#hard eyeroll to people who always ask 'WHERE'S STRAIGHT PRIDE?'

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Old Habits

Peter Vincent x Reader, Angst, Comfort

AO3 Link/ Support Me on Ko-fi

Trigger Warning: Mentions of past abusive relationship  

Summary: You are trying to rebuild your life in Las Vegas working for the infamous Peter Vincent, but the past has trouble letting go. 

A/N:  I have no idea why I wrote this aside from I needed to. I’ve been a slut for David Tennant since 2009 and back on my bullshit, what can I say? PLEASE COMMENT AND REBLOG IF YOU LIKE THIS!!!

Word Count: 3.3K

          You told yourself you would never go back to Las Vegas.

           It was a long decaying playground in the middle of nowhere that should had died along with the seventies. But, it was home.  And when everything in your life falls apart, what else can you do but go home?

           You had needed to get out of New York.  Too many terrible memories and mistakes haunted every corner of the city. You need familiar territory, someplace to ground yourself in the here and now.  Luckily, you still had friends you could rely on.

           Jane Brewster was the first person you called when you had finally decided to leave.  She practically demanded you stay at her place until you had one of your own. Charley was off at college and wouldn’t be back until winter break. You talked her down, and with respect to your pride, she conceded a motel room would be best for the time being.   That didn’t stop her from reaching out to a friend about getting you a job.

           You were certain the story of how Real Estate Agent, Jane Brewster and Occultist Magic Performer, Peter Vincent became friends was a long and interesting one. The fact you could never get a straight answer from either of them as to how it happened, however, told you otherwise.

           He was a little prickly about your employment at first; but, once you showed him a resume the length of his arm detailing the performers you had been either personal assistant to or represented, on and off Broadway, he started changed his tune.

           Peter Vincent was, complicated, to say the least.  On the one hand, he was a dick.  One could say it was just because he was a perfectionist, but that was being generous. Fright Night wasn’t exactly the Royal Shakespeare company, and he had a tendency to snap at other performers and make-up people alike when he was even slightly irritated.  At the same time, he had his own unique charm, an indefinable manic energy that couldn’t help but draw you in.  Pair that with his more flamboyant tendencies, and he could be downright entertaining. It left you in a constant state not knowing whether you wanted to laugh or smack him.

           He seemed to understand your predicament and made it his mission to leave you even more confused than before.  

          You wouldn’t go so far as to say you were friends.  You never hung out after work, or disclosed anything too personal, but there was a comfortable familiarity to your interactions.  You could call him an asshole and know he wouldn’t take it personally, while he could call you an uptight know it all, with the assurance that all you’d do is give him a light-hearted eyeroll.  In short you liked him. And slowly, the idea of Las Vegas truly becoming your home once more didn’t seem so terrible.  But, like so many things in your life, the good things could never last.

          You were standing in Peter’s apartment when it happened.  Another show had ended, and you were going over upcoming appearances at various occult conventions.

          “No, no, no, please I’m begging you.  I am literally begging you, don’t tell me they put me on a panel with that prick,” Peter complained, pouring himself a drink.

          You shrugged.  “You can’t deny Chriss Angel is one of the few magicians people can actually name.”

          “But I’m not a magician,” he defended. “I’m an occultist, there’s a difference.”

          “You put on a goth-tastic special effects show wearing guy-liner and skin tight leather pants, name me a difference that counts.”

          He looked like he wanted to argue, but settled on making an exaggerated grimace before taking a sip from his drink.

          “Besides that, I already RSVPed for you,” you continued.  “Rest assured there will be a cabinet of alcohol in your hotel room you when you’re done.”

          “I know I should be insulted, but that really does make up for it.”

          Your lip involuntarily twisted upward at his sardonic response. “And auditions.  Maggie is going off on maternity leave soon.  I’ve already sorted through head-shots and just need your approval on who to call back.”

          You handed him a small pile of photos.  He took it, making a cursory glance at each of them without bothering to look at the resumes on the back before he tossed them into two piles.

          “Yes. No,” he said pointing to the left and right piles respectively.

          “Okay, just remember to be there Thursday.”

          He let out a long groan.  “Can’t you just do that?”

          “You’re the one who has to work with them.”

          “Sure, but I trust you to know which ones are idiots and which ones are actually going to hit their marks.”

          You rolled your eyes. “If that was really all you cared about, you’d just have me do it.”

          “You could,” he said, sounding oddly okay with the idea.

          “I don’t think I can pull off a pho-leather corset,” you replied, sardonically.

          He didn’t say anything, taking a moment to look you up and down before tilting his head to the side in thought. “Well…”

          You pressed your lip into a thin line and raised an eyebrow.  Immediately his eyes widened as he attempted to back track.

          “You’re right, you can’t.”

          You crossed your arms, your expression making it very clear you were not impressed.  

          “Not that you couldn’t if you wanted to,” he floundered.  “It’s just it would perhaps be inappropriate for you to…” He stopped, as a realization dawned on him.  “You’re taking the piss, aren’t you?”

           You broke as a wide smile spread across your face.  “Only a little.”

           “Right.” He straightened up, trying to scrape together at least some dignity. “Let’s just erase the last minute of conversation.”

           “Already deleted,” you assured.

           He smiled in thanks, but before either of you could say something clever, your phone rang.  You didn’t bother to check the ID before you answered.

           “Y/N speaking.”

           “Hello Y/N,” an all too familiar voice answered.

           You froze.  You could feel the blood drain from your face even as your heart pumped hard against your rib cage. You needed to hang up.  You needed to will your limbs to do something other than stand there. Your hand began the process of pulling away from your ear when he spoke again.

           “Don’t hang up.” There was no urgency in his tone.  Only a casual confidence, as if he were standing in the room with you instead of thousands of miles away.  Logically you knew it wasn’t the case but thought of it made you stop.  On instinct, you brushed your hand against your throat as if to make sure there was nothing pressed against it but empty air.  

           “How did you get this number,” you asked, trying desperately to keep your voice calm.

           “Believe it or not some of our friends still talk to me,” he replied easily. That was always his trick, wasn’t it? An easy answer to everything. “I just want to talk.”

           “I don’t.”  Your hands weren’t shaking so badly as before now the initial shock was gone. “Goodbye Eric.”

           “Don’t hang up!” he snapped into the line.  To your surprise, you didn’t feel the sudden urge to obey.  Before you could question why, you hung up.

           Immediately your phone began to ring again.  You denied the call, clutching your phone tightly in your hand as if that would suddenly make the vibrations disappear.

           He had no power over you here, you remined yourself.  Your mind was clear.  You had control over your limbs and thoughts.  There were no hands are teeth pressed against your throat. He couldn’t hurt you.

           You were so determined to repeat those thoughts over and over again in your mind, you forgot who else was in the room with you.

           “Y/N,” Peter’s voice cut through the fog. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

           You didn’t know what to say.  The truth was out of the question. You weren’t certain you knew the truth yourself. But there was no hiding the way you were shaking.

           He looked lost for a moment, shifting back and forth, still deciding if it was safe to come near you.

           You flinched as your phone began to ring again.

           Peter made the first move.  In a single stride he crossed the room, pulled the phone away from your death grip, and practically threw it into the closest chair before covering it with a pillow for good measure. The vibrations where now effectively muffled leaving silence in its wake.  

           He turned to you, keeping his voice as calm as possible.  “Y/N.”

           You met his gaze.

           His eyes were soft and a little unsure.  It was an expression you had never seen from him, but you felt just a little better at the sight.

           “Who was that?” he asked.

           You didn’t want to say his name again as if repeating would somehow summon him. All you could manage of a small, “Ex.”

           Peter nodded in understanding.  You weren’t sure how much Jane had told him, if anything at all, but you knew he was smart enough to tie your reaction to why you left New York.

           “What do you need?”

           You needed to throw up.  You needed a ticket to a desert island with no chance of him finding you. You needed a death certificate with his name plastered all over it.  But at that exact moment you just needed to curl into a ball somewhere private.

           “I want to go home,” you said.

           “You sure that’s a good idea?”

           You nodded.

           Peter took a breath, before nodding himself. “Alright, I’ll give you a lift,” he said, swinging on his jacket. “Don’t argue.”

           You didn’t have it in you anyway.

           The elevator ride down to the parking garage was a silent one, for which you were grateful.  You couldn’t really explain how you were still standing up right.  

           Peter led you to his car, and the pair of you sped off into the night.  It wasn’t until you were clear of the strip and well into the desert that he spoke again.

          “You sure your ex isn’t in town?”

           The questions took you by surprise.  You had been preparing for yourself for the inevitable “what did he do”.  But, it was obvious the answer didn’t matter to Peter, all that mattered was how what he did affected you.  You had never been so relieved in your life.

           “I don’t think he would have called me if he was,” you said, having given the matter a great deal of thought.  “He’d just show up.”

           “So why call you?” Peter asked, confused. “Why not wait until he knows where you are?”

           “I think he was hoping I’d just tell him.  He’s…” You paused, trying to find a way to describe what Eric could do without sounding completely insane. “He’s got a way of getting people to do exactly what he wants.”

           “How?”

           You shrugged.  All you could really remember was the way Eric’s eyes would penetrate yours before the inevitable fog overwhelmed your senses until you couldn’t tell up from down. Once again, you hand went to your neck.  The scars had faded, but the ghost of pain remained.

           “He just does,” was all you could say. “I guess it doesn’t work over the phone.”

           Peter noticed your motions but made no comment on it.  A look crossed his features you couldn’t name, but it left you wondering if he knew something you didn’t.  

           “Are you going to be alright?” he asked, not allowing you time to dwell on the thought.

           You let out a long breath. “I don’t know.”

           Eric wasn’t the first. He was simply the latest in a long line of assholes you had allowed to control you.  You didn’t know how it happened.  Everything started off fine, but sooner or things would start to happen. They’d start screening your calls. Girls nights would be canceled because they claimed you weren’t spending enough time with them. Accusations of cheating would be leveled left and right to make you feel guilty at even talking to anyone else.  Then, one night, they’d take it too far and you would run until you found someone else and the whole cycle would begin again.  Maybe Eric was the logical end to all this. Someone who could quite literally take complete control. Maybe you had been asking for this.

          “Do you ever feel like you’re making the same mistakes over and over and over again?” you said, quietly. “You get yourself in or put yourself in a situation, and every time you know exactly how it’s going to end, but you go through the same motions every time and it never stops; because for some sick reason you don’t want it to stop. Because there’s…I don’t know, a comfort in the repetition.”

          “You’re asking the barely functional alcoholic this?” Peter said.

          You laughed.  You were surprised you laughed, but matter of fact sarcasm in his voice paired with a reassuring smile gave you permission to do so.

          “Well, you ask a stupid question,” you mumbled sardonically.

          Peter shook his head.  “It’s not a stupid question,” he assured. “I think it’s just something people do. Good or bad, you stick to what you know.”

          You didn’t say anything for a moment, allowing the truth of the statement to float in the air a while. This was the longest conversation you could recall having with Peter that didn’t involve you either reminding him of an appointment or ending in some kind of banter.  But what was weird was it didn’t feel weird.

          Still you felt obligated to say, “I’m sorry I’m laying all this on you.”

          “It’s alright,” he assured.  He sounded like he meant it too, even as a slightly awkward expression settled on his face.  “I’m not sure how to not make this sound bad, but it’s kind of nice to know I’m not the only one with issues.”

          You blinked.  “You’re right. There is no way to not make that sound bad.”

          He winced, his mind clearly working very hard to find a way to back track.  Given the circumstances, you decided to show him some mercy.

