#and would definitely cost his life either way billy is just like 'okay. let him die please' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

Text

okay so I saw this amazing post by @deardmvz and it reminded me that I had a similar wip laying around somewhere and she requested I finish it!! so here it is!!

Billy thought it would be a breeze, taking a road trip to Tennessee with Steve sounded like nothing compared to the thirty some odd hours he’d spent in the car from California to Indiana.

But twice on the way down the Camaro, on her last leg after repairs, had threatened to give up on them, the brakes getting testy until he had to pull over and give her a rest. It was the summer, and the a/c kept cutting out. Everyone seemed to have the same idea as them, and the roads were packed.

With the car giving them trouble, Steve refused to let him go any more than five over before he started gripping the seat and demanding he slow down, so what had been supposed to be a six hour trip turned into closer to ten.

So much for an easy trip.

By the time they were finally rolling into town, of course struggling to find a parking space anywhere near their destination, Billy was already dreading the drive back to Hawkins.

Because the only reason they were even here was because Steve had a craving for some taffy he’d gotten as a kid when he was down south visiting his grandma, so the minute they popped into that little candy shop and got what they were here for, they’d be back on the road within the hour.

This was a tourist trap kind of town too, 3D movie theaters and putt-putt courses and tacky museums galore, so he seriously doubted they would even be able to afford much more than a little bag of candy if they tried to stick around.

It’s decidedly worth it though, having spent all that time in the car, because he gets to see Steve all excited like, acting just like a kid again as he drags him through the crowded streets, stopping at the window of the candy shop with a smile pressed against the glass. Excitedly, he declares, “It’s still here!”

So Billy tries his best to return the smile and not let his grimace at the unexpected difficulty of the trip or the frankly ridiculous prices the place was charging for candy show. He remembers how he’d felt when he realized he would never have a cake from the local bakery back in his hometown for one of his or Max’s birthdays again, so he’d let Steve have this. Even if it cost ten bucks for a pound of taffy logs.

He buys himself a bag of cordial cherries too, figures he might as well get a little something out of it if the trip was going to be such a pain. The smile that Steve gives him when he has his own purchase at the checkout doesn’t go unnoticed either.

With their mission achieved, Steve practically skips back to where they’d left the Camaro in a pay-to-park lot a few blocks over. He stops at the drivers side door, hooks two fingers through the handle. “So who’s driving?”

“Uh-uh. You’re not taking my baby anywhere buzzed on sugar.” Steve pouts, but he doesn’t argue. Just circles around the other side and gets comfortable in the passenger seat.

Billy’s glad, because he doesn’t think he would’ve made it the whole way back home with Steve ‘drives like his late grandma’ Harrington behind the wheel.

Not too long into the ride back it’s already starting to get dark. It’s much quieter this time around, much calmer too, with the roads seeming to clear out as the sun disappears behind the mountains.

Were it not for the occasional crinkle of a candy wrapper, Billy probably wouldn’t have even known Steve was still awake, the way he was leaning so far back into his seat.

But in the same way that Steve’s back seat driving on the way up had made him feel tense, the silence makes him feel jittery, and the dark makes him paranoid. The prospect of at least another four hours in the car makes him feel trapped.

He reaches over and turns the radio on to distract from the emptiness, probably pushing the dial a bit more aggressive than was necessary, and a talk show, some sad sap call-in station where you overshare with the dj and they dedicate you a song that’s supposed to make you feel better, fills the silence, drowns out the irritating sound of tires on pavement.

He isn’t paying any attention, he’d turned it down as far as he could and still be able to hear it, so he must have missed something, because Steve sits bolt upright, bringing with him the previously reclined seat with a creak of the springs to exclaim, “Oh my god, Bill.”

He glances over at Steve for the briefest of seconds before his eyes quickly flick back to the road ahead, his heart skipping for just a second when he realizes he hadn’t been watching. “The taffy not as good as you remember it?”

“No it totally is. It’s our song, it’s on the radio.” His sounds like he’s going to burst from excitement as he explains himself and cranks the volume way high. Definitely too much sugar.

Though it’s not quite as extreme as Billy usually keeps it, it's still loud enough it takes a moment for his ears to adjust and recognize what is indeed the piano intro to what Steve had declared ‘their song’, of which he insists, “You gotta sing it babe.”

The concept of having a song was a fairly recent one, something that had been decided when Billy had started moving his things into Steve’s place, and he’d found some old record albums of his mothers that he’d kept hidden in his room for years.

Most of them were warped and scratched so badly they skipped through entire songs until they were unrecognizable as music. Others were covered in so many layers of dust and dirt they’d have needed hosed off before even thinking about putting them in their player.

Among the very few records still undamaged after being moved and stored for far too long were Farewell Andromeda, Electronically Tested, and a 45 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart/Snow Queen.

John Denver was so not their speed, and Mungo Jerry was just a little too far out there for their tastes, so they kept the 45 and trashed or gave away most of the rest, if the sentimental value wasn’t too strong.

That little record was the sort of middle ground of their tastes, though neither would have ever fessed up about the soft spot for old pop to the other were it not for finding that old single under Billy’s bed, but from then on they’d spun it in Steve’s old console player more times than anyone should have been able to stand.

Over time, in the storage side of the player, they amass quite the collection of similar albums, more Elton John, ABBA, and god, Billy would never admit this to anyone, but goddamn Bees Gees, both on vinyl and cassette, but Don’t Go Breaking My Heart/Snow Queen forever held a special place in their hearts, and in their music rotation.

Everytime it came on the little battery radio in the kitchen or either slipped it into the player, it was tradition that they’d drop whatever they were doing and sing along with Elton and Kiki.

Just because, the romantic that he was, Steve had decided it was their song.

And honestly, Billy couldn’t argue with that, for obvious reasons the lyrics were special to the both of them, and the song was designed to be insanely catchy anyways, but right now he was busy driving, focusing all his attention on every dark corner of the road ahead. “‘M drivin’ Stevie.”

“Pleeease?” Steve glances between the radio and Billy with those puppy dog eyes of his, and offers a pointless bribe, just to help make his case. “I’ll give you a taffy.”

“Alright, alright.” Billy didn’t care about taffy, in all truthfulness he thought it was disgusting, definitely not a treat worth a minimum six hour drive for, but even watching the road he could see the expectant look in his boyfriends eyes from the passenger seat, so it didn’t take much convincing.

They’d missed the first few lines while they were debating it, so he tells Steve, “You start it then.”

With a smile that made it worth it, he does. He turns the volume up even higher and jumps right in on Kiki Dee’s “You take the weight off of me”

That was the indisputable rule Steve had established the very first time they’d played the record, that he would always sing Kiki’s parts of the song, and Billy Elton’s. Billy still didn’t really know exactly why that was, but he didn’t see a reason to argue.

So he does his line, “Oh honey when you knock on my door” and Steve gives him the biggest smile he can muster, as though he wasn’t expecting him to actually join in, and goes straight into his next with all the more enthusiasm. “Ooh, I gave you my key”

Ooh, nobody knows it

When I was down

I was your clown

Ooh, nobody knows it

Right from the start

I gave you my heart

Oh, I gave you my heart

Billy’s been known to get super into the whole thing, dancing like a goof, using anything he can find as a microphone just to get a rise out of Steve, but there’s a definite lack of that enthusiasm this time around.

It’s not that he doesn’t care about doing things like this like this with Steve, quite frankly, just the fact that they were even to a point in their relationship to have something as cheesy as their own song meant the world to him. He just was feeling, a little off.

So don't go breaking my heart

I won't go breaking your heart

Don't go breaking my heart

Steve definitely catches it, he’s the master at being able to tell when Billy’s not feeling his best. He calculates, and waits until the next break in the song to put his hand on Billy’s thigh. To let him know that the lyrics are directed at him. To remind him of the reason why they ever picked a damned Elton John song to be theirs.

And nobody told us

Because nobody showed us

And now it's up to us babe

Oh, I think we can make it

So don't misunderstand me

You put the light in my life

Oh, you put the spark to the flame

I've got your heart in my sights

It’s like an unspoken conversation, carried out entirely through the touch of Steve’s skin against his, the few seconds of eye contact Billy’s willing to allow before he’s back to watching the road, through the song on the radio that was theirs.

Ooh, nobody knows it

When I was down

I was your clown

Ooh, nobody knows it

Right from the start

I gave you my heart

Oh, I gave you my heart

Ever since being discharged from the hospital, no matter how hard he tried to appreciate being alive and what not, Billy still had moments like these where he was distant, only engaging with part of himself. It made him feel ungrateful, selfish. Like he didn’t deserve it.

Don't go breaking my heart

I won't go breaking your heart

Don't go breaking my heart

Now that he really thought about it, he’s guessing the only reason Steve had even made him drive all the way to Tennessee for a bag of candy they could have just bought at the dollar store was because he knew it was one of those days.

Ooh, nobody knows it

When I was down

I was your clown

Right from the start

I gave you my heart

Oh, I gave you my heart

It’s certainly the reason he’s belting his heart out in the passenger seat of Billy’s car to a lame old pop song, and it’s at least, in some small part, the reason why Billy’s heart feels so full at the sight of it.

