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anathewierdo · 3 years

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Call of the Ocean Chapter 41: Merlaw 101

CEO!Mechanic!Dean Winchester x Mermaid!Female!Reader

Word count: 5808

Chapter Summary: Everything is changing in Sindarta for the better. Plans are set for the future and Thasman gets closer to being king. Dean, Roan and the King awaken.

Series Summary: CEO of Winchester Auto Dean Winchester has had enough of the office life. With his father keeping him from what he wants to do, which is work on the plant floor, Dean decides to leave for a quiet life. In Matagorda, Texas, he finds something he never thought he would, a chance encounter with a mythical creature.

Call of the Ocean Masterlist

A/N: I am so, so sorry for the delay. This series is a collaboration with @flamencodiva . Text dividers made by the awesome @talesmaniac89

“The council has overstepped its grounds!” Thasman growled, his previously carefully contained anger exploding out of him in waves of incredulity at how the council was so cold to his mother. “Calling a meeting while the King is healing and the Princess is doing what she can for the kingdom!” he looked around the room at the familiar faces. “You are cowards! Just like the leech that tried to take over our kingdom!”

Their faces mostly showed offence, though a couple of the councilmen had the decency to show some shame. From his far side, he heard one of them shout: “You insolent, outrageous bastard!”

“Bite your tongue!” Thasman spat and glared at him. “On what grounds are you trying Liara?”

Tasman looked at Thames before looking back at the council.

“That is not her name!” another voice called. “She has lied to this kingdom. She is the Princess Thames, who abandoned her tournament!”

“And she has compensated Sindarta by taking over as the scroll keeper for the past twenty six years!” The merman argued back.

“Convenient,” another said. “That she were to appear after you were left at the castle gates. And here you are with a mark on your neck, proof of her treachery.”

“But didn’t she risk her life by going to our allies in search of aid in this dark time that had fallen over Sindarta?” He defended, “Did she not risk her life every day avoiding Michael’s claws while you, honorable members of the council, were hiding like cowards in some dark cave in waiting for someone to come and get you? She has done more than you ever did! Hiding did not give the Sindartan people their home back, her risking everything to tend to the King in his agony and get help did!”

“Shackle him,” one of the members said. “He is proof of her indiscretions towards the kingdom.”

“Gentlemermen please,” one of the councilmembers said. “Thasman is loyal to our kingdom and he is right. Thames, in the guise of Liara, has saved our kingdom. Besides, I have said for years that the tournaments are nothing but trouble.”

“The tournaments form part of the most ancient merlaw!”

“And yet only the Princess’s are put through as prizes,” a council merwoman argued. “I am here replacing my father and even I can see it is outdated.”

“King Nereus underwent his own tournament in his days!” another argued. “Princes all over the ocean do as well!”

“And he was not treated as a Prize! The merwomen went through their trials but he ultimately made the choice,” She reminded them. “The merwomen did not fight themselves, they had a series of tests.”

“And the suitors were barely allowed to even look at our Princess.”

“Really?” Thasman called out. “Because I remember Michael trying to corner the Princess every chance he had. And if I wasn’t there to protect her then who knows what he would have done to her?!”

“Be that as it may,” another member interrupted. “She must be punished for running from her duty. And be lucky Your Highness,” he looked at Thasman. “That we won’t give you the same fate. It is not your fault that she lied, and you have serviced our kingdom well.”

“So has she!”

The member at the center of the large semicircular table banged on top of it.

“The council will now place judgment on the Princess Thames. Her crime,” he said, staring at Thasman. “Abandoning her duty and having a child out of her marriage duty.”

“Let it be me who reminds you, members of the council: Whatever you decide must go through whoever is ruling our kingdom before being official. Once the King wakes up or the Princess is fit enough to take over in the meantime, your decision will most likely be overruled. You help rule this kingdom, but you are not the ones who have the final word.”

“The council will vote and reconvene when the King awakens,” the head member said as he banged on the table and concluded the meeting.

Thasman swam to his mother and pulled her into his arms. “The King is not going to stand for this,” he whispered to her. “He will not let their judgment stand.”

She nodded against his shoulder. “Thank you, Thasman.”

“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s head back to the medical wing.”

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Inside the medical wing, the Princess was moving between the three beds that held those she held dear to her heart. While her father was conscious for his healing, Roan and Dean were still under the influence of the jellyfish sting.

The Princess never left Dean’s side for too long. She would run her fingers through his hair, then trace his face, and place gentle kisses on his skin, all while praying to any of the gods that were listening to spare him, to punish her for failing in protecting her kingdom, not the man she loved.

The sound of a merfolk swimming their way snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts, believing it was another medic coming to check in on Dean, but saw Thasman instead, heading directly to his love’s bed, who was still, unfortunately for Thasman, unconscious.

Aunt Thames had come in a mere two minutes before him, having settled beside Nereus’ bed. As soon as he had taken Roan’s limp hand in his, Thasman gave each mermaid a slight bow in greeting.

“How are they doing?” he asked a young medic who was nearby. His eye’s roamed over Roan’s tail and sighed in relief when he noticed they fixed the tear in his fin.

“The balm is already working wonders on most of their injuries, but even with that we suggest to not rush into anything.”

“I just want him to wake up,” Thasman whispered as he squished momentarily Roan’s hand in his and kissed his fiance’s knuckles. Y/N’s heart cracked a bit at the sight in sympathy. “Tell me,” he licked his lips. “Are the people really happy I’m here?”

“In this room alone, every medic is,” The medic assured. “He will wake up in a few hours, once the balm and jellyfish stings’ effects run out. We’ll give him something to eat and put him under again until we know for sure the worst of his injuries have healed.”

“Thank you,” Thasman said as the young medic swam away.

Thasman kissed Roan’s lips before placing his forehead against his. The Captain of the Guard, now prince, ran his thumb across the sleeping merman’s cheek. He got back up and ran a hand across his face before looking at his mother and cousin.

“I need to go to the training ground,” he muttered in apology before leaving the medical wing.

YN only sighed. Surely, Thasman’s heart was just as (if not more) wounded as hers. She gave her aunt a sad smile, attempting to be reassuring. “He just needs time. As soon as Roan wakes up, he’ll be better.”

“I hope you’re right, sweetshell.”

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Dean let out a groan as he tried to move. But everything began to sting and he hissed slightly. His eyes fluttered open and he tried to focus on where he was, but the world was too bright and it was just easier to keep them closed. His body felt stiff and heavy. The phantom pain of the things Michael did still resounded and he never thought he would ever be so happy to feel his tail twitching.

He was alive. Fuck, he was alive.

“I’m so sorry,” Y/N whispered. Her eyes focused on his hand in hers. “This is all my fault.”

He was sure that if they were back on land he would feel her tears. He wanted to shout that it wasn’t her fault. That Michael was a monster and he would have put himself in danger to keep her safe.

“Please wake up and tell me you’re okay,” she pleaded. “I don’t care if you hate me. I already hate myself. But please be okay.”

Dean’s throat felt closed up. Speaking seemed like something impossible to accomplish. Hell, moving was.

He managed to give Y/N a light squeeze on her hand, making his girlfriend gasp and squeeze his hand tighter.

It’s not your fault! he kept yelling in his head. I promise.

It took a while for his body to function properly. At first, when Y/N noticed he was waking up, she kept apologizing, begging him to forgive her for not being able to protect him from Michael… turns out, whatever they gave him also made his brain foggy, because he ended up slurring things between “s’ok” and “I love you” like those were the only words he’d ever been taught to say. Next thing he knew he could move his head and open his eyes and smile goofily through the brain fog to Y/N, eventually playing in front of her with his sleepy extremities and giggling like a small child at being able to lift his arms and move his fingers. His tail was taking longer than expected, but at least he’d regained enough control to somewhat move it without getting hurt.

Y/N found him to be so adorable she was giggling right along with him.

When the fog had cleared and he felt somewhat normal again, a medic interrupted their conversation before it could even begin, saying how Dean needed to eat so they could put him back to sleep.

He didn’t want to sleep. Sleeping meant not being able to tell Y/N this wasn’t her fault.

Y/N compromised, telling the doctor she would feed him and then help them put him back under… hmmm… under… he was still underwater with who knows how much time left to reach the surface and breathe oxygen. He watched as a female medic brought Y/N a tray full of colorful foods. He could only guess it was fish and what Roan had described as live coral while they were in the dungeon.

“It’s not as good as Ellen’s food,” Y/N said apologetically. “But, it’s going to help you regain your strength and counteract the effects of the dead coral you were fed.”

Dean simply gave her a lazy smile.

“Sounds yummy,” He slurred.

His hand was squeezed once more before Y/N helped him to sit up gently.

“You’ll be happy to know that there is salmon in here. Just like Sashimi you showed me back home,” she whispered. She was scared of making him angry. It was bad enough he was here because of her. “Let me know if there is anything you don’t want to eat.”