          “But, I know what you’re getting at,” you said, with a half-smile.

          You could almost hear his sigh of relief.  

          “I wouldn’t have guessed it,” he admitted, after a short pause.  “You always struck me as someone who would never let anyone tell them what to do.”

          “I try to be,” you admitted, as your insides turned over. “But, old habits.”

          He didn’t say anything more, and you were grateful.  You each had given more away than either of you intended.

          Soon enough had pulled up in front of your apartment, but neither of you felt the immediate need to get out of the car.

          “Do you need someone here?” he asked.  “You know, just in case?”

          You shook your head. “I don’t think so.  I might call Jane, see if she can come over.”

          He nodded, but that awkward expression didn’t leave as he ran a hand through his hair.

          “Or, I can stay,” he offered, “if you’d like.”

          You stared at him a moment.  You imagined inviting him in.  You could see him entering your small apartment with the pile of empty cardboard boxes still sitting in the corner of your living room. You imagined sitting down on the couch side by side, the space fading between you until you could rest your head against his shoulder.  You imagined those warm brown eyes staring down at you, before you pressed your lips to his and--

          You tore you mind away from the thought before it could go any further.

          “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you said, softly.

          A flash of hurt played out behind his eyes before he got the chance to hide it. “Right, yeah.”

          “No, that’s not what I—”

          “It’s fine.”

          “I didn’t mean—”

          There was a pause.  Neither of you could look at each other, but you also didn’t want it to end the night this way.  Why did you always find a way to make things complicated?

          “Peter,” you said, taking a long breath, “my life is a complete mess. I’m a complete mess. Bad things just keep happening and I… I don’t want bad things to happen to you.  I’m sorry, I—"

          “Don’t,” he cut in sharply. “Don’t apologize for something he did.”

          You stopped then.  There was a conviction in his tone that made you have to stop, even as your heart rate spiked. He seemed to have noticed, and his tone immediately softened.

          “Y/N? Please, look at me.”

          You did so, and in that moment, you wondered how you never noticed just how wide and open his eyes truly were.

          “Look I don’t know if I’m crossing a line, or behind the line, or dancing a jig on top of it, and if I am making you uncomfortable, I’ll hop right back over it again, but I just…”

          He stopped running a hand through his hair to get his thoughts in order. “So, you’re a mess, that’s fine because that doesn’t stop you from being a good person. And you are, Y/N, you are a good person. You’re so good.  And you deserve…fuck, you deserve only good things to happen to you.”

          You could feel your throat tighten.  The way his eyes bore into yours reminding you again and again of the sincere place his words were coming from.  A surge of emotion flooded your chest until it spilled over into tears on your cheeks.

          “Shit,” Peter said, immediately going into a panic. “Shit, shit, shit. Look, what I said, if I—”

          “No,” you assured.  “No, what you said was perfect.”  You tried to get a grip, but the tears continued down your face as your breath shook. “It’s just…you’re really nice.”

          Peter stared at you, clearly unsure as to what to do.  “I’m not though,” he said.

          A sad smile came to your lips. “Yes you are.”  

          Before you could question your actions, you cupped his cheek, and closed the distance between you, placing a gentle kiss against the other. Your lips landed a hair away from the corner of his mouth, his light stubble feeling oddly comforting against your skin.  

          He looked like a dear in headlights by the time you pulled away.  Neither of you moved, for a moment.  You could only take a guess at what he was thinking. For a second you noticed his eyes dart to your lips.  You wondered if he would close the gap and kiss you properly this time, but he made no move.  You had drawn the line in the sand, and he was going to stay respectfully on the other side.  Somehow, that made having to leave even worse.

          Without another word, you pulled your hand away and walked out of the car to your apartment.

          ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

          Peter stared after you as you walked through the door and well after it closed.  He could still feel your hand on his cheek and the warm of your lips against his skin. His heart pounded against his ribs and in his throat, it was making it impossible to think clearly.

          He leaned back against his seat trying to calm himself down.  You weren’t in a good place right now.  Putting aside the general obstacle that you were still his employee; you had just gotten out of an extremely toxic relationship with a man who was either a class A manipulator, or quite possibly, some sort of supernatural creature.  

          Of course, he couldn’t say that.  Not without proof.  And he hoped for your sake he wouldn’t get it.

          You weren’t in a good place.  Anything you said or did tonight didn’t count.

          He let out a long breath, repeating the thought like mantra over and over again.

          He really had wanted to kiss you just then.

          With a frustrated groan he gripped the stirring wheel tightly before mumbling softly, and with feeling, “Fuck.”

#peter vincent #peter vincent x reader #david tennant #david tennant x reader #fright night #fright night (2011) #tw: abusive relationship #tw: past abuse

[things-we-used-tc-share]

Anger

Even Patton has his limits with his happiness, after Logan makes Roman cry, he reaches those limits. 

((A little OOC, Platonic!LAMP and esp Platonic!Logicality. Angst Angst Angst. Roman Angst, Patton Angst, Logan Angst. Virgil’s good tho. 

TW:cussing, Roman’s crying, Patton’s crying, Logan’s crying, everyone but Virgil does not have their shit together in this fic))

--

They’d been arguing constantly for days, insult after insult fired backwards and forth and no matter how many times Patton tries to get them to calm down or distract them they continue. This morning it had been the worst he’d seen it in days, Virgil hadn’t even left his room and asked Patton if he could just bring him food until they calmed down and of course the moral side obliged.

This had already upset him greatly, that Virgil had rather remained hidden than face what was currently left of his family. “You can’t fucking blame me!” Is the first thing he hears walking into the living room, making him flinch at the loud usage of cussing “It’s your fucking job Roman,” The two of them were red in the face, and Logan had lost any piece of patience and etiquette he’d had before this entire argument had started. “At this point, I’m not surprised if he hates you, allyou ever do is shove your ego in our faces and take everything as a person attack, well here’s your real personal attack Roman Sanders, you are useless,” 

Roman stops, his entire body seizes up. Patton knows that face, he’s not seen it in years but seconds before the other dissolves into tears he’s already running to his side. The creative side sobs, his entire body shaking and Logan steps back, his jaw set and anger still written all over his face. It’s the eyeroll that really seals the deal as Patton flies around at the other “Go to your room, now,” His voice is firm, angry, and nothing like any of them had ever heard come from his mouth. “I’m not asking you Logan, go,” And Logan does, he huffs and turns away and heads to his room. Patton’s expression softens as he holds Roman “It’s okay Ro, you’re not useless, you’re very helpful, please don’t let him get to you, you know he just says things without thinking,”

“No,” Roman sniffs “He was thinking, he was thinking hard and clear he always is, he just said what he’s thinking and that’s...” He lets out a loud sob, rubbing his eyes “That’s Logan, that’s just how he is, always angry and always right,” Patton hugs him hard. 

Virgil comes padding into the room in black sweatpants and socks, his hoodie draped over a dark grey shirt. Immediately worry is written on his face as he moved over to rub Roman’s back. “What did he do?” Virgil asked softly, unsure entirely of how to deal with the upset, he’s used to seeing the other man so completely sure of himself and this was frighteningly out of character for him. 

“Just the truth,” The prince sniffles, steadying his breathing “I’m okay really I just didn’t expect him to be so harsh,” Virgil looks at Patton and is almost taken aback by the fury on his face. 

“I need to have a word with Logan, Virgil can you take care of Roman please?” Virgil nods, still rubbing Roman’s back. As Patton walks away he can hear the other asking if the creative side wanted anything, like tea, or ‘whatever normal people do to calm themselves down’ he hears Roman chuckle tearily and knows he is in safe hands. 

The knock on Logan’s door is firm, loud and startling as the logical side opens the door. See Patton didn’t get angry, Patton didn’t do anger he didn’t even get angry when Roman spilt coffee on one of Thomas’ memories; but right now Patton wasn’t exactly angry either, no he was furious. “What were you thinking,” He hisses, his arms crossed over his chest as he moves into Logan’s rooms “Honestly Logan, I have been so patient with you, because I love you, and I love all of you, but you cannot just constantly keep using other people’s weaknesses to defend yourself from your own, it’s manipulative and it isn’t right,” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know when I first met you, I was so happy to have someone else as part of our family, when I first appeared I was so lonely, and then Roman came and I just wanted to help him and teach him and look after him, and when you came I thought it would be the same,” 

Logan’s jaw is set and he doesn’t look angry anymore, he looks what sadness would be if he let himself feel it. “Despite that it wasn’t I still loved you, because you were a part of this family and you were part of Thomas and I dealt with the fact you could never love a single thing or person in your life,” Patton’s angry but his eyes are brimming with tears “But just because you don’t feel love Logan does not mean you get to hurt others because they have too much of it, you sit around calling Roman egotistical but have you ever actually sat down and spoken to yourself, have you? You refuse to ever let yourself see that you’re at fault, this time you made Roman cry, Logan, he hasn’t cried since Thomas was 16,” Patton turned away from him “I am tired Logan, of loving someone who can’t even show other people basic respect,” The door falls shut behind the other man and Logan falls onto his bed. 

It’s sad that even now he doesn’t really blame himself, there was more to him than he let the others see and it was for good reason. He should apologise to Roman, but his pride was very much in the way. Patton was right on that front at least. 

He falls back on the bed, staring up at his star coloured ceiling and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, not allowed to cry he tells himself. He doesn’t let himself cry, he swallows the feeling and locks it away somewhere in his chest, his chest that is becoming a fortress of walls that had many cracks in them and there’s somehow not enough time to fix all the cracks. He’s crumbling under the weight of his emotions, carrying them like a backpack that had one too many things in them. Logan feels like he’s drowning. And that’s something he’ll never say and that’s why he’s so angry, he’s so angry and it’s mostly at himself, yet everyone around him is suffering because of it. 

He lets out a groan, running his hands down his face with exhaustion. A knock at the door, much softer than previously interrupts him as he calls for the other to enter, sitting up straight on the bed. “Wow, you look like a hot mess,” Virgil snorts as he enters the room “Seriously L, what is up with you?” He sighs and sits down next to Logan, the door falling shut behind him “Even for you this was...rough, like seriously, you took Roman’s biggest weakness and used it against him, that’s not you at all, you’ve not really been much like yourself lately at all,” His eyebrows furrow and he places a hand on Logan’s shoulder, who flinches away immediately. “Sorry,”

“I don’t really have an understanding of what’s wrong with me, but I’ll discover the problem and fix it, it’s what I do,” Virgil sighs at the other man and shakes his head, looking down at his hands as they fidget with each other. 

“See this is the problem Logan, and I can’t believe that I’m the only one of all of you that’s got his shit together right now, but I think this problem is bigger than what you can solve, and instead of letting us help you you just keep pushing us away and locking yourself up in your own head,” Logan remains silent and Virgil sighs “You know I’ve gotta take Patton’s side here, but unlike Patton I know exactly what you’re doing and why you’re doing it, I used to do that too Logan, and when you’re ready to face up to it, you know where I am,” Virgil stands and starts to head towards the door, and is stopped by Logan’s voice, sounding uncharacteristically quiet and...scared. 

“How...how did you do it Virgil?” Virgil stops and he turns around “Emotions aren’t...they’re not something I have ever had to learn to deal with, and I thought if I placed a firm line between me and them, then I would never have too,” The anxious sides’ face softens and he moves back towards the other, sitting beside him. 

