.)    Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters don’t belong to me.  Just writing for fun. Note: 1) When they announced that the show ends with season 15, I tried to imagine how they could wrap it all up.  This is what my mind came up with.           2) This story contains death.  Don’t read it if that bothers you, but I promise it ends well.           3) Title inspired by “Carry On Wayward Son” by Kansas.

*********************

“Find anything?”  Dean slammed his book closed and rubbed his temples. He glanced over at Sam who sat across from him in the bunker’s library.

“No,” Sam sighed deeply. “Still nothing.  It’s been nearly two weeks and we still have no idea what’s out there, steadily wiping out half of that town.  We can’t keep sitting here doing nothing.  We’ve—“

“Hey, we’re not doing nothing.  We’re doing research.  Your favorite,” Dean said with a smile.  “Besides, I’m sure Cas has found something by now.”

Just then, there was a loud, metallic clanging as the bunker door was opened and shut.  Both brothers turned and watched Castiel walk slowly and somberly down the stairs before meeting them in the library.

“Speak of the devil. Here he is now,” Dean said, giving Cas a pat on the shoulder.  Cas looked at Dean, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion.  

“But, I’m not—“

“Never mind, Cas. What do you have for us?  You figure it out?” Dean asked.

“Sadly, I have not. Whatever this creature is, it continues to elude me.  I can’t find any lore on it, and my contacts were no help, either.  I’m afraid we still have no idea what’s killing all those people.”

“That’s it,” Sam said, closing his laptop lid with a sense of finality.  “We need to head out.  Let’s go there and track it down.  Maybe if we get a good look at it we can figure it out.”  He stood up and began putting his jacket on.  

“Let’s not be too hasty, Sam,” Cas stated, holding out a palm in a placating manner.

“No, he’s right,” Dean said, also getting to his feet.  “While we sit here trying to figure this out, more people are dying.  Let’s go find this ugly son of a bitch and see what kind of clues we can pick up about it.  Then we’ll have more to go on to figure out what it is and how to send its sorry ass to purgatory.”

“Coming?” Sam asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“’Course,” Cas answered. ”I’ve got a couple more leads to follow up on and then I’ll meet you two there.  Is it alright if I take Jack with me?  He could be of some help.”

“Sure thing.  We’ll meet you guys in a couple of days, then. Keep in touch,” Dean said.

Sam and Dean gave Cas a pat on the shoulder as they passed by him to grab some things and then head out on their way.

The trip was long, but neither Winchester minded.  Music turned up, they sailed down the open road, taking it all in.  Sitting side by side in the Impala was where they belonged. The bunker may be where they lived, but Baby would always be their home.

They finally reached the small town some time later, or at least, they reached what was left of it. The majority of its residents had either turned up dead, missing, or fled in fear of being the next victim to whatever was plaguing them.  The few townspeople who remained watched warily as a shiny black car roared through their streets.  People had stopped coming to their town weeks ago, so they weren’t sure what to make of these new strangers.  

After checking into a hotel, the Winchesters began their search.  Most people wouldn’t talk, but they were able to gather a little bit here and there.  The deaths had been spread out over the last two weeks, the bodies showing brutal abuse before their deaths.  It wasn’t clear what was causing the damage.  There were no missing organs, bite marks, or any other telltale signs of what creature could be the culprit.  In fact, there weren’t many similarities other than being littered with wounds.  They were stumped.

The boys were just getting into the Impala when Dean’s phone rang.  Dean slammed his door closed before fishing it out of his pocket.

“Yeah?” he said gruffly, jamming the keys into the ignition with his free hand.

“Jack and I are almost there.  We shouldn’t be long,” Castiel said over the line.

“Good.  That’s good.  Did you guys find anything?”

“I’m afraid not.  I have a feeling that this may be something ancient.  We must be very careful,” Cas answered.

“Hm.  Probably.  Wouldn’t be the first time.”  Dean paused for a second, thinking.  “Well, anyway, me and Sam are about to head over to check out an old, abandoned house on the edge of town.  There hasn’t been any pattern where the bodies have been found, but there are rumors of strange things happening down in that area.  Thought we’d give it a look, see if there’s any trace of a creature squatting or something, “ he explained.

“I don’t advise that, Dean.  You two need to wait for Jack and me to get there.  Don’t go alone.  You guys need back up.”

“I’ve got Sam’s back and he’s got mine.  Relax, Cas. We probably won’t find anything, anyway. Just thought we’d give it a look before heading back to the hotel for the night.  Not a big deal,” Dean said casually.

“When is it ever ‘not a big deal’, Dean?  It’s never simple.  Just give us about a half hour.  Or we could get some rest and go in the morning,” Cas nearly pleaded.

“Nah, we’re already close by.  Our hotel is across town.  We’ll check it out and then meet you guys at the hotel,” Dean said, then added, “And while you’re at it, pick up some grub along your way.  There was a diner a few miles back.  Grab some burgers.  And pie. Don’t forget the pie,” Dean said with a small smile, tuning the keys and starting the engine.

Castiel sighed over the line.  “Okay.  Just be careful.  Both of you.”

“Yeah, yeah.   See you in a bit.”  Dean hung up and set the phone beside him on the seat.  He glanced over at Sam before backing out of his parking space and pulling onto the road.  “Cas and Jack will be here soon.”

“Good.  Maybe we can compare notes and figure this out,” he said, gazing out the window.  The sun was going down.  It would be dark soon.

A few minutes later, the boys pulled up to an old, rundown house.  No one had lived there in over a decade.  The large, two story was covered in vines and ivy all along its walls and the porch was caving in on itself in places.  There didn’t appear to be a single window still fully intact.

Dean shut off the engine and the two Winchesters got out of the car, slamming closed the doors with their signature squeak.  They rifled through the trunk, grabbing anything that they thought would be useful in case they came across some unknown threat.  With a flashlight in one hand and a knife in the other, Sam led the way into the decrepit home.

The old wooden floorboards groaned with the job of holding the boys’ weight.  Dust and dirt gave the floor a gritty feel as two sets of boots littered it with imprints of the bottom of their shoes.

They searched thoroughly, looking in closets and behind furniture, trying to find anything to help them figure out what had been killing people these last few weeks. After an extensive search of the first floor turned up nothing more than rat droppings and dust bunnies, they made their way carefully up the rickety steps to the second floor.  

They explored the rooms meticulously, double checking each room before moving on to the next.  Sam approached the last room down the hall while Dean checked out the room next door.  The door was closed, so Sam reached out a cautious hand and slowly turned the knob before giving the door a light shove.  

Dust swirled in the wake of the opening door and Sam held an elbow over his mouth and nose to block it from reaching his sinuses.  Even so, his eyes began to water and he internally groaned at the thought of getting hay fever from this.

He took a step into the room and stopped.  Something didn’t feel right.  He didn’t know what.  There was nothing to see or hear to suggest that anything was off, but his instincts were telling him to turn back around and get out.  They were rarely wrong, but he knew he couldn’t do that.  If he felt like he should leave, then he was in the right place.  This must be what they were looking for.

He used his flashlight to do a quick sweep of the room but didn’t see anyth…wait.  What was that?  Sam took a few steps into the room and swept the flashlight again.  Yes, there it was.  The light seemed to bend around the far corner of the room, like it couldn’t touch that area.  Something was going on.  Something was there, but he just couldn’t see it.

A whole list of possibilities was rushing through Sam’s mind too quick to keep up.  He thought he might have a vague idea of what this could be, even though that would be impossible.  He had only seen it mentioned a few times in the lore, but each entry was barely a mention.  From what he could gather, it killed in order to feed off of life energy to sustain itself. Not souls, fortunately (he’d had enough soullessness to last a lifetime).  It would mean that this thing was older than Chuck himself.  If he was right, then they were in deep trouble.

“Dean?” he called out not too loudly.  He didn’t want the creature to react to his presence, but he couldn’t not warn Dean. This was serious.

He took a few steps closer to try to see better, to try to reaffirm his suspicions, but in that same instant, a light exploded where the creature was.  There was a bright glow emanating from it, but its form was too indistinct to make out.  It seemed to undulate like that of a jellyfish, but without such a tangible body. It was large, nearly reaching the ceiling and occupying around a four-foot radius from the corner of the room.  It was also mostly translucent, like it was made of pure energy, but again, it was hard to really tell much about its appearance other than it was bright and it was undeniably beautiful yet terrifying all at the same time.

He wasn’t sure if calling out had startled it or if it had intended on preying on them the moment they entered the house, but at that moment, it didn’t matter.  In an instant, several things happened at once: Dean called Sam’s name as he neared the bedroom door at the same time Sam opened his mouth to tell Dean to stay away.  In that same moment, the creature glowed impossibly brighter for a fraction of a second as it released a toxic energy that visibly pulsed outward. There was a crack like thunder and then all was still once again.  The silence was deafening after the loud boom and the brightness dimmed to resume its ethereal glow.

The first thing Dean noticed afterward was that he was lying on the ground and any attempt he made to get up resulted in terrible pain.  One look at his hip and leg, though, showed that even if he did get up, he wasn’t going anywhere.  Whatever that blast was had knocked him into the wall with terrible force, causing pain all along the right side of his body.  His head also hurt and he could feel the blood flowing down the side of his face.

The next thing he was aware of was the half a dozen or so dead rats lying scattered around him. They hadn’t been there before, so they must have been tossed as he had been, but also perished in that blast. Dean’s mind was sluggish to realize that if that had happened to the rodents, then what had happened to Sam who was closer than he was to whatever the hell that blast was?

Scared, Dean began to half-crawl, half-drag his battered body over to his little brother.

“Sam!” No response. “Sammy!  Answer me, damn it!” he yelled through his fear.  He had to be alright.  He just had to.  Dean didn’t stop to think about the danger he might be putting himself in by going closer to the source of the blast.  He didn’t care.  He just needed to be near Sam.  

Dean ignored the sense of dread he felt as he crossed the threshold into the room.  He ignored how debris and furniture looked unaffected by the force that had shoved him hard enough into the wall to put a hole in the plaster, how the force only seemed to affect living creatures and not the furniture or other objects.  All Dean could see, all that consumed him, was the sight of Sam lying on his back so still, so unmoving on the hardwood floor. Cold unease flowed through him, his chest tightened, and his stomach was in knots.  It was like Cold Oak all over again.

Dean army crawled the last few feet and stopped beside his brother.  His heart clenched when he finally got a good look at him.  Sam had cuts and gashes along his hairline, his face, even along his chest, visible through the rips in his clothing.  Blood poured from them, his flannel already becoming saturated.  His chest looked uneven, undoubtedly due to broken ribs, and Dean noticed then how labored Sam’s breathing was.  He was barely getting any air in or out.  It was little more than a wheeze as his chest rattled with the effort.  Dean felt tears prick in his eyes from the sight.  He knew this was bad.  Worse than bad.

Propping himself up on an elbow, he reached his free hand over to his little brother and gently stroked his face, removing some blood soaked strands of hair from his eyes.  

“Sammy,” he said softly, giving his cheek a light pat.  “Sammy, I’m here.  Big brother’s here.  Open your eyes, man.  It’s okay.” Dean felt like a jackass for saying that.  Sam wasn’t okay.  This situation wasn’t okay.  Nothing about this was even remotely okay at all.  He just couldn’t bring himself to say anything to the contrary.  Sam needed him now more than ever.

Sam’s eyelids fluttered, then finally opened half-mast.  His pupils weren’t quite the same size and his eyes didn’t seem to fully focus, but they were open, so Dean would consider that a win.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said with a smile.  Sam’s eyes sluggishly looked around before settling on Dean.  Dean could tell that he was trying to focus and keep his eyes open. There were times when his eyes looked like they were going to roll up, but Sam stubbornly clung to consciousness and tried so hard to keep his gaze toward Dean.

“It’s okay, Sam. We’ll figure this out. Everything’s okay.”  Dean had no idea what to do or what to say.  He just kept talking because he knew Sam needed it.

Sam opened his mouth and Dean thought he was going to speak, but a cough tore through Sam instead.  It was a deep, hacking cough that rasped itself out of his chest.  Blood bubbled up his throat and spilled out the side of his mouth and chin, making it even harder for him to breathe.  Dean seriously worried he’d choke on it.

Carefully, Dean tilted Sam slightly on his side and pounded his back.  The coughs continued, but he wasn’t gagging on blood anymore.  Each cough took a toll on Sam and with each one, Dean worried he wouldn’t take another breath.  When there was a small puddle of blood on the floor, Sam was finally done, so he laid him gently back down, only then noticing the blood pooling on the floor around his other injuries, injuries he hadn’t even triaged yet. He sighed wearily.  Even without looking, he knew he couldn’t fix this. He felt it in his bones.  His gut churned with the thought.  

“There you go, Sam. That’s right.  Just breathe, okay?”

Sam’s tired eyes found Dean again, his face paler than any ghost they’d ever come across in their hunts. He opened his mouth again, but this time, he spoke.

“D-dean,” he said, barely a whisper, barely a breath at all and would have been missed had it not been for the rapt attention his brother gave him.

“I’m here, Sam, I’m here,” he said desperately, taking Sam’s hand and holding it in his own.  Sam was too weak to grip it back, but he could tell he appreciated it.

“’m s-sorry,” Sam continued. Dean had to read his lips to fully understand.  Air was barely passing through his lungs anymore.  

When Dean realized what he said, he felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest.  Leave it to Sam to feel guilty about dying, to always finding some way of blaming himself for something completely out of his control. If this was anyone’s fault, it was his own for not listening to Cas and waiting until morning, but that was irrelevant now.  This was happening and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.  Tears began flowing freely down his cheeks.  

“No, Sam.  I’m sorry.  I’m your big brother.  This should never have happened.  I should’ve protected you.  I should’ve—“ he cut himself off as a sob wracked through him.

“Dean,” he whispered. He let out a couple more coughs. More blood.  His next breath rattled and rasped into his abused lungs. Dean knew he was fighting to pull that air in with everything he had left.  Sam’s face scrunched with the effort, and Dean could see the pain written along each one of those lines etched there.  He hated seeing Sam suffer like this.

“Dean…love,” a pause as Sam tried for another breath, “…you,” he finished, reaching out his hand not clasped in Dean’s to reach out and touch Dean’s chest.  Dean suspected that he wanted to clutch his shirt in his fist, but lacked the strength to do so.  He held his hand there for a second before letting it fall.

“Sammy,” he sobbed. “Sammy, I love you.  So much, man,” he said through his tears.  Dean swore he saw a faint smile on Sam’s lips just before his eyes slipped closed.  “Sammy?”

The only response he got was a single breath rattling from Sam’s bloodied chest.  Dean paused and waited.  Waited.  Nothing. Sam didn’t take another breath in. Dean shook Sam, gently at first and then harder when he got no response.  Sam’s hand was cold in his own.  

Dean pulled Sam close to him and cradled his lifeless body to his chest.  He kept mumbling “no” and that he loved him.  He told him he was sorry for all the times he yelled at him and didn’t trust him, for not being a better big brother.  He hoped that somewhere, Sam heard him.  He regretted not saying it all earlier, when he had the chance.

When the tears ran dry, he carefully, gently, laid Sam back on the floor.  For the first time, he took a look around the room.  Something here killed his brother and he wasn’t about to let it go unpunished.  Putting thoughts of his own safety aside, he turned to the still-glowing presence in the corner of the room, which, until now, he hadn’t even noticed.

“Hey, you bastard!” he said from his seated position on the floor, still unable to get to his feet. “Why don’t you come fight me like a man!”  He reached for his gun and got a shot off before there was a deafening roar and he was pushed back by a wave of energy, a repeat of what had happened before.

When it passed, he felt unimaginable pain, but he didn’t care.  It barely registered to the pain he already felt squeezing his heart.  He used what little strength he had left to scoot his body closer to Sam.  He reached out and held his hand once again.  He could taste a metallic tang with every strangled breath he took, but it only made him smile.  