“And miss out on eating coral that won’t drug me?” He shook his head lightly. “No way.”

Y/N gave him a thin lipped smile, “here you go,” she pulled a piece of fresh coral and placed it on his lips.

“Whaf’s wrong?” He asked, his mouth full of coral.

“I’m scared about how long you have before the pendant’s magic turns you back,” she whispered. “We need to make sure you get back home in time.” She reached for a piece of salmon and offered it to him.

Dean gave her a comforting look as he chewed away sloppily the salmon. “I’ll be alright. We can just swim upwards to the surface if the necklace magic goes away.”

“If I wasn’t so selfish this wouldn’t have happened to you,” she whispered.

“Wrong,” he countered.

“Dean,” she sighed. “If I hadn’t been obsessed with wanting to not be a princess and gone to see you all those months ago, this never would have happened.” She grabbed another piece of fish, this time tuna, and held it out to him. “Eat, you need your strength.”

“You wanted to live your life. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Y/N bit her lip as she let Dean’s words sink in. She couldn’t help but shake her head at them though, “Dean--”

“Not budging on this, Y/N,” he said, reaching up to try and caress her cheek but failing. “I would do it all again if it meant you stayed in my life. None of this was your fault,” he let his fingers reach for hers. “Don’t think for a second that what that monster did was your fault.”

“I can’t help it. If I had just let you go you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Y/N/N,” he chuckled. “Dal em woolbul my hhu-hng.” (you are in my heart). He looked at her and smiled brighter. “Dal em my hhu-hng.” (You are my heart.)

“I’m not sure if I should be.” She confessed. “While you were gone, I just kept going back to the thought that maybe I shouldn’t have gone to the garage that day, and just not… say anything.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” Dean said as he winced getting up. “You have made me happier than anyone I have ever known. And forget what that monster did. Because I would rather it had been me than you. If I could distract him from your dad and have him hurt me more it’s worth it. Even with Roan, I tried to have him focus on me as much as I could.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“Sweetheart,” Dean breathed. “I’m sure if our positions were switched you would do the same. So please, for me, know that I love you and I am not letting go.”

Y/N bit her lip and nodded as she looked at him, “Alright.” Reaching for another piece of fish she looked at him. “Let's get you fed,” she said softly. “They need to put you under to heal you some more.”

A groan from a few feet away startled them out of their conversation. A couple of medics flew by Y/N and she saw as they started to talk to an agitated, but barely moving Roan.

“Thasman? Where is he?” He slurred. He winced in pain trying to get up. “I need my stingray. Where is he?”

“Don’t move too much, please.” A medic pleaded.

“I’ll be right back, Dea,” she swam the few feet towards Roan’s bed, right by his side in no time. “Roan, Thasman is ok. He’ll be here soon.”

“I want to see him,” Roan tried to sit up, growling in pain as he tried to look around. “Thasman!” he cried.

“Dathan,” Y/N called.

“Yes, Highness?” He asked as he bowed.

“Go get Thasman, and tell him to hurry!” She ordered as she tried to calm Roan. “Please, Roan, he’ll be here soon. I promise, he’s fine.”

A tray identical to Dean’s was brought to them by another one of the medics. Y/N didn’t miss how one of them had a jellyfish ready in his hands to put Roan back down.

“Where is he?” He slurred.

“Dathan is going to fetch him, he’s in the training ground,” Thames said as she swam up to him, holding her hand up to stop the medic. “Roan, please calm.”

The merman seemed to give up. His head flopped back in the bed, scrunching his eyes closed. “Michael?”

“Captured,” Thames said, “Held in chains in the dungeons as we speak,” she ran her fingers through Roan’s short hair. “Thasman called you his fiance in front of the whole kingdom when he saved you.”

Roan’s eyes seemed to pop in surprise as he gasped. “He did?”

Before Thames could say anything more, the doors to the medical wing opened to reveal Thasman. His high bun was messy from training and his eyes searched for the person that had called for him. He found his mother and could feel his heart swell with happiness at the sight of Roan awake.

“Feenhoom,” Thasman let out as he swam quickly towards Roan.

The medics, Princess Thames, and Y/N backed away as Thasman wrapped his arms around Roan. The Merman's shoulders shook as he cried onto Roan’s neck.

“I was so scared I was going to lose you,” he whispered as he pushed up and held Roans face in his hands. “I couldn’t sleep without you. I kept having visions of what that eel was doing to you,” he paused and placed his lips on Roan’s. “I thank Poseidon you’re alive.”

“I’m alright,” his fiance breathed back, trying and failing to get his arms to move so he could hug his Stingray back. “You succeeded. I’m alright now.”

“I don’t know what I would have done if I didn’t get here in time,” he croaked. “I love you Roan. You are mine and I would never be able to live with myself if that eel took your life.” Thasman took the blade in his hand and presented it to Roan. “We are getting married, and you will be my king,” he whispered.

“I am?”

Y/N watched as Thasman straightened his shoulders and looked at everyone in attendance in the room, “I am Thasman Kai,” He began. “Captain of the Royal Guard, Protector of the Princess, Winner of the Tournament,” he paused to take a deep breath. “I am the son of Thames, Princess of Sindarta, sister to King Nereus. And Roan is my betrothed.”

All around the medical wing, the princess could see merpeople smiling at her cousin and his love. Her father was still unconscious and probably would be for a little while. Y/N observed as Roan, on the other hand, looked down at the dagger and smiled.

"I should have done more to protect you, Roan," Thasman said, before licking his lips. "And I will do everything in my power to make up for not getting to you sooner."

“Noy your fault, Thas.”

“Thasman that is enough,” Thames said gently as she placed her hand on her sons’ shoulder. “Why don’t you help Roan eat so that the medics can put him back to sleep to heal. You and I will head to the archive room, there are things we must look up,” she turned to face Y/N. “You too, sweetshell.”

“What kind of things?” Thasman asked as he proceeded to feed Roan.

“Just some things on merlaw, nothing serious.” Thames said with a small shrug.

After Roan and Dean finished their meals, the medics were ready to put them back to sleep. Thasman kissed and caressed Roan, promising to be back later. Y/N did the same with Dean, hoping that when they got back to Matagorda everything would be okay. Once Dean and Roan were put back to sleep, Thasman, Y/N and Thames made their way to the archives.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

“We’ve been at this for hours,” Y/N said as she put down another scroll.

“Mother, I read the scrolls on merlaw for a long time for Y/N’s tournament. I would have found something about abdication.”

Thames sighed as she swam up to a high shelf and grabbed a few more scrolls. “There has to be--” she paused and smiled. “I found it!” she grabbed the scroll and swam down towards Y/N and Thasman. “Here, the golden scroll of the five royal children during the time of King Peredious.”

“What about them?”

“This has to do with how Nereus gained the throne when I left,” she explained. “You see, Peredious’s eldest child was a princess.” she opened the scroll in front of them. “She didn’t want to rule. So she proposed abdication to one of her brothers.”

“Didn’t you simply disappear?”

“And in my disappearance,” Thames said. “I never officially abdicated. If Nereus overrules the council’s decision, then technically, I am Queen.” She pointed out. “Even without my tournament, I had an heir,” She turned her gaze to Thasman.

“So then--” Y/N looked at the scroll and smiled at her aunt. “It makes Thasman the true king?”

“And because he won the tournament,” she smiled. “He solidified his place as heir. Since I have kept his father a secret,” she continued. “Many will just assume that he was a merman who died if I tell them so.”

“So this… this could actually work. But do you think my father will support this idea?”

“We will have to wait until he wakes and is healed to ask,” Thames sighed. “And unfortunately we do not have a lot of time.”

“What do you mean, mother?” Thasman asked.

“Dean,” Thames reminded them. “We have no idea how long the pendant’s magic will allow him to be a merman.”

“We’re leaving for Matagorda as soon as he wakes up again,” Y/N promised. “I’m not risking him changing back while we’re here.”

“I think I can try and use magic to speed up the process,” Thames muttered as she swam towards the back of the archives. “Before we moved to science and logic,” she began to explain. “Our kingdom was very versed in magic. We still are but I think we have lost some of the knowledge along the way in favor of advancement, but I think we can bring it back.”

“That’s how you found out about Y/N’s cuff?”

Thames nodded, “And this one,” she lifted another one. “I had to swim into another cavern in an ancient ruin to find it.” She swam up to them with a scroll labeled healing. “I think I can find a way to teach the medics to tap into the ancient magic to quicken the healing process.” she turned to Thasman and caressed his cheek. “I will do everything I can to make everything right, my guppy.”

“I know you will, mom,” he said as he kissed her forehead.

“Come,” Thames said to her son and niece. “We must get to the medical wing and show them.”

“Will they be able to do it?” Y/N asked worriedly.

“Not to worry,” Thames assured her. “All you must do is follow my instructions and everything will be alright.”

