#and so that Rufus’s last words can say ‘I never said I’m sorry Rufus.’ rufus constantly carrying this reminder of what Bobby did. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fandoms-are-my-friends-1321 · 1 year

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I’m in Love With a Fairytale

I’m so excited to be writing for the Bill and Ted fandom again, and this request helped me out of my writer’s block! As always gif and characters are not mine, and I hope you all enjoy!

Description: Bill and Ted go back in time to find information for a paper on Pompeii, and Ted falls hard for the reader. However, their love takes a disastrous turn

Warnings: angst, technically reader death even though it’s not described, if I miss anything let me know

Bill and Ted were renowned across San Dimas for their presentation featuring historical figures, and while they were both happy to not fail their history class and be kicked out of school, the bar would never be lowered for them again.

“Our paper is due in twenty-four hours, Ted! We can’t mess this up or our reputations will take a most heinous turn,” Bill commented as he paced the floor.

“All we have to do is convince Rufus to lend us the time machine again,” Ted added as he swiveled around in Bill’s desk chair. “We can just grab someone from Pompeii and bring them back here for an interview!”

“That’s a most excellent idea, Ted! Rufus can’t say no to us.” The two ended the conversation with synchronized air guitars before running down the stairs to call Rufus. The time traveler from the future had left his number for Bill and Ted in case they needed assistance, and what better time to call than now.

“For the last time, you two, I can’t allow you to go to Pompeii.” Rufus tried to explain to Bill and Ted. Pompeii was classified as a treacherous time zone, and that meant going there could not only destroy the time machine, but change the course of history forever. “I’m sorry, but it’s protocol.”

Bill groaned as he shook his head, the plastic house phone clutched near his ear. “Please Rufus, you said it yourself that if we fail any of our classes, our band will fall apart. One interview and then we’ll leave.”

Ted stole the phone from Bill. “Yeah! We will be in and out faster than you can say time machine!”

“Fine, but do be careful. I’m sending the time machine to you now.” Rufus sighed as he hung up on his end, leaving Bill and Ted to celebrate their success. The time machine arrived moments after, remnants of sparks gliding along the grassy front lawn of Bill’s home. The two entered the phone booth and dialed the number for Pompeii. A warning screen appeared above the dial for the phone, the warning “DO YOU WISH TO PROCEED TO TREACHEROUS TIME ZONE” spelled out in green virtual font. Ted clicked the accept button, and the time machine glided along the bumpy currents of time.

“Woah,” Bill and Ted uttered in unison as they stepped out of the time machine. Pompeii never seemed to end, and it was definitely bigger than San Dimas. The terracotta colored roofs and dark green trees that were planted near the buildings were different compared to the dry, drab environment that Bill and Ted were used to. The duo decided to head towards the center of town to find the right person to interview for their paper.

The marketplace circulated many townspeople by the second, some of them arguing about prices or stealing straight from the booths. Several people gave Bill and Ted odd looks, but they were used to suspicious glances after their previous adventures through time. “Alright Ted, keep your eyes peeled for anyone interesting. Let’s try…” Bill stopped when he noticed that Ted did not hear a single word he was saying. Ted was staring at someone in the distance, and Bill looked to see what was distracting his best friend so much. A person around their age busied themselves with restocking their booth, an array of pottery detailed with intricate designs lined the table in front of them. Before Bill could say anymore to Ted, he was already halfway to the booth.

“Did you make these?” Ted asked as the person raised their head.

“Yes, I did make all these myself. The ones at the front were finished this morning.” The person smiled as they put down the final vase onto the display. They studied the young man in front of them. “Where are your clothes from?”

“The San Dimas Mall! It is a righteous place, and they have great deals!” Ted realized that this person didn’t even know about San Dimas, and he had to recover quickly before he blew his chance. “My name’s Ted. It’s nice to meet you.” Ted offered them his hand, and after an instant of hesitation, they offered their hand as well.

“Greetings, Ted. My name is Y/N.”

“That is a most bodacious name.”

Bill approached Ted and tried to pull him away from the stall. ‘Come on, Ted! We don’t have time to flirt with babes!” Ted remained where he was as he shook Bill’s hand off his shoulder. Bill had witnessed that look in Ted’s eyes only once before. Back in seventh grade, Ted had the biggest crush on the President of the Debate Team, and he admired them from afar for years. Ted did not fall for people often, but when he did, he fell hard. “Okay, you interview them and learn about what business is like here, and I will find some others to talk to. Meet me back here before sunset.” Bill wandered off and disappeared within the masses, leaving Ted and Y/N alone.

“I need to interview someone for my history paper. Would you care to join me for a walk?” Ted waited in anticipation for Y/N’s answer. Rejection for Ted happened more times than he could count, but he still prayed that this one would work out.

“That would be lovely! Historical papers are an interest of mine.” Y/N moved through the narrow doorway positioned behind the stand, and Ted could hear them talking to someone in the room. Y/N came back outside and called out a final goodbye. “Follow me. There is a quiet garden outside of town where we can talk in peace.”

Ted eagerly followed Y/N, who seemed to pass through the crowds with the grace of a dancer. At one point, Ted almost lost sight of them, but Y/N noticed the loss of his presence immediately and stopped. Y/N grabbed Ted’s hand as they smirked. “Just a little further. I can’t lose you before I have the chance to tell you all that I am able.”

The garden was spacious and yet secluded as Y/N had said, and they let go of Ted’s hand before taking a seat under a pomegranate tree. They patted the grass beside them, and Ted clumsily fell by their side. Y/N giggled at his antics as they leaned back on their arms. “What do you wish to know about Pompeii, Ted?

Ted spent the rest of the afternoon asking Y/N questions about their life, but eventually the questions diverted from historical to personal. There was something about Y/N’s voice that sounded prettier than any love song Ted had ever heard, and he would do anything to hear more of it. Sadly, their time together was cut shorter than he wanted. “Oh no, I must head home or my father will kill me,” Y/N said as they stood up.

“Could we meet here again tomorrow? I have more questions to ask you.” Actually, Ted had plenty of information for the paper, but the question he wanted to ask the most he was too scared to say. By tomorrow he would muster up the courage to ask Y/N if they wanted to come back to San Dimas with him. Until then, Ted knew something that he could do. “Y/N, have you ever played an instrument before?”

“No, but my uncle is skilled at playing the harp. Why do you ask?” Y/N was slightly worried about the agitated words their father would say when they returned home, and yet their curiosity kept their feet anchored in place. Ever since this strange young man named Ted appeared at their stall earlier that day, Y/N felt a pull towards him. Could this be the feeling that they had heard so many tales about?

“Well see, there’s this thing that my friend Bill and I do whenever we are super stoked about something. All you have to do is pretend to play a guitar like this.” Ted demonstrated his air guitar for Y/N, who looked at him with a puzzled but intrigued expression.

“I believe I understand what you mean,” Y/N stepped closer to Ted as they attempted to mimic his actions. It was stiff and uncoordinated, but Ted could tell that Y/N tried their best. “Was that correct?”

“Not exactly, but here let me show you.” Ted closed the rest of the space between him and Y/N and took their arms in his hands. His touch was gentle as he moved Y/N’s arms to show them what a proper air guitar looked like. Despite the educational intent behind Ted’s actions, Y/N felt a warmth creeping into their cheeks, the pinkish color hidden by the darkness that slowly covered the garden. Ted backed away and allowed Y/N to give it another go. This time, they were much more successful.

“That was a most excellent air guitar, Y/N! I could not have done better myself.” Ted grinned from ear to ear, and Y/N smiled just as much. The garden’s only light came from the moon above, and the earlier worries Y/N had returned to them. “Thank you for the lesson, Ted, but I must be going now. Until tomorrow!” Y/N headed for the entrance of the garden, but they quickly turned back and left a quick kiss on Ted’s cheek before finally heading home. Ted left shortly after and arrived at the spot where Bill wanted to meet. The blonde sat on a bench with his arms crossed.

“You’re lucky that you’re my best friend, or I would be most angry with you right now.” Bill grumbled as he tried to keep up his angry expression, but a huge grin replaced his scowl as he sprung up from the stone seat. “So, did you kiss them?!”

“No, but we are meeting at the same place tomorrow!”

“Excellent! I found a spot where we can hide out until tomorrow, and we can plot the perfect game plan for you to ask Y/N out on a proper date.” That night, Ted fell asleep the moment his head hit the straw-stuffed sack that Bill found in the barn they were staying in, and he dreamed of the delightful conversations that he would have with Y/N.

The next day came, and Ted ran out of the barn as soon as the sun reached its peak in the sky. Bill stayed behind to catch up on reading about Pompeii in the school textbook. Not only that, but he also did not want to ruin Ted’s date with Y/N. When Ted entered the garden, he noticed that Y/N arranged a picnic for the two of them under the pomegranate tree. “I brought what I could, and while it is no feast, surely it will do.” Y/N said as Ted assembled his own plate of food.

Once they had finished eating, Ted swallowed his nerves as he tried to ask the big question. “Y/N, how would you-”

“Ted! Ted I’ve gotta tell you something!” Bill stormed into the garden, startling both Ted and Y/N.

“Can’t this wait, Bill? I was just about to ask Y/N something.” Ted felt annoyed, but the fear on Bill’s face meant that something had to be wrong. “Excuse me, Y/N. I’ll be right back.” Ted followed Bill to the edge of the garden where they could talk in private. Y/N remained under the tree, staring up at the leaves happily. “This had better be good Bill, or you owe me one.”

“Do you remember why our teacher wanted us to write about Pompeii,” Bill asked as he flipped to that section of the history textbook.

“No, did it have something to do with the beauty of this city?” Ted answered as he looked over at Y/N.

“Not exactly, Ted. Pompeii was destroyed by a volcanic eruption on August 24th, 79 A.D. That’s today! Rufus warned us that this was a treacherous time zone, and now we know why! We have to leave right now before we turn into literal toast!”

“Just let me say goodbye to Y/N. If I tell them what’s about to happen, they’ll want to come with us.” Ted ran back over to Y/N and pulled them up from their blanket. “Y/N, I know this is sudden, but you have to come back to San Dimas with Bill and I. Something terrible is about to happen, and I can’t leave you behind.”

Y/N’s mouth hung open as they tried to process what was going on. “What do you mean? I can not leave my father alone. We have a business to run, and there is nothing to fear in this city. My place is here in Pompeii, Ted.”

“I love you, Y/N. And if you feel the same, then you have to come with me.” Ted reached for Y/N’s arm, but they jerked their limb back. Y/N’s eyes brimmed with tears as they took another step away.

“And I love you as well, Ted, but leaving now is not possible. I do not know your reason for wanting to leave, but no matter where you are going, it will have to be without me. Nevertheless, take this with you to remember me by.” Y/N removed the necklace they were wearing and placed it in Ted’s hand, closing his fingers and holding his palm closed. “My mother gave this to me, and she told me that when the time was right I would be able to give it to the one I love. Who would be more deserving than the stranger who stole my heart.”

Tears rolled down Y/N’s cheeks, and Ted brushed them away with his free hand. Ted pressed his lips to Y/N’s, a few tears escaping his own eyes as they shared the only passionate exchange they would ever have. The kiss ended, and the two simply gazed at each other for the last time. “I will never forget you, Y/N.”

“And I will never forget you, Ted.”

“Ted, it's time to go!” Bill shouted as Ted reluctantly followed his call. Y/N was sobbing now, but even in sadness their smile never faltered. They showed off their new air guitar skills to Ted, and he sent the best air guitar of his life in return. Ted walked away from the love of his life, and just like Orpheus leaving the underworld, he could not turn around for fear that his Euridice would pull him to his death.

Bill and Ted stepped into the time machine, and Bill dialed the number as the ground beneath them shook from a volcanic rumble. Ted rested his back against the glass wall, his coffee-colored eyes focused solely on the floor. “Ted, are you crying,” Bill questioned as the time machine traveled on and left Pompeii behind.

“Shut up, Bill! I’m not crying.” The glimmering trails of despair told Bill otherwise, and he understood that his friend needed some time to recover. Months passed, and while Bill and Ted aced their paper on Pompeii, an amazing grade wasn’t enough to mend Ted’s heart. Bill found Ted one afternoon hunched over his desk, scribbling rhythms and words onto a scrap piece of paper.

“What’s that for, Ted?”

“It’s a ballad about Y/N. I wish I told them how I felt the first night we met, and maybe they would be with me now.” Ted could feel the prick of tears blurring his vision, so he put more focus onto the song to keep from crying more than he already had the past few months.

“I know that this will be a most righteous song, and Y/N would love it.” Bill was right about the song becoming a hit. In fact, it became the most popular song that Bill and Ted’s band ever created. While Ted could not be with the one he loved, at least he had a melody to remind him of the wonderful stories he heard from Y/N, who to him was the only beautiful person in all of Pompeii.

#ted logan x reader #ted logan x reader angst #ted logan #ted theodore logan #bill and teds excellent adventure #bill and ted #bill and ted bogus journey #keanu reeves #bill and ted fanfic #bill and ted’s excellent adventure fanfic #bill and ted imagine

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justauthoring · 3 years

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The Long Wait

Prompt: Eventually, the hoping became too much to bare. Requested by: no one.

A/N: This is basically a remake of this fic -- upon re-watching the GMG arc with my mom, I couldn’t help but look back at this fic and realize how much more I could’ve done with it. Thus, this was born. Pairing: Gray Fullbuster x F!Reader

“What do you mean you’re leaving?”

Keeping your gaze trained to the ground, you absolutely refuse to look up -- because you know that if you did, your heart would break all over again.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, words jumbled together, voice quiet that if the guild hall was so completely silent, they definitely wouldn’t have heard you. But they do, and they falter at the way you sound so absolutely broken. And of course, all of them were, but there was something different about the way you sounded -- it was like you were defeated.

Macao steps towards her, you hear it rather then see it, and can imagine his hand stretched out towards you, trying to placate you. “Y/N, we understand--” and he halts, voice catching in the back of his throat. “We understand more then anyone how you feel, but--”

“It’s different.” You find yourself cutting in, voice sharp, and you wince at yourself because you sound so incredibly selfish and rude. Who were you to say that your pain was any different from theirs? Any worse? But, still, you continue, your emotions getting the better of you. “It’s just... different. I... I can’t be here knowing they’re... he’s gone.”

“Y/N-nee, we don’t know that they’re gone!”

Your eyes fall shut at the sound of Romeo’s voice.

“We have to keep searching for them,” he argues, defiant, adamantly shaking his head. “They’re somewhere out there, I know that. And Gray wouldn’t--”

“They’re gone,” you hiss, interrupting him and finally glancing up to regard your friends, your family. They rear back at your harsh words, and that guilt festers even deeper inside of your chest, with the way they’re looking at you. Jet and Droy look near tears, and you know they’re thinking of Levy. And Bisca and Alzack look in shock at your outburst, you’re usually so quiet and calm. Macao looks angry, and the rest just stare at you, varying reactions that all mesh together.

Because really, it’s the way Romeo looks at you, still so young, so full hope as your words basically slap him in the face.

But you’re too far gone now, and there’s no stopping you.

“It’s been two years,” you continue, voice softer but still cutting, still hurtful. “They’re not coming back. They’re never coming back.”

He’s never coming back.

They don’t respond. No one argues, even if some look like they might. Maybe they’re understanding, maybe they’re finally getting it -- it’s been too long now and no one from the island is coming back. You’d been hopeful at first, you’d been like Romeo -- you’d refused to lose hope. But your heart is broken and there’s no mending it and you can’t keep staring at those doors all day expecting, hoping, praying that he’ll walk through them only for him never to.

So, you turn, nothing but a soft, sorrowful, pathetic apology leaving your lips as you turn your backs on your friends and leave them.

And as you turn, you see his familiar face, the dark black of his hair, that drawling smirk on his lips, and his cold, but always soft when directed at you eyes looking at you, but when you blink, he’s gone.

You huff at the weight dropped around your shoulders, inhaling deeply when you see a familiar puff of blonde hair.

“Did you hear?”

You don’t need to ask what he means. It’s pretty obvious.

“Fairy Tail will be competing again this year.”

When you turn to look at Sting, he’s smirking -- all bright eyed and giddy, and you hold back your own snark as you regard him with a small nod. Sting was one of the few to know of the fact that you used to be part of Fairy Tail -- him and Rogue, given that they were the ones who recruited you, and then the master as well.

It wasn’t news you were eager for everyone to know. Fairy Tail was a laughing stock in all respects now, but Sabertooth seemed to have a particular fondness of mocking the way the guild had fallen. And it was easy to hide you’d ever been apart of it given you hadn’t been a particularly well-known mage back when you’d been a member. Your powers were relatively new, and with, regrettably, the help of the Twin Dragon slayers you’d definitely grown in aspects of strength.

Three years since you’d joined Sabertooth -- two years of training on your own, and three of being surrounded by much stronger mages had you adapting and constantly changing. You were practically unrecognizable.

You were known at Y/N of Sabertooth now, and it was like the Y/N of Fairy Tail never even existed at all.

“I’m surprised,” you hum, shifting as Sting moves to take a seat next to you, still whilst having an arm draped over your arm. You blink at the sudden arrival of Rogue, not having heard him, as he takes a seat in front of you, before continuing. “They weren’t in it last year, or the year before if I remember. After finishing last every year before.”

You hadn’t been apart of Sabertooth’s team, but you do remember watching.

It had been... hard, to say the least.

“Ah, well, this year they have a new team.” Rogue explains blandly.

“New members, you should say,” Sting smirks.

Brows furrowed, you shake your head at their words, confusion flooding at you at the particular gleefulness of Sting’s expression. He always got a kick out of embarrassing other teams, not even just Fairy Tail, but there was something different about the way his eyes sparkled.

Sting meets your gaze, and without wavering, adds; “or should I say, old?”

Your breath catches, and even as your mind starts spinning, you’re all too aware of the way both Sting and Rogue are watching you carefully.

You turn from Rogue to Sting, and absolutely hate the gleam in the latter’s eyes as he smirks down at you. Keeping a tight hold on you, he pulls you closer, leaning until he’s a breaths away; “it’s a good thing I managed to convince the Master to let you on the team this year, Y/N,” he grins widely, “you’ll get to reunite with your old pales.”

That... that couldn’t be possible.

They were--They were dead. They are dead.

“I... I need some fresh air.” Shoving Sting’s arm off of you, you ignore his calls and his merciless laughter as you stock out the guild doors, bypassing Minerva which you know will get you in shit later. You don’t really care in that moment, you can’t even think straight, you need air.

You need to breathe.

Sting must be lying. He has to be lying. There’s... they were dead, it’s been seven years.

Seven years.

How... why now? Why after all this time?

And you convince yourself he isn’t lying. You ignore Sting every time he tries to talk to you, and focus on training. It would be no good if you failed since you were on the roster this year -- Master would kill you if you failed to impress him and keep Sabertooth at the very top. And it’s easy enough to do, spend all your time training, pushing yourself to the brink, until it’s a few days before the games and you realize, Sting wasn’t lying.

You’d been trying to ignore it, ignore the urge, but eventually you give in and find yourself in the city of Magnolia. A place you haven’t been in a long time.

Fairy Tail’s location had changed, but you’d made sure to keep tabs on them. You never showed your face, mainly because you knew that in the end, you’d betrayed your friends. In their eyes, you assumed, you were the enemy, a traitor. You’d left them, left your guild in a time they’d needed you most, and almost instantly regretted it.

But every time you tried to go back, every time you made your way towards those doors, you’d remember the words you’d said -- “They’re not coming back. They’re never coming back.” -- and, like a coward, you were never able to face them.

From the moment you’d left, all you’d wanted to do was go back but it was too late for that now. And so you settled for keeping tabs, helping them where you could, always in secret -- you knew how they owed money, and you didn’t have a lot, but you always anonymously send some the guild’s way in hopes of helping. Sabertooth would kill you if they found out, specifically Sting, but it was your way of repaying all the hurt you must’ve caused them.

It’s why you know their new location. And, without even being there for more then five minutes, you see them.

A blue flying cat, followed by a white one, a tuff of pink hair, red hair, blue hair, blonde and most importantly, him. His dark hair, the fact that nothing’s changed and he looks exactly like he had those seven years ago when you’d wished him good luck on the S Class competition, and pressed a shy, chaste kiss to his cheek, the two of you blushing madly as he left, waving you goodbye.

But, they were there. He was there.

“And last but certainly not least, is the team that came first in the preliminaries... that’s right, you know them, you love them! Now, get on your feet and scream for the most powerful guild in all Fiore! The one and only, Sabertooth!”

You wince at the cheering, two steps behind everyone else as Sting makes his grand entrance, looking thoroughly most pleased and proud of himself then anyone else. However, even you can see the smirk on Rufus’ and Orga’s face.

If anything, it’s you and Rogue that don��t look all that excited.

And you, for a specific reason. One that stares you right in the face the second you walk into the arena.

Elfman, Erza, Lucy, Natsu, but more importantly, Gray all look at you the second your team arrives. You can even feel Fairy Tail team B, and the rest of the guild up in the stands watching you and only you. You also notice with disdain that Sting had purposefully made way for you to be seen, even if you hadn’t been that hidden, you would’ve rather remained in the shadows.

That, and you’re not exactly sure what to say as they all stare at you.

“Y/N?!”

It’s Natsu who yells it, but it’s Lucy who steps towards you, baffled and confused; “Y/N, what’re you...”

But you only lower your gaze, eyes falling shut as Sting pulls you into his side, laughing loudly. “What a reunion!” He cheers, pumping his fist in the air, before turning to you. “Isn’t it so great to see all your old guildmates, Y/N?”

You meet their eyes, just as the announcer calls out;

“What’s this? A reunion? Could it be perhaps that Sabertooth’s own Y/N Y/L/N was once a member of Fairy Tail? What a twist on her debut in the Grand Magic Games!”

“This is so not man...”

Turning your head at the sound of Elfman’s voice, your breath catches in the back of your throat.

“Elfman,” Erza says sharply, pulling your eyes back on her and thus the rest of them, noticing with a thick swallow the way her eyes have never left your own. “I’m sure Y/N has her reasons.”

But as she stares at you, waiting for you to say something, you simply turn, walking off.

“I didn’t know you used to be in Fairy Tail,” Rufus drawls to you when you pass him, and your shoulders tighten.

That’s right... now, everyone knew.

“You never needed to know,” you say simply.

“Y/N.”

“It seems Fairy Tail’s Team A Gray Fullbuster approaches Sabertooth’s own Y/N Y/L/N, and the crowd watches in anticipation at the clear tension amongst the two of them--.”

Everything freezes. Shoulders tensing, you slowly turn, meeting Gray’s eyes -- the one you’d been specifically avoiding.

“We won’t lose.”

I know, you want to say. I don’t want you to, you want to tell him. I want Fairy Tail to win, you want to plead. But instead, knowing the eyes that watch you, you simply say; “neither will Sabertooth.”

This had to be some cruel joke.

Your punishment, maybe.

Sabertooth’s Y/N Y/L/N versus Fairy Tail’s Team A Gray Fullbuster

That’s what the board said, that what that God awful announcer calls with clear joy in his voice -- your first battle, the second day of the Games, and this way the turn out.

There was no way you’d win.

Ignoring the fact that you had no doubt Gray was stronger then you -- you simply just couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Not against Fairy Tail and certainly not against Gray.

“Good luck, Y/N,” Sting calls as you move to make your way towards the arena. “Though I doubt you’ll need it.”

You hate his words, hate the way he knows, hate the way he seems to get such joy out of everything that had happened. This was his fault. His fucking fault that you were here, and that this was happening.

Though, of course, even you knew that was true.

“Sabertooth’s Y/N Y/L/N has never been apart of Sabertooth’s team, but we can expect something great from Fiore’s strongest guild, needless to say. Do you know anything about Y/N Y/L/N, Yajima-san?”

“I don’t know much about Y/’N now, but in her Fairy Tail days, she never really made a name for herself, but I do distinctly remember her powers being incredibly unique.”

“Ah! A mystery then. And of course, Fairy Tail’s Gray Fullbuster is a Ice Wizard, but after his performance in day one’s Hidden Competition, the crowd’s not too sure what to expect. Nonetheless, it should be an intense match between old guildmates now turned enemy’s.”

“Shut up,” you hiss to yourself, nails digging into the palm of your hands.

“Ah, I see you’re just as chipper as you used to be.”

Swallowing thickly, you inhale sharply as Gray comes to a stop a few feet before you. It’s closest you’ve been to him since that first day, and more importantly, then in seven years. You’d already known since that day, but he really does look exactly like he had that day. Hasn’t aged a day. You don’t know the story, you don’t know how he’s back, but you know you’ve heard the term ‘seven year blank’ echoing around.

That makes more sense as you stare at him now.

Still eighteen, you’re now older then him then a year younger like you had been before.

Remaining silent, your head tilts back, where you know Sabertooth is, chest tightening.

“Y/N.”

Turning to Gray at the sound of your name, your lips part when you noticed the way his eyes have softened, even if only a little, like he caught something in the past moment you’d turned away from him. He looks so much more... concerned then he had the first day, and that was only yesterday. When he’d called for you, he’d looked so angry...

Now, he only looked worried.

“What happened?”

Swallowing thickly, you try to appear unbothered. “I left.”

“There’s more to it, I know there is,” Gray shakes his head, “the others told us about the day--”

Eyes clenching shut, a simply jerk of your head has Gray flying back. It causes a roar of gasps, surprise and anticipation in the thought that the fight is finally starting. But you know, unlike them, that it won’t get farther then that -- at least not from your end.

Gray hisses, slowly crawling to his feet, before he smirks at you; “you’ve gotten strong.”

“It’s been seven years.”

“Still,” he shrugs, stopping before you once again. “You have control now.”

You shrug, mimicking him with a smirk, “it’s been seven years.”

However, the facade falls all too quick when he takes a step towards you. Your body tenses, fists clenching as he continues to make his way towards you until he’s directly before you. He eyes you for a moment, quiet, carefully, and you nearly break then and there.

“It may have been seven years, but I know you best,” he whispers, voice low, “I know you’re lying.”

You shake your head, pushing his words away from your thoughts; “attack me.”

And he blinks, surprised; “what?”

“I need you to attack me,” you repeat, keeping your eyes trained downwards, refusing to meet his eyes. “I... I just need you to.”

And part of you expects him to -- you deserve it, you know, after all you’d done.

But, a second later, Gray’s stepping back, pulling your wide eyes on him as he shakes his head; “Fairy Tail doesn’t attack their own friends, Y/N. You know that.” And your breath hitches when his hand moves to raise.

“No!” You yell, before you can help yourself, eyes flashing a bright gold, like they had seconds before, holding Gray’s arm in place as he blinks back at you. Letting out a soft whimper, one you hope he doesn’t hear, you hold his arm in place, eyes falling shut as your own arm raises, the crowd falling eerily silent.

“I give up.”

And you knew, even as you feel the glares on your back, that there really wasn’t any other outcome that could’ve happened. You’d never hurt Gray, you knew, and you refused to hurt Fairy Tail anymore.

You were destined to lose this match.

“What’s so special about those fairies, huh?”

Wincing, you gasp at the squeeze on your throat, trying to suck in air that won’t come as your eyes fall on Sting’s own narrowed ones, glaring down at you. The brick of the wall behind you bites into your skin, and you know his grip will leave bruises, but even as you gasp for air and it feels like your vision is closing in on you, you have no regrets.

You never would, even if it’ll get you killed.

“What’s so fucking special about them?”

You refuse to respond, even if Sting wasn’t blocking off your air way you wouldn’t. Even if you could easily knock him away, send him flying, you don’t -- you’ll only pay for it more later.

“What’s so special about him?!”

He drops you then, and you fall to your knees with a thud, a cry leaving your lips as he sends a sharp kick to your gut, causing you to double over. It takes you a moment, a solid minute to catch your breath, and even then you’re still gasping, voice raspy as you raise your chin, eyes narrowing as you say the words you’ve been wanting to say to Sting for years.

“Fairy Tail is the guild Sabertooth could never be,” you hiss, your voice pathetic but your gaze menacing. “And Gray is a better man than you’ll ever be. All of them are. You’ll never be as good as Natsu.” You hit him where you know it hurts, the words having been on the tip of your tongue for years but you’d always held back in fear of what would happen.

Well, you’re no longer afraid. You’re too far gone now.

Sting’s eyes narrow and his face twists, ready to explode, before he breathes, and a smirk curls onto his lips. “You’ll never be apart of your pathetic guild again,” he hisses, “you’ll be stuck in Sabertooth for the rest of your life. Only, Master will make sure your life is a living hell.”

He sends another sharp kick at your side, but says nothing more as he turns, walking off with a huff.

It takes you a moment to gather yourself, slowly pushing yourself up to your knees where you stay, chest heaving, the pain radiating across your entire body, fingers finding your neck and touching the offended skin gently as you hiss in response.

You didn’t regret surrendering, but you couldn’t help but be terrified of what would happen when you walked into the inn that night.

You never should’ve left Fairy Tail. It was a regret you’d probably take to your grave.

“We actually have points thanks to you.”

Blinking at the sound of Gray’s voice, you slowly glance up at him, arm still wrapped tightly around your stomach as you stare up at him.

“I’m glad,” you whisper, smiling gently, “Fairy Tail deserves to win.”

Gray sighs, and stepping towards you, he reaches a hand out; “here,” he says softly, voice a mere whisper. You meet his eyes, before glancing at his hand for a moment, slowly slipping your own in it. He helps you to your feet, holding you up as you waver, hissing in pain, and then, before you know it, before you can even help yourself, you fall against him, forehead pressing against his shoulder as you let out a whimper.

“You know,” Gray says after a moment, “I still remember that kiss.”

Shaking your head, you let out a quiet, somewhat forced laugh.

“What happened, Y/N?”

“You were gone,” you whisper, finally answering. “You all were, but you were too. And... And I couldn’t handle staring at those doors everyday waiting for you to walk through them, only for you never to.” Pulling back, you meet his eyes, “I love you, I wanted to tell you that day, and it crushed me that I never did.”

Hands falling on your waist, Gray shakes his head; “no one would tell me where you were when we came back. It’s like every time I asked, this look would come over them and everyone would fall silent. When I learned it had been seven years, I wanted to see you first and tell you... tell you, I love you too.”

Biting your lip, “it’s too late,” you whisper. “The others must hate me and I... Sting will never let me leave.”

Gray’s grip tightens. “They don’t hate you, Y/N. Everyone misses you. I miss you,” and then, he shifts, cupping your cheek to pull your eyes on his own again. “I need you to come back.”

“But... Sting--”

“We’ll figure it out, Master will figure it out,” Gray argues, shaking his head. “The Guild needs you. I need you.”

Lips parting, you try to find the words, only to realize there are none. So, instead, you simply fall into his arms, holding him tight against you and hold on to his promise.

#fairy tail #fairy tail x reader #fairy tail imagine #ft #ft x reader #gray fullbuster #gray fullbuster imagine #gray fullbuster x reader #gray imagine #gray x reader #imagine #imagines #my fics

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boldlyvoid · 3 years

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Amoreena | chapter twelve

Chapter Twelve

main summary: Heaven is a real place and it's located exactly 14.6 miles away from the FBI, Quantico Headquarters. Off behind a small park, under a fantastical willow tree surrounded by wildflowers, in every colour young minds can imagine.

Don't forget, heaven also comes with angels.

Chapter Warnings: spencers mom has a bad day at the doctor's and so spencer thinks he's going to have a bad day too but he ends up having the best day of his entire life.

talk of pregnancy, celebratory sex, oral (female receiving), grinding, no penetration, serious deep talks after sex about their most depressive episodes, sharing trauma and making sure they know the other is loved regardless of what goes on in their mind. it's a rough one so read with caution

word count: 4.5K

from the beginning <3

He was up before Amoreena, awaking for the second time that morning to the sound of his alarm, kissing Y/N on the forehead before leaving their bed, she simply laid there and watched him get ready.

