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deanstop13billyjoeltraxx · 3 years

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Superposition

a deancas college roommate AU :)

Chapter 12 is up on AO3! Chapter-by-chapter masterlist here.

yes i updated twice this week my foot is broken i can’t do anything else

The Beginning (of the End)

Three Years Earlier

“You ready?”

Dean was standing by the door with a full backpack. Cas’s own was leaning against his closet. He was sitting at his computer, manically finishing a paragraph, only half-stalling.

“One second…” Cas trailed off as he ensured his document had saved properly. “Done. Yes,” he said. Dean rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile on his face.

Dean had just taken his last final that morning. It was nearly noon before they hit the road in the Impala, Dean’s twenty-minute tape-selection process doing nothing to hasten their departure. Eventually, he settled on Moving Pictures, and he pulled out of the parking lot with “Tom Sawyer” blaring through the speakers.

Cas learned many things on the two-and-a-half hour drive to Lawrence — that Dean knew every word to every song in his tape collection, and he was not afraid to demonstrate it; that Dean had driven through almost every town on I-35; and that he had a story for each. He learned that Dean could begrudgingly appreciate 80s pop when Cas flipped on the radio and allowed the entirety of “Heat of the Moment” to play, uninterrupted. He learned that Dean would often turn to sing his favorite lyric right at Cas, or to tell him music trivia, or just to give him a smile.

When they arrived at Bobby’s house in Lawrence, a gangly teen who Cas assumed to be Sam was waiting for them at the door. Dean had barely made it out of the car before Sam was running to him, pulling him into a hug. Dean was grumbling “I wasn’t gone that long,” but he was smiling and sniffling and hugging Sam just as hard. Cas hid his smile.

Sam introduced himself to Cas, all smiles and raw excitement. His openness was contagious. Sam insisted on hauling Cas’s backpack inside for him, to which Dean threw an apologetic look at Cas. Cas just grinned back at him.

Bobby Singer was gruff-voiced and stoic, but there were tears in his eyes as he gave Dean a quick hug. He shook Cas’s hand firmly and said it was real good to meet him, after everything he’s heard. Dean went beet-red when Cas cast him a glance.

Bobby brought beers and a coke for Sam. The four of them sat in Bobby’s living room, Dean and Cas replaying the semester’s highlights for a rapt audience. When Bobby left the room to order a pizza, he clapped Dean on the shoulder and said, in a low voice, “Real proud of you, kid.” Cas thought it might have been the happiest he’d ever seen Dean.

“Dean told me you’re a writer,” Sam said when it was just the three of them. “He said you were writing a book.”

Dean made an indignant sound. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, you did,” Sam retorted. “You said he —”

“I said he was majoring in creative writing,” Dean interrupted, giving Sam a look.

“I am… working on something,” Cas said to Sam. “Although, I’m not quite sure it’s a book. I’ve never tried my hand at writing novels.”

“Dean says your stories are really good,” Sam said, and Dean shot him a death glare. Cas could barely contain his laughter. “What do you usually write?”

“Before this semester, I typically wrote about my own life,” Cas said, feeling slightly self-conscious. “But one of my classes challenged me to write about other things.”

“What’s your book about?” Sam asked.

“Can you contain your nerd for, like, ten minutes?” Dean grumbled. “Dude just got here, you don’t need to scare him off.”

Sam flipped him off, and Dean muttered, “Real mature.”

Cas was considering Sam’s question, trying to come up with an answer that was both vague and satisfying. “It’s about free will,” he said finally.

“Can I read it? When you’re done, I mean,” Sam said. “I love reading. I just finished Lord of the Rings last month.”

Cas smiled. “If I ever finish it, of course,” he said. “Lord of the Rings is a fantastic book series,” he added, and Sam’s face lit up.

Dean let out a long-suffering sigh when Sam started Cas on a conversation about Tolkien, and he excused himself to get another beer. When he returned, Bobby close behind him, he threw a pillow at Sam’s head, which led to Sam throwing it back, knocking Dean’s beer to the floor, and then it was war. Bobby shot Cas an eye-roll, which only made him laugh harder.

The rest of the week passed much the same. Castiel went to bed each night with sore cheeks from smiling. On Saturday, Sam roped him into pouring toothpaste into Dean’s shampoo bottle. The roar they heard from the shower that night had them nearly on the floor laughing. Dean got his revenge on Sam moments later, barreling out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel to give his brother a large, wet hug. Unbeknownst to Dean, his retaliation involved Cas as well; it took great effort to keep his eyes focused on anything but Dean’s bare midsection.

Dean dragged him to all of his favorite spots in Lawrence, places he remembered from early childhood and past Christmases with Bobby. Watching Dean in his element, Cas gave up. Resistance was futile. Cas didn’t fall in love with Dean in Lawrence, but he stopped trying to open a parachute against it. And while that observably changed nothing, for Cas, it changed everything. He’d already lost the game — what was the point in denying himself the consolation prize?

He leaned into the ache that came with the brilliance of Dean’s smiles. He relished the knot in his stomach when Dean spoke to everyone, but looked at Cas like it was just for him. He stole glances. He hid smiles. Dean permeated his thoughts and invaded his dreams. It hurt like hell, sleeping alone on an air mattress, wanting nothing more than to be laying next to the man in the other room. But the highs were addicting, made greater by the pain that followed them. Though he’d been down this road before, hopelessly in love with someone who would never, could never love him back, Dean felt different. Dean felt all-consuming.

Castiel had fallen, and he wasn’t sure if he would ever rise again.

Christmas with the Winchesters made every holiday celebration Cas had attended look boring. Ellen Harvelle and her daughter, Jo, arrived in the morning, each giving him a hug like they’d known him for years. The moment she walked in, Ellen was yelling at Dean to “get his ass in the kitchen.” He grabbed Cas by the arm and pulled him along.

Cas spent the rest of the day watching Dean and Ellen cook, helping when he could, then having a raucous meal on the floor of the living room, A Christmas Story playing on the old TV. Bobby popped open two bottles of cheap champagne, much to the chagrin of Jo and Sam, who were provided sparkling grape juice instead. They exchanged gifts, and Dean looked at Cas like he’d just won the lottery after opening Cas’s gift to him, a limited edition copy of Houses of the Holy. When Bobby and Ellen moved to the kitchen to clean up, Dean led Cas outside to the Impala.

“It was too big to hide in there, and I’m shit at wrapping, so I just left it in the car,” Dean said, a little sheepish. He opened the trunk, and Cas gasped.

Inside sat a vintage black typewriter, an Underwood Champion. The paint was chipped everywhere, the letters on the keys nearly worn-off.

