#but death pokes at my head during the day and i lose my already unsteady focus in an effort not to cry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oatsn-honey · 4 years

Text

coughing fits, thick blankets, and mario kart

for @cafeaulate_ on instagram!!

masterlist

ao3

summary: "Kageyama, Shouyou is really sick."When Hinata gets sick on a day off, Kageyama somehow winds up being tasked with caring for him. He has one thing to say -- that boy is a new kind of stubborn. And he's kinda cute. Okay so maybe two things.

notes: this is for my bestie uwu!! for years she tried to get me into haikyuu and i just would not budge!! i wish i had listened to her sooner, because i love these boys sm i swear. i started watching it when i rlly needed a creative pick up, and it came in at the most perfect time-i hope u enjoy!

Kageyama dragged a hand down his face, sighing exasperatedly as he glared at the defiant highschooler in front of him. Why did I think this would be a good idea, again? He groaned before trying again, “Hinata, please, you’ve got to eat something.” Despite his insistence, the redhead would just not listen to reason, turning away from him in his mountain of blankets upon the couch.

“Oh, Kageyama, what a sweet boy you are!” Hinata’s mother, a darling woman, had told him earlier that day, thanking him profusely, little Natsu bouncing in her arms. It was Friday, but a holiday, and she still had to work, and Natsu was still expected at daycare. Normally, something so trivial as leaving your teenage son at home wouldn’t be a worrisome thought, but Shouyou was terribly, horribly sick.

Kageyama couldn’t necessarily blame her for worrying about her child, especially considering how he was. “You can expect me back by 7:30! I left my number on a slip of paper on the countertop -- call me for anything, Kageyama.” Was it too late to call her and say that she chose the wrong person? That he was just as troublesome, just as difficult, as her son? Probably, he reasoned.

Breathing deeply, practicing what Sugawara had taught him for when he got riled up during a game, Kageyama approached the small bundle on the couch, speaking gentler than earlier, “Hinata, would you please try and eat something? Your mom made you some soup and she put me in charge of making sure you get something to eat.” Big brown eyes, bloodshot and clouded with fever, turned to look up at him as he hovered over the sofa. Jackpot. Kageyama got lucky -- using Hinata’s mother had been a rewarding play.

So, obviously, it had taken some coaxing, but now Hinata was seated in a dinner chair in the kitchen, that obnoxiously thick blanket that he had been clinging to all day wrapped around his small shoulders. Humming softly to himself (something that makes him feel oddly and uncomfortably domestic), Kageyama warmed some of the soup over the stove before ladeling it into two adorable bowls, decorated with small cat characters that reminded the setter of ‘Natsu’s’ bento.

“Eat up,” Kageyama declared, setting the bowl in front of the shivering Hinata, who honestly looked like death had warmed over him. He had sunken so far down into his chair that his head had nearly disappeared underneath the table. “Eat,” Kageyama insisted, sitting down with an aggressive huff.

“‘M not hung’y though,” Hinata argued weakly, his congestion making him sound strange and closer to Natsu’s age than a highschooler.

The taller boy’s eyes narrowed. “You have to eat -- ‘else you won’t heal and then won’t get to play volleyball.” Kageyama had struck a soft spot (knowingly, of course), and Hinata stared down at the murky broth, face blanched, as he took his spoon into a quivering hand.

After several agonizing minutes, Hinata had eaten a satisfactory meal -- as Kageyama deemed fit -- which amounted to a measly 8 spoonfuls. The decoy’s face had taken on a greenish tint, and perspiration spotted his forward, where his brows were pressed closed together. Patting the smaller teen’s head, Kageyama took the bowl away and began swiftly washing the dishes.

Eventually, they found their way back to the couch. Kageyama settled at one end, Hinata curling up at the other, resuming his huddled position amongst a fort of blankets. The TV played softly, Kageyama watching whatever was on mindlessly while Hinata dozed off, snoring softly, his breaths rattling in his chest.

Not too much longer after that, Kageyama was startled from his daze by a small, pained groan. He looked over at Hinata sleepily, who was clutching at his head, rubbing at his temples. “You good?” The raven-haired boy prodded quietly, tapping at Hinata’s leg gently.