He looked over at Sammy as his vision dimmed.  “I’m coming, Sam,” he whispered, and let his eyes slip closed.

*

Sam found himself in a white space.  There was no floor, ceiling, or walls.  There wasn’t anything but whiteness all around.  He was confused.  Where was he? Was he dead?  Wait…yeah, he thought he probably was.  He shuddered as he thought of his last few moments.  If he was dead then this had to be, what, the Empty?  But he’d always assumed that the Empty would be darkness, like an absence of all things, but this place was bright.  Still, there was nothing, but it didn’t seem empty.

Sam felt a presence before it materialized in front of him.  Chuck stood there, smiling.  

“Hello, Sam.  We meet again,” he said, his eyes bright and cheery.

“Chuck?  What are you doing here…I mean, where are we?” Sam said in confusion, giving the place another once over.

Chuck held up his hands in a calming gesture.  “All your questions will be answered shortly.  We’re just waiting on one more arrival.  Shouldn’t be long,” he explained, glancing at his wrist, at a watch that wasn’t there.  

“One more arrival?  Arrival to where?  Death?” he paused.  “Is it Dean? Is he going to die, too?” he questioned, stressed.  He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.  As much as he didn’t want to be without his brother, he didn’t want his life to end, too. But, really, would Dean really want to live alone, without him?  Sam knew he wouldn’t want to live without Dean.  He sighed.

“Relax, Sam. Everything’s fine.”  Chuck continued to smile in such a way that appeared so genuinely happy that Sam couldn’t help but feel a bit calmer just by looking at him.

Just then, the air beside Sam began to shimmer, and a second later, Dean stood there, looking just as confused as Sam felt.

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed, wrapping his arms around his brother and squeezing him tightly.

“Sam,” Dean said softly. “Is that really you?” he questioned, gripping onto his brother as well.

“Yeah, man, it’s me.”

Dean felt lighter than he’d felt in a long time, like a weight had been lifted off of him.  Sammy was okay.  He was right here with him.  He hadn’t lost him, after all. Dean felt tears begin pooling in his eyes and he wiped them away as they began to fall.  He wasn’t embarrassed, though, because Sammy was back.

Chuck cleared his throat. “I hate to be rude and interrupt this family reunion, but I’ve got other things to do.  If we could just wrap this up, that would be great,” he said, the smile still firmly on his face.

Dean pulled away from Sam and noticed Chuck for the first time.  He wiped away the last of his tears.

“Chuck?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” he said, not quite annoyed.  “Anyway, you two bought the farm, again, and it’s time to move on.”

“Wait, no,” Dean said. “We’ve gone back before.  Just send us back.  I know you of all people can do that.  There’s a creature out there that needs to be put down.  We’ll figure out how, just put us back. Besides, Cas and Jack—“

“—Will be fine,” Chuck finished for him.  “That creature is not your responsibility.  They’ll work it out.  From this point on, guys…nothing is your responsibility.”

“Wha…what do you mean?” Sam asked.

Chuck sighed.  “Look, I know you Winchesters aren’t used to the idea of staying dead, but you do realize that it’s going to have to happen sometime, right?” he asked, looked at each brother, who nodded.  “Well, this is your time.  Those other deaths…you two still had business to do.  The world still needed the legendary Winchesters. Now it’s time for you two to be at peace.  The world will go on without you.  It will be okay now.  

“You two are heroes. You’ve saved the world repeatedly. You’ve sacrificed so much.  As hard as it may seem, your time is over. The world will adapt.  You two deserve more, but I think I’ve got a pretty good heaven set up for you guys,” he explained, getting excited.

“Wait, just like that, and we’re done?  Just…done?” Dean questioned.

“Yes, Dean.  Just like that,” he said with the snap of his fingers.

“We’ve made it to heaven?” Sam asked incredulously.  “But Billie said—“

“Forget what she said, Sam. I’m in charge.  I make the rules and I would never let you two spend eternity in the Empty,” he shuddered.  “Besides, you guys fixed my relationship with Amara.  I owe you guys.”

“What about Cas?  He can’t end up there.  He’s family,” Dean stated.

Chuck sighed again. “I know.  I figured that’d come up.  I’ll pull some strings.  Don’t worry about it.”  He put his smile back in place.  “Now, are you guys ready to come with me or do you want to continue admiring the scenery?”

Sam and Dean looked around again, seeing nothing but whiteness all around.  They nodded.  Chuck nodded in return, and then the three of them were gone.

*

Castiel could feel dread and despair in the pit of his stomach.  He didn’t feel that way often, but when he did, he knew something was terribly wrong.  He’d never felt it this strongly before.  He was extremely worried for his friends.

Jack could pick up on Cas’s worry, but Cas refused to say anything when Jack questioned him on it. Cas just pushed harder on the pedal and flew down the highway, no regard to anything but getting there as soon as he could.  

When they pulled into town, Cas didn’t have to ask anyone where the strangers in the black car had gone. He could feel their presence and he followed his instincts to an old house on the edge of town.  

Sure enough, there was the Impala sitting there in the driveway.  He pulled up alongside it and quickly shut off the engine.  Throwing open his door, he raced out of the car, not bothering to close it or to wait for Jack to follow.  He raced up the porch steps and into the house, calling out to Sam and Dean as he went.  

Jack followed closely. He felt something was wrong, but he didn’t know what.  He knew Cas knew, too, but he would talk about it.  He felt confused and worried.  It wasn’t a combination of feelings that he liked very much.

Taking the stairs two at a time, the angel and the Nephilim quickly reached the second floor.  Cas didn’t bother searching each room.  He could feel a presence in the last room down the hall.  That’s where they needed to go.

Reaching the door, he froze, Jack nearly plowing into him.  

“No.  No no no!” Cas said in anguish, rushing to the brothers’ side.

Cas reached out to check their pulse, but knew from their cold skin that he wouldn’t find any.  He could clearly see that Sam went first by the way Dean cradled his hand in his own.  Tears burned in his eyes.  He was too late.  He wasn’t there for them when they needed him most.  

He reached out his hands again, placing an index finger on each of their foreheads, hoping beyond hope he could fix them, heal them, bring them back to him.  His fingers wouldn’t even glow.  Nothing happened.  They were gone.  If only he’d been a few minutes quicker and reached them before they passed he could have saved them, or at least eased their pain in their passing.  It was obvious that they had died very painful deaths and it tore his heart to know that.  

Jack, who lingered just outside the door, was afraid to enter.  He knew something was wrong, that something major had happened, but a part of him wanted to remain unaware to the events to save himself the stress, while the rest of him needed to know what had happened.

Deciding that it was inevitable, he stepped inside.  

Jack’s world spun.  He felt dizzy with surprise, shock, unimaginable sadness, and unquenchable rage.  Lying there were two of the three people who meant the most to him.  They were two of the few people in his short life that he had learned to trust.  They were people that he loved.

“NO!” he screamed, the single word tore through his throat in a bellow that physically shook the room.

“Jack—“ Cas, distraught, tried to calm him.

“NOOO” he shouted again.

The creature in the room, which had remained invisible up to this point, chose this moment to expose itself, giving the room an eerie glow.  

Jack’s eyes lit up yellow in response, seeing this creature as a target.  He squared his shoulders and curled his hands into fists.  Anger coursed through his veins.

“Jack!  Stay away from it!  We don’t know—“ Cas tried, but was cut off.

“YOU STOLE THEM FROM ME. YOU KILLED MY FAMILY!” he raged, shaking with the emotion.

The creature, this monster, glowed just a little brighter.  Jack closed his eyes, feeling the power surging through him and harnessed it, focusing it to his will.  His eyes opened and his fists glowed with power.  Taking a deep breath, he released it all toward the beast.  When it made contact, the creature exploded, blasting raw energy outward.  The whole house shook from the impact.  

When things settled down, Cas lifted his head.  A split second before the blast, he had wrapped his wings around himself and the Winchesters, knowing that Jack was unstable and there was no telling what would happen, especially with such an ancient creature.  

Surveying the room, he saw that the creature was gone.  There was no trace of it left and he had no doubts that it was really and truly dead. Next, though, he saw Jack.  His heart plummeted for a second time that day.

Jack lay on the floorboards, looking not much better off than the Winchesters’ bodies.  

“Jack!” He ran to his side, cradling his head on his arm and pulling him close.  “Jack, open your eyes,” he said, giving his cheek a pat.  

Jack complied, and looked up at Castiel’s face hovering over his own.  

“Did I kill it?” he asked in a soft voice.  He gave a small cough, which left his teeth coated red.

“Yes, Jack.  You killed it.”

Jack nodded. “Good.”  Another cough.  “Couldn’t let it get away,” he paused to breathe, “with taking them,” a couple breaths, “or let it hurt you,” he finished with a few more coughs.

Castiel smiled at him. “Of course not.”  He lifted his free hand.  “Now let me heal you.”

“No, Cas,” he said weakly. “I should go.”

“What?  Why, Jack?  They may be gone, but I’m still here.  We have each other.”

Jack shook his head. “I feel it.  My time.  Besides,” he paused, pulling in another painful breath, “my mom’s waiting.”

“No, Jack.  She’d want you to live.”

Cas reached his hand out again and touched it to Jack’s forehead.  This time, his fingers glowed, but nothing happened.  He frowned, sensing that Jack was blocking it with his own power.  He dropped his hand.

“Jack, please.  You can’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he said with another cough.

“Jack…you can’t.  You can’t leave me.  Don’t leave me all alone, Jack.  I beg you,” he pleaded, tears burning his eyes.

Jack reached a hand out and placed it on Cas’s forearm.  “It’s okay. I’m done, but you…still have…work to do…before you go.  You’ll be okay,” he said between breaths.

Tears streamed down Cas’s cheeks.  “Then let me help you,” he said as he sobbed.

He placed his hand to Jack’s forehead once again, and this time Jack didn’t stop him.  He allowed Cas to take away the pain.  Cas could see Jack’s face ease away from the discomfort, his body relaxing as he held him close.

“Thanks, Cas…for everything,” he said and his eyes fell closed.  Cas felt his body still and go limp.  

Cas wasn’t sure how long he sat there cradling Jack and being surrounded by the only people he’d ever really learned to love throughout all his countless years.  Just a couple decades ago, he wouldn’t have been able to describe what love felt like.  Not really. But now, not only could he describe love, but he could also explain happiness, a sense of belonging, and of heart-wrenching sadness.  He questioned whether it was worth it all, just to feel how he felt now.  Maybe it would have been better to never have met them.

He dismissed those thoughts. To have never met the Winchesters or Jack would have meant never having a purpose, never having a family.  He couldn’t imagine giving all that up, even if it meant experiencing the torture he now felt.  

He knew he’d eventually give the three of them a proper hunter’s funeral, but for now, he allowed himself the time to grieve.  

*

It had been 172 years, three months, two weeks, and two days since he’d watched Sam Winchester type away on his laptop while researching their latest case.

It had been 172 years, two months, three weeks, and four days since he’d watched Dean Winchester scarf down a double bacon cheeseburger.

It had been 172 years, four months, one week, and five days since Jack Kline bombarded him with random questions, the kid always being curious about the big wide world that he didn’t have the chance to fully explore.

It had been 172 years, five months, two weeks, and six days since they’d sat around eating pizza and binging Netflix in the bunker.

It had been 172 years, one month, three weeks, and four days since Castiel lost it all.

In most of his innumerable years, Cas had been alone.  He’d done his duties without thought, without question to anything else.  It wasn’t until he had others in his life, people to fill the void he didn’t know existed, that he understood the meaning of being truly alone.  He learned that being alone and being lonely were two very different things.  

On his deathbed, Jack had assured him that he still had a purpose in this life, but for the life of him, he didn’t know what that was.  He didn’t want to doubt the boy, but he wondered if Jack only said it to make him feel better.  Cas didn’t feel like he had anything anymore, no reason to keep going.

He gave up hunting. He couldn’t bear to do it without them. He never stepped foot into the bunker again, either.  He couldn’t. That place held too many memories. It would be far too painful.

Instead, he spent his time replaying and replaying the events of that night, wishing he could change things.  He knew it wasn’t helping, that it was an unhealthy habit, but he couldn’t help it. It was the single most worst thing that had ever happened to him in his whole life, and he was a celestial being.

He kept to himself, even turning off angel radio.  He didn’t want to be bothered with the problems of others.  He had his own.  Much like Metatron, he hid himself away from the world.

He knew that his pain and grief would keep the Empty from claiming him and he should be grateful, but there were times when he wished it would come and swallow him up, to save him from this agony.  But, he supposed, that was the point.  The Empty wanted him to suffer, and he was.  

Eventually, Cas decided that he needed to do something.  A couple decades after the incident, he began going out and helping others.  He’d find those who were on their deathbeds and ease the transition for them.  He’d take their pain away.  Could he have healed them?   Sure, but he knew that that wasn’t his place.  He targeted people whose number was up and helped them pass painlessly. It was the least he could do after failing his friends.  No one else should have to suffer like they had.  

Years passed.  There were those out there who knew what he did and spread rumors.  He became known as the Angel of Death.  They most likely didn’t know that he was an actual angel, so it was ironic, but fitting. He didn’t care.  

Some worshipped him. Others hunted him, not really sure if his intentions were as good as people claimed.  Some thought he actually killed people instead of helping them.  

The Winchesters’ name had become a sort of legend among hunters.  Some believed they were actual people once, but others believed they were just tall tales.  Either way, many knew their name.

No one knew at the time, but before his death, Sam had been working on an online database for hunters to keep track of their information.  It was a way for them to communicate, a way for them to post their journals online for everyone to take note.  He had hoped that it would help save people.  And it did.

After a month of Sam’s neglect on the program, the site had a built in command to go public, in the case of his death.  Only hunters could access it, having to answer a series of questions only a true hunter would know in order to get on.  

When hunters found it, they spread the word, connecting hunters from around the world and sharing the knowledge they’d learned on the job.  Some hunters spent their time mostly organizing the info gained, almost becoming modern-day Men of Letters, in a sense.  

The site made hunting much quicker and simpler.  Many hunters gained longer lifespans because of it.  

When Cas found out, he was proud of Sam, but not at all surprised.  That was just who Sam was, always using his abilities to help others and save lives.  Even in death, he saved people.

He logged on himself once, and searched the creature that had claimed the lives of those he loved. There was only one entry, made by Sam himself a couple years before he died.  It was vague, but it was unmistakably the same creature that they met face to face.  Of course Sam would’ve heard of it.

He wondered if Sam thought about that before his life ended, thought about the fact that he had found this ancient creature thought to be extinct.  He didn’t doubt it, even though he, himself, had never even heard of it, even in all his many years.

Cas took the time to add what he knew of the creature onto the page, how a Nephilim could kill them. Maybe the information could help someone someday.  He shrugged.

Castiel found himself squatting in an old cabin in the woods one night.  It was out of season for camping, so he figured no one would need it for a while.  He had just helped another soul cross over, so he felt at peace.  Not quite content or happy, but close enough.  

He grabbed some logs and placed them in the fireplace.  He was reaching for the matches when he heard a noise.  He halted and turned around.  His skills as a hunter had gone rusty and he no longer had any care for self-preservation, so he was unperturbed when he came face to face with a man holding a gun pointed to his chest.

The man stared him down, daring him to try something, to at least beg for his life, but Cas just stood there, waiting for whatever was going to happen.

“You just gonna stand there?” the man said gruffly.  He wore jeans and a button up, not dissimilar to what Sam and Dean used to wear.  He was clean shaven with messy dark blonde hair. He was middle aged and had a stocky build.  In addition to the gun pointed at him, he also carried a knife at his waist.  Cas guessed this man was a hunter.  

Cas just shrugged. “What would you like for me to do?”

The man narrowed his eyes at him.  “Don’t get smart with me.  I’m the one with the gun.”

“So I’ve noticed.  Are you here for a chat or can I go ahead and make a fire?  It’s a bit chilly in here,” he said conversationally, taking a glance around while rubbing his hands together.