“It’s not in great shape,” Dean said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “But it was the coolest one they had at the antique shop. It’s kind of useless, since you have a laptop and all, but —”

Cas interrupted him by pulling him into a tight hug. Dean made a surprised sound, but wrapped his arms around Cas’s back.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said into his shoulder. He pulled away. “It’s perfect.”

Dean shrugged, but looked pleased all the same.

“I have something else for you, too,” Cas said before he could change his mind. Dean crossed his arms.

“Dude, you already went way too hard with the vinyl,” Dean said.

Cas rolled his eyes and started his way back to the house. Dean shut the trunk and followed.

Cas grabbed his backpack and pulled out the stack of paper, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He all but shoved it into Dean’s chest, who gave him a confused look as he took hold of the gift.

“It’s the first part of my first draft,” Cas explained as Dean read the cover page. Dean’s eyes were wide when he looked back at Cas. “It’s a selfish gift, really,” Cas said. “I want to know what you think.”

Dean broke into a slow grin. “This is awesome, Cas,” he said. “I can’t wait to read it. Thank you.”

They were supposed to leave Lawrence on New Year’s Day, but Dean and Cas were both too hungover to even think about making the trip. They stayed an extra night, much to the delight of Sam. The three of them spent New Year’s marathoning the Harry Potter movies. As usual, Dean spent most of the time reciting lines and pointing out his favorite scenes to Cas. Eventually, Sam became irritated enough that he told Dean to shove it, to which Dean responded that Cas liked hearing his thoughts, thank you very much. Dean kicked him in the ribs when Sam rolled his eyes and mumbled something like “Sorry for messing up your game.” Cas pretended not to hear that, pretended not to see Dean give Sam a glare that said, bring that up again, and I’ll kill you. All the same, he couldn’t help but wonder…

But, no. Dean wasn’t flirting with him, Cas knew that much. Sam just said the first thing he could think of to get a rise out of Dean.

They didn’t end up leaving until after dinner the next day, Sam and even Bobby pulling both of them in for hugs. Dean turned on the radio for the first half of the drive, but kept the volume low. He was quiet, and although Cas wanted to ask, he allowed Dean to sit in whatever he was feeling, watching the flat landscape pass outside the passenger window.

Dean had forgotten to tank up in Lawrence, so they stopped for gas in Emporia. It was dark by then, the unnatural white fluorescents shining starkly against the night sky. Cas stayed in the passenger seat as Dean pumped the gas. Cas watched him intently from the safety of the cab, another stolen moment wherein he allowed the full depth of his feelings to overcome him. It hurt, as it always did, but he thought the pain of wanting what he could never have was becoming softer, more bearable, like he might be able to live with it.

Dean opened the car door, and a rush of cold air assaulted the cab. “It’s nice out tonight,” Dean said. Cas hummed in agreement, contemplating Dean’s languid movements as he pulled his hoodie over his head. It was torturous, the way his shirt rode up to reveal a torso chiseled like marble, dusted with freckles. It was impossible not to stare. He looked away just before Dean looked at him again.

“I’m gonna go grab a snack,” he said. “You want anything?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Cas said.

Dean returned momentarily with an already-half empty package of powdered donuts, grinning widely. Cas rolled his eyes as Dean reentered the cab.

“Prudent,” he deadpanned.

“These things are fucking magic,” Dean said before making a completely inappropriate noise as he popped another into his mouth. Cas averted his eyes.

“Do you eat the most unhealthy foods in existence on purpose?” Cas asked.

Dean looked at him with mock affront. “I just eat what tastes good,” he said.

The Impala roared to life. Dean opened the window to toss the empty package into a nearby trash can, dusting his fingers off in the air. He turned back to Cas, the right side of his mouth covered in powdered sugar.

“Ready to go?”

Cas frowned. “You look like a small child in a donut shop,” he said.

“What?” Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth, then raised his eyebrows at Cas. “Better?”

“Barely,” Cas said, his frown deepening. And then his hand was moving without his permission, reaching up to dust the remaining white from the side of Dean’s mouth. It might have been nothing, were it not for the fact that his thumb lingered just a moment too long. Cas was staring at Dean’s lips, the breath stolen from his lungs. Shit.

“Cas?” Dean said, an eyebrow cocked.

Cas pulled his hand back like he’d been burned. “What?” He croaked. His throat felt like sandpaper.

Dean was looking at him with a mix of curiosity and melancholy, and Cas was done for. After all this time, every trip to the dining hall, every movie watched on a shared beanbag, every midnight trip to Taco Bell, it was here that Cas put the final nail in the coffin. It was at a shitty gas station in the middle-of-nowhere, Kansas, that Dean discovered his secret.

“Nothing,” Dean said slowly. As they pulled out of the gas station parking lot, Dean didn’t even bother to turn on the radio. Cas only dared a single glance in Dean’s direction, but when he did, he found Dean’s eyebrows knit in concentration, his jaw set, like this drive was the most important thing he’d ever done.

The air felt like it was about to condense with the weight of the silence. That final hour of the drive had Cas fidgeting, turning his phone over and over in his hands. Dean was perfectly still, hardly moving his eyes from the road. Dean, the definition of nervous energy, wholly devoted to a single task. Cas could have laughed at the irony if he hadn’t been silently begging for immediate reorganization into an inanimate object.

Because nothing in the history of unrequited love confessions could beat this. Cas didn’t have a prayer. And maybe Dean would pretend he hadn’t seen it, maybe they’d never talk about it. But everything would be different. Dean would find excuses to miss dinner, Cas would pretend to be exhausted every Tuesday night. Dean would break the news that he’d found a different roommate for the following school year. Cas would remark that they should keep in touch at the year’s end, and Dean would agree with a clap on the back, and they would never speak to each other again.

Finally, mercifully, Dean pulled into the dorm parking lot. Cas exhaled hard, as if he’d been holding his breath. Dean gave him a quizzical glance, which Castiel promptly ignored. When Dean shifted into park, Cas had his hand on the door handle immediately. He was about to open it, to take a breath of frigid, fresh air, when Dean grabbed his other wrist.

“Cas.” Dean’s voice was barely above a whisper, gravelly and sincere in a way that sent a shock through Cas’s spine.

Cas turned to face him. “What?” Cas said, trying to ignore the flames creeping up his arm.

“Thanks for, uh,” Dean started, but he cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming. To Lawrence.”

“Of course,” Cas said, and his voice sounded dead, even to him. He tried to infuse it with some vitality as he finished. “Thank you for inviting me. I had a great time.”

Dean nodded. His hand was still wrapped around Cas’s wrist, and he was looking out of the windshield.

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t we… Go inside?” It came out like a question.

