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lov3nerdstuff · 3 years

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Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.28}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5.7k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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It was the middle of March when a simple trip to Hogsmeade turned into the beginning of the very end.

Robin had let Cas and Jorien talk her into coming along to town this Hogsmeade Saturday, and she had used the opportunity to sell another batch of rare ingredients in the small dingy shop she had actually come to appreciate for just that at this point. After dropping the girls off at Honeydukes, she'd gone on to the potions shop by herself, scared the shop owner beyond reason yet again just for her own amusement, and left a little while later with an even larger sum of galleons in her bag than the previous time she had been there. Really, it was incredible for just how much some of the stuff she possessed sold even around here. Thus, content and smiling to herself for the well accomplished mission, she made her slow way back from the shady part of the village to where she was supposed to meet the girls on high street in twenty minutes. Hopefully time would pass quickly… it was terribly cold outside, even for March, and Robin couldn't wait for a nice hot cup of coffee in whatever cafe the girls would surely drag her into next.

When she crossed from one mud covered street into an even narrower alley of much the same sodden ground, her smile was wiped off her face however, in the very instant a repelling spell hit her square in the chest and sent her flying backwards into the half frozen dirt of the larger road before she even had the time to register what was happening to her. Suddenly void of every air in her lungs, Robin gasped, then yelped when her back hit the hard ground and unruly stone, sending a hot searing pain up her spine that made her eyes water. Adrenaline rushed into her veins, as flooring as it was exhilarating, and while her mind was spinning as it tried to grasp for a sense of what was happening, she already had her wand in her hand only for it to be knocked straight out of there again by an Expelliarmus spoken by a very much familiar voice. Oh no…

"A path of shadows isn't a good place for my little songbird to dwell in… It isn't safe out here. The cats might come to prey on you." Damion Morgan sighed exaggeratedly, while he picked Robin's wand off the ground before she ever had the chance to reach for it. "Get up now dear, before you become as sodden as the ground."

Robin's mind spun in hazy circles of panic as she scrambled to her feet without taking her eyes off the man in front of her. Really, it was her bad luck that it was his turn to supervise this particular Hogsmeade weekend. And away from the school, away from anyone who would witness the incident, she was as good as doomed alone with him in this bloody back alley. For a second, her mind sped through her options. Apparating away? No, not without her wand. Wandless magic, perhaps? In the matter of a few seconds she tried every defensive spell she knew she could do without her wand, running a string of words through her mind with as much focus as she could fathom, but they all proved ineffective against the smug man in front of her. Fuck… he certainly wouldn't make it as easy for her as the last few times, he had already shown her glimpses of that back on new year's. Perhaps he wasn't quite as untalented in the dark arts as she had always tried to convince herself of.

"You needn't try, darling. After the little stunt you pulled on me on the night of the welcoming feast, I have seen to it that my own resistance to your admirable spellwork was fit to counter. And after years of studying you in my class, I know just what spells you have up your sleeve." He told her just in that moment with a disgustingly sweet smile. Dropping his arm with his wand to his side then, he took a step closer to Robin to be right in front of her now. "I had so hoped we could do this in another way. I had hoped it would never have to come this far, if only you had chosen me as I have chosen you. Now, all there is left for either of us is pain."

"Indeed." Robin replied in a breathless huff, and while she didn't understand a single thing of what he was saying with his many words, she knew that she wouldn't get a better chance than this. Without wasting any time overthinking for once, she curled her hand into a fist and punched Morgan straight in the face as strongly as she could. Magic was nice and all, but sometimes the muggle way to do things did work just as well. The blazing pain, the sting and burn that spread from her knuckles up into her entire arm in an instant was well worth it as she discovered, for Morgan dropped both Robin's wand and his own when he instinctively clutched his hands to his hurting face.

What followed then definitely followed too fast. Robin went to claw for her wand immediately, but so did Morgan with his own. Both reached theirs in a striking simultaneity, and in the very same they directed at each other their respectively chosen spells. It wasn't a matter of thought, of conscious action or strategy, but rather an adrenaline driven instinctive defense that made Robin send yet another stunning spell at Morgan. And it seemed no less instinctive for him to send a curse to her in return. Both spells hit their target, both too quick and intricate to deflect. Morgan once more landed on his behind in the offgoing alley, groaning but unfortunately still very much in consciousness. Robin on the other hand let out a bone chilling scream, then crippled into a heap on the very ground she had stood upon, ridden by such a sudden explosion of pain in every cell of her body that it replaced both sense of self and thought. She couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't move… Her wand lay only inches from her hand, but she found the distance impossible to cross, impossible to think of fighting back at all. All she could do was to keep her eyes wide open as she lay curled up on her side in repeated shivers of pain that drowned out even the cold around her, beneath her, and to watch how Morgan came approaching her once again. His wand raised and pointed at her with a sneer on his face.

"You will have to be better than that, my dear…" He sighed in a raspy voice, then finally crouched down right in front of her and almost affectionately brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "You will never succeed if you do not even try. The time has almost come, I'm afraid, and I can no longer hold it off. Neither can I resist you anymore. Oh, how I wish you just could've been mine."

All Robin could do in return was to whimper, as pathetic as it was, but she had no capacity left within her being to care about anything but the pain that was eating her up from the inside. Only in blurred lines above her in her quaking field of vision, Morgan's face twisted in as much agony as she felt, and yet he wore an expression of the utmost sympathy. Robin suddenly felt sick and terribly exposed, and she turned her face downward in a vain attempt to shield herself from the sight of him. Pressing herself into the mud and stone beneath her even if the rash pebbles cut into her skin like a million shards of cruel fate.

"I could end it right here, you know… I should end it here and in this instant." He spoke again, through a layer of sincere remorse. "But I cannot do it if you do not resist. I… I can't, Robin. Not like this. Please don't make me do it like this."

The pain in her body surged to new heights with every word he said, and she let out a strangled sob, a cry of sheer agony even, and perhaps an equal amount of fear. Every atom of her body was torn apart, stabbed with a million knives over and over again while her soul was split into a state between life and death. So much for fighting back… so much for doing anything to protect herself. There was nothing she could do now. She's had her chance, and she'd waisted it on the mildest repelling spell she knew. A bloody idiot, that she was, and nothing more. Perhaps, for that, she did deserve death after all.

No. She was better than that. Robin couldn't give in, not now, not like this, not ever. She had made a mistake by choosing the wrong spell, yes, but she had to work with the consequences now. She would not give up. Never. She couldn't do that to Snape… after all he had been through in his life, he deserved happiness that lasted longer than bloody two and a half months before the next tragedy came haunting him. So did she. They deserved better, and no bloody Damion Morgan could get in the way of that. With the most miserably shaking hand, she tried reaching for her wand, fingertips brushing against the dark wood after what seemed like eternities of pain. Do it do it do it do it do it… Her instincts begged her to finally make use of one of the thousands of horrible curses she had come across over the years, or even to just apparate away for good. But when her sight fell onto Morgan's highly expectant, almost begging expression, her reason won over the instinct. He wanted her to fight. Wanted her to try running. And she would not play this game by his rules anymore.

With another pained whine, Robin clasped her wand in her hand, holding both tightly pressed against her chest, then she rolled onto her back to look up at Morgan's twisted face above her, and even further up at the blindingly white sky. A new wave of maddening pain, she could hardly breathe. Hardly think.

"You really are quite beautiful, you know… Even now, like this." Morgan sighed sadly while his eyes traced the paths Robin's angry tears had painted on her muddied skin. "And while I look at your lovely being every morning and every night of every day, you I hardly ever get to see. I must say though that the earrings are a nice addition. Very… modern."

His words still made no sense to Robin's mind, not now, not when the pain took away most of her thoughts in the first place. But she knew that she wanted him to stop playing with her. Think, idiot, through the bloody haze of pain! She'd done it before, pushing the pain away behind the walls in her mind… just enough to make room for reason. Just to focus, just for a moment.

He expected her to fight, or to run, to act in any way they had been taught in his very own class. Therefore he must be looking out for those spells, ready to stop her, ready to attack in return. He wanted her to resist, to fight back, that much had been clear for a long while now… and if she attacked him like that indeed, she very likely wouldn't survive the backlash he had probably been preparing for months now. At least not in her current state of painforced weakness. A state she had brought upon herself when she had let him put that curse on her. A curse of the kind he could only uphold if he put his entire focus on it. Gods! That was the flaw in his actions she had been looking for.

Still very much trembling, she lifted her hand to point her wand up at the sky, then closed her eyes when Morgan started to smile at her doings. He was still waiting for her to make the move that would finally allow him to murder her after all… but she wouldn't do him that favor. She had learned long ago to follow her reason, not her fight or flight instincts. This had to work, she had to be better. For herself, for Snape, for her friends. A faint Lux Obscurius left her lips in even less than a breath as her eyes flew open again, and a broken second later she could feel the earth beneath her vibrating when black lightnings hit the ground around her like a relentless hailstorm of her own fury.

It was enough. Enough to catch Morgan by surprise, to make him lose touch with his spellwork, his focus on Robin, and when the echo of soundless thunder overtook the air around them, the curse's pain was gone from Robin's mind, pushed out of her body by enough adrenaline that forced her onto her feet in an instant. Her wand gripped tightly in her hand, she pointed it at Morgan who staggered to his feet a second later when sound returned to the world.

He tried throwing another curse at her, but Robin had no problem deflecting it even without a word now that she knew what to expect. He tried again and again, growing in desperation and anger while losing in focus and determination, which made it all the easier for Robin to counter while her body and mind slowly recovered from the horrible pain. Luckily the curse had only been on her for a mere few minutes. She was still hurting now… but more so from her hard landing on the ground and a few scratches than from any kind of magic. So far so good.

"Haven't you learned anything throughout the years?!" Morgan cried out at her after a moment, and the string of spells thrown at Robin stopped for the moment as he caught his breath. "You are supposed to fight me! I'm trying to kill you and you just stand there like it's none of your goddamn business! Defend yourself properly, for heaven's sake!!! Try at least! Please!"

"No." Robin got out more or less calmly, but she knew better than to let his talking distract her again. She had made the mistake of letting him catch her off guard once, of underestimating what he would do to her if he got the chance. She wouldn't do it a second time. Neither would she attack him though, even if she had in past times almost hoped for a situation like this. An opportunity to get rid of him. But now that it was here, right in front of her, she found that she couldn't even curse him. Leave alone kill him, like she had always thought she would want to if it came this far. But she simply couldn't bring herself to do either.

"You are just like her, you know that?!" He yelled across the short distance between them, half in laughter, half in despair. "You're too bloody perfect, too much of everything I need to live. I have never been one for irony, but you, love, you are perhaps fate's cruelest twist of bloody irony in existence!"

Robin didn't respond to that. She wouldn't have known what to say anyway, not when he clearly was having a conversation with someone that wasn't her. Not really, anyway. He was just insane; only a madman talking nonsense who was trying to kill her for fun or his own delusional reasons whenever they met outside of class. That was all there was to it, all there could to be. Deep down however, Robin was starting to doubt just that more and more. He didn't seem insane… only caught up in a different reality than her. She was merely clinging onto her version of things for her own good at this point, and she would continue to do so until there was a more reasonable explanation. But for now, she stayed silent either way.

"You know that I will not stop trying, don't you? I cannot stop!" Morgan went on instead, loudly and unbothered in his desperation as if they weren't still in the middle of Hogsmeade. "And unless you kill me first, there is nothing you can do to change your fate!"

The loud banging of a wooden door to Robin's left suddenly caught both her and Morgan's attention then, as it flew open harshly before a bulky barrel of a man came stomping out with a deep frown on his face. Must be the backdoor to one of the taverns, Robin remembered just then. A truly lucky coincidence.

"What's all that shouting and yelling about now again?! Y'all be scaring my customers away!" The burly man bellowed in an instant, and his small angry eyes scanned Robin at first, then Morgan, and finally both their battered and dirty appearances. His anger turned into weariness in an instant, and he addressed Robin with an almost reluctant gaze and a motion towards Morgan. "Need any help dealing with that fellow?"

"Thank you…" Robin replied with a polite but very much feigned smile, then didn't even take her eyes off the barman while she sent a silent Stupefy at the still distracted Morgan, who registered her sudden attack only way too late. Out of the corner of her eye, Robin saw how the professor was thrown back and down the road by the spell, then stayed lying on the ground in a motionless heap. Truly unconscious, at long last. And yet, Robin's eyes did not once leave the flabbergasted bar owner who stared at her in return as she went on with her statement after a breath. "But I believe I am just fine."

"I, uh… Sorry, for… for interrupting." The man finally stammered out after a moment of taking in Robin's perfectly feigned calm and Morgan's unconscious body. "I'm just… gonna get back to my bar and leave you to your own business."

"Actually," Robin was quick to stop him from vanishing through the door, as she took a determined step towards him, "I would very much appreciate it if I could shortcut to high street through your… establishment."

… … …

Ten minutes later, Robin had almost reached the shop where she was supposed to meet Cas and Jorien. She'd gotten rid of the mud and water that had clung onto her in chunks before setting foot onto high street, which then had left her only with messy hair, a bleeding scratch over her eyebrow and too many thoughts yet to be dealt with. A look into one of the shop windows confirmed that she still looked quite as terrible as she felt; cold, confused, exhausted and anxious enough to burst. Putting her hair up into a bun and a stasis charm onto the scratch to provisionally keep it from bleeding did a good enough job at fixing the outside flaws, but her mind remained troubled as it could be when she finally went to seek out the girls. She was 10 minutes late anyway, no need to let them wait even longer than that.

But even when she slowly approached their meeting spot, she couldn't quite move past what had just happened. Sure, Morgan had hurt her before, had said things along the same lines of her belonging to him, but this just surpassed it all. She didn't doubt that he truly wanted to kill her, even if her refusal to fight back seemed to have hindered him in that today. He certainly wouldn't allow himself to make such a mistake another time, wouldn't hold back nor let his twisted emotions overcome him. His intention was more than clear at this point; his reasons were not. Because as much as Robin wanted to blame it all on insanity, the things he'd said and done, the sincere desperation and agony displayed on his face when he had begged her to fight back just didn't add up anymore. There was a reason to the things he did, a very much sane one, but it was yet veiled in darkness. He said he would try to end her again… So she would have to find out what the hell was going on before then. Why he had said those weird things that still kept nagging at her mind in the strangest way, ringing some distant bells she couldn't quite put her finger to. Gods, she felt exhausted enough for her hands to shake even beyond the cold… it was a miracle that her legs hadn't given out yet.

"Finally you grace us with your presence, Robin!!! Jorien and I have been freezing to death out here for the last ten minutes!" Cas' relieved and reproachful voice pulled Robin out of her thoughts, but it also made her jump in an instant. Visibly, for once. Great…

"Are you alright?" Jorien asked immediately with a big frown on her face, just when Robin came to stand in front of them. "You look-… There's really no nice way to say it. Tired and battered is the mildest one, probably."

"Oh, you know me… always running into one thing or another." She replied with a sigh and a half smile that was more feigned than sincere. "But yeah, I'm quite exhausted, and way too cold. I'm sorry I made you wait, I was held up and couldn't get away from the situation for the longest time."

"It's fine…" Cas sighed as well, a lot milder in her expression already. "We were late anyway, so we really only waited a couple minutes out here."

That finally brought a sincere smile to Robin's lips, even if a small one. Of course they'd been late as well… they always were. Well, thank Morgan for holding her up long enough to spare her the waiting time. Robin snorted at her own thought, and couldn't quite understand why almost dying was suddenly so amusing. Then again, Snape had always been saying that her humour could be quite morbid at times. He was right, as always. Gods, she just wanted to be back with him already, wrapped up in a tight hug, telling him all about what happened… but he was still stuck with the dunderheads who had earned themselves detention this week, and wouldn't be free until after dinnertime. Which was one of the main reasons why Robin had agreed to go to Hogsmeade today in the first place.

"If you're exhausted, we perhaps better skip the next part of our grandiose plans for the day…" Jorien said, thereby regaining Robin's attention in time for her to see the sheer disappointment on both girls' faces. "It probably was a stupid idea anyway. Let's just go to a cafe instead."

"No, it's alright! Don't worry about me." Robin replied in an instant, when her inability to bear seeing the girls sad got the better of her. Damn her empathy, a cozy cafe sounded nice right now… and whatever plans they had made surely wouldn't be nearly as relaxing. But as much as she annoyed herself by doing so, she couldn't help putting them and their happiness first. "We can do whatever you guys originally planned. It's fine!"

The smiles were back on their faces in an instant, as was the excitement and mischief, and while Robin didn't know what she had just gotten herself into, she was prone to find out when they immediately started dragging her off down the street. Two minutes later, they stepped through the door to one of the surprisingly many clothes shops in the small village, and this one obviously seemed to cater more to the younger generations. That was the only thing Robin could tell from the look around she had immediately upon their entrance. A nervous habit, really, that had only intensified now after getting so stupidly taken by surprise earlier.

"So…" Cas started with a grin while she walked ahead in obvious certainty where she wanted to go. "You know how in a week I'm going home with Simon for the easter holidays, right?"

"You mentioned it a couple million times, yes." Robin sassed in feigned annoyance, but her small smile was a sincere one yet again. How could she forget, when both Cas and Simon had been speaking of little else over the last few days. It was rather adorable, really, how excited both of them were to spend time together outside of school for once, at last, after over a year of dating. Robin had the utmost understanding for that, and for them in general.

"Funny." Cas rolled her eyes at Robin, but then went on while she slalomed around shelves and tables of clothes with the others in tow. "Anyway, I wanted to get some nicer things for the occasion. You know, like some pajamas and underwear and stuff… Everything I have is terribly childish or boring and just meh."

Oh dear… Robin could relate more to that than she wanted to admit, and that level of subtle embarrassment wasn't something she currently wanted to deal with. Nor did she want to discuss these matters with her roommates, even if they seemed to have no reluctance to do so the other way round. To her luck, they at least weren't here because of her. Or so she sincerely hoped.

"To shortcut Cas' elaborations, we picked out some stuff for her, but we couldn't really decide and weren't too sure if it was too much or too little, so we were hoping you could give your usual overly-rational evaluation." Jorien concluded factually, and Robin only nodded her agreement with a silent sigh.

This really was the most horrible timing; she had no room in her mind for insignificant matters like clothing! There was only fear and anxiety and concern… and Morgan's words still nagging at her. 'You are just like her', he'd said. Like who? Did Robin remind him of someone who all of his anger and affection likewise were actually directed at? 'While I look at your lovely being every morning and every night of every day, you I hardly ever get to see.'... What the hell was that supposed to mean? Robin always made a conscious effort to avoid Morgan as much as possible, to the extent of almost hiding from him during mealtimes. They only really met in defense classes these days. So he really hardly got to see her indeed… but he looked at her being every day? One of the photos of her that had been in the paper, perhaps? But then he would see her as well, not her being. Ugh, this was just-...

"Earth to Robin!" Cas snapped her fingers in front of Robin's face with raised eyebrows. They were standing in front of a line of changing cubicles now, or rather Jorien and Robin were, while Cas stood in the door of one and moved back towards the mirror inside where she looked at herself. Robin had to frown when her attention returned to the current moment. Cas was still wearing her own clothes, but in the mirror, her reflection wore the piece she was trying to show to her friends.

"Interesting spellwork with the mirrors…" Robin mused before she could help it. "Is that a common thing in clothes shops around here?"

"...yes?!" Cas scoffed incredulously at the –to her– obviously inane question. "You really don't go shopping often enough. The mirrors are charmed to show you what the pieces would look like on you. Then you only have to try on the things you actually like on yourself for the right size. We've done that already, so it's just deciding between the looks now. What do you think?"

With an almost impressed expression, Robin studied both the mirror and Cas' reflection for a moment to actually make an effort at last. Perhaps this wasn't quite as terrible as she'd thought… Sure, it seemed kind of ridiculous to be here shopping now after she'd had to fight for her life half an hour ago. But perhaps that was why it was a good idea after all; a remedy for all the ghosts in her head, the fear and anxiety in her body. It might do her good to get some distance to the events before trying to understand them.

Thus for the next forty minutes Robin did her best to actually focus on the girls and on helping Cas with her shopping. They really had picked some nice things that weren't too over the top, and after Robin had given her commentary and evaluation as well, the selection Cas was left with was well worth their efforts. Robin was almost led to believe that allowing them to drag her here hadn't been quite such a terrible idea as she'd originally thought.

That was until Jorien and Cas were fooled enough by Robin's desperate efforts to push through this endeavor with the very last of her energy and enthusiasm to try to make her try things on as well. And that Robin really didn't have the mindset for today. Being alive was currently a higher priority to her than being well dressed, which the two younger girls of course had no understanding for. They couldn't, really, and Robin wouldn't burden them with it either. Thus she agreed to let them pick whatever while she would patiently stand in front of the mirror to let them gawk at the reflection, as long as she wouldn't have to actually physically change. Or make an effort to show sincere interest in any of the pieces any longer.

For a while the girls picked all kinds of both horrendous and actually quite nice pieces just to giggle and fawn over and Robin simply let them. As long as they were having fun, she couldn't care less if they made her reflection look like a clown or a magazine model. And while her reflection's garments changed from t-shirts to dresses to pajamas to lingerie, she resumed her pondering of Morgan's words and actions as well as her own. Ignoring the outside world as successfully as ever for a good twenty minutes at least.

"How strange…" Cas' half humoured and half confused huff was what pulled Robin back into the reality around her at last, and she followed the girl's line of sight to her underwear-clad reflection. Good gods… she looked like the closest thing to a piece of pastry she'd ever seen. Or an 18th century mistress. Or both.

"What's so strange?" Jorien asked a short moment later, and frowned at Robin's ridiculous reflection as well.

"I haven't really noticed before either, because I was admittedly distracted by the fun pieces of clothing, but it's really quite obvious now." Cas replied and crossed her arms over her chest with an almost smug expression. "Tell me, what do you see?"

Jorien scoffed, then rolled her eyes, but went to answer nonetheless. "Well, I see Robin, looking like an ancient painting of some royal hooker. Don't tell me you see any more than that in the mirror…"

The words sent a surge of immediate anxiety and adrenaline through Robin, and while she thought that it was due to the discomfort upon looking like a tart at first, the impression soon was replaced by the nagging in the back of her mind that picked up stronger than ever. Her mind started spinning too fast, thoughts tumbling over each other in both panic and reason. Gods, she could almost grasp the thought, the words that were haunting her now.

"Well duh…" Cas rolled her eyes, then tapped against the glass on the height of Robin's ribs. "There's no scar, idiots! As far as I remember, Robin has a rather visible scar on her rib cage, while the reflection doesn't. Isn't that odd? As if the reflection isn't even you."

A wall inside Robin's mind collapsed in that instant, and buried her under the impossible weight of its ashes. Its implications. She could hardly breathe. Paintings… Reflections… Scars… Earrings. A wild rush of adrenaline. Panic. She felt sick as soon as she finally understood.

"Robin, are you alright? You look terrible again… Did we say something wrong?" Jorien inquired instead of reacting to Cas' explanation, and half a second later both girls were gazing at her in concern. Robin had no capacity left to care that she worried them. She had no capacity for anything outside of her own mind.

"I need to get back to the castle. Now." She said in a quiet voice, staring at her own eyes in the mirror for just a moment longer before spinning on her heels and making for the shop's exit. Every cell in her body stood on edge, every emotion locked away behind the thickest walls she could muster up to cope with reality. Right now, she only needed reason, as much of it as she could get. And in a spurt of just that she looked over her shoulder at the two confused girls once more before she reached the door. "I'm sorry, I just remembered something very important that I have forgotten about for far too long. Do go on shopping without me though, and be sure to tell me all about it at dinner, yes?"