Don't go breaking my heart

I won't go breaking your heart

Don't go breaking my

Don't go breaking my heart

Don't go breaking my

I won't go breaking your heart

Don't go breaking my heart

Don't go breaking my

I won't go breaking your heart

Don't go breaking my heart

Don't go breaking my

The song fades out before it’s over, the last few lines of the chorus cut off by a dj on a time schedule, but they finish it anyways, shouting over each other and the next song as it begins to play.

Steve dissolves into a fit of giggles, and Billy’s sure if he wasn’t driving he’d kiss the life out of him right then.

The radio gets turned back down to just background noise, and Steve gets settled back in again. He keeps humming to himself from where he’s settled back against the door in his reclined seat. It’s most likely an unconscious action, he does that a lot when he's drowsy, but it’s successful in keeping the tension out of the car.

At least, Billy doesn’t feel even half as on edge about the estimated three hours still left before they’d be back in Hawkins as he did before.

Because even if it started a little shaky, he was glad to have spent the day with nobody but Steve. No nosy teenaged brats refusing to mind their own business, no bosses calling them into work, no doctors appointments or friends dropping by for unannounced visits.

It was just him and Steve and the open road, and EJ and Kiki Dee, and a little bit of expensive candy, that helped too.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #ej writer #story by ej!#geez louise this took forever #literally like the busiest weekend of my life kicked off the minute I started trying to write this #but here it is finally!! hope it’s a little coherent because Im not rereading this for the thousandth time #my initials are literally ej it’s destiny that I’d be an elton john stan #so obviously this fic was going to happen eventually #dearly sorry if the formatting of this is off I’m posting this from mobile and mobile tumblr is very not nice to my formatting #I’ll fix it next time I’m on desktop I promise

24 notes · View notes

since0202 · 3 years

Text

Chapter 9: Recognition

It took all of Grace’s strength not to drive down to the rez once she and Bella got back to the truck.

“What the hell was that?” Bella said surprised. Grace focused her eyes on the road. “Hey are you okay?” Bella was softer this time.

“Are you and Jake dating?”

“What?” Bella said, taken aback.

Grace didn’t say anything and just kept her eyes focused on the road. That wasn’t the question she had meant to ask. She just couldn’t stop thinking about how hot Jacob’s skin was and how quickly she needed to get home to call Sam. Jerking the wheel, she pulled them off on the side of the road. Bella lurched forward to steady herself with the dashboard.

“I need to borrow your phone.” Grace turned to Bella and held her hand out.

“Okay.” Bella said, her voice drew up at the end in question, “Grace what is going on?”

Bella handed her phone over and Grace punched in Sam’s number.

It rang twice before he answered. “Hello?”

“Sam. It’s Jake.”

“Is he-”

“Yes, he’s on his way back now. You might want to intercept.”

“Was he hot to the touch?”

“Sam.” Grace pleaded. She was losing her composure a little bit.

“Okay. We’ll get him, don’t worry.” He hung up.

She handed the phone back to Bella and put a hand over her eyes to try and stop the tears. But it wasn’t any use, something in her collapsed and she curled her body over the steering wheel and let out an immense rush of sobs. Her back heaved as she gasped for breath and felt a breaking in her like one she’d only ever experienced once before. Bella hurriedly scooted over the bench seat of the truck and wrapped her arms around Grace. Bewildered, she stroked her cousin’s hair and tried to calm her down.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay Grace. He’ll come back.” Bella whispered into her hair.

Grace knew he would come back, he would just come back different, changed. In her time spent training with Sam, Paul, and Jared she saw and heard the turmoil, pain, and confusion they put their bodies and minds through. While it ran through their blood, Sam had made it clear: this wasn’t a choice, it was a necessity.

Paul had been less forthcoming about it. He had finally found a useful outlet for his anger, pushing it in the ground and howling it out around him in a chase of scrap. But in his quieter moments, when Grace would sit next to him after a particularly grueling day, he would wrap his arm around her shoulder and give her a small sad smile and say, “At least we’ve got us.”

Jared was a light, joking and keeping Grace up on her feet. But some days when he showed up at Emily’s or they went to pick him up from home, he would look disappointed, his face would look redder than usual and he’d pull Grace or Emily into a tight, wordless hug before Sam commanded him to follow. To which he’d swallow hard and follow suit.

And when Quil had recently phased, Sam did him the kindness of letting him choose when he could make it to trainings and when he could not. Mostly he could not--still focusing on school, figuring out his new form, and coming to grips with the fact that he was a protector of his family and tribe in ways he never knew before. Sam would pull him in for light rounds, not wanting to dip him in too far too fast like he had with Jared and Paul in his immense loneliness.

But for all that pain came the joy of binding to one another. Grace could see how at home they felt together and around her. How safe and loved that their brotherhood kept them. She would protect that at all costs.

But now that Jacob was a part of this, Grace knew something would fundamentally change, not just in him but in everyone. A part of her wished for the short time she had spent with him laughing and studying for school, and the moment he kissed her head on the doorstep like he’d done it his whole life.

“Let me drive.” Bella said calmly, shifting Grace out of the way. The whole ride home, Grace rested her head on the cool glass of the window and resolved to go to the rez first thing tomorrow morning.

----

When Grace woke early right as the first light was creeping over the horizon. She shimmied into some dark wash jeans, a black tank top and a large, loose green cable knit sweater. She shoved her socked feet into her boots and pulled her wavey tangled hair up into a loose ponytail. At the bottom of the stairs, she layered her blue raincoat under her puffy black winter jacket. The fog was not yet clearing as she dashed out the door and into the truck with only one thought in her mind.

Jacob.

The 15 minute drive to the reservation was excruciating. She vowed to buy a cell phone this weekend so she could stay in contact with the pack. As she crossed the line into the reservation, a shiver ran down her. She felt warmth flood into her feet and a tingling sensation started to bloom in the back of her head, signaling a change had happened.

She pulled into the familiar drive of Emily and Sam’s place as the fog started to burn off. She jogged to the front door and knocked a handful of times before pressing it open and hurtling in. Emily was stumbling down the steps of her and Sam’s bedroom, clearly woken from sleep.

“Is Sam here?” Grace, wired, asked.

“No, he hasn’t been home yet, come sit, I’ll make us some coffee,” she yawned.

“It’s Jacob,” Grace said again, echoing her sentiment from last night. Emily nodded nonchalant.

“Sam said he might be phasing soon. He could feel it,” Emily was clattering in the kitchen like it was any other morning.

“What? He knew?!” She had told Sam how rocked she had felt about the potential of him phasing and he could feel her tension when it came to conversations of Jake. The pack seemed invested in him for some reason. But he had never alluded to any feeling he had had about Jacob phasing soon in their recent trainings. Emily looked at Grace confused, and then realized she had spilled something that maybe she wasn’t at liberty to share.

“I’m sure they’ll be back soon Grace, come sit.” Emily pleaded. But Grace was already out the door and down into the truck. She gunned it toward Jacob’s house knowing full well he probably wouldn’t be there.

When she pulled up, her mind took her back to when a long-haired Jacob came jogging around the side of the house, happy to see her. But now, the yard was quiet and the area surrounding it seemed void of those memories.

When she knocked on the door, trying to wait patiently for Billy to open the door, she couldn’t help her eyes from scanning the tree line.

By now, Sam must have sensed she was here. If they were still in their wolf forms, which she suspected they were by the familiar pull in her belly, she knew that Sam would have felt her as soon as she crossed onto the reservation.

Billy swung open the door and wheeled over the threshold with a smile on his face.

“Wasn’t expecting you to be here.” he said, pleased.

“Did Jake come home last night?” Grace forgoed with the pleasantries. Her mind was a one-track record at the moment playing the same name over in her head: Jacob, Jacob, where is Jacob?

“Nooooo,” Billy replied, still pleased. It irked Grace. Of course he’d be pleased. Jake was fulfilling a destiny that Billy hadn’t or ever needed to. She could see the pride swelling in him.

“Okay.” Grace gave a curt nod and turned back to her truck, then thought better of it and turned toward the tree line. She should have done this first thing, but a small part in her was hoping against hope that he had returned, safe and sound, without phasing.

“I’m sure he’s alright, Grace! Sam’s got him.” Billy called after her. She gave a terse wave and pushed into the embrace of the trees. When she walked deep enough that she couldn’t see the clearing of Jacob’s home behind her, she stopped and closed her eyes taking a deep breath.

The earth beneath her feet felt mangled and overturned. She tried to tune into her higher sense, focused her breath on locating the familiar padding of Sam, Jared, or Paul through the forest floor. The forest intensified in sound around her as she went searching, eyes closed, feet planted. Directly in front of her, she could clearly see the outline, almost glow of Sam’s prints. Flanking close behind were Jared and Paul’s, less pronounced but definitely there.

Grace took a tentative, physical step forward and when she looked down, she could see sprinkles of light spilling out around her feet. That’s new.

She opened her eyes and travelled further into the forest, keeping her ears tuned in for any sign of them. As she got deeper, the brush and fern growing thick under foot, she stopped again to make sure she was headed in the right direction. This time when she closed her eyes, a bright path skirted forward from unfamiliar pads. However, though they were new to her, they were brighter than either Sam, Jared, or Paul’s. The track was illuminated as if by bright glowing light underneath and shimmered in a deep gold. She knew who this was without having to feel it.