“‘S my head,” He whined between bated breaths, each one catching in his inflamed lungs.

“Come here,” Kageyama beckoned, leaning forward to help Hinata sit up. The redhead flashed him a sceptical look, somewhere between curious, pained, concerned -- constipated, that’s what the expression was. (At least to Kageyama.) The taller boy guided his partner back down, his head coming to rest on Kageyama’s lap. He unfurled the blanket over the sick boy’s quivering body, smiling gently as he snuggled up to the welcomed warmth. Tenderally, he began carding his long fingers through those monstrous tufts of hair, the strands poking out in all directions -- an untamed beast, but unbelievably soft nonetheless. His hair, despite its fiery tenacity to be unruly, was like clouds along Kageyama’s hands.

Hinata hummed in contentment, pushing back against Kageyama’s fingers. However, after several minutes of a gentle, lulling peace, the ministrations had begun losing their effect, and Hinata was flinching at the pounding headache reintroducing itself, his brows furrowing once again. His body grew tenser, and his small hands, fingers wrapped in bandages, clutched at the blankets. “Hey, what’s the matter?” Kageyama stiffened, his voice urgent and oddly panicked.

“Still hurts,” Hinata breathed, jaw quivering just slightly, eyes clenched shut. Fleeting fingers met his temples and began to rub small, familiar circles. The calluses on Kageyama’s fingers, well earned after years of rigorous training and dedication, were peculiarly soothing as they ran over the soft skin of Hinata’s face. Thankfully, after a short while, the small boy finally relaxed enough for sleep to once again invade his senses. His unsteady breathing abated Kageyama’s worry, and eventually he too was able to relax into Hinata’s warmth.

A persistent, but feeble, poking at his jawline is what brings Kageyama back from his tranquil snooze. Before he has time to crack his eyelids open, anxiety is causing his stomach to sink and his mind is racing. Oh god, what’s wrong- Then he feels that reassuring weight settled atop his legs, and his heart rate slows and the panic is dissipating. “Yama?” The small, croaky voice is what allows him to finally breathe.

“Yeah, Hinata?” He peeked open his sapphire eyes and blinked down at the boy staring expectantly up at him. “What’s up?” He lifted his long arms above his head, stretching. He considers himself fortunate that Hinata doesn’t comment on the small squeak that escapes him.

“I’m bored -- will you play Mario Kart with me?” Kageyama knew that Hinata could be random, but he surely wasn’t expecting… that question. “Pleaseeee,” Hinata drawled, making to sit up, only for a small coughing fit to erupt and rack his body, leaving him clutching at his chest.

“Woah, woah,” Now fully awake, Kageyama surged forward, bracing Hinata’s shoulders. After the bout had subsided Hinata shook off Kageyama’s hands, desperately attempting to cooly catch his breath. “Hey now-,” The setter was interrupted by a pair of pleading eyes, staring sweetly up at him. For a moment, Kageyama was beyond confused, but realized what Hinata wanted. “Sure, I’d love to play.”

So, the esteemed first-year genius of Karasuno found himself playing Mario Kart on Hinata’s Wii, the unmanageable decoy still curled into his side for warmth, doing his best to sound menacing whenever he hurled (very, extremely weak) insults at Kageyama, even though his voice broke in a million places and continuously gave out. Already, 4 rounds of Grand Prix had passed, and the countdown for the last race of their 5th had just begun. “I’ll beat you for sure, Kageyama!” Hinata declared, straightening his back just a touch.

Each and every race, Kageyama had come in the top three. And Hinata had always come in dead last, all but once.

“Sure you will, Shorty.”

The race, taking place on the infamous and formidable Rainbow Road, finished with unsurprising results: Kageyama in 1st (naturally), and Hinata in 12th place. “Hmph, that’s what I thought,” The winner puffed, turning towards Hinata as the award ceremony played on screen.

That’s when he saw it: Hinata staring blankly at the TV, Wii remote limp in his hands, his cherry nose twitching upwards, tears swimming in his eyes.