“Well, Patton helped, a lot,” He says with a sigh “He taught me a lot about acceptance and self love and all that sappy shit, and I realisd it was really hurting him to see me the way I was, and I think...I think you broke his heart Logan, I know I did, but he’s always seen you as one of them, he practically raised us, he was the first person any of us ever met when we appeared and he helped us find ourselves and be comfortable,” He paused “In that sense I guess he is like our dad, he did what dad’s do yanno, and for us to just push him away it must really hurt him,” He fidgets with his hands “I think some part of him is waiting for you to just stop doing this, waiting for you to change, he’s a hopeless optimist and it’s kinda sad watching him put all the faith in the world in you and defending you and you just throw it back at him all the time Logan,”

Logan doesn’t have any words in his extensive vocabularly to reply to that. He hadn’t thought about it really, but he remembers it, that day. Everything had felt so blank, uncomfortable, he didn’t know who he was but he suddenly had so much knowledge, he’d been...scared, and then there was Patton, who of course looked the same as him, a six year old with fluffy brown hair and freckles “Hey there kiddo!” he’d said and offered him his hand, “I wonder who you’ll be, I’m Patton, or Morality, welcome to the family,” The Imagination had looked so different then, Roman had been given all the creative control and it was like a castle, complete with horses and dogs. Logan smiled at the memory, he remembered days after then too, all the way up until he’d discovered who he was and then when he’d finally chosen his name. After that he and Patton had become distant, he supposed he felt he didn’t need him anymore. 

“Perhaps I need Patton more than I realise,” He says gently “Perhaps I do need all of you more than I’ve previously contemplated, thank you Virgil,”

“No problem, although you better swallow your pride and apologise to Roman otherwise Patton is going to be mad at you forever, I can tell now,” Logan groans and Virgil laughs despite everything, because yes it is funny just a little bit, to see Logan try and swallow his ego for a second. 

--

Logan and Virgil enter the common room together, Roman is hugging a blanket and watching Disney films whilst Patton is cooking dinner. Virgil squeezes Logan’s shoulder before the logical side approaches Roman “Roman,” He says, clearing his voice “I just wanted to say that I behaved inappropriately today, it was unfair to weaponise your insecurities for the sake of having the upper hand, you are not useless,” Roman looks tiredly up at the other “And I’m sorry for doing so,” His eyebrows raise in thinly veiled surprise. 

“Oh, well, that’s very kind of you Logan, thank you,” He gives a small smile before looking awkwardly away, the conversation now thin, the logical side turns on his heel like he’s making a beeline for the exist but Virgil already has a hand on the collar of his shirt. 

“Not so fast pocket protector,” Logan, rather glumly and looking like a child that’s been scolded, turns towards the kitchen and approaches Patton, with Virgil following behind him like a security guard keeping watch over his prisoner. “Hey Pop-star, Logan has something he wants to say to you, don’t you Logan?”

“I can speak for myself you know,” Is the curt reply he gets under a layer of irritation. “Patton, I...” And he meets Patton’s eyes, and suddenly he forgets everything he ever needed to say right now in this moment, the emotions are always so strong in Patton; there’s no way he can ever hide them, and right now all hes seeing is anger and sadness, two of the worst emotions Logan thinks he can think of. Previously, they’d been the only emotions he himself could feel. 

Suddenly he feels like that moment again, when he’d first appeared as a six year old wearing ill fitting clothes that were just whatever Thomas had currently been wearing which if he remembered correctly was a pair of tracksuit bottoms that were at least a size too big and a baggy sweater. He wasn’t quite as fully formed then, centering more around curiousity for learning and as Thomas got older he became less curious and more informative, the curiousity for knowledge was still there of course. 

He remembers Pattons smile, how overjoyed this boy had been to have someone else, albeit he also looked and acted like a six year old but overall he was a teacher, a carer, he wanted to protect them always. Looking at Patton now, he did look like a father angry at his child. And Logan did what every child would do when a parent was mad at them, he threw his arms around Patton’s shoulders and hugged him until the anger melted. Virgil smiled at the two of them and leaned against the wall. “I’m sorry,” Logan said softly, “I’m so sorry that I kept pushing you away all these years Patton, you didn’t deserve that,” 

“It’s okay Logan,” The other replies, his hands resting on the small of Logan’s back. It was nostalgic really, they hadn’t hugged for years, Logan had started refusing other people’s touch when Thomas had been 11, he didn’t enjoy it he’s said, he had enjoyed it, but now more comfortable in who and what he was he felt he shouldn’t enjoy it. In the end however, Logan was a part of Thomas, and Thomas was not a cold and calculated person even if that’s what Logan wanted him to be. 

If it even is what he wants him to be, he doesn’t really know anymore. “You’re scared, and I understand,” Patton pulls away to look at the other man “It’s okay to be scared, it’s oky not to understand everything Logan, we’re here to help you,” 

“All of us are,” Virgil looks behind him to see Roman stood there with the blanket around his shoulders “We all just want to help you Logan but not if it’s going to get our heads bitten off every time there’s a small issue,” Roman doesn’t completely understand and he can’t understand beause he’s not Logan, he and Logan had never been close and he could never understand logic in the slightest because his entire world is built on daydreams. But he still recognised Logan as a friend, as a part of this family and he wanted him to be happy. 

Logan looks appreciatedly at the others and brings a hand up to his eyes to wipe them “I’m sorry I appear to be...crying,” He blinks to try and get them to go away but then Patton’s hand’s on his back and the cracks in the walls he’d built just crumble with that one touch. His heart was the biggest house of cards to exist and now he won’t have to spend time building them up again. 

“It’s okay L,” Virgil moves towards them with Roman in tow, holding out his arms for a hug “It’s going to be okay,”

“Group hug?” Roman asks, not wanting to overcrowd Logan without his permission, when the logical side nods all three of them join the hug and for the first time since Logan had become logic, he lets himself feel. 

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[jaemtens]

Rescue (Chapter 7)

seventeen | junhao | side meanie / vernkwan | chapter 6 of 10 | 27.9k

tumblr links: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 ao3 links: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

written with @rendawnie | updates every saturday morning

summary:  When Soonyoung finally “agrees” to let Junhui get a dog for their apartment, he realizes that he needed something a little bit more than a puppy. Enter Minghao, the bona fide Bad Boy™ with tattoos and piercings. Oh, and he doodles puppies and kittens in their Probability and Confirmation class.

chapter 7: junhui

After that, Junhui didn’t leave his apartment, or his room, for nearly three days.

It was probably an overdramatic response. He was very aware of that.

Soonyoung was aware too, judging by how often he banged on Junhui’s door as loud as he could when he walked by, and also how he refused to continue delivering Junhui’s meals to his room instead of making him come down to the kitchen table to eat them, after the first day.

It was just...Junhui had never felt so embarrassed in his life. He’d never screwed up this royally, or accidentally, or humiliating...ly.

If he’d known, if he’d had any inkling whatsoever of Minghao’s situation, he would have done so many things differently. All of the things, maybe. He could see now how many times he’d said insensitive things, how often he’d made mistakes. He never wanted to hurt Minghao’s feelings, and it seemed that, through misunderstandings and missteps alike, that was all he’d managed to do. And so, that being the case, Junhui saw no other appropriate course of action but to sequester himself in his room, where he couldn’t be a danger to society at large. Especially the most handsome members of it.

Two days passed. Junhui still didn’t have any answers. He didn’t know what he’d expected.

As embarrassed as Junhui was, he knew that Minghao was probably even more so. Junhui wanted to find him, to tell him that he didn’t care at all what Minghao’s situation was, except to try and help him if he could. But, that just wasn’t going to be possible, and Junhui understood why. It was a matter of pride, for Minghao. Junhui couldn’t go to the shelter. He was positive Minghao wouldn’t want him there. (He was also pretty positive Minghao wouldn’t want him anywhere, currently, and that thought made him sadder than he was ready to admit.)

When Junhui finally got out of bed, finally forced himself out of his room and out of the apartment, he decided to go to the library on campus, to maybe get some studying done. He was aware that he’d been neglecting his classes and education in a massive way, and it was starting to make him feel guilty. So, he ended up on the second floor of the large building late one night, so late that he was probably the only one there. He was happy about that part. The less people around him, the less he would have to try and pretend he was okay with anything currently happening in his life.

He had just flipped open his Probability and Confirmation text, and dug out the extra large bag of homemade trail mix Soonyoung had made him, because even if he couldn’t express it, Junhui knew his best friend cared about him a lot, when Junhui realized that he was, in fact, not alone in the library.

He wasn’t alone, but he had been so distracted by digging out each and every M&M Soonyoung had thrown into his trail mix that he didn’t even notice someone sort of hovering in his orbit awkwardly, waiting to be acknowledged.

Finally, there was a clearing of the throat, and Junhui looked up, mouth full of red M&Ms (Soonyoung knew they were the only color Junhui would eat) and eyes wide.

There was a cute guy standing next to Junhui, sort of. He was far enough away to be respectful, but close enough that Junhui was fairly sure he wanted to talk about something. Or maybe just stand there, being quietly adorable. Either/or. He looked familiar, but Junhui couldn’t quite figure out why. The guy didn’t try to say anything, at first. He seemed content enough to let Junhui squint up at him, trying to figure out where he’d seen him before. The guy waited patiently for what could have been entire minutes, until Junhui sorted it out in his head.

Junhui had seen Minghao in the library several times before, and this guy was always with him. At first, Junhui had thought they were just acquaintances, but finally, over the course of several ogling sessions (study sessions. Study sessions.), Junhui had figured out that the guy was actually tutoring Minghao. If only Junhui were as lucky to have a tutor who looked like that, instead of Soonyoung, whose attention span tended to last just long enough to get through one or two flashcards worth of notes.

If only Junhui were lucky, maybe he could be the one tutoring Minghao. On whatever subject he wanted. Any subject, really. Junhui would probably have tried to learn Russian, if Minghao needed him to.

Anyway.

The guy must have noticed the wheels in Junhui’s brain slow to a steady pace, once he stopped thinking so hard, because he smiled and spoke for the first time, in a light, lilting voice. “Hi. I’m Joshua. I’m Xu Minghao’s tutor. You’re Jun, right?”

Junhui blinked. “Uh… yes? How did you know that?”

Joshua furrowed his brow, as if he was trying to figure out a way to answer that question that wouldn’t incriminate anyone. Junhui sort of very much hoped it would incriminate the shit out of Minghao, even though knowing how Minghao felt about him wouldn’t change the fact that he currently wanted nothing to do with Junhui.

“Oh. Um… I guess Minghao just mentioned you sitting near him, in a class. Maybe. Once or twice,” Joshua replied, fumbling over the words, while Junhui frowned harder and harder. Minghao had mentioned him to his tutor. He wondered what exactly the context had been.

Haha yeah, there’s this huge fuckin’ nerd that sits next to me in Prob and Conf. I can hardly concentrate, his dorkitude is so loud, he could imagine Minghao saying.

Or maybe, I tried to talk to this idiot and he basically ate his own face the entire time, until it became so unbearable that I literally had to run away from him to save us both the humiliation.

Both of those seemed like reasonable options.

“Oh,” Junhui mumbled after a while. “Okay?” He really wasn’t sure where Joshua was going with this, or if he wanted to go along with him.

Joshua cleared his throat again, sitting down in the chair across from Junhui, chin in his hands. “I haven’t seen Minghao in several weeks,” he said. “I’m getting a bit worried.”

“Oh,” Junhui repeated, feeling a little dumb. “I haven’t seen him, either. He hasn’t been coming to our class for about that long.”

Joshua looked even more concerned. “I’ve tried to get ahold of him, but he’s not answering emails. I don’t have his phone number. I wondered if you might have it?”

