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cupcakecoterie · 3 years

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@true0neutral - Hazel, half-elf cleric

@fauxfire76 - Darvin, human bard/sorcerer

@miaaoi - Froseth, dragonborn monk

@hyperewok1 - Remi, human paladin/warlock

@lindira - Clarity, tiefling rogue/wizard

Marion - Ava, human ranger

Brian - Barnabus, minotaur fighter

This session was ... harrowing. HARROWIIIIIIIIIIIIIING. I almost feel like apologising, because that was cruel and unusual, but it was also a masterwork of headfuck and thus my apologies lack at least some level of sincerity because pride.

As the lights went out, Clarity and Barnabus were ‘held back’ - Barnabus by the hand of the ‘human’ child who serves as page of the Archfey Lady of Whimsy and Mischief (and the Archfey Lord of Chaos and Misrule, sometimes) taking his, and Clarity by the hand of the Lady of Whimsy herself. When the lights came up, Hazel, Darvin, Froseth, Remi, Ava and Alisaie were all gone, and Her Majesty explained that while Nai/Eryn was no longer fulfilling his part of his pact with his Archfey patrons, the others had vowed to help Nai meet his obligations to his patrons, so they were still beholden to the whims of His Majesty of Misrule as Nai would have been. So they’d been taken for further tourney challenges, these ones a little more tailored - and that in the case of two of them, a death was called for. The others, she promised she would bring back before anything permanent happened. Then Her Majesty gave Clarity a tiny dragon clutching a gold coin as its ‘hoard’, and sent rainbow-coloured spectral kittens, in an attempt to cheer her and Barnabus up.

Barnabus was so fucking confused and really hating this loophole-riddled indirect twisty-logic Fae bullshit because he is Lawful Good and the Archfey asshole took his friends and he had no way to get them back and made of LIVID.

First, Ava - in a reproduction of her own bedroom at the Vanedar estate - with the sound and heat of flames. There was no ceiling - just a rope leading up into blackness. Then the room itself caught fire, leaving Ava with the options of climbing (she’s afraid of heights) or burning (she’s afraid of fire). She climbed. She did pretty well, considering her -1 STR modifier ... but eventually she fell. She landed in a pile of mine debris back at the campsite area, with slightly scorched boots and rope burns on her palms but nothing major. She was more freaked out than anything else. She got the precis on what was going on. She was not pleased. That ... would be a theme.

Darvin next. He was tasked to sit a dinner party - entertain people without offending anyone, or be burned at the stake. Darvin refusd to play along, and nearly committed himself to dying in it before Her Majesty could pull him out. As it was, he lost half his hit points to the flames before he was dumped back to the mines.

Then, Hazel - back in her Elvenwild bedroom. In place of the door, a tapestry reading “Perhaps a leap of faith - how much does your god love you?”. And the window, looking down onto tree limbs and the ground at least a couple of hundred feet below. First Hazel tried to carve a “F U!!!” into the tapestry but the magics of the Archfey had it so well-protected that it shattered one blade of the double-bladed axe. She managed to fix it with a little extra divine oomph and then, swearing in halfling, yeeted herself out the window. She hit every limb of the tree on her way down, lost about two-thirds of her hit points, but survived the fall.

Froseth had it comparatively easy. A jumping puzzle (which he did fairly well as befits a monk) interspersed with trivia questions ... where he fell at the first hurdle with a particularly bad Intelligence roll. Thankfully he’s not afraid of much in that respect, so again - out of it with minimal physical, mental and emotional scarring ... though he is determined to ask Farideh a few more questions about his people.

Froseth also thought to ask His Majesty what they could do to make this the last damn time they had to go through this bullshit. His Majesty basically said he was still owed, and they’d have to offer him something really good to get him to let go. They’re going to do some research on that - though whether it’s how to placate him or how to kill him ... they’re very much veering to the latter right now.

That partially because of Remi. Remi was shown Alisaie trapped in a magical prison (briefly, before it went opaque) and told that to see Alisaie or her other friends again, Remi would have to kill the creature they put before her. Remi double-checked - that she and Alisaie would be returned to exactly where they were when they were taken if she killed her challenger - and had it confirmed, so the fight started. The flesh golem which was set to challenge Remi didn’t land a single blow, and Remi brought it down, but paused before the killing blow, asking to be allowed to see Alisaie before she finished it. Unfortunately, she did get to see Alisaie a moment later ... when the ‘flesh golem’ bled out, the illusion that made the opponent look like a flesh golem dropped and Remi found herself looking at Alisaie, sprawled dead at her feet. (Basically, the Alisaie in the magic cage was an illusion to throw Remi off - they locked down Alisaie’s magic, Silenced her, and put an illusion on her, then made her fight Remi, stating that if Alisaie let Remi know what was going on in any way, they’d kill Remi outright. So Alisaie aimed for the shield and the solid parts of Remi’s armour and let Remi kill her, at least knowing about Revivify.) Remi did cast Revivify, but was sent back to the camp in the mines (in their exact previous positions - Remi at a pile of mine debris where she’d been looking for a good rock to cast Light on; Alisaie in front of the tent building a fire bowl) before knowing whether it worked.

It worked. Barely. Ava came out of the tent at Remi’s screaming and tripped over Alisaie’s body (prone, barely breathing, but at least alive), brought her back to consciousness with Cure Wounds before Remi shoved her out of the way to dump the entirety of her Lay On Hands into Alisaie. After a lot of reassurances in all directions, Alisaie got the full story of what happened and why as the party regrouped. Everybody wants the Lord of Chaos and Misrule dead. They’re going to have to earn their way into the right section of the Silver Vault to do their research to figure out how to kill an archfey, or even what one might want in exchange for freeing them from their accidental contract, but if nothing else, they know they need to deal with this guy so he doesn’t interfere with their attempts on, say, the ancient black dragon known as Jain Nerrand III.

Further mental regrouping happened: Alisaie brought out the dinner date in a can for her and Remi so they could rebond and get over the guilt, Hazel and Clarity cooked dinner, Clarity also decided to blow a levitation bubble to stick on Barnabus to entertain Her Majesty ... Her Majesty expressed a certain ... carnal interest in Barnabus and made an offer, Barnabus accepted... So hopefully they’ll be in decent shape to start their purple worm hunt in the morning.

...Well, in two weeks’ time, anyway.

So that was fun! So glad I have Monday off; I was not getting to sleep easily after that one.

#cupcake coterie #Youtube Vid #full session

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bosspigeon · 4 years

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How about one of those "I thought I lost you" moments (with hugs? kisses?) for Hawthorn and Ortega? Either one can be the hurt one but thorny boy letting himself reveal his worry for Ortega would be Very Nice.

Hellebore disappears with the sound of sirens.

He gives Ortega a long, long look where he lies half-conscious on the grey shore. His tattered cape drips on the algae-covered rocks, his eerie white eyes flickering over the Ranger’s battered body with… well, it’s impossible to tell even when you’re not waterlogged and rattled (not to mention broken in a few places) from falling a couple dozen stories into freezing water, but it almost feels like pity.

But he looks. And he looks. And he keeps looking until the sirens are too close to ignore, and he silently melts into the creeping shadows thrown by the lights of the bridge far above them, the blue and red of police responding to the chaos, and the city beyond. But the weight of that eerie gaze lingers until the medics find him and shuffle him off to the hospital for treatment.

And when Hellebore disappears, Hawthorn appears. There’s a significant amount of time between the two events, of course. He’s got to be treated for shock first, probably hypothermia as well, they’ve got to set two or three bones at least, and that’s not to mention the collection of lacerations and bruises that may not be just skin-deep. It’s almost two in the morning when he’s finally left to his own devices, as much as he can be while plugged into half a dozen monitoring machines and IV drips.

It takes him a while to even realize he’s not alone, but Hawthorn’s always been quiet. Subtle. Not like grandiose, theatrical Hellebore, with his monstrous mask and rumbling voice and wicked laugh.

He jerks out of his light doze suddenly, a few hours later. He’s not sure why. Hawthorn doesn’t make a sound when he enters the room, doesn’t so much as creak the door, and doesn’t say a word once he’s in. There’s just a moment of not being aware of him, and then he is, just like that. Ortega suspects there’s a part of him that’s just attuned to Hawthorn when he’s near.

But there he is, hiding his eerie black eyes behind dark sunglasses, looking at Ortega lying half-conscious in bed, beaten and exhausted. There’s a blotchy purple bruise along his jawbone. His lip is split but it’s scabbed over already. Ortega’s mind flashes back to the solid punch he landed when he’d managed to surprise Hellebore earlier, snapping his head around. There’s a matching bruise on his ribs where Hellebore got even, snarling in his face and ramming a fist into him with the force of a fucking truck.

Ortega sits up as much as he can (a few machines around him beeping in protest of his accelerated heart rate, the tug on his IVs) and Hawthorn still doesn’t say anything.

He just looks. And he looks. And he keeps looking until Ortega clears his throat and says, low and rough and just a little bit wry, “Saw the news, huh?” (Plausible deniability, for both of them, his traitorous brain whispers.)