“Hinata?!” Kageyama exclaimed, dropping his remote in shock. Hinata twisted to look at him, a teardrop clinging to the tips of his light lashes.

He spoke weakly, “You’re so mean, Bakageyama. You’re always better than me,” He sniveled, his face scrunched up. Suddenly, a small cry passed his lips, and a storm of fat tears were rolling down his face.

Placing his head in his hands, eyes blown wide and astonished, profanities flew rampant through Kageyama’s mind. “Hinata, I’m sorry,” He tried after calming his thoughts, but the smaller boy simply cried harder, passing off his apology -- it was a miracle he even made one, for heaven’s sake! After briefly pressing his eyes, Kageyama snatched the remote and shut off the obnoxious TV. He gave it another shot, “Hey, listen, if I had known that it was this important, I wouldn't have been so--” He bit his lip, using no restraint, when he accepted that Hinata wasn’t going to pay attention. He heaved a great sigh. “What can I do to make it better?”

Caramel eyes, glimmering with tears, peaked up through messy bangs. “Mean it?”

With a steadying breath, Kageyama answered in kind, “I mean it.”

“Can I get a hug? And go to bed?” Hinata appealed sheepishly, tucking the majority of his flushed (from fever, Kageyama supposed) face underneath the blanket.

Easy enough, Kageyama supposed as he opened his arms wide, expectantly. Chewing on the inside of his lip, face pressed and tight, Hinata shuffled forward and into his embrace. He exhaled shakily, clumsily, thankfully relaxing into Kageyama’s chest. The majority of his weight was released as his body lost all energy, and he smiled softly, the tears drying swiftly upon his pale, ever-so-slightly freckled cheeks.

It came to Kageyama with no surprise when Hinata began drifting off in his arms. Poking the decoy’s arm, Kageyama muttered, “To bed now?”

Still wrapped safely in the thick blanket, Kageyama guided Hinata throughout the house, hand gently (but firmly lest he stumble) on his teammate’s back. A slow journey later, they reached Hinata’s bedroom and the sick teenager was easily persuaded into bed, where Kageyama tenderly pulled the covers up to his chin. After a small cough, Hinata was long gone, snoring softly in that way that Kageyama once found tiresome, but now endeared him to his partner.

“You’re such a mess.” Kageyama came to murmur softly, warmly, brushing away the residual tears upon Hinata’s cheeks with caring fingertips. “Sweet dreams, sleepy head. Get well soon,” He whispered affectionately, closing the door to the boy who had miraculously wormed his way into Kageyama’s fortified heart.

i'm sorry if it's ooc, but i just finished the second season, so i may not have the most accurate grasps on their characters,, aha also obv hinata is more ooc than anything but! if u happened to read the tags, colds can actually activate that part of ur brain that makes u sad and depressed, and so it can cause mood swings! so that's where that bit of drama comes from- this idea came from when i was playing mario kart today and i started tearing up because i was losing lol (i have a pretty nasty cold rn,,,)

anywhosit! i hope u enjoyed reading and that it wasn't too painfully ooc! (i'm kinda worried my friend won't like it ahhh) pls comment if u want to share what u thought!

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#kagehina #kageyama tobio x hinata shouoyu #hinata x kageyama #kageyama x hinata #tobio x hinata #fluff #sickfic #hurt/comfort #snuggling #mario kart #haikyuu!! fanfiction #kagehina fanfiction

52 notes · View notes

family-business-one-shots · 7 years

Text

Stay

Relationship: SPN Cast X Sister!Reader

Words: 3,468

Summary: After fighting for so long, the Reader finally loses her battle to depression. But when she gets a visit from a little divine intervention, she’s able to see that everyone means something to the world.

Warnings: MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING!! Suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt (pretty graphic), self-hate, depression, lots of angst. Please, please, please read with caution.

Tagging: @mysaintsasinner @deathtonormalcy56

A/N: This is some super heavy stuff, guys. You’ve been warned.