Then, without waiting for an answer, she was out of the door and on her way back to the castle. Her lungs hurt, heart racing, head spinning, and her eyes stung terribly from both the wind and unshed tears of raw anxiety. Perhaps it was only the shock of realisation hitting her, or perhaps she was really quite so scared. She didn't know if she hoped to be right or wrong in the unnerving suspicion that had fallen upon her like the darkest of night. Because frankly, either way would end in a nightmare.

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ampleappleamble · 3 years

Text

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It was a simple platitude, and one he'd heard quite often growing up: "Be ever honest, forthright, and true, and ne'er shall Woedica frown upon you." The rhyme was reductive and childish, but the sentiment was understandable enough– Honesty is a virtue, and one that should serve any good, upright citizen of Aedyr well.

Of course, Aloth knew better.

He'd known better since he was fifteen years old, clutching his face in his hands and choking on his own tears while his mother tried to soothe him, brushing back his smooth, black hair and holding him close, careful to avoid the bruises, all the while imploring him you must never tell a soul of this, Aloth, never, for even I could not help you then. He'd known better after running to the proctor about the incident with the spellwrights gilde and their damned machine, trying to bring it all to light, and instead of finding himself languishing in a dungeon for the atrocity he'd taken part in, he was instructed to continue to meet with them, to keep his mouth shut and his eyes and ears open. No matter the rewards honesty promised, the people in his life always seemed to reinforce the lesson that deception and secrecy were the true keys to success.

Until now. Until her.

Since their very first meeting outside the Black Hound Inn, as far as he could tell– and he considered himself a decent judge of character, most of the time– Axa had not uttered a single lie to anyone she'd spoken with, had not suppressed nor sugarcoated a single truth, no matter how painful. The closest she'd gotten to lying was her reluctance to discuss the chain of events that had lead her to relocate to the Dyrwood, and even that had come out eventually, and entirely of her own volition. In fact, she seemed to not only practice honesty in her words and her deeds, but to relentlessly pursue the truth, to champion it, to draw it out of others like venom from a wound and leave both parties happier for it. Hel, she'd even managed to get him to open up.

How did she make it look so easy?

Practice, I reck'n. Isnae easy fer ye, tellin' sooth, coz yer nae accustomed to it, are ye, lad? Iselmyr's unwanted commentary was almost constant, now, and Aloth could not tell whether it was due to his control over himself deteriorating further, or if she had simply been emboldened by their secret finally being out after all these years. Either way, it was wearing on his nerves, and he worried that it was starting to show. It certainly didn't help that the others were as curious about Iselmyr as he was eager to be rid of her, and only about half of them seemed to possess the decorum to recognize his discomfort and drop it. Even Axa had asked if it were possible for her to speak directly to the horrid little pest, although to her credit she'd only had to be told "no" once, unlike Edér and Kana who seemingly only deigned to speak with him in order to badger him about his "friend," trying to trade jokes with her or learn Hylspeak from her or– Berath take him– flirt with her.

"Jealous," she'd smirked, and Aloth had gone bright red when Edér had laughed in response, only then realizing that she'd made him say it out loud.

Am only out 'n' jawin' wie kith cozza yer wee burd, laddie. If ye've aught t' complain about, tell it t' her. As much as he hated to agree with Iselmyr, he had to admit that she had a point– if he'd been left to his own devices, he might never have told anyone about his Awakening and simply lived his whole life suffering in silence. But since he'd started following Axa, talking with her, fighting alongside her, earning her trust and starting to trust her in return, he'd found that opening up about himself– and Iselmyr– was far easier than he'd ever expected it would be. The clever little woman had had him halfway figured out by the time he finally told her anyway, which had certainly helped speed things along. She had even suggested a method by which he might finally learn more about his condition, although the thought of letting some jackleg animancer strap him to a table (don't think about the spellwrights the experiment don't think about Targun his eyes empty and lifeless and dull don't think about it don't) and peer into his soul made his skin crawl.

But it didn't seem quite so dismaying when he reminded himself that she'd be there with him.

The events of the day thus far had only served to reinforce this notion. She'd broached the topic over breakfast, suggesting that after they finish their business with the Knights, they make the sanitarium their very next stop of the day– "May as well get it over with, right?"– but he had deflected and redirected, stating that he'd hoped to read up on animancy a bit more before making the plunge– "After all, I've waited fifty years, I can wait a few more hours"– while reminding her that she had expressed a desire to parley with the Eyeless Face sometime soon. A little nudge in the right direction was all it had taken for Kana to commandeer the conversation, excitedly gushing about banned books and Waelite secrets, and Aloth had sighed with relief even as he'd winced at the knowing look Sagani had given him. But Axa had not seen fit to press the matter, and so they'd agreed on their plans and headed for Crucible Keep, turning over the research for their new Forge Knights without any issues.

And upon arriving at the Hall of Revealed Mysteries, the distractions had quickly accumulated, as they tended to do. The forgemaster at the Keep had done little to assuage his worries about animancy in general, and every book about animancy he'd half-heartedly attempted to peruse only ended up making him more anxious, so instead he'd spent most of his time leafing through old favorites, comforting himself with the certainties of the classics, repetitively tracing his slender fingers over ancient runes in arcane treatises he'd practically memorized years ago during his training. It was a surefire method of calming himself down, helping him to collect his thoughts– or it would have been if he hadn't been continually interrupted by Iselmyr's whining, Edér's yawning, Kana's incessant attempts to "help" him with his research.

Aloth had just suffered yet another of these intrusions (Kana had jokingly shoved a primer on orlan physiology and anatomy under his nose, opened to a page with some... detailed illustrations) when the messenger from the palace had arrived, summoning Axa to court. He'd have been pleased for such a convenient excuse to continue the deferral of their visit to the sanitarium, but the scene at the Hall of Records had been far from a pleasant one.

"This is she?" Arledr Gathbin had glared down at the little woman, naked contempt on his sneering face. "This little varlet, she's the one who murdered my kin and now clings like a leech to my ancestral land? I'd thought she was just some servant, a wench from the scullery."

"This wench," Axa had snapped back, "claimed that land– a keep abandoned by your noble line for well over a hundred years, I'll remind you– by strength of arms, and with the assistance of the few good men and women standing alongside me." Sagani and Pallegina had blinked in surprise at her words, but raised no objection. "And in any case, I didn't see your name on the door."

Gathbin had reared back as though she'd spat at him. "Never speak to me so brazenly again, cur," he'd hissed, "or you won't have time enough left in your miserable life to regret it."

Chancellor Warrin had been quick to bring the meeting back to order, but the calm had not lasted long. Upon learning that Caed Nua would only be his upon the condition that he pay reparations to Axa for services rendered in recovering it, Gathbin had flown into an even greater rage, going so far as to raise his hand to the Chancellor. And although he had effectively just declared Axa homeless, she had still leapt between the two men to defend the Chancellor, her eyes blazing as she'd roared at Gathbin to stay his hand.

"You dare to issue orders to me, you hairy little wretch!?" He'd whirled on her, his face beet red, and the captain of his personal guard, a sharp-featured elf in gleaming black plate, had grinned eagerly as her hand flew to her pistol. Aloth had been surprised to suddenly feel the spine of his grimoire under his fingertips, his heart racing. And he hadn't been alone: all of Axa's allies had prepared to draw arms as well, Pallegina's blade already halfway out of its scabbard by the time Marshall Forwyn had stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his weapon, calmly but firmly suggesting that Gathbin contain himself.

After Gathbin had stormed off, after the dust had settled and Axa was officially declared thaynu and roadwarden of Caed Nua, she'd still had enough composure to ask the Chancellor to invite his lordship to settle their differences over dinner sometime– in her halls at Caed Nua, of course– before immediately turning to the record keeper who'd seen it all and asking him if she was now "established" enough to access the records from the Saint's War she'd inquired after previously. Edér's eyes had gone wide, his jaw rigid with apprehension as he'd accepted his prize at last, and as he'd flipped anxiously through the casualty listings, Aloth had mused on the little woman's fortitude, her quick wit, the loyalty she inspired in those who followed her.

And that loyalty was not misplaced. Even now as he struggled to gather the resolve to say what he needed to say, he couldn't stop thinking of the lost, haunted expression on Edér's face as he'd found his brother's name, looked up into Axa's eyes, asked her as though she'd known all along: "Why'd he fight for Readceras?" She hadn't hesitated for even a second when he'd beseeched her to go with him to the battlefield where Woden had died, laying her small, fuzzy hand on the blond man's shoulder and assuring him she'd do whatever it took to give him peace of mind.

Be ever forthright, honest, and true–

Maybe it was bearing witness to all that– her ironclad resolve in the face of a daunting foe, her powerful devotion to those who placed their trust in her– that made Aloth face Axa now, standing outside the Ducal Palace, and tell her he was ready to head for the sanitarium. "If you're still amenable, of course," he added quickly. If you'll help me stay strong enough to see it through, he thought.

If ye'll held me haund, kiss me wee arse–

She blinked in surprise, recovered, smiled warmly at him. "Of course," she replied. "We can go there now. As long as you're comfortable with the idea."

"Oh," he sighed, smiling pleasantly, "I'm not, no. But to be frank, I'll almost certainly never be more comfortable with the idea than I am right now, so honestly, it's now or never. I'm... simply choosing now."

"I can get behind that," she nodded, turning to the road before them. "Shall we, then?"

She lead, and he followed, desperately hoping he wasn't making a mistake.

—

#pillars of eternity #poe anthem infinitum #fic wip #kana: just admits to himself he has a crush on axa #aloth: does this instead #next up: super fun times at the fantasy psychiatrist's office!#thanks for reading ♡

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cogentranting · 4 years

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Because I Would Not Stop For Death Pt 2.

Summary: My version of the ending of Supernatural, with a specific emphasis on Dean as the main character.

Also on: AO3 Accompanying Meta: X Part 1

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Loss affects everyone differently. In the days and weeks and months following Dean’s death this was especially true.

To Jack it gave a hard edge. There was an anger and fierceness about him so like that of the Winchesters who had known so much loss themselves. It pushed Jack to reckless, relentless fervor. He tried tracking down the demons that had killed Dean, but to no avail. In the meantime, he prepared for the fight that they all knew must come, stretching and expanding the limits of his powers. And as he did so, he practiced his hunting skills as well, tracking down ghosts and demons and gaining for himself a reputation as a hunter of such prowess that he could only have been a Winchester. Which makes sense. After all, it was avenging the death of a parent which first drove Sam and Dean as well.

To Castiel, loss brought weariness. Dean had been his first real link to humanity and with Dean gone he couldn’t help feeling that humanity itself was just less. He kept on, same as before, but shadows dragged down his eyes and hope’s light was a weak flicker. Even Jack’s growing power and passion could not quite reawaken in him any faith in victory. But for Sam and Jack he persevered. He’d rather fade away, slowly dragged through Hell, than let them down. He kept a watchful eye over Jack, paralyzed by the thought of such another loss, and spent his days in dogged pursuit of some secret bit of lore which might provide them with a new weapon.

To Sam, loss gave instability. A part of him had died and with it had gone his balance. He teetered erratically on the verge of a thousand states of being. Each day might bring a new version of himself. Would he be the lost little boy looking for his brother? Or the cold, driven machine seeking revenge? Some days he was rock and leader, others he seemed to be awkwardly shaping himself to fill Dean’s shoes. No matter how hard he strove he could not find his footing. A fatalism sunk deep into Sam’s heart and quietly he despaired of ever feeling truly whole again. But there was a fear too. A fear that if he gave in to that despair then Dean’s death would be in vain and everything he had left would collapse around his head. He would not press this train of thought too far, so mostly he didn’t think beyond the here and now, the tasks he set himself when he had mustered the strength to do so. Introspection made him feel he might shatter. The future was a dark void, the past an open wound. So sometimes he lead the charge, sometimes he trailed behind Cas and Jack, but always he kept his eyes locked on that Sisyphean task before them.

And thus the three trekked forward, gingerly navigating the shadows and haunted spaces that Dean’s absence left in their lives.

If long ago, before he had the privilege of knowing death like an old song, you’d asked Dean what he thought dying and going to the afterlife felt like, he likely would have guessed that it was like losing consciousness and waking up again. Now, some 12 or 13 years after his first death, Dean knew differently. He was all too bleakly aware that death felt irrefutably and indescribably Other. So it was that from the moment Dean opened his eyes, he was under no illusion that he had somehow been saved. He knew with absolute certainty that he was dead.

He found himself sitting in a black office chair, a little too small for comfort, with an empty table in front of him. Beyond that were bookcases, stretching high above his head, and far beyond what he could see in either direction, each one labeled with a letter and bearing endless stacks of nearly identical thin black books. His feet squeaked against the starkly polished black floors as he scrambled to his feet, uncertain whether he should still expect to face enemies. Almost as quickly he relaxed. He’d been here before, two years ago. This was Death’s library. Nearly the same instant as his realization, Billie emerged from one of the many corridors of shelves. Dean thought he detected an even more severe look on her face than usual. However, four years hadn’t been quite enough time for Dean to begin to decipher her enigmatic expressions.

“Hello Dean.”

He gave a curt nod and shifted his feet, waiting for her to speak. She did not. “What am I doing here Billie?”

“You’d rather be in Heaven or Hell?”

“Do I get a choice? You open a new afterlife travel agency- choose your destination? Or have we come back around to that promise you made Sam. That you’re going to throw us into the Empty when we die.”

“Tempting as that may be sometimes, no. I thought I’d been pretty clear that we’re past that. ‘Larger picture’ and all that.”

“Right, right. New job, new outlook. I remember.” Dean was relaxing, gaining confidence. One might even have called him hopeful. Surely just being here was a good sign. And hadn’t Billie, after all, been an ally to them more often than not? “So uh,” he clapped his hands together. “If you’re not gonna turn me over to the angels or the demons, and you’re not gonna drop me in the Empty, can we just skip through this little pep talk or lecture or whatever you have planned and get me back down to Earth?”

“I never said I was sending you back.”

“So what am I doing here?” He barked impatiently. As confidence in his own situation had grown, the thought of Azazel in the Bunker had crept its way into his mind, along with thoughts of the revenge Alistair might want for the man who’d killed him.

“You’re here because you and I need to have a talk.”

“Great let’s get this heart to heart over with. Sooner the better. I need to get back to warn Sam about what’s coming.”

Billie came closer, impatience mixed with an uncharacteristic note of sympathy in her eyes. “You’re misunderstanding me, Dean. I’m not sending you back at all.”

Dean jerked his chin up and squared his shoulders. “I need to go back there. Sam, Cas, and Jack, they need me. They need to know who’s coming for them. And Chuck- Chuck needs to be stopped.”

“And you’re the one who’s going to stop him? Dean Winchester with a can-do attitude and handgun is going to stop God?”

“I’m going to try! And Sam and them, they need all the help they can get. I thought you were on our side in all of this! You’re the one who brought Jack back. You’re the one who backed us. You’re pulling out now!? You do one thing and after that you’re just ready to throw in the towel? To run and let Chuck have his way?”

Billie’s eyes narrowed. “You should watch what you say. You might come to regret it.”

Dean jabbed a finger in Billie’s direction. “You said that Sam and I were important. You said that we had work to do.”

“Argue all you like Dean. But I couldn’t send you back even if I wanted to.”

Dean scoffed. “You’re Death. You’ve done it before, and more. The Old Death even pulled Sam’s soul out of the Cage.”

“Circumstances have changed.

Despite the endless hours spent in anticipation, the end caught them unawares, though not unprepared. It had been a long time since they believed they’d find any weapon to help them fight Chuck, but recently they’d begun to suspect that Jack was as strong as he would get (at least within Sam’s lifetime). So for some time they had been waiting, in anxious tension for the day when Chuck would make his move.

As for Chuck, he loved his parallels. So exactly ten years after Michael and Lucifer took their fighting stance in that very spot, Cas, Sam, and Jack found themselves standing on the dry dead grass of Stull Cemetery.

Storm clouds had rolled in, casting a pall over the stark field, and a few cracks of lightning tore the sky because, of course, Chuck had a flair for the dramatic. And this was Chuck’s doing—all of it. The field in Kansas, the fate of the world, the battle lines drawn. Team Free Will was down a man and felt it as if missing a limb. They’d debated whether or not to bring in backup—Jodie, Donna, Bobby, Eileen, whatever others they could find—but in the end all the arguments of who to involve and what good it would do were pointless; Chuck decided for them that it should be they three standing alone. It could be said that it was a mercy that Chuck brought so few to stand on his own side. Certainly, he could have raised a host of angels, demons, and monsters to back him. Instead he’d brought with him only Alistair, Abaddon, and Azazel, neglecting entirely the angels he seemed to have grown bored of long ago, in favor of an all-star grudge match. Still, Sam hadn’t been fooled into thinking the odds were any more favorable to them. And within the first minute of the fight, his judgment was proved right, as very quickly their best laid plans unraveled.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl and Sam watched as if in slow motion. Abaddon and Alistair were toying with Cas, who was bloodied and bruised. They circled like jackals as he desperately gripped his blade. Further away, Chuck had Jack in a similar position. Jack’s eyes glowed and he flung out an arm, but whatever he had attempted was nullified by Chuck, though not without effort. Jack looked tired and scared and every inch of Sam wanted to run and rescue the boy, as impossible as that might be.

Azazel wrapped a hand around Sam’s throat and lifted him from the ground. Sam made a desperate stab with the angel blade, but the demon caught his hand and flicked the weapon away. Sam struggled to draw in a breath. It was rare that Sam felt small, but staring into those yellow eyes he felt like a kid. A kid who’d grown up hunting and thought he knew everything there was to know about monsters. A kid who only really realized how out of his depth he was the first time he stared into those same yellow eyes. And just like when he was scared as a child, in that moment, all Sam wanted was his brother.

It was as if Azazel had read his mind. He grinned. “Oh, we’ve come a long way, Sammy. You and me, we were the start. And now we’re gonna be the end. I killed Grandpa. I killed Mommy. I killed Daddy. I killed Dean.” He paused for a moment to watch the rage and pain in Sam’s eyes. “And now, I’m gonna kill you, and put an end to the Winchester’s once and for all.”

He flung Sam to the ground, where he lay gasping for air. He wanted to stand, to fight back, but his body wasn’t listening to him. Before he could recover, Azazel clenched his fist and Sam felt knives in his gut. He heard the cries of pain and fear from Cas and Jack as they fought their losing battle, and he felt the cold weight of helplessness. The yellow gaze bored into his head. Sam closed his eyes. Desperately, illogically, he thought, “if only Dean had been here, we might have made it.”

An engine roared a heraldic cry. A sound as familiar as a friend’s voice. Across the field the two sides froze. The gleaming black Impala surged over the hill, like it had 10 years before. It looked like new. Not a dent. Not a scratch. No trace of the explosion which had destroyed it. It rolled gracefully toward the stunned combatants. In shock, they waited.

The door opened. The field was hushed, but from the car rolled the exultant chords of a rock song. He stepped out slowly, calmly. A silhouette against the raucous music. He was dressed in a suit, every inch of it jet black, perfectly tailored. On his finger he wore a ring with a white stone, and he casually twisted it, as if from old habit. He stood and surveyed the field as they all watched him.

Sam propped himself up on one elbow and cried, breathless with joy, “Dean, you’re alive!”

Dean turned and caught his brother’s eye. He gave a wry smile. “Not exactly.” He held out his hand, and in it, there materialized a tall, rugged scythe.

“Circumstances have changed.”

“What is that supposed to mean? Why can’t you send me back?”

“Sit down, Dean there’s a lot to go over.” Sulkily, Dean lowered himself back into the same chair he’d woken in moments before. Billie hesitated just a moment. “You’re right Dean. You are important. But not in the way you thought. Your role is no longer as a hunter.”

“As what then?”

“As Death.”

The anger that had been churning in Dean’s mind was snuffed out by the wave of shock and confusion. His mouth opened but he couldn’t make any words come out. Billie watched him gape, the gears of his mind practically visible. When it seemed that his eyes were focusing on her again, she continued.

“There are rules to everything Dean. Consequences and reactions that run deeper than any power you’ve seen. And one of those rules is this: if you kill Death, you become the next Death when you die.”

Dean floundered and found one idea to grasp on to. “But you’re Death. You said, when Death dies, the next reaper to die gets the job.”

Billie shrugged. “That was all you needed to know at the time. Think of me as an interim position. Five years is a long time to wait for a new cosmic power, and it could have been much longer.”

“This is crazy. I’m not Death! I can’t be. I’m not—I’m not-“

“The signs have been there for a long time. Much longer than five years.”

“So what you’re saying it was my- my destiny?” Dean scoffed, repelled by the thought.

“You might call it that. You’ve always had, shall we say, an interesting relationship with death.”

Dean started to protest but Billie cut him off with a wave of her hand. “From the time you were a child, you were surrounded by death. Your mother. The cases your father worked, the monsters you hunted. All the people you’ve lost since then.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. That’s the gig. The life. Ask any Hunter.”

“That’s because it’s only one piece in the puzzle, Dean. You’ve known death like no one else has. You know you should’ve died when you were 26? You were electrocuted, your heart damaged-“

“I remember. But I was healed. So?”

“You were healed, by a reaper. How many people do you think can say the same? That they were given life by an agent of death.”

“That preacher used the reaper to heal a lot of people.”

“Like I said, pieces of the puzzle. How many of those same people were supposed to die again later that year, killed by a powerful demon, but came back?” She went on before Dean could respond. “And then how many of them, would come back and work to save Reapers a few years later?”

Frustration bubbled in Dean’s chest as a hundred half-spun arguments about why none of that meant anything froze on the tip of his tongue.

But Billie pressed on without regard for him. “But that’s all small compared to the fact that you have died more times than anyone else. Everyone in your orbit picks that up a little bit. Sam, Cas, Jack, your mom… But no one matches your record. Gabriel saw to that with his little Mystery Spot game.”

“Yeah but those weren’t real-“

“Between Gabriel and the other angels and all their meddling, you’ve died a lot of times that you can’t remember, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t happen. And it means that you have the very rare distinction of having been sent to Heaven, Hell and Purgatory.”

Billie sat down on the edge of the table in front of Dean. Making him understand the full extent of his role in all this was so very, very important. “But all those are just precursors, Dean. Little warning signs. The old Death knew what they meant. That’s why he found it all so amusing. That’s why he let you summon him so many times. That’s why he trusted you with his ring when you first fought Lucifer.”

“If he knew, why wouldn’t he do something to stop it? Why would he hand me his scythe?”

“That larger picture I’ve talked about. It was always your destiny.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I am so tired of people telling me all these things that I’m supposed to do.”

“There have been a lot of prophecies about you, Dean. Most have come true. But there’s a difference between prophecies that someone tries to make happen by taking away your choices, and a fate that you are destined for, that can be predicted, just because of the very nature of who you are. No one forced you to do these things. The choices you made brought you here.”

“Well what if I don’t want it? What if I choose not to be Death?”

“You already are. The moment you died, you became Death. And there’s no going back, no being human again. If you want, you can choose not to do the job. But you’ve seen what happens when Death doesn’t do what he’s supposed to. That’s why the old Death gave you his ring for the day all those years ago. It was your apprenticeship. To make sure that when the time came, you’d do the job right.”

Billie’s voice had become uncharacteristically gentle, but now she straightened up, severe once more. “But there’s more to it than that. More you have to understand.”

Dean sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Well let’s get through it.”

“You set everything in motion 5 years ago when you killed Death. That’s when everything changed and all this went from being destiny to a reality. And you don’t understand the extent of the change that happened when it did. Before you were dealing with ancient and powerful things—Lilith, the archangels, the Mark of Cain—but that action brought the cosmic into play.”

“I killed Death, and that’s when Chuck and Amara showed up.”

“Exactly. And that’s why you and Amara shared a connection.”

“Amara’s connection to me was because I had had the Mark.”