Dean’s eyes flicked to his. “Yeah,” he said, but he still wasn’t letting go. And Cas thought he should look away, should open the door, but then the inaction lasted too long. Something about the way Dean was looking at him burned, and he was chewing on the inside of his cheek, like there was something he was trying to convince himself to say.

Cas wasn’t sure if he really whispered Dean’s name, or if he imagined it. All he knew was, one moment Dean was staring at Cas, lips parted. The next, there was a hand on the back of Cas’s neck and stubble against his cheek and a pair of lips rough against his. Dean was kissing him, and Cas had imagined it so many times he could do nothing but freeze and hope he never woke up from this dream.

Dean pulled away abruptly, too soon, and the give-or-take two feet between them might have ripped a hole in the space-time continuum, it was so cosmically wrong.

“Shit, that was — I’m so sorry, Cas I didn’t —” Dean was holding his head in his hands, but his words were taking eons to reach Cas’s ears. He just sat, staring in disbelief. Every place Dean had touched was scorched with the absence of him. “I’ll email someone — I’ll try to move out for this semester — fuck, I’m such an idiot,” Dean was saying, and those words shocked Cas back to his plane of existence.

“Move out?” He croaked, and his voice sounded foreign to his own ears. “Why?”

Dean looked at him in anguish. “I shouldn’t have — I’m an idiot.” His voice sounded broken and raspy. “I fucked up on Thanksgiving, and now, shit, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You remember Thanksgiving?” Cas blurted.

Dean tilted his head. “How could I forget that?”

Cas furrowed his brow. “What exactly was your mistake on Thanksgiving?”

Dean stared at him. “The whole damn thing, Cas,” he sputtered. “And now this, and, goddammit, you’re my best friend and I can’t control myself long enough to…” Dean trailed off, and Cas finally understood. Dean had misinterpreted his shock, felt Cas’s stiff and tardy reply and taken it to mean he wasn’t interested. A bubble of hysterical laughter escaped him at the irony.

Dean’s expression darkened. “Yeah, this is fucking hilarious, Cas —”

Cas cut him off. He closed the distance between them, and he could have laughed at the woeful inadequacy of his fantasies when compared to this. It was stilted and desperate, and the center console was digging into Cas’s knee, and an uncomfortable cold was seeping into the cab. But Dean’s fingers were tangled in his hair and he tasted like Diet Coke and cigarettes and he was muttering Cas with every breath and Cas thought he might die in that parking lot because he simply would not allow this to end.

The world had shifted when they finally parted. Dean was looking at him with wonder and confusion. Cas knew he was putting on a similar display. It was dark. Dean’s face was only half-illuminated in the parking lot, but everything about him was brilliant. It was almost too much, like maybe if Cas looked away he’d find himself blind. Cas felt the near-overwhelming urge to kiss him again, to rediscover every plane of Dean’s face he’d already committed to memory.

But he remained in his place, half twisted in the passenger’s seat, because this demanded all manner of explanation. Cas swallowed hard.

“You…” Dean’s voice was a gravelly whisper. “What?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Cas replied, breathless.

“You’re not — You’re not pissed?”

“That depends,” Cas said, his heart hammering against his chest. “What was that?”

“I —” Dean started, but stopped himself. His leg was bouncing rapidly, and he reached into the pocket of his jeans, presumably for a cigarette. Cas grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Dean,” he said in a stern voice.

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Dammit, Cas,” he said. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth,” Cas said, a little taken aback.

“The truth,” Dean repeated, his eyes remaining resolutely shut. Another deep breath. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” he said finally.

And, whatever Cas had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “What?”

“I was gonna — I dunno, I was gonna do it right. I’ve been meaning to do it right, ask you to fucking dinner or something, but then I thought you hated me after Thanksgiving, and you were busy all the time, and then we were in Lawrence, and —”

“We go to dinner every night,” Cas said. Dean wasn’t making sense.

Dean finally opened his eyes, only to give Cas a death-stare. “No, dumbass, something a little nicer than the friggin’ dining hall.” He sighed. “But, of course, in my car. What am I, sixteen?”

“A date,” Cas said, finally catching up. “You were going to ask me on a date.”

Dean winced a little. “Yeah.”

“But you didn’t —”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“— Because you thought I hated you.”

“A little bit.”

Cas smiled incredulously. “If this is a joke, it’s a terrible one.”

Dean glared at him. “Not a joke, Cas.”

“But you’re not — Dean, I thought you were straight.”

Cas felt bad about the statement immediately as Dean winced, but it was true. Nothing was adding up. Dean had never shown an interest in men before, at least not around Cas, and Cas didn’t think he could stand to be Dean’s experimental phase. But he reeled his insecurity back in as he added, “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m just… Confused.”

Dean let out a hard breath. “No, I know, I know,” Dean said. “I dunno. Guess I never really thought about it before.” He paused. “I was too scared to think about it.”

Cas felt his heart break at that. There was a story there, a million things to unpack, but it was obviously a feat for Dean to say as much as he already had. Cas left it alone.

Dean cleared his throat. “Point is,” he said, “this was a long time coming, but I’m an idiot and couldn’t work up the balls.” He was staring hard at his hands, the admission taking enormous effort.

A little nervous without the excuse of the heat of the moment, Cas put a hand on Dean’s neck and kissed him, again, short and tender. “You’re not an idiot,” Cas said.

“Guess not,” Dean said through a breathless laugh.

Cas cocked his head. “You really thought I hated you?” He asked, his eyes searching Dean’s.

“What else was I supposed to think?” Dean asked. “I thought that was it, you were done with me.” Dean furrowed his brow. “Why’d you do that?”

“Avoid you?”

“Yeah. I mean, if you didn’t — if you weren’t mad.”

Cas stared at him. “Dean, I can barely remember anything we did on Thanksgiving, much less anything I might have said.” He paused. “And then we were… I didn’t know what to think. Not to mention, up until about five minutes ago, I thought you were — that you weren’t interested.” Cas ran a hand through his hair. “I was worried I might ruin our friendship.”

Something like realization dawned on Dean’s face. He let out another laugh. “Guess we’re a couple of dumbasses.”

“Maybe,” Cas said with a small smile. “Let’s go inside.”

Dean nodded, and they exited the car and made their way upstairs. And it might have been any other night, save their shoulders touching, fingers brushing, silence charged with something new. Cas unlocked their door, letting Dean in. When he turned after shutting the door behind him, Dean was there, and Cas didn’t even have time to turn on the light before he was shoved hard against the door. Dean’s mouth was hot and his hands were desperate. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Cas thought they should probably talk about this, about them, but then Dean’s breathing hitched as Cas caught his bottom lip between his teeth, and the thoughts stopped coming.