Junhui couldn’t help snorting. “Why? He doesn’t want to talk to me. Probably ever again.”

Joshua frowned.  “Well, that doesn’t make sense. He--” Just as quickly as he’d begun speaking, Joshua stopped himself. Junhui watched him regroup silently. He didn’t know what to say, what to do about anything anymore. Maybe there wasn’t anything he could do.

After a few moments, Joshua licked his lips and nodded once, getting up from the table with his mouth set in a straight line, instead of the smile he’d given Junhui at the beginning of their conversation. “Listen, just… if you see him, will you let me know? Here’s my number,” Joshua said, tearing a sheet out of Junhui’s open notebook without permission and stealing his pen to write on it. Junhui didn’t protest. He was too lost in thought.

“You can give it to Minghao,” Joshua told Junhui, straightening up and setting the pen back down next to Junhui’s notebook. “Just…” he started, and then he trailed off, thinking again. “Just tell him I’m worried about him and I’m here to help if he needs it, okay?” Joshua finished, pushing his hands into his pockets.

Junhui stared at Joshua’s number numbly. “Okay,” he muttered, not raising his eyes to Joshua again. He sat there staring at it so long that eventually, Joshua just sort of wandered away.

Junhui felt sick. He was so confused, and now he was worried about Minghao on top of everything else, and he still didn’t know what to do about any of it. All of his thinking was getting him nowhere, and also, it was giving him a headache.

He couldn’t even study, after that. Junhui just sat in the library, alone, for another fifteen minutes, looking at the torn piece of paper in front of him, and then he gathered his things, using Joshua’s number as a bookmark in his Probability and Confirmation textbook, and walked home.

*

Somehow, Junhui managed to make it there in one piece, despite the fact that his head was down the entire time, gazing into the proverbial, infinite void that his life had become. He didn’t look up at all, even as he climbed the steps to the door of his apartment building, pressed the number for his floor on the elevator, and rode it up. He didn’t look up from his shoes, not even once, until he was in front of Mingyu and Wonwoo’s door.

Junhui glanced down the hall at his own apartment, just a few doors down. Mingyu and Wonwoo had only recently moved into the same building as Junhui and Soonyoung, and he’d never actually been over to their place. Or invited over. Fleetingly, Junhui wondered what time it was. He was sure it was probably way too late to knock on the door, way too late for polite company, or desperate advice, or whatever in the hell he was considering asking for.

He was saved from his own thoughts by the door in front of him swinging open without preamble.

Mingyu wore a wide grin and his pajamas as he leaned against the doorframe, regarding Junhui. “Hey, man. You gonna stand out there all night?” he asked pleasantly. Junhui blinked several times.

From inside the apartment, Junhui heard Wonwoo’s voice. He could also hear the eyeroll in Wonwoo’s voice, the one that was sort of always there, whether it was intentional or not. Junhui could understand. Mingyu was kind of a handful, if their class together was anything to  go by.

“Just come in, Jun. Close the door behind you, you’re letting out all the bought air,” Wonwoo called, and Mingyu took a step back so that Junhui could slip in. Once the door was shut behind him, as Wonwoo had ordered, and he was standing in the front hallway with Mingyu, his taller companion grinned again.

“I’m off to bed. You can hang out with the night owl,” Mingyu said, jerking his head toward the kitchen, where Wonwoo presumably was. “Later, dude.” Mingyu yawned, shuffling away to the bedroom as Junhui peered into the dimly lit apartment.

“In the kitchen,” Wonwoo confirmed a second later, and Junhui followed the sound of his voice, creeping through the apartment carefully. The last thing he needed at a time like this was to knock over some precious object with his clumsy limbs, something probably irreplaceable and expensive. He didn’t know why Wonwoo and Mingyu would have anything like that, really. Junhui was just prepared to continue being a total and complete human disaster for the forseeable future, so it seemed to go with the territory.

Thankfully, he made it to the small kitchen unscathed, and so did all of Mingyu and Wonwoo’s possessions. Wonwoo was sitting at the table, glasses on and reading a book quietly, but he glanced up when Junhui started hovering in the entrance uncertainly.

“God, you’re so fucking awkward. Sit down,” Wonwoo said with exasperation, getting up to go into the kitchenette. “How do you take your coffee?” he asked, pouring two cups from the steaming pot on the counter.

Junhui wrinkled his nose, finally pulling out his phone and checking the time, like he’d meant to do before. “Wonwoo, it’s one o’clock in the morning,” Junhui said, tossing the phone onto the table and sitting down obediently.

Wonwoo chuckled, throwing him a glance. “Like I said. How do you take your coffee?” he repeated, separating each word as if it was a whole new sentence and staring a hole into Junhui’s forehead, suddenly.

“Milkshake,” Junhui replied meekly, and then he slumped over in his chair and waited for his drink.

Less than two minutes later, Junhui had a milkshake in front of him, a cup full of milk and sugar and not a lot of coffee, and Wonwoo had his pure, unadulterated beverage, and as Wonwoo took the first sip, he regarded Junhui thoughtfully. “So. What are you doing here?”

Junhui groaned. “I don’t know. Just... falling apart, I guess.”

Wonwoo squinted at him. “Go on.”

Junhui could feel all the words bubbling up, all the things he’d been worrying about and stuffing down and worrying about and kicking to the side for weeks, since Minghao. He could also feel things from before that, crap that had been bothering him for ages that he’d tried to compartmentalize. Spoiler alert: compartmentalization was not one of Wen Junhui’s very limited skills.

“Okay, because like… I haven’t done this before. Like, ever,” Junhui started, staring at his hands wrapped around the coffee mug. “I haven’t even been out to my friends for that long, and I’ve never actually dated anyone since I came out, and…” He stopped, biting his lip. “I’ve never likedanyone enough to want to date them. And now I like Minghao. I like him so much.” By the time Junhui stopped talking, his voice was almost at a whisper. Wonwoo was just watching him quietly. It was unnerving.

“I like him so much, and I’m just screwing everything up. Everything I do seems to make him mad,” Junhui huffed out, feeling himself blush. “I’m trying so hard to be cool, but I’m not cool, and--”

“No, you’re really not,” Wonwoo said dryly.

Junhui rolled his eyes. “So supportive. So helpful.” Wonwoo snickered.

“Anyway, I just… I feel like I can’t do anything right. The harder I try, the worse everything gets. And now he like, monumentally hates me, or whatever, and I don’t even know why!” Junhui exclaimed, banging his fists on the table lightly in frustration. “I don’t know why.”

He picked up his coffee cup and took a long swig, barely noticing how hot it was on his tongue. Junhui sighed after he’d swallowed the sweet liquid down, trying to figure out where to go next. He supposed it didn’t actually matter, because nothing he’d said so far had made any sense, anyway.

“I just want another chance. Like, a real chance. I want to fix whatever I did wrong, but I can’t,” Junhui said.

“Why can’t you?” Wonwoo asked. As if it were that simple.

“It’s not that simple,” Junhui bit out. “I can’t just… okay, like. Please, please, for the love of god, don’t tell anyone this, but…” Junhui paused, unsure if he should tell Minghao’s secret, but… it was important to the story, he figured. “Minghao’s homeless. He lives in a shelter.”

When Junhui raised his eyes to meet Wonwoo, his companion looked calm. “I know,” he replied straightforwardly.

Junhui threw up his hands in disbelief. “What the hell?! Did everyone know this but me??” he shouted, and then he looked back in the direction of the bedroom guiltily.

Wonwoo chuckled. “Don’t worry. Mingyu sleeps like the dead.”

Junhui nodded a little. He gave himself a three second break before he went on. “How did you know?” he asked, quieter.

Wonwoo sighed, looking away. “Mingyu and I were out doing our grocery shopping a few months ago, and we saw him bringing a box or two into the shelter across the street from the store,” he told Junhui. “At first, we assumed he was just helping someone take their stuff inside, but when we came out of the store, he was sitting by the front desk filling out paperwork.”

Junhui frowned. “That’s not exactly a sure bet as far as clues go,” he muttered, and Wonwoo shrugged, nodding.

“It’s not,” he agreed. “But then, we saw him again a couple weeks later, in the morning. He came out of the shelter looking like he’d just showered. I’d guess he was probably going to work,” Wonwoo mused. “That’s when we started to figure it out.”

Junhui’s jaw dropped. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Wonwoo gave him a disapproving frown. “Because it’s none of our business. He obviously doesn’t want anyone to know, or he would go around telling everyone he met. Sometimes you just have to leave things alone, Jun.”

Junhui shook his head so hard that it gave him a headache. “No. I can’t. I can’t leave him alone, Wonwoo. I want to help him,” he protested, hearing how his voice started to rise in pitch frantically.

Looking at Junhui seriously, Wonwoo considered his next words before he said them. “I get that, Jun. I really do. But…” he began, stopping to sip his coffee before he went on, “Minghao seems like he has a lot of pride,” Wonwoo said, echoing Junhui's thoughts from earlier. “A lot of pride that can be easily wounded. You get what I’m saying?”

Junhui sighed. “Yeah.” He did get it. He just hated the idea of it, suddenly. He thought for a moment, before turning his face back to Wonwoo. “Do you think I’ve fucked it up forever?” Junhui asked.

Wonwoo laughed quietly. “Nah. You can’t fuck something up that hasn’t even started, Jun.”

Crossing his arms, Junhui frowned. “It sure feels like I can,” he muttered.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, dude. It’s fine. You haven’t burnt any imaginary bridges.”

Junhui chewed on his bottom lip, thinking. “Then… what do I do? How can I fix it, when he’s up and disappeared off the face of the earth?” he asked, his mind running through all the possibilities at top speed.

Wonwoo stretched, getting up from the table to refill his coffee cup. Junhui honestly had no idea how Wonwoo functioned so normally, with this schedule and these habits. Junhui had only had one cup of late night/early morning coffee (okay, with a lot more sugar than Wonwoo preferred), and he was already starting to get the shakes.

Granted, a lot of that nervous energy might have been to do with the Minghao Situation. But, Junhui was suddenly manifesting the ability to compartmentalize enough to convince himself that they were two totally separate entities. A very healthy approach, he thought smugly to himself as he waited for Wonwoo to reply.

When he sat down again with a freshly filled to the top coffee cup, Wonwoo clasped his hands together on the table in front of them, and between that and the glasses starting to slip down his nose ever so slightly, he was beginning to look like any number of Junhui’s professors. Hopefully, what Junhui would learn from Wonwoo would be a lot more helpful in his daily life. Even if it just helped for one day. One day and one chance were all he needed.

“I think you need to go to the shelter, Jun. You need to make a gesture,” Wonwoo decided finally.

Junhui swallowed, hard. “He doesn’t want me there,” he said softly, even though part of him begged to be heard, telling him otherwise.

Wonwoo shook his head. “I think he does, deep down. Even if he doesn’t want you there, per se, he wants you. He wants to know you care. He wants to know you don’t care about his situation, or that at the very least, you don’t judge him for it,” Wonwoo said wisely. Junhui leaned forward, listening carefully.

“Just go, and be honest with him. Make him listen to you. Try your best, and I think you’ll finally get through to him,” Wonwoo advised. “And if you don’t…” he trailed off, regarding Junhui. “At least you can say you tried. That’s all you can ever ask of yourself, Jun.”

Normally, Junhui wasn’t a crier. He was pretty reserved in his emotions. But something about this whole thing, this whole Minghao thing, was pulling at his heartstrings in a way he’d never experienced before. He’d had approximately five hysterical meltdowns over Minghao so far, and suddenly, before Junhui even realized it was happening, it became six.