“Lucifer also once had the Mark, and it didn’t stop Amara from torturing him, now did it? No, she didn’t realize it, but she was drawn to you because Darkness and Death are connected. But right now it’s Chuck’s role in this that matters. Amara didn’t realize the significance of what you’d done. But Chuck did. And since then you’ve had a target on your back. I only learned that recently, or I would have warned you.”

“A target? If Chuck wanted me dead he could kill me whenever he wanted.”

“That’s just it. He didn’t want you dead. Because he wanted to prevent you from becoming Death, and there are only a few ways to make that happen. When you trapped Michael, I brought you a book saying that the only way to stop Michael from destroying this world was to go into the Malak box.”

Dean nodded. “But I didn’t and the world is still standing. The book was wrong.”

“Because Chuck put it there, to manipulate you.”

“Because if I had gotten into the box, I would have spent an eternity trapped and possessed by Michael.”

“You would never die, and never become Death. And that wasn’t his only attempt to stop you. The Equalizer gun. A weapon powerful enough to kill a being like Chuck, or Amara, or even Jack, is so strong that if used on a human, it would obliterate their soul. If you had used the gun on Jack, you wouldn’t just have died. You would have been so completely destroyed that you could not become Death. The soul bomb you planned to use against Amara would have done the same thing.”

“But Chuck’s the one who took that out, if he wanted me destroyed why would he do that?”

Billie shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe that one wasn’t planned, and he hadn’t figured out what you were yet. Maybe he was feeling confident and was afraid of turning Amara against him again.”

Dean scowled. “But when I died, just now, it was the soul bomb. If that’s true I shouldn’t be here.”

Billie looked smug. “The soul bomb didn’t kill you. Lucky for us, Alistair was a little overzealous with that knife of yours. It probably wouldn’t have killed you first, except that I exploited a loophole and reaped you, just a little bit early. Tricky timing, pulling that off. You’re welcome.”

“Why does all this matter so much to him? What difference does it make?”

“Because, that first time you talked to him, Death told you something else. Something very important.”

The realization rolled over Dean like a thunderstorm. “He told me one day he’d reap God.”

“Which wasn’t exactly true. Death will do it, but not him. You Dean. You will reap God.”

The music shut off, leaving only the creak of the car door swinging shut. The demons fell back a few steps, unconsciously withdrawing from the aura of death which hung on Dean like the scent of a familiar place—from Dean it wasn’t ominous or evil, just potent, and quiet, and still. Chuck fidgeted, seeming as unsure of himself as his persona when they’d first met, when he’d been just a writer. And Dean… Dean fixed a cufflink, and then met the stares with a self-assured smile and lifted eyebrows.

The world bent around him like the tense crackle of dry air before an impending storm. Even as they recognized him, his friends realized that Dean was changed.

When he was younger Dean had worn authority the way he’d worn his father’s old leather jacket. As he’d grown into it, that same authority had been announced and demanded with every set jaw, every dark eye, every sharp word, as over and over again the world tried to deny him his due. But there could be no denying now. No question of Dean proving and reproving himself endlessly. Now authority sat naturally in the curve of his smile and the fire of his eyes. Now it draped his shoulders like a cloak and adorned his head like a crown. Now he held his head high like a king. Sam almost could have mistaken him for Michael, but the light in his smile, paired with the anger in his eyes—that was unmistakably Dean. For the first time, Sam truly understood the reason why his brother was the true vessel to the Prince of the Host.

Still, Sam knew Dean like his own breath and felt his presence like the beat of his own heart. So he felt deep in his soul the rightness of having his brother back and by his side. And though the man before him was indisputably different than anything he’d ever known his brother to be, in an odd way it was as if Dean was more himself than ever before.

“No. No no no no.” Chuck shook his head, a smile beginning to form. “This can’t be real. This is some sort of trick. You can’t be here. Dean can’t be here. I made sure of it. He’s gone.”

Dean shrugged and gave his scythe a twirl. “Well, I don’t want to point any fingers but…” he pulled a face and jerked his head in the direction of the demon trio. “You know what they say about good help.”

Rage and a trace of fear crossed Abaddon’s face. “That bomb-“

“Didn’t kill me. I died of a knife wound.”

The demons shifted uneasily, fully aware of the repercussions of that statement. Chuck’s eyes turned to steel, but he made no move. He only watched and waited for his enemy to make a move.

Sam scrambled to his feet as Dean strolled closer. Dean came alongside him. His eyes never left Chuck, but his voice dropped low and soft, no longer a king, but a boy checking on his kid brother. “You alright, Sammy?”

Sam nodded, a little breathless, a little overwhelmed by the sight of the brother he thought was gone. Dean nodded, at the same time checking in with both Cas and Jack via quick glances in each of their directions. “You’re gonna need something that can actually kill a Prince of Hell. Give me your blade.”

Sam held up the blade and Dean laid a hand on the silver metal. Instantly the blade turned stark black. “One kill,” Dean warned under his breath, already starting to move away from Sam. He circled around the edge of the field to where Cas was. Abaddon and Alistair had backed a few paces away, unwilling to move against the unexpected new enemy until a signal was given. Dean silently tapped Castiel’s weapon, turning it black as well. Unlike Sam, Cas could feel the grim import of the newly empowered weapon and suppressed a shudder. A weapon blessed by Death himself.

Dean had stopped his circling a few steps away from Cas, between his friend and the demons, directly across from Chuck. Tension crackled in the air, wrapping fingers around throats, and holding limbs locked in place. Like feral dogs they waited, hackles raised, teeth bared, legs stiff, but frozen in the moment before attack, each waiting for their respective alpha to make a move.

Chuck laughed bitterly. As Dean had set the stage, he’d been furiously trying to work out where his precautionary measures had gone astray. His hands went to his pockets and he bobbed his head. “This is Billie, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Just like the kid being back was Billie.”

“Turns out, Billie knows how to play the game pretty well.”

Chuck was growing huffy and agitated. “Let me guess, she told you some story about how this is your destiny. Become Death, reap me, yada yada yada.”

“That’s about the shape of it.”

“But you know that’s not how it works, Dean. I’m the author. Fate, destiny… they’re what I say they are. Every step you’ve taken, your entire life, has been because it’s the story I want for you. You really think Billie knows more than I do?”

“I think a soul bomb is a bit of an extreme way to try to kill one high school dropout armed with just a couple guns and a magic knife. I think that the old Death did a lot of things which didn’t make sense, but are starting to look like he knew a lot more than he let on. I think you looked real surprised, and real unhappy to see me get out of that car. I mean, it looks a whole lot like, you didn’t want me to be Death, but here I am. I’m Death. So yeah, I think maybe, you don’t get all the say in how this plays out.”

“You’ve always been good at talking big, Dean. And you’ve got the look down—the suit, the ring, the scythe. But we both know that deep down, nothing’s changed. You’re still just that same kid, too scared of losing his family to realize that he’s fighting a battle he can never win.”

Dean looked thoughtful, and for a moment his eyes strayed toward Sam. “Yeah. I am the same. Now let’s end this thing.”

They struck as branches of forked lightning. An explosion of violence and long-brewing hatred. Jack threw himself at Chuck before he could make any sort of move toward Dean, and Chuck’s attention and power were forced back onto his grandson. Azazel and Sam were at each other’s throats once more, each feeling a compulsive urge towards the resolution of that decades-long conflict between them. Abaddon’s move toward Cas was shadowed a moment later by Alistair, who no doubt hoped to see the enchanted blade’s single kill spent on the Knight before he made his play. But he had gone no more than a step when Dean appeared between him and the duel.

Dean closed the space between them and took pleasure in the demon’s reluctant retreat. Even something as old and as powerful as Alistair feared Death. Dean leaned in close, decades of anger broiling storm clouds in his eyes. Alistair sneered in the face of his former apprentice, but it was the bared teeth of a trapped animal. Dean’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “You were right. I do owe you. Let me pay you back.”

It was quick. Not the long, artfully orchestrated revenge he’d once dreamed of, but a contemptuous swatting of a fly. His ringed hand grabbed Alistair’s bare wrist, there was short sputter of light, and the demon was dead.

Cas’s attacks were revitalized. He matched Abaddon’s fury blow for blow. In every movement his long history as a soldier and a warrior were evident. More terrifying by far was the zealous conviction which had led him, for good or evil, so often before, all of it now bearing down on Abaddon. A knight of Hell, a soldier of Heaven, and a fearsome battle. But at last Cas’s blade found its mark and Abaddon died, frozen in the twisted fury which had defined her.

Sam’s struggle with Azazel was shorter. Sam was thrown but regained his feet in an instant, charging Azazel. No fatigue touched him. The hunt for that demon had defined his childhood and cast a pall over his adulthood. And now at the end Sam had no space left in him for any more words or mercy in that story. He simply ended it. When the knife drove home, Sam watched the yellow fade from the eyes with mute satisfaction.

But Dean saw little of either fight. The full weight of his attention lay on the fight in front of him.

Winds whipped up, creating a swirling vortex of clouds far above the heads of Chuck and Jack. Cas and Sam staggered in the maelstrom but it did little to touch Dean. He passed through it as through a mist. Bolts of lightning shot down from the sky, striking Jack, but with a ragged war cry and a flick of his hand, they vanished. His eyes glowed a brilliant gold and Chuck staggered as Jack thrust his hand forward. In that same moment, Dean pointed and at his insistence a chain appeared, invisible save for a colorless distortion where the light struck it, binding Chuck’s arm to the ground. Jack launched another attack and with a gesture Dean manifested another chain, binding Chuck’s other arm.

Slowly the chains pulled tighter, forcing Chuck to his knees. Still the torrent raged around them and both Dean and Jack bore the signs of strain. Sweat streaked Jack’s brow, and Dean’s hand trembled slightly as he held it, both of them breathed heavily. There was a blink and everything went quiet for the three of them. The storm formed around them like a wall, grey and swirling, pulsing with bursts of lightning, impossible to see through, yet silent, as if they had been sealed away from the rest of the world. When he spoke, Chuck’s voice was deceptively calm.

“You can’t do this, Dean. You know you can’t.”

“People have been telling me what I can’t do my whole life, and I always seem to be proving them wrong.”

“Even if you win, even if you do kill me, what then?”

“Sam and Cas go back to their lives, Jack takes over running things up above, and we finally start to fix this world you broke.”

“You really think that’s how this is gonna go?”

Before Dean or Jack could reply the wall of storm behind Chuck cleared, like a window or a projection, revealing a view of Sam and Cas, both crying out in agony though the sound did not reach inside the vortex. Blood ran from their mouths and they dropped to the ground, the grass beneath them staining red. Dean pried his eyes away from the grisly scene, unsure whether it was real or not.

“I end you and that ends.”

“It won’t be any better Dean. The world will still be broken. There will still be monsters, and evil and people making all the worst choices. Except, without me wanting a good story, who’s to say that the good guy wins sometimes? And what keeps you from your destiny? Sooner or later, your fate will catch up with you.”

All around Dean the storm lit up with images from his past. Sam’s body dropping into his arms in the ghost town at Cold Oak. Sam shot in the chest by Walt. Sam dragged away by a nest of vamps in the other universe. Sam half dead from enduring the Trials. Sam falling into the Cage. Sam shot. Sam stabbed. Sam clawed, and bitten, and bludgeoned. And flashing by among all of these were dozens of what he could only assume were alternate visions of the future-- each one of Sam dying. Some bloody, some desperate, some drenched in fear. In each one, Dean standing over the twisted, broken body of his brother, his own eyes empty of humanity. Echoing over it all were a dozen different voices from Dean’s past, each repeating some variant of the same prophecy: you’ll have to kill Sam.

Chuck spoke again, softly. “You’ll kill Sam. Jack will kill Cas. And your humanity will die with them and then the two of you will be alone. For eternity. But it doesn’t have to be that way. I can prevent that. I can change your fates. Let you two live the life you want with your family. I’m the only one who can change that.”

A note in his plea startled Dean from his stupor. He looked down at Chuck and thought how small he looked. Dean readjusted his hold on Chuck’s chains and took a half step closer, leaning in almost imperceptibly. He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.

“You know, Chuck… I’ve been a hunter long enough to recognize a demon deal when I hear it.”

The feigned sympathy and mercy vanished from Chuck’s eyes, replaced by hate and fear.

Dean straightened up. His hold on Chuck’s chains was stronger now. His voice was bolder. “Maybe I do have a destiny. But if it it’s there, it is what it is because of who I am, and the choices I make. And I believe in who I am.”

With a sweeping motion of the arm, Dean summoned his scythe. For one moment more he hesitated. “Fate’s a funny thing. Maybe it will come true. I’ll be with Sam until the end. Maybe my fate is that one day I’ll reap him. Seems likely. After all, I am Death. Sooner or later, everyone dies at my hands. Even you.”

At Dean’s nod, Jack let loose a primal scream. A wave of golden energy burst from the boy’s outstretched arms. The wave collided with Chuck in the precise instant that Dean’s scythe pierced his chest. Light exploded throughout the ragged little Kansas cemetery, bringing down the wall of storm, spinning a blinding tapestry explosion of stark white and brilliant gold, with a black core. And then there was quiet.

They filled the bunker with people. Eileen and Jody and Donna and the girls and Bobby and Charlie and Garth and a dozen others, young and old. And they celebrated. Food, drinks, music, laughter, and a sense of victory more complete than anything they had known before.

Amid the old friends, Jack mingled as easily as he ever had. There was something sweet and simple and kind about the boy’s companionship that no amount of power could change. He was friend and son and younger brother to all of them despite his recent deification. All their eyes shone with pride as he recounted his ultimate battle. All of them knew, but none of them truly grasped what it meant for Jack. How could they comprehend trading jokes with the new ruler of the universe?

It was not the same case for Dean. They had all heard of his death months earlier, had all mourned, so they were overjoyed at his return. But like Sam, they all instantly sensed that he was changed. Far more changed than Jack was. Their ease grew with each passing moment, realizing that he was still Dean. His jokes were the same, his laugh as ready as ever, his smile just as warm. So before long, their time with him felt almost as natural as it had before. Almost.

There was still a barrier that they couldn’t surmount. A distance. Dean was no longer alive as he had been, and he belonged to another world now. He had become more, and in that there was a loss of that rough equality between them. The power, the understanding, the authority—they call suited Dean. But he had grown beyond an easy fit with his old life. So as the party wore on, Dean slipped into the kitchen on his own.

Sam found him there sometime later, a beer in his hand and an empty pie plate beside him. Dean looked up to greet him and smiled quietly. The muffled sounds of the party provided a soft backdrop. Sam sat down across from Dean. For a while neither spoke.

It was Sam who broke the quiet first. “It’s never gonna be the same is it?”

Dean shook his head. “No. But it’s good. Jack is the new God. He made Cas an archangel. Heaven’s in good hands. Rowena’s got Hell under her thumb. Things are maybe better than they’ve ever been for us. “

“But you’re not really back are you? You’re Death now. And you have to do that job. I feel like I’m losing you all over you again.”

“Come on, man. I’m not gone. Sure I won’t be here as much. You won’t see me every day. But you ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy. I’ll be around. As often as I can.”

“How often will that be?”

“Well, I’m not alone in it. I’ve got Billie helping me. With a partner, I figure it doesn’t have to be a 24/7 gig.”

“You still won’t be here. Not like before.”

“No.”

“It’s just that Jack and Cas are going to be in Heaven. You’ll be off… wherever Death goes.”

“I have a library.”

“Right. And I’m just wondering… what do I do all alone in this big empty bunker?”

“Well first of all, it’s not empty. You’ve got Eileen. And it only stays empty if you want it to. Come on, Sam, you know what you’re supposed to do.”

Sam scowled. “Ar-are you saying I should have kids?”

“No! I mean if you want to, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” He leaned in, confidentially, comfortably. “The Men of Letters, both British and American, the hunters from Apocalypse World, you’ve been dancing around this for years.”

“You think I should try it again.”

“An organization of hunters. Based out of here. Led by you.”

“I don’t know. It didn’t exactly turn out well before.”

“Yeah because ancient demons and rogue archangels were out to get us. But now. Now you have the world’s largest collection of lore. You have more experience than anyone. And your family is, hands down the most powerful family in the universe. It’s the perfect time, and you’re the perfect person to do it.”

The absolute faith conveyed in Dean’s voice was hard to stand against. Sam nodded slowly, his thoughts spinning with new possibilities. It was true; the thought had been with him for years. With the small push from Dean he could see it all falling into line. A nationwide network of hunters. Unified, organized, supported. Protecting each other, saving people. A brotherhood. “All the best of both hunters and the Men of Letters.”

“And with all of those salty hunters in there to help you? Trust me, half of the hunters in this country would sign on with you today if you asked. And hey, if anyone gives you any trouble, you just tell them that you raised God, and your big brother is Death.”

Sam laughed. “Sure. I’ll do that.”

“Ah. Speaking of that.” Dean reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Opening his hand he revealed three silver rings. The engraving on each one matched the markings on Dean’s ring, but they were simple bands, each without a stone. Dean plucked one out and set it on the table between him and Sam. “That one’s yours.”

“What is this?”

Dean returned the other two rings to his pocket and sat studying his own ring. “Think of this like a signet ring. Or whatever they were called. You’d have a king and if he gave his ring to someone it meant that that person was under his protection or it showed that the king trusted him with authority or both.”

Under Death’s protection. Sam lifted the ring off the table tentatively. “What does it do?”

“As long as you’re wearing it, you’re very hard to kill. Not immortal. It won’t hold up to something like the Colt or an archangel. But short of that…” Dean shrugged. “Ground rules: only you can take it off once you put it on. You’ll still age. You’ll still die one day. And it was made for you, so you’re the only one it works for. Giving it away won’t do anyone any good. So don’t even think about handing it off to the first person who makes puppy dog eyes at you.”

“How did you-“ Sam stammered. The ring felt cold and heavy in his hand.

“Billie helped me make them. But it uh- involves a lot of pulled strings and loopholes and making exceptions. So in light of the bigger picture of all things, it’s really something I can only pull off for these three rings.”

Sam glanced at the pocket the other two rings had gone into. “And those-“

“Require another trip to deliver them.”

Sam didn’t press. His eyes were locked back onto the ring in his hand. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Sammy, listen to me. The only way I can do this, the only way I can go off and do what I have to do, is if I know that I can still have your back. If I know that you’re safe. The rest of the universe comes second to making sure that my little brother is taken care of.”

Of course he meant it. Dean’s life had been a one long series of acts proving how much he would throw away to keep his brother safe. Sam slid the ring onto his finger, and Dean gave a relieved smile. He leaned back again, his task accomplished. “And I mean it Sam, you need me, you call. I’ll be there.”

They sat there for several hours more. Sometimes in silence. Sometimes trading stories. Sometimes dreaming of the future—Dean’s new role, Sam’s hunters, all the changes Jack and Cas would make to Heaven. The boundary Dean had felt between him and the friends in the other room was not there with Sam. Sam was no stranger to Death. They were just brothers.

So they sat with each other until some sixth sense told them the sun was beginning to rise, and Dean stood up to leave.

Sam trailed his brother outside. Baby sat waiting on the side of the road. Sam’s eyes traveled over the car fondly, before he scoffed slightly and smiled at Dean. “You know, Death’s supposed to have a pale horse.”

Dean grinned as he swung the door open and leaned on the roof. “Nobody’s touching my car.”

They lingered.

Sam shook himself. “Well. We’ve got work to do.”

Dean nodded. “See you soon, Sammy.”

He got into the car and started the engine, reveling in its familiar growl. The rocks crunched beneath the wheels as the car turned onto the open highway.

In a moment, Sam knew he would go back down into the bunker, back to Eileen and his friends, and he would begin the next chapter of his life. But for a while longer he stood and watched the Impala drive away, listening to the fading purr of the engine. And Dean watched Sam in the rearview mirror for as long as he could, even as he cranked the volume up and sang along as loud as he could to the music spilling out of the car and onto the never-ending road.

#supernatural #spn #spn fic #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #my writing

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bonebreakjack · 5 years

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The Princely Beast and the Dark Dragon

Ai hates Takeru,, but also he really really can't hate Takeru...

Warnings for non consensual kissing, Ai being an evil jealous little shit, and references to the episode Dreaming Roboppy

First he took his allies. Then he took his friends. Finally he took his cards, the only ones he gave him. Everything single part of him. Everything that extends from him, it all belongs to Ai. Because in the end they were one in the same. And if they were truly the same being, then everything they had belonged to one another.

Ai breathed a shaky sigh as he held Yusaku in his arms. His partners avatar severely injured from their final battle. He traced his fingers over the gouges, the missing leg, the slices in his skin exposing pink data underneath. In a way, it was pretty to look at. But reality was sobering and he wasn’t sure what this much damage would do to Yusaku’s mind. Soulburner and Yusaku breathing hard, both of them glaring hard at the A.I. Duo who looked on with victory in their faces. Ai reached out and grabbed Yusaku who fully collapsed due to his injuries, and taking him into his arms. The other Origin tried to plead for Ai to stop, it was sad really, it reminded him of Flame. Takeru kept trying to appeal to their good nature, it was almost princely like…

Soul burner reached out trying to get up but Roboppi pushed him down none to gently with their foot. Helping him along to his own unconsciousness by kicking him in the head and forcibly logging him out.

“Hey Big Bro…. Is he going to be okay?”Ai looked over to see Roboppi coming into the room, concern written all over their cherubic face. They must have came back from guard duty. They had a special room in the remains of Vrains holding the consciousness of their former friends. “I hope he will be. I’m just assessing the damage right now,” Ai didn’t reveal much more than that, he noticed that Roboppi has been more aggressive lately. Even their eyes have changed with a strange eerie ring of red surrounding the iris. He really needs to check their coding soon, he can’t have them lashing out on him or Yusaku, especially not with him this injured. “Ca-Can I hold him?”Ai turned in surprise as the meek request, Roboppi’s hands held out closing and opening them hesitantly. “No-” Roboppi’s eyes glowed dangerously that aggressiveness coming to the surface in near nanoseconds ready to rip Yusaku right out of his arms. Like hell he would let that happen! Little brother or not, Roboppi will learn some damn patience and respect here. They can’t throw a tantrum every time Ai tells them no. “Not right now.” Ai’s voice broke for no argument turning the former maid bot meek again from fear and shame. Good. For the immediate obedience he can offer something though. “You can however, hold his hand and help me check him over. It will be faster with the both of us.” The little bot nearly jumped with joy, the red near disapatting as they shuffled over not wanting to wake Yusaku. Their features turned incredibly soft and Ai reasoned that maybe he should have Roboppi help care for Yusaku after all. It seems they still have complete affection for him, enough to calm whatever beast now lies with in that seems to turn them into a monster when in battle. Their mood swings are incredibly concerning. “He’s so hurt, how are we going to fix it?”

Isn't that the question of the year? This damage is pretty bad, even with Ai’s help its going to be a while to fix and they have to take in consideration Yusaku’s human body. If they don’t care for it he will wither away in the real world. Sighing, Ai thought what a troublesome partner he has. “We’re going to have to split up duties, Yusaku is a stubborn bastard, so he will live. I’ll watch over him in this world and you go to the real one, take care of him there until I fix him.”Ai threaded his fingers through Yusaku’s virtual hair humming content now that he thought of what he was going to do. Yusaku was in a state of mind that really any suggestions can slip through that thick head. “And what the hell do you mean by fixing him, Ai?” A rough voice spoke up startling both of them. Ai’s head snapped up and he was met with the furious face of Soulburner, who looked for disgusted and furious as he looked him in the eye. He looked worn still, but much better than last time and well Yusaku currently. Great, Prince Charming has returned. “Exactly as it sounds, Mr. Prince~ ” The confusion that immediately took over nearly had Ai bust out laughing almost as if it was bitter and acidic, like stomach acid. Ai almost hated this man, the one who easily broke through Yusak’s defenses and walls as if they weren’t there at all. A beast that turned into a prince sweeping his partner off his feet. Ai tried but Yusaku was such an ice king, and while he did acknowledge Ai, it was only when he died and finally left. It made Ai want to rip out his throat . But in the end he truly couldn’t hate this man, and that was the worst part of it all. He was so earnest, so honest, about his well… everything! No wonder Yusaku fell for him.