Hawthorn looks away. He looks so small, like a shadow smeared against the stark white wall in his oversized sweater and dark jeans. For once, his hair looks carefully groomed, shiny slightly-damp curls clinging to his forehead. “Yeah,” he rasps. He swallows audibly and frowns. His hands are wedged into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. He’s always been fidgety, but he tries to hide it, like every other “sign of weakness” he’s ever forced down or choked back. “I thought… You were…” He makes a noise deep in his throat, and bites down on it before it can slip past his clenched teeth.“Didn’t expect Shadowfell to show up,” Ortega grunts. “Must have some serious beef with Hellebore.”

Hawthorn’s fingers curl tight, his scraped knuckles turning pale. “He’s a fucking animal that needs to be put down,” he snarls, and his voice goes low and rough with anger. No– anger is too gentle a word. That’s barely-restrained fury boiling under his skin. That’s a not-so-subtle promise that Ortega forces himself not to think about too hard, which is thankfully pretty easy with his head swimming from medication.

He tries to lighten the mood, because of course he does. Can’t help being who he is, even when he should keep his mouth shut. “I mean, to be fair, Hellebore’s pretty damned feral himself.”

He can’t see Hawthorn’s eyes, but the corners of his mouth tighten, plush lips pressing together. His clenched fists tremble. He doesn’t say anything, only looks towards the big window that faces out over the city. He can see the bridge from here, spirals of dark smoke still curling up from the smoldering cables and towards the sky. It’s got to be six or seven in the morning by this point, sunlight just barely breaking through the dense cloud cover.

“I thought he’d killed you,” Hawthorn rasps. He doesn’t look away from the window, staring out over the sprawl with an expression Ortega can’t even hope to read. “I saw you… I saw you go down. I saw you hit the water. And I was so sure you were…” He chokes and cuts off with a frustrated snarl that can barely be considered human, and for a moment (completely unprompted, he forces himself to think, really out of nowhere) he wonders how much of Hellebore’s beastly snarls and eerie howls are synthetic and how much come from the rage of the person inside the armor.

Hawthorn shoves his glasses up into his hair and rubs angrily at his eyes with his knuckles, clenching his teeth so hard his temple visibly throbs. “Fuck,” he hisses.

“Hey,” Ortega calls gently. “Come here.”

Hawthorn freezes like a startled animal, and slowly turns to look at Ortega again. His endless black eyes are shining, red-rimmed. He looks like he’s been crying for hours. Ortega wisely keeps that thought to himself.

Ortega shifts over, patting the bed at his side. “Come on. I don’t bite.” He grins, and he knows he probably looks like roadkill right now, but he still tries to look as charming as possible.

Slowly, Hawthorn crosses the room like a sullen ghost. His boots make almost no sound on the linoleum floor. He sits down gingerly, like his body aches under his thick, dark clothes. Ortega feels a throb of guilt in his gut, so he’s very, very gentle (for his sake as much as his friend’s) when he slips an arm around Hawthorn’s waist, settling his hand over the slightly concave curve of his belly. Hawthorn’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t shift away. He feels more corporeal now, like a person and not a specter, and Ortega can’t help but be relieved to touch him, like he needs reassurance even after so many months of (admittedly stilted) conversation and sporadic contact and frantic, clandestine kisses neither of them talk about that Hawthorn is really alive, and not just some cruel figment of his imagination.

The throb in his gut returns, but this time he thinks it’s just the ugly bruise there, rather than guilt. Other than the usual low-grade background guilt that he’s dealt with ever since the funeral, of course.

God, he’s tired. He rests his head against Hawthorn’s, smelling anise and black coffee. Hawthorn goes stiff for a split second before his body relaxes, and his hand slips over Ortega’s knee and clutches it through the blankets like a lifeline, audibly forcing himself to calm his breathing.

Ortega can practically hear him cursing himself, like he did back when he was Sidestep, furiously working over a heavy bag in the gym and muttering “weak, weak, weak” fiercely under his breath before he realized Ortega was watching him.

“Stop,” Hawthorn chokes out, snapping him out of the memory. His voice is strained, almost pleading. “Just stop. I’m not… He’s dead, and he’s going to stay dead.”

Ortega winces. Hawthorn always told him he thought entirely too loud, as he did literally everything else. Too loud. He supposes he always loved Hawthorn too loud too.

“Stop,” Hawthorn begs, his voice cracking. His glasses are still pushed up into his hair, and Ortega watches the tear slide down his cheek and drip off his chin in profile. “Please.”

“I can’t,” Ortega tells him, tightening his jaw and tilting up his chin. Challengingly honest, even broken down in a hospital bed and helpless as a newborn. “I don’t know how.”

Hawthorn make a noise, somewhere between a sob and a growl, and furiously rubs at his face with his sleeve. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck.”

“Not until I heal up a bit,” Ortega quips weakly. He can’t help himself, desperate to bring some levity back into a situation that is far too close to… something.

Hawthorn chokes, almost doubling over. The look he gives Ortega from the corner of his eye is scalding, but… he was always strangely addicted to that sort of burn. He only smiles crookedly in response, and eventually the glare fades into something softer, almost… considering?

He almost chokes on his tongue when Hawthorn straightens up, leans in, and kisses him. It’s only once, quick but firm, and before Ortega can do anything– grab him and kiss him back, or maybe just plead pathetically for more than a little peck– he’s pushing himself up off the bed and putting his glasses back over his eyes. The only hint of emotion left visible is the faint redness to his nose and cheeks, and the surprisingly soft quirk of his mouth.

“I have to go,” he says brusquely. He turns and heads to the door, but pauses with his hand on the knob, while Ortega is still stunned speechless. He glances over his shoulder, taking a deep, fortifying breath. “Try not to do anything stupid until you heal up a bit.”

And then he’s gone, silent as always, and for a dazed moment Ortega wonders if he was ever actually there at all. But his lips still tingle a bit, where Hawthorn’s pressed to them, and when his hand brushes the sheet where he was sitting, it’s still warm.

He’s still in the hospital, two days later, when he turns on the news just in time to see Hellebore holding Shadowfell by his neck and dangling him over the edge of a building. There’s no audio under the news achor’s voiceover, but Shadowfell is visibly struggling. His mask is cracked open, and the camera angle changes, showing one wide, frightened eye as he scrabbles at the clawed gauntlet wrapped around his throat.

And then Hellebore drops him.

Ortega’s breath hitches, and holds until the next segment assures the viewers that Shadowfell is alive, if badly injured, and will be transported to a maximum security hospital where he will be treated until he is recovered enough to be transferred to prison. The hunt for Hellebore and the investigation into what caused the altercation is still underway.

They discharge him that evening, with appointments for physical therapy and a warning not to do anything too strenuous for a few weeks, as well as paperwork to be signed by Steel. He’s more restless than he is sore, two days bedridden leaving him rattling with nervous energy that feels like sparks under his skin.

And almost the second his foot hits the curb, his phone chirps at him. He checks it distractedly, keeping one eye out for a cab to hail, and doesn’t recognize the number.

But he does recognize the name of the diner in the message preview window. His heart judders in his ribcage, and he almost trips into traffic.

He hails his cab, and instead of heading back to the Rangers headquarters, he gives the driver the name of the diner in the message, which has no signature, no indication of who it could possibly have come from. But Ortega knows. He knows, in spite of Steel’s sharp voice in his head telling him he could be walking into a trap, and immediately upon being discharged from the hospital to boot. He ignores the logical part of his brain, and instead, he heads straight for a rinky-dink nowhere diner with his heart pounding.

And Hawthorn is there, of course. A smudge of black he spots from the corner of his eye, tucked into the furthest booth from the door, staring at him silently, as if waiting to be noticed.

With a smile and a wave, Ortega heads right for him, sits down, and then all he can think to say is a breathless, inane little, “Hey.”

“You came straight here? After just getting out of the hospital?” Hawthorn asks incredulously.

“Yeah,” he answers.

“Steel’s not going to be happy.”

“I know.” Ortega can’t stop smiling, and Hawthorn is looking more and more as if he thinks he’s completely lost his mind. “I missed you,” he adds helpfully, earnestly, as if Hawthorn can’t read his intentions easily enough.

Hawthorn’s cheeks redden just a bit, barely noticeable with his complexion, and his mouth does that little pinchy thing it does when he’s trying not to smile. Ortega hasn’t seen the pinchy thing in years.

“Shut up,” Hawthorn grumbles, ducking his head and sipping from his mug to hide his face.

“I didn’t say anything,” Ortega offers, still grinning like a loon. “Nothing at all.”

“You don’t have to,” Hawthorn sighs, tapping the mug with his fingers. Softer, looking up so that Ortega can just see the fan of his lashes above the black lenses of his glasses, he adds, “You never have to.”

This is a bad idea. A terrible idea, and he knows it. And he knows Hawthorn knows it, but neither of them seem able to care at this point. He doesn’t need to be a telepath to know that. But when Ortega reaches slowly across the table to peel one hand from the mug and lace their fingers together, he doesn’t pull away.

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aboyandhisstarship · 5 years

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saints row tell me about your boss! either in prompt form or simple answer!

I may have seized on this a bit to hard

Steel port: Peirce sighed “you know I’ve known the Boss for a couple of years and know next to nothing about him.”

The rest of the lieutenants of the third street saints looked around and coming to the same conclusion with the exception of Kenzie who was typing.

Viola pointed out “we could always ask him?”

Shaundi laughed “ask the boss about himself?! He doesn’t talk about it”

Kenzie coolly said “I looked him up…at least what I could find”

Oleg said “what you could find?”