The man just stood there for a second.  “So that’s it?  You’re not gonna put up a fight?  The great Angel of Death is just going to lay down and take it?  I expected more.”

Cas sighed.  “Would I be right in assuming I ‘hurt’ someone you loved?  I was wondering how long it would take for someone to catch up with me,” he said wearily.

The man’s face grew angry and red.  “You took her from me!” he yelled.  “You took my little sister!  Why? She never did anything to anyone,” he said more softly.

Cas took a moment to answer, thinking back.  “When was this, if I may ask?”

“Six years ago you killed her.  We were in an accident.  A deer ran out in front of us.  It was dark and raining and I tried to get away…hit a tree.  It took me a few minutes to come to, but when I did…I saw a figure bent over her.  There was a light and by the time I got out of the car, they were gone and she….” He paused and sniffed.  “That was you and you killed her!  You took her life away.  She was engaged.  Had her whole life ahead of her and you robbed her of it!”

Cas remained silent, let the man get his anger out.  After a while of silence, he spoke.  “Yes. I remember her.  She was a beautiful spirit.  Such a short life, but she had a good one.  She—“

“SHUT UP!  SHUT UP RIGHT NOW!  Don’t talk about her like you knew her!” he screamed, the gun in his hands shaking.

“But I do know her, just as I know you.  Her death destroyed you.  You blamed yourself.  But more so, you blamed me.  You heard about the Angel of Death online and eventually became a hunter.  You devoted your life to finding me and getting revenge. Is that about right?” he said calmly.

“Who are you?  What are you?”

“It really doesn’t matter. If you want to kill me, go ahead,” he said simply.

“What?!  No.  I want to know why you did it!  What was she to you?”

“She was suffering.  I only meant to take her pain away.  It was her time.  It wasn’t my place to restore her when she was destined to move on.  Is that satisfactory?” “You were trying to help her?  Why should I believe you?”

Cas shrugged. “Believe me.  Don’t believe me.  I don’t care.  I simply made it my mission to save people from suffering.  I didn’t want others to feel what my friends did.  I failed them.  The least I can do is help others.”

The man just stared at him. “Friends?  What friends could a creature like you possibly have?”

“I’m not a creature. I’m an angel of the Lord.  And my friends died many years ago.  They were hunters like yourself.  They were the very best.  Saved the world a few times,” he said proudly.

“What kind of bull is that? No one saves the world.  Except in those stories everyone likes to tell.  You know, those made up stories about those brothers.  The Winchesters.  Sa--”

“Yeah, Sam and Dean,” Cas interrupted, a fond look on his face.  “My friends.  My family. It’s been too long.”

The man laughed.  “You mean to tell me that they’re real?  Man, you’re crazy.  Next you’ll probably tell me that your name is Casteel.”

“It’s Castiel, actually. No one’s called me that in a long time.”

The man’s smile fell. “You’re not saying those stories are actually real…like they happened for real…” he trailed off.

“Oh, yes.  They were very real.”

“Like,” he stopped to think, “Sam jumping into the pit or Dean taking the Mark of Cain?” he said, nearly laughing.  

“Yes.  Poor Sam was soulless for a while after that.  And that Mark was nothing but trouble.  But we finally got it off.  It was actually the beginning to repairing God’s relationship with his sister.  It worked out quite nicely.”

The guy sputtered. “God, like God God?  And his sister?”

“Yes.  He has a beard.  His name is Chuck.  Nice guy,” Cas stated.

“Man, you must be losing it. That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“If I’m losing it, then how did I know all that about you and your sister?”

“Maybe you can read my mind or something.”

Cas paused, thinking. “Well, I could, but that would be quite painful.  I’m a celestial being.  I just know things about people.”

“If you’re so important, why don’t you smite me, then?”

Cas shook his head. “I have no reason to want to hurt you. You are grieving.  I understand that all too well.  I have been grieving for 172 years.  Besides, your gun wouldn’t hurt me.  You cannot kill me.  And if you tried, I wouldn’t stop you.  I have nothing to live for anymore,” he said seriously.

“You don’t want to help people anymore?”

“I’m tired, Ethan,” he said, then hesitated.  “Is it alright if I call you that?  I know you didn’t formerly introduce yourself.”

“Look, man, this is weird. I don’t know what to think.”  

“Then don’t,” he said, sliding an angel blade from his coat sleeve.  He handed it to Ethan.  “This will do the job.”

Ethan set down his gun and took it, looking it over in confusion.

“It’s an angel blade. It will kill angels.  And demons, too.  It’s very useful.  It’s all yours, just please give me this mercy.”

“Wait, you want me to kill you?” he said incredulously.

“Yes.  I have wished for death for such a long time.  Spending an eternity in the Empty will be preferable to this existence, I think.”

“Yeah, but…what about…”

“Didn’t you come here to kill me?  Wasn’t that your mission, your purpose in life since your sister’s death?  Then kill me, please!” Cas nearly shouted.

“But this isn’t what I’d expected.  This isn’t—“

Cas reached out and grabbed the man’s shirt collar in a strong grip.  “I killed your sister.  Avenge her!”

The man pulled back, wrenching off Cas’s grip.  “But, but you didn’t, you…”

“PLEASE!” Cas said emphatically.  “I have tried so hard to keep going.  Maybe helping people like your sister was my purpose like Jack said, but I can’t do it anymore!  I’m done! I need to move on.  The pain doesn’t ever go away.  I can’t stop replaying that night.  I need peace.  I need for it all to be over.  Help me like I helped your sister, Melanie.  Like I’ve helped so many others.  Put me out of my misery.  Don’t tempt me with death and not give it to me.  Please,” he begged.  

Ethan stood there, clenching the angel blade in his hands while he looked over at Castiel.  He noticed for the first time how haggard he looked, how pain seemed etched into his very bones.  Whether he really was who he said he was, this was a man who had been through a lot.  This was someone who had reached his limit and then some.  

He was right; he did come here to kill this man.  Even if this stranger was trying to be good and helped Melanie, he was asking for mercy now.  It didn’t feel right.  It felt less like revenge and more like killing someone who didn’t deserve it, but yet was begging for it.  

He felt something deep down, something he’d never felt before.  He didn’t think that he’d be able to just walk away, knowing he’d allowed this man to continue suffering.  His pain may not be something he could see, but this man was broken. He told himself it’d be like killing a deer that got hit by a car.  Sometimes it can’t be saved, but it shouldn’t have to suffer any more.  

“Okay,” he said quietly, getting a good grip on the strange weapon he’d been handed.

He saw the angel’s shoulders relax as if a heavy burden had been lifted from them.  He looked lighter, freer.  

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.  

The man just nodded, unable to form words.  He stared at the angel, unsure.  Cas nodded back at him, silently telling him to go on.  He got closer, held it to the angel’s chest.  Closing his eyes, he thrust it through his chest.  The angel fell, the blade falling from his hands and clattering to the floor.  

He looked down and saw Castiel, dead, the shadow of his wings spread out majestically on either side of him.  He would have regretted what he’d just done if he hadn’t glanced at the angel’s face. Although his eyes were hollowed out, there was a trace of a smile lingering on his lips.

*

Castiel found himself standing on a black surface.  He shuddered to think of an eternity stuck in the Empty, such a dark place, but he didn’t care.  It was better than being on earth and being reminded of those he’d loved and lost.

He looked up and his breath caught in his throat.  Surrounding him was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.  This was surely not the Empty.  This was something wonderful.  All around him were trees and grass, all so green and lush and beautiful.  Flowers of every color were scattered around the tall grass, and the sky above was the bluest blue he’d ever laid eyes on.  

Stretching in front and behind him was an asphalt road.  He didn’t know where it led, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to find out.  Stepping forward, he followed it, taking in the sights and sounds all around.  The wind blew gently and the birds sung from the treetops.  

He didn’t know how long he walked.  It seemed long, but it wasn’t unpleasant.  Eventually, he came upon an old, two story home.  It had a nice wrap around porch with a swing, and each window had shutters on either side.  These details were great, but they weren’t what took his attention.  Sitting in the driveway was a pristine, black, 1967 Chevy Impala.  Baby.  

Cas ran to the front door, his blue tie flopping over his shoulder.  He pounded the door and rang the bell, feeling completely overwhelmed and impatient.

The door swung open, revealing Dean standing there, a beer in one hand as the other gripped the door.

“Hey, look who decided to show up!” he said, beaming.  

Sam approached, and his face lit up when he saw who it was.  “Cas!  You made it! You’re just in time, too.  We were just about to get started and everyone else is already here.  Just waiting on you, man,” he said, reaching out to engulf the angel into a hug.  

When they finally pulled apart, Dean reached out for a hug as well.

“I don’t…I don’t understand,” he said when they parted.  He stepped into the foyer and Dean closed the door behind him.  “Am I dead?  Where am I? Is this a dream?  Wait, no.  I don’t sleep, do I?” he rambled.

Dean laughed.  “No, you don’t, man.  And yeah, you kicked the bucket.  You’re in heaven.”  

Cas looked at him in confusion.  “But, angels go—“

“To the Empty, I know,” Dean finished.   “Chuck pulled some strings.  You get your own slice of heaven pie!” he said with a grin.

“This is our heaven, me and Dean’s,” Sam explained, “but ours are all connected.  I’m sure you have a house down the road.  Everyone else does.”

“Everyone else?  But…you seemed to be expecting me?  You knew I’d come?” he questioned.

“Nah, just a hunch. It just felt right.  Kinda how this place works or something,” Dean said. “Anyway,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “how ‘bout some grub?  I’m starving!”

Dean led the way to the backyard.  There was an insanely long picnic table set up with all kinds of food anyone could imagine. It was mostly barbeque, but with lots of sides as well, along with some fresh lemonade.  There was a general bustle as those seated around the table served themselves and passed platters of food down the row.  Cas realized that everyone was here: Mary, John, Bobby, Charlie, Kelly… everyone who’d ever made an impact on the Winchester’s lives.  

He saw Jody and Donna chatting away and Kevin helping himself to some fried rice, among others.

“Cas!”

Cas turned toward the voice. “Jack?!”

Jack ran over and gave him a big hug.  

“It’s been a while, Castiel. You took a while to get here,” Jack said.

“Well, it wasn’t really up to me, was it?  Besides, I’m here now, and that’s all that matters,” Cas answered.  Jack nodded with a big smile.

“Felix is here, too!” Jack said happily, indicating the red and black snake he had draped over his shoulders.  Cas heard Dean mumble something about snakes and heaven before walking away toward the food. “He’s much happier here, like I’d hoped he’d be,” Jack continued.

“Yes, he does appear quite content,” Cas replied.

“Well, come on, Cas. Dig in,” Sam said before joining his brother at the table.

Castiel took a moment to take it all in.  All his friends and loved ones were here in one place.  This really and truly was heaven.  Cas took his seat beside the Winchesters and dished himself up some food, more than happy to savor his slice of the heaven pie he was blessed to share with those he called his family.

[elliottwayne]

Elliott Wayne (Me): My Backstory

Backstory: 

1999: I was born to Bruce Wayne and Lilli Rose in the early morning of March 16th. While my parents had been in a relationship and my father knew my mother was pregnant, my mother broke up with him just before having me but ended up abandoning me in the hospital. My dad came and got me and immediately filed for full custody while the police searched for my mother. They never found her. As soon as dad was granted full custody of me he took off to tour the world, learning as many martial arts as possible. 2001: We returned to Gotham when I was two years old and dad became Batman.

2002: About a year later 12-year-old Richard Grayson came into my life, becoming my first big brother (though our relationship doesn't remain a sibling relationship in my older years) and the first Robin. Now, a small thing about me is that as a child I was a selective mute. For those who don't know selective mutism is a childhood anxiety disorder that is often accompanied by shyness or social anxiety. The reason I am giving this information is because Dick Grayson is the one who eventually helped me learn coping skills - or at least he tried to teach them as best he could to a three year old.

2004: The age of 5 is when I accidentally found out the Dick was Robin and dad was Batman. I had been looking for Dick to ask him to take me to get a late night glass of water and poor five-year-old me walked into Dick's room to see him in full Robin outfit. The next day I had followed Dick into the Batcave, fully learning the double life of my "big brother" and father.

2006: Back to my muteness, I eventually grew out of it but was diagnosed with ADHD when I was seven. When I was eight Dick and dad got into a pretty huge argument which led to Dick leaving Wayne Manor and eventually dropping the Robin Mantle and becoming Nightwing. That is also when Jason Todd came into my life, becoming my second big brother (and remaining my big brother). Jason and I quickly grew close, so close I even ended up taking on some of his personality traits, much to the teasing horror but real concern of my dad and Dick.

2007: Even though it was barely a year that Jason had been in my life when he died, eight year old me still felt his loss even if I didn't understand it yet. My dad, after that, spent a few years without a Robin but during those years I made a few changes to my life.

2009: When I was 10 I was finally told my mother's identity and why I didn't know her - how she abandoned me in the hospital.

2010: It was a full year later that I started "training" behind my father's back. If you're wondering if I was training to become a Robin, the answer is no, I just wanted to do what my big brothers and dad were doing.

2011: When I was 12 I started looking for my mother, to get answers and an explanation but my search ended up getting me kidnapped by the Joker, to this day I am still unsure of my mother's connection to the Joker. While I was being held hostage I learned of how Jason died, Joker had told me every detail of how he killed Robin and saying how Batman wasn't fast enough to save him. I was rescued by Batman but I admittedly started pushing my father away, even blaming him for my "big brother's" death.

2012: Now, I stated earlier that Dick and dad got into a huge argument that lead to Dick leaving but at the time 8 year old me didn't know that so skip to 13 year old me who -while secretly going through my father's things- found an email for Dick and I sent him an email asking what exactly happened between him and dad. All I got back were vague answers so I tracked him down and went to him, demanding answers and threatening to not go back home if I didn't get them. In hindsight that threat had no chance of working since Dick could have just called Alfred to come get me but, I got my answers anyway. The answers I got though, I just ended up pushing my dad away more. Little did I know, my dad had noticed. After being the biggest pain in the ass for Dick, I returned home and used my half-ass training to become Batkid.

I went out almost right away and got myself on Batman's and Nightwing's watch lists. At the same time that's also when Red Hood, Jason, decided to show up in Gotham. Red Hood also decided to test his speed and skills by chasing the Bat Family around Gotham City, that unfortunately included poor 13 year-old-me who was slowly starting to realize she was in over her head.

2013: A year later, still as Batkid, somehow not deterred by the red hooded lunatic, I made my first enemy, a girl about my age who called herself Psychic Flame, and trust me, the name suited her. This was also the year I started High School and the year Dick promised to keep in better contact with me, even arranging dates for us to get together and catch up. Also, Batman started to actually fully look into who Batkid was, my doom was upon me or at least it would be very soon.

2014: The next year I started 10th grade and was diagnosed with depression and generalized anxiety disorder but on a positive note, I made a new friend, Kasey Scott, a boy who was a year older than me. While I made one new friend I made four new enemies who are known as, Siren, Alexei Novikov, Biofever, and Cryowave - all of them scary as hell. I also started to understand a few things a little more and questioned others, one of the things I questioned were my growing feelings for Dick Grayson, the boy, or rather man at that point, who had taken a "big brother" role for me but now somehow felt like more. In an attempt to push away these feelings I started dating Kasey - stupid move, I know. Just as I did that, my dad found out I was Batkid and the lecture I got from dad...was (and still is) nothing compared to the other lectures I got from Alfred, Dick, and later on Jason. When dad was done lecturing me he sent me to Dick for him to start my training.

Before Dick started training me though he lectured me and then legit put me in a 'time out' corner in the Titan's tower. While with Dick and the titans though I got more than just hand-to-hand combat and weapons training. There was something I failed to mention when I began the telling of my life story, I was born a metahuman. My powers, in short, are supernatural empathy, light manipulation and generation, and entity bonding. While two of my powers I could only get guidance on, Starfire helped me learn how to use and control my light based power. I spent six months training with Dick and Starfire before I returned home for more training with my father.