Flame had loved and cherished him too, enough that he was willing to die for humanity simply because of Takeru. And Takeru loved him back with everything he had, he loved Yusaku too, if not more so. Ai kind of hated him for not being hateable, seriously! He’s got nothing but petty jealousy to work with here. It’s one of the reasons he wasn’t captured with the rest. He now realized that was a mistake though. Soulburner didn’t take kindly of everyone being well taken away. Which, fair. But really he could have least knock where was his manners?! Ah, wait, he’s talking he should really focus on what he’s saying now. “-Can’t believe you did this to everyone! To Yusaku! Ai, I know your grieving, we can fix this, grieve together. Don’t do this to everyone! I-I may not be the smartest guy around when it comes to people's feelings, but you can rely on me too….” There was pain in his voice, a helplessness, “I can’t say the pain we share is the same, but I can help… if you let me,” No, seriously, what shonen manga did this guy pop out from? He is literally too good to be true. Ai really hates the fact he can’t hate him. “ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?!”

“I am.” Soulburner looked a bit embarrassed by that but still had the fierce look on his face that says, ‘I’ll kick your ass for you own good’ all over it. Maybe if Ai checked the archive of manga he could find a character that looked like Soulburner and thus finally find the origin of- Wait, he’s getting distracted. Ai cuddled into Yusaku one last time before handing him to Roboppi. “Take him to the room we have for him and then check on his body. I’ll handle this,”

Giving a cutesy salute Roboppi happily took their master and bounded off. Ignoring Soulburner’s indigent squawks as he was ignored. Striding up to the smaller man, he raised an amused brow once Soulburner realized he wasn’t stopping at all. This wasn’t how he usually did things but to be fair, it wasn’t a usual situation. With everyone else, they hadn’t been competition for Yusaku’s affection, hadn’t been the focus of jealousy since he had no fear of them taking his partner away. It also didn’t help that he could see another use for Soulburner without using him as a hostage. Tilting his head cutely with a bright smile, he almost wanted to laugh again at the smaller’s wary look. Ai knew how humans acted, how they can react, out of all the Ignis he was the best at that. Lightning may have known how to scare them, to rip them apart, but Ai knew what made them tick ...and let them be their own failing. Bringing up his hands, Soulburner flinched as his face was cradled and then pulled slightly forward. Just enough for Ai to lean down and they were touching noses. “I meant fix him, of course. You saw the state of him correct? Yusaku is a mess-” “A mess you made last time I checked,” Came the quick snap. Oh, cute he was growling, Ai wonders if he will bite if he calls him Puppy? For another time. “Yes, I did, for his own good. You know how he gets after all, willing to destroy himself for his mission. That’s why I had to stop him~ Otherwise he’d get killed, and I rather have him alive.”Ai hummed, as his fingers glowed a bit working their magic. Heh, magic fingers. “I’m not an idiot. You had a different thing in mind when you said you wanted to fix him”Soulburner grabbed his hands to chuck them off, only to realize they won’t budge at all. For all his strength, Ai was far stronger. In this world he makes the rules, they are just visiting in it. “True, I really just wanted Yusaku to stop fighting me, maybe even erase his memories of everyone that way he won’t be depressed when I end humanity.”Ai hummed as he tightened his grip almost bringing down his hands enough to make it look like he was choking the fiery duelist. Forcing his head back, Ai look into his eyes and relished the bit of fear and defiance in it. “I’ll make an exception for you, and some of the others, Yusaku does need friends after all. Heaven knows I worked hard while was with him trying to stop him from being such a basement hermit” “Wait, what?!” “Oh, yeah, he practically was chained to his basement, it’s a good thing he had Roboppi, otherwise with how long he stayed in that chair he’d have cobwebs all over him-” Ai was cut off by a smack of frustration to his shoulder. “No! I meant-What do you mean but ‘make an exception?!’ ”

Ah! Now Ai understood, and he let a devilish smile crossed his face. “You see, the thing is, I’m incredibly jealous of you , Takeru. You have the number one thing I really want, my partners unconditional love. All for you, you greedy bastard. For the longest while I wanted you gone!” Ai sighed dramatically and felt Soulburner flush as he realized how close their faces were. “You’ve gotten to be all his firsts too, his first date, his first kiss, his first time-” “Stop, please , just stop!” Cute, even in this form Soulburner was shy about intimate acts in public, or maybe it was just Ai? Eh, whatever. “Though not his first love, Ryoken has long had that seat.”

Both their faces clinched in displeasure at the other rival for Yusaku’s affections. If Ai had been smarter, he could be sharing Yusaku right now if he had teamed up with Takeru from the get go. A common enemy/rival always brought people together.

”However, I got to know you and in the end I couldn’t even hate you, your truly are an un-hateable guy. It’s very annoying by the way, the only way I could truly destroy you is through petty jealousy”Clicking his tongue he shook his head, as if blaming Soulburner for being a good person. “That would have let a sour taste in my mouth, You make him so happy. How could I kill someone like that? So, I decided, You get to stay with Yusaku... But it will be on my terms ” “Wait! Ai no- ” Soulburner let out a squeak as Ai crashed his lips down, using the momentary shock to get into Soulburners head to knock him out. In the end, he really was too easy to get to. A scream was muffled by Ai’s lips until Soulburner went limp, unconscious in Ai’s arms. “Don’t worry you and Yusaku are going to love your new life, once I rebuild Vrains, everything before hand will be just a terrible dream. You won’t even need your physical forms after I’m done.”

He bridal carried the man away already thinking of the modifications he needed to do to turn the Knightly prince into an obedient one. “Guess this is two bodies we’re going to need to temporarily look after. Good night~ ” “Sweet Prince”

#firestormshipping #takeru homura #yusaku fujiki #ai vrains #ai (vrains)#roboppy (vrains)#roboppy vrains #roboppy #Roboppi #bonebreakjackwrite

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hereliesbitches--me · 6 years

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~Atrolian~

What the hell is that?

Well, it's the root of why Rosie has animal features.

She's not just a product of being a furry at some point in my life [not entirely] but there is in fact an explanation within her lore.

Atrolians are an Alien race to humans. They were the test run subjects before humanity, and by test run I mean they are humanoid in all aspects, except they were given animal attributes to them. They are.larger, faster, with more keen sense and durability than any human thanks to the added animal features. They developed as a race with the aid of other older races which cultivated and inspired them to develop into their own civilization of a rather peaceful, technologically advanced society.

Upon learning of Earth’s new formation of growing life [Taking into consideration that the presence of sentient life was a gradual process and did not happen simultaneous across the universe. Some races and sections are much older and more developed than others. ] The race figured they would pay it forward and travel across the galaxy to meet the developing race and aid them- much like many other alien races did. For them, and to Earth.

Earth proves to be a melting pot planet. It was significant in creation, it being the place of battle where the heavens were divided because of opposing views on the significance of human life.

Before then, Many races felt the need to aid along the developing life with secrets and skills that would push them along as a civilization. It was only natural at the start that the naive humanity would so eagerly accept these beings and revere them as Gods ( The definition of gods and delties will be worked on innanlther post- there is a difference by what makes them so, but humanity didn't know the difference)

The Atrolians never cared for titles, and simply enjoyed coming to the aid of the small humans. They, along with the other otherwordly beings, would be the greatest influence inspiring and guiding the development of human culture across the regions of the planet. Over time, much like many other races, Atrolains too would take mates among humanity

And eventually, that offspring would be the first halflings in a long line to start bearing the animalistic Qualities.

It was a typically dominant trait that overpowered human genetics, to have a child with an Atrolain could almost always guarantee the animal features. Even Halflings continued to carry the strong trait for centuries to come, up until the divide.

~The Divide~

Atrolian are a naturally peaceful race. They didn’t believe in having currency, and rather bargain and trade goods, believing in taking what was needed and never just hoarding because you could. They had allies among the stars but never affiliated with tyrannical or war-prone species that fight for selfish reasons to conquer one another. As you imagine, Humanity down the line would eventually evolve into just that. Much to the horror of the Atrolians, humans had begun to show signs of greed and aggression over time as their population grew. They slaughtered each other, they conquered and sold each other, and turned a blind eye to each other in times of need. They had divided themselves into groups that warred for the sole purpose of claiming to be the more supreme, and they slaughtered anyone who did not agree. They used the technology and the skills taught to them to harm each other, and the view of their race had begun a rift in Atrolian society of just what to do with them.

For centuries, as mankind grows, develops, and divides themselves over self-created differences and greed, There was increasing unrest and debate in Atrolian society. It was going against their ways to continue to aid a violent race, and yet they continued to do so because of their shared religious beliefs, being guarded by the same angels. They insisted neutrality and continued to make routine trips with new tools and goods, up until the betrayal.

When one fleet of Atrolian aids failed to come back from the routine trip to Earth, there came instant backlash and demand to investigate. Another military group had been sent on the rescue mission to retrieve them, perhaps suspecting something had happened to the ship and the fleet could not communicate; But what they found were the bodies of Atrolian comrades, stripped of their armor, and the ship raided for all its weapons and other goods. In response is absolute outrage.. To find the culprits, Atrolian blood is easily traceable by scent.. *(Within their society, Violence is only a factor in mating season when defending or trying to win over a mate. The scent of blood will linger on a champion no matter how many times it is washed away, no matter how long. The poignant scent proves as a warning to what the bloodspiller is capable of. Violence is also incited when rules have been broken and betrayed- once you’re considered an outsider, or someone being punished, there is no sympathy or kindness, and the Atrolians demand bloodshed and death, or banishment) The military team wastes no time using tech and their noses to find the group, a group from a warring kingdom, and with little hesitation they are slaughtered- though the team does not bother in recovering stolen technology. The team takes the bodies of their comrades back to the home planet to report the events.

The event proved to be the final straw amongst the Atrolian society, and despite their normal preaching of peace, when outraged they turn as savage and sporadic as the animal genetics that make them. They demanded that ties be cut from the humans of Earth, and that included wiping it from their bloodline and home planet. In a rather frantic mass order unanimously decided by the Kings and Queens of each kingdom, Humans who had been taken as mate on Atrolize at the time were rounded up and were going to be shipped back to earth where they came from. Halflings who lacked animal features were to be sent with their human parent, and the full blooded Atrolain has the option to either go with their mate, or stay behind. Any who fought this order were killed if they interfere with the divide in any way, shape, or form. The option was to go quietly, or else be part of the cleansing, and it would mark a defining part in Atrolian history.

Though Earth is never forgotten, over the centuries it comes as a sensitive subject to discuss. Many Atrolians did not share the agreement with the order but nonetheless had to comply to the wishes of their kingdom’s leaders. The tarnished view of humanity was passed down with the generations, and though many Atrolians today would have never known what Earth is like for themselves, it is a strict law against returning to the wretched place- many older generations hold the belief that Earth can simply not be helped. Up until now..(To be elaborated later )

~What became of the Halflings on Earth?~

Thousands of families had been separated in the mass divide. Hundreds killed in their refusal to go, and those left scattered at different points across Earth were left to pick up the shambles of the life they knew. Many of the full humans had grown accustomed to the peace of Atrolize, the system of simple bargaining and caring for your neighbors- they were not used to the ideals of using money, or that there were legitimate threats from stranger whose intentions could never be clear. They would have to adapt and thrive in this new world.. And it is with them that the last roots of the Atrolians can be found.. Only to become lost in history.

Over time, the typical dominant trait of Atrolian genetics became diluted in a similar fashion as it did with Angels and their wings. It becomes recessive, and the visible animal features such as ears, tails, feathers, or even wings have become a rarity that occured. Over time, it becomes a recessive trait that needs to be such a perfect setup in order to actually produce a child that has animal features, but the dormant gene shows itself in other ways. Easily dismissed as simple gifts, having the gene can manifest itself in subtle features such as in the Eyes( be it in the pupils, the coloration, the keen sight), Ears (might be more pointed at the tips with some ability to be moved and twitched in response to stimuli) , Teeth ( Longer Canines, stronger jaws, sharper teeth varying by person), Body structure (Sturdier, higher metabolism in some cases, stronger nail growth, higher endurance capability and damage resistance, stronger bones, etc) , and even in some behavioral mannerisms.

The appearance of animal features has steadily become rare for the same reason the features of angel wings are- these sorts of people are often victims of human trafficking for their exoticness, and often die away before ever having any child. The appearance of features is primarily an occurence in female, the genetic proven to be carried more in the X chromosome, but a male still has the potential to carry the gene in their chromosomes as well. It's rare, but not impossible, for a male to have visible features under the right circumstances given that both parents carries the gene (Which is often unknown to the parents, thus their surprise that the child is born with these foreign features ) . It is uncommon in the world to find anytone with visible features anymore, however it still exists in the world. The history of Atrolians have been lost in time through human history, and the genetic can only be regarded as a mutation from an unknown source.

Things to know about Atrolians that can be found in their earthly descendants :

- If the females have a heat, they do not have a period. Like most animals, at the end of a cycle, there is no bleeding, the body simply reabsorbs the endometrium that would have been shed during a period. Having heats means, unlike a regular person, fertility has specified windows in the cycle for ovulating (depending on the Atrolian gene basis, the animal gene which its based on will determine that window per person ). A person can have the atrolian gene dormant in them, showing only subtle physical qualities, and not experience heat. And that is because their system is more primarily human based.

- A male with traces of Atrolian genes may find themselves with a keener sense of smell and other senses, and are subconsciously incredibly receptive to scents. They might find themselves drawn to a person who’s emitting, and become aroused instinctively to appease- which can be incredibly inconvenient , especially if its a female that rejects them. Can easily be mistaken for the usual random boner incidents. Two people with Atrolian genes can strengthen the instinct they don’t even know they have, and if one goes into heat then a male might just go into his own form of it in order to stay with his mate. - A male, once finding a partner, can become rather territorial over their lover. Especially one which they’ve marked in some way (Atrolian tradition is a bite scar to the shoulder, but in huan terms it can be expressed through hickies left behind in visible places ). They may become moodier, more clingy , and standoffish against others. Have a tendency to bare teeth and get between other, though again it can simply be passed off as typical guy behavior, Its an almost unbearable impulse when the gene is carried. They also might rub on things in an unconscious act of leaving their scent behind. You might also find they’re much easier to set off and prone to fighting easily when it comes to a significant other.

- A person can display certain quirks, even certain vocalizations, of an animal their genes may have descended from. Atrolians had a wide variety of animalistic qualities they were mixed with, though primarily mammals and even birds. That means farther down the line, sometimes old qualities do come back and certain abilities are granted. - Elongated life. A full blooded Atrolian age at a slower rate once they hit adulthood, and can life on average about 200 years maximum, with a minimum of at the very least of 130. This is because of their sturdy builds and rather healthy lifestyles, combined with genetics, lets them thrive for so long within consideration of their life duties. In their halfling descendants, That sturdy build passed down can allow them be withstand and live healthier for a longer time. They are less likely to succumb to illnesses or hereditary diseases, and can enjoy appearing to age at a slower rate. If the environment and lifestyle allows it. Someone can easily push past 100 and still function well.

#:world building:#I put this under readmore since its long af #But now u know there are half animal aliens out there #Thank u for reading #Atrolians are a v important background race to the story

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ganymedesclock · 6 years

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the fact that zarkon is always in his armor (i don't believe we've ever seen him without, even at his wedding) speaks a great deal for his character. i hope we see lotor without his in future episodes.

Honestly one of the things I really appreciate about Zarkon writing-wise is that he manages to come across like an ostentatious, selfish tyrant, while still being the trend-setting ruler of an incredibly spartan empire.

I’ve said it before but s3e1 is a fascinating illustration of galra culture and its ins and outs at the higher level, so the thing that you have to understand is culturally, the aristocrats here are vain and prone to showing off. They’re flaunting what their culture values, things that they have in abundance.

The TL;DR of this ramble is that rather than the empire stubbornly wearing their “work clothes” to formal occasions? Armor is formal attire for the empire.

Throk defines himself as the ideal under galra culture. He confidently speaks for the fleet as a group and expertly tempts other commanders to his side. He’s the pinnacle of what the empire views as an ideal person, and he defines himself very explicitly and clearly as a warrior. He is a proud soldier, not a mere “enlisted infantryman” (scoff scoff), an individual of rank and power and most importantly of strength.

We see this underlying character established as early as s1e1, and throughout the series. A very specific, ritualistic phrase, offered by Sendak first: “I Conquer In The Name Of Galra.”

“Vrepit Sa”- a real-world phrase that is the derived root of ‘vampire’, meaning to stick or cling to. And it’s worth noting in DotU and especially in GoLion, the galra were neck-deep in vampire imagery. Zarkon was very batlike in looks, they literally drank goblets full of blood, Haggar once hissed and recoiled from a holy symbol.

The imperial commanders define themselves as predators. They are hunters, they are conquerors. When Lotor basically needles Throk right in his cultural pride, he challenges Throk to prove himself as a soldier. “You say you’re strong, so let’s see you pick up a sword and step into the ring. Prove your worthiness by proving your strength.”

See how this aligns with, say, Morvok, in s2e6, that cheerfully tells the Taujeerians he’s just screwed over that if they deserve to live they’ll prove it by being strong enough to endure. Or how Zarkon states in s1e1 that endangering soldiers in such a way that half of them die will prove that the surviving half will be stronger for it.

The culture of the empire boils down to pride in strength, and pride in mercilessness. So thus the image of an idealized galra is a long-lived and loyal soldier, one who has brutally and mercilessly hacked down any who stands in their path. They are cunning, they are cruel, and they are insatiable. They defer to their betters and discard their subordinates.

And the empire and its high-ranking commanders are greedy, but not in the sense that they want to surround themselves in opulence and gold. Rather...

They seize and hold vast regions, or command huge open spaces for themselves, that they have no intention of filling. Because the point is the invasive and aggressive nature of the deed. The point to Zarkon’s throne room is that as the Ideal Galra according to the empire, he has gorged himself on resources, on territory, on admiration. To approach him, to even be allowed in his presence, the other proud and conquering people in his environment must fold themselves up and become small.

And what this comes back to is that... of course these people are not covering themselves in extravagant resources. When all of their pride comes from being battle-ready soldiers, they cover themselves in armor, and only armor. They name themselves not as dukes, baronesses, or marquises, but as lieutenants, commanders, generals.

Which is why Lotor is able to play Throk like a damn fiddle by daring Throk to face him. The very implication of being not a soldier who will meet his enemies on the field of battle but a coward who’s scheming around behind the scenes creates immense pressure on Throk by the force of his colleagues and especially his allies- allies who backed Throk because they saw him as a better leader than Lotor.

Which is no surprise, really- it’s abundantly obvious that Lotor is not a soldier. He takes a lot from Altean culture and Altea’s social paragons were diplomats, explorers, scientists- and the long skirt of his armor is a piece worn by galra researchers. Lotor wears his hair long, his armor is sleek and smooth compared to the bristling spikes, he chooses to wear his own colors over anything that would depict him as a rank-and-file member of the fleet.

And Lotor’s not trying to pretend he is. He takes no pride in conquest- if he attacks, it’s to further a goal, and he withdraws as soon as that goal is better served a different way. To the Puigian leader, he extends not “it is your destiny to be crushed under my heel because I, a Galra, am superior to you” but crouching to speak to his hostage on his level, trying to entice him with power, with collaboration. His speech in s3e1 is pointedly discarding, even mocking things that the empire considers cultural ideals. Especially the idea of refusing to back down when, in Lotor’s own words, “your repetitive attacks are getting you nowhere.”

Lotor has chosen very pointedly to shape himself to Altean ideals, to value diplomacy, communication, information and observation. Military matters, loss or victory, is only significant to him where it either nets him something valuable or risks taking that away from him. He invokes the imagery of the paladins, who were found worthy for the character of their personality- for virtues like compassion, instinct, curiosity, empathy.

So what we see with the aristocrats in s3e1, that the fleet wrinkles their collective lip at the very thought of him, makes perfect sense. Because Lotor isn’t just unfitting in the galra ideal, he’s willfully subverting it and criticizing it.

But how does Lotor exemplify this, make his point, pretend to court the fleet’s opinion when he’s actually telling them exactly where to stick it?

He shows up as a gladiator. He shows himself off: all small and willowy, all dodging and evasive tactics- hair and armor in very Altean styles. He wears, proudly and comfortably and very, very obviously everything about him that makes him utterly unacceptable to the empire and he not only tricks everyone and sneaks up on them, but does so by posing as a slave gladiator.

Slaves, and the gladiators in particular, are the single lowest person in Zarkon’s empire. Below the average soldier, below non-galra citizens (who are shown watching gladiatorial matches in s1e3), gladiators live and die for the entertainment of the elites. They’re lab rats without rights.

Consider just how much of an audacious move that is for the prince trying to prove himself, when the empire considers so much as talking to prisoners socially frowned upon. Lotor up and pretended to be one.

And he uses that completely unacceptable, frolicking-about-with-the-lower-class kind of behavior and his completely unacceptable very atypical appearance, and he shows that all off, and then, he says “Hey, Throk. Fight me like a proper galra, because I know you’ve been plotting against me.”

Because Lotor’s just established himself as the most unacceptable atypical galra any of these people have ever seen without explicitly dropping his status as a mixed-race child- and now he’s accusing Throk of being improper by the standards of the empire’s culture.

This is a huge insult. And if Throk doesn’t immediately rise to this, prove himself a soldier, the implication is this outrageous brat is the better of the two of them- because passively folding up is how galra of the empire react to their social betters.

Throk actually doesn’t have any choice to respond. The entire commanding elite basically wheels to him with “Are you gonna let him talk to you like that, Throk? This brat? He wouldn’t know a real galra if it bit him, are you gonna let him accuse you of not being a real soldier?”

And of course the icing of it is, Lotor then proceeds to threaten Throk with the generals. Other “unacceptable galra”, using sneaky underhanded tactics. People Lotor has given the rank of general- making them higher ranked than Throk. Again, in the fleet, galra have some very ritualistic submission behavior to their ‘social betters’.

Lotor’s making it very clear if Throk doesn’t challenge him, that Throk won’t just be bowing his head to Lotor. He’ll be bowing his head to these guys. The generals each, in their own way, challenge Throk to back down- to fold and acknowledge them. Which Throk, a bigoted member of the old guard who doesn’t want to acknowledge Lotor’s legitimacy, much less that of the generals which he would view as even weaker, would rather die than do.

It’s not just a blow to Throk’s pride, Lotor precision suckerpunched Throk’s pride in front of the entire fleet and then sits there smiling because Throk’s fucked.

If Throk does the smart thing and backs down, his insurrection is over. None of his allies will stay behind him. He’s proven himself to be- scare chord- a coward. When elites in the empire are defined as being Proud Warriors, more than anybody else, people who would rather die than accept failure or defeat- if Throk folds, it’s a direct loss of status.

But of course Throk’s not going to be sensible- he can’t afford to be, and more importantly, Lotor just publicly humiliated him. So Throk is going to fight, and he’s going to be working overtime to prove that he’s a real, proper soldier, a true blueblood of the empire: proving how violent, merciless, and aggressive he is.

Which the other reason Throk is fucked is Lotor’s spent quite possibly years honing a fighting style that punishes excess aggression.

It’s a plan that hinges on galra aristocracy being incredibly proud and ostentatious and, just like any other case of nobility, keen to defend their status- with the added thing that in the empire, status is defined by martial prowess and cruelty to “lower status” individuals.