Kenzie nodded “there are some gaps…but here is what I know”

Kenzie began to explain. Eugene Connors was born on April 9th 1990 in the city of Stilwater Illinois’ from the saint’s row projects. His father was reportedly a drunk and a bastard and his mother was sweet older lady. He was tough stayed out of trouble did well in school, was a part of a trio of trouble makers in middle school and some of high school…these people were “Aisha Taylor, Johnny Gat and himself. It was more a duo with Aisha trying to keep them out of trouble. When he was 16 he disappeared dropped off the grid having not graduated high school. He doesn’t show back up until 2008 when he joins the saints. It took a while but I found out where he was. He had gotten sick of his father and ran away…straight into the arms of the army. He had lied about his age and enlisted joined the 85th air born rangers in Iraq for 2 and a half tours. The half tour came from when his mother was killed in a drive by shooting back on the row. He was granted a leave of absence to attend the funeral.

Viola read from the file “87 confirmed kills, received a purple heart after being blown up by an IED was given the bronze star and was nominated for a medal of honor but was discharged before he could get it. The army covered up his record and buried him while he was in his coma.

Johnny gat plucked down on the couch with a sigh as the rest of the assembled gang members jumped “funny thing about that… is that the Boss was going to leave the city and go back to the army. He had won, avenged his mother. As soon as Julies got out the boss was going to drop his flags and that would been that. But he never got the chance.”

Kenzie asked “I heard the stories about the boss in those days he was a lot…crazier than he is now”

Gat laughed “imagine for a second that you are a young war hero. Back in your hometown after your mom was killed in a gang shoot out. Then after her funeral they try to kill you hadn’t even done anything. Then a guy saves your life and gives you a chance to take out those people…and honestly the boss was a god send back in those days sure we had the boys and our own muscle but the boss was an Army sniper, Killer cold school. When he first showed up at the church I didn’t recognize him until we took on the VK’s together. I actually remember when I found out who he was.”

Saints row:

Eugene adjusted his Latex gloves as he opened the door to the roof top. Gat pointed out “you know you don’t need to wear those every time we do some work you know”

Eugene Opened the duffle bag revealing a sniper rifle “trust me it’s better for all involved.”

Gat sighed Julius told him to trust this new kid but no one else on the crew could figure out the rifle but the Playa seemed quite capable.

Eugene loaded in his shot adjusting his scope casually “you sure you know how to spot?”

Gat pointed out “you know how to shoot that thing?”

Eugene smiled “done it a few times”

Gat laughed “a few? What the fuck that mean”

“About 86 over in Iraq…never thought the Row would turn into a war zone like that” Eugene peered through the scope

Gat sighed “truer words…wait you in the forces?”

Eugene nodded “two and a half tours overseas”

Gat replied “but you’re my age that would make you…”

Eugene chuckled “it hasn’t been that long Gat”

Gat stared “Eugene?”

Eugene spoke calmly “target sighted”

Gat shook his head “of course it is…I heard about your mom man”

Eugene nodded “one of these pieces of garbage killed her…I’m just returning the favor”

Gat nodded as Eugene squeezed the trigger causing the Vice king lieutenant head to explode Eugene said calmly “tango down.”

Eugene withdraw the gun “time to go”

Gat said “yea right.”

Steel port:

Shundi sighed “Maria Connors…I didn’t much about her but she was real solid type of person…ran a real community center after her Husband…died.”

Gat nodded “she was great the Row was rough when she died…the gangs didn’t care…and they really should have…”

Kenzie “you don’t kill a snipers mom if you know what’s good for you…”

Iraq:

Eugene was sleeping in the command center when his commander entered he sprung up to attention the man sighed “at ease Sargent…take a seat I got bad news.”

Eugene said “sir?”

The man said “it’s your mother son…she died…in a drive by back in Stilwater.”

Eugene grew angry “they know who did it sir?”

He shook his head “Command agreed to postpone your transfer to Delta until after you have handled your business back home.”

Eugene nodded “thank you sir.”

He chuckled “just handle it quickly…we will miss you around here.”

Stilwater airport:

Eugene grabbed his duffle bag his dog tags hanging out the front of his shirt as he hailed a cab…gangs roamed the streets causally as he was brought into the row. He looked around sighing “glad to see things have changed.”

He arrived at the hotel saying “uhh reservation for Eugene Connors?”

The hotel manager an little old lady nodded handed him his key saying “no drugs.”

Eugene rolled his eyes “sure Miss.”

He arrived at his room whistling saying “nice.” the paint was peeling and it smelled terrible

He glanced at his watch the funeral was in an hour he changed into his dress uniform before handing down ignoring the weird look the old lady was giving him as he got in the cab.

After the funeral:

Eugene changed into a black t-shirt and jeans took his dog tags into his shirt before saying “I should get some lunch”

He walked down the street as man shouted “watches… I got watches here.”

Steelport:

Oleg shook his head “so he was going to join Delta force?”

Gat nodded “he doesn’t talk about it much even to me…but if it wasn’t for Julius he would have kept fighting…deny-able ops…probably never even came back to Stilwater.”

Viola nodded “it makes sense…why no one could ever handle the saints…the boss is crazy and he had training to boot…he is like a one man killing machine.”

The boss entered “someone say killing machine?”

The lieutenant’s looked embarrassed as Gat said causally “I was telling about you…”

Peirce said “is your name really fucking Eugene?”

The boss rolled his eyes “and that’s why I never told anyone.”

Shuandi asked “so Boss…what happened to your medals?”

Boss shrugged “storage looker in Stilwater.”

Kenzie laughed “you really walked away from everything?”

The boss said “I was blown the fuck up Kenzie…when I woke up my whole life was over…the Army ditched me and everyone I ever knew was either dead in prison or tried to kill me….I was not in a telling old war stories mood.”

Peirce stood up “we should throw a party!”

The boss sighed “sure pierce…just make sure no one tries to kill us this time.”

Later: the party was in full swing but the boss was not feeling it, as he watched the city pass.

#ask mack a question #Saints row #the boss #my boss

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iwasnthere622 · 7 years

Text

Hi My Name Is... (Ch. 3)

AO3 Link

Jaylee moved quickly, locking up the house and grabbing her lockbox, shutting herself up in the bathroom. She had a solid three hours before she'd have to worry about cleanup and she didn't want to waste a second of it.

She propped her phone on the counter as she dug around and pulled out the different things that she would need, loading the video she'd bookmarked a week ago. It was a new one from her favorite makeup artist and the look was amazing and she wanted to try it.

She followed along slowly, priming her face, applying highlighter and contouring and blending, making it work despite none of it quite being her skin tone's natural shades. She didn't have any setting powder, but then again she wasn't doing this look to last so she skipped that step, moving on to her eyes.

It took a while to get the gradient right because she didn't quite have the shades for it, but when she finished and looked in the mirror... it actually didn't look that bad. It was even, which was the hardest part according to everyone she watched, and the purple color actually made her eyes look really bright.

Encouraged, she picked up the eyeliner she'd stolen from Kim and watched that part of the video, rewatching a few times until she felt confident enough to try, leaning close to the mirror and keeping her hand steady, wanting to do the wings at the ends.

These didn't end up quite as even, but she didn't hate it, putting on mascara and then picking out a lip color from the few she had. She ended up with a nude color that just made her lips a bit pinker and shinier.

She finished, pressing her lips together one last time, before leaning back and blinking at herself in the mirror.

She reached up to tug at her hair, at the way it was just starting to curl behind her ears -- getting long, her dad mentioned going for a cut soon just the other day -- but the curl helped with the image she was trying to create, able to imagine her hair longer and fuller and framing her face.

Smiling to herself, she grabbed the bottle of clear nail polish she'd borrowed from Pearl and sat on the edge of the tub to apply a fresh coat to her nails -- this at least she could keep on and no one noticed.

She nearly dropped the bottle when her phone started ringing on the counter, only her faster reflexes saving it from spilling everywhere. She set it aside and reached for her phone, heart racing. Zack?

"Hello?" she said, answering and immediately bolting up into a stand at the chaos on the other line. "Zack?!"

"Putties!" Zack shouted, a loud crash sounding as she got an earful of Mandarin curses. "At work, I can't -- fucking -- morph!"

"Hold on, we're coming!" Jaylee said, hanging up and quickly dialing Trini. "Putties are attacking Zack at work, he can't morph!" she shouted, shoving makeup into her lockbox and hanging up on Trini when she started cursing, knowing she'd get to Zack as fast as possible.

She slammed the box closed, looking around frantically for anything she missed as she called Kim and repeated the message, hanging up and dialing Billy last. She hung up and spun around, meeting her own panicked eyes in the mirror.

The makeup!

Zack needed her, needed everyone, she didn't have time to remove it properly, it took forever to take off eye stuff, why did she do a full face...!

She didn't have a choice -- her team needed her. She ran out of the room, hiding her box and throwing open her bedroom window, morphing and jumping out, belatedly hoping none of the neighbors were watching as she ran into town.

Trini was already there, smashing putties who were destroying the diner where Zack was a waiter. "Black?!" she yelled, shoving in right next to Trini.

"Don't know!" Trini answered, frustration and worry clear in her tone if you knew her.