2015: This next year is when Batman finally gets another Robin. 13 year old Tim Drake came into our lives trying to reunite Nightwing and Batman but Nightwing refused to take up the mantle of Robin again. I personally didn't blame him after seeing the life he had created for himself with the Titans. Seeing that reuniting Dick and my dad wasn't going to work Tim decided he'd become Robin. My dad was against this, whole-heartedly, until Tim helped him apprehend Two-Face. Not only did dad train Tim but I had assisted in his training as well. It wasn't long after that Joker reared his ugly clown head and kidnapped Tim's parents. While Batman, Robin, and I manage to track them down, unfortunately, none of us where fast enough to save them. Seeing Joker again though, the only thing that was running through my head was what he did to Jason, and I beat him the way he did Jason 8 years prior. After that catastrophe, dad adopted Tim and I had my first little brother. Dick also moved back to Gotham but stayed in his own place, and I remember he maybe came to the manor twice, to drop of Tim and I after we had gotten caught in a storm coming home from school. Also Red Hood left Gotham for a year - much to the gratefulness of my sanity.

2016: The next year, I gained a second little brother, this one biologically my little brother, well half little brother. Damian Wayne, future dubbed “Demon Spawn”. Ten year old Damian Wayne was dropped off at the door of Wayne Manor by his mother who asked dad to train him to curb his homicidal tendencies. When I met him and started talking to him, I immediately called him a "Little Precious Edge Lord" and let me tell you, it was worth it despite the glare I got. (I still occasionally call him that but now I mostly call him "Daybreak" because he’s always waking up in the super early AM). While Damian was getting accustomed to a new lifestyle and new rules he was also being trained by dad alongside me but, certain times I would train him alongside Tim.

This was also the year I put on a new suit and new mask and took on a new name, one I had earned from my technique of dealing with criminals; Silent Sleeper. This nickname comes from the fact I use a self-made crossbow with self-made, color-coded darts, the main dart being a sedative dart which inspired the "Sleeper" part of my new code name. The "Silent" part being inspired by the fact nobody knew I was there until one or more of their goons were on the floor/ground unconscious with a dart in their neck.

Also in this year, Red Hood had returned to Gotham, ready to "settle the score" or "the grudge" he had against Batman. Upon learning Red Hood had returned I went to my father, dreading the mental torment of Red Hood chasing me around Gotham City yet again. My father's response was not what I was expecting. He told me Red Hood was Jason, who had been revived. Two thoughts were going through my head at that time; 1) I have my favorite big brother back, 2) I'm going to fucking murder the son of a bitch myself. A few nights passed and I cornered Red Hood in a non-residential part of Gotham and began screaming at him. (I am told that was one of the most confusing and scary things Jason has ever experienced before I took off my mask). So, a very confused Red Hood demanded to know who the hell I was and how I knew his full name so in frustration I ripped off my mask. The second Jason processed what his eyes were showing him, that his "baby sister" was the Silent Sleeper, and that Nightwing had piped up telling him I had also been Batkid, that was when the screaming match truly started. It ended with Jason having a bloody nose and black eye and me having a major migraine.

On top of that drama I had decided to break up with Kasey, finally admitting to myself that I just didn't have true feelings for him. The break up ended up being mutual since he also didn't have true feelings for me, we agreed to just remain friends.

Oh, the best part of the year!? That was when Talia Al-Ghul decided to kidnap my father and I because she decided she wanted her son back, yeah that was fun. Dad and I were rescued after his mind got messed with and dear Talia tried to murder me. Damian then declared that he wanted nothing to do with his mother, and I just respected my little brother a great deal more after that. Dad then sent Damian to train and learn from monks, hoping it would help Damian with his anger and his violent tendencies.

To not be sarcastic, the truly best part of the year was when I decided to tell Dick how I really felt about him and learning he returned my feelings and we actually started our relationship. Dick also went back to the GCPD and Jason learned of what I did to the Joker...after he did it himself. Jay also began to try to repair his relationship with Dick, dad, Tim, and I, while trying to create one with Damian.... (The headaches...oh god the headaches).

2017: Jason was still working on repairing his relationships not just with us but with other people as well and I can tell you that he succeeded. Damian returned home, still Damian, sarcastic little edge lord, but a lot better at controlling his anger. Upon Damian's return Tim took the mantle of Red Robin while Damian became Robin and Dick gave Jason an old Nightwing suit. Jason took that Nightwing suit and wore it as a symbol that his relationship with the Bat Fam was being repaired and getting better. Dick had started to occasionally stay at Wayne Manor, even having his own study there and our relationship only grew stronger but obviously with its bumps and curves. One of my enemies, Alexei Novikov, returned to Gotham with a new drug that Nightwing ended up being hit with while on a patrol. Alexei kidnapped him and tried to hold him for ransom but just as he was making the ransom demand Red Hood, Red Robin, Robin, and myself all busted into his hideout and rescued Nightwing. Alexei had armed a self-destruct system, we got out but Alexei didn't....at least I hope, we never found a body or any barbequed remains and people in Gotham don't like to stay dead as if #Revived is the number one trend in the world.

Also this year was the year I turned 18 - long story short I stole the Batmobile and almost got grounded for three months until dad realized how old I was...but I did get my Sleeperbike taken away. The Justice league also approached me for the first time and Dick for the second time, we both declined. I preferred (and still do) being a "solo" act and Dick wanted to stick to looking after the Young Justice team while also technically being a solo act.

2018: Jason had moved back into the manor since his relationships were mostly repaired to be in good graces with all of us and once again considered part of the Bat Family. The major conflict of this year, for me personally, was when Siren kidnapped Red Hood purely just to get in my head and piss of The Silent Sleeper, who was now more commonly known as "SS". I rescued Red Hood but Siren managed to slip away to god only knows where. Then, after a mission had seemed to go sideways Red Robin went MIA, or so I had thought. In reality the mission was intended to look like a failure so Red Robin could go dark. When Red Robin returned home I called a family meeting and made all "my boys" (including my dad) promise me that if a mission or assignment is meant to look a certain way, to tell me before we go on the mission or assignment.

Well, that's been my life up until now! I will be giving updates, I mean, if you all are curious that is! Lots of love, stay safe, your friendly neighborhood, Silent Sleeper.

P.S: I don't care if I stole that from Spider-Man, dude is cool!

Admin: Backstory is still a minor WIP as I am still working on putting in Barbara, Cassandra, and Stephanie.

[theajaheira]

imperfections (42/?)

read it on ao3!

REVIEWS HAVE POWER Y’ALL. someone left a review on imperfections like....2 days ago....and it inspired me to buckle down and write another chapter for the first time in nearly a year.

i wrote this a whiiiiiiile back so i hope it’s worth the wait!

“Rupert, are you okay?” Jenny asked with clear worry.

“I’m not—” Giles breathed out. He leaned heavily against the wall, holding the receiver to his ear. “I am not the Watcher she needs,” he said.

“Yeah, well, no one needs a bureaucratic asshole like Travers in their life.” Despite the lightness of her words, Jenny sounded somewhat unnerved. “Come home. This isn’t the kind of conversation we should have over the phone.”

“This isn’t a conversation I can wait to have,” said Giles quietly.

“This isn’t a conversation I’m prepared to have, Rupert, I don’t know what you want me to say!” There was an edge of panic in Jenny’s voice. “I’ve got the Watcher-girlfriend thing down pat, I can do the whole reassuring thing when you’re talking like you, but—”

“I just wanted to hear your voice, darling. I don’t need you to reassure me.” Giles found it rather odd that he was suddenly the one comforting Jenny instead of the other way around. “It’s fine. I—I’ve made up my mind.”

“I haven’t made up mine!”

“What happened to all that disdain for my following Council rules?”

“That was when it was a non-negotiable that you would! It was—it was frustration at an existing system. I never thought you’d actually do anything like this!”

“You think that little of me?” Giles said quietly.

“Oh my god, that’s so completely not what I’m trying to say, I’m just—” Jenny exhaled. “I’m worried about you,” she said with frustration. “How is that so hard to get across? The Council has been a part of your life since you were a kid, and it’s been a part of mine since we met.”

“Well, not exactly. I didn’t immediately tell you about—”

“Shut up. Not the point. Rupert, why are you calling me and telling me this?”

“I talked to Travers,” said Giles. “Faith’s seventeen. The Council falsified her records because she was too much of a liability as a minor, and they have no interest in wasting resources on her.”

Jenny didn’t respond.

“Jenny?”

“You’re not serious, right?” Jenny now sounded very much beside herself. “This is a lot to take in. Faith’s seventeen—oh my god, I didn’t put the right amount of candles on the cake—”

“Is that really what you’re focusing on right now?” Giles inquired, nonplussed.

“Well, it’s better than focusing on how fucked up the Council is!”

“That’s…why I called you.” Giles was beginning to regret not waiting until he’d returned home; he very much wished he could be holding Jenny right now. Comfort to them both. “I’ve just found out that the people I’ve spent my life trusting are…wrong.”

Jenny was quiet. Then she said a little shakily, “Yeah. I think I know how that feels.”

Giles didn’t know what to say to that. He hadn’t considered the similarities between his situation and the experiences Jenny had gone through last year. He hadn’t realized that those similarities would be comforting to him now. Thinking about the fact that Jenny had gone through something—if not exactly alike, then at least close enough that she would understand what he was going through right now—it made him feel so much less alone and off-center.

“I love you,” he said, very softly.

Jenny sniffled, then sighed. “I love you too. This is just—it’s—it’s a really big decision to make, Rupert. No going back.”

“Honestly, I-I think this was a long time coming,” said Giles, and meant it. “I—” He laughed ruefully. “I care about too many people to be a Watcher, and the fact that my Slayer is one of them—well. It’s probably for the best that I step down.”

“Okay. Um. Are you going to call them now, or…?”

This gave Giles pause. As certain as he was about resigning, there were still logical aspects that needed to be considered. Buffy’s impending Cruciamentum. The new Watcher that might take his place. “Not now,” he said. “But—soon. After we map things out.”

“We?” Jenny’s voice was soft and surprised.

Giles smiled, feeling a bit warmer. “What would I be if I didn’t confer with my supernatural partner?”

“God, you make it sound like I’m a vampire.” There was an exhausted laugh in Jenny’s voice.“You really need to come up with a better way to say that.”

“Duly noted,” Giles agreed. “I’ll be home soon.”

Faith re-entered the living room to find Jen hanging up the phone. “Hey,” she said. “You know, you should really consider finding a place for all these boxes in the living room. Or getting a bigger house. Either way.”

Jen looked up. “Faith,” she said. “Rupert just called the Council.”

Faith felt a rush of fear and anger. “How come?” she demanded, already prepared for an answer she wouldn’t like.

“Were you planning on telling anyone that you’re not eighteen?” Jen asked, more concerned than accusing.

Faith blinked, startled. “Wait,” she said. “That’s what this is about?” She frowned, trying to figure out how to explain her confusion. “Jen,” she said finally, “I don’t keep great track of my birthdays. The fact that you’re celebrating my eighteenth…I kinda just assumed that you picked it up from some Council papers.”

“You don’t know that you’re not eighteen,” said Jen slowly.

“Am I not eighteen?” Faith honestly couldn’t care less, but it seemed to be bothering Jen, so— “The Council guys made me sign some papers when I first got called,” she said. “I didn’t really read them that well. Maybe that’s where the fuck-up happened.”

Jen’s face relaxed a little. “Okay,” she said. “I kind of figured that it would be something like that, but I wasn’t sure—”

“I’m not in the habit of lying to you,” said Faith, which she suddenly realized was true. Though there were many things about herself that she hadn’t told anyone, not once had she looked Jen in the eyes and lied. That meant something, probably, so she said it again, testing the words. “I’m not in the habit of lying to you.”

Jen didn’t look startled by Faith’s admission, which made Faith feel better about it; she didn’t know how she’d feel if Jen reacted with surprise to Faith claiming honesty. “And I’m very grateful to you for that,” she said, moving a few notebooks off the couch so she could sit down. “Happy seventeenth.” She frowned. “Seventeen—” Her eyes widened, her gaze snapping up to look at Faith. “You were sixteen,” she said. “When you got here—you were sixteen, and on the run from a master vampire.”

This came as a vague surprise to Faith too, because she’d put herself at a ballpark of seventeen when all the shit with Kakistos went down. “Huh,” she said, sitting down next to Jen. Then, “You’re not gonna get all mushy on me, are you?”

“What?”

“Like, oh, poor Faith, she went through so much and she was only sixteen.” Faith smiled a little mockingly.

To Faith’s surprise, Jen gave her a small, worn-out smile. “Yeah,” she said. “If that’s mushy, then I’m it.”

Faith hadn’t been expecting that kind of sincerity, and wasn’t exactly sure what to do about it. Awkwardly, she sat down next to Jen. “I don’t want you worrying about me,” she said. The words didn’t come easily. “You’ve got enough to worry about as it is. I can take care of myself.”

Jen bit her lip and studied Faith, then said, “That’s not in dispute. I worry because I care.”

“But you shouldn’t.” Faith faltered, then tacked on, “Worry.”

Jen smiled a little at the specification. “But I’m gonna.”

Faith hesitated, then sat down next to Jen on the couch. “I’m serious about all these boxes,” she said. “They take up a ton of space.”

“Rupert’s thinking we convert the basement into a study room,” Jen explained, scooting over to make room for Faith. “Hopefully, the boxes will be out of here in a week or so.”

This was when Giles entered the living room, looking all kinds of awful. Immediately upon seeing him, Jen stood up, eyes wide.

“I’m fine,” Giles said.

“Do you need to talk—”

“I’m fine,” said Giles with tired conviction.

“You sure about that?” said Faith a little doubtfully.

Giles and Jen both looked over at Faith as though only now remembering she was there. After a brief moment, Giles said, “Jenny, Faith’s birthday really isn’t the time to have this discussion.”

“Okay,” said Jen with some reluctance. “But we’re seriously gonna have to talk about it later.”

“What’s going on?” asked Faith, the words coming out sharper and angrier than she intended them. She thoroughly hated feeling like this all the time—like at any moment, this new life of hers could crumble to bits. She wanted to be able to trust that it would stay constant.

Jen and Giles exchanged a look. Then Giles said, “I’m having a bit of a crisis in regard to my chosen career, and I want to talk to Jenny about it in private at a later date. Truly, Faith, you have no reason to worry.”

Jen looked about as surprised as Faith felt. Generally, it was Jen smoothing things over, not Giles, and the difference felt indicative of something that Faith couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Rupert’s pretty much right,” Jen agreed. “We have some stuff to talk about, but this is your day, Faith.”

My day. That felt weird, a little, but in a good way. Faith knew someone better would be polite, deflect, give Giles and Jen a chance to have whatever conversation they needed, but instead she said, “I want to watch a movie. Do you have any movies we can watch?”

“I’ll go make popcorn,” said Giles, giving Faith a small smile as he exited.

Jen sat down next to Faith again. “You know,” she said, “you haven’t once asked about presents.”

Faith felt a hard, twisting kind of want at the word presents. Every part of this day felt like something she wanted to grab close and hold tight before it was gone. “Yeah?”

“Hold up.” Jen slid off the couch, rummaging under the nearby coffee table before coming up with a neatly wrapped box. “Now, um, this isn’t the greatest present in the world—”

Faith tested the weight of the box in her hands, staring down at the multicolored wrapping before beginning to carefully undo the bow. She wanted to fold up the wrapping paper, save it for later or something. She didn’t know for what, exactly, but maybe she’d have time to figure it out now.

“—and I really wasn’t sure what to get you, because I wanted something that wasn’t too violent and Slayer-y—” Jen was rambling.

After she’d carefully removed the bow and tape, Faith set the wrapping paper aside and opened the box. Her breath caught. Inside was a deep red cashmere sweater, the kind that was so expensive she’d never even have considered trying to steal it from a mall.