#voltron legendary defender #vld #Lotor #Throk #Zarkon #galra culture #readmore #Anonymous

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shadowfaximpala · 7 years

Text

Halo on Fire

MASTERLIST

Summary: The boys had kept you safe for long enough, but anything with an essence for the unusual eventually breaks loose, but this time the break is permanent. A blood spell gone awry awakens dormant powers, as you struggle to come to terms with the flood gates bursting you find yourself attached to a certain demon who oozes charisma and sass…

Tags: Reader Insert, Female Reader, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Crowley. Castiel, Multi-Chapter fic

Pairing: Reader!Nephilim x Crowley

Warnings: Language

Chapter Two:

Endure, endure, thoughts most impure, Concede, concede, but both shall we bleed. "Y/N!" Dean and Sam shouted in unison. "What happened?" Sam demanded kneeling down next to you as you struggled against the wall, you held your arm up if defence, his skin touched yours and all hell broke lose with your emotional stability. Of all times to earn your empathy chip it had to be around the four most emotionally reckless beings in all of creation. You ripped yourself away from Sam, throwing yourself even further into the corner. "Don't!" You winced pathetically in a heap. "Don't touch me please!" Castiel gently pushed the boys aside and knelt down next to you. "Your warding has broken, one of the seals has been damaged somehow, what happened?" His rich voice soothed your panic a little. "I...I..." you stuttered, remembering your deal with Crowley to perform a set of spells, the first one had obviously backfired, the spell was for blood, not holy abomination juice. "I fell over and cut my hand on the corner of the table, there was a burning in my hand and a searing pain, I can... when... Sam touched my arm I felt his emotions; but if felt like too much, like I could see a fraction of his soul..." Castiel's eyebrows furrowed as he focused his energy on your wound. "Are you able to heal yourself?" He shot you a cautious glance. You shook your head no, you couldn't control your current powers so the extent of the damage was unbeknown to you. "How did your warding break from cutting your hand?" Dean's voice held a hint of disbelief, it may not have been intentional but you could pick up on it quicker than usual. "I'm not sure, maybe the pain set something off?" You urged, but he wasn't quite buying it. "It's happened before, Cas can just fix it-" you gave the Angel a desperate plea with your eyes. He nodded, placing two fingers on your forehead. He closed his eyes tightly trying to attain his focus, but his eyebrows pinched more and more. You could feel through his hand a white hot light, it didn't burn, it was peaceful, but underneath that exterior you could also feel his inner turmoil and pain. The longer his hand lingered the more your empath powers took hold, you could feel a deep sorrow that raged beneath, a losing of hope, the need for redemption was overpowering. He removed his hand and the link between you broke. You let out a heavy breath that you had been holding, your cheeks feeling dampened from such raw sadness. "I'm sorry Y/N, I can't seem to fix the warding..." He too seemed a little zapped from the while ordeal. Panic washed over you, you looked between Cas, Sam and Dean. Their expressions were a mix of shock and worry. "C'mon Cas surely there's something you can do?" Dean persisted. "Can't you just heal the wound?" Sam pointed out. The angel before you looked a little irked, it certainly wasn't his first rodeo. "I tried, I can't heal her, Y/N your body is rejecting my powers with your own. This is odd, you shouldn't be able to attain this much power in the first place. Your diluted blood means you are fairly powerless compared to an angel." Castiel had done an amazing job on the road thus far in keeping you safe over the long years, but this was the first time he couldn't fix you, he couldn't keep angels from hunting you any longer. He senses your worry and gave you a soft smile. "I won't let anything happen to you, I'll protect you no matter what the cost," He nodded his head and rose to his feet. You stayed huddled in the corner for a second, contemplating everything that had happened. You went through the process of the spell, wondering if anything reacted with your blood to spark the warding. You drew a blank. How could a simple locator spell have set off such an adverse chain reaction?! "Look, I'm sure we can fix this. The bunker is protected, so as long as you're in here they can't locate you," Dean flashed a weak smile which you returned. "No offence guys but I do like to get out once in a while," you jested trying to make light of the situation but to no avail. "How do I know that there won't be any more nuclear explosions of power again?" You turned your attention to Cas. "You don't. For all we know they could all start to undo, for now all we can do is monitor the situation. I'll do some digging on Nephilim in the meantime. Not that there's much to go by..." his puppy dog eyes told you there wasn't much hope this time. You'd have to glumly accept you fate, that your powers were coming to the surface, boiling over like a pot that had been left on the stove for far too long, the contents were spilling out, ruining what was inside. All you had before was a very washed down sense of empath powers and a faster rate of healing your body, occasionally you could send a small object flying from one side of the room to the other but it seemed so unimpressive you rarely bothered unless only to scare Sam and Dean. Often it was so worth it just to see the look on their faces. Staring back at you in your current predicament were two incredibly worn out looking expressions, the anxiety on their face more evident than your own. You managed to finally pick yourself up of the floor, giving yourself a wide birth from touching anyone, you couldn't handle that level of emotion coursing through you, it was physically painful; your energy was depreciated from being thrown into three absolutely broken, twisted and heavy minds, you ordered the boys out of your room, your body wracked with foreign power and feelings. They complied, giving you quick glances as they left. You couldn't find the energy to even change, you crawled onto your bed, muscles protesting and you're thoughts fragile. You had no idea in that moment what thoughts were yours. Sleep cascaded over your like a relentless flood, and you welcomed being washed away under the rip tides. You woke to darkness, a blanket had been placed over you and the lights turned off. With hardly any rejuvenation you picked yourself up, dragged yourself into the bathroom and began your morning ritual. Shuffling down the corridor you heard voices at the table. "Dean we have no idea what could happen to Y/N on this hunt. We can't take her and you know it. As much as she'd be helpful we can't let heaven track her or for something else to break. We have no idea how powerful Nephilim can be." So Sam was fighting the corner of caging you like a bird. You huffed, ready to storm in and assert yourself when a familiar accent lifted the room. Your knees felt weak all of a sudden at the whisky laced charm of his vocals. "Hello boys." His usual sasses flared up, your hair stood on end. You mentally cursed at yourself as you peeked around the corner to to him adorned in a finely tailored suit, complete with blood red tie. Your mouth felt dry, your collar hot all of a sudden. "What the hell do you want?" Dean threw at the demon before him. Crowley's shoulders bounced as he laughed. "Sorry I'm not here for a social call. Something's grabbed my attention and it seems you boys might want some info." Your interest peaked, since when did Crowley offer to help them? There must have been a catch. "What's in it for you? You don't just hand out info for free..." It was like Dean had read your mind and projected it. "Perceptive as always, Squirrel. One demon manipulating witch out of my hair and ticked off your hunting bucket list. My sources tell me she's in a little town in Michigan, once I have a location I'll be sure to let you know." You pondered what he was up to, he always had anterior motives for everything, there was no way he was doing this out of the kindness of his blackened heart. You decided to make your presence known. "Morning," you rubbed your eyes pretending not to have bared witness to Crowley's apparent act of kindness. "Ahh, the kitten awakens." You felt a burning hot gaze eyeing you up and down. You tried to ignore what he was so obviously doing in front of the Winchesters but when it was apparent the boys weren't looking at either of you, you craned your neck elegantly and shot him a playful wink. The demon king's face soon dropped in disbelief at your actions; driving you to adopt a wickedly devilish smirk. "Dean, I found some information on Y/N's condition- what's he doing here?" Castiel glared unapologetically across the room. "Oh look the gangs back together..." Crowley quipped as he stared Castiel down. The tension began to rise in the room until Dean broke it. "Cas we'll talk about that later, right now I want to know why the king of hell decided to drop by and help us." The eldest Winchester's eyebrow cocked in confusion, spitting her word ‘help’ as though it were dirty. "I'm merely helping you as an ally, building bridges and all that. You scratch my back-" "You stab ours. Yeah we know how this works. Whenever we help you we end up worse off on the deal, so thanks for the information but forgive us for not trusting you." The atmosphere in the bunker grew even thicker, Dean was still raw over Crowley's manipulative streak which had seen him turned into a demon and forced to undergo all kinds of hellish torment. “Remarkable, you two are insufferable. Fine, have it your bloody way but don't come crying to me when you end up boiled in a pot with bats wings and a sprinkle of sage…” with that his being dissipated from view. “Douchebag.” Dean grunted. “You do realise he just offered to hand us catch the witch for free, right?” You frowned at Dean, you annoyance evident and unconcealed. “Were you eavesdropping?” Dean’s shoulders stiffened, he sat upright in his chair watching you with careful green eyes. “I heard enough. Mostly about you not letting me go on the hunt, well that's my decision to make not yours.” You skipped over to the fridge to see what horrors of breakfast lied in waiting. You huffed when the contents were revealed to you. “Damn.” You muttered under your breath, salad and a block of cheese were the sacred offerings, you scoffed and slammed the door shut, raiding the cupboards instead. “We just want you to be safe Y/N.” You turned to look at Dean, his anger mixed with genuine anxiety for your safety. You let out a heavy sigh. “I'll be okay, honestly. If things get tough I’ll bail.” His worry didn't falter but he accepted that you were too stubborn to give up, he knew you would do anything to help them. “Fine. You have to promise us that if shit hits the fan you’ll get out of dodge and not just run in all guns blazing as always.” You snickered the remark on the tip of your tongue.

“I learned that from you guys so forgive me if I don't stick to the plan…” The three of them glared at you with deadpan expressions. “Okay, I promise…” you surrendered. “Only if we go and get pancakes, all that's in here is Sam’s rabbit food.” You pointed at the cupboard full of whey protein shakes, kale and granola. Your stomach let out a hungry howl at your protest.

‘Yeah I’m game.” Dean snatched the car keys from the table as the others nodded in unison.

Fic tags: @gettinjoyful @superlock-on-pc @wholita

Forever tags: @laneygthememequeen @mkate-writes-things @roxy-davenport

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awed-frog · 7 years

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Hi, love your writing! 3 questions: what is your favorite thing about deancas and their dynamic, and when do you think they realized they were in love? Do you think either have any idea the other feels the same?

Hi there! Thank you so much! So, those are some meaty questions - let’s see.

What I love about Dean and Cas’ dynamic is that it was both fate and free will that made it happen, and since I’m a big believer in both, that really works for me. Like, the fact they even met is completely absurd, on a DESTINY LIVES HERE scale, because angels hadn’t gotten involved in people’s lives for generations, and so many dominos had to fall exactly the right way (or, well - the wrong way) for Dean to end up in Hell and out of all the angels who’re left up there, Cas is the one who got him out? And yet at the same time, there was never anything forced in it - Dean had been constructed, narratively speaking, as someone who would never be talked into even being friends with an angel (see his issues with faith, religion, and trust, also his fear of flying - and I’m now wondering, of course, if all of that was put there from the beginning because they had this vague idea that Sam would end up with a demon which meant Dean had to end up with an angel, but who knows), and Cas, for all his love for humanity, didn’t really understand the first thing about it and was engineered to follow orders and shut up, so - to me, that’s the very best of love stories - some kind of magic, of pull, making these two characters from very different worlds meet for the first time but after that, it’s all up to them and nobody’s forcing them to be together - not narrative structure, not fear, not lack of other options - they just learn how to be with each other and why they want to be with each other, and it’s mostly very beautiful to watch.

As for when they realized something wasn’t quite right - my headcanon’s always been that Dean had to come to terms with his own feelings at the end of S6, when Cas died, because Dean had been acting weird all season, but I’m not sure he’d fully understood why Cas’ apparent betrayal mattered so much to him, and when he looks down at Cas’ corpse and just mutters, You child - I think that’s when it hit him. And, of course, part of what cuts so deep, and one of the reasons Dean basically gives up on ever getting Cas back when Cas becomes God, is that Cas has gone where Dean can’t reach him - that he’s boxed Dean back into that position he hated growing up, because by becoming his own Father, Cas also sort of became John - the guy who thought he knew everything and expected Dean to obey and shut up - the guy who was mostly untouchable because he was older and stronger and Dean’s dad, and what can you even do against your own dad? And Cas knew how Dean felt about all of this, and still, he chose the John way, and that was devastating for Dean, but - despite all of this, Dean must have told himself, at least he’s not dead, and the fact he was still justifying Cas, forgiving Cas, like he’d done for the entire S6, after a life that’s taught him giving second chances to people is Dangerous - yeah, that’s when he realized he was fucked, I think. And as for Cas - I don’t think Cas’ extrememely self-aware (angelic nature and all that), so I’m going to say - the crypt scene, when he went against a direct order from Heaven because - I don’t know my ass. That’s when Cas started to piece it together, and the thing was so new and terrifying that he fled, which makes sense, because Cas’ been observing Earth for millennia and he’s seen what loves does to people - it makes you trust the wrong person, it hurts, it turns you weak and unfocused - and all of those are inconvenient problems for a normal guy but deadly mistakes for a soldier, which Cas still considers himself to be. He can’t fight well if he’s worried about Dean all the time, and he can’t fight smart if his reasoning is clouded by feelings.

And the main question now is, of course, do they know?

What I think is, they do and they don’t. They realize the other person has done things which only make sense if Big Feelings are involved, but, on the other hand, they both live in a world where sacrificing yourself for allies and strangers is commonplace and the done thing, and that makes it easier to listen to those other voices instead - self-doubt and guilt and self-hatred telling them, day in and day out, that they’re simply not good enough, not worthy of being loved by anyone, and especially not by this other special person [the Righteous Man / a damn angel, wings and all].

I think Cas gave it his best shot in S9, and I include the fanfiction gap in that - they were so sad and resigned when they separated the next morning - I think something happened that night, not necessarily Something, but we can logically assume they shared a motel room, and we know Cas was very nearly suicidal and Dean all beaten up, so I believe that some kind of Gesture happened - maybe Cas tried to come clean about his own feelings, but did it badly and Dean could pretend not to understand, or maybe there was some kind of physical contact that was interrupted and never picked up again - who knows. But after that night, after that disastrous ‘date’ complete with winking over beers a few weeks later, Cas suddenly gets very focused about becoming an angel again, and I think that (among other things) was him giving up on the hope of a ‘normal’ and ‘human’ relationship with Dean and trying to get back at something he used to be half good at (being an angel) instead of clinging on to something he felt was very bad at (being human).

And Dean - Dean did see that flirting, because he’d tried very hard to tell Cas the truth in S8 - in fact, he’d come very close to that I love you he’d never said to anyone before back in that crypt - and Cas had just - walked away, just as he’d ignored him in Purgatory, just as he’d made clear, time and time again, that he was mostly busy with Important, World-Changing Things Dean, a mere human, could not hope to even understand. And that’s why I think Dean turned down Cas in S9 - partly because he knew he was no good for Cas, that Cas deserved a full shot at a human life away from all the shit Dean’s would always be mired into, but partly also because to Dean, this was Cas suddenly wanting him back after years of keeping him at a distance, which, to Dean, translated not as an I finally realized that weird thing in my stomach was love and man, human bodies are trippy, but as an I’m scared and alone and I don’t know who else to turn to so suddenly you don’t seem so bad, which, to be fair, is not the ideal foundation for any relationship. And next, of course, Dean got infected with the Mark of Cain, and became even more determined to stay the fuck alone, because messy death ahead and all that, and then in S11 Cas was even lower than he’d been when that suicide angel had tried to kill him, and, again, depression’s not a good place to start a new relationship from, and thus the seesaw went on and on and on, and now - I don’t see that much has changed, to be honest - they’re both so in love with the other it physically hurts to have them in the same scene together, but they’re both so low on self-esteem they keep seing each other as a disappointing second choice - Cas probably thinks Dean wants to find himself a Busty Asian Lady and have kids, and Dean knows Cas longs to be forgiven by his brothers and get his wings back, so - it’s an impasse. As I said in other metas, I believe the only way out of this is the intervention of a third party, but that, of course, would make the whole thing textual, and who knows if they’re ever going to go there. So, well - personally, all I can do is pretend to be angry at all of this when I’m really just deeply, profoundly sad, and keep writing my silly stories - my hiatus fic, for instance, is precisely about all of this - how Cas’ temporary death will force both of them to take a hard look at their own feelings and decide what to do, once and for all.

#ask #destiel meta #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfiction #spn wishlist #destiel: the road so far

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lov3nerdstuff · 3 years

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Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.29}

*Severus Snape x OC*

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 3.7k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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The very moment Robin was back inside the castle, every possible doubt about what she was about to do had vanished entirely if it had ever been existent in the first place. On her haste down into the dungeons, people jumped out of her path at the mere sight of the sinister expression on her face, and honestly, she was more grateful than ever that nobody dared to as much as look at her for too long. Sometimes a reputation was a curse, sometimes a saving grace. Right now the latter was the case.

She didn't say a single word when she opened the door to the potions classroom in one swift move. Still stayed silent when she made her way through the rows of desks and students, straight to the front where Snape was working at his desk like always during detention. She didn't need to say a thing, and yet all eyes were on her in an instant. The students' many ones in surprise and nigh intimidation at her mode of entrance, Snape's merely in instant concern. He knew that she wouldn't just show up here, bursting into detention if it wasn't for a matter of utmost importance. So she only looked at him in silent confirmation of what they both knew was happening right now.

"Detention is over. Get out. Now." Snape spoke up with a brief glimpse at his students, in a tone to match Robin's grave expression. Then however his eyes found and never left hers as he rose to his feet in an instant to round the table to come over to her side as if the rest of the world beyond them simply ceased to exist.

"But professor, it's still over an hour until dinner… Are you sure we're allowed to go already?" A young boy, probably a first year, remarked carefully, which earned him a few groans and curses from his peers, and an instantaneous but deathly glare from Snape.

"Question me again and you will spend the entire remainder of this term in detention." He snapped at the boy, then turned to everyone else who had stopped in their tracks or not yet started moving in the first place. "What on earth are you waiting for?! Is there a part of 'get out' you dunderheads failed to understand?"

It took exactly five seconds for the students to rush out the door while the echo of his words still ghosted through the masses of stone. Then, in the very instant the last people had left, the door to the classroom flew shut, was locked and warded in a now long practiced procedure that, to Robin's knowledge, was yet unbreakable. Ever since new year's, they had become more careful with their every step for a multitude of reasons. Morgan being one of them.

"What on earth-..." Snape didn't get further than that before Robin had dropped her backpack and winter robes on the ground and wrapped her arms around him so tightly that her muscles started quivering, urged into this impulsive need for closeness by the sudden and sheer overwhelming realization that she had come way too close to never seeing him again. In the end, it was a gift of fate that they were still here, still together. This thought as well as the hot rush of welling tears it brought along was only quenched when he held her tightly in return, and her composure collapsed once and for all.

Sure, there were more important things to be dealt with right now and Robin had promised herself not to let her emotions get in the way of that, but she couldn't help it anymore. Repression and putting on acts for her own mind only worked for so long. And thus she let herself dwell in his embrace for now, clawing onto him like a lifeline of reality, basking in the comfort and safety she needed now more than ever. The world could wait. It had to.

"Whatever it is, we will be fine." He said after a while of drawing soft patterns on her back, and Robin almost had to smile. She had never told him just how soothing she found that gesture, nor his voice and words of encouragement, but somehow he still had always known anyway. There was no measure for how much she loved him for that, for just knowing. "May I see for myself?"

"Please do. I couldn't logically explain what happened anyway, not even if I tried." She sighed in return without even having to ask what he meant, and then waited for his presence in her mind as she had felt it so often before. It was a truly pleasant procedure at this point, like a gentle caress, like the patterns on her back. And therefore sharing her memories of what had happened brought an immediate and breathtaking relief to her troubled mind as much as his presence did to her soul. The panic faded, the anxiety and sickness made way for reason and even a strong sense of safety. She might not need him to protect her… but she still was more than glad to know that he wouldn't let anything stop him from doing so anyway.

For a while longer neither of them spoke, even once he had seen all there was, all there had been. His hold on her only tightened, and moments later the scratch on her eyebrow started tingling with the warm echo of magic. Perhaps she should ask him to teach her some of those miraculous healing spells… If fights over life and death were to become a normal occurrence in her days now, it might yet prove useful to have some of his tricks up her own sleeves as well. But that would have to wait; for now, she had to get over herself and deal with the more pressing issues. With a deep breath, she pulled back when she finally felt ready to face the world and the worries it brought at last. They could do this. Together, like always.

In the following minutes it in return took Robin quite a bit of convincing to remind Snape that, one, she had won the fight and had come out more or less fine after all, only cold and bruised, and two, that they had agreed that killing Morgan was still not an option. No matter how very tempting the idea was under the current circumstances. Robin did agree with one point though, when Snape said that if it ever came to a moment where it was either Morgan's or Robin's life, he wouldn't waste a second of thought to save her no matter what might be the cost in return. She did agree, even though she knew that it had never been meant as a question in the first place.

Indeed, the thought made Robin smile. He would gladly set the world and skies on fire for her if the opportunity should come, without a single doubt or hesitation, and while that thought should have been at least somehow disconcerting, the unshakable fact only made Robin feel ineffably proud. There had never been such a thing as 'normal' when it came to him and her… They had always been living by extremes. Living through passion for life. And in that intensity, in the way they lived and were going to live, she found her fear replaced by determination.

"I believe to have a lead on Morgan's reasons, to find out what this is all about. A start." She said, and was met with the most attentive, intrigued gaze in return. "Or at least I finally have an idea where to look for one."

"Other than his sheer insanity being reason enough, you mean?"

"Actually, I'm rather sure that he is quite as sane as you and I." Robin sighed, while a half smile found its way onto her lips nonetheless. "But no matter what he is or isn't, we will find out what makes him do what he does and we will put an end to it. In a different way than by killing him. A better one."

"You're terribly rational. As always." Snape replied in a huff, and yet let his fingers trace the outside of her hand in a feathery touch to replace some of the past embrace's comfort. It was remarkable how much better he had gotten with such simple signs of affection over the last few months, even if still ever so subtle. "I wish I had your level of optimism."

"I'm not optimistic, but realistic." Her half smile turned into a full one as she took the opportunity to interlace their fingers in return. "This mess with Morgan has been going on for almost seven years now, and I need it to end on my terms before it ends on his. We have to see to it that it does, and we will."

"Tell me more about your lead then; I must say that neither his words nor your thoughts on the matter made much sense to me."

"They didn't make sense to me either, until I went shopping with Cas and Jorien."

"You almost died, and then you went shopping right after that instead of coming straight back here?"

"Yes?"

"You hate shopping. And you almost died."

"Yes…?"

"I am honestly not sure if I should be impressed or irritated. You really are perfectly impossible."

"Why, thank you!" Robin had to smirk upon his incredulous expression, but soon enough her thoughts and expression went back to business as she tried to put the mess of thoughts into a stringent sentence. "To be honest, I just went shopping because I didn't want to let the girls down, and I hoped it would bring me some diversion from the events I did not even nearly understand at that point. But it was Morgan's words that made me think, and even throughout the hour where I tried to focus on other matters, they never quite left me alone no matter what. To make it short, I have an idea what he could've meant with some of what he said. The part about looking at my being but not me, the earrings and also comparing me to some other person who is me and not me at the same time."

"And?"

"The painting in the room of hidden things." Robin finally got out the very core of her thoughts, of her suspicion, and it didn't take more than that for Snape's mind to visibly halt at her words. "We have to find it and see if the woman who looks like me has earrings or not. Because then Morgan's comments-..."

"Would suddenly make a disconcerting amount of sense." He finished the sentence for her with a deep frown as his thoughts finally caught up with hers. "It still doesn't explain why he does what he does, but it certainly is a starting point indeed."

"The best lead we've ever had. And the only one."

"Then we cannot wait any longer." His tone went from considering to beyond determined. "We should be able to get up to the seventh floor unseen even at the present time, if we make use of the hidden paths in the castle."

"Lead the way then." Robin said with a small but sincere smile, then gave Snape's hand a gentle squeeze and finally let go to take her robes and bag to his office for safekeeping. The classroom was a mere shed in comparison to the fortress of spells that surrounded the office these days, and if today had proven anything to her, it was that she couldn't be careful enough. Not even with her belongings. After all, objects could be cursed just the same, and do perhaps even more damage than a simple one-time spell. She wasn't keen on finding out just how much more.