And then, a familiar sensation, a breaking apart and coming together that she had not initiated. It was a call. She recast and without even knowing where she was going, she appeared in a small clearing. When she opened her eyes, the human forms of Sam, Jared, Paul, and Quil stood off to the right and somewhat behind her. Her eyes locked on Sam, breathless for a moment and then she felt a gaze pulling her forward.

When she looked ahead, standing clear and tall in the patch of moss and dirt was Jacob. His chest exposed, she saw every line of his skin and his sinewy muscles heaved with exhaustion. His hair was sheared short to match the rest of the pack, but his warmth and presence radiated out from him. He stood firmly on the ground, fists clenched, but though he was obviously new to this and had had a rough night, Grace felt nothing but pure resolute power, confidence, and surety pulsing from him.

When their eyes locked, Grace couldn’t breathe for a moment. That rising rumbling that she had felt when she first encountered Edward crescendoed around her. Waves crashing against each other, pushing and pulling out to sea.

A huge ripple puddled out from her feet and pulsed quickly out across the forest floor like a radar signal. Her return to Jake’s call. Behind her, she heard Jared exclaim “What the hell was that?!”

Jacob was looking at her so fiercely with such wanton recognition. The pull in her belly intensified in a way she had never felt before. The world was around her but ended with Jacob. And she made a choice. She sprinted toward him and crashed into his arms.

He let out a groaning “Oh,” as he wrapped his arms tightly around her as if something in him was satiated when she was pressed against him. Her head only came up to his shoulder and he bowed his head to bury his face in her hair.

All too quickly, a realization swept through the both of them—I know this person and this person knows me, now and before and beyond. Two kindred spirits that had always been intertwined by destiny but had recently come back together. Grace had never felt such pleasure and sureness rippling through her entire being than she did right now. And as a welcomed confirmation, Jake whispered in her ear between heavy labored breaths:

“It’s you.”

#twilight #twilightfanfiction #fanfic #jacob black #jacobblackxoc #bella swan #edward cullen #the cullens #the pack #a monster lives here #chapter 9 #new moon

19 notes · View notes

kazosa · 4 years

Text

Summary: Dean could see the writing on the wall and he knew what he needed to do. It was what he always did. He protected the ones he cared about, at all costs, and killed monsters. Only, this time, The End, he wasn’t sure he could protect the woman he loved.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Warnings: heavy angst, major regret, bad language, terrible choices

Word Count: 2963

Tags: @briagallen @cosicas-cuquis @squirrelnotsam @coffee-obsessed-writer @sorenmarie87 @his-paradox

A/N: the above banner was created by the amazingly talented @coffee-obsessed-writer She somehow manages to get in my head and see what I am thinking and puts it in an incredible piece of art for me. Many thanks, as usual!

Eight months had passed since the end and Dean hadn’t spent more than two nights in one place the whole time. It wasn’t that he had somewhere to be. In fact, the opposite was true. No one was looking for him, no one missed him. No one needed him. For the first time in his life, he was obligated to no one… and he didn’t know what to do with himself. Everywhere he went, someone, some place, some dirty back road to nowhere made him think of all the people he’d lost and he would need to move on. It was too hard. And, as much as it pained him to sell his car, it hurt far more to not see Sam sitting in the passenger seat. Instead, he roamed the roads on a motorcycle that looked like had been thrown together. He just needed it to go everywhere and get there fast.

“Hey, pal, last call was twenty minutes ago,” the bartender reminded him.

“Right,” he downed the beer, “don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.” He stood up from his barstool, taking out his wallet throwing a few bills down on the bar, then grabbed his helmet, ready to leave.

“You want me to call you an Uber?”

If Dean hadn’t become a functioning alcoholic, he might have thrown up at the thought. He didn’t do that hipster crap.

“Nope.”

“Can anyone come get you?” the bartender asked again.

Dean kept walking, “nope.” The only thing he’d managed to do in eight months was become a meandering mess who reeked of some kind of booze, as he rode across the country verifying that everyone he ever loved or cared about had died. The end had been a massacre and he had been the only one to make it out alive.

“You don’t know that,” the annoying voice at the back of his head chimed in.

Dean yanked his helmet on, his beard prickling against the chin guard. He pulled the scarf up around his neck and made sure the ends stayed tucked inside his leather jacket as he got on his motorcycle. There was one person who had been on his mind. One of the last ones he hadn’t yet checked up on, mostly because he couldn’t bring himself to know one way or the other… yet.

2008

“This place reeks of school,” he said under his breath.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Its a college library Dean.”

“Whatever,” he snorted. “You go do your nerd thing. I’m gonna see what the librarian knows.”

“I hope you’re going to change tactics,” Sam warned.

When Dean gave him a questioning look, he continued. “That ‘tutor’ line never works.”

“When you get more numbers than me, then you can judge,” he scoffed.

Dean still caught a hint of his disapproving look before he left him behind to go talk to the librarian. Unlike Sam, he’d scoped out the library the day before. He knew how to do homework, just not the kind that got good grades. He hoped the one he saw the day before would be working again.

As he rounded the corner, an older woman was behind the counter furiously shelving books to the return cart. She wasn’t the one he was hoping to see; he would have remembered seeing this one. She wore clothes from a few decades before, thick glasses on a chain, and though her hair hadn’t fully grayed, her hair was done in what he assumed was a beehive.

He sidled up to the counter. “Hey, sweetheart.”

The woman let out an exasperated huff and slammed down the barcode scanner she was using to check in books. She folded her arms in front of her and leaned on the counter to look at her most recent annoyance.

“My name is Gloria, not sweetheart. What do you want?”

Dean cleared his throat and wondered why his obvious charms didn’t work. “Um, I’m looking for a tutor….”

“You really think I’m going to believe you’re a student? Honey, this isn’t my first day.” She unfolded her arms and stood back from the counter, her impatient look not changing.

“Easy Glo, he’s one of mine,” she suddenly appeared; the one who’d caught his eye.

“You need to quit having your boyfriends come here,” Gloria chided.

The woman looked at her co-worker, “Mm quite right.” She turned to Dean. “Honey, how ‘bout you come down here?”

“Have a lot of boyfriends?” he followed her to the end of the counter. Finally, he saw the name on her tag. (Y/N).

“I you don’t strike me as the exclusive kind,” she teased. “How can I help you?”

I could be, he thought. “I need a tutor,” he leaned on the counter towards her.

She leaned forward and put her hands on his. “Gloria is watching and I’m usually affectionate with boyfriends.” Her nail traced a line up his wrist making his skin tingle. “What are you really doing here?”

This was not all how he planned on having things go. “I, um, I’m looking…”

“If you’re a student here, I’ll eat my shirt,” she stayed perfectly in character with Gloria watching. “You’re here about that stuff with Jenny and Keith, aren’t you?”

“Just looking into what happened. Not buying what the papers and authorities are saying. Looking to get the truth.”

Somehow, she had a pen and was writing something on his hand. He would have looked at his hand, but he couldn’t draw his gaze from her.

“What’s your name, honey?” she looked him in the eye.

“D-Dean,” he stammered. “Dean Winchester.”

“Well, Dean, I’m off at four and we can talk then,” she said, rubbing the top of his hand. “Better get out of here before Glo turns you into Security.”

Dean sighed heavily as he started the motorcycle. (Y/N) had been a wild card right from the start. He’d been thinking about her a lot lately. She was the only person giving him hope. He couldn’t, or wouldn’t, think of her as anything but alive, but what was he supposed to do? Live on blind faith that she was alive and well? He didn’t have faith in anything. Not after the End, except maybe her… of all people, of all hunters, she being alive would mean he wasn’t alone. And if anyone could cheat death, it was her.

Getting settled before he rolled out, he felt the weight of his gun and knife press against his torso. He knew how to get to Purgatory. In the last eight months it had become a more and more appealing option. Why not just go there and do the only thing he’d ever been good at? ‘Cause (Y|N) won’t be there,’ he answered his own question.

He could just wait for Billie to come get him, but for what? She was there… at The End… she’d said, “This ain’t in your book, honey” as he sat on the ground, covered in blood and screamed into the night at the sorrow and unfairness of it all. He still didn’t understand how living had been his fate…

2013

“Nope,” his heart hammered in his chest as he pulled her into his lap. He took (Y/N)’s hands and held them on her chest. “You’re not going anywhere. We’ll get you fixed up in no time.” In his head, he screamed for Cas to come.

Sam held pressure on her leg and did the best he could on her abdomen. (Y/N) had been with them in some way for the last five years. She was a natural hunter and her knowledge of the supernatural had bailed them out of tough situations more than once.

“Deuce, c’mon. You gotta stay with me,” he used the nickname he’d thought up for her.

(Y/N) sighed and groaned at the same time. “Ungh, stop calling me Deuce, it sounds like shit.”

Dean looked at Sam, who tipped his head to the side in silent affirmation.

“...wild cards though,” he muttered.