And as they found themselves once again in the medical room, they came to the view of the King himself, trying to sit up in his bed and asking for the medics to give him something for an ache on his fin. When he turned in their direction, expecting some medic but finding his daughter, sister and nephew instead, he gave a smile as big as it could get, motioning and calling for them to come over. Y/N found herself next to his bed in no time, her relief practically palpable as she all but vibrated with the effort it took to restrain herself from hugging her father.

“My sea star,” he breathed in awe, “you’re okay. You’re home. I would hug you–”

“Do not risk it, father. You are still healing.”

“I know. Could you hold my hand instead, please?”

The Princess watched as he turned his hand with some difficulty, smiling as she took it in her own. “Of course.”

Nereus looked behind her, now smiling tiredly to the rest of their family.

“And my sister and nephew are alright as well.”

“Michael is to face trial and execution in the kingdom of Zenara,” Thasman informed.

“Excellent news.”

“Thasman prevented the council from banishing me,” Thames added.

“Even better news,” The King nodded, proud. “I missed you, sea star. So so much.”

“I did too, father.” Y/N choked out.

“Nereus,” Thames said gently. “Lay back and let me heal you.”

“Thames--” Nereus began but closed his mouth when his sister gave him a glare.

“Yeah,” Thasman sighed. “She does that to me too, uncle.”

“I must say, hearing you call me that is strange. But good.” Nereus said as he smiled at his nephew.

Y/N swam back and away from the bed as she watched her aunt assess her father's body. Y/N’s eyes took in the missing scales and the tear in his fin. She could only imagine the pain her father went through as Michael tortured him.

“Nereus,” Thames said, “I need you to lay all the way down before I proceed.”

“You are not a medic, dear sister.” He huffed, doing as he was told anyways.

“And you forgot that I have access to all the knowledge available on our people,” she chidded. “Now let me concentrate.”

“Still not a medic.”

Thames rolled her eyes as she held her hands out over Nereus’s tail. Y/N and Thasman watched as Thamse’s hands began to glow slightly as she moved them along his tail. It was nothing short of a small miracle as some of the scars began to fade. Thames’ hands made their way down towards his fin. The tear that Michael had caused began to close. And Thames looked over to the medics.

“I can teach you how to tap into this magic,” She said. “This is something lost to us, but we can have it again.”

The King looked to his tail in astonishment. “Thames… when did you learn this?”

“I spent years in the archives. Did you not think I wouldn’t find secrets that would benefit the kingdom?” Thames turned to her brother. “We all must talk. Y/N has something to tell you and I have found a solution to help her get what she wants.”

Nereus lifted himself up, looking at the medics who were now surrounding his bed. “Can one of you check if I’m in good enough condition to leave?”

Two merpeople (including the head of the medical quarters) swam to check the King immediately. The head medic turned back to the rest of their team, ordering them to go back to their assigned patients. A few moments later, the head medic and their partner were as surprised as the King, informing the royal family that his injuries were mostly healed, but wanted him to not strain too much while swimming.

“Mind helping me, sea star?”

Instead of answering, Y/N helped him get out of his bed, taking one of his arms across her shoulders before starting to swim towards the quarter’s doors.

“Father,” she said gently. “There is something you should know about Dean,” she glanced back at him as he continued to sleep under the jellyfish sting influence.

“I already know, sea star,” he whispered to her. “Let us head to the archives and talk. I want to know everything.”

Y/N looked at her father, eyes full of fear, “You know?”

“No merman speaks the way he does. He is not… quite normal.”

“Father I am so sorry for betraying your trust,” she whispered. “But I am not fit to be queen. And I --” she licked her lips nervously. “I love him.”

“I suppose so.” The King hummed. “Now, we will discuss that, but all in due time. At least wait until we’ve arrived at the archives.”

Y/N simply nodded as she helped guide him to the archives. Once there, Y/N helped her father sit on one of the chairs. She wasn’t sure if he was angry with her. She knew that after her mother's death things had changed.

“Your mother,” he sighed. “Loved the surface. I would go with her and we would explore. Of course this was before your aunt ran away,” he explained. “I knew Thames would visit the surface to see what it was about and saw when she met the human. She doesn’t know I knew.”

Beside him, said mermaid gasped in surprise and offence. “Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

“You were so secretive about what you were doing there. And so protective of that human, that I just didn’t. You never told me anything either.” He scolded softly.

“I thought you would try to turn me against him,” she accused. “It would have been nice to know that you knew then maybe I would have had a chance with Robert!” Thames hissed. “Nereus, you went to the surface with Nereida to look for me, didn’t you? That’s how she got into the accident.”

“I did look for you. I did go to your human’s home, but I went alone. I wasn’t going to risk Nereida if he’d been responsible for your disappearance. He answered the door with a bottle and red eyes. He was innocent. And if you were not with him, I assumed you weren’t in that human city at all. I thought you had gone someplace else.”

“I stayed on my own until I gave birth to Thasman in the cave,” she admitted. “But then how did Nereida get hurt by the humans if she didn’t go with you?”

Nereus gave a frustrated sigh. “I’m a jellyfish. We didn’t know there was a cave. We went to human land during the night and arrived by the beach.”

“I remember you leaving and saying it was to visit a distant pod,” Thames said. “You went back to look for me? Why? Nereus, you should have forgotten about me!”

“Maybe. But I did not want to. I should have just begged Nereida to stay with Y/N back at the time.” He smiled sadly. “Too late now. And it wasn’t until Nereida’s predicament happened, that I stopped looking.”

“Father,” Y/N said as she looked at him. “You said she died because humans hurt her. But you never said how.”

“We were not as careful as I thought we were. A human saw us crawl out of the waves. He followed us around and decided that he would be rich if he had at least one of us captured. We tried to run all the way from the town to the ocean and he had an advantage. A human weapon. There was a bang, Nereida screamed. The human was already celebrating having damaged one of us. Sereia and I barely made it out alive as well… Your mother couldn’t make it to the castle gates.”

“Oh, Nereus,” Thames said as she placed her hand to her mouth. “I--,” she swam back and found herself against the wall. “Its my fault. Everything is all my fault.” She looked to her brother, shaking with guilt.

“Nonsense!” The King bellowed. “I will not listen to you blame yourself for that. It was not your fault.”

Thames shook her head as she placed her hand on her heart as she looked at her brother. “How could you sit there and say it is not my fault? How-- how can you stand to look at me.”

“Mother,” Thasman said gently. “What the human did to the queen is not your fault,” he pulled her in and ran his fingers through her hair. “The king doesn’t blame you. Your brother doesn’t blame you for what happened.”

“The leech who enjoyed hunting us down is the one to blame for my Queen’s death. Not your affair with that human of yours.”

“Father,” Y/N took in a shaky breath. “Does this mean I can never see Dean again?” She looked down at her hands and let out a sniffle. “I know mother being hurt by the human was hard. I love him father, I really do. But--” she shook her head. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

“Bah,” he waved a hand dismissively. “I am sure we can reach some sort of agreement. You, him and I.”

“But, father,” Y/N said as she looked at her father. “He’s--”

“No different than we are,” Nereus sighed. “Look at what Michael has done? How is that any different than what the human did to your mother?” He placed his hand on Y/N’s cheek. “My sea star, that human in the medical wing loves you. I have not seen someone stand up to Michael the way he did. He drew Michael to him and denied knowing you.”

“They are disgustingly sweet to one another,” Thasman teased. “You should see how he fawns over her, uncle.”

“Is he really good to you?” the King queried his daughter. “Love sometimes can be… not healthy. He doesn’t have any ulterior motives, does he? One thing is what I see, but it’s another thing what you see, sea star.”

“He is perfect, father,” she said softly. “You see, he has shown me so many things. And, he is willing to learn our ways.” She smiled brightly, “he loves me father I can feel it in my soul.”

Nereus nodded softly, smiling at his daughter. “Alright… now, can somebody tell me what my daughter and nephew did in two months on the surface? Apart from getting themselves a human and cutting their hair.”

“Well Thasman proposed to Roan!” Y/N said with a smile. “And he learned to drive a car and fix them. He even has one.”

“Y/N and Roan work in a place called a diner!” Thasman returned and looked at his uncle. “You need to also try the food they have up there. Ellen makes this thing called lasagna and it is delicious!”

“From the beginning, please,” the King chuckled.

“No, wait. Nereus, there is something we must talk about. My unofficial abdication and your daughter’s wish to not rule over Sindarta.”

“After I have heard what my daughter and nephew have found out what they know of the surface,” The king said with a smile.

The king laughed at everything Thasman and Y/N had begun to tell the story starting from before the tournaments. Time had gone by with Thasman and Y/N filling them in on their trip to Zanara and Thasman telling his uncle his new found powers of communicating with the sea creatures. From Ellen, to Bobby, to how Dean and Y/N basically fell in sync and in love like they had spent years at it already, all the way to the food and even more. Eventually, they made it to the elephant in the room: Y/N’s abdication and how Thames had never completed hers.