Most of his clothes were here now, every time he was near his apartment he brought more and more things home with him. Because that wasn’t his home, it hadn’t been for a long time, even when he lived there it was just a trove of books and a bed he slept on occasionally.

They were probably going to move all his stuff over in the summer, after the second wedding… after the girls meet Taylor, and hopefully when Y/N’s actually pregnant and not too sick or tired to help.

“Come here,” she whispers before he can slip out of the room, “kiss your wife.”

He can’t help but smile as he bounds towards the bed, jumping in and wrapping her up in his arms. He smothers her face in kisses, making her laugh, still half asleep as she let him manhandle her.

“I love you,” he reminded her.

“We love you too,” she replied with a smile, answering for Amoreena even though she was still asleep down the hall, “don’t wake her up yet, she needs all her rest for today.”

“I’ll be quiet,” he responds with a smile, kissing her again before he finally gets out of the bed, if not he would have stayed there forever.

He tiptoes down the hall and into Amoreena’s room, kissing her sweet little forehead lightly before exiting just as quietly. It was like he was never there.

He snuck down the stairs quietly, locked the door behind himself on the way out, and took off down the driveway in his old blue Volvo amazon, paying extra attention to the path for any kitties or Rufus out on their morning strolls.

It didn’t take long for a happy day to go sour when he was in a doctor's office with his mom. Those were the worst places he could go with her, especially on a bad day. Her mind was playing tricks on her, she really didn’t like hospitals or government buildings, even lawyers' offices stressed her out.

Today she was convinced he wasn’t really her son, Spencer, and that he was actually leading her to be a government experiment. It was hard to see her struggle, especially on a day they needed to ask her serious questions while she sat still. It was the fact she had to stay awake for 24 hours that triggered the episode, the EEG requiring her mind to be deprived of sleep. It was rough, she barely knew him. They wouldn’t have the test results for a while but he already knew it wasn’t good.

He dropped her back off at the home as quickly as he could, not able to deal with the verbal abuse any longer, he didn’t even say goodbye. The woman he dropped off was his mother on the outside but not on the inside today. It was really hard to look at her and know her, but not see that same look in her eyes.

By the time he’s returning to the farm, it’s 11:45 and he’s exhausted.

He finds Y/N in the bedroom, lying in bed in just a t-shirt and her underwear, completely sound asleep with the blankets thrown off the bed. She looks so beautiful, he slips out of his clothes to match her, sliding into bed beside her and just looking at her perfect face.

He presses a kiss to her shoulder that startles her awake, “oh god, Spencer!” she places her hand on her heart as she calms down.

“Sorry,” he smiles, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in closer.

“How’s your mom?” Her tired words meet his ears and his smile dies.

“Not great, really don’t want to talk about it yet,” he was honest with her, snuggling in closer as she hummed in agreement to drop it. “How was Amoreena’s morning?”

“I told Amoreena I wouldn’t tell you, but I don’t need to you to freak out in front of all the kids or cry or pass out in front of all them, but there’s a positive pregnancy test on her all about me project,” she explains it like she’s about to say it’s just Amoreena’s from 8 years ago…

He pulls back slowly, looking into her eyes as she smiles wider and wider, “you’re pregnant?”

She nods her head as her smile gets bigger and toothier, she’s wrapping her arms around him so tight it’s like he can’t breathe for multiple reasons.

“We did it, Spencer, I made you a daddy again,” the words carry from her mouth in a beautiful tune.

He’s holding her back so gently, afraid to squeeze too hard and hurt her and the tiny little life that’s starting inside her. He’s silent, overjoyed but absolutely dumbstruck at the fact it’s real. A month ago he thought about walking into traffic after work and just seeing what happened, now he was a father of 2 with a wife and a happy farm and a life that was good.

A life he deserved.

All thanks to a beautiful little girl with an interest in dinosaurs and making new friends. Amoreena was an angel sent from heaven, improving both of their lives greatly, and now they were making another.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, oh my god yes, I’m just,” he didn’t know what words to say and it was evident. “Amoreena knows?”

She nodded softly, “she now knows girl parts make eggs, boy parts make sperm, and that adults have sex but you can only make a baby at 25, she really didn’t seem to be all that interested in the science, but she’s excited to be a big sister.”

“Wow,” it all caught up to him then, he placed his hand on her stomach softly, “hi little one.”

Y/N laid back against the bed, pulling her shirt up so he could see the barely-there bump, “It’s mostly leftover’s from Amoreena, but yeah, there’s another one in there.”

He couldn’t help himself from running his hands over the curve of her stomach, thinking about Amoreena being in there once upon a time and how tiny she must have been. It was even weirder to think that a part of her was once even in him.

“It’s strange to think that I jerked off into a cup and you made the most perfect kid on earth with it… it just feels like it doesn’t add up. She’s so perfect I can’t believe she was once a part of us both,” he can’t help but let his inner monologue seep out, she didn’t mind it, she loved hearing how his mind worked.

“I can’t wait to see you holding this little one,” her hands joined his on her stomach, the shape of her forefingers and thumbs making a heart over her bare belly.

Spencer leaned in and kissed right in the middle, beside her belly button, in love with whoever was in there already.

“Amoreena had a dream last night too,” Y/N cuts into his little moment, “guess how many sisters she said she had.”

“8?” Spencer can’t help but smile.

She nods, “I don’t know what it is about this house but the good dreams always come true, who knows how many babies are in there right now.”

“I hope just one for now,” he says in all honesty, “I really want time with just one little one, you and Amoreena. A family of four for a bit and then the twins, that’s how it was in the dream.”

“Did they have names?”

“You called them Elly, Junie, tho and Cordelia, and you said there were 3 sets of twins, two after Cordelia,” he remembers it all as if he was really there, whispering all the words against her stomach, his cheek resting on the band of her underwear as he laid between her legs with his arms around her.

“Amoreena, Elizabeth, Juniper, Theodora, and Cordelia were all the options I was choosing from last time,” she says with the widest smile, “how the heck did your mind know that?”

“It felt very real, which is why I was so worried about where I was, I don’t know how I could have missed anything but now I know that part was just my anxiety,” Spencer rationalized it. “Amoreena probably had the better version of that future in her dream last night.”

“I was having a great dream before you came back,” she teases him, running her fingers through his hair as he continues to kiss her stomach.

He loops his fingers around the band of her underwear, sliding it down just low enough to really kiss where that baby of his is hiding out. She lifts her hips into the contact, letting him slip them down her legs and completely off, she spreads her legs even more.

He takes his time pressing a kiss to every single inch of her, her skin is soft, her leg hair is prickly on his hands and his cheeks but it’s nice, he rubs his face against her like a cat marking his territory as she continued to scratch his scalp.

He spread her open with two fingers, he presses a soft kiss to her clitoris and all the way down to her opening before licking a wet stripe up the sensitive skin. The moan she releases is the loudest one he’s heard on her yet, it was really the first time he’s been allowed to really enjoy her.

“It’s important for your partner to help with the stretching in the third trimester,” she teases him, “but they don’t mention anything about starting too early being a bad thing.”

“I don’t want to disrupt anything in there,” he worries aloud, letting her decide if it’s okay.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she laughed, “I don’t think you’d reach them, but if you’re really worried there are other ways to help.”

“Such as,” he asks, lowering his face back down to her wet heat, continuing to explore her with his tongue as he expects her to talk.

“You, um you can, shit, wow,” she props herself up on her elbows to get a better look at what he’s doing as she stalls for a few minutes, “just rub yourself over me, Spencer please, I want more of you.”

She grips him by his cheeks and pulls him up into a kiss, both of them rushing to push his boxers down and off his legs, she spreads her own once more so he can press against her.

His hard cock resting flat against her, rubbing back and forth as he spreads her wetness around with him. The head gliding over her clit just the right way as she held him close to her body, kissing down his neck and sucking marks all over his chest.

She was desperate for him and who was he to deprive her, so he rocked into her more, grinding down harder against her body and making her shaking lightly. It felt better, more intimate, more euphoric than any other sex he’s had, just being close to her had him on the edge faster than he expected to get there.

She’s chanting his name then, head tossed back against the pillow as she digs her fingers into his asscheeks, holding him so close to him he can feel her orgasm rush through her. She stills, bucking up into him one last time as he finishes all across her stomach.

His hands are curled around her cheeks then, holding her perfect face in his hands as he hovers over her, using everything in his power to not crush her or the baby. He’s trying so hard to steady his breathing, so is she, they just smile at each other, laughing lightly at how in love they are.

“I love you,” he says on impulse, “you’re so good to me.”

“Look at all the good you’ve given me,” she whispers, “it would be wrong for me not to love you for everything you’ve done for me, whether you were aware of it or not.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not going to tell you about my depression while your cum dries between us like glue,” she laughed at how crude it sounded.

He laughs lightly too, rolling off her to see just how much of a mess they made. “Tell me in the shower?”

“Seems appropriate,” she agreed, taking his hand and following him into the bathroom.

He loved the old feel of her bathroom, the green linoleum and floral wallpaper, the pink towels and bright orange shower curtain, it was happy and bright and the perfect place to laugh for half an hour as they washed each other.

She has him pressed against the shower wall then, water trickling over them gently as she stares into his eyes, “I don’t know how to say it without it coming out really scary,” she finally resumes the conversation they were about to have in the bedroom.

“I’ve probably been in the same mental state, I’m not going to judge your method of choice,” he explains it in a way that she’ll know he really, really gets it.

“I had a few suicidal thoughts when my grandma went to chemo before I chose your sample and before I did all the hormones, I was thinking why should I stay and bring another life into my misery when I could just die first and not have to see her go through that anymore,” she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth as she stops, letting him digest all the words.

“Did you try anything?” He’s not sure why he’s asking.

She shakes her head, the best no he’s ever seen in his life. “My grandma noticed on my birthday when I wasn't coming down for breakfast like normal, I was really depressed and so we went out and talked and had lunch together for the first time in forever cause she wasn't feeling sick, I’ll never forget it. It was the best and worst birthday of my life.”

“I’m the worst husband ever,” he says, taking her by surprise, “I don’t even know your birthday.”

It makes her laugh, taking her out of the sadness as she realizes he really doesn’t judge her, he gets it completely. “January 16th, 1986, three minutes after Evan,” she manages to say it with a smile.

“That’s the date Maeve died,” both of them stare at each other in shock, wondering just how many other coincidences they had out there to figure out.

“How many days after did you donate?”

“On the 19th,” he confirmed without taking a breath, “holy shit.”

“We both were suicidal on the same day,” she covers her mouth with a wet slap, laughing at the worst thing she’s ever said, it’s the shock and the emotions of everything catching up to her right then and there.

“Oh my god,” he laughs in response, both of them laughing as they hugged in the corner of her green shower. “we are fucked up.”

“Soulmate things,” she shrugged, holding him even tighter.

He wished she could see his face then, the looking that overcame him as he heard the word soulmates. She just called him her soulmate. He licks his lips, taking it all in and almost hyperventilating, she can feel the way his breathing changes as she looks up with concern.

“What?”

He shakes the thoughts out, swallowing sharply as he makes eye contact with her, “nothing.”

“No, I know that look Spencer, what did your brain say to you this time? I will go in there and kick its ass,” she pokes his forehead then, threatening his anxiety to fuck off.

“I never thought I’d get to hear someone say that to me, it’s stupid,” he felt too vulnerable suddenly, sky and closed off.

“Who hurt you?” She asks in complete curiosity, wanting to know why he can’t imagine someone loving him.

“My parents,” it slips out before he can catch it, “I love my mom. I always have to preface that, she did what she could but it was nowhere near enough. I don’t hold anything against her, I just hate that that’s how it was, that she had bad days at all because they always shine brighter in my memory than the good days.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you,” she worries this time, seeing the hurt on his face and feeling like she fucked up, he can read her micro-expressions easier than anyone else.

“I would have told you soon enough, my dad left because of my mom's illness and he made sure I knew he didn’t want me. I don’t care that he kept up with me on the internet, the fact he didn’t even care to let me know he lived 10 miles from me my whole life makes me feel sick. I was 14 point 6 miles away from Amoreena this whole time and I would give all my fucking organs to go back in time and be with her from day 1, I don’t get how he could just not love me?” The rant comes out of his mouth for the first time ever, the same thoughts that have been there building for 40 years bursting at the seam.

She reaches behind them to turn off the water then, stepping away from him while he cools down a bit, “Yeah, no I get it, I hate him too now. That's so fucked up, honey, I'm so sorry.”

It makes him huff out a laugh, “I’m sorry, you’re not my therapist you don’t have to deal with all that.”

“I’m your wife, I deal with that regardless. In sickness and in health remember?” She reminds him, “depression is just as real of an illness as cancer. I don’t want you to keep these thoughts from me. I want to know about every paper cut, every splinter, every bad thought that crosses that beautiful mind because I love you.”

“As long as you always remember that too,” he makes sure that she knows he feels the same. “Don’t keep anything from me thinking it’ll ruin the happy atmosphere of this kingdom, Amoreena would tell you that a castle is only as strong as its weakest brick. If you crack we all tumble.”

“My foundations are strong, if not Derek’s a renovator right?” She raised her eyebrows, making another joke. They were always going to be okay.

“Speaking of, how are we going to house all 12 of these children you plan on having?”

"We, smartie pants, we are having," she tosses the shower curtain out of the way then, stepping out and wrapping herself in a towel, “I was thinking we add a few more rooms, nanny and pop were always adding on to this place, it would be nice to fix it up a bit.”

“I can see if Derek wants to help, or we can find a contractor?”

“Well, Alli still has another 8 weeks till her baby comes, so you might as well do something with Derek here in that time,” she agrees with a smile, “my nanny left everything to me, so I have a decent amount saved still for whatever you guys think the house can handle, I just want it done safely, and it has to match.”

She was bossy, he loved every second of it. “Yes ma’am,” he smiles as he steps out, drying off beside her.

Y/N couldn’t stop smiling at him as she watched him fluff his curly wet hair in the mirror, “how would you like to go out and get our first kid a big sister present before the graduation?”

“We never had a chance to read on Saturday, would you want to get her a big sister book and read at the tree?” Spencer suggests, making eye contact with her reflection in the mirror, even backwards she’s beautiful.

She nods with a smile, “sounds great, daddy.”

He wraps his arms around her before she can leave the room, kissing her neck and shoulder as she squirms, trying to get away from him but failing on purpose. “Spencer, seriously we have to go.”

“Then don’t call me daddy,” he whispers in her ear, and he can physically feel the way it excites her.

“We will revisit this later,” she says with a stern look as she pulls away finally, dropping the towel on purpose as she walks towards her new closet.

She was going to be the death of him, and hopefully, that wasn’t for a long time. Hopefully, he thought right then and there, that the moment he finally does die, he dies is beside her. Happily in his sleep, as they’re in their 90’s, and in a perfect world she’d slip away with him.

“Can I ask a dumb question?” He rushes the words out, taking her up on that offer of hearing all the bad thoughts.

“Always,” she smiles.

“When we get to heaven, stay with me? Pick me instead of Stephen for the forever part?” He’s not sure why he’s crying, or why he’s thinking about it. But it’s where his mind went and she said she’d always follow.

She tilts her head to the side, dropping her shoulders as she sighs, “we can set Stephen and Maeve up with each other.”

It makes him smile, she always knew what to say. “Who knows, they could be the reason all this happened.”

She nods then, “I like the thought of that, they deserve to be happy together, I’m sure they would like each other.”

He really believed they were soulmates then, that something bigger set up all these dominoes and he was so excited to watch them fall. To see where they landed, the beautiful pattern that they would reveal. The wonderful world he was creating with her was always going to be amazing because something greater than them said so.

—

She looked more beautiful than he’s ever seen her as they rolled up to the school. She was physically glowing, her hair was perfect, her dress laid over her stomach in the right way that he could see proof she was with child, even if she called it leftovers from the last one. It was his favourite part of her, it was where she made the best person they knew.

They walked around to the back gate, hand in hand, smiling wide as they walked into the little classroom. There were balloons and streamers everywhere, they had little cupcakes all set up and all of them were in matching blue caps and gowns.

Amoreena waved at them when she saw them, not allowed to leave her seat from where they were practicing their ceremony. It was unbelievably adorable, Spencer couldn’t help but be that Dad who took a million photos on his cellphone. He was never going to miss another moment.

JJ wrapped her arm around him sneakily, startling him as she hugged him, “hello Spencer Reid, father and husband,” she teased him. “Still weird thinking of you as a dad.”

He wanted to tell her, but she’d know soon anyway once she saw the all about me project, “shit,” Y/N says from behind him as she realizes too. “Tell her.”

“We’re having another one,” Spencer whispers in JJ’s ear before she can even react.

She smacks his side as she pulls back, staring at him with her mouth wide open. The same face Henry made when he saw Y/N for the first time, completely shocked and nervous, “oh my god?”

He nodded, “we’re not telling anyone, I was supposed to find out on her all about me project but she didn’t want me to pass out in front of all the kids.”

It made JJ laugh, shrugging as she agreed with the idea, she pulled away from him and wrapped Y/N up in her arms, hugging her ever so softly. Y/N closed her eyes and pressed their cheeks together as she accepted the thank you, knowing JJ was just happy to see Spencer succeed.

She placed a hand on Y/N’s tummy before pulling away fully, “I always hoped I’d see the day where Spencer made a little genius, I still can’t believe Amoreena is his sometimes, that hasn’t really hit me yet, but this… this is real. I’m so happy for you.”

Y/N cried a little, wiping her eyes as she laughed it off, “okay, sorry this is a big day for me, my first baby is graduating, this baby is trying to grow a heartbeat, it’s all a lot.”

“I get it, believe me,” JJ agreed, placing her hand on Y/N’s lover back and holding her close to her side. Bonding in that moment, making Spencer’s heart swell.

“Where’s the cowboy?” She changed the subject, looking for Will.

“Oh there’s a case in Kentucky, I missed Henry’s graduation, so I’m here for Michaels while he’s on the case, it’s only fair,” she explained with a smile, content with how their life and relationship worked.

“Do you want to sit with us?” Y/N offered, pointing at the folding chairs, taking a seat with JJ in the front, sitting between her and Spencer so she could talk to both of them before the ceremony.

It was lovely having them become friends, his first love and the last one he'd ever have.

They passed out tissues (thank god) before the ceremony, Y/N and Spencer both using at least 5 as they watched Amoreena get her tiny scroll of paper, move the string on her hat to the other side and then wave at them. Spencer took at least 100 photos of her, unable to stop how proud he felt that he made her.

What Amoreena failed to mention was that she was chosen to be the class valedictorian, surprising them with a tiny speech at an even tinier podium. It was so cute, both Spencer and JJ recorded it to remember for later.

“My class chose me to talk to everyone because I’m the oldest, lots of my classmates like to think of me as an older sister,” she smiled right at her parents, hinting at the fact she knew when she thought Spencer didn’t yet.

So he played along, looking surprised at the word choice.

“I’ve had the best two years with all my friends in this classroom, Miss Kennedy was the nicest women they could pick to make sure we learned everything we need to before grade school starts,” her words were definitely chosen by her, possibly reworded by her teacher but definitely from her heart.

“My mom taught me the alphabet, she taught me how to spell and count, she taught me lots of things that miss Kennedy taught in here, at first it was hard being the kid who knew more, but then it was fun getting to help everyone else learn,” she continued with the most enthusiastic voice, going off-script as she thought of more. “My dad, though, he’s taught me how special our family is. How special it is to get to meet new people and learn about the world with them, I’m so glad my parents made me so I could learn with all of you these past 2 years.”

All the parents were crying, she was able to touch the hearts of everyone around her. At the age of 7, she was more well-spoken, more understanding and grateful than any of the adults in that room.

“I’ll see you all on the big kid yard next year!” She cheered, jumping up and down and clapping, all her friends rushed to the stage for a big group hug.

His little girl was so unbelievably loved, the way she deserved.

tag list: @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @spookyspence @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #amoreena

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holylulusworld · 3 years

Text

I still cry

youtube

Summary: A break-up sometimes leads to worse things than heartbreak.

Pairing: former Dean x Reader; Dean x Lisa

Characters: Bobby Singer, OFC Judith, Sam Winchester

Warnings: angst, heartbreak, a break-up, abandonment, low self-esteem, tears, mentions of demons, a little Lisa hate (sorry), no happy ending, sorry, not sorry

A/N: Written for @katehuntington‘s 1K Celebration (Congratulations!). My song was ‘I still cry’ by Ilse DeLange. I used the song for inspiration and some of the lyrics (in Italics). The song originally is for a passed loves-one, but I decided to use it to describe the heartbreak and pain the reader feels after she got left behind.

A/N2: For my story, Sam came back with an intact soul.

Three months after he left, …

“How was your weekend, Y/N?” your colleague asks, watching you fold another paper flower for the upcoming school festival.

You like to keep your hands busy to stop thinking about the love you lost. All the flowers you tried to grow in the backyard died. It’s like no one wants to stay with or stay alive around you.

“Fine,” you reply, eyes dropping to your phone once again. Since he left the night Sam jumped into the pit you always hoped Dean will answer one of your calls or at least send you a message, explaining why you weren’t enough. “I tried to renovate my bedroom.”

“That’s nice,” you hate the pity in your much younger colleague’s eyes. It’s the same look people give you any time their eyes land on you – or at least you think they can see the heartbreak you went through over the last months. “If you need help, just tell us so, Y/N. You are new to the team, but we like you.”

“I will think about it, Judith. Thank you,” how you hate that you sound like a broken record.

I’m fine. No, I don’t need your help. Please don’t ask about Dean. Hunting is over for me. Just don’t ask…

I still cry sometimes when I remember you

I still cry sometimes when I hear your name

I said goodbye and I know you're alright now

But when the leaves start falling down I still cry

Six months after he left, …

“Kiddo, I’ve missed you,” Bobby chuckles, standing in front of your door. “Did you think you can just push me away and an old geezer like me gives up that easily?”

You huff but for a moment, you smile. “I’ve missed you too, Bobby,” you throw yourself into your friends’ arms. Ashamed you didn’t call him back you sniff silently. “I’m sorry, I just needed some time to figure things out.”

“So, you’re out of business?” watching you shake your head Bobby sighs deeply. He wishes you would’ve stayed out of the hunting business and find happiness and a nice man staying by your side. “I thought you wanted out.”

“I was – for a while at least,” choking out the words you grasp Bobby’s hand to lead him into your house. “Problem is that the monsters and demons didn’t get the memo. One day I prepare a school festival and the next I find myself surrounded by demons. I had no choice but to leave.”

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Bobby takes the beer you offer, grumbling as he would’ve like to see you fall in love and become a mother one day. “Did he call?”

“Please don’t ask,” you plea, not meeting Bobby’s gaze. You’re too ashamed you still hope Dean will return to you. Even though, you know better.

“Y/N,” Bobby sighs deeply, eyes sadden at the mere sight of you. Thinner than usual, eyes missing the light you sit in front of your godfather. “I shouldn’t have asked, kiddo.”

“I don’t want to sound pathetic but talking about him makes things worse. I had hoped he would explain why,” sitting on the worn-out couch in your living room you slump into yourself. “I guess that I never was enough. You know, she’s a pretty thing, has a house, a son, and a normal life to offer. And I heard yoga-instructors are bendable.”

“Did you see her – them?” you nod, eyes not meeting Bobby’s. “Oh, Y/N,” my friend, the father I never had sniffs. “Why didn’t you tell him not to go? I know you wanted Dean to have a normal life but hurting yourself shouldn’t be part of the deal.”

“I knew only one of us will make it out alive, Bobby,” you give your friend a sad smile, shrugging when he gets up to look out of the window. “I wanted Dean to be happy. If he’s happy with someone else, I’m happy for him.”

“Your selflessness borders on stupidity!” Bobby grunts. “That boy should be here, with you Y/N. Lisa seems to be a nice girl, but she’s not you.”

“EXACTLY, Bobby,” jumping up you try to explain to Bobby why you knew Dean would leave you sooner or later. “I knew Dean will leave me, Bobby. I wanted to keep a tiny piece of dignity. In the end, he would’ve kept his promise to Sam and get out of this life, but not with me by his side.”

“How’d you know, kiddo? Maybe Dean would’ve stayed by your side and you could be happy,” your friend cries. “Jesus, I can’t believe you broke your own heart.”

“I did it to protect myself, Bobby. I heard Dean call her, okay,” sniffing you join Bobby to look out of the window. “The night after Sam jumped into the pit, Dean called Lisa asking if he can come around.”

“OH,” eyes squinting toward the old car in your ramp Bobby tries to figure out how to help you. “What happened that night? Dean refused to answer my calls so…”

“It’s a blur, Bobby,” you close your eyes, try to recall the night Dean left but all you remember are the tears running down your face when you ran after his car. The rain washing your tears away – but not the pain.

It's just that I recall September

It's just that I still hear your song

It's just I can't seem to remember

Forever more those days are gone

“Dean didn’t fight for me, that’s what happened. I told him that I heard every word and he just stood there, his keys in his hand. I saw a hint of guilt in his eyes, but this wasn’t enough to stay with me,” blinking the tears away you clutch your hand to your chest. “I told Dean to go and live the life Sam wanted him to live.”

“And he did? Just like that?” nodding you turn your back toward the window, closing your eyes for a moment. “Not even a call for almost six months?”

“No call. No message. No number he sent me in case of emergency,” it’s a matter-of-fact Dean cut you out of his life. “You know, sometimes it feels normal that he’s not with me anymore and other days, I only need to remember his name and break down, crying like a stupid baby.”

“Heartbreak is never easy, kiddo.”

“Never said so, Bobby. Honestly, it feels worse than heartbreak. I know he’s out there, living his best life but to me, it feels like he died. I guess, my heart tries to cope with the loss this way. It tells me he’s gone, even though, Dean is with her.”

“Do you like to live here?” Bobby clears his throat, wrapping one arm around your shoulders. “You can always come with me, leave this shitty town behind and be my eyes and ears. Y/N, I don’t want you to be gone one day too. I’m too old to lose my kids.”

“I could come with you,” being alone with a broken heart and your self-doubts won’t do any good. “I don’t have much to pack.”

“I got a nice guest room, kiddo. If Dean doesn’t care about you, I do,” the bitterness behind Bobby’s words brings you to tears. “I thought I know the boy better…”

I still cry sometimes when I remember you

I still cry sometimes when I hear your name

I said goodbye and I know you're alright now

But when the leaves start falling down I still cry

Almost six months later, …

It’s half a year later that Sam, Dean, and Lisa step into Bobby’s house, bringing fresh tears and more heartbreak to you.

“Sammy,” the only person you greet is Sam, your best friend who magically got resurrected. “I didn’t want to believe the rumors.”

“Same,” arms wrapped tightly around you Sam watches his brother look at you. Dean tried to make you talk to him for half a day, but you just walked away, refusing to even face the man breaking your heart so easily. “I thought he would stay with you.”

“No, Sammy. Why would a man stay with someone like me if he can have yoga barbie?” you whisper, not wanting Lisa to hear. “He deserves someone who got no clue where he’s coming from and all the shit happening in his life.”

“Still-“ Bobby is the one breaking the awkward moment.

“We got a job to do, kiddo. If you want to, you can sit this one out,” nodding you look up at Sam, giving him a sad smile.

“I will help Rufus meanwhile. You can call me when he’s gone back to his apple pie life, Bobby,” patting Sam’s chest you give your friend a soft smile. “And you’ll have a lot to explain, Mr. Winchester. I hope you will stick around so we can catch up with our shitty lives.”

You are gone before Dean gets the chance to say a word to you. He walks out of Bobby’s house to watch you drive away.

His eyes fill with tears and even when your car is long gone, leaving a cloud of dust behind, he stands outside, wondering how his life would’ve been with you by his side…

I still cry sometimes when I remember you

I still cry sometimes when I hear your name

I said goodbye and I know you're alright now

But when the leaves start falling down I still cry

>> Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#I still cry #Kate Huntington’s 1K celebration #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfic #angst #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester SPN #dean winchester x reader #dean x lisa #former dean x reader #sadness

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vanserraseris · 3 years

Note

END OF PART XIII - Eris and his mother talk. I love the Lady of Autumn, and I really hope we see a lot more of her in the next books. Just a warning that there are mentions of character death. Thank you to everyone who reads.

ash stop making me cry

Prince of Ashes. Part XIII.

masterlist.

“Pity you had not been with them.”

His father’s words from earlier that morning rang clear in Eris’s ears as he stood outside the door to his mother’s chambers. What if his mother thought the same? Eris did not want to see the Lady of Autumn, he breathed in deeply through his nose as he stood in the hall outside her room.

He could not bear to face her, not after he’d seen her fall to her knees, her hands fisted in her hair, the anguished cry that had left her lips nothing short of horrible. Eris found himself wishing he could hide under his covers like he’d done as a youngling and wait for this storm to pass, all the others had.

Since Maddox had returned, Cato’s and Owain’s bodies with him, the entire Autumn Court had been thrown into chaos. The territory bordering Winter was left without a leader, the Royal Guard was left without a captain, the people were all left shocked. - Maddox had been quick to put the blame on Eris — for not being there, for spoiling Lucien, for fighting to keep the runt alive the day he’d been born. Eris didn’t blame Maddox for being angry, he’d been angry as well.

Eris had broken the arm of a rich lord for expressing his “sincerest apologies,” Eris was positively certain that he had never been sincere about anything in his entirely too long and worthless life. Eris had also attacked his father’s favourite adviser like some wild beast for suggesting he’d planned the whole thing, that he’d wanted Cato and Owain dead. Eris had nearly strangled him, would have killed him, if Priam and Rufus hadn’t been there to intervene.

Eris felt like everything was falling apart.

With one last exhale, Eris knocked softly on his mother’s door. Rufus had begged him to speak to her, tears in his eyes. She’d gone to the courtyard to see the funerary pyres earlier that day and hadn’t spoken to anyone since. His mother did not answer. Eris had not been expecting her to. He pushed the door open slowly, trying to steady his shaking hand.

His mother was sitting on the edge of her large bed, staring at the wall, her russett eyes emptier than he’d ever seen them before. Eris had seen corpses that looked more alive.

“Mother?” Eris noticed that there were no flames in the fireplace. The constant crackling and snapping sounds of a roaring fire usually set his mind at ease, so with half a thought, Eris lit some of the small candles in the room, the fireplace coming alive with the slight lift of his fingers.

Her voice was void of any emotion as she responded. “I did not ask for you.”

Eris flinched as he walked towards her, “I know.” He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to muster his softer side, he’d been angry and rude all day. Eris was going to be like Rufus, he was going to be kind and loving, he could be kind and loving if he tried. He decided to get on his knees by the edge of his mother’s bed, thinking it would be better if he wasn’t looking down at her as he spoke.

“I did not want children,” his mother whispered, her eyes still staring at the wall. “Not with him.”

“I know.” It was no secret that his mother was sold into marriage with Beron against her will. Sometimes Eris forgot how young she had been when she’d married the High Lord of the Autumn Court, how young she’d been when she’d had her first child.

“I would pray to the Mother, beg her not to bring a child into this home, every night. It scared me, thinking about what he might do to my children. I had thought the Mother was deaf to my prayers when I learned that I was pregnant with you.” The Lady of Autumn turned to face her eldest son, an unreadable emotion in her eyes, “But you were born, and you were small, and precious and I loved you more than anything, loved each of your brothers the same.”

She looked at Eris as tears filled her eyes, “I tried so hard, Eris. You know that I tried?”

His mother had sounded so uncertain, so unsure of herself. Eris nodded, “We all know that you did your best.” Eris didn’t know if he could actually speak for the rest of his brothers, but even if none of them cared about anything else, Eris knew they cared about their mother.

She took a shaky breath, “I fear that the Mother remembers those prayers, Eris, that she is punishing me for them, and I will be doomed to watch all my sons die.” Eris did not respond, not knowing what to say. On his knees in front of her, Eris felt like he was about to beg for her forgiveness. Perhaps he should. Eris stiffened when his mother lifted her hand. It hovered between them for a moment before she put her hand back to her lap, the black skirts of her dress rustling. “You always did that,” she mumbled. “The only child I'd ever seen flinch away from his mother’s touch.”