“I don’t want… the last words I hear from you… to include… shit. Clearly… I’m the Ace in the Hole,” she said between labored breaths.

(Y/N) looked up at him and laughed. She went down hill at breakneck speed. Sam couldn’t keep enough pressure on her wounds, even with an extra hand from Dean…

He’d watched her slip away from him once and he didn’t want to do it again. Cas had come, but not in time to heal her before she died.

“Please, Cas…”

Dean didn’t know if it was he who’d said it, or Sam. Either way, the angel reached out his hands, making (Y/N)’s wounds glow with his healing touch. She’d gasped awake and immediately clung to Dean. ‘Man, she held on tight,’ he thought. And so had he. At that moment, he knew he would never let that kind of harm come to her again.

Rolling on the throttle, the motorcycle carried Dean away from the bar and down the road…

2013

It had been a few months since it happened. Dean sat in the library. His chin resting on his hand on the table. With his other hand, he rolled the tumbler of whiskey between his thumb and middle finger. The light from the above pendant lighting penetrating the amber liquid in the crystal glass.

(Y/N) was in Sam’s room watching some nerd show, or something, and that left him alone to dwell in his thoughts. Nor did he care for the feeling of jealousy that had been rising in him, so he’d decided to have a drink about it.

“Hey,” (Y/N) said, walking into the room.

Dean didn’t move from his spot at the table. He still looked at the whiskey in his glass and barely raised his hand in greeting. The whiskey had done its job warming his heart and… slightly… numbing his feelings.

(Y/N) pulled out the chair next to him. He rolled his head to the side, resting on his arm to look at her. He almost hated how much he loved her eyes. And he definitely didn’t hate how she was looking at him.

She put her hand on his arm and gave him a little squeeze. “Why’re you out here pouting?”

Called out again, he said what came to mind first. “I’m not pouting, you’re pouting.” Dammit.

“Yeah, okay. It’s funny how you still think I can’t read you like a book,” her voice was soft. She slid a hand down to his wrist, her thumb stroking his skin. It always seemed to tingle when she did that.

Grudgingly, and with more effort than he cared for, he managed to peel himself off the table to sit up. He wondered what she thought she could see written all over him.

He watched her as she stood up, forcing him to lean back a little in his chair. He never knew what she would do next and it both excited and scared the shit out of him, and not ever in a bad way.

Her hands, how he loved when she touched him, went to his face and hair. If he hadn’t already had the whiskey, he might feel drunk off her touch alone. She slowly leaned down further. (Y/N)’s lip touched his and he thought maybe he was dreaming. She kissed him like it had been something they did all the time. He fantasized on it plenty…

Before he knew it, she was gone and looking over her shoulder at him from the doorway, whiskey in hand.

“You coming?”

If he’d ever been drunk, he’d sobered in a hurry and followed her. What resulted was not just an amazing night of love making. It had also resulted in a relationship he hadn’t known she’d wanted… just as much as he had.

The chill of the night air cut through his thin layers. Most of the time, he just ignored it. He’d been through worse. He could withstand anything. He just didn’t know if he could stand living in a world without (Y/N) in it.

The ‘what ifs’ ran through his mind again. If he waited for whatever end was coming to him, there would still be no guarantee he would see her again. There was no way he could go on living in this world if she wasn’t in it…

2019

It was a quiet morning. Sam was somewhere with Eileen and that left him and (Y|N) with the bunker to themselves. These were the mornings that were his favorite. (Y|N) was tucked into his side, her arm draped across him. They didn’t have a case to work. They had nowhere to be. All they needed to do was lie in bed all day.

“What’re you thinking about?” she asked.

Dean ran his hand over her arm across his chest, “Just about how lucky I am.”

“It’s true,” she kissed his jaw, “you are super lucky.”

Five years. He’d had the love of a good woman for five years. They were a great team. He had everything he ever wanted. Somehow they had managed to balance the hunter life and ‘normal’ life. They worked well together and played well together.

“What’s the plan for today?” he asked.

“Staying in bed all day sounds good to me,” she answered. “Oh, hold on, I made you something.”

(Y|N) handed him a spiral bound book. Inside were pictures of the two of them, Sam and Eileen, Jody and Donna, Rowena…

“It’s us. All of us,” she explained, “our story.”

It was mostly the two of them. They were in the bunker, road hotels, in Baby. She never asked him for more than what he could give, but he still found himself wanting to give her more. He wanted to live in a house, have a kid or two. He wanted more. A real life.

Dean kept the small scrapbook with him, always. He didn’t need to bring his father’s journal anymore, the End made sure of that. The journal came with him out of habit now. Dean brought the scrapbook because he needed it, more than he cared to admit. He needed to see their faces, to remember the good times, and to see her…

Dean slowed the bike to a stop at a red light. Turning right, he would go to her house. To the left, he would take the road to nowhere. Going straight, he would forge ahead.

The End was coming and, unlike so many times before, they had known it was coming. All Dean could see were all the things that were trying to kill them. He just wanted to make sure she was safe...

“I want you to leave.”

“What? Your room?”

“No, the bunker. I don’t want you here anymore.”

“What? Why? What’s wrong?”

“You’re reckless and too unpredictable. You’re either going to get yourself killed or someone else and I can’t have that on my conscience.”

“No, that’s bullshit.”

It didn’t end there. The next day was more of the same, but he’d stood firm on his decision. Break it off clean, get her away and to safety.

“Just promise me you won’t keep hunting.”

“No.”

“Ace.”

“No. You’re being stupid. You know I can help and you know I won’t stop,” she was mad and near tears. “When this is over and you’re done being stupid, come find me. You love me, Dean.” She turned back before she got in her car. “You better not fucking die, ‘cause when this is over, and you come find me, I’ll kick your ass.”

His heart left that day when she tore down the dirt road that led away from the bunker. Maybe that was why he did the things he did at The End, showing no mercy… nothing but brute force brawling…

Dean turned right and continued on. Was he done being stupid? Probably not. What he did know was that the dumbest thing he ever did was force her out of his life and he needed to know, for sure, one way or another, if his life was worth continuing.

For the first time, in a very long time, he had hope…

He knew where she used to live, it had been a few years since he’d seen her and… he just didn’t know… was she alive? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Married? Hunting? Normal job? If she was still alive, she’d be there.

It was late, the house was dark, too dark for anyone to be awake. He should give a damn that he was about to knock on the door and disturb the residents, but he didn’t. He waited long enough and needed to know… to see her face… to have hope again. He climbed the stairs, feeling lighter with each step he took. His heart raced as he stood at the wood door. gargoyle door knocker seemed to mock him as he stood there, unable to move.

“Shut up,” he grumbled as he grabbed the gargoyle and made it rap loudly, twice, on the door. Dean was about to try again when the porch light flicked on. His eyes rebelled at the sudden glare from above. He shaded his eyes, but didn’t look away from the gargoyle. The sound of the locks turning shifted his gaze to the door’s opening. Time slowed to a crawl. Dean swore he could hear the antique metal rotate as the person on the other side of the door turned the knob.

It all came down to this. Would she be there? Would she be the one to open the door? Would she be happy to see him? What if…

The door cracked open. His heart jumped in his throat as the porch light fell on the face inside.

“Hi.”

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #spn fan fiction #end of series fiction #Dean winchester x female reader #angst #the end #kazosa #sorry for that ending #not sorry at all actually #who do you think is on the other side of the door?

67 notes · View notes

ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 5 years

Text

Cup of Coffee - Chapter 01

Author’s Comments: Hello, darlings! My, my, it has been quite the time, hasn't it? For those of you who are knew to my account and didn't know me from my old days, I used to be a big fan of an old show called Dude That's My Ghost. It was by no means a great show, but it was fun to watch.

A few years ago I wrote a story - this story in fact - for the fandom. It was meant to be a collaborative effort among everyone with myself as the one writing it, but, well... Complications arose. I abandoned the story and the fandom for quite the time, but this story has never left my mind. It was my story, after all, no matter what they say. This story was one I wrote, that I planned, that I made, in the end. The idea, perhaps, did not start with me, but this story will always belong to me.

So, after much thought and debate, I've decided that it's time to polish this story off, give it a little fixing, and tell it like it should have been told to begin with.

A couple things to get out of the way for those who remember the original story: This no longer takes place in the 80s; because that was a stupid idea. This is set in California (as in the show) and not New York because that idea was even stupider. Billy and Spencer are in no way related (to be honest not even the show wrote them like they were 'distant cousins' and I didn't even remember they were supposed to be related until just this moment). There are no ghosts, Billy is quite alive, and all characters are over twenty years of age.

With all that out of the way... I think it's time we finished this.

If you find yourself enjoying the story, then check out my Writing Commissions! If you have a story idea you want to read but don’t want to write, then you’ll find I have just the solution in mind - or multiple, depending on how long you want your story!

Fandom: Dude That’s My Ghost

Relationship: Billy Joe Cobra/Spencer Wright

Rating: Teen Audiences

Summary: “Yo.” The man looked like he had just pulled off three all-nighters in a row and Spencer had to wonder if this was an intern run ragged or a college student trying to cram in a summer semester. Either way, it was little wonder as to how he had ended up in a coffee shop at six in the morning. “Venti with one pump caramel, one pump white mocha, two scoops vanilla bean powder, two shots espresso, and apagotto style. Oh, yeah, and caramel drizzle under and on top of the whipped cream.”