Cas’s bare back was cold against the linoleum floor, but Dean was warm against his chest. He stared at the ceiling in the dark, his mind scrambled from pleasure and the shock of being wanted.

“Cas,” Dean said against his chest. Cas threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“Yes?”

Dean shifted, perching on his arm, looking down at Cas. “You — you want this?” He said.

Cas stretched his arms up and rested his head on top of his hands. “This?” He asked. Dean was being intentionally vague, but Cas couldn’t exist in limbo. He had to hear the words, as clear as Dean could make them.

Dean gave him a look for a moment, but relented. “Yeah, I know. Okay. This,” he said, gesturing between the two of them. “You and me. Us. Like this.”

“Oh,” Cas said lightly. “That’s what you meant?” Dean rolled his eyes and shoved him. Cas laughed. “The answer is yes.”

A small smile, but it faltered as Dean spoke again. “Are you sure?” He said. “I don’t — I might be really shit at this, you know.”

And Cas did know. There were a million little complications, things they would have to figure out, problems he hadn’t even begun to consider. That might have been terrifying, but the prospect of never having Dean, that was worse.

“I’m sure,” he said quietly. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, no hesitation.

Cas sighed as Dean traced circles on his chest. “It’s worth it to try.”

Cas was in between sleep and consciousness when something warm shifted around his back. Whatever dream he’d been having, it felt remarkably real.

“Wake up, dumbass,” he heard Dean say affectionately. Cas didn’t want this dream to end; he could steal a few more minutes of sleep. He burrowed his head deeper into the pillow, willing the dream to continue.

But then there was a pair of lips against his ear, and they were entirely real. “C’mon,” Dean said in a low voice. “First day of class.”

For a moment, Cas was confused. Dean was in his bed. Why was Dean in his bed? But as he rubbed his eyes, the events of the night before came crashing into him.

Oh.

Nerves pooled in the pit of his stomach. He half expected Dean to rush out some kind of apology, to tell him that everything had been a big mistake. But when Cas turned to face him, Dean was beaming.

“Mornin’,” he said.

“Good morning,” Cas said, awestruck. Dean needed a shave, and his hair was flat on one side from sleep, but Cas still felt his breathing hitch as he stared at Dean, unfettered for the first time. Beautiful.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Coffee?”

“Please,” Cas said with a nod. Dean moved to climb out of the bed, but he paused. He turned back toward Cas and kissed him, slow and deep. When he finally broke away, Dean was smiling even wider.

“Awesome,” he said, earning a snort from Cas.

If Cas had worried about Dean’s intentions, it was unfounded. At lunch, as Dean talked to Cas like he was the only person at the table, Meg rolled her eyes and told them to “get a room.” Dean responded by throwing an arm around Cas and saying, “Maybe later.” Meg gaped at the two of them for about ten seconds before regaining composure, shifting to more general conversation. Cas received a text from her immediately after they parted ways.

MM (1:12 p.m.)

holy shit!!!!

MM (1:13 p.m.)

ur going to tell me everything tmrw

At first, Cas wasn’t sure how to respond, because he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to say. That is, until Dean answered a call from Benny, saying, “Sorry, man, I’m not going tonight, I have a date. Yeah, with Cas. Shut up.” Cas smiled to himself as he replied to Meg.

CN (2:32 p.m.)

Absolutely.

The three weeks that followed were easily the best of Cas’s life. The rituals remained unchanged; Tuesday was movie night, dinner was at seven-p.m. in the dining hall, late nights doing homework demanded a fast food run. But little things shifted; Dean made it to his birthday without going to a single party, and his bed remained perpetually made. Cas amassed a greater collection of t-shirts that weren’t his, and he only ran when he knew Dean was in class.

Cas woke up to Dean shifting around him as he attempted to get out of bed for an early class. Cas slung an arm tightly around his midsection in protest.

“Too early,” he mumbled.

He heard Dean chuckle. “I thought class was important,” he said, but he shifted closer to Cas nonetheless.

Cas grumbled something incomprehensible as he pulled out his phone. When he saw the date, however, he shot up, suddenly wide awake.

At Dean’s look of confusion, he said, “It’s your birthday.”

“Yeah.”

Cas leaned down and kissed Dean deeply. He pulled away to mutter, “Happy birthday, Dean,” against his lips. Dean closed the small distance as soon as Cas had said the words, and this time it was decidedly heavier, hot breaths mixing and hands pulling each other closer.

They were interrupted by Dean’s second alarm. Dean scowled as he turned it off. He looked at Cas expectantly, but Cas had his arms folded against his chest.

“Class is important,” he reminded Dean.

“But it’s my birthday.”

“And?”

“Asshole,” Dean grumbled, but he kissed Cas on the jaw as he climbed down from the bed. He put on a pot of coffee as Cas followed him off the bed, wrapping his arms around Dean from the back.

“I got you something,” Cas said into Dean’s shoulder. Dean twisted around to face him.

“Cas, you didn’t have to do that. I told you, birthday’s are dumb anyway.”

Cas made a face. “I happen to be endlessly thankful for your birth.”

Dean shook his head, but he was smiling. “What is it?”

“You’ll find out on Friday when we go to Benny’s.”

“We’re going to Benny’s?”

Cas bit the inside of his cheek. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said, “Benny and Charlie both insisted. But you once told me you have a strong aversion to surprise parties.”

“Y’all are throwing me a surprise party?”

“No,” Cas rushed. “No, that’s why I’m telling you right now.”

“But it’s a party.”

“Yes.”

“You couldn’t have told me yesterday? How long have y’all been planning this?”

“Only a week.”

“A week?” Dean paused, his eyes narrowed. “Who all’s gonna be there?” Dean grumbled, already trying to assess the threat of too much attention on him at once.

“Just Benny, Charlie, and Charlie’s girlfriend,” Cas placated.

Dean relaxed at that. “And you, right?”

“I’ll come if you want me there,” Cas said, a little sheepish. He hadn’t really planned on going, wanting to give Dean some time alone to spend with his friends. Cas felt like he’d accidentally achieved a monopoly on Dean’s attention.

Dean gaped at him. “Dude, of course I want you there.”

Cas gave him a soft smile. “Then I’ll be there.”

Dean almost convinced Cas to let him skip class — almost — but with great effort, he resolutely pushed Dean out the door.

“Damn, all right, if you want to get rid of me that bad,” Dean griped, smirking. “See you later.”

“Goodbye, Dean,” Cas said with a smile.

They didn’t make it to the party.

Friday afternoon, after spending far too long in bed, Cas was sitting on the beanbag, Dean’s head resting on his lap. They’d taped Dean’s comforter over the window, leaving the room completely dark, save for the film playing on Dean’s television.