A single tear traced your cheek, sliding around the curves of your tired features, before splashing quietly onto the paper below. With an unsteady hand, you placed the pen down on the counter, and stared unseeingly at the note in front of you.

This was it. Your final words. They would come in here, your friends, the men who had become your family, after everything was said and done, to clean out your trailer, and you hoped they would understand. Hoped they would read the note and see that this was for the best -- for everyone.

“Y/N?”

Jared’s booming voice startled you, your thoughts quickly becoming scattered as he pounded on the door. Your heart skipped a beat, panic chilling you to the bone. Hurriedly, you wiped away the tears that had pooled in your eyes.

“I-I’m in here!” you called, cursing the tremor in your voice. Just in the nick of time, you shoved everything away as Jared poked his head in the door. “Hey, what's up?”

By the look on his face you could tell he was in his work-minded mode. “Hey. The girls said they'll be ready for you in hair and makeup in, like, five minutes, so-- are you okay?” In an instant, his serious exterior melted to show the kind hearted and loving man underneath.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” you lied, knowing full well you were most definitely not fine. “Rehearsing for the big emotional scene today. I wanna get it perfect so we don't waste too much time.”

Jared looked at you skeptically, not entirely convinced that you were telling the truth. “You sure?”

Giving him a big nod, you put on the best fake smile you could. Though still a bit reluctant, he seemed to buy your happy act and stepped out to leave you alone.

As soon as the door shut, you dropped the façade and started getting to work. There was no time to lose -- if you didn't show up at the hair and makeup trailer you knew they'd come searching for you. You just hoped to god it wasn't one of the boys that found you.

The first order of business was making sure the note was set up properly. It had to be in a central spot in your trailer so that everyone's attention would be focused on it rather than you, thereby leaving you enough time to… implement your plan. After that was taken care of, all that was left was the simple matter of committing the act, actually going through with it.

No matter how much you thought about it, you couldn't bring yourself to call it for what it was.

You looked around your home away from home one last time, gaze lingering a little too long on the wall above the couch. It contained pictures, hundreds of pictures, of you with Jensen, with Jared, with Misha, with Mark, with members of the crew and guest stars, both past and present. They were scattered amid selfies taken with fans, photo ops from conventions, beautiful fan photographs taken at just the right moment during a panel, catching you mid-laugh or on the brink of tears. Your heart ached, remembering each and every one of those occasions as if they'd happened the day before. A sad smile settled on your face.

At last, the time had come. The battle was over. With this decision, you were waving the white flag. Surrendering to the demons that had for so long plagued your every waking minute. This was not Supernatural -- there'd be no coming back, no demon deals or daring angel rescues from Hell. This was real life, and you were ending yours.

The first incisions were already made, nice straight lines from your elbow to your wrist, and you listened to the dripping sounds as deep red liquid met pearly white bathroom tile. With each tiny splash, the pain intensified and the fog in your head grew heavier.

As if from a great distance away, you heard Jared and Jensen shout your name, knocking loudly to get your attention. Too late, you thought sluggishly, mere seconds before the door swung open, and in rushed the boys. They stopped dead, the sight of you sitting there overwhelming, and the realization of why crashing down on them like an enormous wave.

As you slowly slipped out of consciousness, eyes drooping ever lower, you began to lose awareness of your surroundings. An ambulance must have been on its way, because someone kept telling you to stay awake, but you didn't recognize the voice. At least, you didn't think you did. It was hard to tell through the haze.

The last clear image you saw before the darkness swallowed you was the anguished faces of Jensen, Jared, Mark, and Misha, looking on in growing distress.

The afterlife wasn't at all how you thought it would be. Not that you'd given it much thought, but you definitely hadn't been expecting what you saw. Or rather, what you didn't see.

Inky blackness filled your vision, seeming to stretch on for miles and stop a few feet away from you at the same time; even discerning your hand in front of your face was a challenge in and of itself. The silence in this strange place was deafening, making your ears ring, broken only by you.

“Hello?” you called out, voice echoing off walls you couldn't see. From behind you there came a sound like flapping wings, and you whipped around in surprise. For just a second you forgot to breathe.