… … …

They made their way up to the correct seventh floor hallway in a matter of minutes, unseen in the rising darkness of the castle, and it again took only a minute and an illusionment charm to summon the grand door to the room of hidden things. The extraordinary place didn't fail to fascinate Robin even now upon their entrance, and she inevitably had to think back to the last time she had been here. The only time, to be exact, because she hadn't dared returning alone. A lot of things had been easier back then… But she wouldn't want to go back for anything in the world. She couldn't even bear the thought of going back to the torture that was loving from afar.

"Do you remember where the portrait was located?" Snape asked once he had closed the heavy door behind them, and broke Robin out of her marveling and memories. Yes, this reality was far better, no matter what.

"I, uh… I was rather distracted the last time we were in here." She admitted with a small shrug, which made him raise an eyebrow at her. Robin rolled her eyes in return. "I was trying not to jump at you for how close you kept coming to me, if you have to know. So no, I don't remember the path to the portrait."

"Pity." He sighed in feigned disappointment, then merely took her hand again and started walking off in absolute certainty where to go while pulling her along. Of course he knew where the portrait was… Robin had to smile against her will as she couldn't help rolling her eyes again. Insufferable idiot. Her idiot.

In a matter of minutes they reached the mountain of objects Robin very much recognized as the place she had discovered the portrait in nonetheless. The flipped chairs, the pile of pink teacups, the bucket filled with yellowed scrolls. Yes, this was the right spot indeed. But there was no painting anywhere in sight.

"It's gone…" Robin wondered out loud, brows furrowed and the hairs in her neck standing on edge. She hadn't quite considered that people other than them had access to this place as well… other people who might not have her best interest in mind, with the portrait or not. Or who came in here not to hide something, but to hide something that already was in here. The thought made her shudder.

"I can see that." Snape replied flatly, with very much the same irritation colouring his features and occupying his mind. His concern was all the more reason for Robin to feel everything but at ease in this place, even now that their hands were still tightly interlaced. Perhaps they were both scared to part again any time soon. But still, bloody portrait… couldn't anything ever be easy at Hogwarts?! Perhaps this room wasn't such a great place after all. Then again, maybe it only was almost getting killed that had her on edge far more quickly than usual. That explanation for her unease was more likely. Gods, she couldn't even keep her thoughts in line properly.

"Perhaps someone moved it while in the search for something else?" She suggested in an attempt to keep her recently regained calm. This was not a setback, that they hadn't found the portrait where it was supposed to be. It was rather a mystery, a riddle, and those were supposed to have edges and corners. Yes, that made her feel better about the situation. "I know tracing spells don't work in here, but perhaps we could have a quick look around nonetheless?"

"I have a better idea." Snape said with a thoughtful gaze at the spot where the portrait had been. Then – much to Robin's dismay – he let go of her hand and instead made them both move to the side, almost leaning into the next mountain of objects behind them as he went on. "How likely is it that Morgan, the perhaps only professor who has a habit of being constantly short of time, would spend precious minutes every morning and every night, according to his own words, to come here to look at the painting?"

"Unlikely, I should say. Practically impossible."

"Yes. And what does that thereby mean?"

"You just love to make me guess, don't you?"

Snape rolled his eyes, partially at Robin and also partially at himself if she wasn't mistaken, but then answered his own question nonetheless. "It means that he must have taken the portrait elsewhere. Either to his office or his private chambers, I presume."

"Oh bloody hell no…" Robin groaned under her breath, then leaned her head back into her neck for a moment to place that very logical piece of information into her mental puzzle. "I'm afraid you're right, but I still very much hope you're not. The thought-..."

"I know. It concerns me no less."

"Can we do anything to find out for sure before I break into his office for nothing?"

"Before we break into his office. Don't even think that I would let you do any of this alone." He protested immediately in a reproachful scoff, but when his words only made Robin smile ever so slightly, his expression mellowed out in return. "There is no way to be entirely certain about the whereabouts of the painting, seeing as the room's magic to protect its contents is older than the castle itself. We cannot undo it, not even nearly."

"Pity." Robin sighed in a mirror of his own favoured expression, which earned her a not-smirk before he went on.

"What we can do however is to trace a person's movements. If Morgan ever was in here, we should be able to see where precisely he went, which in this case is the next best thing."

"That's bloody brilliant!"

"Don't look so surprised…" He scoffed again, but the not-smirk lingered on even as he worded the according spell. It wasn't an unfamiliar or difficult one, but what made Robin feel both in awe and proud beyond reason was the very idea in the first place. Tracing the person and not the object was such an out-of-the-box approach to the problem at hand that it might as well have come from her own mind. But coming from Snape now, it made Robin realize all over again how much they had grown into each other's ways of thinking over the years. She couldn't help feeling proud of that even in a situation like this.

A mere few seconds later, the ground before them lit up with a straight line of glowing footsteps that came from between the mountains of things from the direction of the door. It led straight to the point where Robin vaguely remembered the portrait to have been, then it took a sharp turn straight back to where it had come from. No detours, no looking around. A straight path here, a straight path back.

"The spell only shows the last time he was here, not possible times before that." Snape explained, and Robin found herself nodding on instinct as her eyes followed the footsteps between the mountains where they disappeared from her sight.

"Yeah, I know…" She mused, frowning to herself once more. Obviously she knew the spell and its specifics, but something entirely else was nagging at her mind again, something she should take notice of but hadn't as of yet. It was terribly irksome.

"Perhaps a summary of the state of affairs might help?" He suggested, and it didn't even come as a surprise to Robin anymore that he knew exactly what was going on in her mind. In more instances than she could count, he just knew indeed.

"Very well, let's see…" Robin mused with a sigh, while they started making their way back towards the exit in a slow saunter. "Morgan wants to kill me. He is not insane, he rather seems to have a reason for what he does. One he doesn't quite agree with, or at least is somewhat troubled by himself. The chance that he can win a duel against me at this point is near non-existent, so his only chance is to catch me by surprise or trickery, like he did today. He would find it easier to kill me if I fought back, but he still doesn't plan to stop trying either way. He cannot stop for some reason, or so he says at least. He wants to kill me, and yet he doesn't want to see me dead."

"He has a twisted obsession with you, whether that be for you as a person or you as a representation of something or someone else." Snape went on in the wake of her words. "He clearly adores you, while yet he has an ineffable hatred for you, which makes him both enjoy and dread seeing you suffer. The obsession with you led him to take the portrait out of this room, which he came to discover by yet unknown factors. He came in here at least once and took the portrait out with him to presumably either his office or his rooms. There he looks at it every morning and every night, as for his statement, because he rarely sees the real you outside of class. Through that or perhaps for other reasons, he has formed some sort of bond with the woman in the painting, which he recognizes to be you and not you at the same time. He wants you to be his, and yet he wants you dead."

"Exactly." Robin sighed again. "That makes so much sense and yet it doesn't make sense at all. It's as if he is two people at once, at war over one thing he is made to do and one thing he wants to do. If you would've asked me a year ago, I would've said it could be an Imperius curse. But after reading the book Dumbledore gave me for my birthday, and you'll know this because we both have read it a gazillion times by now, the curse just doesn't quite fit in with the facts of the case."

"I agree. He is far too aware of himself and his struggle on either end to be cursed. Especially unlikely for an Imperius curse."

"Good… But that also means that nothing fits in with the facts. We have a bunch of new questions, but no answers whatsoever."

"Yet."

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postmodernmulticoloredcloak · 7 years

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Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters

There are many things to talk about in 12x14, so of course I’m choosing to start from the things that were not in the episode, namely Cas and Crowley, as you do. I’m kidding, this is actually about the Alpha vampire and the British Men of Letters. And Cas and Crowley. And everyone else.

Something that got my attention about 12x14 was the season 7 feels. Actually, all of season 12 hasn’t been scarce in its season 7 callbacks and references, especially in regards to Cas, but The Raid in particular had some interesting bits. @charlie-minion in this post has pointed out the parallel between Dean’s softened attitude towards Mary at the end of the episode with Dean’s attitude towards Cas in 7x01 when his body starts to drastically fail under the pressure of the Leviathan. Several people have also pointed out the parallel between Dean’s conversation with Jo in 7x04 (Hunters are never kids. I never was) and Dean’s line I never was when Mary tells him he’s not a child. And of course there was the Alpha vampire, whom we’d last seen in 7x22.

Now: why bringing back the Alpha vampire? Well, other than plot reasons (someone they’d need to use the Colt to kill) and extradiegetic reasons (the dangling thread of the Alpha vampire’s promise to “see you”), I think there are other subtextual/structural reasons. Partly related to the character’s role ins season 6 (the parallels between Samuel, Crowley, Cas, Mary, the British Men of Letters...) and partly, I suspect, related to the Alpha vampire’s role in the final portion of season 7.

My question is: can we see the British Men of Letters as a Leviathan parallel, and the process of taking the BMoL down as a parallel to the spell to send the Leviathan back to Purgatory?

The British Men of Letters don’t really seem to have much in common with the Leviathan in terms of goals and motivations, but if we look closely there are some things they kind of have in common. The professionalism in their organization, for instance; the Leviathan were different from regular monsters because they organized as a corporation, the BMoL are different than hunters because of their organization as some kind of corporation, too. There are some kind of territorial issues regarding the United States; the Leviathan’s plans were to subdue the human population of the United States (the demons could have Canada) and once the US were done, they could extend to other countries, the BMoL’s current plans are to eliminate monsters from the territory of the United States, and I guess that their intention is to do the same with other countries with “monster problems”.

There are also things that ping my radar like the fact that the tablets arc started in regards of the Leviathan, and Metatron was introduced, although only mentioned, in 7x21, and now the BMoL seem to have assumed the “meta” role of Metatron in the narrative, their reports and communications thus working as an equivalent of the tablets.

Speaking of the tablets - the Alpha vampire’s role in 7x22 is exactly connected to the instructions on the Leviathan tablet. 7x21 Reading Is Fundamental, 7x22 There Will Be Blood and 7x23 Survival Of The Fittest all feature the research for the way to get rid of the Leviathan; in 7x21, Kevin translates the Leviathan tablet:

Cut off the head, and the body will founder. Waste not thy time nor your breath upon the Leviathan herd. Point thy blade at the heart of their master, for from him springs all their messages. Leviathan cannot be slain but by a bone of a righteous mortal, as light and good as the Leviathan are hungry and dark, washed in the three blood of the fallen: a fallen angel, the ruler of the fallen humanity, and a father of fallen beasts.

One of the most interesting characteristics of the Leviathan is that the Leviathan - despite being referred to as a “they” as plural - is an actually one monster composed of different parts. That’s why hitting Dick Roman sent all the rest to Purgatory along with him - technically, Dick wasn’t one Leviathan among others, but he was the head, the most important part of the Leviathan as a whole.

I am wondering if season 12 is going to frame the “old men” in charge of the British Men of Letters as some kind of narrative equivalent of Dick Roman, minus the dick jokes (Mr Ketch seems to cover the homoerotic part efficiently...).

I am also wondering whether the “seduction” Ketch is operating (relatively successfully on Mary, not on Dean) could be paralleled to the effect of the Leviathan’s corn syrup, in a way - making the hunters docile and useful to the BMoL’s ends, via manipulation instead of chemicals.

Basically, a whole “reverse Leviathan” situation, with an organization of humans trying to eliminate monsters instead of an organization of monsters trying to make humans into food, and so on - so, why not a “reverse Leviathan tablet” situation, where the creatures involved in the spell to take the Leviathan down are victims of the BMoL instead of contributing to defeat the Leviathan?

So let’s get back to the Leviathan tablet, the Alpha vampire, and the rest.

The spell inscribed on the tablet requires the bone of a righteous human coated in the blood of a fallen angel, the king of hell, and an alpha monster. The events of collecting the bloods does not really follow that order (Cas is the first - in an episode that emphasized how the angels see Cas’ relationship with Dean as something that has corrupted him... anyway. um. let’s not digress - then the Alpha vampire also gives them his blood, then it’s Crowley’s turn) but the tablet itself gives us this specific order: bone of righteous human plus blood of fallen angel, king of hell, alpha monster.

Now, let’s put the bone of sister Mary Constant aside for a moment and focus on the creatures that give their blood for the spell: Castiel, Crowley, and the Alpha Vampire.

Basically: the last time we saw the Alpha vampire he was part of a “trio” along with Crowley and Cas. What if again he’s part of a “trio” in the narrative along with Crowley and Cas? More specifically, people who’ll get in trouble because of the British Men of Letters? And maybe, that Sam/Mary/some combination of characters will have to consider killing because of the British Men of Letters?

Let’s make a “you’re living my life in reverse” mental experiment and reverse the order on the Leviathan tablet. Alpha vampire, Crowley and Castiel.

The Alpha vampire comes first. In 12x14, he shows up, to fight against the British Men of Letters. Sam, though, sides with the BMoL, and kills him.

It’s not a difficult choice for Sam. The Alpha vampire is a monster, he’s killed many people, turned many people into monsters, and now he kills people who were in the BMoL base to do their job and didn’t have blood on their own hands. Sam allies with Mick, and the Alpha vampire dies.

What if the next big choices Sam (and Mary, and Dean, and everyone) has to make regard Crowley and Cas?

I mean, it’s pretty obvious that the whole “let’s get rid of all the monsters!!” attitude at some point will have to clash with the fact that some monsters are not evil and in fact some are family. But I expect, in particular, a progression that goes from the Alpha vampire to Crowley and Cas.

I mean, many people have been talking about this kind of issue in relation to Cas, but there also Crowley to put in the picture. Because, while Cas is seen as family by both Sam and Dean (and seemingly Mary, although of course she could rationalize eliminating Cas for the greater good) but Crowley does not possess the same status for the Winchesters. So, I can see Dean and Sam defending Cas from Mary and the rest, but can you see Dean and Sam defending Crowley?

Mary has made it clear what her perception of Crowley is - touch me and I’ll kill you - and Sam, while seemingly more chill around Crowley, does not like him any more. I can see a conflict among the Winchesters arising where Crowley is concerned. Dean, as much as he acts like he doesn’t care, does care for Crowley. It’s super complicated, it’s layered in layers of guilt and shame, but Dean has shared something with Crowley and Crowley does have a place in Dean’s virtual family table. (Maybe neither of them really realize it, definitely not Crowley, so I can see a storyline where things get clear for everyone involved.)

Sam has never tried to hide his feelings of aversion for Crowley. He’s worked with him when needed, but he’s never shared moments with Crowley except the one in the church, that was totally one-sided from Crowley’s side. Sam has acted chill towards Crowley lately because of the various circumstances they’ve been in, but Sam has never really stopped hating Crowley, hasn’t he? He’s never forgotten Crowley for the various things he blames him for (some of which definitely understandable...), including trying to steal Dean from him.

If Sam were in the circumstance of having to kill Crowley, I am sure that he would do it without really hesitating - I don’t think his feelings for Crowley have really changed since the time he used Rowena’s demon-killing instrument to try and kill him, especially if killing Crowley were presented to him as something rationally justified. Dean and Cas, on the other hand - I doubt either of them would willingly kill Crowley.

So I expect the story to go towards a place where Crowley and Cas find themselves in some sort of similar situation to the Alpha vampire - of course, in the case of the Alpha vampire the situation was completely different, because he was indeed a monster and choosing to kill him instead of letting him kill Mick was an easy decision. But if Crowley and Cas gets targeted by the British Men of Letters, if it’s decided that the Colt will have to be used against them, who will make which decision?

A reversal of “always happy to bleed for the Winchesters”, maybe? With the Winchesters sacrificing something/themselves (not necessarily lethally) for Crowley and/or Cas?

#my spn thoughts #spn spec #spn meta #british men of letters #leviathan #season 12 and season 7 #alpha vampire #crowley #cas #spn

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dolorousedditor · 7 years

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Untitled Robbaery

(Haven’t posted much writing here lately so here’s a glimpse of a side project that grabbed my attention last summer)

Basic premise follows the SuperTullys. Cat and Edmure do right or fuck up in the best ways possible.

ROBB

He shouldn’t be here.

Standing within a ruined castle, sweltering beneath the midday sun, all of this only deepened his unease.

The yard was overgrown and much of it filled with the crumbled stone of a collapsed keep. Although little save its broken foundations remained intact, the castle’s massive curtain walls still stood, marred only by the unchecked spread of moss and vines, which crept up the stone like tendrils.

There’d be no need for ladders or ropes to scale these walls. Several castles here in the Westerlands had fallen to him after such assaults. Yet Robb could not claim credit for the devastation wrought upon Tarbeck Hall.

The lions did this. House Tarbeck joined with the Reynes of Castamere in rising against Casterly Rock.

And Tywin Lannister destroyed them for it.

Grey Wind stirred at his side, the direwolf answering the grim thoughts with a whine. Unlike his friend, Robb could not afford to let his worries show. Not while his bannermen were near. Galbart Glover, Ser Wendel Manderly, Ser Patrek Mallister, Dacey Mormont, he caught all glancing at him now and again. Looking to their king for guidance, wisdom, strength.

Expecting everything of him.

To be king is more than a title to boast. It is a duty. One judged by deed and how we face the whirlwind.

None stared with the intensity of Lord Rickard Karstark, whose severe features betrayed his impatience. The lord knew as Robb did. That Tywin Lannister had crossed the Red Fork and was at this very moment rushing to drive them from his domains. The lion had taken the bait but few had been in the mood to celebrate. Not with the ironmen ravaging the North.

Karstark was not alone in disdaining how he’d handled Balon Greyjoy’s treachery. The lord’s mood had soured further when, instead of taking the fight to their foes, Robb brought them here.

As he adjusted his crown, he sought the reason for their diversion. The sun had made the circlet of iron swords hot to the touch, yet his lady mother’s face remained cool and impassive as they waited. Lady Catelyn wore a gown of blue and red, the colors of House Tully, as she stood proudly beneath a Stark banner. While it flapped in the gentle breeze, the Lady of Winterfell did not waiver.

Until their eyes met and she raised an eyebrow.

“They will come,” Lady Catelyn said, sensing his thoughts. “We were early after all.”

“No, we were wary. If this is a trap, let them try and spring it with my men dug in and ready.”

He’d led three thousand to Tarbeck Hall. His archers ringed the walls, his cavalry arrayed on a hill to the east, and the Blackfish’s outriders watched all approaches for any sign of treachery.

That gnawed at him. For he was already guilty of considering a betrayal of his own.

“Lord Tyrell and his family have not come so far to act recklessly,” the lady continued. “Were that his intent, we would not hold such esteemed guests.”

The hostages she spoke of were cousins to Lord Mace Tyrell and a son of Lord Mathis Rowan. All members of the escort that accompanied Lady Catelyn to the battlefields of the west.

He’d sent his mother to the Reach to seek an alliance with Renly Baratheon and his southron allies. When word came of Renly’s death and how Stannis was willing to war against his own brother to secure the throne for himself, his hopes were dashed. Hence Robb’s surprise when, while his army raided the lands south of Casterly Rock, their outriders did spot an equal force marching north towards them. Not army of lions, but one of roses.

To find his mother among them came as a shock, yet it paled to that he felt to hear the proposal she carried.

“I cannot marry Margaery Tyrell. I am promised to another,” he would remind her. “A betrothal you arranged for me. One sworn in good faith to Lord Frey.”

“I had not forgotten,” Lady Catelyn did reply. “Nor has it slipped my mind how that betrothal was strangled from us by Late Lord Frey. A man who extorted our family when he should have done his duty by my father. What loyalty is owed to a man who shows none himself?”

“There is the duty I owe myself. To do the honorable thing,” he had said. “Would Mace Tyrell truly want a man so callous to wed his daughter?”

“Renly served well enough. Mace and the Reach lords were willing to aid him in usurping Stannis’s claim and Renly did not prove himself half as worthy as you. No Stark has done what you’ve managed in generations. The realm holds its breath at every move the Young Wolf makes.”

“What are my bannermen to think should I make this move? To abandon a sworn vow?”

“Your men are drunk with victory, Robb. They’ve grown accustomed to it. Now with the North under attack, they’ll hunger for vengeance against the Greyjoys just as they do the Lannisters. A marriage to Margaery Tyrell gives you the strength to sate their bloodlust. Wed this girl and the war is yours to win.”

She need not have said so. He was not so blind as to see the opportunity being handed him. A Frey wife won him four thousand men and a fragile kingdom. A Tyrell bride could deliver twenty times what the Freys had and help him deliver on all he’d promised he would as king. Not only to his men but to his family.

To himself.

His mouth was dry and heart heavy when he gave voice to it all.

“I want to get back to the North. To Bran and Winterfell. To have my sisters returned to us and justice done by father,” Robb had stared deep into his mother’s eyes at that. “But we both know he would be ashamed of me even considering this. Freys have died for me. They’ve fought by my side.”

“And many more may die should you reject this offer out of hand,” Lady Catelyn countered as she wrung her hands. “Your father was not perfect, Robb. He had his faults and, as deeply as I grew to love him, he did dishonor me. Still I loved him. Men served him. And he did all in his power to protect you and your brothers and sisters. Would he be proud of this? No, likely not. But he would understand. He would risk dishonor if it meant doing right by his people. By his blood.”

Robb suspected his mother would have been disappointed at how tempted he was all along. He forced remorse at the prospect of dishonouring the Freys, his mind so clouded with thoughts of the finest knights in the realm at his beck and call. With his memories of leaving Bran and Rickon behind at Winterfell, or watching Sansa and Arya depart for the south. Then came his father and the other dead. Eddard and Torrhen Karstark. Daryn Hornwood.

With Tywin Lannister approaching and the Greyjoys loose in his homeland, more were sure to fall.

Thus he agreed to meet with the Tyrells. To discuss their proposal as well as get their measure.

And to glimpse the lady who offered him both doom and salvation.

Robb’s nerves were so on edge that he nearly started when a call came down from the walls heralding an approaching party.

There were no gates left to Tarbeck Hall so the newcomers entered with ease. The Blackfish led them on, the older leather-clad knight holding the Stark banner high. He and Robb’s other guardsmen looked plain indeed compared to those of the Reach. As finely as the riverlords and westermen dressed Robb was taken aback by how lavish and vibrant the Tyrell party was. Among the many knights and lords two grabbed his attention almost immediately.

The elder of the two was tall and broadly built, with a well-trimmed beard and surcoat bearing two golden roses. His younger companion shared many of his features and even Robb noted the lithe, golden-eyed man to be among the most handsome he’d ever laid eyes upon. All this despite the dark circles beneath his eyes and weary expression he bore.

“Southron flowers,” Lord Rickard grumbled to Galbart. He did so just quietly enough that their guests remained ignorant of the slight. Robb did not altogether disagree, for he much preferred his wools, leathers and furs to silk and satin.

Gods and this is how the men dress, I can only guess at the frill and pomp of the women…

“Your Grace!” His uncle barked from atop his horse. “Allow me to present the sers Garlan and Loras Tyrell. Good knights, before you stands the Young Wolf! King in the North, King of the Trident, Lord of Winterfell! King Robb Stark!”

“Well met, King Robb,” Ser Loras dismounted and bowed. His brother quickly following suit.

“On behalf of our father, the Lord of Highgarden, we congratulate you on your many victories and offer condolences for your terrible losses.”

“I thank you for both, Ser Garlan, Ser Loras,” Robb gestured to his mother. “And for bringing my mother safely back to my side.”

“It was our pleasure. The Seven know our sister found great comfort in her company.”

“Comfort and joy, Garlan!” A melodic voice called his attention back to the gate where more riders were arriving.

He saw her then. Flanked by twin Tyrell guardsmen and riding upon a hickory mare, ca one of the most beautiful women Robb had ever laid eyes upon. Her softly rolling curls of thick brown hair matched her lively eyes and her body was both slender and shapely. His eyes lingered upon it. Unlike the Tyrell brothers, this lady was not dressed in a grandiose fashion. Her gown was a simple green, with golden stitching about the sleeves and bust. Pinned there was a rose wrought in gold, though its loveliness paled to the wearer.