“Fucking asshole,” Dean was saying as Neil’s father came on screen. Cas hummed in agreement, paying more attention to his fingers threading their way through Dean’s hair. Suddenly, Dean’s phone began to ring. He shifted to check the caller ID, then stood up quickly.

“Wait, pause it, I gotta take this,” he said. Cas obliged. “Hey, Bobby! How’s it goin’?”

Cas reached above his head to stretch, but he faltered when he heard Dean say, “Dad? What’s wrong?”

Cas stood abruptly as Dean’s phone slipped out of his hand, shattering upon impact with the linoleum. He was standing, his jaw clenched, staring at absolutely nothing.

“Dean?”

Dean remained silent, no indication that he had heard Cas. Cas placed a hand on his left shoulder, prompting Dean into movement.

Still saying nothing, Dean dumped the contents of his backpack onto the floor, filling it with things from his wardrobe. Cas followed him, frantic.

“What are you doing? Dean, talk to me,” he said. But Dean was on a mission, it seemed. After stuffing his feet into unlaced boots, he threw the door open and stalked out.

At a complete loss, Cas pulled on his own shoes and followed, making sure to grab his key as he shut the door to their room behind him. Dean was already halfway to the stairs, and Castiel ran to catch up with him. Dean let the door to the stairs shut in Cas’s face.

“Dean!” Cas called. Dean was fleeing down the stairs like his life depended on it. Cas only barely caught up to him as they reached the ground floor and exited to the parking lot.

Finally within reach, Cas grabbed Dean’s shoulder, hard. Dean slowed, but didn’t stop.

“Dean,” Cas started. Still no response. “Dean! What happened?”

They had reached the Impala. Dean unlocked the car and threw his bag haphazardly in the front seat. He stared resolutely at the ground.

“I gotta go, Cas. I’ll explain everything later.” The first words Dean had spoken to Cas in nearly ten minutes. His voice was thick.

“Dean, where are you going?” Cas asked, desperate. “The party — there’s class on Monday!”

Dean looked up at him then, and Cas was struck by the mixture of fury and sadness in his eyes. “Screw the party and screw class. Family emergency.”

Cas watched helplessly as Dean sped out of the parking lot, taking the turn so fast the back end of the Impala swayed a little. He stood in the middle of the parking lot for what felt like an eternity, the cold January air seeping into his bones. Eventually, he made his way back to the dorms, sighing in relief as the warm air of the hallway hit him.

When Cas reentered the room, he stared at Dean’s shattered cell phone. He didn’t even bother to clean up the mess, just let out a choked sigh. Cas fell into the beanbag, his head in his hands.

——

tag list! let me know if you want to be added/removed :)

@nguyenxtrang @castielsbeeslippers @fortiusnitius

#supernatural #destiel #deancas #destiel fic

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queensdivas · 5 years

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Something There. Joe Mazzello x Female Reader!

Word count: 1613

Storyline: You are a famous author whose first major book has finally been made into a movie for the world to enjoy. On the night of the premiere. You are scared stiff because at this moment, the world will be judging you in every form of way. But a certain dork that’s playing the main role see’s your nervousness and does what our Joe does best!

A/N: My first ever one-shot..bear with me on this pretty please.

You remembered writing the outline of your story a few years ago at that dumpy little apartment you’ve been living in for years. You remember how stupid the entire story sounded in your head and writing it down made you even feel worse. Who would read this silly thing in the first place? It’s not like Wolfe or Tolkien. It was reality and no one ever enjoyed reading reality because we don’t like it. Knowing that the world isn’t rainbows and unicorns makes everyone very uneasy and end up tossing your book to the curb.

Luckily your book sparked the match for hundred thousands of readers and was just finished being made into a full length movie. Starring a handful of very talented actors and actresses. At your first table reading since you wanted to be apart of making as much as you could. Almost everyone talked about how your book changed their lives for the better, which brought you to tears a few times. Even Joe was overjoyed that he got the main role in the movie since he had also read your book. Cover to cover. At Least nine times and would never stop reminding you how grateful he was that you wrote it and blessed the world with it.

The entire table read was just everyone getting to know each other, asking you questions on how they should handle their characters, even to the point on if they had a specific walk to them. Them asking you the tiny details of your characters made you ecstatic and you basically took over the table read for everyone. But also that night you put a creamer in Joe's coffee and..well..there was a lot of apologising and toilet paper.

“Oh my goodness Joe I had absolutely no idea! I’m so sorry!” You yelled as you tossed another bag of toilet paper into the boys bathroom. You apologised a lot, to the point you sent him a fruit basket that was the size of a car engine because you felt so bad.

A few months into production is when you and Joe started becoming friends. He kept making sure that his character was being properly portrayed. Everytime you would say yes he would still ask.

“So y/n. In this scene where he’s talking with Mira. Should I have more of a resting bitch face or the Jim kind of face?”

“Let me see both.” His resting bitch face sent a chuckle out of your mouth then you completely lost it with his Jim face.

“JIm face! Yes! It’s perfect!”

“Joe we’re ready to shoot again!” The producer yelled as he rubbed the back of his head then nodding.

“Good. Thanks (y/n/)” That smile..that dorky smile he shot you made your heart hurts for a moment. Or was it your tit? In that general vicinity made something hurt and you enjoyed it.

A few months rolled by and things we’re going fantastic for you and the movie! Things were getting done on schedule, you and Joe were working together on his scenes, and making sure your work was being done correctly. It has gotten to the point that the other actors on the set also came for your advice since you’ve basically made yourself at home. You’ve gotten so close with everyone that they decided to invite you out to karaoke night at a tiny bar called Singing' Botches.

Walking into the bar. It was shoulder to shoulder and you jumping up, trying to see if anyone you knew was here yet. Joe was noticing your hopping which he ended up recording on his phone that was almost put on his instagram story. Luckily you got there fast enough to make sure that didn’t happen.

“Really glad you came out tonight (y/n). You have got to hear my singing skills when I sing Earth Wind and FIre.” We downed the first shot as you shook your head.

“Oh yeah? Well wait till I’m up there making Elton John look...you can’t make him look bad because he’s always fabulous dang it.” Taking another shot as Joe grabbed your hand and began dragging you up to the small stage. You were not even close to being drunk enough yet to sing. He handed you the mic and the song began playing. Backstreet Boys was always a hit since 90s boy bands are always a crowd pleaser. Joe nailing the laugh at the beginning of the song as you awkwardly danced in your spot. Him nailing the beginning of the song was..eh..not so great. But you could care less.

“All you people can't you see, can't you see. How your love's affecting our reality. Every time we're down. You can make it right. And that makes you larger than life.” You both yelled. Jumping around like absolute morons as the crowd was laughing and singing along.