“Misha?”

The man before you certainly looked like Misha and moved like Misha. His famous trench coat had a smattering of blood on the lapel, tie askew as always. As hard as you tried to convince yourself, though, you knew somewhere deep down that this was not Misha. And if he wasn't Misha, then he had to be… Castiel. The angel Castiel.

“I'm not your friend, Y/N,” he said, his gravelly voice tight with worry. “I'm sorry.”

Shocked at the revelation, you blurted out the first thing on your mind. “What are you doing here? I mean, you’re an angel. Why would an angel want anything to do with me?”

Castiel’s eyes met yours. “I’m here to bring you back.”

“Bring me back?” you asked, incredulous. “I did this to myself -- you’re a freaking angel, you should know that. What makes you think that I would ever want to stay in that hellhole?”

“Listen to me, please. You must stay. Thousands of lives will be unimaginably affected if you don't,” he practically begged.

Giving him a hard glare, you scoffed. “You must not be a very good angel, then. Let me get you up to speed -- I'm just a nobody. I mean nothing to this world. None of the fans of our show like me or my character. Do you know how many death threats I receive on a daily basis? In the hundreds. So trust me, I'm doing everyone a favor.”

“No. No, that's not true at all,” pleaded Castiel. He looked so upset that you didn't believe him. “Please Y/N. You have to understand. How can I make you understand?”

Then, like he was listening to something you couldn't hear, he titled his head. A look of confusion passed over his features, replaced quickly by one of understanding. Reaching two fingers out to touch you, he said, “Heaven demands I show you the consequences that would occur as a result of your loss.”

As his fingers made contact with your forehead, the black nothingness around you faded away.

You were standing, no -- floating above a cemetery where an enormous crowd had gathered. Thousands were packed into the fairly large space, standing shoulder to shoulder.

“What is this?” you demanded, turning to look at Castiel.

“Your funeral,” he answered simply. From your shocked expression, he seemed to register that he needed to explain. “Your death shocked the nation, and indeed many others around the world. Those closest to you, after having realized the number of people who wanted to be in attendance, decided to open the ceremony to anyone. This is only a small fraction of the millions impacted by your passing.”

A soft gasp escaped from you. Heading the large group were all of your friends -- Jensen and Jared, Mark and Misha, everyone from the crew and production team. The sight brought tears to your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

You shook your head in denial. “So what? This… this doesn’t prove anything! Of course people are sad at a funeral -- it’s a funeral! In a few months everyone’s lives will be back to normal and they won’t even miss me.” No sooner had the words left your mouth, the scene faded away.

With a start, you found yourself in one of the boys’ trailers. Looking up, you saw the two of them sitting next to each other and facing Clif, who was recording on a phone. A slideshow of photographs was playing on the TV behind their backs.

It was you.

They'd used everything from the collage on your wall. As the cycle came to an end, a message faded into the screen.

In loving memory of Y/N, a true hero.

“We want to thank you guys for another amazing season,” said Jensen, with a smile on his face that screamed of pride. “And what better way to do that than to launch the next Always Keep Fighting campaign?”

Jared took over for him. “This installment is dedicated to our friend and sister Y/N, who fought so hard for so long until she ultimately lost her battle with depression.

A portion of the proceeds will be donated to both IMAlive and To Write Love On Her Arms, both of which were very near and dear to her heart. Now, we struggled back and forth on what design we wanted…”

In a voice like a whisper, you spoke with wonder, tears spilling over before you could stop them. “They miss me. Even after a few months, they… they really do miss me.”

“No, Y/N, not a few months,” Castiel said earnestly. You looked back at him in confusion. “You've been gone for much longer. Try years. They never fully recovered, your friends and colleagues.”

“What? No, that’s… that can't be true!” you shouted, unaware that the trailer around you had disappeared.

The angel spoke with fervor, practically begging you to understand. “You must realize that it is true, Y/N. Your death will profoundly impact those you leave behind. Jared will blame himself, believing that had he noticed the signs sooner, he could have prevented your death. Jensen will throw himself so completely into his work that it will become detrimental to his wellbeing and the wellbeing of others around him.”