To Wonwoo’s credit, he didn’t make fun of Junhui for it. He just pushed their chairs next to each other at the table and read his book in silence while Junhui cried on his shoulder until he couldn’t cry anymore, patting his shoulder every so often in between turning the pages of his book.

By the time Junhui finally left, it was three in the morning, he’d had two more cups of sugary sweet coffee, and his eyes hurt from all the crying he’d done, but he felt lighter. He felt hopeful.

He felt determined.

#seventeen #svt #junhao #junhao fic #svt fic #jun #minghao #the8 #junhui #xu minghao #wen junhui #my writing #rescue

[nicolabarth]

Loyalty

Read it on AO3

Square Filled: Waiter!Cas

Ship: Castiel/Meg Masters

Rating: Mature

Tags: Mafia AU, Mobster!Lucifer, Waiter!Castiel, Mobster!Meg, Mention of Murder, less than friendly interrogation techniques, Death Threats (it’s how they show love)

Summary: Castiel just got out of prison, where he was doing time for helping his friend Balthazar sell military equipment. Since Castiel knows his cousin Michael is a successful business man, he asked him for a job. He didn't expect to end up as a waiter in Dean Winchester's bar. And the Archangels don't expect him having a less than pleasant secret mission. This is part of the Mafia Archangels verse, but you don’t have to read the rest to understand this one.

Word Count: 6723

Written for @spnaubingo​

Thanks to @askatosch​ for cheering me on and making me change the ending so that it’s much better now. Also thanks to @coplins​ for beta reading and letting me use her OC Aleksandr “Sasha” Chaadayev.

There are too many new faces at once in his bar for Dean’s liking. Not customers, of course, new customers are always a good thing. But people he has to work with. People he hasn’t chosen himself.

For one, there’s the guy with the silver hair and the silver eyes sitting by the bar with a coke. Aleksandr Chaadayev, a name Dean still isn’t sure how to spell right. He also still hates the thought that he needs a bodyguard now, but if it makes Michael worry less, he’ll learn how to deal. It would probably be easier, if silver eyes was the only addition to the team.

But then there’s …

“You should show me some respect,” comes a deep voice from the direction of a nearby table. Dean’s new waiter is frowning down on a blond girl that’s seated there.

The girl rolls her eyes. “Listen, I totally don’t care what you think I should. I ordered a skinny latte, but this is like totally not low fat milk. It’s really not that hard to get a simple order right!”

That makes Dean bristle. He got that order right for sure. He takes pride in getting orders right, no matter how many extra requirements. So he kinda wants to echo what the new guy said, but there are things you don’t say to customers no matter what. That’s why he just sighs and steps out from behind the bar. “What’s the matter here?”

In the end he gives up trying to convince the girl that she got low-fat milk and just makes a new latte for her. Then he sends the new guy into the cellar to stock up on things, where he doesn’t have to interact with customers for a while. When Dean settles back behind the bar, silver eyes is watching him with an amused expression.

“What’s so funny?” Dean grumps.

“Never seen anyone as useless with customers as Castiel,” silver eyes says.

Ah yes, Castiel, that’s the name. Michael had asked Dean to hire the guy. Apparently he’s family. A cousin or something, and he just got out of prison. What was it again? Helping a friend sell military equipment? Way to get a dishonorable discharge.

“What do you know about the guy, Silver eyes?” Dean asks.

His new bodyguard lifts and eyebrow. “Silver eyes?”

“Would you prefer Immortal?” According to Michael that’s what some people call his new bodyguard. Pretty overdramatic nickname.

“Oy!” Silver eyes complains. “Don’t call me that. It’s too much like tempting fate for my liking, you feel me?”

Dean laughs. “Yeah, fair enough.” He has to give it to the guy, he’s not that bad. “But your actual name is a quite a mouthful.”

“Call me Sasha.”

“Alright, Sasha. So, what do you know about the new guy?”

Sasha shrugs. “All I know is that the boss wants me to watch him and see, if he’s trustworthy. Apparently he just showed up. Not much contact before that. But he’s family and he’s already been doing shady business. Apparently pretty successful, before he was busted. So maybe he’s useful.”

“What’s your verdict so far?” It’s only been a few hours, but Dean is curious. Maybe you have to have some kind of super people assessing skills to become a mafia bodyguard. Who knows.

Sasha grins and takes a sip from his coke. “That he’s pretty useless with customers.”

“No shit,” Dean says.

Castiel fumes, when he gets off work later. The nerve some people have! It’s like by showing up to work this morning he had somehow resigned some human rights. Instead they use him as an outlet to their frustration and expect him to smile and nod along the way.

He still doesn’t get why Michael has sent him to wait tables here, either. Wasn’t there supposed to be some shady business going on? At least that’s what Naomi said. If the FBI was wrong about this, if they practically forced him into service and sent him here for nothing, he hopes the feds will at least keep their part of the deal anyway.

Well, at least they had been right about Michael and Dean Winchester. There is some kind of connection obviously.

Castiel walks home through the darkness, not particularly afraid of what might lurk there, even though Dean had warned him that the neighbourhood isn’t the best. He kind of hopes someone might try something. At least he could vent some of his anger that way.

He has a small apartment not that far away in a house riddled with graffiti. The stairwell stinks of something rotten all the time, and he holds his breath until he reaches his door and hurries in.

He has only just pulled off his shoes, when his phone rings. He thinks about not answering it, just out of spite, but then he does so anyway.

“Report,” Naomi’s voice comes from the other side of the line.

Castiel huffs. “I waited tables for ten hours.”

“I want a report on the important parts,” she says testily. “Did you get close to Sam Winchester?”

He wishes there was some way to tell her to just fuck off. The words are on the tip of his tongue. He swallows them down, though. “The bar my cousin sent me to work in belongs to Dean Winchester.”

“Excellent.” The self-satisfied smile he hears in her voice makes him scowl at nothing. “Sam Winchester will show up there eventually. Just work on winning his brother’s trust for the moment. And that of your cousins.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. That much was kind of obvious. “Yes, ma’am. When will you let Balthazar out then?”

“As soon as there are some results.”

Castiel’s fingers clench around the phone. “What if there are none?”

“There will be. People that don’t have anything to hide usually don’t quit the service as a police officer and start a stripping career at questionable joints. Don’t worry. Do your work right and your friend will be free soon.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says again through clenched teeth. Hopefully, this will be over soon.

It actually doesn’t take long until Sam Winchester shows up. Castiel and Kevin are on their own for the night. Dean is somewhere else, Castiel doesn’t know exactly where. But he recognizes Sam from the photos Naomi has shown him. Not that it’s easy to miss someone that tall.

He’s in the company of a small brunette woman and a blond man that looks somewhat familiar. Castiel squints at the later until Kevin nudges him. “Dude, stop staring. Go wait on the people on table three. They’ve been trying to get your attention for a while now.”

Table three is making things needlessly complicated, of course, by wanting to pay separately, but arguing over who pays for what. Castiel resigns himself to waiting and eyerolling. By now he knows that any input from his side will not be appreciated.

When he comes back, Sam and his companions are sitting at a table near the bar, talking animatedly.

“Who is that?” Castiel nods towards their table.

Kevin doesn’t even look up from taping beer. “You mean Sam? The tall one? That’s Dean’s brother.”

“No, the other man.”

That makes Kevin stop for a moment. “Oh.” He hesitates. “I’m not supposed to talk about them. But don’t make him angry, please. He’s bad news. I’m telling Dean for a while now not to mess with the bunch, but does he ever listen to me? Of course not. Sam and Dean never listen to me. Always heading straight into trouble.”

Kevin closes the tap and looks at him for a moment through narrowed eyes. “Wait … Aren’t you related to them?” he asks. “I heard Dean talk about it. You don’t recognize your own family?”

Oh, now that he knows, Castiel remembers the blond boy he’s last seen when he was five or something like that. He and his siblings had shown up unannounced, hadn’t they? He doesn’t know why, but his parents had been angry and they hadn’t stayed long.

So this must be Lucifer. He’s finally meeting one of his other cousins. “Haven’t seen them in a long time and not met all of them so far. What do you mean the bunch is trouble?” Naomi hadn’t said anything about trouble from his cousin’s part. There had only ever been talk about getting closer to his cousins, because Dean and Michael are apparently an item and that’ll lead him straight to Sam.

Kevin looks at him as if he’s joking, then he shakes his head. “Nevermind. Just don’t make him angry.”

Castiel inclines his head. That’s what Balthazar would do, isn’t it? Be friendly until he gets a better opportunity to collect more information. “I see. If Lucifer scares you, I can take over their table,” he offers. It would be a good opportunity to get this job done so he can finally move on.

For a moment Kevin seems torn. “At least try and be nice to them, okay?” he says finally. “I don’t want any trouble while Dean is away.”

“No trouble.” Castiel promises.

Kevin doesn’t look as if he believes it, but he nods. At the same time, a movement at the table catches his eye. The brunette woman is laughing at something Lucifer said, then answers, mischievous grin on her face. Castiel likes that grin. “Who’s she?” he asks.

Now Kevin finally actually looks towards the table. He shrugs. “Meg, I think? Haven’t see her here often. Probably trouble too.”

Yes, she looks like it. He likes that, too.

They stop talking when he gets close enough to listen, which just helps confirm what Kevin said. Meg – if that’s her name – looks at him with a quirked eyebrow and a smile that shows pearly white teeth. “Haven’t see you here before, pretty boy. What’s your name?”

He could’ve done without ‘pretty boy’, but at least she isn’t treating him like he’s part of the furniture. “Castiel,” he says. “What can I bring you?”

Instead of an answer, her smile gets brighter. “Another angel?”

Lucifer shrugs. “It’s a family thing. That’s my cousin.” He points from Meg to Castiel and back. “Castiel, Meg. Meg, Castiel.” Then at Sam. “And in case you didn’t meet your boss’ brother yet. This is Sam.” Then he looks at Castiel curiously. “Haven’t seen you since our dad last tried to dump us at your parent’s and they threw a hissy fit about it.”

“I barely remember anything.” That seems the safe thing to say. Usually he’d ask them to hurry up with their order now, but that would be contrary to his mission. Instead he turns to Meg. She had commented on his name, so he can use that to start a conversation. “I’m named after the angel of Thursday.”

She laughs. “Looks like your parents though you have big things ahead of you, Clarence.”

Castiel frowns. “It’s Castiel, not –”

“She got that,” Sam interrupts with an amused smile. “It’s a movie reference.”

Of course it would be. Castiel rolls his eyes and can practically hear Balthazar teasing him about missing that. At least now he has Sam’s attention, too, even though he’s not sure what to do with it for now. “So,” he asks instead. “What do you want to drink?”

The evening doesn’t get quite as shitty as a few others he’s had at the bar so far. Of course Castiel gets why Kevin is afraid of Lucifer and Meg. He isn’t stupid. Illegally selling military equipment with Balthazar has made him come in contact with enough dangerous people to recognize them when he sees them. But no matter how many skeletons they might be hiding in their respective basements, at least they treat him like an actual person.

When there’s a lull, he spends some time at their table. Catching up with Lucifer gives a good excuse for that.

And there’s one thing he catches on pretty soon. Sam and Lucifer try to be discreet about it, but there are frequent touches, glances and a familiarity between them that seems to hint at Michael maybe not being the only one of his cousins that got himself a Winchester boyfriend. Castiel wonders why they’re trying to hide it.

“So, how did you get caught?” Lucifer asks during one of Castiel’s stops at their table.

“Lucifer!” Sam hisses. “You can’t just ask about something like that!”