“Looking at the crowd. And I see your body sway, c'mon. Wishin' I could thank you in a different way, c'mon. 'Cause all of your time spent keeps us alive!” Joe was moving his hips with the beat, trying to get the crowd more excited.

“All you people can't you see, can't you see! How your love's affecting our reality! Every time we're down, you can make it right! And that makes you larger than life!” The song ended early as you both tossed the mic down, leaning against each other then nodding to the crowd. That night was just more shots of tequila, a very bad rendition of Misery Business because you both swore you saw Hayley in the bar that night. Or it could’ve been a hooker with orange hair.

Time went faster after that night. It was around 3 a.m. when the last shot was done and you were on your fifth or sixth cup of coffee. Trying your best to stay awake so you could take in every single moment of this miracle that was given to you. Not to mention you’ve made a best friend in the entire world, but it felt like a little more in your mind. Wanting to be more, but yet you couldn’t exactly tell how he felt.

“That’s a wrap everyone!” The director yelled as everyone began clapping in excitement, relief, and just congratulating each other. You watched everyone having a mini celebration in front of the cheese and chocolate fondue fountain. Till a dork had a cup full of fondue cheese and pretzels with him. Offering you a pretzel as you dipped it into the cub and took a bit with the cheese warming your body.

“Thank you (y/n/).” Raising your eyebrow at him as you wrapped your arms around yourself since it had gotten a little cold all of sudden.

“For what Joe?”

“For giving me this amazing opportunity to make your dreams come true. Come and eat fondue with us.” He got back up from the couch, waiting for you to climb off and enjoy the fondue. Wait. Isn’t cheese fondue bad for him?

All those tiny little memories brought you back to the world of the opening night. Your first time ever in New York and you were scared shitless! One of the biggest cities in the world and everyone's eyes were going to be on you and how you act tonight will change everything. The limo had you, Joe, Lucy, Rami, and a few other actors. Everyone was laughing, drinking a little too much before the premiere, and Joe was chugging down all the complimentary peanuts that the limo offered. You were smart enough to warn the limo driver to not have any form of milk products.

The limo stopped in front of the theatre as everyone began climbing out of the limo slowly except for you. You we’re avoiding coming out of the limo so that you wouldn’t have your entire life judged before you. It made your stomach twist, your toes curl, and your breathing was shortened.

“You good?” Joe asked as a slight shock from your head sent him the message to close the door of the limo.

“I can’t do this! What if I go out there and they basically shred my entire career apart!? My entire life is going to be judged before millions of people! How does this become a basic part of your existence!? Joe I can’t do this! Just tell the press I got lymphoma.” Your hands were shaking and the flashes were somehow getting through the dark windows of the limo.

“Listen to me (y/n.) I’ve been doing this stuff since I was a kid. The first time walking on my premiere set after shooting Jurassic Park. It was..it was nerve racking. But you’re gonna be just fine (y/n). All this is..this premium is just for the world to see that gorgeous, silly smile of yours and to ask you if we did a good job representing your dream. Now who are you!”

“(Y/F/N.) (Y/L/N.)!”

“AND WHO ARE YOU!”

“I WROTE A KICK ASS BOOK THAT’S GONNA CHANGE THE WORLD!”

“AND WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO!”

“WE’RE GONNA GO OUT THERE AND TRY NOT TO HAVE SOME SORT OF PANIC ATTACK!”

“EXACTLY!” He opened the door and grabbing your hand to pull you out of the limo. The lights were like a tidal wave, crashing into your eyes that to the point you covered them with your handbag. He gave you a soft squeeze which told you that you guys were gonna start walking. It maybe slow moving...but..you think this might be the start of something wonderful.

#joe mazzello #joe mazello x reader #joe mazello one shot #joe mazzello fluff #some fluff #fluff #one shot #it's a bohrap boy #bohrap #joe mazello imagine #mazello x reader

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joannalannister · 7 years

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What do you think it is about ASoIaF that inspires people to the extent that we see in the fandom? I mean, there are tons of incredible people like you analyzing writing for it; you have websites and podcasts and essays written and complex theories and whole books published devoted wholly to the series. I have never seen this level of devotion before. It's incredible, but there are so many amazing books out there; why these books?

Hi! Well, to be fair, I think there are a number of other SF/F franchises that are as popular, if not more popular, than ASOIAF, and that inspire this same kind of devotion. But why ASOIAF? idk why anyone else feels the way they feel, but I can tell you why I love ASOIAF. GRRM wrote in one of the autobiographical sections of Dreamsongs:

By the time we got to Weathertop, Tolkien had me. ‘Gil-Galad was an elven king,’ Sam Gamgee recited, ‘of him the harpers sadly sing.’ A chill went through me, such as Conan and Kull had never evoked.

I knew exactly what GRRM was talking about, because I’ve felt it too:

“No,” Ned said with sadness in his voice. “Now it ends.”

There’s poetry in GRRM’s writing, there’s rhythm and flow and a sorrow that makes me ache:

He dreamt an old dream, of three knights in white cloaks, and a tower long fallen, and Lyanna in her bed of blood.

That’s the thing about ASOIAF – GRRM makes you feel it. (How many anecdotes have you read of people throwing their books across the room in rage and horror and despair after the Red Wedding? I’ve read quite a few.) GRRM is able to inspire such strong emotion in me.

I was saying earlier today how I don’t really have any other fandom besides ASOIAF; I just don’t care. Like, all y’all talk about how easily y’all fall into ~feelings~ and characters and ships, but that’s not me. I watch or read the thing, I’m entertained for a while, it’s fine, and then it’s over; that’s it. (Honestly, some of y’all have wanted me to get into your other fandoms and it’s not that I don’t want to have fun squeeing with y’all, but I don’t know how. idk how y’all care about so many books and tv shows and movies, idk how to care like that.)

So the remarkable thing about GRRM, at least for me, is that he makes me care. ASOIAF matters, because GRRM literally spends years on characterization and worldbuilding and themes, all while telling a damn good story.

If you watch GOT, you can see the skeleton of GRRM’s story, all the plot points GRRM is trying to hit, but the meat of that story, which comes from characterization and themes, has been boiled away. The result is that there’s nothing left to sink my teeth into, nothing to savor. (I think GRRM would approve of my food metaphors.) GOT has no emotional resonance for me, whereas ASOIAF is all about the emotional journey we’re undertaking. I’ve referenced Stephen King before, and I’ll do it again - it’s not about the endgame, it’s how we get there. The journey, not the destination. That’s something ASOIAF stresses - it’s the journey that matters, because we’re all headed for the same destination, after all; valar morghulis. GOT hits plot points like an arrow to a target. GOT is about the destination; ASOIAF is about the journey.