“So I can overrule the council and you never abdicate, making you ruling royal.” Nereus said as he looked at his sister. “And it would make Thasman next in line for the throne,” he nodded. “I will do it. I would never let the council banish or kill you.”

All three merpeople breathed in relief at the King’s words. Thames swam to him, squeezing him in a hug. “Thank you.”

“But when it comes to the human,” he looked at his daughter. “I want to speak to him. I want to see for myself what he is made of and what his intentions are.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good. Now, if there is nothing else to say. I think it’s time that we finish some business with the council.”

Sooooooo?? What did y’all think?? :D

#dean x reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester #dean x mermaid!reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester x mermaid!reader #dean winchester angst #Dean Winchester fluff #dean winchester x you #mechanic dean #mechanic!dean x reader #mechanic!dean winchester #mermaid!au #mermaid!reader #Supernatural #supernatural fan fic #supernatural fanfiction

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caritobbg · 4 years

Text

Secret Love Song (Part 4)

A/N: So.... this is the end!!!! Hope you like it guys!! Sorry for my bad grammar, writing in English was never easy for me (even though I studied the language for almost 11 years HAHAHAHAHA) If you want me to write something else, feel free to tell me and I will try!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

--------------- Spencer POV’s

Rossi called me to speak at the bar, he was nervous. He had been talking to (Y / N) when the show started. I walked over and he asked me about what had happened with Kiara ... I was sorry I went out with her, she was a cute and sweet girl, we dated a few times but ... I couldn't do it ... I felt like I was betraying a part of me that He said "you are a fool, you do this only to forget how you feel about (Y / N), you are hurting her". I told him everything, I couldn't fool him, David Rossi was one of the best profilers in the world ...

"Do not worry child. Today is your chance to fix things ”he said smiling and looking back at the small stage that now had a black keyboard with yellowish keys from constant use. “… She will sing two incredible songs: one by the famous English band Little Mix, the second, an indistinct song that we will hear for the first time here live. Please give (Y / N) a loud applause !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ” "But... That’s... Is that..."

"Thanks Joey" she said smiling

(Y/N) began to talk a little with the whole audience and explain a little the first song that the girls talked about so much before. She looked beautiful in that burgundy dress, her black glasses ... she was beautiful! There are over 414,800 words in the English language and none came out of my mouth

"Speechless?" I heard Rossi say "Shut up ..." I said feeling a burning in my cheeks.

The music began as soon as the phrase ‘This is a shout out to my ex’ came out we looked towards where our unsub was. His face said it all, he knew that song was for him ... I was glad, on the one hand, that that idiot got the hint, why? He deserves it, he deserves everything he did to her and more! I'd like to put my hands around his neck and… what am I saying ?! Come on Spencer, control yourself, you can't do that ... take a deep breath ...

"He's enraged" I heard him say over the intercom in my ear "After the second song he will attack" said Emily "he will not stand idly by" "As soon as you do something we will stop it" I said moving a little closer to the stage and closer to the range of vision of (Y / N).

She danced, sang, ran through the room with a timing and harmony unmatched by any of the previous participants. Once it was over, I could hear Penelope yelling and clapping with all of us, it had really been impressive, I had never heard her sing.

"WOW!" I said surprised "What ..." "Thank you all!!!! That was fun, ”she said smiling and laughing; she started talking about the last song, there was something in her voice that she couldn't decipher. Desperately searching her gaze, she wanted to understand what she meant by everything she was saying, until ... "I dedicate it to ...".

Me…

With a few gentle movements on the keyboard, she began to sing. With every word she said, that came out of her mouth, my world was collapsing. I shouldn't have told her about Kiara, what's more, I shouldn't have dated her, my whole being belonged to (Y / N), my heart, my mind, everything. Tears began to flow from my eyes as soon as I heard the last verse and our eyes finally met among the entire sea of people.

“Why can't we be like that? Wish we could be like that”

The kiss… our first kiss… was the only thing I could think about right now. I told him it was a mistake and I convinced myself that it was just that, a simple mistake, an impulse of stupidity. I wanted to reach out and kiss her again, tell her that that kiss made me realize that I loved her.

"YOU ARE NOT GOING ANYWHERE"

Cameron put his arm around his neck and pointed his gun at his head, while we took aim at him and Hotch, Rossi, and Garcia pulled all the customers out of Joey's bar. We started talking to him and we had the "plan" to try to come to terms, but he kept saying that she hurt him, left him to pieces and things like that, he was really OBSESSED with (Y / N) and had no intention of letting her go. I could see she was up to something to get out of her mooring, I panicked realizing she wasn't going to get out of this unscathed once she started talking to her about Si Me Falta Tu Mirada, one of her favorite songs by the Italian band. Il Volo.

“Tengo en pausa el corazón, abrazado a nada, aferrado a nada… tengo ciega la ilusión, ya no hay mañana...”

Cameron started to drop her, we kept pointing; I managed to get (Y / N) to look at me and I felt my blood freeze when I could read that her lips said "I'm sorry"

"NO!"

Everything happened in slow motion. Three shots rang out: one from David's gun, the other two… from Cam's gun. I held her up before she hit the floor with a wound to the pit of her stomach and one to her chest.

“AGENT DOWN! SEND AN AMBULANCE! " I heard JJ say over the communicator.

“Please, stay with me (Y / N), stay with me” pressing to stop the bleeding “Hey, you'll be alright. Just… stay with me, ok? " "S ... Spence ..." closing her eyes "Open your eyes ... do not close them" "I ..." she started coughing letting a trickle of blood run from the corner of her mouth "Save your strengh, the ambulance is on it's way ..." she only smiled and closed her eyes saying i love you ... "Nonononono, please no !!!" putting a hand on her cheek "(Y / N) please, wake up, open your eyes"

"The ambulance is here !!" I felt someone screaming and grabbing my shoulders away from her when the paramedics approached. "Spence, she’ll be…" "I'm going with her" I said decided "Derek, I'm ..."

"We're loosing her!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 3rd POV’s

"We're loosing her!"

His world came to a complete stop when she heard that phrase: we are losing her. Derek and Emily took Spencer by the shoulders to slow him down as they tried to get into the ambulance with Penelope and Rossi. We are losing her. Losing ... if they didn't get to the hospital on time ...

Spencer was in automatic mode, she got into the truck covered in blood, her blood.

Derek climbed up with Emily and they started for the hospital. Her gaze was on the window, repeating the scene over and over again in her mind: her eyes were no longer full of life, her face pale as snow, her smile, her voice ... everything about her was fading.

"We're here" he heard and got out of the car almost running to later meet JJ and Hotch, who were already with Rossi and Penelope.

"How’s she? She’s ok? " Spencer said in a whisper "She is in surgery," Rossi mentioned, observing him carefully, "they will try to stabilize her." "Will they try?" while he sat between them with teary eyes and moving her leg "She lost too much blood"

Time passed slowly once the agonizing wait began. JJ, Derek and Rossi practically forced Spencer to get up to wash up and change the shirt he was wearing.

"I know what you're thinking" said Rossi taking a clean T-shirt out of his travel bag "it's not your fault, none of us knew that she would do that" "Nor that Cameron would shoot" Derek put a hand on his shoulder "I know it will be fine" "The last thing she said to me before closing her eyes was 'I love you'" closing his and crying "and I couldn't tell her" "Hey, she's going to get out of this and you'll tell her" Rossi said, standing in front of him next to Derek "and..." “Guys, the doctor’s here” the three of them ran after Hotch to find Dr. Yennefer Silva talking to the rest of her teammates.

"We managed to stabilize her, the chest wound was slight, the ribs managed to stop the impact ..." reviewing her papers "at the moment she is in the intensive care room until she wakes up ..." looking at them all "Can we see it?" Penelope said grabbing her bag "if that ..." "Sure, but only two persons at time" he finally said to guide them to the room where he was (Y / N)

Their gazes began to blur when they saw her on the bed. Pale skin, weak breathing, cables and machines around her, the sound of her heartbeat was the only thing that filled the ears of her friends.

The first to pass were Hotch and Rossi, then JJ and Emily, Derek and Penelope, and finally Spencer, who stared behind the glass for a few minutes trying to gather the courage to enter with (Y / N).

"Guys ..." before entering "did any of you record the song?" almost in a whisper “Yes, I did. I'll send it to you now ”Penelope said and then saw that she slowly entered the room and sat next to her.

Once with her, he took her hand caressing it with his thumb and little by little his eyes began to water again. He felt helpless, anguished, full of fear.