Castiel blinks. “What?”

“Come on, I’m just curious.” Lucifer leans back with a grin. “We know what you did. Not holding it against you. But share with the class. How did you get busted?”

Sam throws Lucifer a silent judging bitchface, while Castiel finds Meg looking at him with even more interested than before. “I don’t know what you did,” she protests. “What was it, Clarence?”

“You really don’t have to answer that.” Sam leans forward over the table. “I’m sorry Lucifer brought it up. If you don’t want to talk about it, we all understand.”

Whatever Sam did to land on the shitlist of the FBI, Castiel decides, it can’t be that bad. At least not from his point of view. Sam seems like a pretty decent person so far. And usually Castiel hates talking about what got him into prison, but usually people ask out of some morbid kind of curiosity. Lucifer on the other hand talks about it like other people would about the weather. And Meg looks at him as if he managed to pull off a hilarious prank. “Me and a friend at the army sold military equipment,” Castiel explains.

Lucifer and Sam both nod, which is not a reaction he has gotten often to that kind of thing so far. Meg lifts both eyebrows. “Nice.” It almost sounds like she’s proud. “So, how did you get caught?”

Good question. “Someone must’ve betrayed us.”

“Another friend?” Sam asks.

“Most likely,” Cas agrees.

“Sorry to hear that.” Does Sam have to be so nice? Spying on him for the FBI would be so much easier, if Castiel didn’t like him.

“How long did you manage to keep it up without them noticing?” There’s interest sparkling in Lucifer’s eyes.

“Five years.”

That gets him an impressed whistle from Meg and a few more nods.

“Quite a feat,” Sam says.

There’s definitely something up with them. Cas tilts his head a little. “Dean mentioned you worked as a police officer until recently.” He makes it sound like a question: Why do you approve of what I just told you, if that’s the case?

Sam shrugs. “I was a police officer because I wanted to help people. But I realized I was too busy punishing poor people for being poor and desperate and not spending enough time hunting the real predators.”

That’s an interesting answer. Castiel thinks about it for a while. “So, what are you doing now?”

Sam smiles. “What I actually wanted to do. In a way.”

“I spoke to Sam Winchester today,” Castiel says on the phone with Naomi later. “I’m working on winning his trust.”

“Good. Keep it up.”

There are so many more things he should probably tell her about. What Kevin had said about Lucifer. Sam and Lucifer being close. Meg. What Sam had hinted at. Instead he says: “This would be easier with Balthazar’s help. My people skills are a bit rusty.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine. We’ll let him out as soon as you get a lead. Have a good night.”

The line goes dead before he can say anything else. Castiel throws the phone against the wall, cursing.

Something is going on in this bar, Castiel is almost sure of it. People are coming and going in the back rooms and it doesn’t look like they’re playing poker there. He thinks about listening in, but on the other hand, his mission is Sam. If there’s other sketchy stuff going on here, it’s none of his business and probably won’t even help getting Balthazar out. He can see Naomi going: “Thanks for the tip, but you still have a job to do.”

He’s not going to rat anyone out to the FBI on that basis. On the other hand, telling Naomi that there’s something big going on here might make her finally grant him some backup in form of Balthazar. It’s probably a question of how much she trusts him by now.

Castiel is still pondering what to do, when voices are getting louder in the back of the bar. He sees Kevin backing away from it. Dean is busy with a customer at the bar at the moment. So Castiel heads right for it.

There are two guys discussing something drunkenly and increasingly aggressive. He is almost at their table, when one of them stands up abruptly and lounges over the table.

Castiel doesn’t think. He turns the tablet he usually uses to carry drinks and smashes it right into the guy’s face. Then he shoves it back far enough that the back of the man’s head hits the wall behind him. The drunk’s arms flail wildly, but he can’t see anything past the tablet that’s still right in his face. Castiel punches him right in the stomach, and the troublemaker folds into himself. As soon as Castiel removes the tablet, he slides down the wall, clutching his midriff.

“Hey, asshole! That’s my friend.”

When Castiel turns, he sees that the other guy has gotten to his feet, too. “You should thank me,” he informs the man. “Your friend was about to hurt you.”

“He’s still my fucking friend! And if someone punches him, it’s me!”

Great. Castiel rolls his eyes. Ungrateful lot. Before anything else can happen, though, the silver haired regular customer that had been sitting at the bar walks up to the man and lets a hand land heavy on his shoulder. “Oy! I’d like to enjoy my drink in peace. If you got a problem with how the wait staff here is resolving fights, why don’t you just leave, hm?”

The guy looks from Castiel to Silver hair and back. Castiel knows he himself doesn’t look particularly intimidating, but Silver hair definitely does with his military haircut and broad built. It doesn’t take long until both troublemakers are hurrying out the door.

Castiel nods to the silver haired customer. “Thanks.”

The guy nods back. “Looks like you could’ve handled it pretty well yourself. I just figured your boss might appreciate this getting resolved mostly peacefully.”

Castiel looks in Dean’s direction, who’s watching them with a mostly neutral expression. “I guess you’re right. Thanks again ...” He lets the end of the sentence linger a bit.

“Sasha,” silver hair says. “Where did you learn how to fight like that?” He points at the tablet, and only now does Castiel realize there’s a bit of blood on its surface. That’s probably against some kind of sanitary regulations.

“I’m ex military,” Castiel says.

Sasha chuckles. “Yeah, no, that’s not where you learn how to do stuff like that.”

Castiel shrugs, frowning down on the tablet. “I just work with what I have.”

“Good job.” With that Sasha returns to his seat.

Dean says the same thing a bit later, patting Castiel’s shoulder. “Good job, Cas.”

It’s nice to be appreciated for a change. Castiel decides not to tell Naomi about his suspicions for now.

Dean watches Cas hurry from table from table, then he finally sidles up to Sasha. “So what’s your verdict now?”

“I’m reporting to my boss, not to his boyfriend,” Sasha says, his smile probably meant to take the sting out of the words.

Dean doesn’t take offence. As far as he’s concerned, Michael’s men staying loyal to Michael is a good thing. “Come on, man,” he tries anyway. “I don’t want to know any details about what kind of tasks he would be useful for. But he’d fit right into the family, wouldn’t he?”

“He would,” Sasha agrees. “Still not sure, if he’s trustworthy, though.”

“Well, you not gonna find out about that by watching him serve drinks.”

Sasha makes a sturgeon face and shrugs a shoulder to concede to the point.

“Clarence! Wait up!”

Castiel turns. He’s one block away from the bar by now and apart from him and Meg, who’s currently running to catch up with him, there’s no one on the dark street.

Meg is waving a cell phone. “You forgot your phone in the bar. Dean sent me after you.” She stops right in front of him, barely out of breath, holding the cell phone out to him with a smile.

He never forgets his phone. Castiel frowns, while he takes it. It’s definitely his, but he’s so sure he had his phone in his pocket when he headed out. He eyes Meg suspiciously, but her smile never wavers. “Thanks,” he says after a while, puts the phone back in his pocket.

“You’re welcome.” She falls in step next to him, when he starts walking again. “By the way, who’s Samandriel? You have a missed call from him. It rang on my way here.”

Samandriel called? Castiel curses silently, then he goes to check his phone. Sure enough, there is a missed call. “Little brother of a friend,” he explains, unlocking his phone while he speaks.

“And then he calls you?”

“Friend is still in prison. I promised to look out for his brother.” He taps the screen to call Samandriel back.

“Aww.” Castiel isn’t sure, if Meg is mocking him or not. “A real angel, aren’t you, Clarence?”

Castiel doesn’t answer, because that’s the moment Samandriel picks up.

Samandriel needs money. He always needs money. Part of the earnings from deals Balthazar made always went straight into Samandriel’s college fund. Castiel promises to send some, but the job at Dean’s bar doesn’t pay enough by far. He’ll have to get Balthazar out soon.

“Good friend, eh?” Meg comments. She’s keeps walking beside him, and Castiel isn’t quite sure why. Not that he minds the company, though. He watches her in the light of the streetlamps for a moment. She must know that the neighborhood is bad, too, but she doesn’t look concerned in the least, her attention mostly on him with little side eyes and smiles.

He nods. “He saved my life once.” And he is failing at a much simpler task right now. Damn FBI!

“You could always ask your cousins for help,” Meg suggests.

Could he? After he hadn’t seen them for more than twenty years? And they definitely wouldn’t pay some random kid’s college fees. “I’m pretty sure they can’t get Balthazar out of prison.”

Meg grins. “I’m pretty sure they could.”

It’s bullshit, of course. Balthazar has been proven guilty. No lawyer can change that.

They talk about easier topics after that. Meg is fun, and she even manages to take his mind off his worries for a while. He can’t do anything about them until tomorrow anyway.

Somehow they end up against the door of his apartment kissing, Meg’s arms slung around his neck, her body pressed flush against his. She nips on his lower lip, then lets her head fall back against the door as he kisses down her neck. “I’ve seen you deal with the troublemakers at the bar today,” she says a bit breathless. “It was pretty hot.”

“Is that why you stole my phone?” Castiel straightens a little, watching her face for a reaction. “So you had a reason to follow me here?”

For a moment Meg blinks in surprise. Then she grins. “You realized that?”

She really isn’t fazed easily, is she? He appreciates that she stands by what she did, though. “I never lose my phone,” Castiel says. “And next time you want to follow me home, just follow me home. If you steal from me again, there will be trouble.”

Meg’s grin gets wider. Her hands start to wander, find their way under his shirt and leave tingling trails on his skin. “Is that an invitation?”

“Do you only ever hear what you want to hear?” At the same time he cards his fingers through her hair, making her lean into the touch. He kind of likes her attitude.

“Most of the time. But don’t worry. I got what you’re saying. No more stealing.”

Castiel smiles and kisses her again. She can follow him home anytime she wants.

Archangel Chat

Gabriel: Bad news, guys. I’ve analyzed the data Meg got from Cassie’s phone and he’s been talking regularly to someone with a number that belongs to the feds.

Lucifer: Aw fuck. I almost started to like the guy.

Michael: Dean has just recently stopped complaining about him, too, but we can’t ignore this.

Raphael: Do we know who he was talking to and what they were after?

Gabriel: Working on it. But it wasn’t easy finding out that the number belonged to the feds in the first place.

Lucifer: Michael, what’s the plan? Reassign him somewhere where he can’t make trouble and feed him false information? Or get him out of the way?

Michael: I want to know what he’s after. Which means, if Gabriel can’t dig anything up, we’ll have to ask him.

Raphael: And then we’ll have to get rid him for sure afterwards.

Lucifer: Great. Meg will hate this.

Raphael: Is she going to make trouble?

Lucifer: I know how to keep my people in line, sis. Don’t worry. She’s loyal. But I’ll probably have to make it up to her somehow. And everybody likes Cassandra. Sam, too. The little guy is weird that way. No social skills, but people adopt him like some lost puppy or something.

Raphael: Maybe you can learn something from him, Lucifer.

Lucifer: Fuck you, sis. I like making people nervous, okay?

Michael: I’m not happy about it either. He seemed like a good addition to the family. Even Aleksandr was impressed by him.

Gabriel: I’m not surprised by that. Sasha always takes to the weird, but resourceful ones.

Michael: Let’s wait and see what else Gabriel will dig up. But in case we have no choice: Any volunteers?

Lucifer: He already knows me and thinks I’m a friend. I’ll do it.

Raphael: You sure? Last time you had to kill someone you liked, you spent the next few weeks even more grumpy than usual.