“I just, I thought it would look really nice on you, and—keep you warm, and stuff,” Jenny finished, looking incredibly nervous. “And it’d go really well with your leather jacket—I don’t want you to feel like I’m being charitable, Faith, I just really wanted something you’d like, and this seemed like—”

Wordlessly, Faith touched the sweater. As a kid, she’d gotten pity presents from well-meaning teachers, socks and charm bracelets and cheap, cutesy things like that. As a Slayer, she’d gotten knives and stakes and everything a girl needed to get a dirty job done. But all Jen wanted was to make Faith feel warm.

“Thanks,” she said. “Um. I’m—really glad I came here, Jen.”

“Yeah,” said Jen, who looked a little exhausted from the nonstop panic-ramble, so Faith scooted closer on the couch and rested her head on Jen’s shoulder. She watched the mild surprise cross Jen’s face before it gave way to a shy pride. “And you know I’m glad too.”

[seenashwrite]

Conversations With The Commissioner: Crappy Monsters In Barber Shops, a.k.a. Nash's First Headcanon + Wine = The Image I’ll Never Be Able To Top

@lipstickandwhiskey kindly thought to tag me when she saw a jovial post that reminded her of my disappointment in the lack of dinosaurs in the *alternate world and hoped to cheer me, but little did she know [mainly because I completely brain farted on posting this way-back-when] this had been addressed. In an objectively bizarre way. Admittedly.

FYI: Spit-take warning in effect, also cursing, should you choose to carry on

Preamble

* Dear SPN Writers' Room*: I'm not calling it The Bad Place, because I'm done with y'all ripping from other stuff, in this case, a beyond phenomenal show - hey! you do recognize carefully crafted season arcs when you see it! - even if y'all thought it was a homage, it's not since viewers of the show "The Good Place" already know about The Bad Place and it's not a physical nightmare, it's a psychological nightmare.

Pay. Attention. Stop ripping from well-known pop culture shit without (1) making sure the “homage” is used correctly, (2) double-checking that something similar hasn't been done before and, if so, (3) adding your own cheeky-sneaky spin. Not doing so makes you look, at best, like hacks, at worst, like doofy dipshits, particularly when it is from shows in your same genre - like a renowned show from the same fucking network that hadn't even ended their run but a year and a half prior to when yours started - and wrapping up *your* season with a title that was an iconic element from an iconic show [it was iconic, for several reasons, that's an essay for another time] which was the basis for everything from a/possibly *the* pivotal moment in the series and which was tied to many of the composer's pieces for the soundtrack, as it was a central thread. TV Tropes is your friend.

Tangentially related, while we're here:

[Shep as Romo Lampkin]

I digress.  

The Background

The Commissioner and I pop a cork, start talking about the Wayward pilot. We don't say a word about the scripting or the acting [because if we do, I go down a Dolly Deadeyes road, and nobody wants that]. Rather, we do a deep dive on the things that resemble other things and postulate how this came to be. Not in the minds of the peeps behind it, no, the dive comes via what the youths call a "headcanon". I've never had one before, I don't think, and I'm proud this is the first.

Oh, and a housekeeping side note: While my observations/the conversing began that night, the main convo/legit start on the image at the bottom happened later on. This has been run through the Nash snark filter for funsies, which is why the tone is the same for the whole conversation as, in truth, I have little clear memory of a lot of this, and the time taken for the assemblage of the image took longer than a conversation's worth, since the beginnings were sponsored by wine but it had to be done, it's how I combat insomnia and after seeing the monsters, I needed to purge my feelings of.... well....

The Beginning

After a verbal review (an accosting-of, really) of both Well-Coiffed Predator in a Bane Mask and Dollar Store Doomsday from the Wayward pilot, we begin discussing theories on how exactly this came to be in the alt world. Everything below is based on (a) the fact that New!Kaia's outfit denotes the presence of some sort of killa shopping and/or a hella talented Matrix-obsessed seamstress in the alt-world, therefore why not additional styling like a salon, and (b) the fact that we were lit on wine.

And the Predator rip - who, in the concept art, does not appear rippy-offy, it should be noted - got that mask somehow. He's either homaging Bane all over his face [his own face, not the other-way-'round] or he's gotten hold of one of the real things, modded it a touch to account for the spread of his general mouth region. Seems their temp name is the generic supernatural/folklore catch-all that I was vaguely aware of - "Canid" - and that some dude who's apparently of import on the show hates it, and I concur because all I can think of when I see the name is Candida. The Commissioner asked for a reminder, and I explained what that infection was and that now upon learning the creature’s name, I looked upon it as a yeast infection made sentient. The copious amounts of viscous discharge helps that along.

This then got a general science light bulb to pop, and we again consulted the googles, and boo-yah:

It's a dog. That. That up there, that I linked to. A daaaawwwwg.

No, not a if-this-is-a-dog-then-what-does-the-owner-look-like, maybe-they're-just-disgruntled-puppy-mill-alums type of WTF. The WTF is because I, once again, am wondering if at any point people over yonder are bothering to check shit out with this cool new thing called google. I know. It's a novel suggestion.

Somebody sure as shit used said googlins for squid beak - it's a touch birdy beak, but nah, slimy squid goes better with the aesthetic - and I guess they had to, as they already gave the far superior on the creepy scale pacu teeth to the Dollar Store Doomsday.

Because we were sneery and feeling gross at this point, we needed something fun, so we refilled on wine, and decided to make a mash-up image of the “inspirations” [to be clear: The Commissioner decided I should make a mash-up]. We were also feeling gross after looking at all that above, so for an eye sorbet, we needed some pretty, and STAT. We both instantly knew what would do the trick.

We start the conversation with Bane.

The Conversation

[looking at still from that Batman movie Bane was in; neither of us have cared to clarify which of the Nolan B-mans it was, because we don't care]

The Commissioner: He is so smooth, like, everything, even the fit of the clothes.

Nash: I'll never forget his turn as young Picard in that shit 'Trek movie, what was it called?

[we do not look it up; digression discussion of the awesomeness that is Sir Patrick Stewart]

TC: What's in his hand? Is that a riding crop? Or a shuffleboard thing?

N: Yes, exactly, Bane took a break from beating up Batman to shuffle. Nooooo. He got drug away from riding his horsey----

TC: YOU MUST MEAN HIS STALLION - if he rides horses, they are buff

N: ---to bring the mask, and is he pissed about it?

TC: No. No, because he is a dollbaby - he loves dogs.

N: You're mixing Tom Hardy with Bane.

TC: NO.

N: [realizing] BECAUSE THAT IS A DOG THING, THAT CREATURE IS DOG

[digression googles to look at pics/vids of Tom Hardy with pups]

N: Oh, no, wait - can we make it a putter? Like he was on his way to golf?

TC: But he still doesn't mind, because he's good guy Bane? And golf sucks? Oh hell yes.

[putter image sought; we go back to staring at Hardy, sip wine for untold moments]

N: And Preddie's all - Oh Bane, no! I couldn't possibly! Aren't these custom made? But he's gripping the shit out of it, like, pry it from my hands, bitches.

TC: And he takes a sniff when nobody's looking and swoons. *SWOONS*

N: Freaked-out stylist saw, though, and a touch of pee slips out, because it was weird before, but now shit's kicked off.

TC: Oh, she's already wet her pants at least once, absolutely. Do we need to add her?

N: No, she's in the bathroom.

TC: But you know who we should add.

[Image of 1990s Leonardo Di Caprio is immediately sought; we love the R+J still too much for words and select it with zero pause]

N: But why?

TC: You know he's gonna end up bopping  around to other worlds anyhow, and for Bane to be here, there must be other rifts----

N: Low-Sugar Low-Fat Low-Calorie Eye of Saurons?

TC: ----so they're babysitting.

N: THIS MAKES SO MUCH SENSE [gulp of wine]  Hey, you know who should be his foster parents if he’s bopping around to all points?

TC: Is it some side-character who's off-show at the moment? So we can get the show back to, um, Sam and Dean?

N: Chuck and Amara.

TC: You remember they're brother and sister, right?

N: [side-eye] Okay.

TC: They are. It's canon.

N: OKAAAY.  [stares at Leo] Alright, what are we having him do? Satan's crotch goblin?

TC: [possibly disgusted with me] Pencils.

N: YES I KNOW WHAT TO DO they need to keep him busy so they just keep giving him piles of pencils to sharpen, and he's distressed because there's no more and the sharpener’s motor burnt out.

TC: [touch of a spit take]

[we stare at the collection of images; it is a bitch to find a clear shot of a Pred sitting, but we need him in a barber chair; I will ultimately cobble it from three separate images; it was worth every goddamn minute]

TC: Okay, now what about that thing? The thing? Deadpool?

N: No he was something else, that's Reynolds. Deadshot? Wait, hang on.

[we watch the Bob Ross Deadpool thing, maybe twice, I have no idea]

TC: What'd you say?

N: I dunno.

TC: Me neither I just remember thinking you were wrong.

N: [looks it up, or we'll be here all week] DOOMSDAY

TC: Stop, stop, stop - didn't we also say Lord of the Rings cave troll?

N: I can't remember if it was me or somebody else.

TC: Do cave troll.

[we search]

N: Holy shit. He's in the club.

[image chosen; best one is of him pointing; I later add the touch of a framed photo of King Kong that's inexplicably hanging in the barber shop, also next to it a photo of Captain Shitty Render]

N: But Doomsday.

TC: Do it.

[image chosen; this was also a bitch, I had to blur and cobble and blend and hide part of his bottom half because ZACK SNYDER LOVES SHOOTING EVERYTHING LIKE WE'RE IN A DANK CAVE]

N: They're so glad Bane pulls through, because Preddy won't shut the fuck up about him.

TC: It's because his last boyfriend was garbage, keeps hanging out with humans, and Bane's loyal, like he was to that chick from Inception, like----

N: LIKE DOG

[the bottle is empty; we are sleepy]

The Results

I regret not adding an aquarium with a squid.

The Aftermath

Both TC and my Tumblr wife @butiaintgonnaloveem had reactions that can nicely tuck under the umbrella of [in concerned tone] Nash are you okay, like, is life beating you down somehow, this is crazypants which I appreciate from the latter, but as for the former I pointed out that they are my enabler/dealer/peer-pressurer in every bit of this.

There is no end to this post. 

[saferincages]

a couple of weeks ago, a friend showed me this amazing post (where the photos are far better than mine, which just didn’t want to turn out at all) of @the-far-bright-center‘s beautiful, sparkly Force Ghost Anakin, and it brought me such joy (I was maybe giggling excessively...), and today he arrived in the mail as a surprise gift! 💖

I want to take a moment to appreciate this bio, and the “weapon of choice” being loyalty and love, because it is. a lot.

this could be a very silly post (okay, it already is), but it actually gives me an opportunity to talk about something that I’ve never had a chance or reason to discuss before without some frame of context, so here is an unbelievably overemotional story (one of many regarding Star Wars’ history and special place in my life, I could write a series of these focused of specific themes and characters in all honesty) that no one really needs, but that I feel compelled to write anyway.

I’ve written before about my first experience seeing Revenge of the Sith (most recently here), so I apologize for retreading a certain amount of ground, but it’s important to know what the state of my life was at that time, which was a frightening, burned out shambles. ROTS premiered in May 2005, I believe I had just completed the physical therapy I’d been undergoing since the car accident we had that February. I was extraordinarily ill, and no one knew why (diagnoses were forthcoming), I was rapidly losing weight, and at the time, the scariest thing for me, was that I had no choice but to withdraw from school. Academia, which was such a constant for me, wasn’t even going to be on the horizon. I was, in short, not okay. I felt almost hollow in that uncertainty.

That midnight premiere was incredible, exciting, emotionally fraught, and I remember the weight and the sorrow of it hitting me in a very profound way when we got home, at which point I crawled into my bed and sobbed. I saw it several times that summer, but the final time (which is also a story a couple of my friends know, but I don’t think I’ve posted about it publicly?) was on my birthday that September. It is a crystalline memory. I can recall everything about that day, even what we ate (the cinnamon rolls my mom made for breakfast, the vanilla chai tea I had at Borders that afternoon), because it was the last birthday I had when certain things were not yet permanent, when I was still in the misty place between before and after. By then, the film had moved to our local little budget theatre, and seeing it that way, with a handful of other people rather than with a big, enthusiastic crowd, lent it an intimacy and poignancy which struck me on a wholly different level. (That was also the night Supernatural premiered, which is an aside, but don’t doubt for a moment that the events are inextricably emotionally connected for me.) September, and I should have been in school, but I wasn’t. I had no idea at that point that I never would be again, but I was frightened, and sad, and deeply angry. Anger isn’t a feeling I’d had a lot of experience with, I was a sweet, shy, overly sensitive, naive child (and teenager), but I didn’t often deal with anger, and then I usually sublimated anger with grief and guilt instead (and those things were warring in me, too, and of course I still carry them), but the anger at the unfairness of it all, at how cruel it was that this had happened to me, at how much I hated my own body for turning against me, how I irrationally hated myself for not being better or stronger or able to fight it, was consuming and yet almost childish, as though being ill was causing a perpetual temper tantrum in my mind.

My touchstone in the prequels was always Padmé, and she deserves her own post, but she was so inspiring to me, her compassion and her goodness and her belief in justice, her loving nature and her femininity and her tender heart being strengths, and never undermining her bright spirit, her keen mind, her ability to lead, her powers being her forgiveness and empathy and kindness. I love her so much and she had (and continues to have) such meaning for me. 

It took me by surprise when the aching heart of my identification in ROTS plunged more towards Anakin. I loved him too, and I had a lot of varied, complicated feelings about him already, about his gentleness and his trauma, about the immensity of his capacities and his contrasts, but this was the fall, the dark hour of the story, the nadir of everyone’s suffering, and so much happens at his hand, because of his tragic choices. When I was reading the novelization, I didn’t know what to do with the fact that I understood certain aspects of his struggling in such a harrowing way, and seeing it playing out made that even more acute. Those choices he makes out of desperate fear aren’t rooted in evil, they’re driven by the chasm of grief and terror of loss, and they’re mixed with disillusionment and disappointment and frustration. Up until the moment when he walks into the Jedi Temple, when we really see him cross a line he cannot return from, hope for a course correction seems possible. Even knowing what’s coming, it’s like...just turn back. You can still fix this. It ripped my heart out because of course he wouldn’t, he couldn’t. There’s the scene where he’s denied the title of Master, and his outburst at the council (“this is outrageous! it’s unfair!”) is tinged with an adolescent level of upset, but...of course it is. He’s still so young and he wants to trust them, it’s not ambition causing that fury, it’s desperation for inclusion, for some measure of respect, and he keeps being refused. It’s a strange analogy because the things holding me back had nothing to do with a council of old men deciding my fate, all my hindrances were physically trapping me in my own body, the jury denying me the ability to move ahead was my own failing immune system, but I understood his rage, because I wanted someone I could yell at. The person I was so terrified of not being able to save, of having to watch die, wasn’t my beloved, it was...me, the girl I was, the girl I dreamed of becoming. I’ve talked so many times about feeling like I let her down, like I’m the ghost of her, the revenant walking around in a shape that vaguely resembles her, but at that point, she wasn’t gone yet, she was just rapidly slipping away. I didn’t know what to do to save myself. People would say it wasn’t my fault, to let it go (which felt a lot like being told the useless “mourn them do not, miss them do not”), that I was still here, I didn’t ask to get sick, and I knew, logically, that was true, but emotionally all I felt was that crushing guilt and despair (all of this remains a lingering struggle). I didn’t want to be powerless. I would have clung to something that offered me a way out. I knew where Anakin, conflicted and misguided as he was, was coming from, and it eroded everything that made him good and heroic and kind, so the only power I had left was to fight against it and keep the anger at bay.