* Come on Spencer, it's now or never. It doesn't matter if she listens to you or not, if you have to repeat it again. You have to tell her that you love her, that Kiara is like a sister, no romanticism ... don't be a coward *

"20% of unconscious patients after surgery or induced in a coma can hear what the other person next to them says, since their brain still has a minimal functional consciousness. I hope you are part of that 20%, although I would not mind repeating it again "he said with a small laugh" what I meant by that is ... that I need to tell you something very important to me and I want you to know it. " he paused for a bit before continuing "remember ... when I said I was dating Kiara? Well… she confessed that she had feelings for me… at first I felt happy, then confused and overwhelmed, I told her that my heart belonged to another person with whom I had a very special bond ” a lump came to his throat before move on with his confession “that person is someone I started working with 1095 days, 4 hours and 20 seconds ago, who makes me laugh with his silly little jokes, who loves coffee, books, classical music and Queen so much like me." * Don't be a coward, say so. Do it at once !!!!!! * “It's you (Y / N). Your personality, your voice, your simplicity, intelligence, the joy that you radiate in each room you enter, your smile… all that and more was what made me realize that you are perfect for me. I'm in love with you. I love you more than anything in this world "on his cheeks he felt the tears that since he entered had been containing" I wish you were not in this state, I would give everything to go back in time and have avoided all this "he took out his phone, checked her messages without letting go of her hand and she found the video that she had asked Penelope for "the song ... the song you wrote made me realize that I am a great stupid, how much I hurt you when I told you about Kiara, how much I love you…"

The hours passed and he did not move from her side at any time. It played the song over and over at a low volume so that he could listen to it without having to be shut up by the passing nurses.

"Hey, Spence, why don't you go rest and eat a little, I'll stay with her" “Don't worry JJ. I'm not hungry." She said almost in a whisper. "Are you sure?" "Yes ..." JJ sat on the other side looking at her; her skin stopped being pale and began to acquire a little more color "I think in a few more hours she will wake up, she is no longer pale" her friend just looked at her "Emily told us she wrote that song on the jet" "If I had spoken before, none of this would be happening" still crying "it's my ..." Interrupting “Don't say that. She will wake up and they can be together "getting up and letting Rossi sit once they stopped talking to the doctor to let them all in" she is strong, she will get out of this, I know Reid "

A slight grip on her hand made her look away, she was waking up. Her heart was beating millions per second, the love of her life was fine! A smile crossed his lips when he saw her open her eyes.

"Hey guys" she said smiling and hoarse voice "Hey little kid" Rossi took her hand "you gave us a big scare" "You were brave trying to get Cameron to put down the gun" Derek stood at the foot of the stretcher "(Y / N / N) !!" Pen said entering with Emily "Oh God !!! I'm glad you woke up !!! " giving him a little hug "Guys, we should go to see the doctor and tell her that she's awake" said Hotch smiling at Reid

"Hey" said (Y / N) once everyone left "Hey ..." taking her hand again "I thought ... I would never see you again" "Spencer" wiping one of her tears "I would never leave your side" "(Y / N) I ... ammm ... I would like to tell you something" "I heard everything" leaving him speechless "R... really?" "Yes" as she tried to sit up with her help "and I must admit I feel silly to have been jealous of Kiara" feeling her cheeks burn Spencer let out a small laugh “So… after you are discharged… do you want to go out for coffee? I know a small bookstore with a cafeteria near my apartment that I had never told you about " "I accept" he said smiling and laughing; she paused when noticing how close they were to each other "Spence ..." "Shh ... don't say anything" and then press his lips next to hers.

The world stopped for a few moments. They looked forward to that kiss, it was as if the sun and the moon collided in a perfect eclipse of the sun on an autumn afternoon.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD" they both turned to see Penelope along with everyone standing at the door. They both let out a small laugh and we looked at them smiling.

"I guess they should make it official, right?" Hotch said entering with everyone and congratulating them both.

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

#Criminal Minds #Aaron Hotchner #Derek Morgan #Penelope Garcia #Emily Prentiss #David Rossi #Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid x Reader #Spencer Reid x (Y/N)#Spencer Reid x Y/N #Spencer reid fanfic #Spencer Reid x You #Spencer Reid fanfiction

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thedreammweaver · 3 years

Text

Not Over Any Oceans Chapter 6 (Nygmobblepot, The Santa Clause 2 au, Santa!Oswald, elf!Zsasz, elf!Penn, Toy Santa!Burtonverse Oswald)

Chapter 5 Chapter 7

Warnings: blood

Oswald huffed impatiently as Vixen landed on the balcony of the Santa suite. He carefully got off of the reindeer and snuck inside, hoping Penguin wasn’t in there. He startled when he heard a familiar voice “Santa?” It was Penn who was crawling out from under the bed to greet his boss. Oswald was relieved to see his second most trusted elf “Penn, what are you doing in here??”

“Hiding.” Penn whispered. A wave of guilt came over him “This is all my fault...”

“There’s a way you can make it up to me.” Oswald whispered “Can you get to the pantograph?”

“I-I think so.”

“Good, I have an idea.”

Oswald had tried to sneak to the pantograph when Penn signaled to him it was all clear but he’d been intercepted and was now trapped along with Zsasz. Oswald was struggling to break out of the festive ribbon they’d been tied back to back with by the toy penguins. “Why don’t you just use your magic?” Zsasz asked, also struggling.

“I’m out...” Oswald admitted, having used most of it on Edward. He hadn’t spotted penguin yet, he feared the toy had already left and was he starting to lose hope about anything turning out right that evening.

Edward the dog stretched as he woke up from a long nap in one of. his favourite sleeping spots which was a cranny in the workshop where excess stuffing and fur for stuffed animals was kept. He got up lazily and pushed the door to the room open with his nose. There’d been some scary noises but they were gone now and had been quickly forgotten by the dog who was now trotting through the halls looking for....anyone. He heard talking in the main room and started running faster. He barked happily as he turned a corner and set eyes on his owner. “Eddie!” Oswald said happily as the dog ran over. Edward propped himself up on Oswald’s legs but was confused when the man didn’t immediately start petting him, he whined at Oswald trying to get his affection. Oswald struggled a bit in the ribbon tying him to show Edward he wasn’t keeping from petting him on purpose. Edward got off of Oswald’s legs and pouted, he was about to walk off when he spotted a part of the ribbon hanging down inbetween the trapped pair before him. If he couldn’t play with his master he would play with whatever this shiny thing was, he jumped up to grab it with his mouth and tugged. As he tugged naturally it started to untie which only encouraged him. Eventually he’d untied it completely and Oswald and Zsasz were able to escape. Zsasz immediately ran to where the elves were being locked up to free them. Oswald paused to praise his dog, petting him fervently “What a smart boy you are, Edward! Who’s my smart boy?” Edward didn’t understand why he was being praised so much as he chewed on the ribbon but he accepted the praise all the same. Zsasz opening the room where the elves were set off an alarm and the toy penguins as well as their master were soon upon them. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Penguin yelled at Zsasz. He smirked as he noticed Oswald “Well look who came crawling back. Penguins, get them!” He ordered. However before the penguins could advance any further they were distracted by a whistle coming from the door to outside. It was Penn, in his hand he had a fish. Penguin was getting impatient as his army didn’t obey “You idiots, I said get them!!” The toy penguins were no longer paying attention, all of their focus was on Penn as he threw the fish outside and moved out of the way. The toy penguins immediately started clamouring outside in what was a stampede of flippers, most of them breaking themselves or eachother in the process. Penguin growled and stomped before trying to keep his cool. He checked his watch “I have a while before I have to deliver all that coal, I can deal with you on my own.” He was referring to Oswald who bolted into the room with the pantograph.