Lucifer: I said I almost started to like him. I’m not emotionally attached yet.

Raphael: Just saying. I could do it, too.

Lucifer: Appreciated.

Gabriel: It’s always creepy watching you two get along too well, you know that?

Lucifer: Quick, Raph, say something sarcastic to put Gabriel at ease.

Raphael: *eyeroll emoji*

Lucifer: That’ll do.

Castiel wakes up with a splitting headache and no idea where he is and how he got into this situation. He mouth feels dry, which comes to no surprise as soon as he figures out that there’s a piece of cloth between his lips, gagging him. Automatically, he tries to lift his hands, but that only makes metal dig into his wrists. He’s sitting on a chair, mostly held upright by his arms that are bound behind the backrest. With a groan he straightens up, blinks, recognizes his own apartment. He’s sitting in the middle of the living room. And across from him is Lucifer on a chair that’s turned around, his arms on the backrest, watching him.

Lucifer makes no move to help Castiel, so he’s probably responsible for his situation. Castiel feels a pang of betrayal, while his memories come back. Lucifer had knocked on his door with a six pack of beer a few hours earlier. They’d had a pretty good talk, even though Castiel had thought the alcohol had a bit too much of an effect. Now he knows why.

Castiel tries to say something, but the gag prevents words from getting out.

Lucifer smiles. “Hello there, sleeping beauty. I’ll take the gag out and get you something to drink and something against your headache as soon as you promise not to call for help.”

It looks like he should’ve paid more attention to what had been going on in Dean’s bar. Apparently it’s even bigger than he thought. Worry makes a tight knot in Castiel’s stomach, but at least he isn’t dead yet and Lucifer offering painkillers gives him hope. He nods. His neighbors probably wouldn’t react to calls for help anyway.

“Knew you’d be reasonable.” Lucifer gets up and steps behind him to open the knot that keeps the gag in place. “But just to be absolutely clear. If you make any kind of noise that’ll draw attention to us, I’ll shove a blade somewhere where it’ll hurt.”

It shouldn’t be able to make threats in such a gentle voice. Castiel nods again, though.

Then the gag is out, and Lucifer walks away towards the kitchen area of the apartment. Castiel tests his bonds. Hands and feet are handcuffed to the chair. No way he’ll get out of that.

Lucifer comes back with a glass of water and a pill. On the basis that Lucifer could kill him any time he wants anyway, Castiel opens his mouth and lets his cousin place the pill on his tongue. Lucifer helps him drink a bit of water, wash the pill down. Then he returns to his own chair.

Castiel tries to sit up straighter, just to have pain shoot through his skull with every movement. “Did you roofie me?” he asks.

“I wasn’t very keen on fighting you.” Lucifer makes an almost apologetic gesture. “I have a few questions you wouldn’t have answered any other way.”

Castiel pulls a face, knot of worry getting tighter. “I figured.”

That makes Lucifer smile. He puts his chin on his forearms that are on the backrest of his chair again. “Answer truthfully and I won’t hurt you, okay?” That may or may not be a lie. “We know you’re working with the FBI.”

Of course he’d thought it might be that. But how did they find out? They can’t know for sure. Even the number he has been calling shouldn’t be traceable back to the feds. Maybe Lucifer is bluffing, trying to make him confirm a suspicion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Lucifer says. “I want to know what they’re after.”

“Lucifer,” Castiel says, trying to distract from more questions, “I don’t know what you have to hide, but I don’t care. I just got out of prison. I don’t exactly have the moral high ground here.”

“But you got out of prison early on good behavior, didn’t you? Which is interesting, because as it turns out, your behavior was anything but good. Unless starting fights has become the polite thing to do since I last spent time behind bars. It’s been a while, I have to admit.”

Castiel hadn’t know that and he files it away to maybe use it later. If there is a later. “I didn’t start fights, I ended them.”

Lucifer grins. “I really like you. Please answer my question. What is the FBI looking for?”

He’s dead anyway, isn’t he? Castiel stares at Lucifer for a moment. He can’t see any weapons, but he’s sure Lucifer has some on his person. And judging from the way he seems completely at ease with the situation this isn’t the first time he had done something like this. This whole thing really is way bigger than Castiel had thought. “Sam,” he says finally.

That makes Lucifer tense up. “What?”

Now that he’s started he can as well spill everything. “The way Sam quit his job made them suspicious. They know he spent the last few months stripping at questionable places now and then.”

“That’s it?” Lucifer asks. He visibly relaxes again.

Castiel nods.

Now Lucifer is the one staring, his jaw working in thought. Castiel shifts uncomfortably on his chair. The headache has receded a bit by now. At least that’s something.

“What did you tell them so far?” Lucifer asks finally.

“Nothing.”

Lucifer scoffs. “Oh, come on, Cassie. You’re trying to tell me you spent all this time at Dean’s bar looking for something off and didn’t see anything worth telling the FBI?”

“Of course I did.” He probably shouldn’t get angry, but how stupid does Lucifer think he is? “But I got promised that my friend gets out of prison, if I give them information about Sam. They didn’t ask for anything about Dean or his bar or you or your siblings.”

For a moment Lucifer blinks at him in surprise, then he throws his head back and laughs. It takes him a while to calm down. When he does, he takes a deep breath. “Oh, this is priceless. You really fit right in with the family. I wish you’d told any of us earlier. It’s hard to trust anything you say now, you know. Of course you’d take every offer to doublecross them now, would you?”

Castiel shakes his head, which makes Lucifer lift an eyebrow in surprise.

“I wouldn’t take any offer,” he clarifies. “I owe Balthazar my life and he’s still in prison. The FBI promised me to let him out as soon as I give them information about Sam. You’d have to offer something similar.”

Meg had been right, hadn’t she? His cousins probably could get Balthazar out. If you’re not relying on legal means only, a lot of things are possible.

Lucifer looks at him with a thoughtful look now, and Castiel holds his breath. That’s when they both hear someone fumbling with the lock of his apartment. Castiel’s heart speeds up, but before he can say anything, Lucifer has drawn a gun and goes into position next to the door. “If you make any noise, I’ll shoot you.”

“It’s me!” comes Meg’s voice from the hallway. “I’m coming in now.”

Lucifer relaxes a bit, but not completely. “Alright.” Still, when she steps in, he points his gun at her.

And that makes the coil of worry and fear in Castiel’s gut dissolve into anger. He know she’s working for Lucifer, but apparently he hadn’t expected her here. And she’d tried to help Castiel before, had told him how to resolve his problems without getting in trouble. Not her fault that he hadn’t believed her. Castiel pulls on his restraints. “Leave her alone!”

Meg stops in the doorway and lifts both hands to show that she is unarmed. She shoots Castiel an amused smile. “Aww, my hero.” Then she turns to Lucifer. “Boss, is there anything I can do to convince you not to kill him?”

So she’s really here for him?

“Will there be a problem, if there isn’t?” Lucifer asks.

“I pick a cause and I stick to it, boss. You’re that cause.” She doesn’t look happy, but she looks like she’s telling the truth. So much for her being on his side. Another sting of betrayal hits Castiel.

Slowly Lucifer lowers his gun. “I’m half convinced we shouldn’t kill him anyway. You got anything to add?”

Castiel doesn’t dare hope, while he watches Meg walk into the room and towards him. She steps behind the chair and cards her fingers through his hair in a way that’s soothing despite everything she just said. Castiel half closes his eyes, tries to enjoy it as long as he can. “Clarence, did you tell Lucifer about your friend Balthazar yet?”

“He did,” Lucifer says. “Apparently he’s the reason Cassie is working for the FBI.”

They could at least get his name right now and then, Castiel thinks.

Meg nods. “I figured as much. I heard him promise Balthazar’s little brother basically all the money he can spare. I’d bet my life on him being fiercely loyal to his friends, not to whoever he’s working for.”

The thoughtful look is back on Lucifer’s face now, and Castiel dares hope at least a little.

“You really think you could get Balthazar out of prison?” he asks.

“Of course we could,” Lucifer says. “Get him out, supply him with a new identity, resolve all money issues. But for that price, we’d want absolute loyalty from you.”

It sounds almost too good to be true. “Sure,” Castiel says.

Lucifer lifts an eyebrow. “That easy?”

“It’s not like I liked working for the FBI.”

“Told you,” Meg says.

Lucifer doesn’t look completely convinced yet. “So …” he says. “If I ask you to call your FBI contact right now and tell them something that’ll avert all suspicion from Sam, you’ll do it?”

So he’s fishing for a show of trust. Because there is the risk that Naomi will not release Balthazar for information like that. Castiel will have to trust that his cousins will keep their end of the deal. He isn’t sure why exactly, but he looks at Meg.

She smiles. “If the boss says something will get done, it will get done.”

Castiel nods. He thinks of Sam, who has either talked bullshit about helping people or found a bunch of criminals that somehow support him in exactly that. He thinks of Dean who doesn’t seem too bad either, but is obviously also involved in this. And then there’s Meg, of course, who had come here to try and save his life, even though not at all cost.

“I’ll do it,” he says.

Meg strokes Castiel’s cheek with the back of her fingers and leans down. “I promise you won’t regret that,” she whispers.

Castiel smiles, but looks at Lucifer. “May I make a suggestion, though?”

Lucifer tilts his head to the side curiously. “Go ahead.”

“Don’t just make it something I say. Give me something I can show her as proof and fabricate some more that she’ll find, when she verifies it.”

That makes his cousin smile. “I knew there was a reason why I like you.” He throws Meg the key to the handcuffs. “You’re under house arrest until we figured something out. Meg will keep an eye on you. Don’t give me any reason to shoot you.”

At least he won’t die today. “I’ll do my best.”

A few days later Castiel and Sam meet to have a scripted conversation that Castiel “secretly” records. It’s Sam telling him how much the death of Chief Henricksen has affected him (by the way his voice breaks a few times it really has), how he’s drifting since then, how he doesn’t feel like holding a regular job, and how he earns money stripping wherever they’ll take him whenever he needs it.

He claims having done drugs, which is something they can’t arrest him for unless they find some in his possession. For good measure they add a picture of some pills that Castiel “secretly” takes (he doesn’t ask where the pills are from and if they’re the real deal), and there’ll be some people at the places Sam had worked before that’ll claim having taken drugs with him and generally having witnessed him being the mess that fits his story.

After they’re done, Sam smiles and thanks him for not ruining his life. How someone that nice ended up with Lucifer is simply beyond Castiel. And he probably shouldn’t have commented on it, because he gets the stink eye from Lucifer for it. “You’re still not out of probation, Cassie.”

By now the death threats have lost their shock value a bit and Castiel just rolls his eyes.

He sends the file to Naomi. A bit later he gets a call from her. He takes it with Lucifer sitting next to him in a calm but slightly threatening way.

“Are you sure he’s telling the truth?” Naomi asks. She doesn’t sound happy. Apparently she wanted to find something.

“As sure as I can be,” he says. “Are you going to release Balthazar now?”

She hmpfs. “I’ll have to confirm this.”

“It’s not my fault there isn’t much to find. I did what you asked of me.”

“I’ll have to confirm this,” she says, voice sharper. And with that she hangs up. Castiel curses and only barely keeps himself from throwing the phone against the wall again.

Lucifer pats his shoulder. “Good job. And Michael will probably send some lawyers as a start, but your friend will get out either way.”

Castiel nods, still angry, but feeling less helpless at least.

“Oh, and Cassie?” Lucifer adds.

“Yes?”

“Welcome to the family.”