Hand half hovering over where he had been about to type in the order, Spencer instead let slip an ugly snort and decided that this guy was either crazy or he himself was being punked. “Dude, are you trying to order coffee or are you a witch trying to tell me how to make a potion?”

The man’s sunglasses slipped down to show incredulous eyes that were the color of honey, Shanilla made a squeak like she had just seen God, and Spencer realized that it was probably a bad thing to insult customers.

It wasn’t until later that he realized he had insulted the infamous rockstar that was Billy Joe Cobra of all people.

Archive Of Our Own Link

⍣ I have a Patreon! Support me!⍣ ☪ I have a tip jar! Buy me a coffee!☪

Chapter One

“No matter how I look at it, this is a terrible idea.” And yet, his traitorous mind whispered to him with a voice that sounded like Billy’s, that’s what makes it such a great idea.

Spencer Wright traced over the weathered plastic of his truly ancient video camera, stickers covering the surface and hiding enough cracks to prove the camera should have stopped working a long, long time ago. It was years out of date, held together by no more than horror movie themed stickers and a prayer, and should have been tossed out months if not years ago.

There was no easy way to connect it to his computer, but for what he was about to do, Spencer figured that he only needed his table, a tripod, and the camera itself. It was easy, too, with how long he had been working with camera equipment; over a decade in his twenty-three years of living.

“Here we go,” Spencer said softly, smiling as he saw the red light flick on to show the camera was recording. The difference between every other moment before, however, was that the lens was pointed at him. “Alright, then. I guess this is the part where I’m supposed to say ‘action’ and all that, huh?”

The camera was a nonjudgmental audience, recording him impartially and leaving the fate of the recording in his hands and his hands alone. It was as comforting as it was nerve wracking.

“Right. My name is Spencer Wright and I’m a twenty-three-year-old film student who’s studying to become a movie director - specifically for horror movies!” The red light remained on and Spencer knew what he would see if he were to look at the other side of the camera screen.

He would see his hair, a weird light brown and tangled to hell and back, a couple of sun freckles from living in a place like California, and boring brown eyes that were avoiding looking directly into the camera. Really, it wasn’t his fault that he did better behind the camera than in front of one.

“This is entry one of my video journal series that I’ve been bullied into doing because apparently writing in an actual journal is too cliché for even me.” Spencer stifled a laugh at remembering the conversation that had led to him being tucked away in the room he had taken over for his video equipment, computer screens stretched out on the table in front of him and wires leading every which way.

It was a stark contrast compared to the little camera in front of him that was worn down, beaten, and had only cost him a couple hundred when he was in his teens and knew what he wanted to do with his life.

“The date is, uh… September?” Spencer looked around for a moment before grimacing as he patted at his empty pockets. “Okay, phone is, uh, somewhere, so it’s definitely just September 2019, for the moment. Uh… It’s a Monday? So that’s something, I guess.”

Tapping his foot for a moment, Spencer sighed as he rubbed at the back of his neck, looking around the dull, neutral colors of the room before his gaze trailed back to the red light. He really wasn’t cut out for being on camera.

“So, like I said, I was bullied into doing this. One of my best friends, Shanilla, she said that I needed a way to ‘express my feelings and experience emotional relief.’” Spencer made sure to include the quotation marks, staring right into the camera. “And when you inevitably sneak into my studio and watch this, Shanilla, I am telling you right now that I am not emotionally repressed or scared of being vulnerable or whatever else you’ll try to repeat from your latest psychology class.”

Spencer gave the camera one more glare before smirking. “And Rajeev, when you help your sister sneak in to watch this, know that I have blackmail on you from our psychology class that we took together. You know exactly what it is, too, so I suggest you stop this video now.” Letting his thoughts drift for a minute, Spencer tapped his foot again and pushed out a dramatic sigh.

“As for you, Billy.” Spencer looked at the camera, thinking up a million threats before he rolled his eyes. “Who am I kidding? You’ll watch this no matter what I threaten. Fine, then, but don’t be shocked by whatever ends up in these videos because I warned you. This? Right here? This is a warning.”

Spencer could already hear Billy’s wild laughter and teasing, and he was smiling before he could stop himself, looking at the ground to hide it as if Billy really was in front of him and teasing him with that almost crooked smile of his.

“To anyone watching these videos who aren’t my horrible friends, then, like I said, this is Shanilla’s fault and, by extension, Billy’s fault. When Shanilla said these videos would be great proof of my ‘humble beginnings’ for when I become a famous director, Billy jumped on board. Trust me when I say you can’t fight against both of them when they team up. It just doesn’t work. At all.

“So, since I’m stuck doing these, I might as well practice getting better at talking to an ‘audience’ anyways, right?” Spencer gave a rueful smile, almost imagining that he could see the reflection of himself in the lens of the camera. Actually, he might have been able to. “I’ve already mentioned that I’m working on becoming a movie director and, as of now, I’m going into my last year of college needed to get my film degree.”

Pausing for a moment, Spencer thought about the fact that one day these videos might really be seen by people who would one day love his work. It couldn’t hurt to share a little more, in that case. “Right now, I live in California. I don’t live in Hollywood exactly, or, uh, at least, I didn’t. I used to live about an hour outside of it and back then, last year’s summer, actually, I was working two jobs to try and save up some more ,money for college. I was also rooming with my friends, Rajeev and Shanilla, at the time.”

That summer had only been a year ago, but it felt as if it had all happened so long ago. Fall was well underway, he was in the middle of his classes, and that summer, as with all summers, felt like it was both a second ago and forever ago in the way summer always felt like it was too quick and too distant.

“I worked mornings and afternoons in a coffee shop, and I worked nights and sometimes evenings in a late-night diner that was one of those retro places that should have gone out of business in the fifties. The coffee shop is actually where I met Billy,” Spencer laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking away for a moment, knowing his face was disgustingly fond even as he tried to hide it.

He could picture the answering smile from Billy himself and how the man would have no doubt wrapped around him and cooed over how ‘cute’ he was being. Getting himself back together, Spencer gave his best grin towards the camera.

“In case you don’t know if you’re watching this in the future, the Billy that I’m talking about is Billy Joe Cobra. Yeah, that Billy. He’s twenty-eight, at the height of his career, and just had one of his songs break the record for the longest time spent in the number one spot and aw, jeez, I’m starting to sound like a fan, aren’t I? The funny thing is, I had barely even heard of Billy Joe Cobra when I first met him.”

Spinning in his chair side to side for a few moments, Spencer thought back to that morning in the coffee shop. He had been exhausted, irritable, and wanted nothing more than to crawl into a corner and sleep for a few centuries. Shanilla had worked in the same coffee shop with him and she had been the one to first point out just who had walked into their store.

Spencer hadn’t known a thing about who he was, though, beyond a vague recognition, and Billy, back then, didn’t know what to do with someone who wasn’t tripping over themselves to get his autograph. It had been interesting and confusing for both of them, but, well, it had been the morning to start it all.

“Since Shanilla said I should tell stories about my life and all that, I guess I can tell the one story that made my life interesting for a while.” Spencer spun around in his chair before slapping his hands on the desk to stop himself, laughing when his ancient camera wobbled before holding steady. “Let me just start this off by saying that Billy Joe Cobra is not a morning person.”

#dude that's my ghost #dtmg #ectofeature #film sensation #cup of coffee #my writing

10 notes · View notes

nellie-elizabeth · 5 years

Text

Supernatural: Moriah (14x20)

Well then! Yeesh!

Cons:

I wish we could do a bit more to sort out this whole Cas vs. Dean thing. Now that we've got bigger fish to fry for next season, it seems like Dean and Cas' pretty intense disagreement will likely be pushed aside in favor of... you know... surviving the end-times. But maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised, and their relationship drama will continue to be a factor as we enter into the final season of this show.

I really, really like the direction this is going, but I can't help but wonder if there were re-writes once the decision was made that Season Fifteen would be the end. It seems to me that several elements of the story, especially the stuff with Lucifer coming back, wound up being scrapped in favor of the ridiculously awesome reveal that Chuck is our final Big Bad. So while this finale on its own kicked some major ass, there were definitely some elements that didn't add up for me in terms of the buildup from the rest of the season.

Pros:

What a smart episode this was, though. Honestly. Usually the finales of Supernatural have to escalate things to some new extreme height so that we know what's coming in the next season. Oh no, we've started the apocalypse! Oh no, all the angels have fallen from Heaven! Oh no, the Darkness has been released! This season is, in some ways, no exception to that. Apparently, God is the villain. And he's done playing nice. While this might seem like just another classic Supernatural power-creep escalation, it's actually something a little different. And I love it. This is an opportunity to pit early show vs. late show against each other, by bringing back old villains, but letting Sam, Dean, and Cas handle it in the way they've learned to do over their many years of being hunters. It's an opportunity for nostalgia while at the same time a chance to focus on the one and only true central theme of Supernatural: free will. Honestly, this show goes all over the place with its plots and messaging, but at the center of it all, from day one, has been the idea of free will, and I love that we're setting up the final season to be a direct reckoning of that theme.