He would have rather she hit him. “I’m sorry.” The words coming from his mouth sounded hollow, unused, but he meant them.

She shook her head, red curls bouncing, “It’s hardly your fault.” She turned both her hands, palms up, a silent offering. Eris knew his mother wouldn’t hold it against him if he didn’t reach out to take them. “Have you been to the courtyard?”

Eris placed one of his hands into hers, “No.” Eris didn’t know if he wanted to go, even if all the others had gone.

She traced his knuckles with her thumb, “You should, they look at peace.” She tightened her hold on his hand, her voice dropping to a whisper again. “I didn’t know it would hurt this much, Eris, like someone’s ripped out my heart.” Tears streamed down her face, and she actually looked like she might have been in physical pain.

She shook her head, “You know, Cato sounded a bit like Rufus when he laughed.” Eris didn't know that, didn’t know what Cato sounded like when he’d laughed, didn’t think he’d heard him before. Eris was finding it hard to breathe. His mother’s grip on his hand tightened even more, “My little boys, Eris, I’ve failed them.” Eris was going to burn the house to the ground. He didn’t think their mother had failed them, he didn’t think if he said it to her it’d make anything better.

“Tell me what to do,” Eris almost begged, “Tell me what I can do to help.”

She took another shaky breath, voice wavering as she said, “I don’t want him to light the pyres, Eris.”

“I'll do it,” he could convince his father to let him do it.

She nodded once, letting go of his hand, “Thank you.”

Eris took that as the dismissal it was, getting back to his feet.

“Eris?” She reached out for the black sleeve of his embroidered jacket, holding it tightly.

He froze, waiting a moment before he asked, “Mother?”

“I love you very much.”

Eris thought he could feel something in him crack, thought he felt something inside him break. Eris didn’t remember the last time someone had told him that and he’d believed it. Eris wasn’t even sure if he believed it now. He leaned down, kissing her cheek as he mumbled, “Love you.”

She let go of his sleeve, nodding once. Eris glanced back to his mother one final time before he left the room. She’d gone back to staring at the wall, unmoving. Eris had never noticed how small she was, how the large skirts of her dress seemed to swallow her whole.

As soon as he’d shut the door behind him, Eris winnowed to the courtyard. It was cool out, the breeze slow and lazy.

In Autumn, funerals started right as the last rays of the sun were disappearing over the horizon, right at the start of the day’s death. The pyres would burn all night — until there was nothing left but ash. He’d have to speak to his father about lighting them, wanting to grant his mother’s wish.

He stood between the two pyres now. Someone had washed away the blood from their faces, had brushed their hair, had placed golden crowns on their heads. His mother was right, they did look at peace. If Eris didn’t know any better, he’d have thought his brothers were sleeping.

Eris looked closely at Cato. Lucien’s kill, a cruel sort of irony that Lucien had thrown one of Cato’s own knives at him. Eris remembered when Cato had been born. His father had put a heavy hand on his shoulder, leaned in close and had told him in a low voice that he was expendable. Eris had been sent to a war camp the next day. It was no surprise that they had resented each other, that they grew more bitter year by year. But Cato had warned him about Beron, and Eris was grateful.

Eris turned to face Owain. He’d been a hero in Autumn, born before the War and grown up to fight in it. Everywhere, people told tales of his victories in battle. It was almost impossible for Eris to believe what Maddox had told them all. Owain dropping his sword as Tamlin lunged at him didn’t seem like a mistake he would have made. Maddox had also made sure to tell Eris that Owain wouldn’t have killed Lucien, wouldn’t have let Cato do it either. For whatever reason, Eris believed it.

Eris awkwardly stood there, well aware that he couldn’t really mourn them, he barely knew them. Eris was certain about one thing — he should have been there, Eris would have been able to stop this from happening.

Eris felt ancient.

With a long sigh, he sat on the ground between his dead brothers. They’d been his greatest rivals, his strongest opponents. There was no other way in the Autumn Court. Eris made a promise to himself that when he became High Lord, he’d change it.

Cauldron, Eris thought, they were all so fucked up. He wondered when Beron had stopped pulling their strings, when the sharp words and harsh actions were no longer dictated by their father, when cruelty had become a part of them. He wondered when they had stopped seeing each other as brothers and started seeing each other as obstacles.

When Eris had been very young, he’d liked sneaking out of the Forest House. He couldn’t do anything, couldn’t really go anywhere, but he sometimes found himself lying on the ground, staring up at the sky. He did the same thing now. Sprawled on his back, Eris stared up at the blue sky, noticing that there wasn’t a single cloud in sight. If anyone walked by and saw him on the cold, hard ground between his brothers’ funeral pyres, surely they would think he’d gone mad, but Eris didn’t care.

Eris figured this would be his last chance to say something to his brothers, but he was old, and he’d seen many die, and he felt as though the dead couldn’t hear him anyway. It occurred to Eris that he could apologize for never being there when they’d needed him, but Eris didn’t think apologies meant much if you weren’t forgiven. Eris took a deep breath, his chest aching, he couldn’t very well say nothing — it didn’t seem right.

His voice wavered as he said, “Cauldron save you,” words he remembered his mother speaking at the pyres of her dead sisters. “Mother hold you. Pass through the gates, and smell that immortal land of milk and honey. Fear no evil. Feel no pain.” They’d felt enough while they’d been alive, Eris thought, Eris understood. He took a shaky breath as he whispered the last words of the short prayer, the wind carrying them. “Go, and enter eternity.”

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years

Text

EUPHORIA - Chapter 28

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: He’s Dean Winchester, owner of a shady night club. She’s a journalist who has been asked to write an article to expose the indecency and debauchery that’s going on behind closed doors. But he’s also Dean Winchester, the boy who sat next to her in class. The boy who was too cocky for his own good.

Chapter Warning: NSFW, Flangst

WC: 3434

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons <3

This series is complete on Patreon!

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

The next two weeks were uneventful compared to the one before. The threats are still coming in, but there were no vandalism anymore, and nobody who wanted to scare Dean off by driving into his fucking car.

But Dean’s still alerted. He thinks it’s just a trick to make him feel like they’re not out to get him, and if he lets his guard down, he’d pay and Dean’s not going to give whoever it is the satisfaction. No, he has to be the one to set the rules, and it should never be the other way around.

After the night she poured her heart out to him, the things between them had gotten even better if Dean can say so. He starts to refer to her as his girlfriend to people who didn’t know her, and well, his employees all know that she’s his and that she’s off limits to anyone.

Y/N’s still not living with him and that’s perfectly okay for him too. She’s working more to catch up on the things she had piling on while she was away and was taking care of him, so their time is sometimes really limited. Dean figured that it’s too early to offer her to quit her job, so he just really plays along.

The first week after his accident they took it real slow. She was on her period as well, and Dean got a glimpse of how it’ll be in the future. They had a couple of quiet nights in and if she couldn’t make it to his place, he would tear himself away from his job to knock at her door with some chocolate or ice cream. They argued about petty things, too.

Things he doesn't even really remember anymore but he knows that she does and he’s sure that she’ll bring it up at some point. They always do, don’t they?

Dean really made sure to show her often that she’s worth it and she questions his intentions sometimes. The fact is, that she thinks that she doesn’t deserve someone like him while he thinks that she is in fact the one who deserves someone much better than him. Maybe they both deserve each other. He thinks they do. Two broken people who come together as one.

The week after them finding themselves and finding out so much more about each other, the week of him knowing that he’s able to work around those little quirks and annoying habits of hers, was kinky.

They tried different rooms, and it was the first time that she used the safe word. They were in the medical room and Dean strapped her arms and feet to the chair while he had her eyes bound and clamped her nipples. He made her come four times without him even getting out of his clothes and afterwards, he taped the hitachi wand to her clit and fucked her like that. Another two orgasms later, she was writhing and wincing on her chair. Dean must say that he was maybe selfish too, with wanting to see how many orgasms he can tickle out of her in succession.

As he continued to fuck her and felt her coming on his cock for the seventh time, she yelled out the safe word. Dean almost didn’t pull out fast enough to tear the wand from her stomach and the clamps from her breasts. He loosened the restraints on her arms and legs quickly and scooped her up, walked her to the sofa and sat down with her trembling body in his lap. She was sobbing and he pulled the fabric from her eyes, but she wouldn’t open them.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N said it over and over again, like a broken record, and Dean stroked her back, kissed her wet face, assured her that it’s not her fault. She was ashamed to have used the word, and he had to tell her and made sure that she knew that there’s nothing to be ashamed about. That the word is there to be used, that’s he’s not mad. He would never be mad at her, how could he, when all he does is fucking love her.

He picked her up, threw a shirt over her while he dressed back into his pants and carried her up to his loft, put her in a bath and joined her. He kissed her to sleep that night, holding her and let her know over and over that it’s okay. That they don’t have to do it anymore either.

She needed her space the next day and only returned the day after. There was no contact and Dean gave her that. He didn’t want her to think that she’s not allowed to have her space when she needs it most.

Dean found her cooking him dinner when she came back, said it was to thank him for giving her space and being patient with her and honestly, he didn’t know what to say to that, other than assuring her again that he’s here to stay, no matter what.

During the meal she said that she’d have to go to California at the beginning of the next week and she’d stay away longer, because it’s a work thing and not a stupid workshop. It felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs. He hates to be apart from her and it’s one thing if he knows that she’s close, it’s a whole other thing when she’d be thousands of miles away.

He played it cool, though, even though he knows he probably didn’t look as cool as he pretended to.

Later, he said that he’d need to set up the poker room for the guys before he can take time for her and she said she’d help him. While they were there, one of the guys asked Dean again if he’d want to join but Dean politely declined. It’s Y/N who elbowed him in the ribs and said that he should because it sounded like fun. He jokingly said to her that he’d of course only do it if she would be the one under the table sucking him off. To his surprise, she was game.

That’s how she found herself under the table with some other girls that night and Dean had a hard time to keep a straight face when she gobbled him down like it’s the most delicious thing in the world. Not having a straight face is not a trait while playing poker, but it’s good to know that Dean’s not the only one. When one of the guests suggested that they switch the girls because apparently Dean’s face gave it away that he really enjoyed it, he sent the dude a glare and said that his girl is not up for negotiation. The guest suggested that they play for Y/N but that’s the last straw. Dean threw him out right away and pulled her off his dick to which she whined, but Dean took her hand and they went up to his office. He let her suck him off there, and she was happy again. It’s much better when he can watch her anyway.

The day before she had to leave for California, she surprised him in his office with the cutest, most sexy set of lingerie and he almost felt bad to have just ripped it off her body. He said she shouldn’t spend money on things like that. That from now on, he would buy them for her because it doesn’t hurt him as much as it would hurt her if he tears them apart.

He took her to the airport where her boss was already waiting, kissed her goodbye and it was hard, alright. Hard to let her go when all he wanted was for her to stay. He debated on telling her to quit right before she had to board the plane, but he knew as much as she did that she won’t do that. To get her to quit he would need some careful planning. He was too good of a girl. His fucking good girl.

When she was there, they would try to call each other but time zones really worked against them and instead of going crazy while trying to find the right time, they decided to just text every now and then until she’d be back. Dean also didn’t have to pick her up as Rufus will be on the flight back with her and he was adamant to drop her off.

It’s the third day now and Dean’s anticipating her return.

Only two days left.

46 hours and 21 minutes.

Not like he’s counting or anything.

Dean’s down in his office when he checks his emails. There are some threats like always, apart from emails of new member sign ups and PR. Normally, he’d trash the threats right away, but there’s something about the header that really catches his eyes.

SHE’S NOT TO BE TRUSTED

He has a weird feeling about it and he doesn’t know why, but his heart starts to thump heavily in his chest. There’s a part of him that says that he should just delete it, but there’s also another part of him that wants to know what it’s all about.

So, against Dean’s better judgement, he clicks on the email and a video starts to play.

What he sees makes his blood freeze and he feels nauseous all of a sudden. He grabs at the trash can below his desk and throws up in it.

Y/N’s going back today and while she packs her things, she keeps on checking her phone. There’s still no message from Dean. She tried calling him last night and she texted when he didn’t pick up, but there was no text coming back, although she’s seen that he’s read it. Normally, he’d leave a good night and good morning text, but there’s been nothing and she can’t lie that she’s a little worried, but maybe she’s just exaggerating. Maybe he’s just busy and didn’t have a chance to text her.

There is still no message from him when she lands and while she walks to the parking garage with Rufus, she sees a familiar face and it sends her heart racing because she’s been reminded of the day Dean was in a car accident.

“Hey, Y/N,” Cas says with a weak smile.

Rufus senses that it’s somewhat private, so he nods at her as if to say that he’ll wait over by his car. She nods back before she returns her gaze back to Castiel.

“I— is something— Dean?” She knows that whatever comes out of her mouth isn’t really coherent, but she doesn’t really care about it.

“Oh, no,” Cas says, “Dean’s okay,”

There’s a breath of exhale and she didn’t even know that she was holding her breathing, “Oh thank god!”

“Yeah, well he’s not really okay. I mean, he’s not physically hurt or anything,” Cas stammers on and on.

“Cas?” She asks, notices that the man can’t look her in the eye, “Look at me,”

He reluctantly does.

“What’s going on. Did he send you here?”

“No,” He says, shaking his head, “He doesn’t know I’m here. Look, all I’m saying that maybe you should give him some time. It’s not the best idea to go see him now, Y/N.”

“Cas, you’re scaring me,”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Dean’s not himself these days and I don’t want to see you getting hurt by going there unprepared.”

“What?” She’s confused to say the least. What the fuck is going on? Why should she get hurt? Just what happened while she was away? What happened after the good morning text from two days prior?

“Look, I know that I can’t really hold you back and if you insist on seeing him, please have in mind that he’s really not himself. There’s something going on, but we don’t know what it is. He hasn’t been to the club and has been holed up for two days now. He wouldn’t answer his door to anyone but me. And I’ve been in there, Y/N, it’s not really a nice sight, or smell, let me tell you. He wouldn’t tell me what’s wrong, but he told me that he doesn’t want to see you.”

There’s tears stinging at the back of her eyes. He doesn’t want to see her?

“What happened?” Her voice is small and she feels stupid for even asking because Cas made clear that he’s doesn’t know and she believes him.

“Something happened that broke him. I don’t know what it was,” He shakes his head, “I just came to warn you because I know that you would want to see him.”

Dean hears the knock, but his brain doesn’t really register. He’s slumped on his sofa, three empty bottles of whiskey are lying on the floor and there are another two half empty ones standing around. He grabs one, takes a swig and ignores the knocking.

He doesn’t even know what day it is. Doesn’t know the fucking time because he drew the blinds on all windows. He also doesn’t remember the last time he ate or took a shower. It doesn’t seem relevant at the moment.

There’s some more knocking, and he remembers Cas just came to see him a couple of hours ago? Or was it yesterday? He realizes that he doesn’t really remember, but also he doesn’t really fucking care. What does Cas want from him again?

“What?” Dean yells out but doesn’t move from the couch.

“Dean, it’s me.”

Oh no. It’s her. It’s fucking her. The audacity of her showing up blows his fucking alcohol fueled mind.

“Go away!”

“Dean, I have to see you.”

Her voice is calm and it’s fucking smooth and warm and goddamit he’s getting weak when he doesn’t want to be.

“I don’t want to see you right now, Y/N. Go away,” He shouts out, but he couldn’t not add, “Please,” It’s because he’s weak when it comes to her and fuck this shit, really.

“Dean, please, I’m worried. I want to see if you’re okay.”

He can imagine her standing on the other side, probably with her forehead on the door, has she been crying? A part of him doesn’t hope so. The other part of him does hope she cried as much as he did.

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb, “I’m not okay and I don’t want to see you. Please, just go, Y/N.”

He never thought it would be this hard to say those words to her and there’s already tears stinging at the back of his eyes, which he blinks away.

Dean takes another swig from the bottle, closes his eyes and lets his breathing get even again. However his eyes widen when he hears the turning of a key.

Shit, she still has a key.

He stays still, maybe she won’t come in?

Ah yeah, she does. He hears the clicking of heels on the floor as they come closer. Until she’s standing on the side. Dean can see her in the corner of his eyes. He would see more of her if he would tilt his head. He doesn’t because he’s not ready to see her.

“What happened?”

Dean snorts.

What happened? What the fuck happened?

He stands up then and turns around to face her and the sight of her drives a fucking knife through his heart. She has been crying. Good. And she still does. Not good. Fuck. He’s getting weak and he doesn’t want to be fucking weak.

Dean swallows, “What happened? You wanna know what happened, huh?”

“Yeah!”

“Oh, I tell you what happened, Y/N,” He chuckles darkly but she’s not afraid of him, it throws him off and he tries to play it cool, “I got an email with a little video clip.”

She frowns and lifts her eyebrows.

Dean’s a little irritated because he can see it in her eyes that she has no clue what he’s talking about. How can she not know?

“It’s a sex tape, Y/N. Of you having sex with someone while you were fucking away!” He growls, it’s fucking loud because he wants to intimidate her.

She blinks, but she doesn’t back away. Not one bit. Her eyes stay focused on him.

“What?” She asks with irritation on her face.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Dean scoffs, “You were fucking someone else and you let them film you and somehow someone sent it to me and I’m fucking thankful they did.” Dean sighs before he goes on, “Look, it’s over. Please leave.”

“Dean, I wasn’t—”

“—You weren’t what? Planning on getting caught? Yeah, you should know that if you’re fucking dumb enough to let some one night stand film you that it’ll get back to you, Y/N.”

“It wasn’t—”

“—What? You weren’t the one on there? Because I know that it’s you. I could fucking pick out your pussy from a police line up, Y/N and I’m not fucking proud of it anymore. It’s your voice and your fucking face!”

“Why don’t you let me fucking talk, Dean! Why do you keep cutting me off?” She’s yelling now too.

“Because I don’t want to hear your fucking excuses! You know how I felt, huh? You wanna know how I felt when I saw that you are fucking someone else? You know how fucking betrayed I felt? How fucking stupid that the person I trusted most did something behind my fucking back? The person I fucking loved!” He spits out, but goes silent after the last word is pushed out of his lips. It isn’t his intention to confess his fucking feelings. Not like that.

“You love me?” She asks, her voice small.

“Not anymore,” Dean mumbles and threads through his hair with both hands, “Please go. I have nothing to say to you and I’m not standing here to listen to your sorry excuses. What’s done is done. I hope you have a good life, Y/N, I really do.”

Dean avoids her eyes. There’s no way he can look at her without getting weak and he doesn’t want to get weak.

She’s crying, he can hear that. But between the sniffles, she breathes evenly. She turns on her heels and walks to the door.

Before she goes out, she turns around and Dean looks at her, doesn’t see her very well because his own eyes are clouded with tears, “You know, if you really loved me, Dean, you would have told me what’s been bothering you. You would have come to me first before jumping to conclusion. You would have fucking talked to me, but I can see that it’s not what you want. You don’t even want to hear me explain because you’ve already made up your damn stupid mind. You made it perfectly clear that you want me gone and that’s what I’m going to do because I respect your decision. But before I go,”

She takes a deep breath and exhales audibly and Dean’s heart races and he clenches his fists to hold himself back from fucking running up to her and take her into his arms.

“I know what clip you’re talking about and if you cared to look closer, you would have seen that my hair was much shorter, you would have seen that it’s not a fucking hotel room, but a normal bedroom in a run down apartment I shared with Cole. I’m sorry the existence of the tape hurts you, Dean, but you have no idea how much it hurts me too to know that my ex boyfriend forced me to do a sex tape with him and that it’s still going around. You don’t understand how much it hurts to come home and instead of seeing the man I love smiling at me, all I get are these accusations. And don’t come at me for not telling you about the tape before. I wanted to erase that part out of my past and I was hoping that it wouldn't surface. So yeah, maybe it’s my fault that I wasn’t frank with you about it and I’m sorry. But you could still talk to me instead of breaking it off. As I said, I wish you the best, Dean. Goodbye.”

Y/N closes the door behind her gently and Dean’s still gasping like a fish on land, unable to bring out a fucking word.

Chapter 29

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

#euphoria #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #nathalie writes

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jawritter · 4 years

Text

When The Lights Go Out

Part 2

Summary: Life hasn’t been your best friend lately, you lost your job, and are on the verge of losing your apartment. Who knew when you decided to join a Sugar Daddy app that your best friend suggested ina last ditch effort to save your apartment, and not end up on the street, your first and only client would turn your whole world upside down.

Pairing: Mobster!Dean Winchester x Virgin! Reader

Word Count: 2796

Series Warnings: Mob level violence, injured Dean, description of injury, creepy Godfather John Winchester, John is pretty much a double bag, escort services, virgin reader, lose of virginity and all the insecurities and fun stuff that come with it, age gap (23 year old reader; 40 year old Dean), angst, unrequited/requited love?, language, smut, unprotected smut.

Chapter Warnings: John is a creepy asshole, nervous reader, dangerous mob situation, language, escort services, I think that’s it.

A/N: Beta’d by @deanwanddamons! Thanks so much love!! Please don’t copy my work!! Feedback is golden! Hope you all enjoy this one!! It’s gonna be a little bit of a slow burn y’all, but just hang in there!

(This fic is based on this request: Could you do a Dean x reader where she is 23 and lives alone in her apartment, she gets fired and can loose her house, her friend tells her about a sugar daddy app, she makes a profile and Dean 40, contacts her, she is virgin and don’t offers sex, Dean is billionaire business man and needs a girl for his business parties,the reader is really shy, blushes a lot, they fall in love, he takes her to a trip and makes love to her on a private island, could it be a series?)

Want more? Check out my masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***SERIES MASTERLIST***

You had lived in New York since you were about five years old, and you had never been inside of The Roosevelt Hotel until now. It far surpassed what you expected it to be, and to be honest it was a lot too rich for your blood.

Looking around at the room filled with small tables and extravagant decorations, candles, and waiters, you felt like you had stepped onto the set of a movie, rather than a party. Everything was so beautiful, so elegant. People of all nationalities in black tie suits, and formal cocktail dresses fluttered around the room, either sitting at the tables, or gathering in small groups with glasses of expensive champagne or scotch in hand. The light buzz of conversation filled the room as the live band played on a stage in the corner.

You barely had time to take it all in, when an older man wearing an earpiece stepped up to Dean as the two of you made your way towards the table at the top of the room.

“Dean.Your dad wants to see you. He’s waiting in room 122.” the older man said. He looked very uncomfortable in his suit, pulling at the tie around his neck subconsciously.

“Rufus”, Dean said, nodding at him as he eyed the man with a smirk on his face, clearly amused by the man’s appearance in front of him, “what exactly did my father have to do in order to convince you to put on a suit?”

Rufus did not look amused at all, giving Dean a look that said if they weren’t standing in the middle of this crowded room, he would have made him regret that smirk plastered all over his beautiful face. Dean, on the other hand, seemed thoroughly unfazed.

“Boy don’t test me. Now your dad said to move your ass upstairs with your date, or for me to move it for you.Your choice.”

Dean’s features hardened, and he leaned over and whispered something in Rufus's ear that had him raising his eyebrows, before quickly looking down at the ground.

Adjusting his suit coat, Dean leads you towards the elevators at the opposite end of the room. His face is still hard, and his shoulders stiffer than they were a moment ago.

Once you were both safely inside the elevator, Dean turned to you, looking at you almost like he was sorry for what was about to happen. That made you even more nervous than you already were.

"Y/N, I want you to follow my lead no matter what," he said softly, grabbing your shaking hands in his. "Don't worry, my Dad looks scary, but he would never do anything to harm you. He probably just wants my signature on some paperwork from earlier today."

Dean’s piercing green eyes searched yours, almost as if to see if you bought the lie that he just tried to dish out in order to calm your obvious fear at meeting his father.

"Dean... I don’t know how I feel about this. This is more than a simple escort service.”

"Just, don't ask questions okay. Let me do the talking. I promise you, the less you know the better, so please don’t ask me any questions. I know I took a risk asking you to come tonight, but I promise you Y/N, nothing is going to happen to you, and the less you know about my business the better okay? Trust me, I’m not going to let anything happen to you tonight.Remember our agreement?Just stand there and look pretty and you will be just fine."

In a bold move, Dean placed his hand on the side of your face in an almost comforting way, and you couldn't help but lean into the warmth of his hand. It was almost like the man had a spell on you, and the longer you were around him, the more you were drawn to him. You couldn't help but wonder if everyone felt that way around him.

When the doors opened, Dean linked his fingers with yours, and led the way to the room where you were both instructed to meet Dean's father . A body guard in a nice suit opened the door for the two of you and let you in before Dean could even say anything, closing the door behind you both quickly.

The room was darker than the hall, and it took a minute for your eyes to adjust, before you saw the man standing in the window looking out over the city. His broad shoulders and strong back held the same air of confidence you saw in Dean.

"You wanted to see us?" Dean said, and the man turned around slowly. His black beard and hair were the first thing you noticed, his eyes made to look dark by the light of the room. He didn’t move any closer to the two of you, but he did seem to scan you from head to toe, and you shifted a little closer to Dean.

"Yes, I wanted to see the lady friend that you brought here tonight. I was unaware that you were seeing anyone Dean." he said, turning his head to the side a little, the same amused smirk you had seen on Dean earlier this afternoon playing on his lips.

You kept your mouth shut, just as Dean instructed. Honestly, you were a little afraid of this man, and you were too scared to say much of anything at the moment, because you knew you were in over your head.

Way over.

Dean blinked at his father, an annoyed look on his face.

"Dad this is Y/N, my girlfriend," Dean lied smoothly, "Y/N this is my father, John Winchester."

John said nothing, just looked you over again, and took a deep sip of the amber liquor in his glass.

"You look young. How old are you Y/N?" he asked, and you felt Dean stiffen a little next to you.

"I'm 23 sir." you state, attempting to sound confident. John just smirked, before turning his attention back to his son.

"At least she seems to know her place. Tell me Dean," John moved a little closer to the two of you, but still kept his distance. "does your girlfriend know anything about our company?"

Your heart leap in your throat, and for a moment you wondered if he was going to kill you both, because you were becoming more and more convinced by the second that this man was the living equivalent of the Godfather.

"No sir, our relationship is.... new." Dean said, choosing his words wisely.

"Prove your together." John stated bluntly, and your eyes almost bulged out of your eye sockets.

"I'm sorry, what?" Dean said, blinking at his father, seemingly as shocked at his declaration as you were.

You hoped that John couldn't see you trembling where you stood. White hot fear gripped your gut, and you wanted to run away, but you had a feeling you wouldn't get very far.

"Prove it." he stated calmly, taking another swig of his glass. "I see she's clinging to you, but that could be out of fear, or what you've paid her to do. So prove it."

John had a full on smirk on his face now, and you couldn't help the sickening feeling that flooded your stomach at his gaze.

Without hesitation, Dean spun you in his hold, your chest meeting his. Before you could even react, he had leaned down, and captured your lips in his, kissing you deeply, his tongue slipping between your lips with ease, and his hand sliding down grabbing your ass, pulling you tight against this body as he kissed you drunk.

You couldn't stop the blush on your face if your life depended on it as he pulled away from you, and you quickly looked down at the floor.

John chuckled across the room, and clapped his hands as if he were watching a play.

"Good, very good, for a moment I thought you had hired an escort Dean, but I see she's a little too shy to actually be a working girl."

Your blush deepened, and you hid a little closer to Dean's chest.

"If you done harassing my girl, I think we're both due downstairs." Dean said coldly.

"You’re right.You two go and enjoy the party, I'll be down shortly. I like this one Dean, and you are going to need a wife soon if you're going to take over our... company.I hope this one sticks." he said, his voice dripping with venom as Dean turned and led you both quickly out of the room.

You didn't take a breath until you were both in the elevator. You were visibly shaking when Dean pulled you in this hold, his strong arms wrapping around you, and his cologne invading your scene.

You knew that could have gone much worse, but you were still very shaken up by what John had asked Dean to do in there, and his threat of ,‘I hope this one sticks,’ didn’t go unnoticed by you or Dean.

"Fuck sweetheart, I'm sorry." Dean said, lightly placing his lips to the top of your head, and wrapping his arms tightly around you, pulling you deeper into him as the elevator descended lower.

Dean sounded just as relieved as you were to be away from his father, and you did all you could to try and keep yourself from passing out from the impending anxiety attack that threatened to take over in the dark corner of your consciousness.

These men were lethal, dangerous, and probably murderers or worse, and they have seen your face.

You were fucked.

It felt like the universe had decided to get you back for every stupid thing you ever did. All in one night.

Great.

Dean released you from his hold, and placed his hand on the side of your face softly, making you look up into his deep mossy green eyes, searching yours for any sign that you might freak out on him, or crack.

"I need to know if you're okay, because when those doors open it's going to be all eyes on us." Dean said seriously, but at the same time you could hear the concern in his voice. Now whether that concern was for you, or for his own well being you couldn't tell.

"I'm okay, I swear, Just.... Don't kill me..." you babbled stupidly, a single tear sipping down your cheek that Dean quickly caught with his thumb.

"I'm not going to kill you, no one is going to hurt you, you're safe with me okay? Now calm down. Let's go get some drinks, and let me show you a good time tonight. There's no reason why we can't enjoy the rest of the evening together." Dean said, his voice calm and soothing.

The elevator doors opened and you took a deep breath before taking his arm once again, letting him lead you to a well dressed table in the ballroom where a waiter brought drinks for the two of you. Dean's arm wrapped around your shoulders protectively, and you instinctively leaned into his hold.

You know that you should be terrified of him, but there was something about him that was calming to you, like he could keep you safe when nothing else could.

You didn't miss the smirk on his face when he felt you move closer to him, and he made sure to keep the small talk light, asking you things about where you grew up, your favorite things, and before long he had you laughing at some of his childhood stories.

Yes, you grew up worlds apart, yes he was seventeen years older than you, and yes this was a paid date that he was probably trying to do his best to look real between the two of you.You had a feeling if his father found out that you were just a hired date, you’d both be fucked six ways from Sunday, but you couldn’t help but get lost in his laugh, the way his eyes seemed to dance with mischief as he looked at you, the way his hand felt heavy and warm against your shoulder, or the way his very presence seemed to command the attention of everyone that came within five feet of him.

He was everything a girl wanted, and something you didn’t even know still existed . Too bad he wasn’t really yours. If you were lucky enough to live through this ‘date’ you’d probably never see this man again. You were sure after that little display in the elevator where you begged him not to kill you, he’d never hire you again.

The evening drew on. A speech was made by John, then Sam. Nothing incriminating, or anything, just a lot of thank you messages, and other formalities. As dinner was served, Sam joined you with his fiance Jessica. John stayed busy at an even bigger table.

You liked Sam and Jessica.They seemed a lot more down to earth and a lot less lethal than everyone else in this room, though you weren’t fooled in the slightest. They were just as dangerous as Dean and his father.

Dean led the conversation, and you did what he asked, just sitting there looking pretty, and leaning into him at the appropriate times, mainly when you saw John’s eyes filter to the two of you.

When the evening was finally done, and Dean had said his goodbye to his brother, he grabbed you around the waist, and whisked you towards the exit.You were grateful this was over, and you were more than ready to get back to your little apartment, and back to reality.

Dean had almost had you to the car when a voice boomed from behind the two of you, stopping you in your tracks.

"Dean! Hang on a second!'

Dean took a deep breath, giving you an apologetic look, before turning you both around to face John who was standing very close to you.

"Yes, sir." Dean said, holding himself up a little straighter.

"I didn't get to say goodbye to your lovely girlfriend!" he said, grabbing your free hand and kissing the back of it, his dark eyes meeting yours, a smirk on his face.

"do svidaniya krasivaya devushka." he said before dropping your hand, and you leaned closer into Dean's hold.

"English please Father. She doesn't speak Russian." Dean said, a little colder than what you expected him to address his father.