Kim and Billy showed up just as they made it inside, people hiding in the booths screaming and crying in terror, most of the place destroyed, with another six putties bashing their way into the back.

"Pink, get the people out of here," Jaylee ordered firmly. "Blue, Yellow, let's finish this!"

She charged forward with Billy and Trini, leaving Kim to get everyone out and away from the diner, searching for Zack but unable to call his name, as that would be too dangerously close to revealing his identity.

Trini and Billy made a hole in the putties and Jaylee dove through it, finding Zack backed into a storage closet with two girls hiding behind him, the teen brandishing a mop.

Relief flooded her that Zack was okay, tapping her helmet to switch to internal comms. "Found Zack, he's okay," she said, switching back to the open channel. "It's okay, you're safe," she said, grinning back at Zack though he couldn't see it through her mask, turning back around to fight the putties from this side.

The putties were quickly turned to dust with three rangers focused on them, and Jaylee helped Zack lead the two girls out, who seemed to be in shock.

Kim stepped up to join them as they exited the diner -- or what was left of it -- Jaylee watching the girls and Zack head over to the rest of their coworkers. She nodded at Zack, then tilted her head in the direction of the mine, watching him grin and hoping he'd gotten the message.

"Let's go!" she said, leading the morphed rangers away and up to the mine, stopping them at the cliff overlooking the water entrance to the ship.

"That was crazy!" Billy said once they were alone.

Kim nodded. "I'm just glad Zack's okay."

"He should be here in a minute," Jaylee said. "If he got my message."

"Do you think the putties knew he was there, did they attack him?" Trini asked, hard edge in her voice.

"You think...?" Kim asked, clearly not having thought of that.

Jaylee shook her head. "I don't know. But I think we all need to be extra careful, now."

"You got that right," Zack said, huffing as he ran up.

"Zack!" Kim said, hugging him. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Kinda weird to be hugging you when I'm not morphed, too," Zack laughed, the press of the armor interesting to feel on this side.

They laughed, all demorphing.

"So were you really planning on fighting putties with a mop?" Trini asked, punching Zack's shoulder, teasing.

Zack rolled his eyes, knowing he'd worried her -- worried everyone. "Well I had to do something! There were too many people, I couldn't morph, and it's not like I could let them see me smash them with my bare hands, either," he protested.

"That was quick thinking," Billy agreed, smiling at him.

"See, Billy approves," Zack laughed. "I'm just glad Bossman got the bat signal out to you guys so quickly!" he continued, turning to grin at Jason, blinking in confusion.

Jaylee had gotten so caught up in the relief of getting to Zack in time, protecting the team, adrenaline crashing as they all joked and laughed and everyone was okay, that when they demorphed, she did, too, without thinking, it an ingrained habit.

She'd forgotten about the makeup, until Zack was suddenly grinning at her in confusion and now everyone was staring.

Her heart started racing, stomach dropping out completely, feeling like she was going to be sick, breaths short and panicked. She quickly pulled on her armor, the morphing grid responding to her fear -- she was terrified, she'd ruined everything -- and quickly morphed again.

"I'll report to Zordon, you guys go home," she said quickly, voice shaking, throwing herself off the edge of the cliff and sailing into the water with a splash.

She stumbled as she landed, looking up but no one was following her which was good... oh god... what was she going to do, what could she possibly tell them to make this okay?

She felt like the walls were closing in around her, finding it hard to breathe, tears pricking her eyes though she tried her best to swallow them down.

It took ten minutes before she felt controlled enough to walk to the ship, shoving everything down -- she was good at that, she'd handle it, tell them she was playing with Pearl, make any excuse, bury it -- and heading to the command room.

"Master Jason?" Alpha-5 said, clearly surprised to see her.

"The putties attacked Zack at work," Jaylee said shortly, giving Zordon and Alpha-5 the full report of what had happened.

"You did a good job of protecting your team," Zordon said. "But it's troubling to think the putties would have enough access to Rita's lingering power to be able to track you..."

"So this wasn't a coincidence," Jaylee said, worried.

"I'll run some scans," Alpha-5 said.

"Be cautious," Zordon said, Jaylee nodding and heading out.

She walked slowly back to the water entrance, staring up at it, trying to psych herself up. It was fine, she'd told Kim Pearl likes to do makeup for other people, she could just lie and say Pearl did it, they'd probably tease her a bit but they'd accept it as her being a good sibling.

Comforting herself with the thought, she jumped back up and landed on the cliff, standing and stilling at the sight of everyone sitting around, apparently waiting for her.

"What did Zordon say?" Trini asked when no one moved or said anything, Jaylee keeping her armor on.

"He doesn't think it was a coincidence, he thinks the putties are pulling on Rita's power to track us," Jaylee answered.

"What about our families?" Zack asked, worry clear in his tone and posture.

"We'll protect them, all of them," Jaylee promised, voice firm. "Alpha-5's working on something, maybe it can find the source."

"We can't be with our families all the time, though," Kim said, worrying her lip, glancing at Jaylee and then away, Jaylee not quite prepared for the hurt that stabbed through her in response.

"They should only be able to track us, though, so when we aren't with them, our families are probably safer," Billy pointed out.

"Great," Trini muttered.

"We'll figure it out," Jaylee said, already mentally preparing to do nightly checks on the town, to up their awareness.

They fell silent, all worried and trying to think of ways to protect everyone.

"Jase?" Kim said hesitantly.

Jaylee stiffened, heart picking up, hands flexing. "...Yeah?"

"It's... okay, if you like makeup," Kim said hesitantly, Billy nodding encouragingly next to her.

"That's not a girls-only thing, you know. I do eyeliner all the time," Zack added.

Trini rolled her eyes. "We know, Zack, you always run around yelling at us to look when you get it winged."

"Well, yeah, you guys gotta appreciate my art," Zack grinned.

"So it's okay," Kim said, smiling at Jaylee. "You're still a guy even if you like it."

"We would never make fun of you for something you liked," Billy said earnestly.

"Well, we'd probably tease," Zack mused, yelping when Trini smacked him. "What, I'm being honest! We wouldn't take it too far, though!"

"It's fine," Jaylee choked out, grateful to the armor for making her voice even. "It was Pearl anyway--"

"I thought Pearl had gymnastics class on Thursdays," Billy said, frowning.

"Yeah, don't you usually have the house to yourself today if your dad is working, since your mom has to take her to the class?" Kim added.

Jaylee sucked in a breath in panic -- why did they all know her family's schedule?! -- stammering out, "Y-yeah."

"Look, Kim was right. It's cool if you like traditionally feminine stuff," Trini said, tackling it head on and not wasting any words, something Jaylee usually loved her for but now was making her heart race and her palms sweat and her eyes burn. "We've all seen you dancing around some stuff and we just want you to know you don't have to hide anything from us. You're still Jason, the Red Ranger, regardless of what you like. And society's gender roles are fucking useless anyway, so fuck them. Do what you want, J. We've got your back."

"Yeah, dude," Zack said. "It's totally cool, do what you want. You're still a guy and besides, girly shit is fun sometimes."

"Well, as long as what you want isn't, like, mass murder," Kim teased. "We aren't jerks who would judge you for something like this, Jase."

"Well, technically, we are all mass murderers considering how many putties we have killed," Billy pointed out. "They are technically sentient so I think it counts as murder when we stop them."

"Okay, so you can even be a mass murderer," Kim laughed.

"Not of people," Billy clarified, "just putties. But yes, you should be able to like what you want. We're your friends."

"I..." Jaylee said, not knowing what to do, listening to their support but for the wrong thing, shaking because she should just accept it, it'd make everything so much easier, but that felt like she'd be confirming she was guy and she wasn't and while she'd never told anyone she was a woman, she'd also never told anyone she was a man, either, people just took one look at her and assumed and it would break something in her to confirm that assumption.

"J, we're good," Trini said, smiling softly. "You're a badass dude, even in purple eyeshadow."

"Seriously, man, I didn't get that good a look but damn your liner is on point," Zack complimented easily.

"Jason," Kim said softly. "It's okay, I promise. We don't see you any differently, you're still a guy, the leader... our friend."

They all just kept saying it, over and over, just assuming that she was a guy who liked makeup and that was fine -- Zack was a guy who liked makeup -- but that wasn't her, and her chest ached and her eyes burned and she just needed them to stop saying it.

"I'm not," she said, all of them blinking at her in confusion and she flexed her hands, terrified, god, so terrified but somehow the idea of coming out to them was less terrifying then accepting the lie. She was so tired of pretending and they were asking her to basically say the pretend life she presented was the real one when it wasn't and the reckless courage that got her into all the trouble she'd ever been in in her life welled up and she couldn't hold it back. She refused to.

"Not what?" Kim asked confused.

"A guy," Jaylee answered, keeping her head up because if she was doing this, she was doing this. "I'm not a guy."

"Okay," Zack said slowly, dragging the word out, clearly confused.

"I'm a girl. I've always been a girl. You all just assume, everyone assumes I'm a guy but I'm not," Jaylee said, breathing in short pants, feeling lightheaded with how hard her heart was beating. "I'm a girl."

"You're trans?" Trini asked, the first to get it.

Jaylee nodded, studying the rest of them.

"Fuck," Zack whispered, eyes wide, staring at her.

"Oh my god," Kim said, sharing a look with Billy.

"What's your name?" Trini asked, stepping forward.