This episode was also a lot more down-to-earth than some other finales we've got. It's very focused - Jack is out there. Dean wants to kill him. Sam admits that killing him is maybe their only option. Cas is not on board. Three different approaches to one big problem. Meanwhile, Jack is trying to do the right thing without a soul to guide his conscience. And then God is there, and we learn once and for all that he truly does view the Winchesters as a story. That they've been puppets all along, dancing for his amusement. The end. I love that a lot of this episode really was just sitting around talking things out, making plans. It felt real, and grounded, in a way that I really appreciate from this show.

Let's talk Dean and Sam for a minute - I loved the scene when Dean said he was going to take the shot at Jack, effectively killing both Jack and himself. They don't even need to have the full conversation, because they've been there so many times before. And Sam says no - he's not going to be okay with a plan that makes him lose Jack and Dean in one fell swoop. He's lost enough as it is. Dean, who has over the last few seasons grown into a person who actually respects his brother's right to make his own decisions, has been having a bit of a relapse on account of Mary's death. He takes the gun and leaves without telling Sam. It's predictable, and frustrating, and it was easy for me to feel Sam's pain.

I love how angry Dean is, how his tight grip on his control seems to be in constant danger of snapping. He loves Sam, he loves Cas, and he loved Jack, but he can't bring himself to process those emotions in a healthy way right now. He needs to be a man on a mission, otherwise he'll fall apart. Jensen is doing such a great job with this. There's the moment in his conversation with Sam where he talks about the fact that God told them that Jack needed to die, so that's the end of the discussion. It's just so Dean to be such a hypocrite about this. Billie tells him that locking himself in a box is the only way to save the world? Cool. He'll do it. God tells him to kill his foster son? Cool. He'll do it. Because Dean Winchester kind of hates himself. And he definitely hates himself for Mary's death. It's just that in this case, he can kill Jack, the person who he outwardly blames, and himself, the person who he blames for everything, in one fell swoop. Yeesh. Poor Dean.

The moment when Dean shows up to kill Jack, and Cas is there and tells Jack to run? I fucking lost my mind. I am so in love with the way they've positioned Dean and Cas on opposite sides of this debate. These are two men who would die for each other - who have died for each other in fact. And in this moment, they are as opposed as they've ever been. Not since Season Six have we seen Cas and Dean at such odds with one another. There's this delicious tension to knowing that Dean is going to kill Jack at any cost, and Cas is going to stop Dean from killing Jack at any cost, and yet the thought of either of these people doing anything to hurt the other is so ludicrous. This is the stuff good drama is made of.

Then there's Sam Winchester, who easily gets MVP from me for this episode. We've seen, from the very early stages of this show when angels were considered an unrealistic fairy-tale, that Sam has always had faith. Maybe he hasn't quite understood the specifics of his own belief, but he's believed in a higher power and he's believed in the essential goodness of that power. We saw the way he behaved with Chuck when they met the last time. He was worshipful. Dean didn't quite understand it, but Sam... even when Sam was annoyed or frustrated with Chuck, he actually believed in him. So the moment when Sam says "hey, Chuck," and shoots God in the shoulder is honestly just... exquisite.

Sam spends this episode trying to contextualize everything that's been happening to them recently - he blames himself for Mary's death, because he's the one who brought Jack back without a soul. He tries to understand why Chuck hasn't been showing up to help them before now. He tries to explain himself to Dean, to make his brother hear him. He tries to reconcile his love for Jack with what Jack has become. And then he picks up a gun and he shoots God, even knowing he'll hurt or even kill himself to do it. And it's not a brave sacrifice play, or a planned moment - it's done in anger, in desperation, in fear. The realization that Chuck doesn't care about them is the biggest betrayal Sam Winchester has ever faced, and that's saying something, given the life he's lead. It's so hugely important to me that Sam is the one to make this move, and not Dean. It represents a breaking point for his character that I cannot wait to see play out next season.

Obviously I figured that Dean wouldn't really kill Jack, but I admire how much tension they still managed to put into that scene, and how, as Cas says "writers lie." The magic gun doesn't kill Jack; Chuck does that directly once he realizes that Dean isn't going to play the little game he's devised. We get this final shot of Sam, Dean, and Cas all standing back to back, ready to fight against the hoard of returned villains that are closing in on them. Cas has the angel blade, but Sam and Dean are practically unarmed, and Sam is bleeding from a gunshot wound to the shoulder. It's bleak, and on top of it all there's Jack's corpse just sitting there, a reminder of their failure.

We see Jack awaken in the Empty, and Billie seems to have plans for him, so now we've got a Billie vs. Chuck situation, with Jack, Cas, and the Winchesters as potential pawns. I am beyond excited to see how this plays out, and where Team Free Will lands in this battle for their own agency.

Before I finish this review, I want to praise the episode for suggesting the apocalyptic scope of Jack's powers. This show has never managed to really convey the way the whole world is affected by the various apocalypse-y type things that have come up over the years. But here we see that Jack's order to "stop lying" actually throws the whole world into chaos. If Chuck had wanted to see that play out, he would have; it's only his ability to reset things that saves the world. We see how people's inability to lie leads to instant resentments and chaos. It's actually a pretty great trope to explore some inter-character drama, so at first I was a little surprised that Sam and Dean didn't accidentally drop any uncomfortable truth bombs on each other when they both lacked the ability to lie. But then I realized - while Sam and Dean are having a rough time because of Mary right now, they are firmly on each other's sides and fighting to preserve their family at all costs. They actually aren't hiding anything from each other, and they haven't been for quite some time.

As a plus, all of this stuff is actually pretty humorous too - I loved the Celine Dion bit, and Dean going on and on about internet gossip, and the guys fighting about yogurt, the newscaster confessing his love, and the not-so-subtle dig at Trump.

Okay. This review is long, but I think that's allowed, given that it's for a finale. I greatly enjoyed it. I thought the smaller scale and the more character-driven story worked in its favor, and I love that everything from the plot to the framing is placing Castiel on equal footing with Sam and Dean as a protagonist for the finale season. I can't wait to see what we get next year! This time in 2020, I'll be sobbing my eyes out as "Carry On Wayward Son" plays over one last montage... it's going to be a wild ride.

9/10

#review #supernatural #supernatural review #14x20 #spn 14x20 #moriah

20 notes · View notes

ifridiot · 5 years

Note

⭐ for About The Living For The Dead

okay, so this one ain’t done yet, but I am admittedly Super Fond of this idea. The crossover no one wanted (yes, I am aware of the What If comic, yes it’s good, no it holds absolutely no bearing on how, why, or what I am doing with this fic). Punisher symbiote fic: About the Living, For the Dead.

First of all, can we talk about the title? I think it’s been made pretty evident in my fics that I fixated pretty hard on David’s little speech in the episode ‘Danger Close’. That whole conversation was so good, and the way the show handled it it felt like real, natural concern from David for Frank at this moment when Frank was displaying real suicidal intent in his search for vengeance. Memento Mori and the Let Them Eat Flesh series are both heavily drawn from that scene, and of course Puncture Repair.

So I decided to title this fic as it is because obviously Frank himself is gone. That’s kind of the ugly point, isn’t it? Frank is gone and now David is doing what Frank did. Frank didn’t ask him to finish what he started. Frank probably didn’t want him to, for any number of reasons. Frank just asked David to save the symbiote because otherwise it would die with him and if he could save one more life out of the mess then he was going to, by god. David (with Punisher’s support and encouragement) really takes it on himself to go after Billy. To set himself up in the basement of his family home so he can track Billy down, confront and kill him. On this, even in the haze of grief and loss, David is single-minded; the symbiote is the one reminding David to spend time with his family and take care of himself. It’s David that has the fixation, the bloody mind; it’s David forgetting to ‘live his life well’. I haven’t gotten to publishing the scene where it’s made explicit yet, but in this fic it’s the symbiote who’s concerned more ‘about the living’, while David is motivated by vengeance ‘for the dead’.

Favourite bits under a cut, because this fic is multichap and there’s some good bits in each chapter.

Chapter One:

Madani is not watching. Madani can’t hear Frank’s dying rasps – Madani is taking care of clean up, giving them space because she knows what it’s like to hold someone too late, to take on the responsibility of being the last thing they see.

Ugh, just... Dinah really understanding what David’s going through here. The obvious fact that they can’t save Frank, so David’s left in the same place as she was with Sam, and she knows exactly how painful that is, exactly how awful. The responsibility of being the last thing they see, I just like that.

Frank’s fingers are clutching his, shaking and seizing, every breath labored and wet. Each exhale sends little flecks of blood flying, and David thinks he might be drowning, suffocating on his own blood. From the looks of it, Rawlins had worked him over expertly before he’d managed to break free and kill him, but the exertion had cost Frank dearly.

Those fingers guide his hand to Frank’s gut, to the squirming, charred surface of the symbiote. David has never dared touch the creature, and is surprised when it flattens against Frank’s skin, spreading thin, away from David’s hand as though shy. Frank presses David’s palm into it. He’s making desperate eye contact with David, dark eyes flicking over David’s as he struggles to stay, but there are no more words. David curls his fingers against the oil-slick darkness, and knows that Punisher and Frank are having one of those conversations David can’t hear but can see. Franks lips move as though he’s trying to speak, but he can’t hear him however close he leans.