Or the shy smile she offered as Ser Loras helped her dismount. Then it was Ser Garlan’s arm she took to stand before the northern party.

“My son, allow me to introduce the Lady Margaery Tyrell,” Lady Catelyn said. This bid Margaery to curtsy before him, those lovely eyes falling to the ground before seeking his again.

“It is an honor, my king,” the lady stayed low, “may the old gods and the new grant favor upon you and your sword.”

“As I wish for you and your family, my lady,” he said. Still she did not rise so Robb held out his hand to take a hold of hers. Her touch was warm, her fingers lightly running across his to take hold of his hand. Such gentleness felt most welcome after all these months of war.

A memory of Theon at the Crag came back. Of how the Greyjoy heir smiled as young Jeyne Westerling helped tend the wound Theon had taken in storming her castle.

“Well worth that arrow to enjoy such a fine woman’s company,” Theon had jested and sent the young lady blushing from the room.

“You’re ruining your heroic repute,” Robb had replied. “The men are saying you took that arrow to spare me. That couldn’t be so. Not after you cursed me for sending others to treat with Lord Balon rather than his own son.”

Theon’s smirk had faltered then.

“I knew Lady Stark didn’t trust me. Finding out my brother felt the same…”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you. Lord Balon has only kept the faith when we hold something he values.”

“You mean when you hold a sword over my head,” Theon had snapped. Rubbing at his bandaged arm he had met Robb’s gaze fiercely.

“There was no blade at my throat when I pushed you from harm today. None when I named you a king. A brother. Would a mere captive do all that?”

“I did as a king must, Theon.”

Those words were likely less comfort to Theon than the soft bed and care Robb left him to at the Crag. The captured castle was meant to be place for Theon to heal yet soon after became his prison, for once word came of the Greyjoy betrayals he sent orders that Theon be held there. Some like Lord Karstark had demanded Theon’s head in response but Robb had defied them.

For the nonce at least, he lamented.

That was another hard decision awaiting him. Like that the Tyrells brought with them to Tarbeck Hall. Though to look upon Margaery Tyrell was to dull its harshness.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Margaery said once he’d released her hand. Suddenly a bereaved expression crossed her face.

“Dear brothers, I must say we have been poorly served in the word we’ve had of our host.”

“Oh?” Ser Garlan raised an eyebrow.

“Among all those testaments to his warrior’s skill and glorious campaigns, I recall no mention of his handsome bearing. If the truth was known most maidens of the Reach would forget his youth and name him the Comely Wolf.”

Dacey Mormont’s snort was nearly covered by Ser Garlan’s chuckling. Robb was bemused by the flattery, which was a rare occurrence in an army of northmen.

“That may give my foes the wrong impression,” he pointed out and brought a mirthful glint to Margaery’s eye.

“Do you imagine they’d expect someone taller?”

#robbaery #robb x margaery #asoiaf au #side project #my fan fiction #untitled wip

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years

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Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.12}

*Severus Snape x OC*

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.4k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

The time before the actual welcoming feast seemed to stretch on forever this year. The sorting took longer than usual, or at least it felt like that, and Dumbledore's speech seemed even more repetitive and boring than it always had. Robin guessed that it was the 48 hours without a meal that had her desperately looking forward to the beginning of the feast, and seeing as nobody else seemed to be bothered by how long it all was taking, she probably was right to think so.

In her impatience, she started fiddling with whatever cutlery she had within her reach on the table, tapping her feet, nibbling on her bottom lip… until the people around her were starting to be seriously irritated by her behavior, upon which she forced herself to stop. Instead, she went for her usual inspection of the staff at the head table. What was sitting up there like? Did they ever feel observed, or were they used to it from all the time they got stared at in class? She should ask about it, at some point.

Other than a few more wrinkles here and some new robes there, things really hadn't changed; they never did. While Dumbledore was speaking in the front, the teachers behind him were unsurprisingly not paying all too much attention. Sure, they all made the impression to be listening, but when Robin followed the line of faces, she could see Sprout quietly chatting with Hooch, Trelawney taking more interest in her goblet than in her colleagues, Hagrid and Flitwick having a very subtle argument about something… and then there was McGonagall, talking to Snape as if there wasn't even a speech she ought to be listening to. Robin inevitably had to smile when she saw the two; McGonagall being very much focused on whatever she was saying, while Snape was listening carefully but pretended to be entirely uninterested at the same time. Robin realized that he might very well do that to everyone who tried to talk to him about anything of minor importance. Then again… he was always listening to whatever she was rambling about, without a single spark of indifference. The thought made her smile even more. Perhaps he simply didn't bother with the facades around her anymore because she knew better anyway.

When the meal finally started, Robin was more than happy to indulge in the different kinds of food, and somehow everything tasted better than she remembered it to. But after weeks of living off whatever was cheapest in the store that day, a fully cooked meal like this was the most luxurious thing she could think of in the first place.

"I don't think I've ever seen you enjoying your food that much." Jorien remarked after a while, and Robin had to fight the embarrassment that wanted to paint her face.

"Yeah, didn't you get any breakfast at home?" Cas chuckled while she again picked the mushrooms out of her mixed vegetables and moved them over to Robin's plate. Some things just never changed.

"Good question, you've certainly lost some weight over the weeks of summer…" Jorien added, and both girls looked at Robin expectantly for an answer.

"I had quite a bit of exercise during the holidays, more than I usually get. Running through nature all day, every day, is a workout in itself. Perhaps that's where the weight went." She only shrugged in return, putting it off as nothing like she did so often when she didn't want the girls to know the truth. "I'm sure I'll be back to normal in no time now that we're back at school."

"You should eat dessert, too, then. Your robes look too loose like that, the fit needs some curve!" Cas replied in an expert manner, and Jorien only snorted while rolling her eyes. Robin however didn't mind, and when the time came, she had dessert indeed.

When the feast was over at last and the students started filing out of the hall to head to their common rooms, the three girls were among the very last to leave, as were Simon and his friends. The group split up into three segments in the entrance hall, Cas and Jorien heading to the Slytherin common room and the Ravenclaw boys to their own, while Robin wanted to tag along with her roommates for the way down to the office. But she didn't even get to the staircase before she was whisked away from the two girls –who were accustomed to her sudden disappearances by now– and she found herself in a gloomy ground-level hallway she hadn't even known existed up to this point, with a racing heart that only changed the reason for its speeding but not its pace itself when her eyes fell onto Snape two steps away now. Bloody hell… he shouldn't do things like this if he didn't want her to just lose it at some point.

"Was that really necessary?" She huffed in amusement, and couldn't help smiling up at him anyway. "I was just on my way down to the office to find you!"

"That is precisely why it was necessary." He replied calmly, with the barest hint of a not-smirk. "I have to patrol the castle grounds tonight, Minerva asked me to switch places with her. So no sitting in the office for now."

"Lovely." Robin sighed under her breath, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back against the cold stone wall behind her. "And here I was, thinking that I would finally get to have coffee with you again after a week of being alone."

"We still can, after patrolling. Are you accompanying me like always?"

"Obviously." She gave him a small smirk once more, leaning her head to the side. "Are you making me coffee afterwards as a fair compensation like always?"

"Obviously." He rolled his eyes in feigned annoyance, which only made Robin grin more. "I must admit, a week without your insufferable self really turned out to be quite dreadful after all."

"Good. I missed you too."

"Is my house still standing?"

"Would it annoy you more if I said yes or no?" She asked innocently, rising her eyebrows once more, and her heart skipped a beat when he actually smirked for real in return. Always a delight to see, no matter how frequently it happened by now when they were alone.

They started sauntering through the hallways then, like they had done in the past school year as well, in search for students breaking curfew or any other inconveniences they could only hope not to encounter. Patrolling really was something Robin couldn't help but wonder about. Usually it meant for one professor to wander the castle alone, in the dark, without anything to do other than trying to make the night pass by as soon as possible. How dreadfully boring that must be; she was glad that she could make the dull task a little better for Snape by joining him in the misery of it at least. That way, they at least could chat and joke and bicker like always, only a bit more quietly. The portraits still grumbled at them from time to time, which however they simply ignored as they moved along. After an hour, they had caught up on the week's few events on either end, and Snape was quite obviously annoyed by the fact that Robin had spent two days without a meal. It took her a good twenty minutes to convince him that it was fine, and even more importantly, that it was in the past now and thus didn't matter anymore. Still, he seemed to be rather upset with himself about the issue, but Robin knew better than to push him, so she merely changed the topic, and eventually they were back to the usual. Other than that the night was considerably eventless.

It was only when they were passing through an almost empty sixth floor hallway when Robin picked up on a noise to her right, thus stopped walking abruptly and listened instead. Snape followed the example an instant later, and they stood in the middle of the hallway for a moment to listen to the silence, until the odd noises picked up again, from behind an inconspicuous door on the wall to their right a bit further down the hallway.

"Isn't that… just a broom closet?" Robin asked in an irritated whisper, frowning to herself first and then at Snape, until her brain made sense of the circumstances and she felt the heat creeping up her neck. "I, uh… I don't think I want to open that door."

"Neither do I." He grumbled in return, glaring at the door as if it would change anything about the awkward situation. "But as it happens to be, I will have to and you do not. So go ahead and spare yourself the embarrassment if you wish to."

"Nonsense. I'm not letting you suffer alone." She was quick to reply, then made the final few steps to stand with her back against the wall across from the door, and the very second Snape had caught up with her, she opened it with a wordless spell. It was ironic, really, that she didn't mind doing uncomfortable things in his place for the sake of sparing him from it.

The door flew open with a start, two startled yelps could be heard, and Robin's eyes fell onto two kids she had never seen before, which meant they had to be in the years below. They were still mostly dressed, it seems, and she was honestly glad for that at least. No need to make things even more awkward for anyone involved. Both the boy and the girl, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff respectively, quickly snapped out of their shock and straightened their clothing before trying to stammer out poor excuses for what they were doing in a broom closet at this time of night. Honestly, Robin just wanted to snort at their words and actions every other second, but she kept a perfect straight face of neutrality as always while Snape held his usual speech about rule-breaking and improper behavior that she had been a witness of often enough at this point. Never on the receiving end, obviously, but they had encountered enough students out of bed during their patrols that by now she could almost mouth along with his words. She only started actually listening again when Snape turned towards her.

"Could you accompany Miss Parlow to Professor Sprout's office?" He asked neutrally, but without the scowl he had directed at the two students a mere moment before. "I will see to it that Mister Sterling finds his way to Professor Flitwick."

"Yes, of course." Robin found herself replying before she thought, and only once she had agreed so easily, she thought that he had never asked her to do this before. It definitely was an act of trust rather than a burden, she knew that, and that's why she was all the more determined to see even this easy task through.

"Who exactly are you anyway?" The Hufflepuff girl eventually asked, as Robin led her through a few more empty hallways. "No offense, but you look like a fifth year, maximum. Why on earth are YOU escorting ME?"

"That isn't of your concern." Robin replied indifferently, and she was glad that she had decided to take a shortcut to Sprout's office. Perhaps she would ask Simon about the girl, they obviously were in the same grade.

"And why on earth would you wander around with Snape at this time, or at any time really? Is this your detention or something?" The girl asked on, and Robin sent her a glare that shut her up instead of answering the questions.

A few minutes later they reached the herbology professor's office, and Robin knocked three times, then waited while the girl by her side grew more and more nervous. When Sprout opened the door at last, Robin gave her a polite smile, then explained the situation shortly and to the point upon which the girl was ushered into the office.

"Thank you, Robin, I will take care of the issue from here right away." Sprout gave her a smile in return at last, while the girl in the office behind her now looked positively startled. "Tell Severus my thanks too, will you?"

"Wait, YOU are Robin? The girl who everyone's been talking about for years?" The girl in the office asked incredulously a second later, and finally she just seemed absolutely horrified. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry about what I said! Please forget I ever said anything at all, I honestly didn't mean to upset you!"

"Seems like you have inherited some of Severus' reputation after all, huh?" Sprout snickered quietly, and Robin almost had to smirk at her words in return.

"Actually, I believe that this was mostly my own doing." She replied under her breath. "Ever since that incident in my fourth year, people have been weary of me, and as it seems, rumours and legend grow stronger over time. I doubt that any of the lower years even knows what it all is about anymore, but that doesn't stop them from believing in my reputation."

"Take it as a gift, dear. It is hard to come by their respect in any way, especially when you're that young yourself." Sprout sighed quietly, then gave Robin another encouraging smile. "Well, anyway, I hope you two have a good night!"

"Likewise, thank you." Robin returned, and only when Sprout shut the door behind herself, leaving Robin alone in the hallway, she frowned at the herbology teacher's words for a moment before finally making her way back through the hallways to where she would meet Snape in the ground-level hallway they had started out in.

But again, Robin didn't get that far; Somehow, people seemed to take joy in disrupting her plans today, and it left her feeling less in control than she would've liked. This time, how could it be any different, it was Morgan who stepped into her way out of nowhere.

"Miss Mitchell, what a delight to have you back at last. For the new term, of course." He smiled at her brightly, and the hairs in Robin's neck stood on high alert in an instant.

"Professor…" She greeted him politely, but when she tried to walk around him while keeping her head low like she ought to, he blocked her way again, this time getting way too close for comfort.

"And where would we be headed?" He inquired in a bright tone as he moved in even closer, making Robin back up until her back hit the wall. Well… damnit.

"I was just on my way back from Professor Sprout's office." She replied truthfully but quietly, in an attempt to keep her facade up and play the submissive little girl. The act still made her feel sick, but she hadn't forgotten their encounter at the ball; it was very much necessary to refrain from fighting back, and she had done a fairly good job at it ever since adoption this strategy.

"I see." He sighed softly, but still refused to back up even a step. He clearly didn't mind invading her personal space, which became all the more obvious when he traced a single finger along her collarbone and down her shoulder. Robin would've very much liked to break his arm for doing that, but such a behaviour unfortunately wouldn't count as laying low. So she only stared at the ground a few steps behind him and tried not to break her act while he spoke. "After making it to honours in herbology and even giving a lecture in front of renowned professionals in the field, I'm sure you can teach Pomona one thing or two…"

"You… you know about the lecture?"

"It was in the news, darling." He purred with a sickening smile. "I still have the article in my rooms… And the picture, of course."

The thought that Morgan had kept a picture of her made Robin feel even more sour than the situation did anyway, and she honestly just wanted to hex him further down the hallway with a single spell and then dash off like her body and mind were telling her to. But that would count as attacking a teacher, and without any witnesses or proof of her story, she would always end up on the losing end of that scenario. Whatever she did, people would believe Morgan's version of it more than hers, more than the truth.

"You have lost some weight since the picture was taken…" He finally spoke on, in a nonchalant tone that still had a cutting edge to it, and at last he removed his hand from her arm. "Say, doesn't Severus feed his little pet enough?"

A cold shudder ran down Robin's spine, at the same time as her stomach churned and her heart stopped for a moment, then started racing. She felt sick now indeed, scared and sick and far too close to panicking. Morgan was obviously playing with her, trying to get a reaction… but she wouldn't give him one. At least not the one she wanted to give, which was precisely the one he wanted to see.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She breathed in sincere fear, which was working in her favor for once. Why cover up something that was helping the act?

"Oh, I'm sure you do." He smiled at her in a mixture of humour and some twisted kind of adoration. "What do you get out of it, huh?"

"I have no idea what you're implying, but whatever it is, you're absolutely wrong. Sir."

"I mean, Miss Mitchell, that he gets a beautiful and spectacularly talented woman all to himself, devoted as you clearly are. But what do you get from him in return?"

"You're wrong…" Robin croaked out in a whisper, but she couldn't even think of anything else to say to defend herself without starting a war right here, right now.

"Don't tell me I wouldn't find his fingerprints on your skin if I were to take a look… Don't tell me you don't want him to save you right now." He hissed, and his hand was back on Robin's shoulder, squeezing painfully like he had all this time ago down by the forest. She winced involuntarily, and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment to keep the gathering tears from spilling over. Perhaps it wasn't so difficult to play scared after all… not when she really was terrified out of her mind for real.

"Let go of me. Please." She tried to get out as calmly as she could, but her shoulder was hurting enough to make her grit her teeth. The pain didn't suffice however for her to miss how his other hand traced her collarbone once again, only to move towards her neck this time. Her urge to fight back grew to the unbearable, and she had to ball up a bunch of fabric of her robes in each hand to keep them at her sides. "You have no right to touch me, nor to threaten me. So, Let. Me. Go."

"You were supposed to be mine, you know…" He sighed sadly, and his fingers traced down Robin's neck, following the thin silver chain of her necklace across her chest to the point where it ran beneath her blouse. Then he tugged the chain up until he held the locket between his fingertips. "It was supposed to be you and I until the end. But Severus just had to get in the way, didn't he? I shall make sure he sees the error in claiming what is mine."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Robin's emotions were finally gaining the upper hand, and her voice shook with anger and fear alike. "But if you try to harm him in any way, I shall make sure that I will be the very end of you."

"Ah, there you finally are again, my dear… I have missed you." Morgan held her gaze with a smirk for a moment, then his eyes traveled down to the locket and inevitably also to her cleavage. "So fierce… So full of passion." With a start he yanked on the necklace, and the thin chain bit deeply into Robin's neck before coming undone.

Damnit, her act was blown, her neck hurting and her shoulder was still trapped in his punishing grip. Robin had given him exactly what he wanted, she knew that, but it was too late to change that now. Even her facades had a breaking point, and Morgan had found it at last. Yet, he still kept her pressed into the wall by her shoulder as he inspected the locket in his hand curiously for a moment, then looked back up at her with a sneer.

"I'm sure you won't mind if I keep this for a while, will you? As a reminder of what ought to inevitably be…"

"Fuck off." Robin hissed in return, dropping every hint of submission to glare up at him in pure hostility. "If you truly believe yourself to be entitled to me in some sickening way, you're even more eaten up by insanity than I thought."

"Insanity is such a vile word, darling… I am dedicated, just like you are. We have more in common than you think."

"You're nothing like me."

"No, I'm certainly not." Morgan chuckled softly and took the last step closer to press Robin into the wall with his own body now. "But that doesn't mean we have nothing in common."

"Get away from me right now or you will regret it." Robin said coldly, and finally released the balled up fabric from her hands. Witnesses or not, she would rather get expelled for attacking a teacher than letting herself be assaulted like this.

"Oh please…" Morgan scoffed in a dismissive tone, and after slipping the necklace into the pockets of his robes, he placed his now free hand against the wall next to Robin's head. "I'm not scared of Severus. And I'm certainly not scared of you."

"You should be." Robin stated under her breath, then focused her entire energy and willpower into a wordless spell that had Morgan flying through the hallway indeed, a good twenty feet even, before he came crashing down on the ground with a gruesome cracking sound.

For a moment he merely groaned and hardly even moved, but Robin still drew her wand from her sleeve and pointed it at the professor in determination to do whatever was necessary to defend herself. No matter what he was about to do now, she wouldn't let him catch her off guard. Not again. But she also wouldn't be the one to attack, not even when he deserved it quite so much at this point. But to her surprise, Morgan simply sat up after a while, hissing in pain, but with the biggest smile on his face.

"This should suffice to get you expelled." He chuckled to himself, overly happy at the prospect, so much so that he simply wouldn't stop grinning.

If anything, this proved Robin right in her assumption that he had been trying to coax such a reaction from her. But then again, she was absolutely certain that his behavior, his words and actions, hadn't been just for show. He wouldn't have bothered to keep her locket if it had been, he merely could've destroyed it or tossed it aside. But he wanted a trophy, and he wanted HER, that much she was certain of now. Only didn't she know what he wanted her for, or why. He certainly despised her, he had absolutely hated her for all these long years, and yet, now, he still wanted her in some twisted way… Robin didn't understand. Not even nearly, not when his behaviour was so different all of a sudden, and yet so very in line with everything that had been in the years before. No, Robin didn't understand at all. But when Morgan scrambled to his feet and limped back towards her, she didn't get the time to think about it any longer.

"A broken bone or two are quite the lovely evidence you presented me with. I shall thank you, my dear." He smiled at her sweetly once more, but stopped a few steps away now that Robin kept her wand pointed at him and bowed ridiculously low before her. How could anyone be like that?! She didn't understand, none of it, but Morgan didn't cease to scare her beyond reason anyhow.

Robin was just about to reply when she heard footsteps approaching quickly from her left, and Morgan seemed to notice them too, for he turned to look right into that direction as well. Three seconds later, Professor McGonagall stepped into the dim light of the few candles that lit up the partial crossing Robin and Morgan were standing in the middle of.

"Oh, Minerva!" Morgan went straight at it, his smile suddenly gone and replaced by a brilliantly feigned pain stricken expression. "Thank God you are here… You have to stop her! I… I think she broke my leg, perhaps my wrist as well, when… when she attacked me!"

McGonagall inspected the scene with wary eyes, taking in Robin's unfaltering grip on her wand that she still kept pointed at Morgan, then her colleague's pity-evoking appearance and pleading eyes. Robin knew that it looked beyond bad for her; what an ironic repetition of the event that had started it all six years ago. The same people, the same situation overall. Morgan was making Robin the villain of his story, himself the obvious victim, and McGonagall had no clue about what had really happened, but she was made to be his judge either way. But honestly, Robin didn't have it in her to defend herself like a bloody child caught in the act anymore. If she was asked for her version of events she would gladly provide it, but she wouldn't try to change opinions that were already forged in stone. If this would mark her fall from grace, she would at least fall with some last scraps of dignity.

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years

Text

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 6.15}

*Severus Snape x OC*

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 6.2k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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They hadn't technically agreed to meet again before breakfast, but Robin almost counted on it that Snape would be waiting for her at some point between where they had parted half an hour ago and the great hall. And indeed, it was the entrance hall where they crossed ways as if by coincidence, and for a brief moment Robin wondered how he always did that. Snape seemed surprised to see both Jorien and Cas following after Robin, which was understandable after what she'd told him a few hours ago, and Robin didn't waste time to address the matter at hand.

"I gave both of them detention for today." She said with a small sigh. "And now they-..."

"She can't actually give us detention." Jorien cut in, glaring at Robin, then turned to face Snape. "Right? There's something called rules, which Robin obviously has never heard of before! She's in no position to give us orders!"

"And what, pray tell, gives you the audacity to judge that?" He replied with a sharp glance at Jorien, and it took the wind out of her sails immediately. "If you had questioned my decisions like that, Miss Blakeley, you would be serving more than one day of detention."

"So she's actually allowed to do this?!" Jorien looked entirely exasperated now. "Her word is law?"

"Obviously." Snape scowled at her in his usual manner. "I will be seeing you in my classroom after breakfast."

"That's got to be a bloody joke!" Jorien groaned and stormed off without another word, entering the great hall with anger radiating off her in palable waves.

"I, uh… Sorry, for… her." Cas said quietly, giving both Snape and Robin an apologetic look. "We, I mean, I… will see you. Both. After… yeah." Without another glance at either of them, she made her way through the large doors as well, disappearing into the direction of the Ravenclaw table.

As soon as the doors fell shut again, Robin closed her eyes and sighed deeply. After a night like the one she's had, this is not how the morning was supposed to go. And it certainly wasn't a good idea to treat the healing wounds of one relationship with the cutting edges of another.

"I'm so sorry. This wasn't supposed to happen, and it certainly wasn't supposed to happen like this." She finally said as she opened her eyes again to peer up at Snape. "Thank you for having my back nonetheless."

"Any time." He replied calmly, as if he hadn't just given Jorien a death glare half a minute ago. "And don't be sorry. This conflict obviously has great significance to you, and therefore I would like to see it solved as well."

"Thank you." She sighed softly, then ran a hand through her hair while collecting her thoughts. "I just wanted to sort this out… but then things escalated and I did the only thing I could think of."