ASOIAF emphasizes themes that I love:

identity

choice

justice and vengeance, and the complex nature of each

heroes and villains and what does that even mean

moral ambiguity

human heart in conflict with itself

body as battleground

the horrors of war

the importance of family, and how family means different things to different people

love and hate

truth and falsehood

what does it mean to be a true knight

exiles, outsiders, underdogs

faded glory

life and death and decay and rebirth

Romanticism in the classical sense of the word

the long autumn

the weight of history, the people who came before and those who will follow after

duty and honor, and how they can be in conflict

disillusionment

sacrifice

light and darkness

what is a monster

empathy versus dehumanization

freedom versus constraint (think of the anti-slavery narrative and how that is relevant throughout the story, in every pov)

HOPE (”MEN STILL SANG, EVEN IN THE MIDST OF BUTCHER AND FAMINE”!!!! SLAYS ME!!!)

a love and celebration of humanity

an exploration of the human condition and what it means to be human (“see what life is worth, when all the rest is gone"), of isolation and loneliness and *sigh, where are you twow and ados* reunions and fellowship

feminism

beauty, appearances, outer beauty vs inner beauty (GRRM’s love of BATB comes in here)

These are themes that transcend the fantasy genre, something “old and true” that speaks to us, that are timeless.

And I love the motifs GRRM uses to convey these themes - towers, and swords, and bodies and body parts (the Hand of the King, hands, tongues, fingers, noses, genitals), and white knights and black brothers and shadows (living shadows!!!) and birds and the long seasons and gah, I love it all, I love how GRRM uses all of this kind of imagery to explore ASOIAF’s themes and ask deep questions and inspire such passionate thinking (just throw the words “jaime” and “hand” and “redemption” at the fandom if you don’t believe me about passionate arguments)

And I love the thesis of ASOIAF, to hold fast to your principles and to do the right thing, even when doing the right thing is hard and when you won’t be rewarded for it - to stand against dehumanization in all its forms.

And the characters, the characters, the characters!! I honestly think GRRM spends years on these books because he puts his own blood, sweat, and tears into them to bring them to life, as if they were truly his own children. He works so hard on characterization.

And sure, the major characters are great, but I’m thinking of the minor characters especially, the ones that, if ASOIAF were a 1990s tv series that ran for 10 seasons, these would be the characters that would appear for one episode.

Take the Widow of the Waterfront in Volantis. She cut that slave tattoo out of her, she cut off her tears. “Tell her we are waiting. Tell her to come soon.” It’s haunting. Why read fantasy, if not to meet people like the Widow, and Chataya, and Arianne, and everyone else? But GRRM makes meeting these people worthwhile, he makes them memorable, he makes them distinctive, and they all give ASOIAF such a rich flavor.

And ok, I admit I’m definitely part of the classic Tolkien school of fantasy lit where you Must Have Maps. If I crack a new fantasy book and it has a detailed map, that is already +1 in my book, because it tells me two things: first, we’re going on An Adventure, and two, the author at least tried to worldbuild.

Good worldbuilding is super important to me, and GRRM is a great worldbuilder. There’s a sense of something waiting over the next hill, and the next, and the next. It’s someplace different, someplace full of wonder, someplace grander than the place I call home. The clothes are different, the customs are different, the flora and fauna are different, and I want to see it, hear it, smell it, touch it, taste it. And GRRM doesn’t let me down, tbh. Reading ASOIAF is a sensory feast. (And man ok, slightly off topic, but if y’all ever read The Armageddon Rag, GRRM can make you hear that shit, I mean, really hear it, GRRM is amazing.) In ASOIAF, you can feel the silk of the gown Viserys gives Dany, and you can smell the western market and flea bottom, and you can hear the men selling fresh rats on the streets of King’s Landing, and oh god, the drums, BOOM DOOM BOOM DOOM, of the Red Wedding, and the tinkling of Jinglebell’s sad little bells, and Patchface’s creepy song, and the taste of the weirwood paste, bitter and sweet and like the last kiss his mother ever gave him, oh god. (And do you know how many lemon-flavored deserts I’ve had, chasing after Sansa’s famous lemon cakes, let’s not talk about it.)

Reading ASOIAF is like going through the wardrobe - what’s not to love? I want to go somewhere else, and GRRM delivers. Why read fantasy, if not to gaze up at new stars, and trace out new constellations, and marvel at the way humans everywhere try to push back the darkness by telling themselves stories, be it the story of Orion or of the Ice Dragon up there in the heavens.

GRRM does such a good job on the worldbuilding that we can seriously have super lengthy academic discussions on politics and economics and warfare and geology and all that other stuff that people do in real life.

But it’s not just the depth of the worldbuilding, cuz that wouldn’t be enough by itself. GRRM doesn’t just go through the motions, he’s not just hitting targets - he makes you earn it. For example, Stannis really wants to be King, and it’s not enough to just try to storm king’s landing. Why do you want to be King, Stannis? the books ask, and we find out it’s because he has a duty to the people, so he goes to the wall. What did it mean that Tyrion was Hand in ACOK, what did he accomplish, what did he learn, and will he be Hand again in a future book? What do those vows of knighthood mean, and is Brienne the only one true to them? What of Sam, failing to release the ravens at the right moment? When the time comes, will Sam fail again, or will he release the ravens at the critical moment next time, and how much more meaningful is it, when we saw fail the first time?

In short, I’m devoted to it because GRRM’s devoted to it. He’s a master of his craft, and it shows. I’m only responding to it.

(Honestly, he never should have allowed an adaptation until this was all over, and then he could have adapted the episodes himself. The best GOT episodes were the ones written by GRRM.)

#sandvipers #replies #the meaning of asoiaf #asoiaf themes #lannister thoughts

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darnloveablecharacters · 7 years

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Prove Me Wrong, Part Three: Lost

Series Summary: Caithwistë, born from the only known pairing of an elf and a dwarf has spent most of her life in hiding. When an old friend, (or a certain meddling wizard) finds her in the woods, everything changes. Now, she will have the chance to prove the world wrong about her value. A ‘The Hobbit’ fanfiction based off of the following imagines from @imaginexhobbit: This One is the basis of the story, and This One and This One will be added in later. If you recognize it, it belongs to Professor Tolkien or Peter Jackson. But, as usual, the story and all of the mistakes are my own!

Prove Me Wrong - Masterlist

Chapter Notes: I wrote so many versions of this chapter it’s kind of ridiculous. But, I’m really happy with this one! I’m glad I didn’t post the first few, because once I finally settled on this idea it just flowed so much better than the previous versions. I hope y’all like my choice :-) It gave me the perfect opportunity to bring this prompt in! Plus, I got to do a small tribute to Tom Bombadil who just seems to have been forgotten along the way. (Even though he isn’t mentioned by name) The song is actually from the Lord of the Rings books though.