"Jaylee," Jaylee answered, voice a bit shaky because she'd never actually said it out loud.

Trini nodded. "Hi, Jaylee. I'm Trini," she said, offering her hand.

Jaylee stared at her, glancing down at her hand then back up at her face, cautiously reaching out to shake her hand.

Trini gripped her hand tight. "Can you demorph?" she asked quietly.

Jaylee glanced around, they were all staring again, it looked like Kim might start crying, and she was confused and scared. But it's not like she was hiding anything now, they knew, so she let the armor dissolve, letting go of Trini's hand.

She stumbled back a step when Trini hugged her tight, cautiously returning the hug, just waiting for them to shove her away, call her a freak, tell her to give up her power coin...

"I'm sorry," Trini said when she pulled back, "for assuming. I'm so sorry."

"Me too!" Billy said, stepping up closer but not touching her. "I saw that you didn't seem to like your name, but I didn't guess... I'm sorry. I should have asked."

"I'm so sorry, Jase -- fuck, I'm sorry," Kim said, pulling her into a hug and feeling her flinch at her slip up. "I'm sorry."

Zack punched her on the arm -- when had he walked over? -- grinning at her. "Just like I thought, killer liner, girl," he said, and it was something about the easy acceptance in his voice -- in all their voices -- that made the tears Jaylee had been swallowing down finally spill over.

They all moved to hug her, collapsing into a pile right there on top of the cliff and letting her cry.

She clung to them, afraid they would leave, slowly calming down, makeup ruined now and smeared by her tears.

"It's... this is really okay?" she asked, trembling.

"Of course it is," Kim said firmly.

Jaylee wiped at her face. "I look like a freak," she mumbled, knowing she wasn't as pretty as Kim or Trini and knowing she'd ruined her makeup and knowing that it didn't look quite as right on her as it did on real women.

"Hey," Trini said, waiting for Jaylee to meet her eyes. "You are not a freak."

"You're fucking gorgeous," Zack said.

"You are really pretty," Billy agreed.

Jaylee laughed, wiping away tears and snot, looking around at them all.

"So, you've really been a girl the whole time?" Kim asked.

Jaylee nodded, nerves coiling.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Billy asked.

Jaylee sighed. "I'm Jason Scott," she said, mouth twisting around the name she hated. "You wouldn't have believed me."

"Dumbass, of course we would have," Trini said, smacking her shoulder.

"Yeah, dude," Zack said, feeling Jaylee stiffen and stiffening himself. "Ah, shit, sorry. Dudette."

"It's fine, I'm used to it," Jaylee said.

"That's bullshit," Kim said. "You should get to be who you are and be called what you want."

"Definitely," Zack agreed.

"Does anyone else know?" Billy asked.

Jaylee shook her head. "No..."

"We'll keep the secret," Trini promised, not about to forcibly out her.

Jaylee slumped into them, not sure she really believed this was happening but relieved at how it was going. "Thank you," she whispered.

"C'mon, we're having an emergency sleepover at my place," Kim decided. "My parents are out of town, and we need to get to know Jaylee better."

"Good idea," Billy grinned.

"I'm totally in," Zack said.

"Red?" Trini asked, smiling at her -- you're still the leader of this team.

Jaylee sucked in a breath, smiling hesitantly. "Okay."

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cajunquandary · 7 years

Text

To the Sound of Thunder (Baby’s Big 50 Writing Challenge)

Characters: Dean x Impala, and his family, past and present.

Word Count: 5200

Warnings: FLUFF. Bittersweet kill-me-now fluff. As always, canon level violence and mentions of smut.

Summary: While hunting “Bigfoot” on Flagstaff Mountain, Colorado, Dean realizes that it’s the Impala’s fiftieth birthday and decides to take her out for a scenic drive and share a cold one with the one thing that’s remained steady in his life—his home, his pride, his Baby.

A/N: This is for Baby’s Big 50 Writing Challenge; my prompt was “Night Moves” by Bob Seger. I know I joined it a little late, but I couldn’t resist! Thank you for the opportunity @butiaintgonnaloveem. The amount of daydreaming this fic inspired through the writing process was ridiculous in the most incredible ways. I hope my descriptions do the imagery even so much as a half justice. I may have laughed through tears through this experience more often than I’d like to admit.

Another note: I chose this location over all others for Jensen Ackles, who said in a recent con that he would love to see the boys go to the Grand Canyon if he could choose anywhere in the US for them to go. Thank you for the long ride here, “Dean;” I hope we have many more miles to go.

“Bigfoot, seriously?”

“Yeah, Dean. The surviving victim swears it was Bigfoot, and that it had bright yellow eyes and claws. The park rangers claim it was a bear attack. The guy was lucky to make it. He said that it ran away after the sun started to come out.”

“Okay, so what are we thinking? Shapeshifter? Werewolf? Rugaru?”

“Well, it was a full moon, and the other victims’ time of death was estimated to all be within the last three days.”

“Well, it could be our thing. If it is, that only gives us one more night to find this sucker and gank it. Where is it again?”

“Flagstaff Mountain in Boulder, Colorado.”

Dean finally looked up from his copy of Busty Asian Beauties that he attempted to hide behind yesterday’s paper. Sam always knew though, especially when the paper (or research book or map, depending on the day) was upside down. Sam just smiled at his older brother. He’s always looked up to him and knew him better than anyone else ever had. Dean could never really hide anything from him, but Sam let him have his private pleasures without ever saying a word, even pretending on more than a few occasions that he didn’t see the those pleasures carelessly laid about when Dean thought he was alone. Instead, he would casually continue conversation, turn his back and pretend to be preoccupied with something in his hands while Dean slowly slid the items out of view.

What Sam didn’t know was that Dean knew why he turned his back. It was a game they’d played since Sammy was a little kid. Dean knew he didn’t mind but loved that he played along. It was something that reminded Dean that his baby brother loved and respected him. That’s why on days that Dean felt like giving up, losing hope, he would leave an open magazine or empty condom wrapper on Sam’s bed and initiate the game. It was never dirty, never a used condom, and always made him feel better, feel loved. After all, Dean doesn’t do chick flick moments.

“Oh really?” Dean failed to conceal his excitement as a huge, toothy grin rolled slowly across his face and his eyes grew big and sparkled. “We leave in ten!” Completely unable to hold himself together anymore, he leapt from the table and sprinted off to his room.

Sam laughed and shook his head, long hair falling slightly in his face. It wasn’t often that he got to see Dean acting like a little kid, excluding hexes and angelic manipulation (yes, we’re looking at you, Zachariah and Gabriel.) Dean’s elation was infectious, and soon Sam was bounding off to throw his bag together as well. It was a good thing that Dean had spent a few hours this morning detailing Baby. While he packed, he shot a quick call to Mary, who was hunting another werewolf with Castiel in Alliance, Nebraska.

A loud “Whoohoooo!!” echoed through the bunker.

“I take it Dean’s excited,” Mary let out a soft, breathy laugh on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, he’s always wanted to have an excuse to see the Grand Canyon, and now he has one.”

“Alright, well you boys be careful. We are finishing up here and will meet you there.”

“We will, love you Mom.”

“I love you, too, Sam.” She ended the call first, as usual.

“You ready to go, little brother?” Dean popped into Sam’s room, a hand on either side of the door frame as he leaned off balance, the biggest goofiest smile plastered on his face.

“Dude, what are you wearing?” Sam started cracking up at the sight before him. Oversized dark aviators rested on pink, freckled cheeks, a woman’s straw hat the size of Texas haphazardly set on his brother’s head, a backpack with water pouch Sam had never seen before strung over Dean’s left shoulder, the typical duffle bag slung over his right. A disposable camera hung loosely from a lanyard around his neck.

“What are you… not wearing?” Dean pursed his lips in feigned annoyance as he struggled with a comeback. He had never been particularly witty with those.

Before long, the boys were loaded and ready to go, Baby’s tires leaving white smoke and black treads as she screamed forth from the garage.

The intro to “Night Moves” strummed lightly through the cab. “Alriiight! Umph!” Dean readjusted in his seat, swerving slightly, biting his lip and turning up the volume until it was nearly as loud as it could go. He drove with his knee as fisted hands danced through the air in an awful imitation of air guitar, then to the drums. Dean began to sing at the top of his lungs, Sam rolling his eyes, one arm slung over the seat, tapping lightly along behind his brother’s back, his other arm resting on the window pane. As he stared out the window, heart light in his chest for the first time in months, he flashed back to all the other times that Dean danced and sang. Every time it had been in this car.

For some reason, Dean had always felt safe in Baby. She was his, and he was hers. Sam chuckled to himself and sang along, remembering how Dean would spend hours working on her after a hunt, even if he was still bleeding and sore. She always had a full gas tank and new parts and oil, before anything wore out, even if it meant Dean went without a meal or two. Dean always put everything before himself, especially his family, and this car? This car was not a car at all. She was as much family as Sam or Mary or Castiel, as much family as anyone Dean had ever loved.

In return, Baby took care of him, of both of them. She took almost all terrain they’d trekked over like a champ, rain or shine. She protected them from demon-possessed truckers, gave Sam the strength to hold Lucifer back from killing Dean, served as a refuge from attacking demons who flipped her (on more than one occasion), even standing strong when she faced the Darkness. Both times. Sure, she’d been possessed once or twice, and even Sam had become a part of her once thanks to Gabriel. She always stood strong, a warm dry place for the boys to rest their heads when there was nowhere else to go. The Winchester Motel… if she were sentient, she’d like that. She would take pride in it. She was a Winchester.