"My apologies dear, I simply said goodbye beautiful girl." John said, smiling sinisterly at you before turning his attention back to his son, not giving you time to respond.

"I trust that this lovely young lady will accompany you to our family dinner this Sunday? It will be nice to see the normally empty seat at the table filled for once.”

Dean never relaxed his stiff posture next to you, pulling you so close to him that you had to put your arm around his back in order for it not to look awkward.

“Well I hadn’t asked her yet, but if she’s not already got plans, I’m sure she will attend.” Dean said stiffly.

"Of course. Good night dear, I hope you had a lovely time. Now Dean, go break that girl in, she seems barely driven. No woman of my sons will allow him to go to bed unsatisfied I trust." he said, turning on the spot and leaving Dean to hurry you into the warmth of the car that had driven you up here.

Dean huffed in aggravation, turning sharply and opening the door to the car, before helping you inside it’s warmth.

You took a deep breath as soon as the door was shut, and Dean's hand landing on the back of yours made you nearly jump out of your skin. He smiled softly at you.

“I really am sorry about my father’s behavior. I promise that was directed at me, not you. He was doing that because he knew it would get under my skin.”

Pulling an envelope out from under his seat, Dean passed it to you.You could feel that it was quite full.

“This should be sufficient for tonight. We will discuss Sunday a little closer to time.”

You nodded slowly, almost afraid to open the money and see how much was there.

“So...That means..I have the job?” you asked, your voice small as the car pulled up to the curb of your apartment building. Dean smiled at you softly, bringing his full lips to the back of your hand, before your door was opened by the driver.

“Oh sweetheart.You had me at hello.”

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364 notes · View notes

stusbunker · 3 years

Text

AGA: Word to the Wise

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Denny AU Series

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Benny Lafitte, past Dean/Jo

Other characters: Sam, Bobby, Cas, Mick, Ash, Jo

Word Count: 3000 (whoa)

A/N: Sam gets on Dean’s nerves and Dean ends up taking a late night detour. Big talks ahead.

Special thanks to my beta @cracksinthewalls who puts up with my whiny ass. Also grateful for @there-must-be-a-lock‘s insight.

The bowling league was in lean attendance due to a surprise snowstorm, but that didn’t keep Singers’ Slingers from mopping the floor with their competition. Dean ended on a spare in the last game, putting him just over his average for the night. State bowling wasn’t until spring, but if they kept up their momentum Dean was sure they could place well. And a weekend away would be a welcome break from his usual exhaustion.

Dean still owed Mick a rematch from last year’s trip. Mick drank him under the table and Dean didn’t want to lose two years running, he had a reputation to uphold afterall. Bartending had cut into his training time, among other things.

Ash was the first one to bow out for the night, knowing his side towing business would be busy with vehicles in ditches for however long the storm lasted. Cas bummed a ride with Mick, since his car had never done well in this weather and he was still dragging his feet on upgrading. Dean knew he had been hinting at shopping around, but Dean wasn’t going to push the topic and get dragged into helping or finagling with the salesman for the guy. Cas could figure it out on his own, and Dean was finally in a place where he felt comfortable letting him. Huh.

Sam had been quiet all night, but Dean hadn’t mentioned it, attributing the sour mood to post-break up blues. They bought Bobby his weekly drink, “team dues” as he called it and settled in along the bar.

Dean kept the conversation going, trying to keep the mood light, but Bobby was too tired to ham it up and Sam was not amused by his brother’s antics. Once Bobby polished off his last beer and headed home to Ellen, Dean was rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“Fine, you know what, I’ll reel it in, don’t want to interrupt your sulking,” Dean muttered after another joke fell flat. Sam winced at Dean’s jab, which Dean instantly regretted. Though it did seem to shake Sam out of his funk, if minutely.

“So, tell me about Benny,” Sam brought up with elephantine grace.

Dean stared at Sam like he proclaimed he was quitting the law firm and joining the circus, coulrophobia and all.

Sam huffed. “What?”

“Nice segue there, counselor,” Dean grumbled. “What about him? Hmm, you want a new bowling bag? Because that was already on my list for you for Christmas.”

“Dude, you don’t have to do that. I mean, that’d be great, but no, I was kind of wondering what your deal was? Like do you hang out a lot?” Sam started fishing.

“Yeah, totally, everynight,” Dean deadpanned. “I mean I only work two jobs when I’m not moving your sorry ass back into Mom and Dad’s.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Sam said, waiting to figure out where he was going with this line of questioning and just shot in the dark.

“What I’m trying to say is, is this, like, a Cas thing?” Sam choked out, unable to put it any more delicately.

Dean burned with shame as his hackles raised in defensiveness. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Sam cocked his head and pursed his lips, unamused and unimpressed. “You know what I mean, man. Don’t make me spell it out.”

Dean wouldn’t budge, he dropped his beer with a thud. “Well, you’re gonna have to, because I have no fuckin’ idea what you’re talking about.”

“Dude!” Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“The fuck is your problem? You got something to say, just say it, Sam.” Dean fumed, daring him with a murderous glare. Sam inhaled pregnantly, face still inching towards bitch mode. Sam eyed the bartender who was trying not to listen and the late game bowlers who suddenly decided they could catch up lane side instead.

What Dean didn’t realize was that he needed Sam to say it. He yearned for it, for his truth to be spoken, and known without him having to say it himself.

“Look, I know this isn’t something we talk about. But, I just want to make sure you’re okay. Alright? In the beginning with Cas, it was like you were obsessed, man. And since he just always seemed to need something from you. I just want to make sure you’re not getting used, I guess,” Sam unraveled the heart of his concern without saying too much, which Dean was not expecting, at all.

Dumbfounded, Dean retreated, annoyance trumping any chance at relief.

“I think I can handle myself, thanks,” Dean spat. Petulantly, he took a sip from his beer, the cold glass solid in his hand, giving him something to clutch or even throw, if it came down to it.

“I didn’t say---,” Sam broke off. “Fine! You know what? You’re on your own. Just remember that I should have listened to you about Ruby and now I’m paying the price for my own stubbornness.”

Sam stood and reached for his money clip, tossing an extra five on the bar for the dramatics. He gave Dean one last chance to come clean, to own up to what they weren’t saying. Dean stared straight ahead, eyes unfocusing on the liquor labels behind the bar as if Sam had already left. So he did, just as he came: pissed and questioning his brother’s motives.

Dean didn’t go home after that. Instead he absently followed a plow down the main road until he happened upon a familiar turn off. Which he took slow and steady until it ended in a T. The little brick ranch at the end of the lane held a lot of memories. And it was more inviting than ever with its Christmas card perfection in the falling snow. Dean put the Impala in park and let the radio play, wishing he had a joint just for the sake of something to do.

He wasn’t there ten minutes before his phone rang, which he answered without processing the caller ID.

“You gonna come in or you just gonna sit out there feeling sorry for yourself?” Jo’s voice sliced across the line.

“Didn’t know if you were still up,” Dean bullshitted.

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say. Backdoor’s open,” her unimpressed reply. She hung up before Dean could make up an excuse to leave. He slouched out of the car and trudged down the long country driveway. As soon as he had stomped the snow off his boots, Jo welcomed him in with a firm hug and an appraising glint in her eye.

“Thanks, it’s a real mess out there,” Dean explained.

Jo just shook her head at him. “How’d ya bowl?”

“619 series, finished strong in the last few frames,” Dean answered. “Were you at your folks?”

“Nah, just know it’s Wednesday night, which means the boys were at the alley,” Jo smirked as she reached atop her fridge for the good stuff.

She held up the whiskey in offering and Dean nodded, bending out of his coat. He slipped it over the back of a chair and settled in at the vintage kitchen table. She poured him a glass and watched as he inhaled the first round like he had been outside for hours and needed to fight off a much deeper chill.

“Well alright,” Jo resigned herself to playing shrink and poured Dean another drink. “So, what’s got you stuck in your head, hm?”

Dean weighed his head from side to side as he let the whiskey roll over his tongue. He never got far into a pouting session when Jo was around, but he also didn’t know which chamber of his heart he could stand to prop open for her inspection tonight.

“How’ve you been, Jo? You still schooling those truckers on taking care of their own rigs?” Dean sidestepped with ease.

“You know it,” Jo confirmed. “Not a day goes by that I don’t have to put another asshole in his place. Pays good, though.”

Jo had followed in Bobby’s footsteps and became a mechanic, but two Singers were already one too many for the shop and salvage yard. So she took her skills out to the interstate and made a name for herself as the only female diesel technician in four counties. Dean used to hate it when she would fix something faster than him, but it had been more than a decade since her skills had made him feel inferior. Dean knew Jo’d be his boss someday, but he wasn’t too worried about those far off futures; Bobby wouldn’t retire unless Ellen made him or killed him first.

“How’s Rufus holding up?” Jo teased, knowing her dad’s old friend was getting worse for the wear, much like John had.

“Stubborn, and as glib as ever. Good thing your dad rehired him, because he’s a bit too mouthy for most customers,” Dean admitted.

Jo hummed with nostalgia. “I gotta swing by and bug you guys sometime, but it just keeps getting busier.”

Dean sighed. “I hear that. What’s it been? Labor day? No. I haven’t even seen you since the Fourth. Christ!”

“Yeah, well, you’ll see me next week for Thanksgiving, don’t get too sentimental about it now,” Jo quipped. She took a short sip off the bottle as Dean swirled the last of his second helping.

“I’m seeing someone,” Dean staggered the words, like he wasn’t sure if their meanings and sounds fit together.

Jo sighed dramatically, “Finally, the truth is revealed! What’s up? She’s not pregnant, is she?”

“No.” Dean had to bite back his guffaw. “Definitely not.”

“Okay, then why the sad face? Not pulling a Ruby on ya, I hope?” Jo tested the waters.

“No, it’s--uh--- it’s been good. Really good. I just, kind of need to make up my mind if I’m in it for the long haul. Ya know?” Dean clarified, relaxing with each little confession.

“Uh-oh it’s getting serious,” Jo mock whispered.

Dean rolled his shoulders. “No, well, it could be. I don’t know.”

Jo giggled. “I can’t believe you! You’re fucking twitterpated, aren’t you?!”

“Jo, if you start making Thumper jokes, I’m shutting up right now,” Dean warned with a pointed finger. “Care to top me off while you’re at it?”

“Okay, okay, gosh.” Jo rolled her eyes dramatically as she poured him another drink before pointedly putting it back on the fridge. “But you’re in deep. You’re all blushy about it.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m ready to go big. It just means they’re willing to put up with me until I say the word,” Dean tried to downplay his feelings and Benny’s confession.

“So do it! Bust out the grand gestures already,” Jo encouraged.

Dean scoffed, “I’m not built for commitment, you know that!”

“Except you kinda are! You’ve changed, Dean,” Jo insisted, head hung to pour her honesty from her eyes. “I don’t know when it happened, but you’re not that reckless boy that I knew. You’ve always been a good guy, but now?---- Maybe it’s been since Sam came home, I don’t know. But somewhere along the way you grew up.---- It’s okay to let yourself want something more, you know.”

Dean grumbled and rolled his neck, breaking the eye contact. She always could do this to him, just like her mother, see straight through his every defense. “I always thought it’d be you, you know?”

Jo smiled without teeth. “Firsts can do that to people. But, we’re not those kids anymore, Dean. So, if you’re asking for my permission or seeking my approval---?”

Dean dropped his head to his hands, thick fingers poorly hiding him from Jo. “It’s a guy, Jo. I’m--- I don’t know--- Bi? I guess?”

“Dean?” Jo waited until he stopped being sheepish and looked at her, even if it was only out of the corner of one eye. “You’ve been head over heels for Cas for years. If you dare tell me this is about him, so help me, I will throw you out right now.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh ruefully at that and toss back what was left of his whiskey. “You saw that, huh?”

She didn’t answer, waiting for him to work through it on his own.

“It’s not Cas.” Dean smacked his lips and held up his glass for a refill. Jo stood and brought the bottle back to the table. Dean poured himself three fingers worth and pondered the sloshing liquid before he continued. “Your mom know?”

Jo licked her lips, cocked her head, and sighed.

Dean closed his eyes and asked, “Bobby? Fuck!--- my mom?!”

“No one has ever said it out loud, Dean. I don’t know who knows, honestly. But we’re family, that doesn’t change.” Jo grasped his wrist firmly, he held her hand to his and then she slapped her other one on top. Time stopped long enough for Dean to accept that his secret was finally out, but also that it was safe.

“I can’t believe I’m talking about this with you, of all people.” Dean thumbed her knuckles, staring into eyes he knew as well as his own.

“Really? Who else would you be talking to about it? Sam? Ash, maybe?” Jo giggled. “I’m honored, actually. It means you stopped hating me.”

Dean pulled his hands away and took another drink. “I never hated you.”

“Okay, well, maybe it means you stopped hating yourself,” Jo corrected.

Dean’s brows crooked incredulously.

“Too much?” Jo asked apologetically.

Dean shook his head and sighed. “You are your mother’s daughter.”

“Now you’re the one being rude,” Jo muttered before taking a solid drink off the bottle this time.

Dean let himself relax, let the whiskey and conversation work into his muscles and set his worries aside. They talked like the old days and about the old days. Those in between years after high school and before anyone was ready to face responsibility. When half their friends went to college, they had just kept on working. After another hour, Jo leaned back in her chair and started scrutinizing him once again.

“You know how I know you’re happy with what’s his name?” Jo teased.

“Beh--- I didn’t tell you, fuck! Benny, his name is Benny. Goddamnit Joanna Beth,” Dean cursed through a chuckle; more details dragged out of him than he had planned on.

Jo cocked her head and considered the name.“Benny, right. You wanna know how I know?” Jo pushed.

“Fine, how?” Dean held up his hand, beckoning for her to hit him with her response.

“Because this is about the time of night you start giving me the lazy once over. But not tonight,” Jo proclaimed, chin out condescendingly. She had him, every few years they’d find themselves back in each other’s beds, for a night or a weekend and then they’d move on. He always thought of her as his home, his starting point. But maybe they weren’t the same thing at all.

“You still look good, Jo,” Dean replied, trying to save face.

“That’s not what I meant, Dean. Besides, I know!” Jo snarked, straightening her spine and tossing her hair over her shoulder. Dean couldn’t hold in his laughter anymore and it spilled out over a toothy grin, making Jo almost choke on her drink. God, Dean felt like anything was possible. That life was good.

After the hysterics had calmed down, Dean exhaled. “Thanks, Jo. I needed this.”

“You sure did, nobody else was gonna hand you your ass so kindly,” Jo agreed, standing and taking the bottle and Dean’s glass with her to the counter that held the sink. He whined comically, but knew her timing was right. She leaned back and smirked.

Dean grew quiet and Jo waited to see if it was exhaustion, the alcohol or something else. She didn’t have long to prepare.

“How’m I gonna tell my dad?” Dean asked, the pain and panic pulling at his face until she saw the telltale tears well up.

“Fuck ‘im. I mean it, if your dad can’t get his head out of his ass to see how happy you are, he isn’t worth your time,” Jo said adamantly.

Dean let his thoughts roll to the side of his head and licked his lips, biting against the tremor. He quickly wiped away the tears that escaped and inhaled wet and ragged. Jo slipped to his side and ran her hand through his hair, letting his face fall against her chest as he breathed through the onslaught. Dean couldn’t help but think how motherly the affection felt.

She pulled back to look him over at arms’ length.

“So what now? You want the couch? Or should I call you a ride? I’m sure Sam owes you one,” Jo asked, as no nonsense as ever.

“I’ll be fine,” Dean dismissed her concern, rubbing up his face to wipe off his nose.

“Well, you ain't driving.” Jo held up his keys. Dean blanched, feeling his pockets for them, fruitlessly. He stood to snatch them, but she had already skipped across the kitchen, too far to catch. “Nuh-uh, no way I’m letting you risk your baby. Or your thick skull in this weather.”

Dean put his hands on his hips, and blinked through the dizziness. He realized he hadn’t stood in a few hours. “Sam.”

“What’s that?” Jo prodded mischievously, ear leaning in as if she couldn’t hear him.

“Very funny. Call Sam, will ya?” Dean rolled his eyes as she scrolled through her contacts, murmuring the names under her breath. His keys were raised in victory, as if he couldn’t reach them above her head. He could have snagged them in an instant, if he wanted to.

While Jo woke Sam, Dean checked his own phone. Ignoring some texts from his mom and Cas, he selected the conversation with Benny. There were no new messages since that morning. Dean hesitated before relocking his screen.

“Sam’ll be here in twenty. You want something to eat? I’ve got chips.” Jo offered, opening the cupboard.

Tagging: @flamencodiva @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @fookinghelljensensthighs @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis @cosicas-cuquis @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @wingedcatninja @defenderrosetyler @ericaprice2008 @crashdevlin @mylovelydame21 @cajunquandary @itmighthavebeenintentional @thoughtslikeaminefield @there-must-be-a-lock @tatted-trina6 @cracksinthewalls @atc74

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Part 10: Spit it Out

#A Gentlemen's Agreement #Dean Winchester Fanfiction #dean/benny #dean x benny #bi!dean #coming out #aga: word to the wise #dean winchester/benny lafitte #dean/jo #sam's trying he really is #stubborn dean

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deanstop13billyjoeltraxx · 3 years

Text

Empty Space

A fix-it fic because we were ROBBED.

I wrote this for my own closure, and it is unedited, but I thought I would post it here anyway.

Dean didn’t want to open his eyes.

He couldn’t feel the chains and the heat, or hear the screams. Not yet. But he knew it would come. He wanted to savor these final moments of simple nothingness. A story left unfinished. The bliss that came before eternal suffering. There was no coming back this time.

He could still feel Sam cradling him. His last breath. The pain in his back.

This was it.

Dean stood for god knows how long, willing himself anywhere but where he knew he was. The Veil, the Empty, hell, even being reincarnated as a tree would be better than whatever was waiting in front of him.

A bird chirped, startling Dean’s eyes open.

He stood in the middle of a field adjacent to a road, tall pines lining the asphalt. The sun nearly blinded him, and he put a hand up to shield his eyes. It shone in that in-between kind of way, as if it was the middle of October, everything in flux. He could see a small, wooden building not too far ahead. Dean looked at his hands, then back up at the sky.

“Huh,” he huffed. “I made it.”

It was both a statement and a question. I made it to heaven. How did I make it to heaven? Dean took a step towards the house, half expecting the jig to be up at that point. When the ground didn’t crumble beneath him, and the bright blue sky didn’t melt away into hellfire, he took another step, one with more conviction. And then he was walking toward the building.

Dean’s mind was racing. With what memory would he be spending eternity? If his life hadn’t flashed before his eyes at his death, it sure as hell was now. Dean swallowed hard at the revelation that there were too many heavens for him, that his life had so many more good memories than he had ever given it credit for. Motel rooms with Sam, Lawrence with Mary, Jody’s dinner table… And Cas. Bars with Cas, the Impala with Cas, the bunker with Cas…

He knew Cas wouldn’t be in his heaven. That was more torture than paradise. Dean would look at Cas and only see all the things he never said.

Finally, Dean reached the building. Someone was sitting in a rocking chair --

“Bobby?” Dean asked, incredulous.

“Hey, kid,” Bobby said with a smile. “Took you long enough.”

“What memory is this?” Dean had realized he was standing on the porch of Ellen’s roadhouse. But where was Sam, where was his mom, where was --

“It’s not a memory,” Bobby said.

“What? But I thought --”

Bobby shrugged. “Things have changed around here. Your boy, he shook things up. For the better,” he added, opening the cooler next to his chair. “You can sit, you know.”

Dean accepted the invitation, settling into the rocking chair across from Bobby. He graciously accepted the beer from Bobby’s hand. “So… Jack did… all this?” He asked, taking a sip.

“Well,” Bobby sighed, shifting in his seat. “Cas helped.”

Dean nearly choked on his beer. Not that it would matter. I’m already dead, his brain joked, helpfully.

“C-Cas?” He whispered, searching Bobby’s face for answers.

Bobby just raised his eyebrows and took another swig.

Dean stared down at his hands. Bobby was explaining the logistics of this new heaven, how Rufus lived five miles down the road, how Mary and John had a place not too far from Bobby’s. Dean could hear him, but his mind was miles away.

“Dean?” Bobby prodded, evidently having finished his explanation. Dean nodded at him, a wry smile on his face.

“It’s almost perfect,” he said, and he meant so many things. If Sam was here, it’d be perfect. If Jack was here, it’d be perfect.

If Cas was here, it’d be perfect.

“He’ll be along,” Bobby said, referring to Sam. Dean nodded again. “It’ll take time, but he’ll be here.”

“How long?” Dean asked, looking up to meet Bobby’s eyes.

Bobby just shrugged. “Time passes differently here,” he answered.

“What do I do?”

“What do you want to do?”

Dean considered the question and realized it might be the first time he’d ever asked it of himself.

“I think I’ll go for a drive.”

Cas watched Dean die from a distance.

He might have been able to find some comedic irony in the whole thing. Dean Winchester, who beat God, killed Death, saved the world… killed by a rusty barn nail.

Cas watched Sam burn Dean’s body.

Cas watched new hunters.

Cas watched old friends.

Cas watched humanity learn to live in a world without his family protecting it.

But mostly, Cas just watched Dean.

He watched him as he opened his eyes in heaven. He watched him talk to Bobby. He watched him get in the Impala.

He watched him drive.

Dean drove for miles, windows down, Led Zeppelin screaming through his speakers. Cas watched him bellow the lyrics offkey, watched him pump his fists in the air, watched him push 120 with his eyes closed because, of course he would, it’s Dean.

Cas watched all of this, but he did nothing.

Cas had fully expected the eternal sleep of the Empty. Embraced it, really. But instead, he simply woke up in heaven. It was a little bleak for a while there, with Chuck attempting to destroy the universe and all that, but then there was Jack.

“What am I doing here?” Cas asked. “I’m supposed to be…”

“The Empty can’t take you,” Jack replied with a smile. “You have a soul.”

Cas tilted his head in confusion. “I’m an angel,” he said in monotone.

“Yes,” Jack said. “With a soul.”

“How is that even possible?” Cas asked, now entirely at a loss.

Jack shrugged. “It might have something to do with your true happiness.”

Cas blanched at that.

Jack was glad to have him in heaven. He needed all the help he could get, he said, changing the place, making it more of a paradise and less of a prison.

Cas was happy to oblige him, but quietly, reservedly.

What was it? Your moment of true happiness?

Cas couldn’t tell him. Not while Dean was still alive, while he had a chance at a normal life. Jack would want Cas to see him, talk to him, to do something, and Cas couldn’t. He wouldn’t take that chance from Dean. Not ever.

And now? Dean was dead. His story, over. No more second chances. Cas knew he would have to do something eventually.

And still, he watched.

He watched Dean pull the Impala to a stop on top of a bridge. Take a deep breath. Get out of the car. Look around.

Cas watched Dean bow his head.

And, finally, Cas watched Dean pray.

This might be the dumbest shit I have ever done.

Wait, can I swear in heaven?

Hmm… Fuck?

Awesome.

Anyway, this is definitely the dumbest shit I have ever done. I’m in heaven. Who prays when they’re already in heaven? But, anyway, it worked in Purgatory, so I figured it might work here…

I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry I got myself sent to hell and you had to save me. I’m sorry that every time you tried to do right by me, I told you how you fucked it up. I’m sorry that you rebelled for me. I’m sorry that you gave up an army for me. I’m sorry that you died to save me. More than once.

Jesus, am I sorry you died thinking anything but the truth.

Cas, I don’t know where you are, or if you’re busy, or if you never want to see me again. But if you got time… I got something to tell you.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes shot open. His heart was pounding -- weird, I still have a heartbeat? -- his mouth had gone dry. He felt rooted to the spot, as if turning around and seeing one more bit of perfection might shatter the rose-colored glass.

But he turned around anyway. Slowly. Deliberately.

And there he was, stupid trenchcoat and all.

Cas.

Dean could barely swallow over the lump in his throat. Cas was regarding him with a curious, reserved expression, his hands in his pockets.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean whispered.

“I heard your prayer,” Cas said, and it was all Dean could do to choke back a tearful laugh. “You said you… had something to tell me.”

And, shit, if Dean had thought being dead would make baring his soul any easier, he was dead fucking wrong.

“Uh,” he shifted on his feet. “How long you been back?”

Cas shrugged. “I never really left,” he said.

“What? I saw the Empty take you.”

“I don’t know. I woke up in heaven. Well, the other heaven,” Cas said. “Jack seems to think I somehow… Gained a soul.” Dean raised his eyebrows. “It makes sense… I think,” Cas continued. “My moment of true happiness, it fundamentally altered who I was. Happiness is a uniquely human experience. When I finally achieved that, something in me became human.”

“Well, Jack is God, now,” Dean said with an awkward chuckle. “So he must be right. All-knowing or whatever.”

“Right,” Cas said, eyes narrowed.

“I guess you’ve been busy,” Dean said. He didn’t say, that’s why you didn’t come to see me.

“Indeed.”

How can I still manage to fuck this up in heaven, Dean yelled at himself, looking anywhere but Cas’ suspicious face.

“Dean?” Cas prodded, and that was enough.

Dean closed the distance between them in three long strides, wrapping Cas up in his arms. Cas went rigid with surprise, but eventually, he hugged back.

“I thought you were gone,” Dean whispered. “Like, really, really gone.”

“I did too,” Cas replied.

Dean’s face was wet with tears, but he buried it in Cas’ shoulder anyway. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck. Okay.”

He lifted his head, but didn’t release Cas from the hug. They stood, locked in embrace, while Dean screwed up his courage.

“You can have it, you know,” he said softly over Cas’ shoulder.

It seemed like every atom in Cas’ body stopped moving. His shoulders tensed, and he maneuvered out of Dean’s arms.

“What?” He asked. Dean panicked for a moment, seeing Cas’ guarded eyes. He almost convinced himself to laugh it off, punch Cas in the arm, make some joke about how this really must be heaven if the Impala can go that fast, but he stopped himself.

“You told me, before you… That the one thing you want, you can’t have it,” Dean said, forcing himself to hold Cas’ gaze. “Well, I’m telling you now, you can have it.”

“I don’t understand --” Cas tried to say, but Dean leaned in and the words were gone.

The kiss was everything he could have wanted and nothing he could have dreamed of. The feeling of right, of home settled into Dean’s molecular makeup, as if this was all it would have taken to fix him all those times he had been broken. As if the gaping hole in his chest was always just Cas-shaped empty space.

Cas pulled away slowly. Was he in a dream? Was he actually asleep, in the Empty, and now it was playing with him?

“Dean,” Cas said. “Are you --”

“In love with you? Yes,” Dean finished, urgent. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it back there. I didn’t -- you left so fast.”

Cas blinked. “I wasn’t expecting a response,” he said, his mind feeling more than a little fried.

“You weren’t…” Dean trailed off into a chuckle. “Really?” He asked, smiling, his eyebrows raised.

Cas would have spent every eternity in the Empty for that smile.

“Really,” Cas said, smiling wryly back. “Evidently, I was incorrect in that assumption.”

“You gave me a whole speech, Cas,” Dean said. “What was I supposed to say?”

Cas gave him a serious look. “You needed to hear those things, Dean. I couldn’t leave without you knowing how I felt about you.” He swallowed. “You are real, though?”

Dean stared at him for a moment, then pulled him into another kiss. Cas thought he must have a soul, and this must be heaven, because nothing in his millennium had ever felt like kissing Dean Winchester.

“That answer your question?” Dean said after pulling away.

“Yes,” Cas said softly. “It does.”

#supernatural #destiel #deancas #spn 15x20 #spn spoilers #cailin writes

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labelleofbelfastcity · 3 years

Text

fig and gorgug’s excellent adventure

word count: 1.7k

read on ao3 here!

“Bill, my most esteemed colleague…”

Fig looks over at a quietly snoring Gorgug, his face softly lit by the shadows of Bill and Ted on her crystal. Even after a year of knowing each other, a few months of which were spent in a cramped cell together, she hadn’t known he snores. It had never been quiet enough, she had never been quiet enough, to notice that about him.

If Fig focuses, she can feel the rumble of the tour bus against her back, and, if she leans her head against the metal wall by her shoulder, the vibrations of tires over asphalt rattle around in her skull. They’ve only been on the road for a week, with just two concerts under their belts, and Fig is already kind of exhausted.

It’s a lot. The managers and the calls home and the makeup assignments for missed schoolwork. She probably wouldn’t even be doing the latter, but Gorgug spends his allotted midmorning time sitting at their extremely tiny table, with papers of Barbarian Theory and Engineering 1 scattered around him, and she’d feel like an asshole to just watch.

Fig hasn’t been sleeping well, either. The little bunk seems to press in around her, shoving her into an even smaller version of herself. Which feels stupid to complain about, because Gorgug is over a foot taller than her, since his growth spurt over the summer, and he’s sleeping just fine.

As if to prove her point, Gorgug shifts in his sleep, curling closer into Fig’s side. It’s just past one in the morning, and they have a gig tomorrow so Fig should really be sleeping too, but she’d felt like crying, for some reason, alone in her bunk. She’d crawled into Gorgug’s, instead, and pulled up Bill and Ted while he blinked blearily at her. It didn’t take him much longer to fall back asleep—now with his arm tucked around Fig’s shoulders—and Fig continues to hide from her emotions by watching Ted philosophize.

“Hey, Gorgug,” Fig hisses, burrowing her head into his chest in a way she knows will stick him with her horns. “Gorgug.”

“Hrmgh,” he grumbles, shifting more so that Fig can’t really poke him anymore. “Go to sleep.”

“No. Gorgug, hey. Come on, dude, I have an idea.” She doesn’t, really, more the idea of an idea, just like how Bill and Ted only operate on negative brian power and a pretty homoerotic bromance.

Homoerotic. She must’ve texted Kristen too much yesterday.

“Sleep is my idea,” Gorgug says, but it’s more of a sigh and a yawn wrapped up together and stretched like a yawning cat.

Fig’s brain unhelpfully supplies an image of sleepy Riz—ears cocked all funny and pupils absolutely giant. She shoves it back into the little chest lovingly marked “Bad Kids” that she’d constructed the second they drove away from Elmville because Fig is great at compartmentalizing and hiding her feelings. Totally.

“I’m bored, I want to do my idea.”

“You’re watching Bill and Ted.”

“No, I’m not. I’m talking to you.”

“Then stop talking to me and go to sleep.”

Fig huffs, about to say something just into the realm of mean, but then she feels Gorgug smile against the top of her head, and she relaxes a little.

“What’s your idea?” He asks, still sleepy, but also endearing in that goofy and sweet Gorgug way.

There’s a pause, while Fig tries to come up with her idea. The bus trundles along and Bill and Ted continue to kidnap historical figures. Finally, she says, much quieter than is warranted, like it’s some big secret she’s been holding close to her heart, “I’m gonna find a chronomancer so we can go back in time.”

“Like Augefort?” Gorgug yawns again.

“Absolutely not, Augefort doesn’t have Rufus energy.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Maybe not a chronomancer, then, but like, someone who’s fucked with time, ya know. It would be cool to hang out with someone who’s fucked with time.”

“Like Augefort?” Gorgug says, before amending, “No. Wait. Rufus.”

“Yeah, Rufus,” Fig agrees. “Except if Rufus were hot, I think it would be more fun if our Rufus was hot.”

“Rufus is already hot. He’s got… sunglasses.”

Fig giggles and Gorgug snorts too. “You need your eyes checked, dude.”

“We watched the,” he yawns, “the Matrix last month. That’s what you said about Neo.”

“Uh. Neo is Keanu Reeves so just, automatically hot. Which. Speaking of. Bill and Ted are right there, dude.”

Gorgug laughs, quietly, voice still gummy with sleep, as he pokes her gently in the side, “I thought you liked older men.”

Fig makes a face that is very scandalized and very affronted. “That doesn’t mean I like Rufus.”

Gorgug shrugs, as best he can while in cuddle-mode. “I don’t know…”

Fig huffs and whacks him on the arm. “Maybe we should go to sleep.”