"You gave them detention."

"Yeah." Robin still was entirely unhappy with that fact, but she would make the best of it now. "Cas was quick to accept it, but Jorien…"

"She reminds me of you in your first year."

"Ugh… I know." Robin groaned, rolling her eyes, but she still couldn't help smiling a little. "She's heard too many of the cutting remarks I direct at other people. She's gotten rather good at hurting people with her words herself."

"Perhaps I should indeed have given her even more detention for her behaviour then."

"Nah… Wouldn't fit in with your punishment policy, would it? She would hardly have learned from that; her problem is her anger, not discipline or authority."

"Indeed." He mused, watching how Robin leaned against the wall behind her with a sigh. Almost curiously, he raised his eyebrows at her then. "So why did you choose to give them detention in the first place? Not that I wouldn't approve of that decision, but it surprises me nonetheless."

"It's the only possibility to get them to stay in the same room, with each other and with me. The only legal one, at least." She shrugged, clasping her hands between her back and the wall.

"Clever. As always."

Robin's lips tugged upwards into a small smile upon the comment, but she tried not to let it cloud her focus on the problem at hand. "I'm going to make them talk to each other, and it won't be pretty. I've gotten a good glimpse of it already, and I'm honestly not looking forward to the entire thing unraveling. But they've got to stop what they're doing to themselves, and to each other."

"Their actions have an effect on you even more than on each other, I believe."

"Yeah… But they don't know that, and they don't have to. I'm good if they're good with each other, and I'm willing to do a lot to get them there. They won't have to thank me afterwards, not even talk to me if they'd prefer not to."

"You'd be surprised by how much some people are willing to forgive." He quirked an eyebrow at Robin, and she had to smile yet again. Alright, he had a point.

"We should go in, or breakfast will be over before we've had a bite." She finally said and pushed herself off the wall. "Should be dreadful as always, without anyone to talk to."

"Actually, I would be glad to miss the inquiries about my whereabouts that are certain to come up at the head table."

"Since when do you bother with inquiries about anything at all?" Now it was Robin who quirked an eyebrow at him with a small smirk.

"Just because I have no intention to reply to them unfortunately doesn't spare me from hearing them."

Robin couldn't help laughing at the pout in his tone, and she found herself wishing that she could just fight off all the inquiries he didn't want to hear. She didn't particularly like answering annoying questions either, but she didn't dread it nearly as much as Snape did. Somehow, she thought it to be her task, her privilege to spare him from that.

"You could always pretend to be listening while really thinking of something else. With your usual range of reactions in public, nobody would notice a difference." She mused with even more of a smirk, and for a short moment, she even got one in return.

They entered the great hall then, each moving to their respective tables in silence, but as far as Robin could tell, both in as much contentment as the situation allowed. Of course, both hid it in their own way. Snape with the usual public scowl, and Robin with the usual calm neutrality. She would get Cas and Jorien to talk to each other today, there was no doubt in it. She would make sure that this would be a good day after all.

… … …

The detention served its purpose wonderfully indeed. Being forced to stay in the same space for an entire day meant that Cas' and Jorien's conflicts were prone to escalate eventually, and once they did, it was also inevitable for the storm to pass. Even better, they were quicker to forgive each other than Robin had anticipated. By lunchtime they were mostly talking to each other again, and by the time detention was over they were back to being best friends after all.

Neither remembered to apologise to Robin when they left detention that evening, they didn't even acknowledge her involvement in their conflict at all. But on the flipside they were quick to treat her as their adult friend again, their big sister rather than their enemy, which left things off as if nothing had happened in the first place. To Robin that was a good enough result, she didn't need an apology nor a thank you. Only for things to return to normal between the three of them, and she had definitely achieved that.

So when she sat in the office again that night, drinking coffee with Snape while refusing to leave just yet even though she was tired enough to fall asleep over her mug, she knew that she had been lucky. From here on, things would start to be alright again indeed.

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Robin cursed under her breath when she flipped the book in her lap shut with a bang that was loud enough to echo through the curves and edges of the arcades around her. Her free period was about to be over, having passed all too soon, while yet the dreadfully slow pace of her classes on this mid-May Friday seemed to be trickling by like endless seconds turned to dust. It was just two more weeks until the end of term, until exams. Two more weeks until her N.E.W.T.s in herbology and potions. She had been studying relentlessly ever since February, and ever since that day in March she's had Snape by her side again to help her as well. Still, she felt like there wasn't enough time to cram all that unnecessary and redundant theoretical knowledge into her head. All those facts she knew would never be of any relevance to her, or some of which she straight out believed to be wrong. But she still had to know them if she wanted a good grade, and thus she used every minute of every day for studying.

Things between Robin and Snape had returned to normal quickly after their shared crash-and-burn experience in March. Well, perhaps not quite back to normal. There were certain things that were different now, positively different. Honestly, they were closer than ever, and Robin couldn't be more glad about that. Ever since the beginning of May they had paused their usual evening lab work (which usually was of a more experimental nature by now, if not mandatory restocks or preparations), and instead started trying to perfect Robin's skills in making every and any potion that might possibly come up in the practical part of her final examination. It was a great way to practice, and she was thankful beyond measure for his help, but still Robin couldn't help feeling entirely unprepared. Snape kept on telling her that she would be fine, but honestly it didn't ease her nerves too much. She would never be as good as him at actually making potions, and she would never be as good as she wanted to be either. If that was even possible in the first place.

So when another free period ended with an entirely unproductive feeling, she climbed out of her arch in the arcades with stiff limbs and a scowl. Stupid textbooks… who the hell wrote these bloody things anyway? They were practically useless for anything other than passing standardized tests. She seriously considered writing a potions textbook herself at some point, while she made her way towards her charms class, just for the sake of it. Perhaps she would keep it in mind as a career option.

Luckily charms was the last class of the day, but it would still be a dreadfully long afternoon if Flitwick would continue his endless lecture about a spell to write in different fronts on blackboards, which he had started last week and never quite managed to finish. Robin sat down at her desk with a sigh, but only took off her sunglasses at last when Flitwick gave her a pointed look for it. Yes, perhaps it wasn't polite to wear sunglasses inside, but had he ever tried to see anything while facing a window the sun was shining through?! Obviously not. Thus, Robin was left squeezing her eyes together to keep looking at the charms professor while he started the class. But her misery didn't last long.

Two minutes into class time, the door flew open and in strode the only saving grace that was even better than sunglasses right now. Still, his trademark billowing robes and overall dramatic entrance made Robin smirk way more than she probably should have. Without even knowing what Snape was here about, she started packing up her things already on instinct. If this was coming to be a repeating pattern, she would gladly oblige.

"Severus?" Flitwick asked in mild surprise that equalled that of his students. Perhaps it was the fact that Snape never bothered to knock that came as such a surprise to everyone, or perhaps they simply were scared to be in trouble.

"I'm afraid I need to steal Miss Mitchell from you, Filius." He stated as neutrally as ever, and Robin tried her hardest not to smile like an idiot. Of course he was here because of her… he would've sent one of the second years he was supposed to be teaching right now for anything else. Robin took a quick moment in her mind to pride and chide herself for the fact that she knew his class schedule better than her own.

"Uh, certainly! I mean…" The slightly dumbfounded charms professor glanced at Robin who had already gotten up and shouldered her backpack without a concern in the world. "For… for how long?"

"The entire lesson, of course." Snape drawled in feigned annoyance and gave his colleague a look that made it abundantly clear that he wouldn't answer any more questions. Thus Flitwick merely nodded, averting his eyes from the intense gaze, and then continued his lesson as if nothing had happened.

Robin followed Snape out of the room, and only once the door had undoubtedly fallen shut behind them and they were alone in the hallway, she allowed herself to smirk up at him. "Am I needed somewhere or did you just miss me?"

He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly in return, a shadow of a half-smirk ghosting over his lips for a second, but then he started leading her down the hallway with a serious expression. "I have a favour to ask of you."

Robin's eyebrows rose in an instant, and she looked up at Snape again instead of where she was walking. "Do go on."

"I need you to take over the second year potions class that I am supposed to be teaching right now." He said in an instant, as if glad to get the request out at all, but after a moment of silence, doubt obviously made him continue. "If you are in your right mind, you will straight out decline any participation in this and-..."

"I'll do it." Robin cut in with a small smile that threatened to grow into a smirk. When he gave her a surprised glance, she added, "Have I ever been in my right mind?"

"Probably not." He mused, and finally the doubt faded from his face to be replaced by subtle relief. "Thank you."

"Anytime." She smiled, then quirked an eyebrow at him as they made their way towards the stairs to the dungeons. "Might I ask though, why do you need me to watch over your class?"

"Because I need to teach Morgan's seventh years." He sighed, obviously discontent with the fact. "Morgan reported that he was feeling ill after lunch, and Professor Dumbledore asked me to take over the class in respect to the impending final examinations. That, however, leaves my own class unattended, which I strongly disfavour for the very same reason. Even second year students should be well prepared for their exams."

"And why would you ask me, out of all people, to teach a class? Don't get me wrong, I'm honoured… But why choose the one person who has close to no experience with this thing, while there's a bunch of competent professors at this school?"

"They are not competent." He said, but when Robin gave him a look, he rolled his eyes and added, "They are competent in their subjects, not in ours."

"Alright, so you picked me because I'm good at potions. Better someone who knows the subject and nothing about teaching than someone who knows teaching but nothing about the subject. I get that. But what if I'm horrible at both?"

"Keep in mind that they made Morgan a professor. I think you should reevaluate your perception of what it takes to teach a class around here."

Robin let out a snort at the comment, shaking her head, and she did indeed feel more comfortable with the circumstances in an instant. If bloody Morgan could do this, she could too.

"I can only hope I won't screw this up." She finally sighed when they reached the crossing where they would need to part ways. "But I'll do my best to fill in for you. Even if the gap is quite a bit too large for me."

"Thank you." He was quick to reply, but then paused for a second. "You will be perfectly fine; the gap isn't nearly as large as you believe it to be. In any case, you can always scowl and have them write an essay should you find yourself uncertain what to do next. Works every time."

"I'll remember that." Robin huffed with a small smile, and only when Snape moved on to his own class, she remembered to ask the important questions. "What am I supposed to teach them anyway?"

"Revision of the term, ideally." He replied over his shoulder, and Robin couldn't help wishing he wouldn't go. "But try to remember that they aren't you. Lower your expectations, or teach the students to meet them."

With that he was gone, rushing up the spiral staircase while Robin made her way down. Oh God… had she actually agreed to teach a freaking potions class?! Second years, admittedly, but still! What was she supposed to do, make an entrance like Snape and scare the hell out of them? Actually… no no no, she couldn't do that. Fuck. She should just try to do the same thing she always did when tutoring Cas and Jorien, that had always worked just fine. Even with up to twenty people at once! Wasn't much of a difference to an entire class, was it? Only that they were actually going to expect her to teach them something, not just help with revision. But then again, it was supposed to be revision after all. Breathe, Robin… She could almost hear Snape's voice in her head by now, as often as he had said that to her over the last few weeks when she started panicking over exams. And breathing she did indeed, as she stood in front of the door to the classroom. She could do this. It was potions, she loved potions. She knew potions. It would be alright.

With a perfect calm neutrality she opened the door, and made her way towards the front without a hint of doubt shining through. At least she finally got the desk she's always been meaning to trade for.

… … …

A little more than an hour and a half later, Robin was surprised to find that everything had been alright indeed. Nothing had exploded, nothing had been damaged, and everyone had come out alive and a little smarter than before. She had done a revision of the entire school year with them like she was supposed to, and surprisingly enough, the students had actually been more than willing to accept her as their teacher for the day. A good mixture of calm politeness and menacing scowls had kept everyone in line without making them despise her, which was as good an outcome as Robin could've hoped for. And perhaps some of them had actually learned from her explanations and little tricks after all.

It was only when the students started leaving the classroom that she allowed herself to feel out of place again, being the teacher, and sitting on the edge of Snape's desk like that. He surely wouldn't approve of such a thing, but for some reason Robin was intrigued to find out what he would do about it. Unfortunately, she wouldn't get to. Just when the last student had left the classroom, someone else came in instead.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Robin jumped off the desk immediately when the headmaster came sauntering through the aisle between the students' rows. "I, uh… Sorry, I didn't… What brings you down here? I mean, is there anything I can help you with?"

"Good afternoon, Miss Mitchell." He bowed his head ever so slightly with that small smile of his. "Actually, I-..."

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Robin looked at Dumbledore almost expectantly, uncertain what to do or how to react, but he merely mentioned for her to go ahead before retreating to a shadowy corner of the room, picking up and studying a few jars in well feigned interest.

"Come in." Robin thus called out, feeling like an idiot to do so when there was an actual authority figure in the same room, but Dumbledore's wordless prompt for her to see to whatever was the issue had been clear enough.

"Sorry… if I'm interrupting." A small voice spoke from the door, and a second later one of the girls who had been part of the class just moments before reluctantly came back into the room. "I… uh, I was just wondering if perhaps… you had a minute?"

Oh god. Robin's mind raced with a million questions in return. She wasn't supposed to be a replacement for Snape! Well she was, in a way, but just for the revision part of the class! But as long as he wasn't here, she might as well fill in as good as she could for this as well.

"Wouldn't you like to speak to… Professor Snape about whatever the issue is instead? He should return soon, you can wait here if you wish." She asked, but the girl shook her head vehemently in return.

"No, I mean... do you… uh, have time for me perhaps? Before he returns?" The girl asked again, barely loud enough to be heard, and Robin did her best not to display any of the unease she felt. This wasn't her place… but she wasn't one to let people down who asked for her help.

"Certainly I have, if it really is me you wish to talk to." She finally replied with a calm little smile, much like the one Dumbledore had shown her seconds before. Sometimes inspiration was drawn from the most desperate of places. With a certain glance at the young girl who only nodded, Robin motioned to the chair in front of the desk. "Come sit down then. I don't bite."

The girl quickly scurried to the place she was pointed to, then looked up at Robin who sat down on the edge of the desk again like it was the only suitable place for her to claim. Really, she wouldn't dare to take a seat on the other side of the desk. She didn't want to give off the impression that she actually had anything to say around here.

"What can I help you with?" She prompted when the girl still wouldn't speak up after a while of quiet observation. Bloody hell, this felt odd… she wasn't supposed to be in this position.

"Well, I… uh, I noticed that you are… explaining things differently than Professor Snape, and you know so much, and I… I'm just horrible at potions!" The girl broke into tears so suddenly that Robin had a hard time keeping up with the sudden shift. "I always feel like I don't understand anything at all, and everyone else got what you explained today so well and I just… I didn't understand at all! I will fail my exam for sure! I just… I don't even understand why I have to learn all this nonsense! All those stupid little details… Why is that even important for anything?!"

While the girl kept sobbing relentlessly even after her rant, Robin honestly just felt lost in return. For a moment she was frozen, then she frowned, and finally she simply felt helpless. What was she supposed to do now?! What's one supposed to do with crying children? Bloody hell...

"I am certain the situation isn't half as bad as you make it out to be." She started, trying to use her most comforting voice, but the girl just kept on crying and crying as if she had been holding off just to unleash it all on Robin now. Oh geez… what was a professor to do in a situation like that? Use their brains. So Robin did. "Hey, look at me for a moment, yes?"

The girl did look up indeed, which was something at least, and Robin grabbed the first object on the desk she could get a hold of (which happened to be a burning candle), then held it out in front of her. "You know this spell?" She asked, while at the same time turning the candle into a drinking glass.

"Yes…" The girl sniffled, looking first at the glass and then at Robin. Without hesitation, Robin handed the object to her.

"How about this one?" She asked again, and this time she filled the glass with water to the brim.

"No…" The girl replied in a quiet voice, and while the water didn't spill over the edges of the glass, tears kept spilling over in her cheeks nonetheless. She looked at the glass in confusion for a moment, then back at Robin.

"Drink it." Robin ordered calmly, keeping her eyes on the girl who frowned a little at the odd request, but obliged without protest. Half a minute later, the glass was empty and Robin took it from her to set it aside. By now the girl had stopped crying and merely looked a little confused, but by far not as devastated anymore. So far so good. "Do you feel better?"

The girl nodded quietly, so Robin went on.

"See, you knew the charm to transform the candle into a glass, yes? It is a very basic spell, one of the fundamentals of transfiguration, you could say. The second spell I used served to fill the glass with water. You didn't know that one, but I can assure you that you will learn it sooner or later. But now imagine… What would you do if you knew how to conjure water first, but nobody had ever taught you how to get yourself a glass? Would be awfully hard to drink, wouldn't you say?"

Again, the girl nodded, and she even smiled a little at the image Robin was painting with her words.

"So we need the basic spell first, to make any use of the more advanced ones after that. Because without the basics, the difficult things wouldn't be of any value to us. Do you understand where I'm going with this?"

"I think so… It's important to know the basics, because you need a ground and matter to build on and work with."

"Exactly!" Robin offered her a small smile, even if it was feigned. "And it is exactly the same with potions. You need the basics and the details first, if you want to understand the complex structures later on."

"I can see that, I guess…"

"Good!" Robin sighed under her breath. "Now, did I understand you correctly that you're afraid of the exam for this class?"

"Yeah... I've been having problems in potions for a while now. I just don't understand how things work together and how they relate to each other. And you obviously are great at it, so I just… wanted to ask for help, I guess. Or even just some advice."

"If you have problems in a subject, you shouldn't hesitate to talk to the professor as soon as possible. Not just two weeks before the exams." Robin replied, but tried to keep the accusation out of her tone at least, if it was already so very present in her words. Calling out wrong behavior probably wouldn't help right now.

"I know…" The girl peered down at her hands in her lap, picking at the edge of her skirt while effectively avoiding Robin's eye. "But I was too scared to say anything, before now. I just… I thought I would only get yelled at anyway."

Again, Robin wanted to sigh. Somehow, she always ended up stuck between what people believed about Snape and what he wanted them to believe. There was fairly little she could do in between those two, without disregarding the reality of either. "I understand. And I won't tell you to talk to anyone you feel afraid of, even if I probably should. But I will say, out of my own experience and sincere belief, that people sometimes will surprise you if only you give them the chance to."

"Really?"

"Yes. No matter what you believe to know about someone, you must always leave open the possibility for them to change your mind. Nobody likes being trapped inside a box not made for them."

"You mean people should stop categorising?"

"No. Categorising is important for us to function in a world of such complexity. It would completely overwhelm us if we didn't categorise. What I'm saying is that you should keep in mind that you never know all there is to someone, that the picture you have of them isn't necessarily who they really are. And that when you put the world into boxes in your mind, you should always leave the lid open."

"I've never thought about it like that… but I guess you're right. Thank you." The girl gave Robin a timid smile in return. "I will try to talk to Professor Snape tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps he can help me find a point to start catching up with the class."

"Make that tomorrow morning and you might actually find him in a good mood." Robin said before she could help it, and upon the girl's confused face, she added, "When you've known someone for a while, you also know the best time to talk to them about certain things. Tomorrow morning, yes?"

"Yes! Definitely!" The girl nodded and rose to her feet with more energy than anyone should have at this point. "Thank you, professor!" With that she grabbed her back and skipped down the aisle towards the door, where she disappeared and was gone two seconds later. Only then Robin's mind snapped out of it, and she frowned to herself for a moment. Had the girl actually called her 'professor'? Robin shook her head at the odd encounter and turned the glass back into a candle before she would forget about it.

"That was quite impressive, if you allow me that one remark." Dumbledore's voice startled Robin enough to make her jump off the desk once more, heart jumping into action equally while a rush of adrenaline spread in her veins. Bloody hell… she had completely forgotten about him. And honestly, Dumbledore was remarkably good at making himself practically invisible. Perhaps actually indivisible, who knew.

"I wouldn't call it impressive. Self-defense would be more like it." Robin replied sincerely, while trying to keep up her facades nonetheless. There was no use trying to fool Dumbledore, but she wouldn't make it easy for him to see through her either. "I really just wanted her to stop crying. It made me uncomfortable."

"Still, your advice was remarkable, even if perhaps a little difficult for a child to fully understand. Say, what did you put into that water?"

"Nothing." She shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's something my parents did with me when I was little. Just give a crying child a glass of water and they will stop crying to drink it. That means they will stop crying for crying's sake, and a great majority of children's problems will already be solved at that point. At the very least, it'll be easier to have a calm conversation from there on."

"Interesting. After long years of teaching at this school, I still find myself learning something new about human behavior every day. Even if by now, I believe to have quite a bit of insight into the… mind of the common person."

"I don't. I mean, I'm not good with people, neither with children nor adults. Remembering little tricks like that, or making use of logic and knowledge to manipulate someone for their own good… Some people might call that insensitive or rude, but it really only is a means to function like any other." She said, as the question about Dumbledore's presence here came back to her mind. "Anyway, I think the girl will be fine if she actually takes the advice about keeping an open mind. But what was it you wanted to say, before we were interrupted in the first place?"

"I meant to say that I came here looking for Severus." Dumbledore smiled, and finally sauntered out of the dark corner he had been dwelling in. "I believe he might be in the possession of a book I would like to borrow for a few days."

"May I ask which one?" Robin inquired, curiosity winning over reason and definitely over manners as well. "I've read all of them at this point, so I'll probably be able to tell you if what you're looking for is part of his collection."

"Of course you have…" Dumbledore's smile turned into a sincere one, and Robin couldn't help wondering why he seemed to be so very amused by what she'd said. "The book I am looking for is a collection of spells about literature and literary mediums. You see, I unfortunately made the mistake of leaving a book of great value too close to Fawkes when it was time for him to burn… You certainly can imagine the outcome."

Robin eyebrows rose in surprise at first, then she had to smile at the coincidence, and finally her brows furrowed into a frown. There was no such thing as a coincidence when it came to the headmaster. And even if that story was true, a great wizard like him surely didn't need a random book about literature spells to help him out. Curious…

"I believe I can help you with that. As it happens to be, I'm in the possession of the very book you are looking for as well. That might spare you plenty of waiting time." She said anyway, putting on her own calm neutrality once again as she turned to summon her copy of the book out of her bag. Then she skipped down the two steps in front of the desk and approached Dumbledore, handing it to him with a smile that mirrored his own. "Well, actually I was the first to have the book, but then I gifted him a copy as well… Anyway, you might find something suitable on page 46… or perhaps it was page 64, it's been a while since I've read it."

Dumbledore accepted the book with a small bow of the head, and a peculiar glance at Robin that to her was more unsettling than reassuring. "Thank you, Miss Mitchell. I will be sure to return it to you before the end of term."

"Oh, don't worry about it, Sir. I know where another copy is, should I need it."

"Of course you do…"

Somehow Robin found herself annoyed by the many times he said that, by the way he said it even more, but she didn't let it on. Instead she merely held his gaze, unfaltering and steady even though it was still so very unsettling. Deeply inquiring and invasive even, while yet hidden behind the calmest contentment and innocence. He was so much more difficult to read than Snape was. For Robin, at least, but she knew that it was an unfair comparison to make from her perspective. She was as biased as she could be.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Sir?" She finally asked, after what seemed like hours of silence.

"Not that I am aware of. Thank you for the book." He mused with a knowing smile, then turned around to leave. As soon as the door fell into its lock behind him, Robin let out a long breath and returned to the desk in a slow saunter. What an odd encounter. Another odd encounter.

When she took her perch on the edge of the desk again, putting the books she had used during the class back into their place, she finally realized what had bothered her about the entire thing. Dumbledore had been the one to tell Snape to take over Morgan's class, and therefore he must've known that he wouldn't find him down here. That means he had either come here to wait for Snape, which was highly unlikely, or he had meant to seek out Robin in the first place. In which case he must have known that she possessed the particular spellbook as well. And he haid lied to her without her noticing even in the lightest. But… why on earth would he do any of that?

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