“I knew you were a coward.” Penguin muttered entering the room where Oswald was hiding. Oswald had squeezed himself under a table and was watching intently as Penguin waddled around looking for him. He leaped out as Penguin stood in front of the conveyor belt of the pantograph and tried to push the toy onto it. Penguin evaded him, grabbing him by the arm and throwing him hard into the wall. “Face it, you’re just jealous that I’m a better Santa than you’ll ever be.” Penguin growled to Oswald who was still trying to recover in a crumpled heap on the floor. Seeing Penguin heading for the door galvanized Oswald into forcing himself up and rushing Penguin, getting his hands around the toy’s neck and pulling him back into the room. What followed was a tangle mostly in Penguin’s favour as he was much heavier than Oswald. He’d ended up on top of the other man and was about to try banging his head into the floor to knock him out so he could get on with his coal delivery but he noticed Oswald reaching for a screwdriver that’d fallen from a table during their fighting. Oswald nearly had his fingers around the tool when he felt a searing pain in the space between his neck and shoulder. He was facing the floor so he couldn’t see what Penguin was doing but it only took a few seconds before he registered the sharp things piercing his clothes and flesh as teeth. The toy was fucking biting him. Oswald frantically searched for anything to get Penguin off when he spotted something under the work table before him, within reach. It was an umbrella, red and white, how festive. He grabbed it by it’s handle and managed to hit Penguin in the head with it which made the toy let go and get off. In a few seconds both of them were on their feet, Oswald pointing the umbrella at Penguin. “And just what are you planning to do with that?” Penguin laughed. Oswald found himself filled with determination as he noticed penguin was once again in front of the conveyor belt “This is from when I used to kill people, you know. It could have a knife in it or shoot bullets. I actually don’t remember. So you should just- um.. surrender now so I don’t have to hurt you!” Oswald wasn’t used to threatening violence anymore but he certainly wasn’t lying, there were quite a few of his old umbrellas lying around and he really didn’t remember which ones did which. Penguin looked like he was believing Oswald a bit but he gave him a stubborn look “No.” Oswald pressed a button on the handle only for the umbrella to open and...start playing music. It was spinning and had toys dangling from the points. “Shit...it’s the cute one..” Oswald muttered, throwing the umbrella aside. He could feel defeat encroaching until he noticed he’d actually startled Penguin into jumping backwards onto the conveyor belt. Penguin was laughing “You really had me going there but if you don’t mind I should be-“ Penguin paused as he realized he couldn’t move his feet. He tried again but it was no use. Penn had put glue all over it earlier at Oswald’s request. “What is this?!” Penguin demanded. Oswald was too busy going over to the controls to answer him, he switched the function to ‘shrink’ as it had previously been set on ‘replicate’ and started it up. “What are you doing?!?” Penguin yelled as the conveyor started moving. Oswald just smirked as he watched the toy go in. There were sparks and smoke from the machine again and when Penguin came out from the other side he was much smaller of course. Oswald was surprised but grateful as Penn ran over to place a glass bowl over Penguin as if he was a spider that’d found it’s way inside. He was pounding against the glass but of course being stuck and tiny he couldn’t do much. “Oswald!” Oswald startled at his mother’s voice, but only momentarily as he soon ran to hug her. “I have a surprise!” She said pulling away from Oswald and pointing to Ed who was currently reeling from having just been on a flying reindeer. He was looking around the workshop in awe. “Edward?” Oswald approached him. “What are you doing here?”

Ed snapped out of the trance he was in to focus on Oswald instead “I- erm- your mother is very persuasive and talked some sense in to me I guess..” Ed was blushing and fiddling with his coat “I came to the realization that maybe I...um...that I..”

“He wants to marry you.” Gertrud finished for Ed.

“Y-You do?”

“Yes..” Ed’s face flushed even redder. Oswald’s joy was quickly overtaken by urgency “Well, shit, then we only have like what? Twenty minutes? An-and who’s going to marry us-”

“I can do it.” Zsasz assured as he ran over after making sure everything was alright with the other elves.

Oswald looked at his head elf in disbelief “Really?”

“You’re not the first Santa that had to get hitched on short notice.” Zsasz explained.“I think you should probably be getting ready now.” He reminded. Penn took Oswald’s hand to lead him away while some elves did the same with Ed.

Oswald was ansty as Penn patched the bite in his neck up and while Gertrud was fixing his hair and trying not to cry at the fact her only son was about to be married. “I should’ve known I’d somehow end up covered in my own blood on my wedding day.” Oswald huffed, looking at his disgarded bloodstained suit. He in his Santa attire now which was baggy on him presently. He was only missing his coat which Zsasz said he would be given later for whatever reason.

If they were having second thoughts Ed and Oswald could do little to protest as they were pushed together outside in front of Zsasz by the elves who were very eager to have a new member of the family as well as have their Santa back. “I hope you don’t mind if I make this quick.” Zsasz said, gesturing to a big clock on the front of the workshop. “Please do.” Oswald would’ve liked a proper ceremony but he supposed that could wait for another day. Zsasz cleared his throat but before he could speak an elf ran over to push Oswald and Ed closer as well as make them hold each other’s hands before running back into the crowd. Zsasz rolled his eyes and continued “Do you, Edward Nygma, take Oswald Cobblepot aka Santa Claus to be your husband?”

“I do.” Ed said bashfully, shuffling his feet.

“Do you, Santa, take Edward Nygma to be your husband?”

Oswald took a second to glance at his mother who was crying, she looked proud, he imagined his father standing beside her looking proud as well “I do.”

“I now pronounce you Mr. and uh- Mr. Claus. You two can smooch now.” He chuckled. As Ed and Oswald kissed there was a chorus of ‘Aww’ from the elves. When the pair separated a sort of glittery puff of smoke enveloped Oswald and when it dissipated he was back to how he was pre de-Santafication, festively plump and with shoulder length white and black streaked hair. “Wow.” Ed breathed, looking Oswald up and down. Oswald suddenly felt self conscious “Is..that a good wow..?”

“Yes, it’s a good wow.” Ed assured. Oswald’s attention was pulled away by the clock chiming. “Oh god, I gotta go.” Oswald was about to head for the sleigh until he remembered something “Zsasz, I need my coat.”

“Oh, yeah! Hold on a second.” Zsasz ordered before running inside and quickly coming back out. He handed Oswald the coat but Oswald immediately noticed it wasn’t his usual one, the coat had the same bright white trim as the other one except it was a beautiful reddish purple with a bright red sash which complimented it perfectly. “Oh, Zsasz..”

“I figure if your most outlandish demand is a purple suit then...that isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever heard..”

“Zsasz, I-“

“You’re a really good Santa, I’ve recently been reminded of just how good..”

Oswald patted Zsasz on the shoulder and put the coat on.

Oswald was about to depart but he stopped to turn to Ed. “You wanna try that sleigh ride again except this time with the truth?”

Ed pondered for moment “I..well, I-“ Ed was cut off when something bumped his leg. He looked down to see a bulldog staring at him curiously. “Aaw, who’s this?” Ed asked, picking the dog up. Oswald cleared his throat “Uh..erm..his name is Edward..”

Ed’s brow furrowed and he looked at the dog in his arms, as if checking for a resemblance “You named your dog after me?”

Oswald was blushing and fiddling with the reins in his hands.

“That’s...really cute.” Ed said softly, setting the dog down. “I was going to say yes..I would like to try that sleigh ride again.”

Ed paused as Oswald helped him up into the sleigh “Not over any oceans.”

“Don’t worry, Eddie, I wouldn’t let you fall...ever.”

Ed was still marveling at the fact they were flying when Oswald interrupted his thoughts. “So you wanna tell me how your Christmases actually were?”

“Um...well, I didn’t lie when I said my parents didn’t put any effort in..but they did drop me off at my grandma’s every Christmas since I was a toddler and she did her damnedest to make sure I would believe in Santa. She put out milk and cookies, of course, and then carrots for the reindeer-“

“That’s always a really nice gesture, cause they love carrots.”

“She also put out a cot so Santa could take a nap.”

“Santa doesn’t have time to nap for the record.” Oswald said defensively.

Ed breathed a laugh at Oswald’s seriousness and continued “And in the morning the cookies would be gone and the milk would be gone and the carrots would be gnawed-“

“Gnawed? The reindeer don’t gnaw carrots they eat them whole.”

“Ozzie...can you stop fact checking me please?” Ed chided fondly.

“Sorry, sorry. Continue.”

“The cot would be mussed and there would be the most amazing presents under the tree. One year it was a rocking horse that I called ‘Harvey’ ironically..” there was spite in Ed’s tone as his thoughts drifted to Detective Bullock “Another year it was a wagon that I used mostly to carry books in and it was all magical..”

“Why did you stop believing?”

Ed rolled his eyes “Don’t you know already?”

“That feels like cheating, I want you to tell me.”

Ed cleared his throat “Well..my grandma was trying to get custody of me and I wished so hard that- I wanted to be with her so bad, and I was so sure but they said she was too old and I.. I-I was devastated.” Ed’s tone had turned very sad “I didn’t tell her that I’d stopped believing and our last Christmas together went like all the others...it was actually almost more special to think she was the one doing all those things for me. That year there was this beautiful doll under the tree with green eyes and strawberry blond curls that had a dress and bonnet made of green silk with...with pink lace on the collar of the dress and on the edge of the bonnet...” Ed was choking back tears as memories were flooding him “My grandma knew if I took the doll home my father would have never let me keep it so it stayed at her house and...later that year she died and never got around to leaving it to me in her will so...I never saw it again...” Ed wiped away the few tears streaming down his cheek. There was a few moments of silence before Oswald cleared his throat “You know, I think I left my watch in the back of the sleigh, would you look back there for me?”

Ed nodded and crawled half over the seat to look, he was about to ask what this watch looked like when his eyes caught something green and pink and frilly under the seat. His hand was shaking as he reached over and pulled the object out. He was met with big green glass eyes framed strawberry blonde curls. Oswald couldn’t help but let a smile cross his face as Ed sat back down, doll in his arms. “You’re really raising the bar for husbands everywhere, you know..” Ed squeaked through tears hugging the doll to himself. Oswald wrapped his arm around the taller man, feeling very much like he was already pretty good at this whole husband thing.