Frank working so hard to stay together, to stay alive long enough to be sure Punisher bonds safely with David. The display here that Frank and Punisher are so well bonded; a conversation David can’t hear but can see.

He will die he will die if I leave

“Yeah,” David says, and he can see his tears splash on Frank’s bloodied torso. “He will. We can’t save him. But I can save you. Lemme save you.”

I love the way Punisher talks, the difference between structured sentences when it forms a physical mouth to speak from and the stream of conscious dialog, no punctuation when its speaking between itself and its host.

also just. ow.

We do not mourn the loss of a host

Frank’s eyes drift, and glass over, and he heaves a shaking, weak sigh that has no follow up, no reflexive inhale. His body is so warm and so heavy across David’s lap.

We mourn a friend a love

Immediate, and i mean immediate use of the word we for Punisher and David. No hesitation, they are a team now. Also i feel like this part is so rude emotionally lmao, like it’s really just kind of a punch.

Chapter Two:

Bad David bad brain phenethylamine dopamine norepinephrine all low unhealthy mourning mourning mourning we have to focus

David understands that. That’s why he’d let himself go on autopilot for the last – he glances at his watch and curses. Seven hours? They’d been down here for seven hours and he hadn’t finished the array?

I like to think Punisher uses more clinical terms for what it needs with David and it did with Frank, because David either already knows them from the research he did on the symbiotes (re: hacking the Life Foundation and also probably a bunch of military sources too) or because David is curious enough about new words to look them up, while Frank just understood he needed to take a supplement or else Punisher would die/kill him.

the time loss due to depressive dissociation is also a big Thing to me.

“Frank felt deeply. We adapted. He took care of himself, of us, mindful. Curtis taught him. It was… difficult.”

It comes in a rush of images and impressions, memories not his own – Frank meditating, Frank focusing on their bond, Frank loving – them, not just Punisher, but them, both of them, and latching on to that love to pull him on and on. The realization that Frank had cared for him as much as he cared for Frank is –

Well.

“You did not know?”

David scoffs, shakes his head, looking away. “Of course I didn’t know. Half the time he looked like he wanted to kick the shit out of me and the rest of the time I wanted to kick the shit out of me.”

I just love this conversation, the gentle revelation of it. Punisher having taken it for granted that David would have understood on his own that Frank loved him too.

“He chose, David. It wasn’t for any lack of yours. The moment we bonded I knew I would lose him. He belonged to the dead more than he would ever belong to us.”

David can’t imagine that. He can feel Punisher’s pain – the pain of loving someone and knowing their heart, despite the effort they put into the relationship, wasn’t really in it. The pain of knowing that your love was willing to die, just waiting for the chance really. He’d never really thought of Frank as suicidal, but seeing him through the symbiote’s eyes, he has new perspective. Frank dreamed of death, courted it, counted on it.

He loved so many things, so deeply, but his losses had been too great. Finding out that the work he’d done in Cerberus had been illegitimate, had made him a murderer of who knew how many innocent men had been the end of him. He didn’t believe in redemption, certainly not for himself. He’d loved David, loved Punisher – he’d loved Sarah and the kids too, David felt that in the memories Punisher shared – but he had hated himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says...

Just this whole exchange is Good. For an extra hit, allow me to point out that Punisher says ‘It wasn’t for any lack of yours’. Not ‘ours’. Just ‘yours’.

Also the Punisher loving Frank and having a front row seat to his self-destruction, his lack of self preservation. Uh, can you imagine, for a minute, what Frank bonded to a symbiote was like? The risks he’d throw himself into because even if he took a bullet or broke a bone, Punisher would heal him before he died from it? yeah.

“Look, Russo is out there, right now – that smug piece of shit thinks he got away and –”

“And he is hiding. Like a rat, like a roach. When we find him, we will eat his pretty face off his skull and he will die screaming, begging our mercy and there will be none. It will be delicious and we live for that moment. But that is future. This is now. Go up stairs. This… moping… is unbecoming.”

Haha i love how much they both hate Russo. I really treasure that. And the whole way Punisher talks about what they’re gonna do when they catch him is just Nice.

Chapter Three:

So when David twists and writhes in bed, Punisher tastes his anguish, his despair, and wakes him before he can wake Sarah. It soothes him into rising without a noise, but drags him from the dream swiftly, baring it from further examination. This is easy for the symbiote, sort of like throwing the thought in a box. It’s not David’s thought, it’s theirs, and if they have to share it, then Punisher will deal with it.

Part of what I like so much about this chapter is the narrative perspective bleeding back and forth between Punisher and David. Because they’re bonded quite well at this point, and their experiences still have distinct flavours but more and more they function as one. So Punisher coming forward and just boxing up David’s Bad Thoughts is just kinda cool and nice.

He’s cut off by the image, definitely not his own, of himself, sitting at the desk in the power station. He looks tired, and distant, not focused on anything in particular, just looking off to one side, gently lit in the low lights but somehow distinct. His hair is wild, longer, tangled around his face in a mess that somehow reads as endearing; his eyes – they’re not even focused on them, but they’re so blue its unnatural. And in this image – it’s a memory, but it’s not, it’s something more, enhanced by so many emotions that Punisher is pushing through their bond

protect beware infuriating love love love

in this image he looks up, straight into his minds eye – Frank’s mind’s eye because who else would he have been talking to there – and he smiles, and his own heart twists with the fondness and delight he feels, emotions high and unnatural for ‘him’ at the time. He feels a distant stirring of arousal, and again it’s not his own, but the pounding of his heart certainly is.

The memory dissipates all at once, leaving him feeling shell-shocked and wide-eyed in the basement dark, and Punisher curls protectively, sweetly, around his ribs. It’s a physical presence; he can feel the symbiote in his chest, winding around bone, caressing his thudding heart. It should be disturbing, but somehow it’s a comfort.

This whole exchange is just Wow and also Romantic to me. Punisher being able to give David Frank’s memories and let David perceive himself how Frank did. I just really like that as a concept. bombarding David with the feelings Frank felt when he looked at David. That ‘beware’ was one of those emotions.

“Maybe he deserved them more than me, okay? Maybe that’s what it’s about, maybe I’m not scared of him – why the fuck would I be scared of him? I loved him so much I would have died for him and now he’s gone and he shouldn’t be, he should be here – Sarah would be happier with him, someone strong and steady, not some loser who hid from her for a year!”

Those white eyes are wide in shock, though they are mentally entwined and David thinks it had to have known… but then, he hadn’t known Punisher was angry about his nightmares until it spoke, either.

“Everything he did he did for your survival. For you, David.”

“Yeah, so you say! Maybe you’re just fucking with me, trying to make me happy – gotta make those brain chemicals, right? Make it comfy in here for you, right?”

He regrets saying it even as he says it, his own eyes widening at the surge of hurt and upset he feels wash through him, followed by a coiled sort of anger. All at once he’s slammed back into the futon, and he can’t move; Punisher looms in front of him, dangerous teeth on gruesome display. For all that it always seems to be grinning, there’s nothing amused about it’s visage now.

lmao just... god, being so nicely bonded and still having this kind of miscommunication is Good. They’re still alien to one another, especially in emotional experience. David saying something ugly and regretting it even as he’s saying it. Being able to feel how hurtful the words are to Punisher. Punisher rising up righteous in retaliation.

“What was that he said?”

Again, like an instant replay, Frank’s eyelids fluttering, his back pressed against the cold tiles of the shower they’d used in that hellish basement, his hand squeezing just slightly as he moans David’s name.

“Ah, that’s right. You, he was thinking about you.”

The words are so smug yet so bitter – Punisher proving a point.

Did i make it obvious yet how Frank loved David more than Punisher?

Frank could have gone after anyone. That Karen woman, hell, he could have been thinking about Sarah and it would have been more understandable, but he wasn’t. He was thinking about David, he wanted David, yearned for him, and David – oh, David was lost in that revelation.

“You think I was was lying? Manipulating you?”

It’s accusatory, mocking, but David knows he deserves it. Punisher would not, maybe could not have lied, he understands that now. But still he can’t move, can only shiver when the symbiote makes a soft sound, a click of the tongue maybe, and then his legs slowly part. He has no control over it, but he makes no effort to stop it, nor does he stop his hands when they move to shimmy down his pajama pants. His breath hitches and Punisher shushes him, nuzzling against his cheek.

“He wanted you. Loved you. Wanted you happy, David. So let’s be happy.”

How about now?

Also I rarely :eyes emoji: at my own work, but... :eyes emoji:.

David only realizes tears are leaking out of him when Punisher hums, leaning in to lick them away. “No, David, no tears. We are happy like this.”

The weirdest part of it all is, he is, and it’s not just fuck-happy, it’s genuine, bone-deep, actual joy.

I just dig the idea of Punisher comforting David, telling him not to cry.

You have me I have him all of him in me so you have him too

Romantic!!! Sweet!! I REALLY LIKE THIS LINE.