This is such a specifically personal thing that I won’t get into the analysis of what happens in regards to his descent (which I also expounded upon in that other post anyway), but every time it happened, the same muscle memory seemed to take hold of me, my hands would shake and I’d press them together, my chest would pound, I’d bite my lip to try not to cry. I have this overwhelming fear of fire, so Mustafar was its own nightmare, and I’ve literally only watched the immolation scene once (that first time, at the midnight showing), otherwise I close my eyes tightly shut. I don’t even like seeing gifs of it. But because of what I was going through at the time, what I’ve gone through since, the physical aspects of him so painfully and horrifically losing himself, being so stripped of his humanity that hardly anyone ever looks at or acknowledges him as a person again (until Luke) held its own terror (it’s such an awful metaphor when it’s examined, and it’s that re-enslavement, he did not choose that reconstruction) because I didn’t understand what was happening to me physically, and because so many people were questioning the veracity of my pain and my incapacitating illness, were treating me as somehow less (ableism wasn’t even a word in my vocabulary yet, I just thought maybe everyone had a point and I didn’t deserve the space to be heard or understood, since so much of what I was going through was invisible). I genuinely felt like my personhood and my agency was being taken away. I didn’t have school, I was quickly isolated from everyone else and kept in the (comforting yet confining) cage of my room, I didn’t know who I was supposed to be anymore, and I didn’t know what to do if no one would listen or believe me (my mom aside). The torture Anakin is put through in that conversion to Darth Vader is unimaginable and I don’t want to dwell on it, but there’s a passage from the novelization that goes in part: “The first dawn of light in your universe brings pain. The light burns you. It will always burn you...You can hear yourself breathing. It comes hard, and harsh, and it scrapes nerves already raw, but you cannot stop it. You can never stop it. You cannot even slow it down...now your self is all you will ever have...and within your furnace heart, you burn in your own flame.” It’s such a wrenching description that some part of me separated it out from the villainous aspect, because the rest of it felt true. My nerves were raw and burned with sensation, touch and too much strain hurt, but my heart persistently, stubbornly kept beating, and I was left sifting through the alternating aspects of its passions (both the transcendent and the desolate).

This isn’t at all “excuse or justify the things Vader did” (since, again, this isn’t actual analysis, it’s sentimental personal nonsense), because of course I do not and never would, but the depth of empathy I had for Anakin, as a person and as a lost soul (and a lost future), and the way that left an imprint on me right at the onset of my illness became indelible.

There’s a point to this, I promise.

George Lucas did re-editing and reworkings of the original trilogy and I’ve never minded any of it, because they were his to edit and fix up if he wanted to do so, and little extra CG snippets of planets and creatures only expands the universe in my mind. That said, I realize adding Hayden’s Anakin at the end of Return of the Jedi was divisive, even upsetting for some, but for me it was everything. I’ve hesitated to ever reblog gifs of the scene because I felt like I had to justify or explain why I hold it so dear before I did, so this is my chance to do that. 

As a child, I never felt really connected to the fleeting glimpse of Sebastian Shaw (my mom actually remembers me asking why he was so “old,” apparently I reasoned at the time that Anakin should have been younger, I think because I imagined him then as more of a dashing hero, based on Obi-Wan’s description in A New Hope). Anakin never lived as that image of a more middle aged man, that was never who he was within Vader’s suit, and there was always an evincive resonance that I was seeking. Once Attack of the Clones came along, Hayden was my Anakin, he was the embodiment of that character, and I loved him, and I loved his performance (and saw so much nuance and layering in it despite what was often said). Yet one of the last images we witness of him is burning on that scorched lava shore. It’s devastating. 

Luke’s unwavering faith that some glimmer of his father still exists, that goodness can’t ever be entirely erased, that love will overcome, that throwing aside his weapon is an act of bravery and grace, is the moment when Anakin is finally released from that. “He takes the ounce of good still left in him and destroys the Emperor out of compassion for his son.” Balance is restored, and redemption is very small and quiet, not a washing away of violence, but a ceasing of it. It’s the hope that we can always find salvation, that we can still choose to act in love.

When Luke turns around and sees those spirits watching over him, benevolent and glowing and one with the Force, Anakin is his beautiful self again, as the description on this little package says, restored to the “hopeful young Jedi he once was.” The first time I saw that edit of the film, I wept. That was the connection I’d been looking for, the understanding that we’re never wasted, that our souls endure and are mended, that we can choose light, no matter how lost we feel we are, that love can persevere and illuminate even the longest night. It reminded me that I wasn’t only my body, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how it felt like it was collapsing on me, no matter how often I felt like I was failing to be the person I thought I would be, my body could never capture the entirety of who I was, or am. My spirit could still shine, my heart could still be soft.

Anakin says to Padmé in AOTC, “Compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is essential to a Jedi's life, so you might say we are encouraged to love.” It’s one of my favorite scenes because it’s so sincere, and yet so richly layered in its meaning. And in the end, this is fulfilled, this belief is proven right.

People may think the idea of the Force is hokey, but because of the way I was brought up, and the intense theological discussions that used to be framed around it (particularly by my dad, we used to do this over e-mail back in the olden days of dial-up, I wish I had those conversations saved), it was a really important, formative concept for me. The Force is connectivity, it’s like a variant of the belief in Tikkun olam that parts of the vessels of the divine used to shape the world shattered, and their shards became sparks of light trapped within the material of creation, and thus exist and persist in all of us, in all the diverse and breathtaking life around us, and that we should respect and cherish that life. “The best expression of the Force is not a lightsaber fight or other combat techniques. It’s really about your connection to life, to everything around you, and your ability or willingness to let go, to find peace, and ultimately become a selfless part of existence...in the end there is no power that aids [Luke], except the power of compassion and love; the act of forgiveness and apparent self-sacrifice is what saves his father from the dark side.” 

It’s the idea that there’s something eternal within all living things, something powerful and connected that binds us together, that means we affect one another, and that we make choices as to whether those influences are for the better (or not). That we can decide to increase the power of light and warm energy in the universe. The idea that we’re not limited to our physical selves, that we’re luminous, radiant, possible beings. That we can reach out in love and compassion to heal the world, even if it’s only in small ways, even if we’re the only ones who see it exist, who know it happens, and still the summation of that additional light can radiate everywhere.

[samwinlover-blog]

Neon Lights

Pairing: Dean x reader  Warnings: a little angst, swearing  Summary: The reader runs into Dean at a local bar, and things get interesting A/N: @amanda-teaches girl u wore me down, and I was inspired by this gif.... so ENJOY MY FIRST EVER DEAN X READER<3333333 yikes hope this isn’t terrible...... Tag List: @amanda-teaches@myplaceofthingsilove@evyiione@mogaruke@aliensdeservebetter@spnfanficpond​ @amanda-teaches@myplaceofthingsilove@evyiione@mogaruke@aliensdeservebetter@27bmm@craving-cas @spnfanficpond​ @amanda-teaches  @myplaceofthingsilove  @spectaculicious@bambinovak@bambinovak@writingthingsisdifficult@padackles2010@mamaredd123@milkymilky-cocopuff @iwantthedean@zeppo-in-a-trenchcoat@spntrista@d-s-winchester@just-another-busy-fangirl@winchesterprincessbride@waywardjoy@supernaturalyobsessed@whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname@sandlee44@fangirl1802@kittenofdoomage@evyiione@winchestersmut@purgatoan@mogaruke@therewillbeblood@megansescape@taste-of-dean@leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @scarlet-soldier-in-an-impala@deathtonormalcy56@wildfirewinchester@notnaturalanahi@jensen-jarpad@impalaimagining@fangirlextraordinaire@itseverythingilike@jesspfly@lovekittykat21@mysteriouslyme81@mrswhozeewhatsis@aiaranradnay@supernatural-jackles@girl-next-door-writes@spnsasha@27bmm@spnfanficpond @amanda-teaches@myplaceofthingsilove@spectaculicious@bambinovak@writingthingsisdifficult@spn-imagines-to-feel@spn-ficfanatic@cleverdame@saxxxology@jensen-jarpad@keepcalmandcarryondean dancingpanda137

You watch the neon lights flicker above the bar as you walked in. Bright red and white they flashed intermittently, the wire bent to read Joe’s Place in grimy letters. 

Keeping your eyes trained down as you entered, you tried to remain unseen-unnoticed by the testosterone-crazed men who usually pestered you in bars like this. Normally you wouldn’t mind, normally you'd flirt right back and take whichever one you wanted home with you. 

But that night wasn’t normal, not at all. 

When you took your place at the bar, ordering a drink and propping your chin up on your hand, you’d never felt more incompetent. The case you’d just closed had gone terribly, and left you wondering why you even hunted in the first place. 

A spirit had been going after families in a neighborhood, which is what had made it so hard to pin down. Usually cases like that one were quick salt and burns, but you’d had the hardest time finding what the thing was tethered to- being as you’d had to search the entire neighborhood to find it. 

And the more time you wasted the more people who died, putting even more shit on your conscious than usual. So, you were tired. You were exhausted. And most importantly, you were seriously reconsidering every aspect of your life as a solo hunter. 

You hadn’t always been on your own, you’d hunted with two brothers before. But when you and the older one got involved, it hadn’t ended well. The two of you really should have seen it coming- people who are both prone to putting up walls just don’t work. And the added stress of your job- the guns, the death, the violence- everything had gone to shit pretty quickly.  

In your defense, you never stood a chance- the two of you were destined to get together from the very beginning. Nobody could resist his eyes, his smile, everything about him was perfect- you were doomed from the start to fall for that man. 

So there you were, sipping on whiskey that just reminded you of him, and sitting alone. Most of your days were spent alone now, the endless guys you took back to motels only filling the gap for a few hours- a day at most. 

In fact, you were so content with wallowing in your feelings, that you almost didn’t turn your head as the bar’s door creaked open. But boy were you glad you did. 

You found yourself holding your breath as that familiar pair of green eyes walked right through the front door, sitting down on the opposite end of the bar and ordering a whiskey twin to your own. 

He just sat there and stared blankly at the bartender as he was brought the drink, gulping it down without hesitation. Even though it had only been 6 months, he was older. Thousands of lifetimes were hidden in the lines of his tired face, eyes dull compared to the last time you saw them. 

He was different, he’d changed so much since you’d left- but so had you. 

So when he arbitrarily turned his head to the side, noticing your stare, all you did was breath out, “Dean.” 

The glass he had just downed slipped through his hands and rolled off the edge of the table, making the bartender swear and tell him to clean up the mess. But he didn’t move, not a muscle. 

Instead he stared at you mouth agape and choked out, “(Y/N),”

You didn’t know how to act, you didn’t even know how to breathe the way he was looking at you. Suddenly all of your limps felt awkward, and you had no idea how to arrange your legs and arms. Were you sitting casually? Or did everything you were doing look forced from Dean’s perspective?  

When you didn’t respond he spoke again, “It’s been.....” 

“Months.” You finished the sentence for him, painstakingly aware of how long the two of you had been apart.  

“Yeah,” He breathed, leaving his seat and gingerly taking one next to yours. 

"Uh,” You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, “How’s Sam?” 

“Good,” Dean gave an uncomfortable smile as he took his seat, “Uh, yeah, he’s doing okay.” 

“That’s good.” You echoed, having no idea what to say next. 

Everything was forced, everything was off with the two of you. Even though it had been your decision to leave, it was a mutual thing. You’d decided that you weren’t good for him, and he had done the same all those months ago. So, to save each other, you’d ended things- better broken hearted than dead. 

Things were silent for a minute until Dean got out, “Um, how have you been?” 

“Good, yeah, I’m good too.” You smiled weakly and started focusing on the drink in front of you instead of his face. 

“That’s good.” He nodded, and then did the same. 

Another silence fell and you snuck a glance in his direction, immediately noticing that he still wore the necklace you’d gotten him for his birthday around his neck.

You’d been asking yourself what you wanted to do with your life a lot in the months you’d been apart, but you always thought of the same answer- him. It wasn’t money, material, happiness or serenity that you wanted, it was just this vague idea of Dean Winchester. 

But that wasn’t important, or a reality. It couldn’t have been, not when the two of you were toxic for each other. 

When you were together, it had been bad. Not the relationship itself, those years had been the best of your life. But what you were willing to do to save each other, to save his brother as well, people always got hurt in the end. It got to the point that you would have done anything to save the love of your life- including selling your soul, killing innocents or sacrificing yourself for his well being to name a few. 

And he was the exact same way. It was this endless cycle of back and forth, and the body count just climbed higher and higher the longer you were together. 

But for some strange reason, you didn’t seem to care about any of that anymore. Maybe it was the way the lights were flashing, making everything- including him- almost dreamlike. Maybe it was the one too many whiskeys you downed before he arrived. 

Or maybe it was this stupid sense of destiny you had tucked in the back of your mind- what were the chances the two of you would run into each other randomly months after breaking up? 

Being who you were, knowing what you knew about Heaven, Angels and the whole God thing, it wouldn’t be that far fetched. Would it? 

You pushed the thought away, it didn’t matter anyway- because you had no idea what he was thinking. So you just looked back at him awkwardly, reining in any and all confessions of love you wanted to shout from the rooftops. 

You were content with everything happening the way it was. The two of you were awkward, and by leaving him and his brother you’d shredded any chance of a relationship. And that was okay, you’d eventually convince yourself it was okay. 

But the way he was staring at you, god those eyes. They didn’t flinch, they didn’t dart away when you stared into them, and there was something bubbling beneath the surface. 

You had no idea what it was until his breath became ragged, and he whispered “Fuck it,” more to himself than you. 

Before you had a chance to move, a chance to even think, he’d grabbed your face with both of his hands and you were kissing him back. Tongues and lips moved and suffocated each other until your lungs were burning, and his undoubtedly were too. 

"We fucked up, Dean we fucked up all those months ago,” You said between kisses, grabbing at his face and finding tears wetting his cheeks. 

“I know, I know.” He broke away for less than a second, “(Y/N), I shouldn’t have let you go. I shouldn’t have fucking given up.”  

When the two of you finally pulled apart, you were breathing in gasps and became painstakingly aware of the looks you were getting from the bartender- and everyone else in the bar as well. 

“Let’s go,” Dean panted, grabbing his jacket and nodding at the door- you knew exactly what he was talking about. 

Things had always been spur of the moment with the two of you- action first, think later. And this was no different. 

So the two of you walked out to where the Impala was undoubtedly waiting, his arm slung around your shoulder and your heart thrumming for more. 

[5sos-ruined-us]

Guardian Angel - Supernatural!Ashton

A/n: I am extremely inspired right now, I think it’s because I just finished my exams so my brain is in the mood to work out so there will be another two supernatural!5sos coming up for Calum and Michael. 

Summary: Your guardian angel does everything he can to make sure you’re safe. 

Word count: 2.6k

Requested: Noes (Bees)

Trigger warning: Depression, mentions of suicide, cutting, blood (there’s a small bit with God and Satan pls don’t be offended by it)

Masterlist

Ever since everything started going to shit, I could still feel a warm presence calming me down when I was have my anxiety attacks or waves of depression. It was as if a pair of wings were wrapped around me like a safety blanket. I got used to it since it was always with me ever since I was a kid.

I went on with my daily routine, going out for work and coming back extremely miserable. But today seemed different. I seemed to not feel anything. No sadness or anything. It was numb. I sat at the bus stop, waiting for my bus home when I saw the lights coming. I stood up, grabbing my bag. The swerving of tires made my head snap up and see the bus coming straight for me. I stood frozen as it came coming towards me, but before it could hit me, white just surrounded me and I felt the bus go through me as I let out a gasp. The white pulled away from me and I realised two muscular arms were wrapped around me,

"Are you okay?" A voice filled with concern asked. I looked up, seeing a beautiful pair of hazel/green eyes staring at me with a worried expressions.

"I-yeah, I'm fine. I-uhm, what just happened?" I asked, putting my hand to my head and sitting on the bench, thinking I was too tired to realise what happened. I turned to my left, seeing the bus crashed into a streetlamp not far from the stop. "What the hell?" I murmured in shock.

"Why didn't you move?" The tan boy asked, his curly hair drooping over his face slightly.