#oswald cobblepot #edward nygma #nygmobblepot #the Santa clause au #Edward the dog #Victor zsasz #arthur penn #Gertrud kapelput

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tookishcombeferre · 3 years

Text

tonight, the processor

doesn’t turn off

the computer remains on

battery drained of life

but still lit

i am one of the lucky ones,

i think, but

there is still so

much work

so many heart beats

so many questions,

so many bleeding wounds

to stop tomorrow.

eyes wide and innocent

looking to me like an answered prayer.

but, i don’t have the strength

for praying, for giving answers,

for doing anything, but clinging

to my own life, feeling the pain

from two mile long walks

spark through my legs.

reminder that

i am alive; still

functioning for programmed purpose like

the robot they tell me i am.

but, aren’t i more?

maybe, i’m no longer

sure, see, years back

it feels like a millenium

ago. i let hundreds of

tiny needles prick my

arm so that i might not

let knives cut

my arm - to give myself

something pretty

to see - a quote -

from valley forge;

and isn’t this another

valley forge? somehow

i think it is.

and certainly, many

many congressmen are

sunshine patiots and

summer soldiers

in this narrative,

and i am searching for the words

on a tiny phone

summoning the courage

at one in the morning

to seek peace.

for the children

i teach, for the ones

i might bare in the future,

and i want

so much more for them

than was for me - but

not money, or privalage

or power.

i crave for them - ice

cream and stimming fingers

flaps to melodies only autistic ears

perceive in flowing rivers, and

wind chimes

crisis to crisis.

feet stomp through puddles

drag half-conscious brain from rubble

reaching out to touch the cosmos

fingertips wide,

eye wider, with wonder.

grasping stone cold snow just

to feel something that’s

not steel, or burning,

flames that they promised you.

if you’re there, do

you hear me? fathers

of another time do you see,

the mess you left us,

the rubble we inherited?

broken glass pools,

blood spilled,

screams and maniacal laughter -

ring like liberty bells

claw marks on virgin wrists.

how do i smile? tomorrow?

show i am no coward,

no summer soldier,

no sunshine patriot,

a mother and father

to young patriots who have none,

where is my road map? how

do i fix this, God, oversoul,

Mother - if you can hear

me - where am i going?

perhaps, tonight, hell

fires and flames

lick my skin

winding in icy cold circles,

pulling me in.

and, tonight, i let it.

tomorrow, i will find a smile,

snuggle deep into strength,

face the warm rays of dawn,

having now grown

brave ...

reflections of an old gay on a nearly five year old tattoo OR a letter to a centuries old white man with no answers ~Pip E

#self harm mention tw #us politics cw #us shit show tw #poety #new poetry #tattoos #okay to reblog #my poetry #thomas paine #the american crisis #pip does life #pip writes things

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implodingcacti · 3 years

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tumblr is a functional website, let me advertise the dang server you cowards

@staff fix your search feature m7, it's stinky garbage and doesn't work

#angeles blogs #this is systemphobic

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

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Title: you gave up half your life Fandom: Supernatural Summary: When Dean and Cas disappeared, Sam was lost. But in a world that had nearly broken apart so many times, he wasn’t the only one who needed support and guidance. AN: Remember when I ranted about season 7? Yeah good times. Here’s my 10.000 words Salty Post Season 7 Fix-it in which Sam Winchester accidentally starts organizing a bunch of Hunters all while trying to find his brother.

Read on AO3

Sam didn’t remember the first 48 hours after Dean had disappeared. He knew he must have gotten out of the building, away from the Leviathans, the demons and every pretty little hell his mind could have thrown at him, and driven away in the Impala. He had woken up covered in black goo at the side of a road outside of some tiny town he didn’t even know the name of, miles and hours away from where they had stopped the apocalypse 2.0.

Dean was gone.

Sam had to get him back.

The two of them had a pact, of course. If one of them died, the other would continue on with his life. No shady deals, no sacrifices, no years wasted away chasing after the barest whisper of hope.

That pact was lie.

Sam had known as much from the moment he had died for the first time. They had sworn it to assure each other that they weren’t too far gone yet, that they could still be functional members of society that weren’t utterly codependent.

During his time at Stanford, Sam had taken a course on children’s psychology. Siblings that grew up with absent parents tended to cling more to each other. The younger they were, the stronger the bond.

The course had been eye-opening and confronted him with more than just one uncomfortable truth. (Sam had never cried out for their father after a nightmare.) As long as Dean was out there, somewhere, Sam could manage.

But now Dean was gone.

Not dead, not possessed, just gone.

The pact was a lie and Sam was alone.

His next course of action was clear, he knew his mission (had done so once already in a fantasy land created by a cowardly angel): find Dean, consequences be damned.

(He heard Lucifer singing, oh, so sweetly, “This is why you were made for me.” He ignored it.)

Sam started to research. He had always liked that part of the job the most. Ever since he could think, he’d been absorbing knowledge. It was the most ordinary, white-picket-fence like part of being a Hunter. When he had been younger, Sam used to pretend that he was preparing for a school project instead of trying to figure out what was going to kill his family if he didn’t do his job correctly.

He began collecting books from all kinds of places. All his Leviathan research was already stored on his laptop and about five different hard drives he carried with him at all times. It was hard to find anything online Sam didn’t already know or the Leviathans hadn’t covered up themselves. The lore on purgatory, which Sam had already gone through, was about as vague and contrasting as possible. According to the Catholic church, it didn’t even exist anymore. At the same time, the older the lore, the more accurate and Dante had written a whole adventure about it. Sam should have asked Cas how reliable Dante's account of hell, purgatory, and heaven was. Sam had only been to two of those realms and his memories of both were hazy. What little the monsters had let slip out about purgatory didn’t help him either.

Sam was looking at a puzzle he didn’t know how to solve, where to start searching. Usually, Dean would throw in some random comment now, sparking a new thought process.

But Sam was alone.

(For now.)

He had to keep looking.

After he had gotten back from the Cage, Sam had to stop himself whenever he introduced Dean.

“This is my brother-,” he would say and halt. Dean took over then, playing whatever role he had assumed at the moment.

Sam had been too much of a coward to ask Dean if he knew that it took months for Sam to get it under control, until Adam was no longer the first name on his tongue.

“You’re my brother Adam,” Sam had whispered for a century, wrapped tightly in Grace while sheltering his younger brother.

The least damage to the most innocent of us, three of them had decided down there. The Cage did not provide any space for raging battles or accusations, and it was meant for only one of them. There was companionship to be found in equal suffering.

(Even in the darkest place on Earth, Sam hadn’t been on his own.)

Sam had lost one brother for eternity. He wasn’t going to lose another.

Sam had almost forgotten that he had a phone until it rang one day. He had been lying half asleep on the small table of the motel room, which still had two queen-sized beds because Sam hadn’t gotten out of the habit of asking for such yet. Last time, it had taken almost two months. Sam didn’t intend to be separated from his brother long enough to get rid of the habit again.

The ringing of the phone startled him awake. In his disorientation, he knocked his mug, half-filled with cold coffee, off the table.

“Shit,” Sam cursed and threw the nearest piece of fabric he could find over it.

He then rushed over to his bag, searching for his phone.

Please, he thought. I need just this one miracle.

Sam didn’t recognize the number on the phone. Memorizing numbers of hotel rooms, license plates, phones, holes in jeans, and bullets had been one of the first things John Winchester had taught Sam.

After Dean had shown Sam how to read such numbers.

“Hello?” Sam answered the phone. His voice was rough – when had he last talked to someone?

“Sam Winchester?”

Sam’s first reaction was to recoil. He wanted to scream, shout, throw something.

He did neither of those things.

“Kevin? Is that you?”

A sob rang from the other end of the line.

“Oh, God. It really is you. I know I memorized your number correctly, but the tablet messed with my head and I just, I need-“

“Kevin, breathe,” Sam ordered. “Where are you?”

“New York,” Kevin stammered. “State, not city. I managed to escape, but Crowley will know soon because I blew up his demons and I don’t know where to go or what to do-“

“I’ll come get you. Go somewhere safe and ward the room like you’re expecting the devil himself to knock and then call me again.”

He sent a quick and silent prayer to Castiel, the only angel worth praying to left these days despite everything, and began to pack his things. Truth be told, Sam hadn’t really thought about Kevin since that day. Crowley had just grabbed him and vanished, and Dean, always Sam’s priority, had been more important.

Dean would be ashamed Sam had let himself get so absorbed in such a single-minded attitude. This hyper-focusing, while it helped fighting one cause, could get you killed just as quickly. A Hunter couldn’t be entrenched. They had to think quickly and be flexible and open to other ideas. For all that Hunters hated deviating from the norm, if you only knew how to salt-n-burn bones, your third ghost would get you.

Within fifteen minutes, Sam was packed. He loaded his belongings into the Impala and drove off into the direction of New York.