“Works for me,” he says, and settles back down.

“Hey. Hey! Don’t go back to bed, Gorgug. I’m still talking.”

He grumbles and turns his head even further into hers, trying to shield his eyes from the crystal’s light. “Watch your movie.”

“This is our movie, Gorgug. It’s ours.”

“It’s too late for it to be ‘our’ anything.”

“You’re no fun, you know that? No fun.”

“I’m sorry,” Gorgug says, way too sincerely for her to continue down that line of teasing.

“Hey, no, it’s fine. You’re tired, I should let you rest.”

Gorgug’s hand moves where it’s on her shoulder, rubbing over her sleep shirt, and then pausing, “Hey, is this mine?”

“Um,” Fig says, because it is, in fact, his. He’d left one of his Owlbears t-shirts on a chair, right after they unpacked all their stuff onto the tour bus, and she’d thought about it for approximately three seconds before snatching it and chucking it at her pile of clothes.

That first night, neither her nor Gorgug had gotten any sleep, sitting on the floor of the bus between their bunks, anxiously going over lyric and style choices for the next night’s show. So the shirt had waited until after their first concert, when both of them had been too tired to do much more than change out of sweaty, smoke-filled clothes and fall into their respective beds. It had smelled comfortingly of the Thistlesprings’ homemade fabric softener, but Fig’s varying states of cleanliness have not helped the smell stick around.

Now, though, cuddled up against Gorgug’s chest, she doesn’t miss the shirt’s smell. It’s nothing compared to the real thing.

“It’s okay if you took it,” Gorgug says, cracking a small smile. “It looks better on you anyway.”

“Since when do you have an eye for fashion, Mr. Hoodies-In-Summer?”

He reaches around and pokes her on the cheek, “Hey, my hoodies are a catch for women ages thirteen to twenty-eight.”

“We did sell, like, a literal ton last night,” Fig says, snorting.

There’s a lull in the conversation. Bill and Ted shred some sick air guitar.

“...It’s a little weird,” Gorgug says, eventually, in that introspective tone of his that promises paternal questioning.

“What is?”

“That we’re sophomores in high school and have so many people, like, caring about us. Or, I mean, watching us. Like, I guess we’re famous, or something? That’s weird.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“I guess I never thought about it like that.” Fig’s been too caught up in the whole being famous thing to think about what it means for her, a fifteen year old, to be famous. She isn’t a fan of thinking about it, actually, and decides to put it off even further. This is why Gorgug’s the thoughtful, considerate one.

“That’s probably why you’re better at songwriting than I am,” Gorgug muses. “You just do what feels right.”

Fig shifts a little, so she can look at him better, his features cast in the shifting colors of the crystal. “Dude, that’s like all drumming is. Like, just playing your emotions and not overthinking it. And you’re literally the world’s best drummer.”

“Oh,” Gorgug laughs, “I wouldn’t say that.”

“You are. What other teenager gets to go on a tour while they’re still in high school?”

“Um. The Jonas Brothers?”

“I mean this in the nicest way possible, but if you compare our music to the Jonas Brothers again I will stab you with my horns.”

“I really don't think they’re poky enough to do that—”

“Stab, Gorgug. With force. You wouldn’t like it.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll take your word for it.”

“Wo-ah,” Ted says, on the crystal.

“Wicked,” Bill chimes in.

“What if we talked like them at our next concert?” Fig asks, “Just come out with full Bill and Ted voices and keep them up the whole show.”

“That sounds… hard.”

“No, it would be fun! Like, um,” Fig switches into the voice, drawing out her vowels and smiling dumbly, “we’ll totally get babes like this, dude.”

“You can get princess babes,” Gorgug says. “I’ve got Zelda. That’s basically the same thing.”

“Oh my god, you’re too cute,” Fig burrows closer to him, back in her usual voice.

She can tell Gorgug’s blushing by the bashful tone of his silence. “Um, thanks. I should probably call her tomorrow.”

“Do you mind if I join too? I really like her, she’s nice. And sick as hell.”

“Yeah, that would be fun! We can show her our set, maybe.”

“Totally! If school wasn’t on right now we could’ve brought her along.”

“I don’t know, wouldn’t that, like, Beatles us?”

“Did you seriously just mention another boy band? Also, beyond that, did you use the Beatles as a verb?”

“Er.”

“Sometimes, I wonder how you ever made it into the punk-rock scene. And then I remember that I invited you.”

“Thanks for doing that,” Gorgug says, wrapping his other arm around Fig’s shoulders. “I never really said it before, but, thank you. This has, um, it’s meant a lot to me.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, dude.”

“It’s, like, kind of everything right now, Fig.”

“Oh.”

“So, I guess, um, thank you. For inviting me to join a band with you and taking me on tour.”

“I, uh… Of course. Thanks for being my drummer, Gorgug. I’ll always take you on my adventures.”

“And I’ll always go with you.”

Bill says, “Excellent,” on the crystal screen, smiling at Ted with big eyes.

Yeah, Fig thinks, as Gorgug sighs and smiles into the top of her head. Excellent.

#bellewrites #this one was short so i figured id post it like this #fantasy high #dimension 20 #fig faeth #gorgug thistlespring #i want more content about them so i decided to make it #fic #fanfic #hopefully the formatting works if it doesnt i sincerely apologize

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fandomstuff67 · 3 years

Text

Fix it fic for 15x20

This is the first of many fix it’s that I will be writing, as usual read below or on ao3. Fair warning, I am still very emotionally drained so this is definitely not my best work, but it’s something and I hope you’ll enjoy anyway.

The Night We Met

Word count: 1.3k

The last thing Dean felt were the tears stinging his cheeks before he faded away, Sam’s hand still on his.

Dean didn’t know what he expected to happen when he died, maybe a part of him assumed he’d end up back in the pit, subjected to torture and pain for the rest of eternity, but he didn’t expect to open his eyes and be in a barn. He knew it wasn’t the barn he’d just died in because there were sigils surrounding him and the sense of familiarity he felt was overwhelming.

This was the barn he’d first met Cas in.

It was only about a second later, that the door split open and sparks flew from the lights. Dean could make out the figure of Castiel as he came towards him, trench coat blowing behind him, gaze intent.

If this was a memory then… he’d made it to the Silver City.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said as he came to a stop in front of Dean.

Dean blinked in confusion, this wasn’t how he remembered this going.

“Uh…” Dean fumbled for words..

Cas only smiled. “Yes, you’re in Heaven.”

“But this isn’t… how?”

Cas’ smile grew. “You’ll see, follow me.”

Cas didn’t wait for Dean to say anymore, he just turned on his heel and made his way back towards the barn doors. Confused, Dean rushed to catch up to him as Cas pushed his way through the doors.

“Welcome to Heaven, Dean,” Cas said softly as they exited the barn.

Dean squinted in the harsh sunlight and shielded his eyes with his hand before letting his vision focus. The Roadhouse stood in front of him, just as shabby and rundown as it was before it burned, and the first person he saw was Bobby, sitting outside in a chair, a beer in hand.

“Finally decided to join us, huh?” Bobby asked as Dean approached, Cas by his side.

Dean grinned as Bobby handed him a beer, which he took a sip of and then instantly wrinkled his nose at. “It’s good to see you, Bobby.”

“You too, son.”

“Is that Dean?”

Dean felt his heart squeeze inside his chest as Ellen pushed her way out of the Roadhouse, Jo just behind her. “Ellen,” he said as he pulled her into a bone crushing hug. “Jo,” he added as he gave her a hug of her own.

“Why don’t you come on inside,” Ellen offered, “there’s some more people who’d like to see you.”

Dean looked over at Cas, who nodded at him to go inside. “I’ll wait for you.”

Dean took a shaky breath and stepped into the Roadhouse.

It was packed with people, but his eyes instantly fell on Ash at the bar counter, throwing back shots, and Pamela behind the counter tipping back glasses of her own.

“Dean!” Pamela waved at him and Dean moved over to join them.

“Hey Pamela, Ash.”

“Glad you decided to make the trip through the pearly gates,” Ash said as he handed Dean a shot glass.

Dean took the shot quickly before setting it down on the counter. “Yeah,” he agreed.

“And Sam… is he…?”

“He’s still alive,” Dean replied. “He’s got his whole life ahead of him.”

“So what did ya in?” Pamela asked.

“Vampire hunt gone wrong,” Dean answered.

“Damn, that’s rough,” Ash said.

Dean shrugged. “I always knew it would end that way for me, and it looks like there’s been some changes since I was last up here.”

“Oh yeah, Cas and Jack saw to that.”

Dean froze, excitement suddenly sparking through him. He spun around and found himself face to face with Charlie. He didn’t hesitate for a second before pulling her into a hug. She gasped into his chest but Dean just held her tighter.

“It’s so good to see you.”

“You too, Dean,” Charlie gasped. “But I think I’d like to keep my ribs if you don’t mind.”

“Sorry,” he said as he let her go.

Charlie grinned at him. “It’s okay.”

Dean let his eyes shift away from Charlie to take in the rest of the Roadhouse. He spotted Adam talking with his mother, Rufus passed out at a table in the corner, Kevin digging into a cheeseburger while Andy talked to him, Victor Henrikson drinking a beer while conversing with Missouri, but his gaze lingered on two people whose eyes had been boring into his back since he walked into the room.

He left Charlie, Ash, and Pamela behind and made his way over to their table. “Mom, Dad,” he said.

John nodded at him, a smile on his lips and tears in his eyes. “Son.”

Mary reached out for him and Dean sat down beside her and let himself be wrapped in her arms, burying his face against her shoulder. “I missed you,” he said.

“We missed you too,” she replied.

Dean stayed with his parents for a little longer, just drinking in the feeling of having them back, before he forced himself to stand. “I’ll be back, but I’ve got some unfinished business to take care of.”

Mary smiled at him, almost knowingly, and patted his arm. “We’ll be here, we’ve got all of eternity.”

Dean nodded at his parents before heading back outside.

Cas was waiting for him, just as he said he would be, and Bobby was drinking another beer. “Cas, we have to talk,” Dean said.

Cas nodded, his lips pulled into the smallest of smiles. “I know.”

One minute, Dean had been standing outside the Roadhouse, the next, he was in the bunker library, and it took him a second to find his footing.

“I figured you’d want to have this conversation somewhere familiar.”

“Yeah, uh, thanks.” There was a pause before he spoke again. “So, you’ve got your wings back, huh?” he asked, trying to force some of the awkwardness from the atmosphere.

“Yes, it was one of the first things Jack restored to me when he saved me from the empty. I’m now an archangel.”

“Well I’m not sure I missed being zapped places without being prepared, but I’m glad you’ve got your mojo back, and an upgrade, it’s what you deserve.” Dean licked his lips and took a step towards Cas. “Cas,” he said quietly. “What you said… before.”

“We don’t have to do this, Dean,” Cas replied, he seemed wary and Dean suddenly realized that Cas must think he didn’t feel the same way.

“No, we do. I never got to say anything back,”

“You don’t have-”

“Cas, would you just shut up and let me tell you that I love you too.”

Cas faltered for a second, his mouth going slack and his eyes widening. “You-you do?”

“Of course I do, you feathered idiot,” Dean replied as he reached out for Cas, letting his hand fall on Cas’ cheek, a touch that Cas instantly leaned into. “I don’t know when it happened, but I’ve loved you for years. I just… I didn’t know how to tell you, or even if you’d want this, me.”

“You think so little of yourself, Dean. I’ve wanted to be with you since I raised you from perdition, and I’ve loved you since the night we met.”

Dean smiled, his heart swelling with happiness. “So we can be together? Here?”

Cas nodded. “Yes. Heaven isn’t just memories anymore, Heaven can be whatever you want.”

Dean couldn’t take it anymore. He closed the gap between them and pressed his lips to Cas’. It was long and sweet and everything Dean had wished for. His hands crept under Cas’ trench coat and a light exploded above them when his fingers touched bare skin. Dean grinned at that and kissed Cas deeper.

When they pulled apart, Dean rested their foreheads together, breathing hard. “You’ll stay with me right? So we can make our own paradise.”

Cas nodded. “There’s nowhere you could go that I won’t follow.”

“Good,” Dean said as he kissed him again.

His hand slipped into Cas’ and he led him off down the hall towards his room. Sam was getting his happy ending on Earth and Dean was getting his in Heaven, and when Sam eventually joined them, everything would truly be perfect, but until then, he was content to just have his angel by his side, for all eternity.

Tag list (ask to be added or removed):

@anotherdowneyfan1 @tearsofgrace @quxxnxfhxll @rebelangel67 @professorerudite @adsdragonlover @wantstoflyafraidtofall @goblinwritergay

#supernatural #spn #spnfanfic #spn fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #destiel #deancas #casdean #fix it fic for 15x20 #15x20 spoilers #spn spoilers #my writing #fix it

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jemmahazelnut · 3 years

Text

Two broken hearts with matching sides - Chapter 4

Summary: Freed and Laxus were inseparable friends, they always spent their days together ever since they were children, so much so that they were considered indivisible. That’s why everyone was surprised when during the last year of high school, the two boys no longer spoke a word from one day to the next. That’s why everyone was surprised when Freed left for Germany and Laxus knew nothing about it. After three years the two will be forced to see each other again, and for a period to live under the same roof. [Freed/Laxus]

Link: AO3

Here you can find Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three.

Jealousy

It was eight o'clock in the evening when the doorbell rang and Laxus heard someone coming to open the door. He just hoped it wasn't Freed, but it was very likely, as Bickslow wasn't there and Evergreen was in the bathroom. The girl always stayed there for hours, he doubted she had finished yet. The blond threw a look in the mirror, finished fixing his hair with the gel and then left the room.

Of course it was Freed who had opened the door and made Rufus sit in. The two obviously made an effort to have a polite conversation, but they all knew there was no good blood between them. Freed and Rufus had never gotten along in high school, they had always clashed over everything, probably because of their similar characters. But that certainly wasn't the reason Laxus had decided to go out with him, although it would’ve been satisfying to piss off Freed.

“Hi Laxus,” Rufus smiled as soon as he saw him and Laxus forced himself to look at him and not Freed. It was the best idea, to go out and get distracted with someone. If that someone was Rufus, so much the better. Maybe he’d even have a little fun. Indeed, certainly, since the blond seemed to have an interest in him.

“Hey, I'll take my coat and I'm ready,” he said.

“I made reservations at the Sabertooth, I hope it’s fine,” Rufus said. Laxus nodded as he grabbed his coat.

“Perfect,” he said as he slipped it on. Then his eyes wandered to Freed, but the boy didn't seem interested in their date. Why would he have to be, after all? Freed wasn't interested in him. With some nervousness Laxus walked to the door, running a hand on Rufus' back and pushing him out. What had he been thinking? To make Freed jealous? To piss him off? Freed had never been interested in him, better stick it in his head once and for all.

“Have a good evening,” Freed told them coldly.

“Thank you,” Rufus replied with a smile as Laxus closed the door without deigning to greet him. Have a good evening. The asshole. Why the hell was he still so interested in what Freed thought? He was fucking pathetic.

“I knew Freed was back, but I didn't think he was living with you,” Rufus commented as they started down the stairs.

“He can't find another apartment,” the blond replied dryly, hoping that he too wouldn’t start over with the same old story. He was starting to get tired of what people said, or what people thought. He could see curiosity in everyone's eyes. Rufus was no exception, and he was looking at him hoping to find something.

“Was there ever something between you two?” he asked. Laxus looked at him in surprise and felt the tension in his arms. Of all the people who had tried to figure out why they had drifted away, none had ever come this close.

“Where does the idea come from?” he asked him. Rufus shrugged.

“You were always together,” he just explained. Laxus found himself once again unable to argue.

“No, we were just friends,” he replied. It wasn't a lie. They were really just friends. Friends who kissed when they were drunk and who found themselves with their hands in each other's pants. Friends who rolled around in bed when his grandfather wasn't there, who drank just to have an excuse to take off their clothes. But still just friends.

“And now why don't you talk to each other anymore?” Rufus asked. Laxus gave him a dirty look.

“Our fucking business,” he replied irritably. Luckily Rufus asked nothing more and luckily the evening went on better than it had begun.

***

“Where’s Laxus?” Evergreen asked as she came out of the bathroom and left a trail of perfume behind her. Her hair was tied up in a turban and a few drops still ran down her face.

Freed was sitting on the sofa and he was pretending to find an apartment to stay in. He pretended, yes, because he didn't really want to leave there. He wanted to talk to Laxus again, and only there could he find any excuse to do so. Too bad he hadn't succeeded yet. He wasn't a coward, just, talking to the blond was difficult. Besides, he still hadn't quite decided what to tell him. Which was stupid, he'd had three fucking years to think about it.

“Out to dinner with Rufus,” he replied, hoping his annoyance wouldn't be felt. Fortunately, however, in those years he had created a neutral tone to talk with, so that his emotions didn’t leak out. And luckily her friend no longer knew him as well as she once did.

“Oh,” Evergreen said in surprise.

“I didn't know he was going out with the boys,” Freed commented keeping his gaze fixed on the computer, so as not to reveal his jealousy. Besides, senseless jealousy. He wasn't Laxus’ boyfriend, the blond had probably dated a lot of other guys in those three years, and besides, it didn't make sense to be jealous after three fucking years. Despite this, Freed found himself seething with rage. Of all the guys Laxus could date, with Rufus. That first-rate asshole Freed never got along with.

“He’s gay, shortly after you left, he came out” said the girl “I thought you knew” she added with a surprised and inquiring tone at the same time. Freed stared at the computer, refusing to look away.

He obviously knew. He and Laxus had kissed. Many times. They had touched. More and more times. They had never had sex but still, they had become very intimate. But it was all theirs, their secret, something they had never talked about, something Laxus had refused to talk about. Something Laxus apparently had forgotten. Because obviously alcohol made you forget things, especially if they were uncomfortable things to remember.

“I didn't know” he lied to her and closed the computer with a dry gesture. He got up and went to his room, telling Evergreen that he wasn't going to have dinner.

***

He couldn't sleep. He kept tossing and turning in bed without being able to close his eyes. Every time he did it, he remembered the old days, the way he and Laxus had fun. The way they hid from external eyes to kiss, to run their hands over each other.

Freed turned in the mattress, struggling to push those damned memories out of his mind. Why did he have to get lost in the past like that? Maybe instead of standing there hoping he and Laxus could talk, he'd better leave. Maybe he should’ve returned to Germany.

He closed his eyes wondering why he had returned to Magnolia. The university was just an excuse, he had done it on purpose to see his old friend again. But what was the use if he couldn't even talk to him? What was the point if Laxus had never been interested in him?

He heard the front door open and something fall to the ground. Laughter and chatter. Freed was instantly irritated. Laxus had returned and was with Rufus. He didn't understand what they were saying, but they didn't try too hard to keep quiet. In fact, they seemed to be enjoying making as much noise as possible. To let everyone know that they had fucked, that they had fun and that they’d probably do it again on the sofa in the living room.

At that awareness Freed's anger escalated even more. For years Laxus had refused to talk about what was between them, for years Freed had kept his secret and hadn't forced him to say anything, and now he was fucking quietly without worrying about being overheard with that asshole Rufus? How the hell he allowed himself.

Freed got up from the bed pissed off, ignoring the voice in his head that was telling him he was screwing up, that he wasn't Laxus's boyfriend, that he had no right to be jealous, that he didn't have to demand anything from him, especially after having escaped to Germany. But he didn't care. He needed to let off steam, and luckily for him there were two assholes on the other side of the wall who deserved to put up with all his wrath.

He went into the living room and saw the two boys making out near the door. The urge to punch both of them ran by the arms, but the two broke away realizing that someone had entered.

“Uh, sorry Freed, did we wake you up?” Rufus asked with ruffled hair.

“Yes,” the boy growled, this time not bothering not to show his annoyance. He just wanted to insult them both, and maybe get the image of those two with their lips together out of his mind. “You're making a terrible mess, you'll wake everyone up,” he snapped.

“Put on some fucking headphones and go,” Laxus snapped, and Freed felt the urge to punch him again.

“No. He leaves. It's not his home and people are trying to sleep here,” he growled.

“Um... well, I really would go,” Rufus said noticing the air was blowing. He greeted Laxus with a sloppy kiss and left the apartment, under Freed's furious gaze. He was holding back, but he wouldn't be surprised if he walked through the door just to punch Rufus.

“What the hell is your problem, huh?” Laxus snapped as soon as they were alone. Freed was about to answer but the blond, obviously drunk, raised his voice. “This isn't even your apartment, you can't kick people out of the house!” he exclaimed.

“Well, I sleep here and pay the rent and the bills,” Freed answered between his teeth. “I think I’ve the right to sleep in peace without having to hear two drunks fucking in the living room.”

“No, you don't have it,” Laxus snapped, advancing towards him “You're a fucking scrounger, you're only here because Bickslow and Evergreen have pitied you, but since you arrived you've been making their lives worse. They can't stand you anymore. To tell the truth, nobody can stand you anymore. You should go back to Germany to your dear daddy and have your asshole cleaned, as you’re used to…”

The punch hit Laxus in the cheek without Freed even realizing it. His arm had gone off on its own, and he didn't feel guilty at all seeing the blond stagger slightly. To tell the truth, he felt a little better. He was beginning to repay the asshole for all the pain he had endured because of him.

Laxus turned to him, pushed Freed against the wall and a cabinet toppled to the floor. The flowerpot above broke into a thousand pieces but neither of them cared. Laxus punched him in the face and Freed gasped for a moment. He recovered quickly and was about to beat him again but at that moment the corridor light went on, and the two turned to see Evergreen and Bickslow.

“What the hell are you doing?” snapped the girl.

“Our fucking business,” Laxus replied immediately, then grinned, taking a step away from Freed. “Indeed, they’re your business too. This is all thanks to you, you’re happy to have us reunited now, right?” he asked furiously.

“You fucking idiot,” Evergreen growled as she stepped forward. Freed ran his palm over his jaw. Damn, Laxus had hurt him.

“Shit whore,” Laxus spat. “You organized all this, only because you’re not able to do your own fucking business. Next time maybe you'll learn not to get in the middle of my life” he growled at her.

“Shut your fucking mouth!” Evergreen yelled. “And here the assholes are you two. You can't even talk to each other civilly. But you're right, I was wrong to get in the way of your relationship. Go ahead and beat yourself up, but get it out of this apartment, because I won't take care of you two!” she blurted out.

“Oh, nowyou understand,” Laxus commented scornfully. Evergreen gave him a dirty look. Bickslow stepped in the middle.

“Ok, you've been drinking. Let's calm down and let's all go to sleep, huh?” he asked.

“And pretend nothing happened? Well, let's keep pretending that everything’s fine and it's not his fault.” Laxus growled pointing at Freed. The boy remained silent. “Why don't you tell him how bad you were left when he left without even warning you? Why don't you tell him what an asshole he was to go live with his rich daddy without even a fucking goodbye?” he blurted out.

“Laxus, you’re drunk. We better talk about it tomorrow,” Bickslow said trying to calm down. Evergreen ran her hands over her temples in exasperation. Neither of them had denied what Laxus had said, however, and Freed felt himself sinking. Why the hell had he gone back to Magnolia? He had been a fool. He passed Laxus and went to the door.

“Hey, where are you going?” Bickslow asked.

“Laxus is right. None of you want me here,” he replied, opening the door.

“Freed” Evergreen tried to say but her voice was obscured by Laxus's.

“Yes, go away. It's the only thing you can do!” he barked. Freed closed the door behind him as he heard Laxus' screams still in his ears.

***

Alcohol flowed into his body but Freed was grateful for it. It was only thanks to that that he could take refuge in a corner of the room and kiss Laxus. Feeling his hands on him, his lips on him, on his neck, all over his skin.

Laxus's fingers ran up his torso until they reached his belt and pulled it down. Freed moaned as he felt his hand disappear under his boxers and sat astride Laxus, kissing him madly and pulling his hair lightly. Good heavens, he hadn't thought a kiss would end like this.

Kissing at every party, at every hangover. Drinking and then locking himself up somewhere with his friend to make out and touch each other. He liked it so much, he didn't want to get out of there anymore, he didn't want that moment to end.

Freed pulled up his friend's shirt, but at that moment he heard someone knock on the door. Freed and Laxus broke apart, panting and red in the face. They didn't answer and the handle went down, but luckily the two had locked the door.

“Who's in here? Hell, why the fuck did you lock the door!” it was the voice of Cana. Freed jumped off Laxus' legs and buttoned his pants, while Laxus adjusted his shirt and stood up. When they were both presentable the blond opened the door.

“Oh, it's you two. What were you doing locked up?” asked the curious girl and Freed felt himself blush. A mischievous smile appeared on the brunette's face. “Were you fucking?”

“Don't bullshit, we were smoking weed,” Laxus snarled right away. Cana's eyes widened.

“What?” she asked stunned. Freed didn't dare say anything, fearing that whatever came out of his lips would make the situation worse.

“Don't tell anyone,” the blond growled and then left the room. Freed followed him carefully avoiding the gaze of the girl, who still looked at them in shock. Laxus was practically running down the stairs and Freed was following him, until he rolled over and hit him. He feared that Laxus would push him away, but instead the blonde held him straight.

“Hey, are you okay?” he whispered. Freed nodded vigorously.

“Yes,” he said in a whisper, feeling the warmth envelop him again. Obviously Laxus wouldn't push him away, he liked him. Good heavens, Laxus liked him. Even if it only happened when they were drunk, it meant something, right? It meant that Laxus liked him at least a little. More than a little, considering what his friend had done to him. Considering what Laxus had achieved with his hands. He tried not to think about it so as not to make the situation worse in his pants, which were already quite tight.

“Let's get out of here,” Laxus said and dragged him out of the Cana’s house. Freed didn't object, he honestly couldn't wait to be alone with Laxus. The two went out and hid behind a tree in the garden. As soon as they were there, Laxus pulled him towards him, taking his face in his hands and kissing him intensely. Freed instantly reciprocated, clinging to his shoulders and feeling his heart explode with joy again.

“It's our secret, okay?” Laxus asked as they pulled apart. Freed quickly nodded. Anything, just to spend more evenings like this with Laxus. He was about to ask him if he liked him, if it could be more, but Laxus kissed him again, preventing him from speaking. And after all, why did Freed have to complicate things? They enjoyed themselves, and even if they only did it when they drank, that was just fine with him. That just meant he’d get drunk more often.

#fraxus #fanfiction #laxus dreyar #freed justine #freed x laxus

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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years

Text

Spitting Venom (Supernatural x Criminal Minds)

Word Count: ~10,300 yikes

Warnings: Non-explicit violence, nothing more than you’d see on either show. More cursing though. Don’t even try to tell me Emily Prentiss doesn’t swear like a sailor.

A/N: This is for @stunudo and her “Lie To Me” Challenge! My prompt was the Modest Mouse song “Spitting Venom.” Thanks to @fookinghelljensensthighs for reading and exclaiming and also just loving Sam and Spencer with me.

This is part of the “Coffee & Psychopaths” series. It follows the events of Quitting, but you don’t need to read that to understand anything that happens here.

This centers around (and steals dialogue from) the events of “Slash Fiction” (SPN) and “Proof” (CM). In order to smoosh the timelines together right, I had to do some wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff, so don’t think about it too hard. You should be able to tell from context clues, but for reference, the flashbacks (in order of appearance) correspond to “Shut Up, Dr Phil” (SPN) / “It Takes A Village” (CM), “To Hell... And Back” (CM), “My Bloody Valentine” (SPN), “Amplification” (CM), “With Friends Like These” (CM) / “Unforgiven” (SPN), “Appointment In Samarra” (SPN), and “Memoriam” (CM). Seriously, wibbly-wobbly. So much canon juggling. Just go with it.

“Just for the record, the weather today is partly suspicious with chances of betrayal.”

― Chuck Palahniuk

“Strap in, folks, we’ve got a weird one,” Garcia says cheerily, handing Spencer a paper folder as everybody else opens their tablets.

“I thought the Winchesters were dead,” Hotch says.

“That is part of the aforementioned weird, yes. Okay, for those of you who weren’t paying attention four years ago…”

Spencer opens his file, and Garcia’s words stop making sense, because that’s Sam in the mugshot.

His first instinct is to shout, This is a mistake.

Spencer’s stomach churns. He’s cold all over.

This feeling (betrayal, his brain supplies helpfully) is becoming a little too familiar, lately.

Garcia is showing a video: a bank, a group of people scared and screaming, two men opening fire. That’s Sam. His expression is stone-cold, maybe even satisfied, as he empties the clip into the crowd.

That’s Sam.

Garcia’s talking about M.O. now, or the total lack of a consistent one, and Spencer can’t listen. He forces his features into the bland, neutral expression that has made people underestimate him for years, and he takes slow breaths, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

“Spence?” he hears, and when he looks around the table he realizes that it wasn’t the first time somebody said his name. They’re all staring.

“You okay, kid?” Morgan asks, brow furrowed.

“I’m fine,” Spencer insists, with a shrug.

“No you’re not, I know that face. Are you feeling okay?” Emily prods, and Spencer hates her for a moment, hates that she can still read him.

He tries to force a smile, but it feels stiff on his face.

“I know him,” Spencer blurts out. “Sam. Sam Winchester. He’s… he was my friend. Or I thought he was.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence all around the table. Spencer looks down at his hands, twirling a pen idly, instead of looking any of them in the eyes.

“Reid,” Hotch says quietly.

“We met at a… meeting,” Spencer says. He looks up at Hotch to make sure he understands, and Hotch nods. “About two years ago. He was only here for a couple weeks. We got along, though. We… he left. We kept in touch.”

“When did you last speak to him?” Hotch asks, frowning.

Spencer swallows around the lump in his throat. It’s taking his best effort to maintain his mask of composure.

“It was eight days ago.”

Hotch nods. “I’m assuming he’s already using a new number, but just in case, we’ll need you to give Garcia any contact information you have.”

Spencer tries to smile. “Of course.”

Emily asks, “And he didn’t say anything that would…”

“That would, what, tip me off that he was planning a massive murder spree?” Spencer says. His voice cracks.

“Anything that might be helpful,” Morgan interjects diplomatically. “Locations, names.”

Spencer shakes his head. “No, it was… we didn’t talk about that sort of thing. It was random, mostly. When something was on my mind that I couldn’t… couldn’t talk to you about, or - when I couldn’t sleep. But there wasn’t much small talk.”

“And you never suspected?” Garcia asks, wide-eyed.

“Do you really think that if I suspected -”

“We know that if there were any hints, you would’ve seen them. Nobody is suggesting that you should’ve known,” Hotch says firmly.

“I should’ve, though,” Spencer insists, with a hysterical edge in his voice. “There were so many things that he just… avoided talking about. He looked familiar, even! I kept wondering where I recognized him from!”

“Enough, kid,” Rossi interrupts. “Getting angry at yourself doesn’t help anybody. It was before you joined the Bureau, there was no reason for you to remember his face.”

“This is a good thing, right?” Emily points out. “The better you know him, the easier it’s going to be for us to catch him.”

“Apparently I didn’t know him, though,” Spencer says hoarsely. “I didn’t know him at all.”

“Are you going to be able to work this case objectively?” Hotch asks. “We’ll all understand if you want to sit this one out.”

Spencer stares at him helplessly. He’s not sure he knows the answer to that question.

“I remember Gideon talking about the Winchester case,” Rossi muses. “Couldn’t make head or tail of it, no apparent connection between victims, witnesses who kept changing their stories…”

“Your insight will undoubtedly be useful,” Hotch adds quietly.

Spencer grits his teeth, shock turning quickly to anger.

“I want to find him,” he says. He wants to know. He wants to hear the confession.

Hotch gives him one more steely, appraising look before nodding.

“Very well. Let’s talk victimology.”

* * * * * * * * *

September 2011 (eight days earlier)

“I don’t understand how she could do that,” Spencer says bitterly. “If I saw one of my friends hurting like that, and I knew something that would stop them hurting…”

“Shit,” Sam mutters. “I’m sorry.”