Even when Dean beat her with a tire iron seventeen times, she didn’t flinch. She was always there for her boys. She’d known them since before they were born. She was there when both were conceived, their first heartbeats had started in her very cab. She was there when Mary’s water broke, and whisked her to the hospital both times. Dean, though, never quite made it to the hospital bed. Instead, he was born right there in the Emergency Entrance drive on the soft old leather of her front seat. His first breath was one full of her scent—the gasoline, oil, metal and leather. It was a scent that he would carry as his own for the rest of his life.

The miles raced passed, the sun setting through her front windshield. The music had since been lowered, and Sam was drifting to sleep. Dean looked over at his brother whose head was lolling towards him. Dean smiled sadly as he remembered the day he practically threw Sam in the Impala and drug him away from Stanford to work cases and look for Dad. He remembered all those pranks they’d play on each other. In fact, it was in this very position that Dean loved to put things like spoons and napkins and ketchup packets in his brother’s slack lips, only to turn the music bag up or swerve hard enough to wake him up. Sam would always sit up wide eyed and confused, usually throwing the items from his mouth back at Dean, or dish out a few solid punches to the arm. Dean would never admit it, but he wore those bruises proudly. His baby bro had grown up so strong, he couldn’t be prouder.

This time though, he let Sam rest, tapping along to the radio, sighing when commercials would interrupt. He flipped down the visor when the sun grew to vibrant in its last rays, lighting up the hood as Baby purred along. Sam sat up in his sleep, then leaned his head against the window, smacking his lips lightly and mumbling something about purple pancakes.

Dean loved it when Sam spoke in his sleep. It rarely made sense, and sometimes he could hold a conversation. Dean reached over and flipped down the other visor, Sam’s face softening in relief.

When night fell, they were nearly there. Dean looked down at the gauges again. It was a habit so ingrained in him, watching and listening to everything the Impala did to make sure she was okay. In fact, he watched her gauges more than his speed, nearly costing him a ticket a few times. Dean smiled as stars reflected off of her hood, slowly sliding across. As a child, he would stand up gripping the dashboard, small fingers holding onto it through the air conditioning outlets that seldom worked when she was John’s. He would watch with bright eyes open wide as the stars and moon passed over her black silhouette and imagine that he was in the fastest space ship. In this fantasy, he was the hero and his dad would ask him for help to defeat the aliens. He would flop back into his seat and point little finger guns out the window and say “Pew pew pew!” while shooting at invisible starships as the dark ground flew by. John always thought Dean was practicing hunting. If he had known the truth, he may not have pushed Dean so hard. You see, in John’s mind, he thought that Dean wanted to be a soldier, even though the poor kid a tender heart and hated practicing on robins. He would cry every time he killed one. Perplexed, John would always yell at him until the tears stopped coming, telling him that a soldier never cries, and if Dean wanted to be a soldier, he had to be tough, and death was just part of the job. Eventually, Dean stopped seeing the what if’s and grand imaginary scenes. He knew there were real monsters, and it was his job to beat them. But, every once and a while, Dean would fall asleep watching the night sky reflected on Baby’s polished hood, and dream of things bigger than this world he carried on his small shoulders.

Baby was more than a car back then, more than a place to sleep when John couldn’t score a motel—she was his spaceship, his escape and his redemption…

But always, she has been his trusty stead on his quest.

Sammy never felt like he had a quest or purpose. Sure, he had imagination longer than Dean, including a friend named Sully. Sully loved Baby, too. Sam would lay down on the backseat floor, his little feet touching the driver’s side door while Sully measured his height. There were tiny notches underneath the front seat, Sam adding a new one every year. He wanted so badly to be as big as his brother and father. They were giants to him, as big as the legends Sully told him about, but not bigger than the Impala. Sam wanted to be bigger than her. The notches are still there. Dean has always known about them, and made sure to keep them every time he had to rebuild her, along with her other details, like the green army man, the blocks, the boys’ initials carved into her floor.

Baby was Sam’s happy place, too. When John would come home drunk and begin to take it out on Dean, it only took one hit to send little Sammy flying into her side when he tried to intervene. It was always an accident, John only ever meant to hit Dean, but it seemed to make John calm down faster and leave them alone, so it was always worth it. Sam would pull Dean up from the ground and push him into the Impala, closing the door behind them. John would be passed out by this point and wouldn’t even notice. Sam would lock the doors anyway as Dean curled into a ball on the seat. His brother never cried in front of him, just stared up at the roof, memorizing her every curve, her silence and protection soothing him slowly to sleep. Sam would sit in the driver’s seat, both hands on the wheel. He couldn’t even see over the dash, but he imagined driving her far away, his brother by his side.

The Impala gracefully turned into the woods, gliding over every bump gently. The movement woke Sam up though, and he rubbed at his eyes, lifting the visor so he could see better. Mary and Castiel were already waiting, silver weapons ready for the werewolf. Mary had made great time and gotten a lead on it from a park ranger. Baby rolled to a stop, her rolling idle silenced as Dean turned the key and got out. The hinges on her doors squeaked a little bit as the pair shut them. Dean could easily fix it, but never would, claiming that it “gave her more character,” as if she really needed any. She had always been a beast of her own, standing out from all the rest, even covered in dust, mud, and monster blood. Dean unlocked her trunk, pulling their weapons out, double checking the magazine on his handgun and the silver bullets that it contained. His hand lingered over the rocket launcher and Sam cleared his throat. Dean rolled his eyes and shut the trunk roughly. Feeling a little bad about handling her like that, he patted her reassuringly before he joined the others and stalked off into the forest to kill the monster, his arm slung over Castiel’s shoulder and the angel walking stiffly by his side.

Baby sat there, nearly invisible in the darkness, only bits of her lit by the moonlight filtering down through the tall trees. A raccoon ambled forth from the bushes, climbing up to her hood, taking pleasure in the smooth warmth. It scampered to the windshield, picking at the wipers curiously before getting bored and going back to sprawl out stomach down over the engine. The radiating warmth of her brought the attention of an owl, a fox, and a few squirrels. The owl perched on the roof, enjoying the vantage point, mesmerized by its reflection. The fox crept up silently and slipped underneath her, snuggling up to the inside of the tire. The squirrel popped up onto the hood searching for the source of the heat, but chattered at the raccoon for startling it. The raccoon angrily chased the squirrel round and round until it expertly dodged into the tire well and into the engine bay. The fox flicked its ears and listened to the rodent as it scritched and scratched.

When morning broke and the first light touched the chrome bumper, the tired hunters emerged from the woods, Mary limping a little as Sam supported her weight. Dean found some little reserve of energy and ran over to baby, shouting about all the tiny animal prints all over her. He ranted and ranted until the energy he’d discovered extinguished. Castiel drove Mary and her car back to the nearest motel, Dean and Sam and Baby in the lead.

After a long nap and a good lunch, everyone sat around the diner table, planning their next move. Well, everyone except Sam, who almost always had his nose stuck in some article or book.

“Well, you guys can go home, I’m going to see the Grand Canyon.” Dean crossed his arms and puffed out his lips, his dimples more prominent now.

“Why do you want to see it so badly? I know John worked a case out here in Boulder once with you, it’s in his journal.” Mary wondered aloud. She and John had seen it a few times before the boys were born. It was one of his favorite places.

Dean kicked his feet under the table, eyes cast down. Castiel shifted uncomfortably in his seat, already knowing the answer.

“He said we had more important things to do.” The truth was that John had lashed out at Dean when he’d asked, yelling that the Grand Canyon had nothing grand about it and that he would never ever go there again. Dean wasn’t missing anything. When Dean had tried to ask why, he only received a black eye and bruised rib. He never brought it up again, and was so glad that Sammy had left for college already. After all these years though, he finally knew why. Mary. It had always been Mary.

Mary just shrugged in her innocence, dropping it.

Sam looked up from his paper. “Hey Dean, did you know that it’s the Impala’s 50th birthday?”

Dean snatched the paper from him, quickly locating the small paragraph dedicated to it on the bottom of the page. He grinned widely, already mentally planning out where to get some beer or booze on his way to Canyon to celebrate. And pie. There had to be celebratory pie involved. Maybe apple. Or cherry. Hmm.

Mary sighed and shook her head, still trying to grasp at the thirty years she’d lost. Castiel put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, giving him a knowing look. “Be careful.” It’s almost as if the angel could read his mind as this happened all the time.

Sam put his arms down on the table. “Alright, I’m going back home with Mom and Cas. If you get too drunk and fall into the Canyon, don’t call me,” he joked.

A few hugs and goodbyes later, Sam had pulled his bag from the back of the Impala and waved his brother off, belly laughing that Dean was wearing that silly hat, sunglasses, and camera again. He rolled her windows down, turned the music up as loud as he could and peeled out of the parking lot, turning the eye of every person and animal within hearing distance. Baby had that effect on people, even without Dean’s coaxing.