"I thought maybe it would be better if I just ended it." I didn't hesitate, "Look, I really just wanna get home and maybe take a bath or something so," The boy cut me off by taking my wrists and pressings a kiss to each one before rolling up my sleeves,

"I'm always watching, (Y/n). I know you won't just take a bath." He said sadly. I felt a wave of sadness hit me,

"I, I'm sorry, Ash." I sighed, leaning against the pole of the bus stop, "How do you know my name?" I asked, not even feeling weirded out about it, or bothering about the fact that I knew his name.

"You won't believe me. But I can't show you in public. Let me take you home so you don't end up almost dead again." He took my wrist.

I walked into my home, leaving my bag on the bag rack as I made my way into the living room with Ashton following behind me. I sat on the couch,

"So? How do you know my name and how do I know your name?" I asked. He stood in front of me, standing still. I waited, only to hear rustling behind his back. I let out another gasp as a pair of white, strong wings unfolded from behind his back.

"I was made to protect you. Your guardian angel basically. I watch over you."

"So you're the warm presence that's always with me." I said.

"Exactly." He nodded, "Every time you're having an attack or just a series of depression I try my best to help you." I realised something I never did for as long as I could remember, someone cares for me. I felt my eyes sting with tears as I covered my mouth with my hand,

"You care?" I choked out.

"Of course I do, babe." The petname rolled off of his tongue so smoothly, as if he had always been calling me that. "I was made to protect you. Some guardian angels don't care about their people, but I really care about you." I pulled myself off the couch and into his arms, as he hugged me back, his wings wrapping around us. "Please stop hurting yourself." He looked into my bloodshot eyes, using his thumb to caress my cheekbone.

"I'll try, I promise." I smiled, burying my face into his chest.

I sat in the corner of my room, my hands tugging on the roots of my hair. I didn't know what was happening. My chest was tight, my head was spinning and the only thing I knew was that I was crying and that my body was in pain. I can't remember what happened today, but it was terrible. Blood was running down my arms as the knife sat beside me."

(Y/n)..." I heard the comforting voice of Ashton, feeling feathers pull me into his strong arms as I started sobbing into his chest,

"I'm sorry." I choked out, "I-I couldn't handle it." I whimpered, leaning my cheek against his chest as sobs racked my body. His hand rubbed up and down my back in reassurance,

"It's okay, (Y/n). It's okay, babe." He hushed, pressing a kiss to my head, "It'll get better soon." He started rocking his body, humming a soft tune that I vaguely recognised. We sat like that for what seemed like hours, me in his arms as he comforted me.

I managed to compose myself, but my breathing was still laboured. He picked me up bridal style, carrying me to the bathroom. He ran the bath, taking off my clothes before placing me in the bath tub, the water instantly going red from the blood off of my arms. I wasn't bothered by the fact that he was cleaning me, if he was my guardian angel he must've already seen everything. He stopped the bleeding, washed my entire body before drying me off and wrapped my arms in gauze. He carried me back to the bedroom, dressing me in an overized sweater and shorts before tucking me in bed. He pressed a kiss to my forehead, ready to leave when I grabbed his wrist,

"Stay," I spoke softly, "Please." I looked up into his eyes. He nodded, climbing into my bed and wrapping his arms around me. I felt his soft wings pulling me closer into his chest, his arms rubbing my back soothingly.

"Get some sleep, princess." He kissed my forehead as I felt myself dose off.

I woke up to a gold chain, a pure white feather slipped onto it. I held it tightly before clipping it on and looking down at the fresh gauze on my arms. I laid back down, realising that my sweater had changed into one that was unfamiliar. I brought it up to my nose and braethed in, smiling when I realised it smelled like Ashton. I chuckled as I found it a bit funny that even as an angel, he still liked spritzing on cologne.

I pulled myself out of bed and dragged myself downstairs into the kitchen where a lovely breakfast was waiting for me. A note was sitting in front of it with a :-) face drawn on it. I smiled as I looked at the toast and bacon that was on the plate. Grabbing the island stool, I sat down and ate it, looking up at the ceiling and smiling,

"Thank you." I whispered, turning back to continue eating when a white feather landed beside the plate. My smile got wider as I picked up the feather, managing to clip it with the necklace I was wearing.

I watched as the sun set from my rooftop, my legs pulled up to my chest. It had been oddly cold for the past few days, as if Ashton had gone. I stared out at the mountains in the distance, watching the sun go down as I let my tears dry. I watched the sun disappear behind the mountains, watching as the sky slowly started getting scattered with stars. It was too cold, I looked up at the sky,

"Are you still there?" I questioned, lying down on my roof. Worry started bubbling in my stomach as nothing happened for the next few minutes. Usually if I had talked to the sky, he would drop a feather or try and write something on a leaf or something and have it blow my way in a flash, but there was nothing. I waited another few minutes before opening my mouth once again, sitting up, "Ash?" I called softly. All I heard was silence, no wind, nothing. I felt like everything was crashing down once again, "Ashton?" I stood up, calling out his name slightly louder, "Ashton!" I yelled out. It was a good thing that my house was a few minutes out of town, making it slightly isolated where the closest neighbours were about 5 to 10 minutes away. I looked around, seeing no sign of him at all. I felt my eyes well with tears as I continued to call for him until my voice was cracking and my throat felt like it was bleeding.

I collapsed onto the rooftop, hugging my knees as I sobbed. I couldn't feel the warmth of his safety blanket anymore, I didn't know what to do. I stood up after a few minutes, looking down at the healed scars on my arms before realising what I could do. I climbed back into my house, grabbing everything I needed, I got the room ready.

Ashton's POV

"I specifically told you not to hurt another angel and yet you disobey me. You've done too much wrong, Ashton." He spoke.

"I-I apologise, my Lord, but I could not let him speak about (Y/n) so rudely.." I bowed my head, glancing at the beaten up angel beside me breifly.

"The human?" He asked. I nodded sheepishly.

"He's in love with the girl, My Lord. That is against the rules of being a guardian angel." The angel, Caleb spat out beside me.

"Silence, Caleb." He raised his hand to Caleb, "Tell me more about this human, Ashton." He said. When I didn't answer he urged me again, "Go on, boy. I want to hear about this girl." He smiled slightly.

"Well, her name is (Y/n) (Y/l/n). She's amazing, but broken. I've been helping her since forever and I can't let her down. She sits on her rooftop almost every day, watching the sunset as she talks to me sometimes. I respond with my feathers or leaves. Her life has gone downhill, she needs me, and I'm willing to be there for her no matter what." I paused, "I apologise, My Lord, but I think I may have fallen in love with a human." I looked up at Him.

"You're such a sweet child, Ashton. But I cannot let this pass. You're hurt another angel and you're also managed to fall in love with your person." I felt my stomach flutter at the thought of calling (Y/n) my person. "I won't send you down,"

"Why not?!" A voice called from the portal in the corner of the room, "I like Ashton too!"

"Now isn't the time, you devil!" He chuckled before turning to me, "Help your person all you want. I will take your wings, but I will grant you life on Earth, and until you or (Y/n) dies, you both can come up here and be angels." He smiled.

"I-I don't know what to say." I stammered, standing up, "Thank you, thank you so much!" I hugged him.

"I don't think that's allowed, buddy!" Caleb laughed.

"Now go down and save her. It's been too long since she's been without you. A week of suspension because of the first angel." He gestured to the large screen that displayed the lives of everyone. I turned to the screen with (Y/n), who was holding a knife, tears dripping off of her jaw as she sobbed.

"Oh god, NO!" I sprinted out of the large room, running straight to the portal and dove in without a thought. When I lifted my head, I panicked. I was in (Y/n)'s country, but I was on the other side of her town.

"Use your wings." His voice whispered into my head. I looked behind me, seeing that I still had my wings.

"Thank god they can't see me." I mumbled under my breathe as I took off, flying as fast as I could. I could feel my back starting to ache from how hard I was moving, sweat flying out of my hair as I pushed myself to go faster.

As soon as I landed outside her house, my wings dissipated and I was covered in bruises and cuts from flying through the forest. I barged into the front foor,

"(Y/n)?!" I called, running through all of the rooms on the lower floor, calling out her name. I ran upstairs, running through all of the rooms before going into her bedroom and finding her on the bed, covered in blood, "Oh god, no no no no no." I ran over to her, picking up her body.

"Ashton?" She called out weakly as I carried her into the bathroom.

"It's me, baby. It's okay." I wrapped her arms in gauze to stop the bleeding. "Why'd you do this, princess?" I asked through tears.

"I-I thought you were gone. I didn't want to go on without you. It was too cold, too lonely without your presence. I wanted to become an angel like you. Then we could live together forever." She smiled weakly as I placed her frail body into the bathtub. I turned on the water, letting it fill while I cleaned her up. She glanced behind me, "Where are your wings?" She asked.

"Oh, I, um, I traded them to become human." I answered slightly shyly.

"Why? I thought being an angel was great."

"It is. But I traded them so I could take care of you." I smiled as I dried her off before picking her up, "We're not allowed to fall in love with our person, or attack two other angels. But I did all of it."

"Why'd you attack them?" She asked as I helped slip on her sweater.

"They talked shit about you, so I beat them up so they'd think twice about talking about you like that." I placed her on her bed, sitting beside her as she still looked at me from under her covers.

"I'd do the same to be honest." She grinned, "Lie down." She made space for me, lifting the covers slightly. I slipped in, wrapping my arms around her and pulled her closer to me. "I never knew I could be loved." She spoke softly. "I never knew I could be loved to the extent of you giving up your wings just to be with me." She looked up at me.

"I would do anything for you, (Y/n)." I said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I freaking hugged God. I don't even know if I should've done that." I laughed, "Satan got upset because God wasn't sending me down, it was really funny." I smiled as she laughed softly.

"Everyone loves you." She giggled, "I'm pretty sure if you were sent down, Satan would turn you into his favourite demon or something."

"She's right!" A voice yelled from the floor.

"Hey! Get outta here!" I stood up, stomping on the ground.

"Excuse him, please." I heard Him chuckle in my head. I shook my head, laughing as I laid back down into bed and held (Y/n) as we both fell asleep.

[wildroseofarran]

The Accident, Part III || Self Para

Maybe it was because of everything that had happened to him recently, but Pete had expected to feel guilty. After all, if anything was going to inspire guilt, this would be it, right? Indulging a vague feeling that had been caused by an off-handed comment while his family dealt with a crisis. He should be ashamed, or at least a bit embarrassed, that something so small had made him do something so serious.

Anyone else would’ve brushed it off or let it go. Even if they hadn’t, they would’ve probably chosen to forget about it and focus on what was going on, on something that was actually important. Hell, at the very least they would’ve at least compartmentalized and taken the serious steps later.

But Pete and his overabundance of emotion weren’t good at those things. And oddly enough, today he didn’t feel guilty about that.

Why? God only knew.

Which wasn’t to say that waiting for the results of the DNA test while simultaneously waiting for his dad to wake up wasn’t pure fucking hell.

After he’d returned from the doctor’s office he’d resumed his seat by Pete, Sr.’s bed, only to get up two minutes later to pace. His mom had taken position on the opposite side and Luke was slumped forward on the couch with his head in his hands as if trying to will his father awake with the power of his mind.

No one spoke. Only the steady beep of the monitor and the sounds coming from outside the door broke the silence.

“Are you sure this is normal, doctor? Shouldn’t he have woken up by now?”

“I assure you it’s completely normal, Mrs. Graham.” After nearly three hours spent waiting and praying and hoping, Dr. Barnes and a nurse had come in to check on Pete, Sr. They checked his monitors and his IV, made notes on his chart, drew blood, ordered tests. And now Dr. Barnes was reassuring them that everything was fine despite the fact that Pete, Sr. still hadn’t woken up or even twitched.

Pete sure as hell was twitching though. He felt like he was going to jump out of his skin at any moment and at this point he wasn’t sure if it was anxiety over the test, his father’s condition, or the damn urge Guildias had injected into his head.

Lynnie cast a worried look at her husband before turning back to the doctor. “But it’s been so long since his surgery.”

“Your husband sustained considerable trauma, Mrs. Graham. Even though we repaired the damage, his body still has to work on healing itself and that happens through sleep. The longer he sleeps, the more time the medication has to do its job and the more he heals.”

When she still looked unconvinced, the doctor placed a hand on her shoulder. “There really is no reason to worry. We’re going to run these tests and keep checking on him to make sure he remains stable and that no other issues have presented. He’ll wake up when he’s ready.”

Lynnie nodded, giving the doctor a small but grateful smile. “All right. Thank you, doctor.”

“Absolutely.”

With that, Dr. Barnes and the nurse wheeled Pete, Sr. out of the room.

Not five minutes had passed before Luke was groaning and falling back on the couch. “God, this is so much worse than sitting here watching him. It’s too fucking quiet.”

Pete couldn’t agree more.

Lynnie took a seat beside her son and sighed. “I know, baby. But waiting’s all we can do.”

“I hate it. I want to do something. Anything. Sitting here doing nothing is fucking torture.” He turned to his mother. “You hungry? Thirsty?”

“Kinda, yeah. Haven’t eaten anything since dinner last night.”

“Good, excellent. I’m gonna run down to the diner and get you something. You wanna come?” he added to Pete as he stood.

“I don’t want to leave mom alone.”

“Don’t worry about me, honey, I’ll be fine.” Lynnie gave Pete a soft smile and squeezed his hand. “Go on with Luke.”

He gave her an uncertain look. “You sure, Ma?”

“I’m sure. Go with Luke.”

“All right. We won’t be long, promise.” Pete bent to kiss the top of her head and followed Luke out the door.

The relief at being away from the hospital was so great that despite their promise, Pete and Luke made little effort to get back as quickly as humanly possible. The concern over their father was still present, however, so they both made sure to check their phones often for updates from their mother.

While Luke went to the diner to order them lunch, Pete popped over to Callum’s shop. His best friend had already heard about the accident from June and wasted no time in offering his help, his healing, and a floral arrangement for his dad’s hospital room.

Tempted as he was to accept the magical healing, Pete settled for the flowers and support. Hiding his own injuries had been one thing, but there was no way in hell he’d be able to explain a miraculous supernatural recovery to his family, the cops, and the doctor. Better to just let his dad heal on his own.

About an hour later, he and Luke returned to the hospital laden with food, flowers, and a change of clothes for their mother. They were informed that their father was back in his room and that their sister had arrived.

“Did everything go okay?” Luke asked the nurse.

She nodded. “Yes, Mr. Graham. The swelling in his brain has gone down and there’s no sign of any more internal bleeding.”

“Thank god.”

The brothers hadn’t taken two steps when Pete was flagged down by Dr. Barnes. “Mr. Graham. I was just coming to look for you.”

Pete’s stomach immediately seized into knots. There was an envelope in the doctor’s hand. “You go on into dad’s room,” he said to his brother, handing him the flowers. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Probably just wants to discuss dad’s tests.” He tried to give Luke a reassuring smile, falling far short of his mark. “Better get that food to mom before it gets cold.”

“Okay…” Luke said slowly, giving Pete a skeptical look before disappearing into their dad’s room.

Pete waited until the door had closed behind him before going over to where Dr. Barnes was waiting. He tried to read the doctor’s expression but it was perfectly neutral, giving him zero indication of what he was about to find out.

“Is that them?” he asked, gesturing toward the envelope.

Dr. Barnes nodded and offered it. “Your results are back.”

It was taken with shaking hands. “Have you seen them?”

Dr. Barnes nodded again, expression still neutral.

Pete took a deep breath. “Well, all right then.”

He opened the envelope.

“Where’s Pete?” Stella wondered as she set Callum’s flowers on the bedside table.

“Talking to the doctor about dad.”

Lynnie frowned around a bite of cheeseburger. “The nurse said the tests went fine.”

“She told us that, too. He probably just wanted to go into detail.”

Stella and Lynnie nodded.

“Is this….is it 100% certain?”