“Did they not trust me to keep the secret? Did they not think I could handle it? We’re a team. We’re not supposed to keep things from each other. Not important things, not like that.”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

Sam leans against the kitchen counter, watching Dean through the window. Baby’s hood is open and Dean’s wrestling with something inside, and Sam wonders, for the thousandth time, whether he’s imagining the wariness in Dean’s face whenever they talk these days. He can’t shake the feeling there’s something Dean’s not saying.

“I don’t know what to do,” Spencer says quietly, and his voice cracks on the last word.

“I don’t know if there’s anything you can do, except give it time.”

“I hate that answer,” Spencer says flatly, and Sam laughs.

“Yeah. But… I think hearing the truth is the hard part, sometimes. Or saying it. Right? It hurts like hell, and it’s going to hurt for a while, but now that it’s all out in the open… now it’ll start getting better. It has to.”

“I guess.”

“She thought she was doing the right thing,” Sam repeats. “Do you really think she’d do that, if she didn’t feel like she had a choice?”

Spencer sighs in a rush of static. “No,” he says begrudgingly. “But I think she had a choice. And now it’s my choice whether to trust her or not.”

“You’ll get there.”

“How do you know?”

“A very smart man once told me that’s what friends do,” Sam says wryly. “They trust each other.”

“Quoting me back to me doesn’t seem fair,” Spencer grumbles.

“Doesn’t make it wrong,” Sam retorts with a grin.

Sam watches Dean slam the hood shut, and he wonders why his brother has such a hard time trusting him.

* * * * * * * * *

“Are you kidding me right now?” Dean snaps, and the sneer in his voice makes Sam feel all of six years old again.

“No, Dean, I’m not kidding,” Sam says stubbornly. He leans against the doorframe and watches Dean pace back and forth, like a wild animal on a too-short leash in the tiny living room of Rufus’s cabin.

“Dead or alive, Sam. We’re wanted dead or alive. You try to talk to a Fed, which one d’you think it’ll be? They’ll have you pumped full of bullets before you can blink.”

“He’s got a point, Sam,” Bobby says quietly.

Sam rubs his eyes, feeling a headache building. “I trust him.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t,” Dean retorts. “Who the hell is this guy, anyway? When’d you make a friend I don’t know about?”

“Is that what this is about?” Sam asks bitterly. “You’re pissed there’s something about me that you don’t get to control?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, you don’t have a great track record here,” Dean spits, and Sam’s throat clogs with anger even before Dean says, “Whenever you’ve made a friend on your own, how’s that gone for you, huh? Meg, Ruby, Amy… two demons, a monster, and now a fucking Fed?”

Sam balls his hands into fists to fight the urge to start swinging. “Why can’t you just trust me? You don’t know Frank, either.”

“I trust Bobby,” Dean says. The I don’t trust you goes unspoken.

Sam clenches his jaw, breathing until he knows he can talk without shouting.

“Just go, then, Dean,” he says, quiet and venomous. “Go ahead. Do whatever you want. I’m going to call Spencer.”

Dean’s frozen for a moment, stone-faced. Then he whirls around and heads for the door. “Fine. I’ll check in when I get to Frank’s.”

Sam sits down on the couch, resting his head in his hands for a moment. He hears the dim rumble of the engine starting outside.

“I’m gonna use the landline, if that’s okay,” Sam says quietly.

“I sure hope you’re right about this, boy,” Bobby growls.

“So do I.”

He finds Spencer’s number on the worn slip of paper in his wallet, written down with the five or so others that he doesn’t want to lose, and holds his breath as he dials. He has a feeling Spencer might not pick up on the first try, if he picks up at all. For all he knows, Spencer’s on the job already, in Colorado with his team looking for clues that aren’t there.

He closes his eyes and thinks, please, and then Spencer picks up.

“Hi, Sam.” His voice is icy.

“Hey,” Sam says. There’s a long, weighted pause before he continues, “It’s not me.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” It’s clipped and robotic and forceful.

“No, look, I - it’s not me, okay? That’s why I’m calling. I’ll turn myself in.” Another weighted pause. Sam clears his throat. “Not to the police, ‘cause I’m pretty sure they’ll shoot me on sight, but. To you. It’s hard to explain, but I’m innocent, it’s someone else pretending to be me, so if you can get to Montana -”

“Montana?” Spencer interrupts incredulously.

“Montana,” Sam repeats. He hesitates. “I figured you’d be tracking the call, I used a landline to make it easy for you.”

“She’s working on it,” Spencer admits begrudgingly.

Sam feels a twist of guilt, wondering how Spencer’s coworkers are reacting to this… even worse than Dean, probably.

He hears a faint female voice in the background, too quiet to make out more than, “...not sure how, but…”

“Fine, then,” Spencer says quietly. “Montana.”

“Wherever you want, okay? I - I won’t put up a fight. Just…” Sam can’t help but laugh. “Don’t let them shoot me, okay?”

There’s a crackle of static as Spencer sighs. “We’ll call you with details when we land.”

A voice in the back of his head that sounds like Dean is shouting, this is a terrible idea.

Sam ignores it.

“I trust you,” he says. “And Spencer?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Thanks for picking up.”

* * * * * * * * *

May 2010

Spencer feels like he’s choking on the thick stink in the air. He looks around the packed dirt yard of the farmhouse and can’t find any relief; he’s surrounded by ugly raw grief, and he can’t stand it. Emily is consoling the crying girl. Hotch is talking to the locals, tying up loose ends. Morgan is staring numbly at the rows and rows of muddy shoes on the ground.

He knows he’s not the only one dealing with the weight of what they saw today. He should find Penelope, give her a hug, face this together, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Sharing this would make it a little too real.

Maybe it’s all the practice he’s had at being alone; his first instinct is to hide, when things start to get overwhelming, and to maintain a certain level of clinical detachment until he can make sense of what he’s feeling. He can dissect his own feelings. When his friends are hurting, though… that’s a different story. When he sees his friends hurting, he hurts too, hurts in a way that chokes him, hurts in a way that crowds everything else out, and all he wants to do is fix it. Even when it’s not something that can be fixed. It’s illogical.

Love doesn’t leave any room for logic, he’s learning.

He slips away, into the barn.

Dust motes and chaff drift in the scattered beams of light that cut through the empty space, swirling around him as he climbs the ladder to the dark drafty loft. Spencer sits down on the floor in front of the wall of drawings. He hugs his knees to his chest and looks, committing the clumsy crayon strokes to memory, because it doesn’t seem right to let all those empty shoes live on without also remembering this: bright color, crushing loneliness, constant fear.

The loneliness is too much, after a few minutes. He pulls out his phone and closes his eyes.

“Hey, Sam,” he says. His voice cracks and wobbles.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“I’m just not having a great day,” Spencer says, aiming for casual, falling short.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Spencer says. His voice is thin and scratchy and small in the darkness of the barn, lost immediately in the blanketing silence.

Sam hesitates, and Spencer waits, hoping he’ll understand.

“If you could have one object from a fictional universe, what would you want? Has to fit in your pocket.”

Spencer lets out a grateful little huff of a sigh. “Obviously the -”

“TARDIS doesn’t count,” Sam interrupts, laughing. “It has to be portable in its normal everyday form, not just temporarily shrinkable.”

“Sonic screwdriver, then. Obviously.”

“Right? That’s what I said.”

“What else would there be?”

“Dean would go with a lightsaber,” Sam says, and Spencer can practically hear him rolling his eyes.

It’s the first time Spencer’s really smiled all day. “Based on what you’ve told me about your brother, that doesn’t actually surprise me.”

“Yeah. That’s Dean…”

* * * * * * * * *

There’s a dial tone. Spencer closes his phone and tries to breathe.

“Do you believe him?” Hotch asks quietly.

Spencer looks down at his hands, twirling his pen again, feeling claustrophobic with all their concerned gazes pinning him in place. There’s too much going on in his head, too many things trapped and buzzing inside him with nowhere to go, and he wants to start running but all he can do is shrug.

“I don’t know,” he says, voice strained.

“Even if he is telling the truth, there are parts of this case that just don’t make any sense,” Morgan says.

JJ adds, “If it’s a ruse, it’s a bizarre one.”

“Gut feeling, kid,” Rossi says softly. “Are we walking into a trap?”

Spencer wants to scream. Instead he says, “I don’t think he’d hurt me, but…”

“If you trust him, that’s good enough for us,” Emily says fiercely.

Spencer can’t help it; he looks at JJ before staring stubbornly down at the table again. The words burn on their way out: “This wouldn’t be the first time I trusted the wrong person, though.”

“We need to make sure we’re prepared for all eventualities, but I think it’s worth the risk,” Hotch says. “We can discuss it more on the jet. Wheels up in thirty.”

Spencer refuses to meet any of their eyes as he gathers up his folder and his bag. He gets out of the conference room before anyone can try to talk to him. His cheeks are burning, and his hands are shaking, and he’s already jittery but he really needs coffee; beyond that singular thought, his brain is stuck between stations, all white noise and useless static.

The coffee pot in the break room is empty. He’s glad; it’s good to have something to do with his hands, a ritual, a tiny piece of his life that he can still count on. Filter, measure grounds, fresh water…

“Spence.” It’s JJ, of course, and Spencer’s first petulant instinct is to ignore her. “Spence. Look, we gotta talk about this.”

“About what? The fact that one of the few people I still trusted turns out to be a serial killer?” Spencer says sharply. “It’s becoming a pattern, me trusting the wrong people. I’m getting used to it.”

“You know what I mean.” Her voice is low and soothing, like she’s talking to a victim’s family.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“I get it, okay?” she says, still in that calm, professional voice. Spencer wishes she’d scream instead. He wants to scream. “You're disappointed with the way we handled Emily.”

He breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth, focusing on the steady drip of coffee into the pot.

“Listen, I have a lot going on, all right?” he says coolly.

“You know what I think it is?” He doesn’t look at her, but she continues anyway: “You're mad that Hotch and I controlled our micro-expressions at the hospital and you weren't able to detect our deception.”

It hurts. Her words bite down somewhere deep, venomous needle-sharp fangs that sink in and sting, and the toxic ache spreads through his system before he can take a breath.

“You think it's about my profiling skills?” he spits back. “Jennifer, listen, the only reason you were able to manage my perceptions is because I trusted you. I came to your house for ten weeks in a row crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth.”

Her expression is hurt, confused, and she says quietly, “I couldn't.”

“You couldn't? Or you wouldn't?” he snaps.

“No, I couldn't,” she insists. Her eyes are brimming with tears now, and Spencer feels a sick rush of satisfaction.

He knows it’s cruel, but he lashes out anyway: “What if I started taking Dilaudid again? Would you have let me?”

She recoils. “You didn't.”

“Yeah, but I thought about it.” It’s petty and it’s unfair and it’s vicious, and he doesn’t care, not even a little bit.

It stuns her into silence for a moment, and he turns to pour coffee into his travel cup, hands shaking so badly he almost spills.

“Spence,” she whispers. “I'm sorry.”

He whirls on her, almost shouts: “It's too late, all right?”

“Reid,” she says, but he’s already brushing past her, and he doesn’t stop.

* * * * * * * * *

February 2010

He’ll never forget the look on Dean’s face. He knows it a little too well, by now: disappointment, disgust. I expected better. This isn’t who I raised you to be. You’re not the person I thought you were.

“You know I couldn’t have gotten out of that bathroom on my own,” Sam says. “You know I wouldn’t have - I wouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to.”

Dean doesn’t trust him, though. He’s not sure Dean will ever trust him again.

Sam lets Dean lock him in the panic room. He doesn’t protest; he goes without complaint, head down, like a dog with its tail between its legs as it waits for a kick that never comes. Detox will hurt. It always does. He feels like he deserves that, though.

Dean almost says something, before he closes the door. The words catch on his lips and die on his throat, and he just shakes his head as he slides the deadbolts into place.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, but Dean’s already walking away, and the hallucinations are already creeping in around the edges of his vision: his mother sighing sadly, his younger self shaking his head in contempt.

Sam sits down, curls up, and looks around at the bare walls and the locked door. The floor is cold under him, and he can already feel the chill sinking into his skin, down to his bones. He leans back against the wall and tries to breathe through the panic.

“I’m sorry,” he says, over and over again, but he’s not really sure who he’s talking to any more.

The hallucinations fade. The bloodstains won’t, not really. Dean will see those forever.

He can barely look at Sam when he finally unlocks the door.

Sam’s still itchy and wired, that night, even though the worst of it is over. Dean’s not even trying to pretend he’s doing anything other than keeping watch outside. He’s sitting in the hallway with a bottle of whiskey for company. Sam can’t leave, and he sure as hell can’t sleep, so he calls Spencer, and he doesn’t realize until it starts ringing that it’s two in the morning.

“Hi, Sam,” Spencer says, staticky and distant.

“Hey.”

“You okay?”

Sam sighs, stammers, stops, tries to start again. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Not really,” he manages. There’s another long pause before he can admit, “I fucked up. I keep fucking up.”

“Oh,” Spencer says softly. “Okay.”

Sam exhales. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know. I believe you.”

“You’re the only one who does.”

“I trust you,” Spencer says. It’s so matter-of-fact, so easy, and it’s been a long time since someone trusted Sam like that. He didn’t realize how much he missed it.

“Why?” Sam asks. He tries to laugh, but it comes out wet and choked.

“That’s what friends do, right?”

Sam takes a deep, shaky breath and swallows down the lump in his throat, trying not to wonder if Dean’s still standing guard outside his door.

“Thanks for picking up,” Sam says, barely a whisper.

“Any time.”

* * * * * * * * *

They cuff his hands behind the back of the uncomfortable metal chair. Sam didn’t expect anything less, but he still hates it. They had the entire team except for Spencer there to take him in, and that was a few too many guns trained on him for comfort, but he’s alone now. It’s cold, and the walls are blank, and he shivers.

He’s spent too much of his life locked in cages of one sort or another.

When Spencer finally opens the door, Sam can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief, even as his stomach twists with nerves. He’d worried they would insist on sending someone else in.

“Hey, Spencer,” he says quietly.

Spencer doesn’t answer. He avoids eye contact as he sits down, settling in with his posture stiff and his hands clasped on the table in front of him. He looks like a different person from the one Sam first met; the jittery, fidgety, chattering Spencer is gone, and there’s an actual Fed in his place. Even when he meets Sam’s eyes, his expression doesn’t give anything away. He’s ice-cold and completely closed-off.

Sam tries to breathe.

“Where’s Dean?” Spencer asks bluntly.

“He’s at a friend’s, trying to figure out how to clear our names.”

“Why isn’t he here with you?”

“He didn’t think this was a good idea,” Sam says. “We haven’t had great experiences with law enforcement, but… him even more than me. I trust you. He doesn’t.”

Spencer’s eyes narrow. “You trust me.”

Sam shrugs helplessly. “That’s what friends do, right?”

Spencer’s face goes stormy immediately, and he leans closer, glaring at Sam with startling intensity. “Let’s get one thing straight. You and I are not friends. You’re a murderer, and the only reason I’m here is that I want to see what you look like when you’re telling the truth… because apparently you’ve been lying to me since we met.”

It’s not unexpected, but it still hurts. Sam hesitates for a moment before saying softly, “I’m not a murderer, and I haven’t been lying to you.”

“There’s video.”

“It’s not me.”

Spencer stares at him incredulously. “All that stuff you never wanted to talk about. All those times you talked about… being scared of yourself, worrying what you could do. What was that, then?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Sam says. He feels exhausted, suddenly.

“You’ve never even told me what you do for a living!”

“I can’t.”

“How am I supposed to believe you?” Spencer asks. He’s starting to lose his composure, an agitated edge creeping into his voice.

“Look, remember when you called me, and told me you might be dying?”

“How is that relevant?” Spencer hisses.

“I figured it out, afterward. Anthrax. Right?”

“How did you…”

“And you told me that you couldn’t give me details, and the details weren’t important anyway.”

“That’s right.”

“And I accepted that, because I trust you, and I trust that if you’re not telling me something, it’s for a damn good reason,” Sam says determinedly. “They tried to keep it out of the news, but later, once I knew you were okay, I did some digging, and I figured it out. Why didn’t you alert the public?”

Spencer looks utterly baffled. “Because people would panic. There’d be mass hysteria.”

“There you go. It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not the same thing at all,” Spencer exclaims. “I work for the federal government!”

“Look, I know you, okay?” Sam says desperately. “I know that your job is to notice the details that don’t make sense. Even when something seems obvious, you and your team pay attention, and you make sure everything fits, and you figure out the truth, not just whatever bullshit explanation seems easiest.”

Spencer nods slowly.

“That’s why you’re here, and that’s why your team didn’t shoot me on sight,” Sam continues. “And I know you’re good at your job, so I know you’ve noticed that there are things about this case that don’t add up. Okay? Why would I be here talking to you, if I was guilty? Did you ask yourself how I got to Montana so quickly? Did you talk to any of the witnesses from the old cases? Diana Ballard? Rebecca Warren? Did you try to profile us? Find any similarities in m.o. between all those murders? No. None of it made any sense then, and none of it makes any sense now. You know why? Because it wasn’t us,” he finishes.

“Sam. Maybe there are details from the old cases that don’t make sense, but…” Spencer trails off, shaking his head, like he doesn’t even know where to start. Then he stops himself, sets his jaw, refocuses, and when he looks at Sam again, there’s nothing but pure clear anger in his face. “Look me in the eye, right now, and tell me you’ve never killed anyone.”

Sam instinctively goes to tuck his hair behind his ears, but the cuffs cut the movement short. Spencer sees it. His face falls, bitter and disappointed.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he mutters.

“I’ve never killed anything that didn’t deserve it,” Sam insists.

“Any thing? Really? Or any person?” Spencer asks. Sam doesn’t answer, and Spencer continues, rushing, like he can’t stop the words from coming out: “Do you know how many times I’ve heard a serial killer say that? Everybody thinks they have a reason, Sam, whether angels told him the guy was guilty, or… Satan was possessing them, or… a talking dog told them the meaning of life.”

Sam lets out a borderline hysterical laugh, and Spencer just stares like he’s completely crazy. Sam can’t blame him. He’s starting to feel crazy.

“Okay, here, look,” he says, in a sudden burst of inspiration. “Go through the old case files, look at the dates. Every one, I guarantee you, people were dying before we got to town. There’s gotta be a way to prove it, right? The murders started happening before we got there. Everything you’ve told me about Penelope, I bet she can do it, easy.”

“What, so now you’re telling me you’re some sort of vigilante?” Spencer half-shouts.

“Not exactly, no.” Sam’s starting to run out of ideas.

The door opens abruptly, and a stern-faced agent says, “Reid. A word?”

Spencer gives Sam one last look before he gets up. It’s a familiar expression: disgust, disappointment, you’re not the person I thought you were. Then he turns his back, and the door slams shut behind him. Sam can hear the click of the lock.

* * * * * * * * *

April 2010

He writes to her every day, pages and pages of words. He hopes she realizes that they all boil down to “I love you,” because right now, he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Hi, Mom, this is Spencer,” he says, “I just… I just really want you to know that I love you. And -” when he blinks away tears he can practically see her, her smile swimmy through the salt water, same as it looked when he was small and crying over a scraped knee, and if he keeps thinking like that he’ll never make it through this message. He pauses, gulps for air, steadies himself. “I need you to know that I spend every day of my life proud to be your son.”

She hasn’t taken care of him since he was small. Right now, though, he feels small and scared, and all he wants is for his mom to tell him that she loves him, and that it’s going to be alright.

“Reid?” Penelope whispers, and then he hears Dr. Kimura, and he doesn’t get to be a child right now; there’s nobody there to take care of him.

“I gotta go,” he says, and hangs up before Garcia can ask questions.

“Doctor Reid?”

“You look nice,” he jokes, with a watery laugh, and she smiles. “How are the patients doing?”

“Let’s worry about you,” she says smoothly.

Spencer forces a smile and shakes his head. “I actually… I feel fine.” It’s one of the most obvious lies he’s ever told.

“If you feel any pain, I could give you something,” she offers.

“No, I’d rather not take any pain medication.” His hands are shaking, but at least his voice sounds strong.

She looks concerned. “We can at least make you feel more comfortable.”

“I am comfortable, and I don’t want to take any narcotics,” he says fiercely. It’s not easy to say the words, but he feels better once he does; he feels proud.

There’s someone else he needs to call, Spencer realizes.

“Tell me how I can help,” Dr. Kimura says, and Spencer nods. First things first: if the poison is here, so is the antidote.

“I think the cure for this strain is in here somewhere,” he says, ignoring the way his chest aches.

“Well, shall I start here?”

“Yes, just… I just need a moment.”

Spencer looks down at his phone. He could call Garcia, again, have her save the message as a contingency plan, but he’s not sure he could handle her questions right now, and he can trust Sam not to push for details; he’s always been good about that.

“Hey, Spencer.”

“Hey, so, I can’t explain, but I’m not sure I’m going to make it out of this,” he says, stumbling over the words. “Don’t interrupt, I can’t - I just wanted to say thank you. In case I don’t get to say it again. Recovery was… I don’t… you helped. Thanks for always picking up the phone when I needed you.”

“Right back at you,” Sam says quietly.

It’s getting harder to breathe, and the panicked hammering of his heartbeat isn’t helping.

“Thanks,” he says again, and closes the phone without saying goodbye.

* * * * * * * * *

“Reid, you need to calm down,” Hotch says, as soon as the lock clicks behind them.

“I know,” Spencer says, rubbing his eyes, agitated. “There’s just… there’s so much that doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s more than that.” Hotch gives him one of those piercing glares he’s so good at. “You’re allowing your anger with JJ to cloud what you’re seeing in Sam.”

Spencer can’t really argue with that. He just nods.

“When this is over, I want you to take a couple days,” Hotch says. “You need some time to process.”

Spencer’s instinct is to argue, but one look at Hotch’s face tells him it’s pointless. He nods again, reluctantly.

“Garcia is checking into the pattern that he talked about,” Hotch says, as he leads Spencer back into the observation room. “She may be able to pin the Winchesters’ locations at the times of the original murders. JJ’s talking to old witnesses. There has to be something Henricksen missed.”

Emily, Morgan, and Rossi are clustered in the small, spare room, watching Sam through the one-way glass. Emily cuts herself off mid-sentence as Spencer and Hotch walk in.

“You okay, kid?” Morgan asks again, looking at Spencer like he’s a bomb about to go off, and Spencer tries to smile for him.

“All my time in the Bureau, I’ve never seen a case that made less sense,” Rossi comments.

They all look at Sam, who’s frowning down at the table, deep in thought.

Spencer clears his throat and asks, “Do you believe him?”

“I believe that he’s telling part of the truth,” Hotch says. “It’s what he’s not saying that concerns me.”

Inside the interrogation room, Sam starts, eyes wide, and looks from the door to the one-way mirror.

“Hey,” he barks. “Hey, I know you’re listening! It’s St. Louis. I figured out the pattern, and they’re going to St. Louis next.” He tugs at the cuffs, clearly agitated. “Come on. Can anybody hear me?”

“He’s genuinely distressed,” Emily says, frowning.

“If it’s a delusion, it’s a complex one,” Morgan adds.

The door swings open, and JJ starts talking before any of them can ask: “That was Diana Ballard. She swears up and down that it’s all a big misunderstanding, but she’s not clear on any of the details; she just said that she’d trust the Winchesters with her life. Rebecca Warren said the same. There was someone impersonating the Winchesters, back then, and she swears up and down that someone’s got it out for them now.”

“How did Henricksen not have that statement in his file?” Morgan asks.

“Maybe Sam’s right, as much as I hate to admit it,” Emily says. “Maybe this is a case of agents just wanting the easy explanation.”

“You guys are gonna want to see this,” Penelope interrupts, hurrying through the door as fast as her hot pink heels will allow, holding out her tablet.

“Another one?” JJ asks.

“Unfortunately, yes, and it’s a doozy. This just came in from -”

“St. Louis,” Hotch fills in grimly.

“How did you know?” Penelope asks, but she presses play without waiting for an answer, and they all cluster together to watch the grainy cell phone footage: Sam, leaning in close, giving the camera a smug smile before he opens fire.

“Is that really…” Spencer says numbly, looking from the screen to the window, where Sam is tapping his foot, impatient, undeniably solid and real.

“It’s real,” she confirms. “And to top it off, I found a call that the local brass dismissed, but I just talked to him a couple minutes ago and it sounds like the genuine article. A guy thinks he saw the older Winchester just a couple hours after Sam originally called us. He was at a gas station in, you guessed it, Montana.”

There’s a stunned pause, while everybody tries to digest that news, until Emily breaks the silence with a succinct, “What in the ever-loving fuck is happening.”

“I’m going to talk to Sam,” Hotch says.

Spencer’s acutely aware of everyones’ eyes on him again as he moves closer to the window. His reflection in the glass looks masklike and composed, but he doesn’t feel anything of the sort.

He’s kind of starting to believe Sam. That’s his first instinct, at least. Something deep in his gut is telling him to trust, but it’s being strangled by the suspicion and twisted fear that have been poisoning him slowly since Emily came back. Now that it’s in his system, Spencer’s not sure how to flush it out; it’s just in him now, like some sort of chronic infection.

* * * * * * * * *

March 2011

“I hate how often we see it,” Spencer says quietly. “It’s the first thing everybody thought of, with this kid, even though it wasn’t just schizophrenia, but… what’s the difference, between him and my mom?”

“Your mom has you,” Sam points out. He can hear the murmur of Dean and Bobby’s voices downstairs, constant and comforting.

“The headaches haven’t stopped.”

Sam grimaces. “No answers, still?”

“They all say there’s nothing wrong with me, physically.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighs. “That’s… kinda harder, isn’t it?”

“I hate not knowing,” Spencer fumes. “I hate that there’s no test for it. Even if it was a positive diagnosis, I’d rather have that, you know? I mean, that’d be awful, obviously, but… ”

“At least you’d know,” Sam finishes. “Yeah.”

“It’s like my brain may or may not be a ticking bomb. No way of knowing what’s hiding up there,” Spencer bites out, with a warped attempt at a laugh.

Sam can’t help but think of his flashback: coming back to reality with Dean pale and wide-eyed above him, the disorientation of feeling the solid floor under his back, the way his skin still burned. It felt so real.

He pushes those thoughts away.

“Like you can’t even trust yourself,” Sam says softly.

“Exactly.” Spencer’s voice is small and thin, and he sounds very young, suddenly. “My mom’s counting on me. What if… if something happened - I don’t know who would take care of her. Of us.”

“Your family,” Sam says, without hesitating.

“My team? Yeah, I… I guess so.”

“Your family,” Sam repeats. “Even if you can’t trust yourself, you’ll be able to trust your family.”

* * * * * * * * *

Sam’s heart leaps at the sound of the door opening again.

“They’re going to St. Louis,” he says, all in a rush, before the stern-faced agent from earlier can even sit down. The guy doesn’t bat an eye, just sits down calmly, pinning Sam with a stare that could strip paint.

“Sam, I’m Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner.” Sam’s heard Spencer talk about “Hotch,” and it all makes sense now. “What makes you think St Louis is next?”

“They’re retracing our steps,” Sam answers. “Dean and I, when we started working together. They’re hitting each town we stopped in. Jericho, Black Water Ridge, Manitoc. St. Louis is next.”

Sam holds his breath, hoping he won’t be pressed on his definition of working. He can see the moment Hotch comes to a decision with an infinitesimal nod.

“We’re too late,” he says. “We just got the news.”

“Shit,” Sam can’t help but mutter, and he tugs instinctively at the handcuffs, frustrated, done with sitting still.

“This means you’re innocent,” Hotch points out, clearly watching Sam’s reaction.

Sam can’t help but roll his eyes. “Yeah, but I already knew that. It’s… Iowa next, then. Ankeny, Iowa.”

“Very well,” Hotch says flatly, giving Sam a critical, evaluating look. “It’s very clear that you’re not what we thought you were, and you may be able to help us end this. Are you still interested in accompanying us?”

“Yes,” Sam replies impatiently.

“First, I’m going to give you one last chance to tell me the truth about what’s going on here,” Hotch says, in such a low, dangerous voice that Sam’s almost intimidated. “Otherwise, if one of my agents gets hurt because you withheld information, or if there’s even a hint that you’re leading us into a trap, I will shoot you without hesitation. Do I make myself clear?”

Jesus. But if the FBI can help him get to Iowa in time, with enough firepower to put a dent in the Leviathans, this’ll all be worth it.

Sam leans forward, as much as his cuffs will allow, meeting Hotch’s impenetrable glare with a determined stare of his own.

“Look, I could tell you more, but you’re not going to believe some of it until you see for yourself,” he snaps. “So as far as I’m concerned, the only truth that matters is this: people are dying, and we both want to put a stop to it. Now, are you going to waste time asking for irrelevant details, or are you going to choose to trust me?”

Hotch holds his gaze for a moment before nodding tersely. “Let’s get going, then. I’ll go get the keys.”

He gets up and Sam grimaces at his retreating back, twisting his wrist uncomfortably to get the bobby pin at the right angle. Then the cuffs fall to the ground with a metallic clatter, and Hotch looks back at him in disbelief. Sam smiles at him, equal parts sheepish and smug.

“I told you, full cooperation,” he explains, and Hotch shakes his head like he might just be a tiny bit impressed.

The rest of the team is waiting out in the hallway, some looking skeptical (tall, dark, handsome, eyebrows; Morgan, if Sam's guessing right), others nervous (pink pom-poms in her hair; that’ll be Penelope), but almost all with some degree of confusion written across their faces. Sam can’t exactly blame them. Spencer’s staring at his shoes, avoiding eye contact.

They’re a very clean, professional-looking bunch, and it’s making Sam incredibly uncomfortable, even aside from the obvious awkwardness inherent in the situation.

“I’m Sam,” he blurts out, and then winces. “Um. You knew that.”

“Yep,” Penelope squeaks. “This is weird.”

“Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, David Rossi,” Hotch says brusquely, pointing to each in turn. “Jennfer Jareau, Penelope Garcia, and you know Spencer. There’ll be time to talk more on the jet. Everyone, grab your things, meet outside in five.” He’s already pulling out a cell phone and striding away as the team scatters, and Sam feels sort of windswept in his wake; the guy’s intense.

Sam and Spencer are alone in the hallway. Sam’s stomach twists. This is familiar. This is another person he’s let down, and the bitter voice in the back of his head whispering you fucked up again is familiar too.

“I’m sorry,” Sam blurts out. “I know it doesn’t change anything, but… I’m sorry.”

Spencer looks up at him with a quizzical frown, head tilted. “I was going to apologize to you.”

Sam blinks. “Why?”

Spencer presses his lips together in a funny little grimace. Sam had forgotten that face, the weird things he does with his mouth when he’s not sure what to say.

“For not trusting you.” His voice is scratchy and uneven and honest, now that there isn’t any anger keeping it strong and sure. “I wanted to believe that you… that it couldn’t be you. When I saw the first video, that was my instinct. But my instincts haven’t been great, lately.”

Sam shakes his head. “No, you have nothing to apologize for.”

“I think maybe I don’t trust myself right now?” Spencer barrels on. “But there’s video, and... I trust Hotch. If Hotch believes you... yeah. I’m sorry.”

Sam’s not used to being forgiven so easily. It takes him a moment to remember how to speak.

“You gave me a chance,” he says. “Most people wouldn’t have even picked up the phone. And there’s still… I still haven’t told you everything, why would you -”

“There are a lot of things going on that I don’t understand, and I want answers, don’t get me wrong.” Spencer looks frustrated for a moment. “But… knowing that you’re not a murderer goes a long way. The details can wait.”

“When I start sharing details is when most people start running in the opposite direction,” Sam admits.

“I think that’s sort of a universal human experience,” Spencer offers. He looks like he’s trying not to laugh, now. “Or at least, the fear is. Nobody likes telling the full truth. It’s uncomfortable at best, painful at worst.”

Sam huffs out a laugh and swipes a hand over his face. “Yeah, okay. Got me there.”