He parked her about ten feet from the edge of the Canyon, pausing for a moment after turning the key, taking in the view through the windshield. He felt so small there in his car, but so alive and powerful, like if he could, he could make his own canyon just by driving the Impala. He reached into the cooler in the back seat, withdrawing two beers. Closing the door, he was happy that he was wearing such ridiculous garb, as it blocked some of the sunlight beating down on him. His singers never left Baby, instead tracing gently along her lines as he walked to the front. Taking his eyes from the view for a moment, he turned and looked at her, patting her hood lovingly.

“Happy birthday, old girl. You’ll always be my Baby.”

He eased himself down, her grill temporarily holding his weight as he used her for support. He spread his bowlegs, enjoying the hard earth beneath him, somehow cool even in the heat. Dean popped the caps on both bottles as he leaned back onto her chrome, tapping the tops together lightly, then tapping one to her grill and setting it under her. He drained his slowly, savoring the wind and the beauty before him, “Night Moves” still stuck in his head from the day before.

He began to sing it. He actually sang very well, and discovered this behind the wheel of Baby when John started letting him take her out alone more. He wouldn’t ever sing like this in front of anyone, he was too shy for that. He’d rather look like an idiot than admit he was good at something artsy.

“I was a little too tall Could've used a few pounds Tight pants points hardly reknown She was a black-haired beauty with big dark eyes And points all her own sitting way up high Way up firm and high”

He gazed lazily into the Canyon, watching a small canoe drift slowly down the channel. He remembered being a lanky teen, smaller than the other boys his age, but taller. He laughed, remembering the time he was trying to impress a girl by climbing a bridge, and ended up ripping his pants in the process, so embarrassed that he’d run back to the cover of Baby and drove away, never looking back at the girl who was mocking him. He’d always felt so big when he was in Baby, especially behind the wheel. She might have a low profile, but she may as well sit higher than any truck out there.

“Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy Out in the back seat of my '60 Chevy Workin' on mysteries without any clues Workin' on our night moves Tryin' to make some front page drive-in news Workin' on our night moves In the summertime In the sweet summertime”

It came to him in flashes as he recalled picking up girls from bars when he’d get bored or frustrated during a case, taking them to dark, quiet places and giving them a thorough tour of the backseat. Summer was his favorite—something about the sweat and heat made the leather scent stronger, the shocks weren’t as squeaky, and cool night air drifted in through open windows as moans and whispers of sweet nothings wafted out. Summer nights seemed thicker, a warm blanket shrouding him as he found his release.

“We weren't in love, oh no, far from it We weren't searchin' for some pie in the sky summit We were just young and restless and bored Livin' by the sword And we'd steal away every chance we could To the backroom, to the alley or the trusty woods”

He chuckled, remembering the few times he’d caught Sam in the backseat. Always the embarrassing big brother, he’d make sure to lean into the window, knock loudly and give a huge open smile and two thumbs up next to his face then run away. Sam hated when he did that. The Impala was the perfect size for Dean. He and his lady would always fit perfectly together, neither falling off. It was just the right height for him to grip her with one hand, and the roof with the other. He even had the perfect rhythm down, to where the bouncing of the car countered his thrusts perfectly in time, so he only had to do half the work. He cringed and tried not to think of his mom and dad enjoying the same thing.

“I used her, she used me But neither one cared We were gettin' our share Workin' on our night moves Tryin' to lose the awkward teenage blues Workin' on our night moves And it was summertime Sweet summertime summertime”

The few times John had let him take Baby out when he was a young man, Dean made sure to practice truly driving her. He imagined being chased, doing the chasing, NASCAR and jumping things like he’d see in movies. He would see how fast she could take a turn, see how many donuts she could do in twenty seconds, and see how fast she could go on straightaways, always pushing her to the limit. Sure there were plenty of close calls, but Baby was reliable and Dean treated her with care and love. When he was behind her wheel, all his worries faded. She gave him a sense of freedom and breathed the life back into his tired bones. He’d scream as her tires did, sway with her down curvy roads. She was his outlet, and he took extra care and pride in her for it. He’d always dig a little deeper than John did when he washed her, notice more while digging in her engine to replace a part. He never could replace just one at a time—if anything was even close to wearing out, he fixed it. John always scoffed about how wasteful it was, but secretly was proud that his son took such great care of something.

“And oh the wonder We felt the lightning And we waited on the thunder Waited on the thunder”

The sun was beginning to set, and Dean huffed at the irony of the dark clouds rolling in. Slowly, he stood up, soaking in even more of the deep Canyon before him. He walked to the edge, peering down. At one time, this would have scared him shitless, but he’s faced everything the universe has had to throw at him and come out (mostly) alive. He sucked in his breath and stopped singing for a moment, a chill crawling down his spine and seeping through his veins. Soft echoes of thunder rolled in the distance and he lifted his gaze. The sunset was peeking out from under the storm clouds, lighting the undersides in a soft red glow as lightning gently webbed across the top. It was amazing how he could see the storm so clearly from so far away over the Canyon.

He stepped away from the edge and walked past Baby, lifting the disposable camera that his large hands seemed to swallow. He looked through the tiny glass, capturing Baby, the Grand Canyon, the storm, and sunset all in on frame. Damn, she was beautiful sitting there, almost like she belonged. Then he turned his back and focused the camera in the same spot, this time with his face in the frame. He wore a soft, thin smile and the camera reflected in his glasses. He snapped the photo just before his hat flew off in a suddenly cool gust of wind. He stepped back to the edge, watching as it rode the wind. It floated on for some time before settling on a rock by the river. It was so far at this point, Dean had to squint. It really was a long, long way down. Dean took off his glasses and reached in the back for another beer. This time, he drained it quickly.

He began to sing again as he walked back to the edge.

“I awoke last night to the sound of thunder How far off I sat and wondered Started humming a song from 1962”

Dean lifted his arms out and spread his legs slightly, making his toes flush with end of the cliff. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply, voice louder yet softer at the same time, smoother, lined with more emotion:

“Ain't it funny how the night moves When you just don't seem to have as much to lose”

His voice cracked on the last line, but he continued, reveling in the knowledge that one gust could take him over the edge, even after all that he’d been through, all that he’d faced, wind could end him.

“Strange how the night moves With autumn closing in”

When he finished the song, he crouched down, allowing his legs to dangle freely as the sun disappeared and the stars fought the progressing clouds. He laid down, hands folding across his chest. There were more stars than he’d ever seen in his life. He wondered how many Castiel had seen up close. When the storm finally shrouded his view of the sky, and rain poured from the angry heavens in torrents, he ran to roll up Baby’s windows. Already drenched and without a soul in sight, he decided to strip down to his boxers and enjoy the feel of the rain on his skin. He leaned against the Impala. Large droplets thunked off of her metal frame and Dean listened closer. Baby was producing a symphony all her own, without her engine even purring. Everywhere a drop hit sounded different. It was magnificent. Maybe it was her who taught him how to sing—she was a force all her own, and he knew even his voice could never carry so much grace and power as that car. Even silent and still she filled the air with her voice, her music.

Now, Dean wasn’t a praying man, but in that moment, he sent a quick one to Chuck above, wherever his holy ass was, and he thanked him for Baby, and prayed for another fifty years with her. He knew Chuck could hear him, and still chose to stay quiet, as with the rest of humanity. Lightning flashed before him, raising the temperature about ten degrees, as the large bolt struck the bottom of the Canyon, thunder booming all around. In the typical Winchester way, Dean would never admit it, but he saw that as a sign and he smiled. He tugged and pulled at his wet clothes the best he could then climbed back in the Impala. She roared to life when he turned the key, pulsing beneath him. Dean revved her a few times, yelling with every raise of RPMs as she growled with the thunder. He zipped away from the Canyon, splashing through a few puddles along the way for fun, taking simple pleasure in the way the water trundled off of her windshield before it was flicked away by the wipers. Dean would definitely be back, maybe he’d make it a tradition, and drag Sam and Cas with him next year. Yeah, that would be nice.

The open beer still sat untouched at the edge of the Canyon. In fact, it remained there for a few years, the silent statue a memorial of Baby’s birthday and all the memories made in her, Dean’s freedom, and Chuck’s answer. It was there through rain and sun, summer and winter, until a lonely child wandered from his bickering family, picked it up and wondered at the empty brown glass, then found peace when he chunked it into the valley below, feeling relief as it kept fading from sight.

Tag List

@supernatural-jackles @jensen-jarpad @wheresthekillswitch @bummblebeeblue @nothin-after-79 @docharleythegeekqueen @fangirl-writing-fiction @inmysparetime0 @impala-dreamers-mainfrigginblog @impala-dreamer @arryn-nyxx @idk-life01 @attorneyl @deathtonormalcy56 @xwing-baby

All about that Dean:

@akshi8278

#Happy Big 50 Baby #chris writes #impala fic #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #castiel #mary winchester #john winchester

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buttersbots · 7 years

Text

Lost Cause

Savy has earned the right to confront her biggest adversary... or at least, she would be able to if anything made sense. deviantART | Archive of Our Own | FanFiction.net

Savy SL2 braced herself for landing as her space cruiser approached solid Earth...