Dr. Barnes nodded. “Yes,” he said softly. He pointed at the paper in Pete’s hands. “That’s his profile and that’s hers.”

“And there’s no way that maybe….?”

“Does Brett Parker know what he was trying avoid hitting?”

“He thinks it might’ve been a hitchhiker,” said Stella.

“A hitchhiker?” Luke repeated. “That’s a weird place for one to be. Were there any animal tracks around?”

“No,” said Dr. Barnes. “It’s impossible.”

Pete closed his eyes. “And it’s all thirteen?”

“All thirteen.”

“Well did they find whoever it was?”

“Not so far. Brett’s hoping they stuck around though, just to make sure no one else was hurt.”

“Guy probably ducked into the woods to avoid the shitstorm he caused,” Luke muttered. “If Beatrice hadn’t slammed the brakes she would’ve ended up in the river just like dad. And if that had happened, God knows how long it would’ve taken someone to come along and call Brett.”

The thought of her husband stuck inside his sinking car for hours made Lynnie shudder. “Don’t even say it, Luke. Whether the person stuck around or not doesn’t matter. Beatrice called Brett and everything turned out as well as anyone could’ve hoped for. She’s okay and your dad’s okay. That’s what counts.”

Luke looked at his father. He was trying so hard not to think about how close he’d come to losing him. “Okay feels like an overstatement right now.”

Lynnie took her son’s hand, squeezing it. “He made it, Luke,” she said gently. “Even after everything that happened to him, he made it. I know it doesn’t seem like things could possibly be worse but they very easily could’ve been.” She kissed his cheek. “No matter how bad things look, this is the best-case scenario.”

“Other than no accident at all, you mean?”

A smile twitched at her lips. “Yeah, other than that.” Lynnie went to reach for her cup of sweet tea when she noticed Pete standing in the doorway. “Hey, sweetie. What’d the doctor say about…..sweetie?”

It suddenly hit her that something about her son’s face looked….off. It was his expression, it…had it ever looked that neutral? That blank? Pete was an emotional man; he could never hide what he was feeling, not even when he was a little boy.

Lynnie got to her feet, concern and fear coiling in the pit of her stomach as she approached him. “Pete? Is everything okay? Did they miss something in the test results?”

He stared at her—through her—for a few long, tense moments. Finally, “Did you know?”

His voice was so soft she almost hadn’t heard him. “Did I know what?” she asked, brow furrowing. “Is something wrong with your dad?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Did. You. Know?”

“Pete, honey, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Help me out. Did I know what?” Lynnie noticed the paper he had clenched in his hand. “What’s that you’re holding?”

He held it out to her. “See for yourself.”

Lynnie carefully took the paper, searching his face. The way he was looking at her—so intensely and without a single shred of emotion—was putting her on edge. What was she about to read? Was it somehow worse than everything that had already happened?

She read.

Her face paled.

And that told Pete everything he needed to know.

“You knew,” he accused, anger creeping into his tone, his expression. “Didn’t you?”

Evelyn Graham was feeling panic she hadn’t felt for nearly thirty-three years. She couldn’t see through her tears, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel anything but those cold sharp claws scratching at her throat as everything she’d done and every choice she’d made came rushing back to torment her in the form of a single piece of paper. “…W-where…where d-did you….”

Luke and Stella were frozen in place, staring back and forth between their mother and brother with wide-eyes, almost afraid to ask what was doing on.

Pete ignored them. His only focus was his mother. “Dr. Barnes said something very curious yesterday. You see Stella wasn’t the only one that gave blood to dad. I did, too. Or at least I tried to. Turns out they only used her blood. I bet you can guess why.”

Lynnie lifted her head to look at her son. The neutrality had been replaced by anger and a dozen other emotions she couldn’t begin to name. “Pete…” she whispered.

“They couldn’t use my blood because it didn’t match dad’s. And that’s fine, it happens sometimes. Only my blood type is so rare that it prompted Dr. Barnes to say, and I quote, adoptive children rarely have the same blood type as their parents.” Lynnie paled even more. Pete got angrier. “Yeah, Luke didn’t mention that, did he?”

“Pete, please….”

She reached for him but Pete moved away. He didn’t want to be touched. He was feeling familiar panic as well but for him it was accompanied by betrayal and a grief so overwhelming it would’ve cut him down to his knees if fury wasn’t keeping him upright.

“And see that just wouldn’t leave me alone. I kept thinking about it and replaying it in my head over and over and over until I finally had to do something about it. So I went to talk to Dr. Barnes and that—” he pointed at the paper “—is what I found out. And I thought for a split second that maybe, MAYBE, you didn’t know but looking at your face right now…”

Pete shut his eyes and shook his head. “You knew, didn’t you? You’ve known this whole fucking time that I’m not dad’s son!”

The echo of his shout didn’t get a chance to fade when his mother fell into the nearest seat and burst into hysterical sobs. Luke and Stella’s mouths had fallen open and their looks of confusion turned into looks of shock and disbelief. They each seemed to be waging an internal battle between comforting their mother and staring at their brother.

As for Pete, no hint of his earlier neutrality remained. His face was set in mutinous lines and though his eyes were brimming with them, he refused to let the tears fall. He was clinging to his anger with all of his strength because if he gave into grief, he’d never get up again.

He made no move to comfort his mother. He could barely stand to look at her.

“You knew. You’ve known for thirty-two years that I’m not his son and you said nothing! You put his name on my birth certificate and didn’t give it a second fucking thought! You lied to him! You lied to me! And I’m looking at Luke and Stella’s faces and I’m guessing you lied to them too!”

“P-pete, please!” Lynnie cried. “Let me ex—”

“There’s nothing to explain! You lied! You let everyone think I was his! You let him name me after him! You let him give me his bar! God, you let me walk in there every fucking day thinking it really belonged to me!”

“It does! It’s yours!”

“No, Ma, it’s not! It’s not mine! None of it was never meant to be mine because I’m not his! You knew that and you let him give it to me anyway! Did you ever stop to think about how that would make me feel? How it would make him feel?”

He gave a sarcastic chuckle. “No, of course not. Because you never intended for me to find out, did you, Ma? You were gonna take this to your fucking grave and if he hadn’t swerved to avoid hitting that hitchhiker I never would’ve found out. Bet him almost dying really put a wrench in your fucking plans!”

“Peter, stop it!” Having finally found her voice, Lynnie got to her feet and faced her son. “Despite everything I have done I will not allow you stand there and insinuate that I’m anything other than devastated about what happened to your father! You have every right to be angry with me but I’m still your mother and you still owe me your respect!”

“You’re a goddamn liar and I owe you nothing!”

“Peter!”

“No! You don’t get to stand there and tell me to respect you after you lied to your entire family for three fucking decades! Where was your respect for your husband when you decided to sleep with another man? Where was it when the strip on the pregnancy test turned pink? Where was it the day I was born and you put me in his arms? You—”

It was Pete’s turn to pale as the irony and familiarity of this situation finally struck him. He’d been here before. It was a different stage and different players but…no. The players weren’t different. They were exactly the same.

“I did the same thing,” he whispered, eyes saddening and filling with that ever-present, vicious guilt. “I cheated. I cheated on MJ and I lied about it.”

The abrupt change had Lynnie almost flinching before the urge to comfort overtook her. “No, baby,” she said softly, shaking her head. “It’s not the same thing.”

A tear finally spilled, then another. “How is it not? I went behind his back and slept with someone else and didn’t tell him.”

“The circumstances were—”

He shook his head. “No, mom. Circumstances don’t matter. I made the exact same choice. The only difference is that Fletcher couldn’t get me pregnant.”

“Pete…” Lynnie reached out to her son again, only for him to shake his head and move away from her again.

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

“Baby, it’s okay.”

“None of this is okay. I made the same choice you did. All the same choices.” He moved further away, all but flattening against the door. “I’m just like you.”

There was something in the way Pete said those words that broke Evelyn’s heart more than him yelling at her or calling her a liar. He could’ve hit her and it still wouldn’t have killed her as much as hearing her eldest son, her beautiful baby boy for whom she’d prayed every day for nine months, say he was just like her with such self-loathing and pain and disgust in his voice.

“Honey, please. Let me just…” What? What could she possibly say to him now?

Nothing, apparently. “I have to go.” His voice sounded as broken as he looked. “I can’t…I can’t be here.”

“Pete, wait, you can’t—” It was too late. The door was already closing behind him.

She was just starting to go after him when a soft, raspy call from behind her made her stop dead in her tracks.

“Lynnie?”

She turned.

Her husband was awake.

It was a few days before Pete gathered the courage to return to the hospital. He knew his father was awake (Luke had told him) but he simply couldn’t bring himself to go see him. He wanted to, more than anything, but after everything….he just hadn’t been able to make himself go.

He hadn’t talked about what happened that day in his father’s room. Not to Luke, not to Stella, not to his mother. In fact, he hadn’t talked to her at all. There was nothing she could say that he wanted to hear. There was nothing any of them could say that would get rid of the ache in his chest and he knew that them trying would only make it worse.

Because no matter what they said, Luke and Stella would still only be his half-siblings, and Pete, Sr. would still only be the man who’d been duped into raising a child that wasn’t his. And that hurt more than Pete could possibly bear to think about.

So he stayed away until he couldn’t anymore.

At first, he didn’t even leave his bedroom. He simply burrowed under the covers with his cat, refusing to dress or speak to anyone or go to work and only emerging for food. He could’ve remained that way indefinitely if Luke hadn’t decided enough was enough and staged an intervention.

He went into Pete’s bedroom and told him in no uncertain terms that he didn’t give ‘one shake of a rat’s ass’ what the DNA test results said. They were still brothers and if Pete didn’t come out of his duvet nest, Luke was going to ‘drag him out by his leg hair’.

It wasn’t so much the threat as it was his brother’s reassurance that finally made him come out.

Still, Luke’s reassurance—and later, Stella’s—wasn’t enough to make Pete face his mother. He started getting dressed and going to work again, but her calls, texts, and visits continued to be ignored. He simply had no interest in her explanations.

Just like, he supposed, MJ hadn’t been interested in his.

It was the river that made him go back.

Other than his family it had remained the one constant in his life, all through childhood and adolescence and now adulthood.  Nothing had ever been able to taint it for him. It was his preferred place of contemplation and his favorite source of comfort, and it was where he retreated to soothe the ache he now carried.

He spent every moment he wasn’t at work or at home swimming in it. It didn’t matter that it was February and bitterly cold; Pete needed his solace. When he was beneath the water he could almost forget that his life was toppling like a house of cards, that he’d been the one to do it. For the most part anyway. Some of the blame rested on another’s shoulders.

But the lion’s share rested on his, and after so many weeks spent carrying it all around and having even more piled on at seemingly every turn, he felt completely and utterly lost.

He felt helpless, hopeless, directionless. He was going through the motions of his life without really living it. The only thing he looked forward to anymore was curling up with Midas. He didn’t even speak unless he absolutely had to.

Basically, Pete finally felt like the zombie Guildias thought he was.

Maybe Guildias was really the reason Pete walked back into the hospital that night. Or maybe it was a combination of him and all the time spent letting the river soothe him.

Yeah. That’s probably it, Pete thought as he walked past the nurses’ station. Guildias and the river.

Pete timed his visit so he and his mother wouldn’t run into each other. It was late, and by this time he knew Lynnie would’ve returned home after having spent all evening with her husband. Luke had tried to convince him not to avoid her, but in this instance his reasoning had fallen on deaf ears.

He opened the door quietly so as not to potentially awaken his father. Only half the lights were on, the blinds drawn shut. The TV was on but muted. He was beginning to think his dad really was asleep until he heard a murmured, “Petey? That you?”

Pete froze, clinging to the doorframe like his life depended on it. “….Yeah, Pop. It’s me. You okay?”

“I’m fine.” By now Pete, Sr.’s voice had lost some of its raspiness, but it still sounded weak and tired. “You gonna come in?”

Pete took a deep breath and took a few steps forward, stopping just short of his father’s bed. Even though his cuts and bruises still looked as nasty as ever, they appeared to be healing a bit. He appeared to have fewer heavy bandages too. “Hey,” he said softly.

The elder Pete smiled. “Hey right back, kiddo. You doin’ good?”

“Yeah, I uh…I’m okay.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by, I…I just…”

The smile fell. “I know, sweetheart.”

Pete only managed a jerky nod before his breath hitched on a sob and he was rushing into his father’s embrace, burying his face against the undamaged part of his chest. When he felt Pete, Sr.’s arm wrap around his shoulders he cried harder.

Guildias had called forth a breakdown and after days of waiting, it had finally come.

Weeks of anger and sadness and guilt and grief came pouring out of him with all the force of a tidal wave, relentlessly wracking his shoulders and tearing at his chest. He couldn’t stop. And there was nothing his dad could do but hold him.

Pete, Sr. had pain of his own, physical and otherwise, but that was nothing compared to this. The last time he’d held his son, he’d been trying to soothe a broken heart. Now? Now he was sharing that pain. He was sharing the feeling of having his entire world fall apart and of being helpless to stop it.

Pete hadn’t just lost the man he thought was his father. Pete, Sr. had lost the man he thought was his son.

Pete had no idea how long his supernaturally strong breakdown had taken. Could’ve been twenty minutes or an hour. All he knew was that at some point it had stopped and that it had left him feeling not like an empty shell, but with a strange sense of purpose.

Still, he felt no desire to move. He was afraid that if he did his emotions would flare up again and pitch him into round two. His dad didn’t seem inclined to move either. He did, however, have something to say.

“Petey?”

Pete wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Yeah?”

“I want you to listen to me. Can you do that?” At his son’s nod, he continued. “Good. I don’t care what that test says. I don’t care that there ain’t a single drop of my blood runnin’ through your veins. You’re still my kid.”

Pete blinked, slowly lifting his head to look at his father. “But…”

“No buts. I got up in the middle of the night to feed you. I heard your first word. I saw your first steps. I walked you to your first day of school. I raised you. That’s what makes me your dad, no matter if some fancy scientific crap on a piece of paper says somethin’ different. I’m your dad, Petey, and the only thing I regret is how you found out we ain’t blood. You understand what I’m sayin’? I’m your dad.”

Pete nodded. “You’re my dad.”

“Damn fuckin’ right.” Sounding satisfied that that had been taken care of, the elder Pete held out an arm. “C’mere.”

Pete managed a small laugh, hugging his father as tightly as he could without hurting him. The pressure that had built in his chest the moment Jeremy Peabody looked at him across the bar and told him his father had had an accident finally started to ease. His life might’ve been fucked six ways to Sunday, but at least he still had what mattered most. He had his dad.

“I love you, Pop.”

“I love you, too, kiddo.”

They stayed like that for a long time before that feeling in Pete’s gut prompted him to speak again. “Hey, Pop?” he began pulling back.

“Yeah?”

“There’s something I’ve got to tell you.” He took a deep breath. “I um…I’ve gotta go away for a little while.”

Pete, Sr. studied his son for a moment. “Where?”

Pete shrugged. “I don’t know. With everything that’s happened I just…I need to take some time. See other people, other things. I need to be somewhere where I’m not just going through the motions. Somewhere where people don’t know me and aren’t calling me Mary Magdalene. I need…I need to feel like I can breathe again and I just....”

“And you can’t do it here,” his father finished for him.

Pete nodded. “Yeah.”

Pete, Sr. reached for his son’s arm, squeezed it. “Then do it. You haven’t been out of this town in a long time. I know you’ve through a lot, even before I ended up in here. I know you’re hurtin’. So if you need to go, Petey, you go.”

“I don’t wanna just leave you. And I won’t, not until you’re better.”

“You do whatcha gotta do, sweetheart.” He gave Pete’s arm another squeeze. “Gonna take a hell of a lot more than a little accident to take me down.”

Pete smiled softly. “I will. When you’re better. And not a second before that. You hear me, Pop? Not one second before.”

Pete, Sr. chuckled. “Yeah, I hear you, kiddo.”