“I’ll trust that you’re not lying if you trust that I won’t run,” Spencer says, and he’s not smiling now. He’s dead serious, determined, maybe a little scared.

“Okay,” Sam says hoarsely. “Deal.”

There’s an awkward moment where they both just look at each other, but then Spencer jerks his head in the direction of the front doors. “C’mon, we should go.”

Sam nods and lets him lead the way. “Should we - do you know where my phone is? I need to call my brother.”

“Garcia will have it.”

They walk out into the bullpen, where the team is bustling around, collecting their things, and Sam’s reminded again of how much they’re risking on his word. It’s overwhelming. His throat feels too tight.

“So, that handcuff thing,” says Rossi, tossing his bag over his shoulder and falling into step next to Sam.

Sam laughs. “Yeah, I can teach you. It’s just a bobby pin.”

“Might help next time I get kidnapped,” Spencer says, with alarming nonchalance.

“Would’ve come in handy a few times during college,” Rossi comments.

“You mean as a party trick?” Spencer asks him.

“Yeah. Sure, kid. A party trick.”

“...oh.”

* * * * * * * * *

November 2010

“Spencer?”

“I… is that you?” Spencer asks, so shocked he feels dizzy. It’s been six months.

Spencer’s first thought had been, ‘Weird, that's the second “just in case” call in a month,’ when he got the voicemail. He’d almost laughed.

Spencer had called Sam from the hospital, though, after the anthrax thing, when the antidote worked and he woke up.

Sam never called. Spencer assumed he never woke up.

“It’s me,” Sam says. “I’m so sorry, I -”

“What happened?”

“I was… sick,” Sam stammers. “Really… really sick. I’m sorry.”

Spencer has to pause for a moment to digest that. His head is spinning.

“What -” he starts, but he cuts himself off. He has some idea of what kind of sickness might cause someone to go away for six months, and it’s not physical. “Oh,” he says softly.

“Sorry,” Sam says again. He sounds miserable.

“No, don’t apologize,” Spencer protests. “You shouldn’t - it’s not your fault. I’m just glad you’re okay. I thought…”

“Yeah.”

All Spencer can say is, “I’m really glad you’re alive.”

“Me too,” Sam says quietly.

Spencer’s been wanting to talk to him for six months, but now he can’t think of anything to say. Eventually he just goes with the first thing that comes into his head: “You missed some really good episodes of Doctor Who.”

Sam laughs. “Yeah, I’ve got some catching up to do.”

Spencer closes his eyes and reminds himself to breathe. He’s never been so happy to be wrong.

* * * * * * * * *

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Emily says flatly, as Spencer brandishes the Super Soaker in her direction. “Of all the stupid fucking ideas.”

“Yup,” he says, popping the p and maybe kinda enjoying the way her eyes have gone all buggy. In a low voice, he adds, “Play along, remember?”

She casts a glance over to where Sam is busying himself with the rest of the water guns and a box of Borax. “As long as he doesn’t try to take my fucking Glock.”

“Nobody is taking your Glock, Emily,” Spencer says dryly. She shakes her head and goes over to join Morgan, Hotch, and JJ, who have already been outfitted and are standing at the other side of the parking lot. Garcia is sneakily taking a picture of them.

Admittedly, when Sam insisted that they make an emergency stop between the airstrip and the police precinct, Spencer wasn’t expecting Toys R Us, but he was also pretty gobsmacked when Sam started talking about monsters. He’d waited until they were in the jet to do so, which was probably a smart move. This isn’t the first time they’ve played along with a delusion in order to get answers, but it’s definitely the strangest.

Funniest, also. Spencer hopes Garcia got a lot of pictures.

Sam will definitely be headed to an institution, when all of this is over, and Spencer’s having trouble processing that, but… well, it’s not like Spencer’s unfamiliar with that sort of facility. Spencer’s just glad Sam’s not a murderer, and he’s ready to get Dean, arrest whoever’s framing them, and get some answers. He can deal with the rest later; there’s only so much he can handle right now.

It’s been a weird day.

“Okay, we’re ready,” Sam announces, passing the last Super Soaker to Spencer. “Bobby didn’t know where they’re keeping Dean, but I’m guessing the cells. I’ll lead the way. Don’t trust anyone, we have to assume the local cops are Leviathans, at this point. Stick together, don’t let them touch you. Clear?”

“And I’ll be right here with the emergency radio,” Garcia chimes in cheerily. “Thank God.”

Sam tucks his own water gun into the back of his jeans, hefting the fire axe he’d somehow stolen from the cockpit of the jet without anyone noticing. “Let’s go,” he says authoritatively.

“We’re right behind you,” JJ says, in her warmest, most soothing “placate the crazy man” voice.

Sam leads them around the corner and through the front door of the station, easing the door open without a sound, and they follow, entering the oddly quiet precinct quickly and efficiently.

Spencer can see his teammates starting to draw their real weapons; luckily, Sam’s too focused on what’s in front of him to notice what everyone is doing behind him. Spencer hooks a finger on the Super Soaker and lets it dangle from his left hand, drawing his gun with his right, and most of the team is doing the same, for the sake of appearances. Emily and Morgan just set their water guns on the floor.

“Dean?” Sam calls out.

“Sammy!”

Dean walks jauntily out into the bullpen like it’s a very normal thing to find a team of federal agents aiming their guns at him, but he does a double take, disconcerted, frowning for a moment at all the neon plastic toys on display. Then he recovers and turns a wide grin on Sam, who’s hanging back, wary.

“You brought backup,” Dean says, laughing. “Good, I’m hungry. I’m very glad you made it.”

“You’re not Dean,” Sam says, low and certain.

“No, I am not,” the man says, almost gleeful. “Close enough, though! I have all his memories, and I wanted to chat for a moment, before I eat you. I like my meat a little bitter.”

“What the almighty shitfire,” Emily breathes, but neither Sam or Dean pay any attention to her. Spencer has a hysterical urge to laugh, but he swallows it, heart pounding, not daring to look away from the insanity that’s unfolding in front of them.

“Dean thinks you’re nuts, you know.” The man’s eyes flick behind Sam, taking in the team fanned out behind him. “So do your new friends.”

Sam reaches behind his back to grab the handle of his water gun, but he holds it out of sight, still. Spencer keeps his finger firmly on the trigger of his real gun.

“Where’s my brother?” Sam snaps.

“Okay, okay, I’ll get to the point.” He’s wearing a smug, nasty smile, and this isn’t going the way Spencer expected at all. “Dean killed Amy.”

Sam seems frozen, completely paralyzed.

“There it is,” the man who isn’t Dean says, laughing. “Now I can eat you.”

Sam draws his water gun so quickly it’s just a blur of neon orange, and then the man (thing, Spencer corrects himself frantically) is smoking. He’s smoking and sizzling wherever the water touches, and he’s screaming, looking just as stunned as Spencer feels in the split-second before Sam swings the fire axe and chops off his head with one powerful blow.

There’s a moment where everything seems to slow down, like Spencer’s moving underwater, as he takes in the black goo pouring from the stump where the creature’s head used to be.

“What in the almighty motherfucking shitfire,” Emily says again, into the momentary silence.

“More incoming,” Sam snaps. “Heads up.”

Then everything speeds up, too fast for Spencer to process, and it all blurs together: he’s holstering his gun, spraying water at something that’s wearing Sam’s face, as someone screams. Glass shatters, somewhere. Out of the corner of his eye Spencer sees Morgan pulling the station’s fire axe out of its case, whirling around without hesitation in a spray of black goo, and he keeps getting caught in the water pistol jets but it’s better than all those goddamn teeth, what the hell, in the massive mouth that just appeared, so he shoots, what, how, and then -

And then it’s over as suddenly as it began.

It’s over.

Spencer’s heart is racing. He’s surrounded by puddles of water and puddles of oozing black, Morgan’s clutching an axe like it’s a life raft, and everyone is okay. Spencer looks around frantically, double-checking, but everyone is okay; they’re still standing, at least, although JJ, greenish-pale, looks like she’s seconds away from keeling over in shock.

“Back here, Sammy!” comes a muffled voice from the back of the station. Sam casually wipes the blade of his axe on the side of his pants, expression unreadable. Spencer watches him clench his jaw and take a deep breath.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” Rossi mumbles.

Sam’s face is blank as he looks around, taking in the mess and the team.

“I told you so,” he says mildly. Then he steps over the headless remains of a monster and goes to get his brother.

* * * * * * * * *

November 2009

He doesn’t bother trying to go back to sleep after the second nightmare. He goes outside instead, sits on the curb in the parking lot, looks up. The stars are barely visible with the Vegas light pollution, but it still helps to be outside. He can breathe a little easier.

There’s this tightly-knotted mess of rage in his chest, sitting on his ribcage like a tumor, poisoning him slowly.

It’s almost four in the morning, and he has no idea where Sam might be, or what time it is there. He takes out his phone anyway and fires off a text.

You awake?

The phone rings less than a minute later.

“What’s up?” Sam asks. He doesn’t sound like he was sleeping.

“I’m in Vegas,” Spencer says softly, and then realizes that doesn’t mean anything to Sam. “It’s where I grew up.”

“Win big on the slot machines?”

“I guess. I won two thousand dollars today, actually. I… I gave it to a prostitute,” Spencer admits. He adds hastily, “Not for sex.”

Sam laughs. “Right.”

There’s a moment of silence. Spencer could make small talk, now; he could pretend he called for no reason in particular. Sam wouldn’t believe him, but he wouldn’t question it, either.

He takes a deep breath and spits the words out fast, before he can regret letting them loose. “Apparently my dad lived really close by my entire life, even after he left my mom and me. I didn’t know. He never told me.”

“Shit,” Sam says.

“He was keeping tabs on me my whole life,” he says. His voice gives him away, breaking and rasping, and it hurts to keep forcing the words out. “He read all my articles, my dissertation, everything I ever had published. My friends seem to think I should be happy about that.”

“That’s bull,” Sam says firmly.

“Why wasn’t it enough?” Spencer whispers. He’s been holding that question in all day, and it’s been choking him.

His lower lip is wobbling. He’s glad Sam can’t see him. This is the sort of honesty that’s much easier from a distance; Sam might hang up right now, but at least Spencer won’t have to watch him walk away.

“Do you think they know?” Sam asks. “How badly they messed us up, I mean.”

“Do you think they care?” It comes out more bitter than he intended. Spencer makes a face and looks down at his feet in their mismatched socks. “I think that’s the important part. If he cared, I could probably forgive him, but… I don’t think he does. Not really.”

“Yeah.”

Spencer takes a breath. The anger is gone now. He doesn’t like how hollow he feels in its wake, but he does feel lighter. He feels better.

“Thanks for listening,” he says. “It helps.”

There’s a long pause, and Spencer thinks maybe he should hang up, now, try to rest even if he can’t sleep.

“Want to hear a joke?” Sam asks. “I tried to tell Dean, but... I don’t think he got it.”

“Sure.”

“How many existentialists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”

“How many?”

“Two. One to change the light bulb and one to to observe how it symbolizes an incandescent beacon of subjectivity in a netherworld of cosmic nothingness.”

Spencer laughs, grinning up at the stars. “That’s good. I’m gonna steal that.”

* * * * * * * * *

Sam sighs as he closes the door of the precinct behind himself. They’re not totally done with cleanup, but all Hotch’s wild-eyed muttering about paperwork is starting to make him anxious.

Also, every time he looks at Dean, he feels sick.

He sits down on the bench that’s out front, under a little awning. The sky is dark with clouds, and the air is thick, threatening rain, so humid it seems hard to breathe… but maybe that’s the shock setting in.

He barely gets a minute of peace before Dean comes out to find him.

“Hey,” Dean says cheerfully. “Ready to go? I’m starving, and I don’t want to be here when that bunch starts asking questions. Pretty cool, though, having an in with the FBI. Definitely makes life easier, bein’ dead again.”

He’s standing there on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, grinning like it’s just another day. Sam’s chest hurts.

“Don’t,” he says quietly.

“What’s up?” Dean asks, frowning.

“You killed Amy,” Sam says, and he watches Dean’s face as he realizes, the way he shifts his weight uncomfortably.

“Listen, Sam...” he says.

“No, you know what, don’t,” Sam spits. He knows the drill. Dean thought he was doing the right thing, he made a choice, he had to take responsibility if Sam couldn’t. Sam looks at his feet and says, “I don’t think I can be around you right now.”

“So… what, you -”

“You should go,” Sam says. He looks up and searches Dean’s face for some sign of guilt, remorse, empathy, but Dean just looks resigned. Sam wishes he would just start screaming, or throw a punch so Sam could hit him back. It’s not fair that Sam’s the only one in pain right now.

“Okay, Sam,” Dean says, and he turns to go. Sam watches him walk away.

He’s not sure how long he sits on the bench, watching people pass. The sky is getting darker by the minute.

Spencer doesn’t announce his presence when he comes outside, just sits on the bench next to Sam and waits quietly.

“He killed my friend,” Sam mumbles, without looking at him. “She was a monster, but she didn’t… she didn’t mean to. She didn’t want to hurt anybody.”

“Let me guess, he thought he was doing the right thing?” Spencer says wryly.

The lack of pity in his voice makes it easier for Sam to keep talking, and sarcasm feels better than grief. “Shocking, right?” he says. There’s a low rumble of thunder overhead, and they both look up at the sky. “I didn’t have many friends, but… I liked her.” The grief seems to be creeping in whether he wants it or not.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” Sam’s throat feels tight. “He’s my brother, I just… I’ve fucked up in the past, I know I have. But I always feel like I have to earn his forgiveness. It feels like I’m always asking him to give me another chance, to trust me again, and… and he still doesn’t really look at me the same way. Then he pulls something like this, and I know, one way or the other, he just doesn’t trust me. He thinks it’s okay to lie to me, because I don’t deserve the truth.”

Spencer doesn’t say anything, just makes an unhappy, understanding sort of sound. The first fat raindrops start to fall on the concrete in front of them, and they’re both quiet for a moment.

Sam smiles in spite of himself, remembering. “She changed her name, since I met her. Her name was always Amy, but she changed her last name to Pond.”

“Cool,” Spencer says.

“Yeah. I mean, no, she wasn’t cool, neither of us were, but… yeah.”

Sam can breathe a little easier, now.

“What are you going to do?” Spencer asks.

Sam looks sideways at him and sees the way his mouth is twitching. “Don’t.”

“Nothing you can do, is what I seem to remember you saying,” Spencer says innocently. “Give it time. Right? Does that make you feel any better?”

Sam laughs, burying his face in his hands. “That was fucking useless advice. Fuck, don’t ever listen to me.” He wipes his eyes. “This just sucks.”

“Yeah, it really does,” Spencer agrees. It’s pouring steadily now, rain streaming off the sides of their little awning. “Apparently Hotch thinks I should run away from my problems for a little while, give myself time to process, so I’ve been ordered to take a couple days off.”

“JJ, still?”

“Yeah. I think maybe he’s right. But… I was going to rent a car and drive back to DC, instead of taking the jet. Make a couple detours. Get some space. Give it time. You could come, if you want.”

Sam turns to him, surprised, but Spencer looks sincere; he’s giving Sam one of his trademark anxious not-quite-smiles.

“I was just going to hotwire a car,” Sam blurts out, and then winces. “That might be a better idea.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“I guess you probably have some questions,” Sam says reluctantly.

Spencer grins. “Harder for me to run away if we’re in a moving vehicle, right?”

Sam laughs, tucking his hair behind his ears. “Yeah, guess so.”

“After today, I’m not actually sure I want to know all the details,” Spencer says, wrinkling his nose. “But I do have some questions.”

“Anything you want to know,” Sam promises. “The truth. I promise. I should’ve… I should’ve told you sooner.”

Spencer shrugs. “No, I’m pretty sure you were right, I would’ve run away screaming.”

Sam laughs and rolls his eyes, and they sit there in silence for a moment, watching the rain start to slow. The clouds are already starting to blow over.

“Never tell the truth to people who are not worthy of it.”

― Mark Twain

You can now read about the road trip right here!

#criminal minds fic #spn fic #supernatural x criminal minds #sam winchester #spencer reid #spn #cm #crossover

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finalsegamangalover · 3 years

Text

“Time is Precious” ( Rufus x Reader)

You couldn’t help but keep looking over at the note card that now rested beside your bedside table. Smiling a little at the comfort it brought just by its presence alone. The words written clearly in black ink, its intentions were even more heartfelt than you felt recently. A sense of darkness tried to overcome your thoughts but that note held you. Again you reread it for what seems like the hundredth time smiling inwardly.

“Come by and visit, I’ve missed having a good chat with you like old times. I hope you’ll show tomorrow morning at 9am. Yours Truly, R.S.”

You couldn’t believe it at first, even thought of it as a cruel joke at times but something inside you wanted to trust this note. Recently, you’ve heard that he became some hot shot President of a company god knows what. He was making it big in his life as did most people think; afterall he was charming and mysterious altogether. What would a guy like him see in me? I'm just someone beneath him or so you thought.

Morning came and a knock was heard at your door roughly around 8am. You fixed yourself a little before approaching the door, opening it a bit nervously. No one you knew was coming around this early; you were greeted by a strangely tall man with long dark hair and gorgeous eyes. A nicely dressed man addressed you in such a velvety tone.

“Hello?” you spoke.

“Ah yes, Y/N?” he replied tilting his head slightly.

“Yes..” you answered him crossing your arms over your chest to shield you from the chill. You couldn’t tell if it was the weather or his aura, it was kind of difficult. He cleared his throat, maintaining eye contact as he placed a gloved hand to his chest.

“My name is Tseng, leader of the General Administrative Department Research from ShinRa Corp. I was wondering if you received an invitation recently by a man named Rufus.” He asked calmly. Your eyes widen a little. A Turk?

“Y-yes..” you said kind of weakly. You were bewildered. He smiled slightly at your response but held up a hand to try to calm your weariness.

“I’m here to take you to meet him. If you are ready let me know.” Tseng said cooly. You kept blinking a bit before nodding.

“I’ll be back in a minute, thank you..” was all you said before closing the door. Oh god what were you thinking!? A turk member was here for you to see Rufus? Your best friend since childhood, Rufus?! THE RUFUS SHINRA HIMSELF!?!?!!

As you tried to calm your senses you began to run up the stairs and quickly change. You grabbed your wallet and shoved it into your pocket before lacing up your shoes; styling your hair a bit whilst fixing any bumps in the fabric by smoothing them out. The last thing you did was placed on your favorite bracelet. You stopped for a brief second to admire the dainty object dangling along your wrist; along with it did you remember the memories it accompanied. To which also included a memory of why this gift was so special to you. This was the last object you received from him before he left for Midgar. That day was terrible, it felt like the world was crashing inwards when you heard Rufus had to leave. Rufus wasn’t exactly a people person but he always did take an interest into you; he’d always seemed amused and aspired altogether. Regardless of his popularity amongst your peers he always seemed to come to you and only you in most scenarios. You’d tell it like it is to him and he respected that aspect; something about having people know what they want made his heart skip a beat. It was a strong personality within his family so seeing in someone else kind of surprises Rufus. He literally loved that about you. In return all he could provide was to listen to you and he genuinely cared, whether it was to protect you from a local bully or for you to talk to him in private about your family life. He always seemed to understand and sympathize with you no matter the situation. Granted, he didn’t have much of a family life either and no siblings to boot but that didn’t stop him from making friends. You never forget the times you spent with him playing at school or hanging out by the river on a warm spring afternoon. You remembered what it was like being happy for a change and to have comfort in knowing he would be there for you.

Shaking your head, pushing the memories aside and back into reality, you headed down the stairs grabbing your vest before opening the door greeting Tseng once more. He nodded and guided you to a completely decked out hummer opening the door like a gentleman. Strange that a professional would choose a vehicle like this but given the terrain and how far out of the city, a limo wouldn’t be the wisest choice. You swallowed your courage and hopped in as Tseng followed suit directing the driver to ShinRa Corp. in Sector 0.

Tseng guided you again inside this gargantuan building and up the elevator to Rufus’ Office. He signaled you to wait for a moment before knocking and entering. You heard voices inside the room and quickly looked down at your feet. You were intimidated yes, but anticipation also had a grasp as well. Both emotions kept fighting for your attention until Tseng reappeared and held the door open, smiling. A chill ran through you again, so it wasn’t the weather then.

“He's waiting for you now Miss Y/N.” Tseng stated before closing it behind you, footsteps echoing the hallways. Blinking from the sound and turning your attention forward there you saw Rufus staring right back at you; his hands locked together in front of his face resting elbows on the darkened desk as his knee jossiled nervously. Thankful for it to conceal his weakness. His smile began to appear as his eyes lit up with emotions. You smiled warmly to his expression as he began to speak.

“Y/N, it's so good to see your face again! How wondrous of you to respond so quickly as well. Come sit down with me, I’ve missed you dearest friend.” Rufus was genuine in his tone but those word choices seemed a bit odd. Also you realized how generous puberty was to him as his voice melted like velvet in the air. A subtle blush decorated your cheeks thanking the shadows for coverage a bit. You weren’t going to fight his request so you did as asked, he leaned back in his chair as the leather creased. Nervously, you smiled sitting comfortably in the height difference.

“You haven’t changed a bit Rufus.” you claimed teasingly as he smirked to your comment.

“Well it goes both ways my dear Y/N, tell me what’s new with you? How is your family?” He sounded like his old self now, that cute little kid who came to you. You folded your hands along your knees as you spoke to him about how your family has taken the turn for worse, your job almost shutting down thanks to poor choice in location, and how school tuition was building up higher. On the contrary, you left out the depression that continuously grasped at your thoughts at night. The pangs of loneliness didn’t help either but again that note card reappeared in the back of your mind. You wanted to tell him so badly but you felt that sense of worthlessness and knowing his job title practically clawed for his attention it sounded meaningless to speak up.

“I’m sorry to hear about your family passing during the plate drop incident of Sector 7…” Rufus sounded sincere. Another weight of guilt applied itself to his heart as the words spilled from your delicate mouth. He also noticed the shimmering from the bracelet he gave as you adjusted your vest, smiling a little at the sentiment and memory together. Something both an image beyond beautiful words. Then something stirred inside of him; a glistening drop fell from your cheek as your head bowed from the pain of the past. Rufus’ eyes widened in concern with a frown he leaned forward a bit finding the air to be sucked out of him. His chest tightened as he heard your voice quiver. He didn’t want to cause you grief as his team of Turks did to many people within the city on that day. Swiftly his movement rounded the desk and knelt quietly placing a hand on yours.

One of Rufus’ hands grazed gently along the side of your cheek brushing the hair aside along with it. His smile was warming and sincere as a tear fell from your cheek, your eyes widened in awestruck at his behavior. Rufus’ voice was sentimentally sweet as his words rolled angelically from the most beautiful mouth tickling your senses.

“I promise you, if ever you need help with anything. Anything at all, please do not hesitate to come to me directly. You have my honor and my-..” He blushed a bit as the words held captive in his throat. How could words choke him like this in a manner such as now? He seemed foolish to himself but her eyes told him he was winning.

“Your what..” you whispered as his vision lost in your gaze. He slowly leaned in and placed the softest kiss along your lips. He couldn’t hold it back anymore, his feelings were starting to show through. The kiss was slow and sweet, not too much pressure but just enough to deliver the message across. A yearning since childhood did he confess to.

“You have my heart..” He whispered once the kiss broke free. You're also blushing with fresh tears tracing the curvature of your face. His thumb brushed them away as his eyes started to become rim with red. He knew deep down he’d cared for you in a special nature, nothing like anyone else would, this was his promise to you now as it was ten years ago.

“...Rufus…” was all you could say before he held a finger to your lips. You didn’t deserve him, you didn’t want to bother him, you’ve dealt with this pain for so long you can do so without him knowing it.

“Not another word. I mean it Y/N. I owe you everything, ever since my family and moved here. Don’t ever feel burdened by taking my time, I give it to you because you are so precious to me..” He confessed all this time how she meant towards him. He felt responsible for her suffrage.

“Rufus I do not deserve y-”

“What did I just say…” Rufus’s eyes flickered with more emotions. You looked at him confused as he frowned.

“I know depression when I see it, I also know anxiety too. It's becoming more and more powerful on you and I cannot accept the fact how it troubles you so. My feelings for you are true even if you don’t return the same-..” He was cut off as you leaned into his arms placing a more heated kiss along his lips. Your hands touched along his biceps and chest as his arms gripped along your hips pulling you closer to him. His kiss became more and more desperate as you both relished the feeling. The commotion from within his office must’ve set off a concern for Tseng barged it open and searched the area. You felt startled and scared as he held you protectively. Tseng scanned the area and drew his attention to Rufus' eyes blinking in bewilderment.

“Is there a problem?! Step outside!” Rufus barked as Tseng followed orders. Rufus, embarrassed at the sudden showmanship of his highest workers, placed a hand to his forehead.

“I apologize for the scare, perhaps another time will be best to catch up.” Rufus sounded dejected at the thought, how was she supposed to find time for him? He sounded like an immature brat demanding something when he knew deep down he didn’t deserve. Your gaze slowly followed the length of his arm along his nape and into those cerulean eyes. His scent became more noticeable as you nodded. Rufus found the urge to smile as his hand took yours one more time smoothly interlocking his fingers with yours.

“Tell you what, I’ll arrange a setting for us to be together. I’ll take you out for lunch or dinner somewhere, you can decide the place if you wish.”

"Okay.. Thank you Rufus..” you whispered as he rested his head against yours.

“No, thank you..” he replied as you both sat there together in each other’s arms. This sense of comfort was pure bliss and you were both thankful for this moment. The simple touch of him burned within you as your voice echoed in his perfect ears.

#Rufus Shinra #Final Fantasy #final fantasy 7 remake #fanfic #sfw #reader x character #fluff #sweet #richie and the gang

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tiifalockhart · 3 years

Text

Another Chance

@ironbar36 asked: Was wondering if you could do a bit where Cloud meets a Sage who warns him about Aeriths death but also knows Cloud has had visions of such happening but tells him sternly there still time to change history and events to be

Word Count: 8k

A/N: I didn’t put a pairing with this, even though it seems to be heavily influenced by one, because I mostly wrote this in terms of story-line and character development. This actually took like two and a half months to write hahahahahah I’m so tired

Masterlist || Ao3

These visions were something similar to a curse.

Cloud could hardly remember when they began. He remembered running into that girl in Sector 8, but it felt like these visions had been happening a lot longer. He kept thinking about her. Considering she was the one in those visions, he was worried about her, even though she was nothing but a stranger.

Those visions of her kneeling on the altar in an unknown temple, the white materia falling from her bow, the bloody sword pierced through her back, they all haunted him like never-ending nightmares. He was forced to relive those visions randomly. The smallest things would trigger them. The sound of a pin dropping, or the wind blowing in a certain direction, it was torture.

He didn’t know how to stop him. They hurt his head so much. It was painful to bear over and over again. Sometimes, some visions would hurt more than others. That was usually when he saw that sword pierce through her stomach again. Cloud knew that he had to do something, but what could he do? He didn’t even know the girl’s name.

It wasn’t until after the bombing of Reactor 5 that Cloud saw her again. The moment his eyes opened in that misplaced meadow, a wave of pain came over his skull. He stared up at the girl who was gently coaxing him out of his unconsciousness, a glint of recognition in his eyes. She was the girl from Sector 8, the ones in his visions. A shaky breath left his lips as his eyes fell on the pink bow decorating her braid, one of the many visions of her death flooding his mind. He suddenly felt sick, his skin burned because of it.

Her voice was so sweet, though. It was as sweet as honey, her eyes were bright with hope and innocence, it pained him to see what was to come of her. As he sat up in the flowers, a soft giggle left the girl’s lips. She was kind and beautiful... Cloud learned that her name was Aerith. She was... Odd, to say the least.

After seemingly countless fights and protecting Aerith, through exploring the Sector 5 and 6 slums and meeting too many people, Cloud sighed in relief as they finally arrived at the playground in the night. Aerith wouldn’t let him get away that easily, he knew it wouldn’t be as simple as a goodbye.

Being dragged into this fiasco at Wall Market was pretty eye-opening for Cloud. He found himself growing closer to Aerith, which scared him. He didn’t want to lose her. He wanted to protect her and save her from this fate he saw. Through the laughter and rushes they both shared, occasional anxiety would wash over him. His smile would fade for a moment and his head would hurt again, but Aerith quickly snapped him out of it over and over again.

By the end of the night, he was sick because of this desire to save Aerith. He felt dizzy with each vision that overtook him, he was blind to anyone else but Aerith, it suddenly became all about her. The visions weren’t making sense anymore. Nothing was making sense anymore.

Tifa seemed to notice that something was off. She would ask questions, but inevitably, Cloud would brush them off. She wouldn’t understand, would she? How are you supposed to tell someone that you’ve been having visions of someone else’s death, and expect them to believe it?

That night, when the plate fell onto the Sector 7 Slums, reality hit Cloud like a brick. He was focusing on the wrong things this whole time. He knows he needs to save Aerith... But there’s more to it. He hasn’t been looking at the bigger picture. In order to save Aerith, he needs to stop Shinra, to stop... Fate. He realized this when he saw Aerith on the other side of that screen with that Turk. Anger and anxiety flooded his veins as he stared in disbelief. She sacrificed herself for Marlene... Did she not know what becomes of her?

Before he knew it, getting Aerith back from Shinra was his top priority. Cloud couldn’t risk losing her. Not like this.

He remembered coming to Aerith’s house again so Barret could have some relief in knowing that Marlene was okay. Cloud couldn’t take his mind off of the current circumstances. Not knowing what Shinra was doing to Aerith made him more and more anxious to hurry to her side. He didn’t want to imagine what those sick scientists were coming up with this time.

He couldn’t sit still for too long. While Tifa rested and Barret comforted Marlene, he approached Elmyra with questions concerning Aerith. Why would they want her? What’s so special about her? That second question has been in his mind for too long.

Upon learning about Ancients and that Aerith was the last of them, it felt like something clicked in the back of his mind. Was Aerith the one giving him these visions? Was she aware of what was going to happen? Was all of this her calling out to him? His troubled expression never left his features as they all went to rest that night.

There were so many unanswered questions racing through his mind that night. He was completely restless, there wasn’t any point of trying to sleep anymore. As he sat up, he felt himself being called outside. Glancing over at the others sleeping, he made sure they were well asleep before carefully sneaking out of the room.

Seeing Aerith standing on the small hill in front of her house felt almost like a dream. A shaky breath left Cloud’s lips as he approached her. His heart was racing as he tried to search for something to say. Finally, he took another step closer to her. “What do I do?” He asked, his voice shaking.

Aerith turned towards him slowly. “What do you do... That certainly is a good question.” She replied, her brows furrowing. “I’m sorry. I don’t think that I can help you with that.”

Cloud felt his heart sink as his throat tightened up. He nodded slowly and forced himself to turn away from her. “We’ll come find you, after that, we can figure it out.” He promised, frowning as he looked up at the plates above.

It felt like time was moving slower without Aerith around. It felt like there was a lifetime between when Aerith was taken away and when her and the group reunited in Shinra. The rush he felt when he saw her, Cloud wanted to run to her and embrace her, but there wasn’t any time for that. The next step was escaping Shinra without losing anyone.

As if passing through Hojo’s traps and sick and twisted experiments wasn’t enough, the arrival of Jenova and Sephiroth was enough to cause Cloud to dread the future. When his eyes fell to the long sword piercing through the President’s chest, a flash of a similar sword through Aerith’s torso flashed in his mind. It was painful, watching as the lifeless body of the once-President fall to the floor, the visions of Aerith parallel to it. Cloud wanted to chase after him, he wanted to end this before Sephiroth had the chance to think about hurting Aerith. After chasing him onto the balcony, instead of being greeted by Sephiroth, he found himself facing off against the Vice President. When will it end...?