...Outside, she saw nothing but sprawling grass fields painted gray by the moonless night. This was the place... at least, she hoped it was. Ever since she first joined the Junior Rangers, Savy had dreamed of this moment. This time, she had a plan to bring Nos-4-a2 down. Of course, she had worked through a lot of the plan already. It had taken her years to get this far ‒ everything concerning the Energy Vampire seemed to be shrouded in several layers of classification. If this didn’t work out, she was facing serious consequences. That had made things much more difficult, since she had originally wanted to find Nos-4-a2 with her whole team beside her, but wasn’t willing to endanger the rest of their careers. It had been a tough decision considering how confident Savy felt. After reviewing everything, she was certain that Nos-4-a2 had somehow managed to trick the system into registering him as a reformed villain. It would give the slippery Energy Vampire the perfect chance to run away to the edge of galactic nowhere and run his base of operations undisturbed. Knowing him like she did, Savy knew there couldn’t be any way his case file was correct. How could the monster responsible for so much terror be reformed? She’d fought him herself ‒ in fact, she’d come pretty close to finishing him off. Now he was supposed to be under planet arrest on good behavior? During her years in the academy, the only thing that got her through the grueling training was the thought of bringing villains like Nos-4-a2 to justice. From the moment she gained rookie status, she scoured every database she could to find information on the Energy Vampire’s whereabouts, always coming up empty. She had been promoted to a full Ranger before she uncovered the high-security Shiv Katall files, and though she doubted he would actually be living at whatever location he fed to the system, it was her only lead. She packed her bag with high-tech stealth gear so the Energy Vampire wouldn’t be able to sense her if he was around. Savy lept out of the cruiser’s hatch and into the waist-high grass. She left her helmet up, a shock of her navy blue hair resting on her forehead. She couldn’t afford to take time acclimating to Earth’s thick atmosphere, but she could feel the breeze through her form-fitting Pulsar suit. She opened a panel on her right wrist to check her positioning system. The reported address was just over the crest of the hill before her. Chills ran up her spine as she walked, her eyes shining, her breath becoming quick and heavy. As she hiked up the slope, a spire gradually came into view atop a ghostly white tower. Her heart jumped into her throat ‒ maybe he lived here after all. It only seemed more likely as she drew closer and closer, more of the mansion coming into her view. As she reached the top of the hill, the only thing that gave her pause for thought were the elaborate gardens making a wide circle around the base of the structure. Nos-4-a2 was notorious for hating plant life, but she wouldn’t let that stop her. In fact, it only made her more sure he was inside: the gardens were probably meant to throw off anyone who got this close to finding him. Passing through a gap in the outer wall of hedges, she silenced her steps in the grass next to the gravel path and wound closer and closer to the outer wall of the mansion. As quietly as she could, she took a tablet out of her pack and activated the radar, skirting the footpath against the wall. Her heart pounded. Nos-4-a2 was certainly there. It took a moment for her vision to clear enough to notice that he wasn’t alone. The scanner registered at least six other robots and a powerful security system. Savy picked up her pace a bit without thinking. Were they prisoners, slaves, or allies? She couldn’t shake the thought that whoever they were, they hadn’t been with him to begin with. They could be somebody’s friends, or siblings, or parents... She broke into a jog beside the path, her eyes trained on her radar, making sure that she stopped to duck under the windows as she came close to the room Nos-4-a2 occupied. Hands trembling, she slipped her bag off her shoulder, taking out a set of sensory equipment. Savy was sitting in a flower bed not thirty feet from the Energy Vampire. She picked out the microphone and gingerly reached up to press it against the glass, waiting until the blood stopped rushing in her ears before she put on the headset. His voice still made her veins turn to ice. The accent of the strange, overlapping tones hadn’t changed since the last time she heard it. “Come closer, little one.” Her gut lurched. Was she listening to a feeding? Savy made sure she was recording, determined to take back enough evidence to make up for the fact that she broke the law in order to get it. “No.” Savy’s heart skipped a beat. What? Was that whoever Nos-4-a2 had been addressing? It sounded like a robot, but how could that be possible? What robot could have opposed the creature responsible for overpowering and destroying so many machines before it? Nos-4-a2’s voice came again, “Really, you’re taking up most of the couch, and the movie’s starting soon. There’s hardly any room.” “You’re going to have to move me, then.” Savy stared, unseeing, at the white wall in front of her. She heard a gentle scraping and clinking of fabric and metal, laughter, and a short sigh. “There, and isn’t this more comfortable?” Savy couldn’t help herself. What the hell could possibly be going on? That couldn’t really be Nos-4-a2, could it? She chanced a peek over the windowsill, keeping her faith in the cover of darkness. It looked like a living room, which didn’t help her make any more sense of the situation. She saw the Energy Vampire sitting in an overstuffed sofa, holding a white probe in his lap and facing a large holographic projection of a movie’s opening credits. As if on cue, the other robots she’d registered on her scanner started to come into the room, but they couldn’t have looked any less like prisoners or slaves. There was one robot identical to the one in Nos-4-a2's lap with blue eyeforms; a yellow unit on treads with optics like a pair of polished silver binoculars; a smaller, white, cube-shaped robot with treads and glowing blue lenses in its binocular optics; a humanoid robot with yellow eyeforms in its black visor; and a short, hovering probe frighteningly similar to Nos-4-a2. It looked like... a family. The last robot made a face at Nos-4-a2 and the probe in his lap. “Can you not be gross tonight?” “That depends. Does this count?” the Energy Vampire turned the robot in his lap to place an overdramatic kiss on her visor, drawing laughter from the other probe and the yellow unit, while the three smaller robots gagged and sat as far away as possible. Savy gaped like a fish out of water, a million thoughts going through her head and none of them quite connecting. Her mind flooded with memories of Nos-4-a2 during their last encounter, a personification of feral and mechanical fury. Had somebody taken the empty shell of Nos-4-a2 and programmed another personality into it as some sort of divine prank? She had to do something... talk to someone... suddenly, her feet were carrying her back to her cruiser as fast as she could go. There was only one person she could think of who might know something, or at least sympathize with her, someone who had enough experience with Nos-4-a2 to understand why she had risked so much to find him. Savy stumbled into her cruiser and activated the communication panel, punching a code into the board. There were only a few tones before a robot with a cylindrical, golden head and optics like purple goggles answered, a stiff, silver mustache bolted to his face. “Savy? Where have you been? Your crew hasn’t seen you in days!” The young ranger was still catching her breath as the words tumbled from her mouth. “What do you know about Nos-4-a2? Like, where he is right now?” XR’s face contorted into a scowl. “Knowing anything about him is too much for my taste. Why do you ask?” “Do you know a-anything about Shiv Katall?” “...Savy, I don’t know where you heard that name, but you’d be much better off forgetting about it. It’s way above your paygrade. I know you have a history with Nos-4-a2, but we don’t know anything about his current whereabouts. Is that clear?” “Sir, please, I ‒ I found him, I’m on Earth, I don’t understand!” Something in the robotic ranger’s expression softened at the tone of her voice. “I know. Now, listen... if you swear to me that you’ll leave that planet right away and never tell anyone what you’ve found out, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. For now, keep in mind that there haven’t been any reports concerning Nos-4-a2 in years. As far as the Galactic Alliance is concerned, he’s dead. Make your way back out as soon as possible.” “That’s ‒ that’s it?” “For now, yes. It’s not hard to guess what you went out there to find, but you won’t have any luck. You’re risking a lot more than you know just by being out there.” “...Yes, sir. I’m sorry.” “Fine, but I expect you to report back as soon as possible. Captain out.” Savy, numb, activated the ship and turned on the autopilot. She collapsed into the chair at the main controls and buried her face in her hands, wondering blankly at the tears that pooled in her palms.

What do you think is more likely? 1) Savy was so careful and well prepared that she managed to avoid super-security-system Quinn’s detection, or 2) Quinn was watching Savy very carefully the whole time and just wanted to see what would happen next.

I’m low-key obsessed with the idea of someone seeing/hearing Nos-4-a2 and assuming the worst only to find out he’s a major domestic dork. I’ve thought and written about a similar scenario many times, but this is the one I’ll give you. At the same time, I struggle a little with trying to make sense of Nos-4-a2’s situation and how people he used to know would respond to him now. In the cartoon, he’s a villain. It’s funny. You know he’s not going to win, you’re just there to hear his one-liners and banter before the good guys take him down. My problem is trying to translate that to the real world. Even if his acts were taken relatively lightly in the show, he was the robot equivalent of a serial killer. I have to specify “robot equivalent” because though they are widely treated as equals, robots are subject to different laws, and Nos-4-a2 never caused permanent harm to an organic creature. If any of his victims were found (and many were), they could be restored, but that doesn’t erase the fact that he killed them. He made Savy an orphan (again), even if it was only temporary. That’s not something she’ll ever forget, and though Nos is able to adjust to domestic life with the help of Two, his past life haunts him to the end of his days.

On a lighter note, I wanted to pay homage to that one episode where Zurg tricks Buzz into thinking he was worm-holed into the future, where he sees a plaque in memoriam of Commander Booster, President Nova, and XR... with a mustache. Like, Zurg probably didn’t think Buzz would believe XR would amount to anything more than just getting a mustache tacked onto his face. I can’t for the life of me get a screencap, but it’s basically the same one Commander Nebula has.

#my work #savy sl2 #nos-4-a2 #eve two #Wall-E #eve one #Willow Earthclass #darwin harley #fletcher #Nos-4-a2 x Eve Two #wall-eve #xr #crossover #blosc #buzz lightyear of star command #crossover fanfiction #robots #energy vampires

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