Shaking your head, you refused to believe him. This was all wrong. Everything was supposed to get better, everyone’s lives were supposed to improve without you.

Castiel’s eyes, those icy blue orbs you knew so well yet hardly recognized now, begged you, pleaded with you to listen, just listen to him. He sighed, defeat laced through his eternal features.

“I see,” he said softly, almost talking to himself rather than you. “I understand now.” With his eyes trained upwards, he nodded. “I know what I must do.”

As you opened your mouth to ask what the hell he was going on about, his fingers met your forehead, the whole world shifting as the two of you traveled through time and space once again.

Even before your feet landed on solid ground and that nauseous feeling subsided, you knew exactly where you were. It was a place where you felt safe, where you were always welcomed with open arms. It was a place where mouth-wateringly delicious aromas permeated the air, wafting in from the kitchen. It was a place where you were ‘Aunt Y/N’ to a little girl who looked at you the way fans looked at the boys. It was the Ackles household.

It was home.

“Why are we here, Castiel?” you questioned. Whatever he was planning, it wasn’t going to work. Your mind was already made up -- this was what you wanted… wasn’t it?

“Shh.”

With your voice silenced, you realized someone else was in the room besides you and the angel. They were sitting on the couch, head held in their hands as they sniffled. But, that made no sense. Who was crying? Why was Castiel showing you this?

You tiptoed around to the front of the couch, and you gasped at what you saw -- Jensen hunched over, tears streaking down his face.

“Jensen,” you whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear you. It hurt you to see him like this, so broken and vulnerable. Just then, you heard a voice call out from across the room.

“Daddy?”

In tandem, you and Jensen turned around to see little JJ making her way down the steps, clad in her pajamas and matching slippers. She was older than you remembered, quite possibly big enough to be in school. Jensen wiped his face. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

JJ came over to the couch and sat on her father’s lap, looking up at him with those wide eyes. “Why are you crying?”

“I, uh…” his voice caught in his throat. “I miss Aunt Y/N.”

Like a lightning bolt, his words hit you, causing you to stagger backwards. You must have misheard him, you had to have. He missed you? Still?

“Oh,” JJ said. “I do, too. Tell me what she was like again, Daddy.”

The hits just kept coming. Not only were you the reason for Jensen’s tears, but JJ, one of the only bright spots in your world, didn’t even remember you. All those tea parties and slumber parties, the hours spent splashing together in the pool, the car rides to gymnastics when you would sing the Rapunzel soundtrack with her, they were all distant memories to her. The kind that decreased in clarity with every passing day.

Sucking in a breath, you realized that this, all of this, was your fault. You were the only one who could fix it.

“I get it now,” you said over your shoulder, voice hollow. “I have to stay. Castiel, you have to take me back--”

But the angel was gone.

“Castiel?” you called, only to be met with silence. Head swiveling madly, you looked for him. The only people you saw in the room, however, were still Jensen and JJ, making you scream in frustration. “Come back here, you dick! I want to stay, dammit! I want to stay!”

Without warning, everything began to fade away, dropping you back in that godforsaken nothingness. As the darkness closed in, you started panicking. Tears fell freely and air eluded you as you fought to stay, to go back to the friends and family that cared about you, that needed you as much as you needed them. You swung your arms blindly, hoping to hit something, anything, in the abyss.

With a resounding crash that echoed through the silence, your fists met something solid, a wall of some sort that blended in with all the black around you. As you watched, a small crack splintered the surface, pouring out a brilliant white light. Filled with a new determination, you picked up your assault on the wall, punching and kicking and using whatever body part hurt the least to attempt to bust through to the other side. For what felt like agonizingly long hours, you struggled -- against the wall, against the darkness surrounding you, against your own mind.

Finally, with one last hard blow, everything began to collapse. All around you, pieces of the dark chasm crumbled away, dissipating into the chamber of light beyond it.