Tagging:  @brieflymaximumprincess @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell @humongouscandycoffee @schizonephilim @little-boyking @solo-skywlker @talkmagically @whinywingedwinchester @samwise-the-true-hero

#spnaubingo #megstiel #castiel #meg masters #supernatural #spn #fanfiction #mafia verse

[sxypigeon]

The Wedding (chapter 14)

Book 5 Absolution

A/N:  A reappearance of the plot after an adorable chapter of fluff!  Mako gets a new assignment, a new character makes an a debut, someone gets assassinated, and the girls begin their vacation.  Get your canon korrasami while it’s hot!

Chapter 1,  13

Tahno’s trombone bellowed enthusiastically as the dance floor began to attract a new wave of party-goers with a lively tune.  Shouts of excitement were lost in the music as the rest of the band joined in.  Across the room, Korra could be seen practically dragging her laughing girlfriend into the mass of happy people.

“How are you holding up?”

Mako tore his eyes from his exes playfully fighting for the lead on the dance floor to his boss.  “Better everyday,” he said before sipping his drink - Asami seemed to have won the fight as she twirled the younger woman before pulling her back into her arms.

“Good enough to get back on the beat?”

Hell, yes.  “As long as you don’t expect me to take out another twenty-five story mech singlehandedly.  Why?”

Lin snagged another drink from one of the passing twins.  “I’ve gotten word there’s trouble brewing in the refugee camps.  The various gangs are trying to make inroads with the displaced citizens, particularly the youth.”

Opportunistic bastards.  “Sounds like we need to remind them why the police are around.”  

“More than that,” she said, eyes scouring the scene for anything out of the ordinary - aside from Meelo’s and Wu’s impromptu dance-off.  “We need to beat them at their own game.  If we can give them an alternative to the Triads and the Agni Kais, we might be able to stop the next generation of gang bangers and thugs.”

“And you need me for that?” Mako asked in confusion.

“You and your brother.”

“Bolin?  He’s not a cop,” he laughed, momentarily wondering if his boss had had too much to drink already.

“I’ve been at this for a lot longer than you,” she said with a glare.  “I’ve watched this cycle happen more than a few times.  Future Industries’ outreach programs have helped, but if we want to keep up with this problem we need to be among the people and continue to build bridges in the community.”

“Okay, but what do you need me - and Bolin apparently - to do?”

Lin took a long drink.  “I need you two to spend as much time in the camps as possible and get a feel for what their problems and concerns are and let them know that we’re listening and trying to meet their needs.”

“And Bolin?”

“People love Bolin.  I don’t know why - he was a pain in my ass the whole time Opal brought him with to rescue my sister and her family.  If he can’t win over the people, no one can.  I need you to be the level-headed voice of reason.  I expect you to the voice of the department since I’ll be stuck here for the foreseeable future protecting the president.”

A bubble of pride began to swell in Mako’s chest.  Lin obviously loathed delegating a task so important, but she did and to him.  I won’t screw this up.  You can count on me.  “When do we head out?”

She was about to reply when she jumped forward in alarm.

“Talking about work at a wedding?  Why am I not surprised?” Kya said with an arched eyebrow as she stepped from behind the chief.  “Don’t you ever take a break, Lin?”

“Not when the people I’m tasked to protect are in danger,” she stated tightly.

“That’s a shame,” the waterbender cooed as she sauntered away toward the drink table.  

Lin frowned after her for a moment before she remembered what she was saying.  “The day after tomorrow.  I was going to brief Bolin tonight, but he’s disappeared with my niece and I don’t care to know where they are at the moment.  I trust you’ll inform him if you see him?”

“Of course.”  

“Good.”  She continued to watch Kya from across the courtyard.  “I also trust that you’ll forget what you may or may not have just seen.”

“I have no idea what you’re talk about,” he said somewhat honestly.  Wait, was Kya flirting with-

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, detective,” Lin said before slamming back the rest of her drink and following Kya’s path to the drink table.

“You too, chief,” he muttered in surprise before spotting Wu strutting up to him.  Go get her.

“Are you sure you have enough supplies packed?” Tenzin asked the girls as Korra explained what they wanted to do.

“Yes, I had Asami double check,” she said with an eyeroll.

“Be careful,” he said as he hugged her.  “And have a good time.”

As long as it goes smoother than my first trip into the spirit world, Korra thought as she pulled away.  “I’m always careful.  It’s the rest of the world that isn’t.”

“Of course,” he said with a smile as they watched Pema and Asami embrace.  “I’ll send Jinora if anything of importance happens while you’re gone - though if you’ll only be gone a week-”

“With all that’s happened this week, I wouldn’t be surprised if I saw her before the night was over,” Korra laughed tiredly.

“We’ll do our best to handle things on our own until you return,” Tenzin promised with a smile.  He and his wife watched them depart hand-in-hand as Tonraq and Senna joined them.

“Off on another adventure,” Pema mused happily.

“I suppose we’ll have to stay a bit longer if we want to see them when they get back,” Senna said somewhat sadly.  

“You’re both welcome to stay as long as you want,” Tenzin said.  “If anyone needs a break, it’s those two.  I just hope it will be enough.”

“If how they look at each other is any indication, I’m sure they’ll have a very good time,” Tonraq chuckled.

Senna smacked his arm.  “Behave.”

“I’m just saying they seem like they’re good for each other . . . and very obviously want to have some time alone,” he said with a grin.  “Korra has never been good at hiding her feelings.”

“Something she gets from you, no doubt,” Pema laughed.

“At least someone is having a good time,” a young woman muttered to herself as she spied fireworks erupting over Yue Bay.  She sighed tiredly as she hosted a large container of water onto her shoulder.  “Probably UR soldiers celebrating the end of the war.  I don’t suppose they could send any of that good cheer our way.”

The walk back to her tent was mostly uneventful with the exception of a few kids darting into her path and an elderly man attempting to flirt with her.  Life in the refugee camp wasn’t perfect, but it beat being blown up by a pinkish-purple super weapon, she supposed.  They say there isn’t much left since the battle - I wonder if the shop is still standing.

“I’m back,” she called tiredly as she entered the small living space.  

“Jeong, did you have any trouble?” her mother asked as she set aside the pair of trousers she was repairing by lantern light.

She set down her load and rolled her neck tiredly.  “No, the Triple Threats weren’t out, but Old man Hoon did say I looked particularly radiant tonight.”

“Of course he did,” the older woman muttered with a relieved smile.  “Are you hungry?”

“Depends on what there is,” she said as she collapsed onto her cot.  Around her, her younger brother and sister slept while her father hemmed a coat, trying to maintain the family business even without having the shop.  

“Hotteok?”

Jeong perked up immediately.  “That’s not what they were offering at the ration station.”

“Of course not.  Jin and I decided to pool our rations together and make a treat to keep the neighborhood in good spirits.  It’s cold, but you could heat it up over the lantern,” her mother said as she presented her daughter with a small bundle of the honey and nut-filled pancakes.

“I missed your cooking so much,” she admitted as she hurried across the tent to sit next to the lantern and her father.  “Flameo Noodles seven days straight is six days too many.”

“I think you mean seven,” her father chuckled.

“How did your meeting with the kids go today?” her mother asked anxiously as she joined them.

“About as well as I could have hoped.”  She took a bite and sighed happily.  “Some of the younger ones seemed to be open to forming a neighborhood watch, but a lot of the older ones have already been talking to the Triad.  I’m not sure how much good any of this will do,” she finished quietly.

“Trying is better than doing nothing,” he said softly.  “And who knows how long we’ll be stuck here.  Better to be over prepared than under.”

“I guess.  I just wish they’d leave us alone.  It’s hard to convince them to voluntarily do anything when the Triad is flashing wads of cash around.”  She finished her treat and wrapped up the remaining for her younger siblings.  “I’m going to do one more walk around before bed.”

“Be careful, you’ve had a long day already,” the older woman said.

“I always am.”  The fall night air was just a bit too warm to be considered crisp, but was still refreshing.  Jeong followed her usual path along the rows of tents, watching for any sign of trouble.  Not that I could do a thing about it if I found any,  she thought as her hand settled on the short dagger she kept hidden under the clothes - a dagger she didn’t know how to use.  

A flash of pink caught the corner of her eye as she stared out toward the bay.  What the hell was that?

Former Grand Secretariat Gun exhaled heavily as he stared out across the vast ocean.  Varrik’s wedding had been a pleasant enough affair, but it did nothing to quell the anxiety in his chest.  Two attacks on Republic City in seven days was terribly troubling and did not bode well for peace or Wu’s possible ascension to the throne (especially since the prince seemed to be completely uninterested in the prospect).  

Who will lead the the Earth Kingdom if not the prince?  He is the last blood relative of King Kuei.  Surely he doesn’t honestly think the states can rule themselves?  He leaned heavily on the railing of the ship and tried to clear his mind.  Now was not the time to worry of such things - tonight was to be a celebration, a break from the non-stop diplomacy.  Perhaps I didn’t have enough wine, he thought tiredly.

The death of the Earth Queen had been a sort of blessing in disguise for the aged politician.  Though he was barred from returning to the capital, life had become exponentially easier without the unyielding woman’s constant demands.  Long forgotten things like pride and self worth began to slowly re-emerge from the depths of his soul.  He was a person, he realized after a month of exile, and he wasn’t about let the next king trample over him like the queen had - or that’s what he told himself at least.  

Another glass of wine and sleep seem to be in order.  He turned slowly and caught sight of a strange pink light in the sky.  What is-

Former Grand Secretariat Gun’s body jerked backwards over the railing and fell into the calm sea.

“Are you absolutely sure you want to go straight to the spirit world?” Korra asked as Asami navigated through the mess of vines toward the portal.

The engineer sent her a smirk before focusing on the road again.  “Yes,” she said simply.  She brought the car to stop as the road ahead became unpassable.  “Why?”

The avatar shrugged and fiddled with a clasp on her bag.  “It’s just that we finally have time to ourselves and . . . um, I guess I sort of thought maybe . . .”

Asami felt her grin grow as Korra trailed off in embarrassment.  “You thought what?” she muttered as she moved to straddle her waist.  

“That - that . . . spirits,” she muttered quietly.  “That you’d want to go back to your apartment.”

“Oh, I do,” she whispered against her lips before tasting them.  They enjoyed several minutes wrapped in each other’s arms before Asami pulled away.  “There’s a problem with going back to my apartment though.”

“What?” Korra asked dreamily.

“I’m not sure I’d be able to let you leave my bed long enough to make it to the portal, let alone actually do any exploring.”

A moment passed as the younger woman processed what was said before she began to laugh quietly.  “Really?”

“Really.”  Asami smirked as she moved back to her side of the car and let out a long breath.  “I do really want to see the spirit world.”

“And I really do want to show it to you,” Korra said with a sappy smile.  “So we spend a few days exploring and then we head to your apartment?”

“Something like that.”  After a moment to let their hearts slow, they exited the car and shouldered their packs, walking silently toward the yellow glow ahead.

A/N:  I apologize profusely for the delay and place most of the blame on OW Year of the Rooster - that’s not entirely fair, but it seems like a good excuse.  Still brainstorming Overwatch crap, but no actual progress sadly (Who’s this Genji fool allegedly buying the doctor sub par chocolates?).

Super excited about the LoK comic - the preview gave me the kick in the pants I needed to finally finish this chapter and reminded me that I set a deadline to finish this fic by the comic’s release date.  I’m not sure if I’m going to, but that’s the plan for now.

Thanks for reading, reviewing, following, and liking!

Chapter 15 Protect and Serve

#korrasami #korra #asami #fanfiction #Book 5 Absolution #mako #Lin Beifong