Warnings for this chapter: little bit of violence

Nearly nine months had passed since the night Caithwistë had dined with Mithrandir and Thorin. In that time, she had moved west and had been living in the Old Forest. When she had first arrived though, the trees had been hostile toward her, eventually driving her south toward the Barrow Downs where she was attacked by a cloaked figure with skeletal hands and eerily glowing eyes. Feeling ill, she had managed to put two arrows in the creature, but it continued to advance on her until a voice boomed through the trees.

Get out, you old wight! Vanish in the sunlight!

Shrivel like the cold mist, like the winds go wailing,

Out into the barren lands far beyond the mountains!

Come never here again! Leave your barrow empty!

Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness,

Where gates stand for ever shut, till the world is mended.

The voice belonged to an old man in a bright blue jacket and yellow boots. By the time he had finished his song, the creature had vanished and her illness instantly faded. He had sent her back on her way after assuring she was safe, but with a warning to stay away from the Barrow Downs as well as the center of the forest.

She smiled as she thought of the strange old man while she pulled a rabbit from a snare. He was odd, and spoke mostly by singing, but since their meeting the trees seemed to be less angry with her. They only met on one other occasion, and that time he had taught her how to become friends with the forest.

Heeding his advice, she took great care to only use what was already fallen and dead to make fires for her meals, and before sleeping she would sing the trees a lullaby that her mother had taught her. However, with the uneasy peace she had made with the forest, it made it that much more unsettling when they started to sway menacingly as her small rabbit cooked.

She sat still and listened. Above the warning of the trees, she could hear soft footsteps creeping behind her. She tensed as she realized how close they were and she turned, swinging her right fist, and hit the intruder directly in the jaw. She watched in shock as the offending raven-haired dwarf fell to the ground with a grunt.

“Thorin?” She gasped in surprise. It was him, but there were silver streaks blending into his dark hair that she hadn’t noticed before.

“Caithwistë.” He acknowledged. He sat up, groaning, and rubbed his jaw.

“What are you doing here?” She demanded, glancing up at the trees in fear.

He looked at her in shock, as if his intentions had never been questioned before. “Apologies, my lady. I did not mean to startle you. Perhaps I should have coughed before approaching.”

She glared down at him, unhappy with his evasion. “I asked, why are you here?”

He stood slowly with his arms raised, as if he were trying to calm a wary predator. Once he was on his feet, his eyes moved down, taking in her un-cloaked appearance. She was shorter than he was. Petite, some may say, with fair skin and piercing blue eyes that matched his own. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a tight braid, revealing her pointed ears. “You’re a hobbit?” He asked, avoiding her question again.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and simply nodded.

“You’re a bit tall for a hobbit.” He mused.

“I’ve heard that before.” She said. She felt some of her tension ease, though she was still worried that the trees may lash out in their anger. “You shouldn’t be here. This place isn’t safe.” She said quietly.

“I am on my way to the shire.” He said, glancing down. He was suddenly unable to meet her eyes.

She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, “You’re a bit too far South.”

He glared at the ground and simply nodded.

She watched him for a moment in silence, waiting for further explanation. When none came, her eyes widened slightly in shock as the truth dawned on her. “You’re lost?”

His expression was pained as he silently nodded again.

She was surprised at the amount of sympathy she felt toward the dwarf-lord in that moment. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about Master Dwarf.” He finally met her eyes again as she spoke. “This forest can be deceptive, and the trees don’t help much.” She said this looking up at the still swaying trees.

She glanced back at Thorin, who was glaring at the ground again.

“Oh.” She said. She bit her bottom lip, suddenly fighting off a grin. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been lost?”

Thorin looked as if he wished he could have been anywhere else as he slowly shook his head.

Another moment of stunned silence, then his head snapped up as she suddenly burst into laughter. Between fits of giggles, and with eyes full of tears, she managed to choke out a weak apology.

He tried to continue glaring at her, but eventually his expression softened and she was rewarded with a bashful smile.

“Come then, Master Dwarf.” She said when she had finally managed to stop giggling. “Join me in my feast and I shall help you find your way.” She gestured to the small rabbit that was still roasting over the fire.

He glanced at the rabbit, then back to Caithwistë with a warm expression. “Thank you, my lady.” He said, bowing deeply.

They finished the meal quickly, and after gathering her few belongings they traveled North to the edge of the forest. They walked in a comfortable silence at Caithwistë’s recommendation. She did not want to disturb the trees as she could still feel their hatred toward Thorin, the intruder. It did not take long before they reached the edge of the forest and the road was in sight.

Thorin listened intently as Caithwistë gave him directions to the Shire. When she was finished, he bowed again. “Thank you, my lady.”

“It was no trouble at all Master Dwarf. I’m happy that I could assist you.” She said cheerfully.

He looked at her questioningly, then suddenly looked as if he had come to a decision. “It seems as if the wizard may have been right about you.”

She crossed her arms, suddenly feeling too exposed. “What do you mean?”

He gave her an appraising look, then walked around her as he spoke. “I can see that you’re strong.” She tensed, but forced herself to remain still as he moved around her. “It’s clear that you have managed to survive on your own in the wild for quite some time now.” He was behind her now, and it took every ounce of strength that she possessed to not turn so he was in her sight. “But, you have no trust for others.” He was almost complete with his circuit. “So, while the wizard may not have exaggerated your abilities, I don’t believe it would be wise for you to join my company.” He stopped in front of her and clasped his hands behind his back, observing her quietly.

She laughed humorlessly, filling the tense silence. “And my statement that ‘I want no part of this’ wasn’t enough to convince you of that?”

He smirked and leaned close to her, whispering his challenge. “Prove me wrong.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her stunned.

She watched him walk away for a moment, before suddenly giggling. “The Shire is in the other direction.” She called out, stopping Thorin in his tracks. She heard him sigh as he looked down again in frustration.

She glanced back at the Old Forest, weighing her options. It shocked her how easily the decision had come to her, and she said a silent goodbye to the trees and the strange old man in the South before walking toward Thorin. “It seems as if you have left me no choice, Master Dwarf.” He turned to her, the frustration still clear on his face. “Since you seem so intent on getting lost, it would be impolite of me to allow you to wander alone.”

Thorin glared at her again as she stood in front of him, shaking from her attempts to restrain her laughter. Once again, he couldn’t hold the glare and broke into a wide grin. “Lead the way then, tracker.”

Caithwistë turned on her heel cheerfully and he fell into step beside her, walking in the right direction.

#the hobbit imagine #the hobbit #thorin imagine #thorin oakenshield #thorin x ofc

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