Suddenly, you cried out. A searing pain, like nothing you’d ever experienced before, struck every nerve in your body, overwhelming your senses. The enormous weight crushing your chest made it impossible to breathe, and left you gasping for air. It felt like you were being ripped apart, split in two by some invisible force.

And then you were falling, hurtling downward at a deadly speed. But toward what, you had no idea.

Eyes fluttering open, the first thing that registered was the throbbing ache coming from your arms. You could feel the rough bandages wrapped around them, scratching the raw skin. Taking in your surroundings, you realized with a start that you were in a hospital bed, hooked up to heart monitors and an IV drip.

“Y/N? Can you hear me?”

To your right, you saw your friends gathered together by the side of the bed, features filled with distress. Jensen, Jared, Misha, and Mark sat in those uncomfortable plastic chairs, looking a little worse for wear, almost like they hadn’t slept in days. As soon as you turned your head, though, their faces lit up, all their distress melting away.

“You’re awake!” Jensen said, smiling broadly. “We weren’t sure-- we didn’t know--”

“We were so worried about you, sweetheart,” Mark told you, his hand covering yours. “You lost a lot blood.”

Overwhelmed by the love pouring out from the men beside you, you felt tears begin to fall, but you didn’t try to stop them. In fact, you welcomed them.

“You’re crying,” Misha noticed, his eyebrows scrunching together in concern. “Why are you crying?”

Shaking your head, you gave a wet laugh. “It’s okay, Misha. They’re happy tears.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jared, who had yet to say anything, staring at you intently. There were unshed tears in his eyes, and though he was silent, his expression spoke for him.

“Jared?”

With a great sigh, he rubbed his hands over his face. Out of the four of them, he appeared to be the most exhausted. He opened his mouth to speak, and asked the one question you’d been dreading most of all. “Why?”

“Jared, I--”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone that you were suffering? Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice, angry as he was, was soft and gentle. Though he probably didn’t mean to, his questions brought on a wave of guilt and shame and fresh tears. “We… we could have helped you.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t say anything because you’re fighting your own battle and everyone else has their own problems and I just… didn't want to be a burden on anyone and put more weight on their shoulders.”

For many years after that day, you would never forget the looks on your friends’ faces -- heartbroken, absolutely devastated.

“Y/N… how could you think that?” asked Jensen, unable to comprehend. “Sweetheart, please, listen to me. You have never, ever, been, nor will you ever be, a burden to anyone, especially us. We’re a family -- a family that supports one another no matter what, and of course that includes you.”

Jared’s expression softened. “We just… we all love you so much, Y/N. You’ve always been like a little sister to everyone on set.”

“They’ve been asking about you, you know,” said Misha. “The crew and production team.”

“Really?”

“Of course, love,” Mark assured you. “The fans have also sent you get well messages on social media.”

Mouth hanging open, you gaped at him. “They have?”

“Why wouldn’t they, kiddo?”

“I-I… I thought they hated me,” you admitted, feeling a little stupid. “I see so much hate online, I guess it blocks out all the good things fans send me.”

“Trust me, sweetheart,” Jared said, a small smile creeping up on his face. “They send you a lot of good things.”

As you pushed open the large wooden door to the Ackles home, you heard little feet scampering across the floor to greet you.

“Aunt Y/N!” JJ squealed.

With a laugh, you picked her up and spun her around before placing her on your hip. “There’s my girl! Are you excited?”

“Uh huh!” JJ said proudly. Then, true to her age, she asked, “Did you bring me any presents?”

Gasping dramatically, you put a hand over your heart. “Who said anything about presents?”

“But it’s my birthday!” she all but whined. “You gotta have presents, it’s tradition!”

“Oh, it’s tradition, is it?” JJ nodded her head. Smiling, you poked her belly, eliciting a giggle. “Of course I brought presents! It’s not a birthday party without them, now is it?”

Just then, Jensen swooped in and took his daughter from you. “Maybe we should let Aunt Y/N get through the door before you start jumping all over her, missy.” He gave you a one-armed hug, squeezing you into his side. “I’m glad you’re here, kiddo.”

You sighed, for once content with the way your life was turning out. “I am, too.”

797 notes · View notes