#meme me baby #director's commentary meme #saulsgoodman

1 note · View note

thedeviljudges · 6 years

Text

for @hoppnhorn and from this tweet + tags: there’s a man sitting at barnes & nobles rn & his wife keeps bringing him books to hold and saying “oh just one more” and he looked at me and said “she can get the whole store and i’ll carry it for her.”

Billy doesn’t like surprises.

Scratch that. He loathes them, and Steve knows there are very good reasons for the anxiety that wells in Billy’s chest when something is sprung on him at the last minute. So, when Steve had asked him if they could go somewhere together – no guesses and no reveals – Billy had sent him a trepid stare that revealed much more than he would’ve liked to have admitted.

But as it stands, Billy sweeps his gaze across the room, and his thoughts swing from this is a joke; it’s got to be a fucking joke to the haunted thought that this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me; fuck you, Harrington.

He doesn’t know what to say, feels an awful lot like a fool for standing at the front of the store without losing himself to the massive amounts of shelves that litter the space. Billy finds that he’s stuck, boots like sandbags against the floor, and it doesn’t help that Steve’s staring at him with doe eyes, trying his best to gauge Billy’s reaction.

Thing is, Billy doesn’t even know what his overall feelings on the matter are, but he does know that his breath catches, and he may or may not feel the thick of tears at the corner of his eyes when he takes in the store from the highest vantage point they’ve got.

They’re standing in a recycled book shop, building full of used books, bins and shelves decorated with color and mustiness that only comes with ageing paper and creased spines. Billy might even say it smells a bit like mothballs, but the quality of air doesn’t compare to the way his chest tightens when he realizes that Steve thought about him, was considerate enough to do so amidst the effort and worry over whether Billy would freak out over the gesture.

“You don’t have to do this,” is what Steve is saying. They’re next to each other, shoulder-to-shoulder, with Steve’s sweater brushing against his leather jacket, looking so out of place and possibly suspicious the longer they stand in front of the door that had chimed as soon as they’d walked in. “I thought it’d be better if you had something to do, you know? You’re always re-”

“Anything?” Billy interrupts, sending Steve an apologetic smile when he snaps his mouth shut. The nerves the other boy feels are tangible, the anxiety radiating off of him tenfold because he’d planned this for Billy with the hopes that maybe, just maybe, he’d like it.

Billy doesn’t really know how to tell him how much he actually loves it.

“Anything you want,” Steve answers, the corner of his mouth slowly curving into a sheepish smile. “I’d buy you the whole store if you asked.”

It’s so sappy that Billy shudders at the tone of Steve’s voice, the sincerity Billy derided long before he learned that Steve always means every word he ever says. He laughs, though, just a huff that makes his nose scrunch and the corner of his eyes crinkle in mirth. If he could, he’d take Steve’s hand in his, squeeze their palms together in a familiar gesture when he can’t find the words he wants to use to let Steve knows he cares.

But even without the ability to do that now, Steve already gets it. He gives Billy a gentle nod of understanding, reminiscent of Billy’s mother and the notion that he hadn’t thought anyone would ever replicate the general kindness she emanated.

That thought alone leaves him tender and raw underneath the mask of nonchalance he’s reveled in for so long.

“How much time we got?”

Steve shrugs, brows lifting along with the movement. “As much as you need.”

There’s guilt somewhere deep in his chest at the thought of Steve wasting his time dawdling behind Billy while he succumbs to the creeping excitement over the striking amount of literature at his fingertips. It’s the same awareness he basks in when he lingers in the library after a rough day, fingers ghosting over the jackets, which crinkle under the pressure.

But Billy also reminds himself that Steve brought him here, purposefully decided that taking Billy to an old, dusty bookshop was worth the time, was worth his time. “You’re sure about this?” Billy asks just in case, but he can see the ease in Steve’s shoulders and the thrum of elation that spreads so easily across his features. Steve may not be a bookworm, but he loves the fact that Billy is.

“I know a library is probably more practical,” Steve says as Billy finally draws them into the shop. There’s not many people in today, and the kid running register looks bored as hell reading through the local newspaper, but Steve’s voice fits quite nicely with the atmosphere: warm and scrupulous under the low lighting, illuminating only what’s most important, “but I know you love your mother’s copy of As I Lay Dying, and I thought used books, well-”

To which Billy pauses, keeps his eyes on Steve as he plucks a random book off the shelf, observing the cover both front and back, before returning it to the same spot he’d found it in. “Harrington-”

“-they tell a story of their own. We could go somewhere else, though.”

“Harrington,” Billy tries anew, but Steve’s on a tangent of nerves again, the kind that Billy doesn’t like because it means that Steve’s doubting himself.

“They could be new if-”

“Harrington,” he finally says, undercuts Steve by reaching for his wrist. They’re between two bookshelves that tower over them, and no one else is in the aisle, so Billy takes advantage of what little privacy they have, doesn’t even think about hesitating as he pulls the boy flush against his body. “It’s perfect,” he says, noticing how easy it slips off his tongue. Billy cups the underside of Steve’s jaw, thumb rubbing small circles into his skin that not only eases the tension, but becomes an excuse just to touch Steve.

He’s incredibly tepid under Billy’s touch, going soft underneath his efforts. The brown of Steve’s eyes turns a little hazy as they stand there staring. Billy steals a kiss, short and sweet and realizes he likes the way Steve hums in return, a pleased purr following the delicate flush of his cheeks.

It doesn’t take much more than Billy grinning impishly for Steve to regain his bearings, pulling away from him as he clears his throat. “You’re such a menace,” Steve says as he pushes past Billy.

They take their time, Billy admiring nearly every book as they past shelf after shelf. Some of them he recognizes, while others he doesn’t, but he pulls them off the shelf, examines them, and then decides if it’s a keeper. In the meantime, Steve watches Billy with a fluidity he’s only seen a few times in his life – playing basketball, during sex. Billy handles each book with care despite the fact that some are falling apart at the seams. They’re old, don’t cost more than a couple of cents, but he acts as if every single piece matters.

“It’s not too many, is it?” Billy assures, glancing back at Steve who’s become the basket. Books are piled in his hands, overflowing to the point where he’s not sure if he’ll be able to hold another even if Billy tried to deposit one carefully.

But that’s not what Billy refers to when he takes a few from Steve’s hands, holds them in his own, licks his lips and stares at every book like he regrets his choices.

“You’ll read them all, right?” Steve asks, knows that some of the classics, the stories even he’s heard of, are burning holes right through his arms.

“Yes,” Billy says without pause, blinks back at Steve with owlish eyes that let him know the absurdity of the question.

“Then it’s never enough,” Steve supplies, manages to find a near-empty shelf to set everything on. Billy helps him, restacks the books so they’re neatly aligned and much easier to carry, and even then, he treats each book with just as much care as his mother taught him to.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” Billy ends up blurting with the abysmal reflection that he was long past the point of feeling remorse. There aren’t a lot of things that get under Billy’s skin anymore, but sometimes things still do. In the wake of Steve’s kindness, this sorta feels like a little too much.

“Save it, Hargrove,” Steve insists, abruptly ending Billy’s tumultuous thoughts. He’s bundled all of the books close to his chest as if he knows exactly what Billy’s thinking, and it’s difficult not to come to the conclusion that he looks like a child unwilling to share.

It effectively stops Billy from sliding a few out of the stack to quietly place back on the shelf. “You fight dirty,” he mumbles, arms crossing over his chest in an attempt to look upset.

It doesn’t work, however, when Steve snorts and says, “It’s either this or me picking out an assortment all on my own.” He gives Billy a pointed look, a don’t argue one if Billy were gauging correctly, and then he continues, “We both know how well that would go. I’d like for you to not laugh at me for my choices in reading material. Thank you.”

“Alright,” Billy gives in, watches as Steve relaxes, handing him an entire stack like he’s trusting Billy not to run off with them. “But this is it, then. You’re not buying me anything else.”

There’s a glimmer in Steve’s eye, one that’s up to no good, and Billy knows it means the opposite of what he’s asked, even if he doesn’t want to admit it to himself because the, “Okay,” that slips from Steve’s lips definitely says one thing while everything about him says something else.

Billy doesn’t press it, however, knows better than anyone that Steve is just as stubborn as he is.

“Thank you,” he murmurs a few minutes later after Steve’s paid. The plastic bags are in his hand, heavy weights holding him hostage to the fact that Steve is everything he could’ve dreamed of and more.

He hopes his mother would’ve thought so, too.

Instead of shrugging Billy off or pretending he hadn’t heard his admission - both of them knowing that Billy doesn’t often do saccharine - Steve climbs into the car and waits for Billy to follow. “You’re welcome,” he says after a beat, when the heat is turned up and the slush from the light snowfall begins to disintegrate from the windows.

Billy rubs his hands together to warm them up, and despite the fact that they’re in a public parking lot, he leans in close to Steve, reaches for his hand before pressing his lips to the pink of Steve’s knuckles.

Steve, with everything he’s got in him, smiles beautifully.

#harringrove #i gotta come back and edit this but fjlaskdf i tried #this took me all day... like wyd noel slow poke

182 notes · View notes