Cloud quickly instructed for Barret and Tifa to get Aerith out of there. It sounded selfish, but he was only focused on protecting Aerith over anyone else. After they were gone, he faced off against Rufus Shinra for what felt like ages. His damned dog gave him a headache, and the endless taunting wasn’t any better. After the President was inevitably was defeated, Cloud knew that they needed to escape now before anything else happened. They all took off through the building, taking some of the vehicles on display at the front to escape.

The cloud of shadows surrounding the Shinra building was a good cover for them to safely escape. After picking off any stragglers that happened to be following them, they arrived at the end of the highway. The looming figure at the end forced them to come to a stop. Sephiroth stood there, the long sword gleaming in the moonlight. Cloud stood in front of Aerith, shielding her body with his own just in case.

With the formation of the portal, the group shared uneasy glances. None of them knew what they were getting themselves into, they simply knew that Sephiroth couldn’t exist. As he silently emerged into the darkness, Cloud tensed and found himself taking slow steps towards the darkness. He could feel the overwhelming desire to end this washing over him.

Before he could take another step, he felt Aerith’s hands grab onto his arm. “Wait!” She called out over the wind, causing him to turn towards her. She wore a conflicted and concerned look, as if even she was unsure of the future. “This is the point of no return.” She explained, removing her hands slowly. He noticed the slight lingering of her hands on his arm, causing him to take a step back and face the portal again.

Aerith hesitantly approached it, her eyes examining the darkness and whispers surrounding it. Slowly, she lifted her right hand, her eyes falling shut as she muttered something similar to a pray under her breath. A light emitted from her hand, it slowly transformed the portal into a glowing white gateway. Every question they had remained unanswered as they hesitantly took steps towards the gateway. Aerith said something about freedom, but Cloud could hardly hear her over the wind and cries of the planet. Freedom.... From what? From the fate that lies before them? From the shadows? From Sephiroth? He couldn’t begin to guess the answer to such an ominous question.

The road before them was set, though. They had to enter into... Whatever was inside that gateway. Whatever waited for them on the other side, they had to end it. Cloud led the way. He stretched out his hand in front of him and hesitantly stepped inside of the light, feeling himself become engulfed by it.

When they exited from the other side, the world around him looked exactly the same. The hair on the back of his neck stood, as if he sensed danger, but nothing was visible yet. No Sephiroth, no shadows, nothing. It was Midgar, as if nothing had happened.

Suddenly, a purple aura began to swarm above him. The whispers began to flock around it, their forces being enough to create a tornado. Before any of them realized it, they were swept up high into the sky. When Cloud’s eyes opened again, he was staring down at Midgar, the lights of the cities nearly blinding him. For once, the numbness that had taken over him disappeared, the weight of this life-or-death situation hitting him hard. He landed carefully on a floating platform, his eyes flicking up to the beginning formation of a giant black figure. The whispers crowded around this black hole, until it eventually formed into... An “Arbiter of Fate” as the others called it.

This was a battle of a lifetime. This was supposed to change everything. Was this how Cloud was supposed to save Aerith? There wasn’t much of a choice but to end this quickly. Cloud ended up being separated from the rest of the group for quite a bit, he was forced to fight off the Whispers that surrounded him. His mind screamed that he needed to find Aerith, it was like he had a sixth sense, that he knew she was in danger. He desperately fought off the rest of the Whispers, taking off towards the giant figure before him. As he approached it, the figure let out a loud and deafening cry. A throbbing pain shot through his brain, forcing him to fall over and grip his hair. The image of Aerith on that altar again flashed through his mind. He couldn’t take it anymore... He had to fix this.

Cloud forced himself up and ran through any visible pathways, the terrifying screams from the figure causing his head to pulse more. It wasn’t until he was reunited with Barret and Tifa that he was able to focus again. There wasn’t much conversation to be had, they all knew what they had to do.

That’s when the battle of fate began.

It seemed to last for ages. Cloud, Barret and Tifa fought with all of their strength until the giant Arbiter was weakened. Finally seeing some progress, they were about to continue on, until a familiar voice called out to them. The three of them turned to see Aerith and Red XIII running towards them. Cloud felt relief washing over him, he wanted to reach out and embrace her, but there wasn’t any time for that.

Before another word could be spoken, a light emitted from the Arbiter. The moment Cloud’s eyes closed to shield his eyes from it, a different vision appeared. This wasn’t Aerith, it was Red instead...? What could that possibly mean?

When his eyes opened again, he saw a giant arm falling towards them. Thinking quickly, he dove out of the way. Once again, him and Aerith were separated. He began to feel sick over it. It felt like he had static in his head as he turned to continue fighting. It was getting harder and harder to fight.

After another long time of fighting, another bright light formed from the palm of the demonic Arbiter. It once again engulfed him, but this vision was different from the previous two. A giant meteor raged its way into the Earth, the flames of it destroying everything in the proximity of the blast.

Cloud’s stomach twisted uncomfortably as he returned from his dazed state. Is this really what the future holds? The end of the world? How does Aerith play into this? There were so many answers racing through his mind that wouldn’t be answered for now. All he could do was push on with fighting and ask questions later.

The battle was almost finished. Red and Barret were fending off the Arbiter at the front lines while Cloud, Aerith and Tifa finished off the rest of the Whispers. With each hit, Cloud felt himself getting closer to the end of the tunnel. Surprisingly though, this didn’t feel like the end.

The moment the last blast from Barret hit the Arbiter, there was another burst of light. Cloud’s eyes fell shut, the light nearly blinding him as he held his hand up towards it.

It felt like time had stopped around him. He was no longer at Destiny’s Crossroads. He was... Somewhere else. His eyes adjusted to the bright white surrounding him. It looked like he was in some forest, a small lake washing up at his feet. A sense of dread formed in his chest as he looked around, his eyes landing on two figured in the middle of the lake. He called out to them, his voice cracking from the anxiety filling his veins. Cloud began to run towards them, fighting against the water as he attempted to reach them. Before his hand could barely brush on the shoulder of the standing figure, his eyes flew open again.

He was back on the battlefield, a sick feeling in his stomach as he watched the Arbiter slowly fall and dissipate. The light from the Arbiter surrounded them, engulfing them into a white vortex. It was... Oddly calm. Perhaps this was considered “the calm before the storm.” Before he knew it, the white vortex was slowly taken over by an orange fire. In front of them, the vortex quickly disappeared and was replaced by the envisioned meteor, the flames from it causing Cloud’s skin to burn. This scene was exactly like the one from the simulation in Shinra, except... More real. The wind coming off of the meteor entering the atmosphere cased several tornadoes around them, it was hard to continue standing with that kind of force fighting against them. The fire emitting off of the meteor and the land around them was blinding, Cloud could barely see the shadow forming before it.

Suddenly, shadows poured out of the fires, all of them flowing into a purple light shining from the figure. It resembled a snake, the way that all the shadows and fire were sucked up in an orderly line into the heart of the figure. The chaos that surrounded them was gone as quickly as it started, nothing was left but the wreckage from their first fight and the strange silver-haired figure. As Cloud stared at it, realization hit him. “Sephiroth...” He hissed, feeling his heart sink at the sight of that damned twisted smirk.

The former-SOLDIER stared down at him, his cat-like eyes examining each of them, finding every weakness and strength within seconds. No words needed to be spoken to know how terrifying this man was. His gaze alone could strike fear into anyone who dared to look. With a slow lift of his hand, the top of the Shinra building, currently lost in limbo, floated above their heads. With the motion of his hand, it flew down at the group. Each of them took off in different directions, dodging the assault.

Once again, they were separated. Cloud couldn’t see anyone through the chaos. He dodged each piece of the wreckage thrown at him, until he finally landed on a stable platform. In front of him, the silver haired male slowly descended from the sky, the air around them growing intense. Not a single word was spoken between them before Cloud attacked. He’s had enough of everything. Enough of fighting, enough of these visions, enough of fate in general. If this was how it was going to end, then so be it.

The fighting lasted for so long, he had forgotten about almost everything. It wasn’t until the rest of the group stepped in that he backed off from offensive fighting. With everyone there, fighting got considerably easy. It seemed that all of them were frustrated and ready to be over with this battle, emotions were high and adrenaline was pumping. Maybe this wasn’t so much of a lost cause after all.

The battle quickly turned around. Avalanche pushed against Sephiroth, fighting him back until he was making desperate moves. It wasn’t like him to fight desperately like this, could this mean progress? Sephiroth somehow was quickly overwhelmed, forcing him to back off. The final hit was landed by Aerith, a strong and mastered thunder spell discharged from her staff. Sephiroth suddenly split into many Whispers, all of them acting erratically. With a burst of light, the world around them was destroyed, and they were all returned to their dimension, right at the end of the highway where they left off.

...Except for one.

When Cloud’s eyes opened again, he was faced with a beautiful scenery of the universe, the stars in the sky unmoving, as if the world had stopped turning. As he stood there, he focused on the galaxy, until he heard footsteps beside him. Quickly, he grabbed his sword and faced the ex-war hero again, his glare hardening as the other moved closer.

Before Cloud could open his mouth to say anything, the agonizing pain from his visions pounded through his head. He reached to grip onto his hair again, but was stopped by the burning sensation of Sephiroth gripping his hand. He tugged against the grip, but found it useless as his mind raced from the pain. His head slowly lifted, their gazes meeting. Cloud’s insides twisted painfully from the crazed look in Sephiroth’s eyes.

There was no conversation to be had. Cloud ripped his arm out of Sephiroth’s grip as soon as the pain became manageable and backed away, holding up his sword towards Sephiroth. He couldn’t explain why he began to listen to Sephiroth. It was hard to hear him over the pulsing in his ears. One line stuck out to him specifically, though. “Let us defy destiny... Together.” He backed away and hesitated. Destiny... Aerith flashed through his mind. That’s right. He was momentarily blinded, but the goal was to save Aerith, wasn’t it? He shook his head and glared at Sephiroth.

Yet another fight broke out. Granted, this one wasn’t as extreme as the previous ones, Sephiroth seemed to get bored fairly quickly. The moment Cloud lost his sword, Sephiroth should have killed him. He should have been dead. So why didn’t Sephiroth kill him?

“Seven seconds till the end.” His voice was close. “Time enough for you. Perhaps.” Cloud couldn’t move, all he could do was listen. “But what will you do with it? Let’s see.” The presence behind him was gone. When Cloud turned, all that was left was a black feather, slowly floating to the ground behind him.

All it took was another blink for Cloud to return to the highway. His eyes opened to see the sun beginning to rise. As his eyes fell down to his hand, he saw the same feather in it that Sephiroth had on his wing. Staring at the feather caused an unmeasurable amount of anger to swell inside of him. Memories of his past, of what Sephiroth did to him and the rest of the world flash in his mind. His mother was gone because of Sephiroth, Nibleheim is gone because of Sephiroth. He gripped the feather and watched it dissipate into a shadowy substance, blowing away in the wind. It was time to go after Sephiroth and finish this for good.

On their way to Kalm, the others seemed to grow more and more concerned for Cloud. After that last battle, he seemed to be more... Unstable. His need to protect Aerith, as well as kill Sephiroth seemed to haunt him. No one knew where this hatred seemed to come from, they didn’t know of the visions that harassed him at every waking moment. He hardly let Aerith out of his sights, any creature they came to face, Cloud was shielding her or making up some kind of excuse for her to not fight.

Tifa was the first to notice. She’d never actually witness Cloud being like this towards anyone. She knew there was something more than just a petty crush. She couldn’t quite place her finger on it, but she knew that there was something more at play.

Any time Tifa questioned him about it, the conversation would always end quickly. Even if it was a simple “Are you okay?”, Cloud would always deflect it and usually ask her in return. She couldn’t explain how it made her feel. She was worried and concerned for both Cloud and Aerith. He knew something that everyone else didn’t.

It was true. The visions of Aerith’s death, the visions they received from the great battle against fate still played over and over in his mind. They were no longer painful, but instead, they were calling out to him. They were calling for a change. But how...? He felt sick whenever he thought about the end of the world.

There seemed to be an uncomfortable and tense air around the group now. It was hard to explain, but it was pretty obvious that some of them were keeping secrets. It wasn’t until they reached Kalm that it was brought up. Cloud ended up being pushed into a corner, the group wanted to know why they were going after Sephiroth, apart from the obvious reasons. They assumed that there were more personal reasons as well, considering Cloud and Tifa had spoken about their hatred for him.

Cloud had no choice but to open up about the events of Nibleheim. He recited everything he could remember, from embarking to Nibleheim, to arriving to the town. He explained Sephiroth’s quick descent into insanity, outlining the events in order. He told the story honestly, but Tifa was quick to notice that the story was full of holes. Holes as big as forgetting an entire person all together. She didn’t know how to bring it up, but Cloud seemed to be completely unaware of this. Could this be why he’s acting so odd?

The group felt so out of sync on their way forward. Cloud seemed extremely paranoid and worried, while Tifa seemed to trust him less yet become more concerned. Aerith seemed to know the most out of everyone, yet she refused to let in on those secrets. The tension between them all caused many failed battles and uncomfortable silences.

Eventually, after being led by Red XIII, they arrived to Cosmo Canyon. They all seemed to separated Red XIII- or Nanaki running off to greet his old family, Barret reminiscing on his past teammates, and Aerith going to visit the elders of the village. Cloud began to follow her, but was promptly stopped by Tifa. Her eyes held a gleam of concern and worry as she stood before him. “Cloud... Are you... Nevermind, I’m too afraid to ask.” She admitted, turning away from him. Her discomfort was quite obvious.

Cloud frowned as he looked down at her. “What is it?” He asked, reaching out to her. He hesitated and pulled his hand back, biting his lip.

Tifa turned to look back at him, a slightly nervous expression on her features now. “Are you sure you’re alright?” She asked, knowing that she’ll get the same answer as before.

A slightly suspicious look formed on Cloud’s expression. He knew there was more to it, but Tifa was too stubborn to allow herself to say it. Before he could really answer, Tifa took his hesitant silence as an answer and excused herself. Their relationship was so estranged now. Where did it go wrong?

When he turned back to go after Aerith, his eyes scanned the premise of the town. There was no sign of her. Surely, she’ll be alright. He couldn’t help the anxious feeling in his chest, though.

The group met back up at a campfire that night. The flames from the fire slowly floated up into the sky, the warmth gently washing over them. All of them were silent for the most part, no one dared to say anything. Everyone, besides Nanaki, seemed to be tense.

Cloud moved to sit next to Aerith, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he tried to find something to say. She eventually began conversation. “I spoke to the village elders today.” She began, fiddling with the bracelets on her wrists. “They told me that I’m the last Ancient... Or Cetra.” She murmured, a pained expression crossing her features for a moment. “They told me what I have to do... To stop Sephiroth.” She whispered, her voice so low that Cloud almost missed it.

He looked over at her, noticing a determined look in her eyes. She was talking about the meteor, wasn’t she? Cloud wasn’t sure anymore. Aerith seemed to know more than anyone else.

The next day, the group began to set off once again to find Sephiroth. Aerith said that they had to go to this... Temple. Cloud felt his stomach drop at the mention. This wouldn’t be the place where she...? He couldn’t push those thoughts out of his mind. Is the end for her almost here?

Fortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case. As they approached the Temple, Cloud could feel the anxiety in his chest never going away, but Aerith seemed to be optimistic. There seemed to be whispers in the wind as they walked, the language of the Ancients flowing through the air. He didn’t understand many of the words, but he continued hearing the same phrase over and over again. “Black materia.”

They entered the top of the Temple, only to see an old rival before them. Tseng’s hand was pressed to his torso, fresh blood coating his hand. A gasp escaped Aerith’s lips as she looked down at the bleeding-out man. “What happened?” She asked, unsure of what to do. She couldn’t forget the years of torment she faced from him and his colleagues, but she still cared about him regardless.

“Sephiroth happened.” He muttered, a cough followed by a groan leaving his lips. A conflicted expression formed on his features when he saw Cloud, hesitation crossing his features. “I’ll be fine. You need to go further in.” He grumbled, pushing himself up. Aerith seemed hesitant at first, but decided to push on.

With the help of her Cetra powers, finding their way through the Temple was quite easy compared to the Turks. It was much further in when they began to find traces of Sephiroth. As they carried on, Aerith learned more and more about the Temple, the Ancient race, and about her duty as the final Cetra.

Cloud felt conflicted when it came down to the remaining circumstances. He had come to terms of the fact that Aerith's death in the visions resulted in her ultimately sacrificing herself. She was sacrificing herself for humanity, for the world. Cloud, out of everyone, knew that they didn't deserve it. He felt angry with himself for these selfish thoughts, but he didn't care what happened in the end.

He only wanted Aerith to stay alive.

During their journey through the temple, a voice called out to him. An awful pain shot through his head as he stumbled slightly. It was like time around him had completely stopped. When he turned to look at the source of the voice, a chill ran down his spine suddenly.

There, in front of him, was a standing figure, a cloak covering most of his body. Most of his face was not visible, but the large "2" tattooed onto his cheekbone stood out among everything else.

Cloud was at a loss of words. Something about this creature's presence made him weary. The Jenova clone stood there in silence, except for a quiet groaning. Finally, it spoke.

"There is still time to change the future." It explained, causing Cloud to be taken aback. "Not all is lost."

Cloud took a step forward, reaching for his sword. "What are you talking about?" He hissed, glaring at the clone. Cloud knew that it was talking about Aerith, but he needed to be sure.

The clone simply gestured to Aerith. "You have seen the visions. She knows what she must do, but you want to change fate." It spoke, the voice echoing through the temple. "Because of your battle against fate, you have been granted another chance. It is your decisions that will save her." It continued, gesturing to Aerith. "Your time begins now." It stated, before vanishing.

Cloud returned to reality once more, everything that had just happened seeming to be nothing more than just another vision. He winced in pain and gripped his head, massaging away the intense pain. What was he supposed to do to save Aerith? Why couldn't he get a proper answer from anyone?

Eventually, he carried on through the Temple. Aerith unlocked the secrets of it one by one, until they reached a room near the bottom of the temple. Several prophecies were depicted by art on the wall, most of it seeming to be events that were to happen. Cloud felt his stomach turn at the sight of the meteor. Why was any of this happening?

Suddenly, a sinister chuckle came from behind him. Cloud quickly turned, his eyes landing on the long sword held by the former SOLDIER. Sephiroth... Why was he here? Cloud pulled out his sword, ready to fight him, but felt himself unable to move. A sick feeling formed in his head as Sephiroth’s words rung in his ears. He couldn’t seem to focus. Blinded by rage, when Sephiroth disappeared, he ran off after him to finish all of this now.

But something happened. Something was wrong. Cloud slowly came to a stop as voices from different people rang in his head. “You wish to change fate, don’t you?” Sephiroth’s voice mocked. He stood there frozen, clenching the sword in his hand as he tried to fight the pull from Sephiroth.

“You must change fate. Save Aerith to save the planet.” The voice of the cloaked man restated. Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in his head, causing him to lurch over and groan. His eyes fell to the picture of meteor on the wall.

“Give me the black materia.” Sephiroth’s voice commanded. No... No, Cloud couldn’t. He couldn’t give it to him. He didn’t know where it was. The black materia was Meteor. “Let us take the planet together.” Sephiroth urged. Cloud felt weakened.

Once Aerith and the others caught up to him, they froze. Cloud was... Laughing? No, more like cackling. He kept muttering things under his breath, something like “black materia” or “meteor.” Aerith hesitantly took a step towards him. “Cloud..?” She called out, preparing to back away if necessary. When she didn’t get a response, she desperately reached out for him. “Cloud! Pull yourself together!” She cried.

Cloud seemed to snap out of it immediately. The voices were gone, Sephiroth and the cloaked man were no longer fighting within his mind. He slowly turned towards the others and stared at them in confusion. After confirming that he was okay, Aerith decided to take the lead from now on. They gathered at what seemed to be an altar at the end of the room, the words “B.L.A.C.K.M.A.T.E.R.I.A.” written on the top of the artifact. Cloud hesitantly reached out to grab it, but was stopped by Aerith immediately.

“This isn’t the actual black materia. The temple is.” She stated, looking at the stone tablet. “In order to remove it, we’ll have to have someone stay inside and solve the puzzles until it reveals itself.” Aerith explained, shaking her head. “It’s... Very dangerous.”

“Then how are we supposed to get it out?” Tifa asked before anyone else could. Aerith seemed to think for a moment, before slowly shaking her head.

“I’m not sure. If one of us stays behind, we’ll more than likely be crushed.” She explained, frowning. “We can’t risk it.”

Cloud shook his head and took a step closer to the tablet. “But we can’t let Sephiroth or Shinra get their hands on it.” He argued, furrowing his brows. As if it were perfect timing, at the end of the hall, there were some footsteps.

From the flickering shadows of the flames, a small... Cat appeared. The group stared down at it in both confusion and wonder, collectively trying to figure out if they were actually awake or not. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. But don’t worry. I’ll do it!” The cat explained, giving them all a thumbs up.

Cloud stared down at the cat, before looking at the others and shrugging. “It’s not like we have a better choice.” He mentioned, causing Aerith to frown and look over at him.

“But you’ll die, won’t you?” She asked, looking down at it. The cat shrugged.

“I’ll come back, don’t worry!” He replied slightly ominously. It seemed hesitant to give out any secrets for now. The group weighed the options for a moment, before agreeing to trust the cat.

They returned back to the outside of the Temple, leaving the cat inside by itself. They all seemed to share the same guilt when it came to allowing the cat to sacrifice itself, but it seemed to not mind.

As they watched from the outside, the air around the Temple adopted a dark color, the ground shook as it began to shrink in size. Eventually, the Temple was gone, replaced by a giant pit with the black materia resting at the bottom. Cloud and Aerith shared a quick glance, before rushing down to the bottom of it. Once it was safely in Cloud’s hands, a sigh of relief left his lips. “We’ve won, then, right? Sephiroth can’t use meteor.” He explained, looking over at Aerith.

Suddenly, the same wave of sickness hit him again. The voices began to ring in his head. His eyes went void as he stared past Aerith. Those voices circled around him, taunting him. It was the same messages, but Sephiroth slowly began to overpower the voice of the cloaked man. He found it impossible to fight the urge of Sephiroth.

It felt like everything was in slow motion again as Cloud turned to face Sephiroth. With the black materia in hand, he began to take slow and unsteady steps. Another voice screamed at him from the back of his mind. It was so familiar yet...

“No! Stop!” It cried, fighting off Sephiroth’s commands. “Don’t do this!” It begged. Cloud could hear it barely. It was drowned out by the power of Sephiroth’s voice. You could hear the smirk as he spoke. Eventually, everyone’s voice but Sephiroth’s was gone. Before the black materia was placed in Sephiroth’s hands, Cloud barely caught a glimpse of himself- his younger self- standing and watching in pure fear.

Cloud finally snapped out of it when his eyes landed on the black materia again. It was no longer in his hands, rather, it was now in Sephiroth’s. Everyone had a look of shock, confusion, and betrayal on their faces. Before anyone could think to react, Sephiroth was gone in an instance, leaving all of them there without the black materia.

“I gave him... The black materia..?” Cloud whispered. Aerith, still slightly weary, took a step closer to Cloud.

“It isn’t your fault.” She encouraged, gently placing a hand on Cloud’s shoulder.

He flinched, a slightly crazed look in his eyes. No. No, no, no no no. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t right. He couldn’t think for himself. He fought as he slowly turned towards Aerith, he fought against himself as he began to take steps towards her. He couldn’t understand what was happening until Cloud finally lunged at her.

That was the last thing he remembered from that day.

Cloud ended up waking up in a dream state, his eyes fluttering open and greeted by what seemed to be a forest. Slowly, as he sat up, he noticed a girl running among the trees. She stopped once Cloud stood up, slowly turning towards him. “Aerith...” He whispered quietly, his voice shaking. The guilt of what happened the previous day consumed him as she approached him. “I’m sorry.” He choked out, frowning down at the floor.

The girl simply smiled and shook her head. “It wasn’t your fault.” She said, clasping her hands together. “I’m going to the City of the Ancients. I can stop Sephiroth.” She explained, looking up at Cloud. “Trust me, okay? I’ll come back once it’s over.”

Cloud couldn’t do that. He couldn’t sit back and let her leave like that. He had to save her, right? Or was there more to it? A very faint and unrecognizable voice rang in his head. “We must stop that girl soon.” It said.

When he woke up, he saw both Barret and Tifa standing over him. Cloud knew he couldn’t go to the City of Anicents. If he did, Aerith would be in more trouble than without him there. Barret and Tifa refused to listen, they kept pushing him. He had to go. But why?

The cloaked man’s words kept running through his mind. “You must save Aerith.” It didn’t make sense. How was he supposed to save Aerith if all he did was keep hurting her? How was he supposed to do it if he can’t get near her? Conflict quickly formed within himself. Does he stay behind and give Aerith a better chance to survive while casting Holy? Or does he go and save Aerith from whatever fate awaits them at the Capital? How has fate changed since that battle in Midgar? There were so many unanswered questions.

The journey to the Ancient City took forever. Or maybe that was the anxiety speaking. Cloud wasn’t sure how much time had passed by the time they had arrived, all he knew was that he had to find Aerith as quickly as possible. Something inside of him knew that this was the beginning of the end. Aerith was going to die soon, and it would all be his fault, wouldn’t it?

Cloud never really thought about praying before. He never really offered much to the planet in terms of the religious aspect, so this was the first time he really prayed. He prayed that fate had actually changed, that the battle in Midgar actually meant something. He prayed that time wasn’t up and Aerith was still going to be safe when they arrived. He prayed that the cloaked man they met in the Temple was right.

When they finally arrived in the Temple, Cloud didn’t stop running. He descended all the way to the bottom, he ran until his legs threatened to give out. His breathing was staggered as he finally arrived to the altar, his eyes landing on the safe and healthy Aerith. She stayed still as she prayed on her knees, her hands clasped together. She seemed to be focusing everything into praying, allowing Cloud to slowly make his way onto the altar.

The moment his foot was placed on the white marble, he felt himself growing dizzy again. No... No, not again. Not here. He silently begged Sephiroth to leave. With what remaining power he had, he pushed himself off of the platform, desperately turning away to stop himself.

The group seemed to notice that something was wrong, Barret was the first to react by grabbing Cloud and pushing him back. It worked well, but Cloud still didn’t feel like himself. It was only a matter of time before he lost it again. Was this Sephiroth controlling him? If that’s the case, where was Sephiroth?

His eyes shot up towards the light coming from the top of the Temple, a small black figure standing far above them all. His eyes widening as realization. This was it. This was what his visions have been this entire time. Aerith was going to die if he didn’t do something about it now.

Still being pushed down by Barret, panic filled his veins quickly. Adrenaline began to pump through him as he fought against the grip. He cried out for Aerith, he kicked and pushed Barret, trying to get him to understand that it was him. It was Cloud. Why couldn’t he speak? Why were his words not making sense?

The light reflected off of Masamune, nearly blinding Cloud as he pushed back against Barret. Sephiroth stepped off of the platform, holding Masamune up and beginning to fall right above Aerith.

No, no, no, Aerith was going to die and all he could do was watch. A pained groan left his lips as he struggled against Barret. Why didn’t they understand he was Cloud? He needed to save Aerith!

Sephiroth could see his victory just before him. A sick smirk was on his face as he fell towards Aerith. The end of his sword was so close to Aerith. A few more seconds and the world would be his.

There was hardly any time for anyone to react. Aerith looked over at the group, a smile on her face. She was proud of what she’s done. She saved the world from Meteor. She fulfilled her duty as the last Cetra. So why was Cloud screaming at her? Confusion formed in her features as she noticed another figure moved behind the group.

Cloud’s eyes followed her gaze, his eyes widening at the sight of... No way.

With quick movements, the figure made it barely in time to block Sephiroth’s attack, guiding his blade away from Aerith. A cry of fear left her lips as she backed away, causing Barret to finally let go of Cloud. He rushed to Aerith’s side, quickly guiding her off of the altar before turning towards the figure that faced Sephiroth.

Without a single moment of hesitation, Cloud was right there next to him, prepared to fight for his life to protect Aerith. Sephiroth, seeming to be uninterested in a formal fight, narrowed his eyes at the figure. “It’s been a long time since we’ve met.” He pointed out, looking down at the group beneath the altar. He noticed the way they tensed and protected Aerith, causing him to scoff. Fighting here would be a waste of time. Instead, he prepared to summon another Jenova. His eyes fell onto the figure for a moment, a slight glint of recognition in his eyes. “How did you manage to survive?” He hissed, before taking off, leaving behind the growing Jenova monster.

After the group fought it off, Cloud couldn’t feel Sephiroth’s influence anymore. A sigh of relief left his lips as the monster disintegrated. Slowly, he turned to face the rest of them, a sense of relief washing over him when he saw Aerith. Quickly, he rushed over and embraced Aerith suddenly, his brows furrowing. “I’m sorry.” He whispered hesitantly, his voice cracking.

Aerith pulled away slowly and shook her head. “You have no reason to be sorry.” She explained, smiling warmly. Cloud felt his heart melt at the sight. “It wasn’t your fault.” She reminded, encouragingly squeezing his shoulder.

He nodded hesitantly, unsure of how he should respond. His brows furrowed as he turned away. Cloud knew he would always feel guilty for what he’s done to Aerith, regardless of if it was his fault or not.

“Oh, Cloud.” Tifa called out to him, turning towards him. The rest of the group was in the middle of thanking the stranger who came to help. “You should come thank him as well.” She suggested, moving out of the way.

Cloud’s eyes widened at the sight of the person. This was no stranger. No... This was...

His heart swelled suddenly, Cloud stumbled back in both shock and confusion. Before him stood the man he watched die on that hill outside of Midgar. He was healthy, he looked as if that day had never happened. But dead people don’t come back to life, right? “Zack..?” He whispered, his voice weak in disbelief.

The man opened his arms for him, nodding slowly. “Hey, Cloud. Been a while, hasn’t it?” He asked, offering Cloud his signature grin. Cloud barely hesitated as he ran towards Zack, embracing him and sobbing into his chest. Zack let out a quiet ‘oof’ at the borderline tackle, ruffling the blond’s head. “I’ve been worried.” He whispered, wrapping his arms around Cloud.

Cloud sobbed into his chest, his brows furrowing. This felt so real, but he didn’t understand how it wasn’t a dream. His fingers gripped his shirt as he shook his head in disbelief. “How... How did you do this? How are you here? Where have you been?” He questioned, wiping away his face.

Zack raised a brow. “I got you back to Midgar. Don’t you remember? We became mercenaries together, but got separated during one of our jobs.” He explained as if it was obvious.

Cloud hesitated. This wasn’t his Zack... Or, at least, it didn’t seem to be that way. He glanced at Aerith, hoping for some kind of answer, but she simply placed one of her fingers to her lips. “Right... I remember now.” He answered, nodding slowly. “We should get out of here.” He explained, moving off the topic.

When they exited the temple, Cloud turned towards Aerith, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Mind catching me up?” He asked, looking over at the girl.

“Fate changed. The day we fought that battle in Midgar changed more than just the future. It saved the fate of some and ruined the future of others.” She explained, looking up at Cloud. “There were more factors at play than I expected though... How long have you been having visions?” Aerith asked, raising a brow.

“Since we met.” He confessed. “How long have you known?” He asked in returned, looking down at her.

“When you came into the temple.” She replied, nodding lightly. “I never expected Zack to come back to life... Especially since he has false memories as well.” She explained, biting her lip. “I hope this doesn’t cause problems for the future.” Aerith sighed, looking over at Zack, who was in the middle of telling Tifa this crazy story about an adventure him and Cloud went on.

Cloud hesitated and nodded slowly. “I see... We’ll just have to carry on for now, right?” He asked, looking back at Aerith. For him, it felt like his mission was complete. Aerith was alive, fate has changed once again. Now, all that was left was Sephiroth.

She nodded slowly. “We will. Are you ready to face Sephiroth for good?” She asked, looking up at him. By now, the others seemed to be listening as well.

Cloud looked between all of them, before furrowing his brows and nodding. “Let’s mosey.” He replied, glaring up at the top of the Temple.

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