Sam found Kevin in an overcrowded motel, hiding out in a wardrobe that was covered in so many sigils, it might as well be drenched in ink. Kevin had picked up on quite a lot of knowledge in the short time he had been exposed to the supernatural. Though, maybe, that also had to do with his status as a prophet of the Lord. Perhaps this knowledge was written into his soul.

When Sam opened the door, Kevin was cradling the demon tablet with one hand and a water bottle with the other.

“Hey, Kev-“

Sam didn’t get much further, as Kevin hit him with a glass full of water.

“I’m not a demon, Kevin,” Sam said slowly. He knew better than to scare the younger man now.

“You could have been possessed!” Kevin insisted, bloodshot eyes wide open with a crazed look.

Sam shook his head and pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck to expose his anti-possession tattoo.

“Not with this. As long as I’ve got this one intact, I’m good.”

Kevin stared at the black ink.

“Is that Hunter standard?” He asked. “And can I get one?”

For the first time in weeks, or so it felt like, Sam managed to twist his face into something resembling a happy expression with the hint of a smile.

“Sure, Kevin. If you’re up for a long drive right now.”

Kevin was tired. It was written all over his face, his posture. He had a haunted look in his eyes, one Sam knew all too well. It was easy to forget that not everyone had been raised in this life like Sam and his brother had. But right now, staring in Kevin's sunken-in face, Sam was reminded of just how much Kevin had had to adapt since he’d woken up as a prophet.

“I need to keep moving,” Kevin insisted, subtly shifting so the tablet was pressing into his body uncomfortably.

“Okay. Then we keep moving.”

Kevin fell asleep in the backseat of the Impala within fifteen minutes, still holding onto the tablet. Once in a while, Sam glanced at Kevin, but he slept peacefully. The past weeks must have been an enormous strain on his body and mind if he rested as well as he did now, with no nightmares haunting him.

(The first few nights after Cas had taken Lucifer from him, Sam had been so out of it as well. He had fallen asleep and just woken up again, not chased by blood, torture, and screams. Nowadays, if he slept, he had night terrors. It almost made him miss Lucifer. Almost.)

Sam wished he could say the same.

After a couple days of pretty much non-stop driving, Sam and Kevin arrived in a relatively small town. They got a motel, checked for any signs of demons and promptly warded the room to withstand a minor assault. Then they left the Impala in the parking lot and headed for a diner. Kevin hadn’t eaten properly in days (not that Sam had either, but he also wasn’t recovering from a kidnapping) and needed something nutritious.

“Where are we?” Kevin asked while he was swirling his soup around with his spoon, not eating any of it.

“Nebraska, passed the state lines a couple hours ago.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can read road signs, Sam. But you were heading to this city specifically – why?”

“There’s a retired Hunter here, or at least, I hope he’s still here. He owns a tattoo shop.”

Kevin stared at him, not giving Sam the impression that he had made the connection. Then again, he’d been so out of it when Sam had picked him up, he might not even remember.

“You wanted to get an anti-possession tattoo,” Sam elaborated.

“Oooh, yeah.” Kevin looked down on his bowl. “I forgot about that. But why here? Couldn’t we have walked to any shop?”

The answer was yes, they could have, but Sam didn’t want to. Marty McKinnons never really left his state for hunting. Sam had met him when he was on his way to Stanford, seven days separated from Dean. Sam may or may not have had a minor breakdown in the passenger seat of Marty’s car while they drove away from a graveyard.

“I only managed seven fucking days of normal before the crazy came back again. What the hell was I thinking?” Sam had said then.

Marty had let Sam crash on his sofa that night and set his head straight again. He had been managing a shop and a band while hunting. “You don’t have to give it all up, kid,” Marty had said. “Or push it all away. If you see a ghost, take care of it or call someone who can. No need to go searching for cases like your daddy. If your neighborhood’s good, so are you.”

And then he had given Sam breakfast and driven him to the bus station.

“We could,” Sam finally replied. “But I’ve wanted to check out who else is still in the game, and if they know what the demons are up to.”

Kevin mustered Sam a little while longer. “Alright.”

He went back to pretending he was actually going to eat more of his soup and Sam picked at his salad.

Marty’s shop was crammed into an alley, an off-shoot of the main road. It was still standing. Sam took that as a good sign. Kevin walked slightly behind Sam, staying as close as he possibly could without full-on taking over Sam’s personal space.

Sam opened the door to the shop and the old bell attached to the doorframe rang. Marty had stolen it out of an abandoned church. Sam couldn’t quite recall what monster church bells warded against, but he could remember in perfect detail Marty’s hilarious tale about its acquisition. It had involved neon pink paint and lucky charms and had sounded like something out of a comedy sketch.

“Welcome to Artemis Tattoo’s, what can I do for you?”

Marty looked a little different than Sam recalled. It shouldn’t surprise him, it had been over a decade. The red-haired man was well into his fifties now, and his hair was graying, giving him a silver-fox look.

“Hey, Marty,” Sam greeted lamely. “It’s me, Sam-“

“Sam Winchester?” Marty interrupted him with wide eyes.

He took off his glasses and rubbed them over his black t-shirt before putting them on again.

“Christo, is that really you, kid?”

Sam shrugged helplessly. “Still me, still kicking.”

Compared to Sam, most people were smaller than him. Marty was the only person Sam knew who was taller than him still. When he marched towards you, it was impossible to not feel intimidated. Nobody would expect a man of Marty’s age and built to be as silent and fast as he was, so when he suddenly rushed towards Sam, Sam was caught off-guard. He didn’t even have a chance to act before Marty pulled him close.

He was hugging him, Sam realized belatedly.

“Holy fucking hell, kid,” Marty cursed. “You’re alive. You wouldn’t believe the shit I heard about you Winchesters in the past years. Where’s your brother?”

Sam tensed and Marty slowly let go of him. Marty had started hunting because his older sister had been killed by a witch, Sam remembered.

Sam didn’t have it as bad as him.

“Dean’s- he’s gone.”

(But he would be back.)

“Hell, kid. I’m sorry-“

“He’s not dead,” Sam insisted. Each time he said it out loud, he managed to stand a little bit straighter. “He’s just lost. I’ll find him. But that’s not what I’m here for. Look, this is Kevin.”

Sam stepped aside to let Marty get a good look at Kevin. Kevin waved timidly and nervously took in Marty’s many tattoos. The older man was covered in them from head to toe. Most of them were for the aesthetic, but quite a lot were there because they helped on the job.

Marty specialized in taking down witches, and while you couldn’t protect yourself from all of their spells, there were quite a lot counter measurements one could ink into their skin.

“Kevin’s a prophet. Crowley’s had him for a while-“

“Crowley?”

Right. Sometimes Sam forgot that not everybody dealt with demons on the daily like him.

“Current King of Hell,” Sam continued. “Kevin managed to escape, but we need to get him some extra security.”

Marty nodded slowly and then grinned, warm and toothily like Sam remembered. It was nice to be looked at in kindness for once instead of hatred and fear like most Hunters did nowadays.

“Anti-possession tattoo, you’re thinking?”

“Yes,” Kevin spoke up for the first time since they had entered the shop. “I don’t want one of those bastards in my head. If they know what I know…”

“Could get bad, I got you. Man, am I glad I don’t deal with those sons of a bitch. And you, Sam? Can I get you anything?”

Sam stuck his hand in his jeans pocket and pulled out a paper sheer that used to be white once upon a time.

“Yes, actually,” Sam said. “There is something I want.”

In the years Sam and Dean had been hiding from Heaven and Hell, they had learned more about wards than their father had in his entire life. Most of them had to be powered by blood, freshly spilled. A few of them, like the Enochian sigils Castiel had branded onto their ribs, could be applied and would work without a sacrifice, or one that only needed to be paid once.

Sam had never thought about putting anything other than the anti-possession tattoo on his skin (it was too easy to alter wards, to make them turn on the one using them, to have them drain you, they made you recognizable) but the last years had worn him down.

And if anything ever got close enough to him again to manipulate him (wear his body, wrap his soul in sweet lullabies while they tear into his brother’s flesh-), then perhaps Sam deserved it.

He wasn’t young and weak anymore.

(He had pulled Lucifer apart.)

Sam could afford to wear the wards he wanted.

“Are you sure?” Marty asked, studying the paper Sam had handed him. “This is… I don’t even recognize half of this.”

(Nobody would. Something had been meant for Archangel Grace only, but Sam had been there and he had listened. And he remembered.)

Kevin looked over the paper as well, frowning. When he met Sam’s eyes, he was troubled.

“That’s a lot,” Kevin said, something old lingering in his voice.

Maybe being a prophet didn’t just mean that Kevin could read God’s Word.

“I know,” Sam said. “I want it.”

(I consent.)

When they separated from Marty, the man pulled both of them into another heartfelt hug. Kevin looked like he was about to break and Sam’s hug was a little awkward as Marty was mindful not to touch Sam’s back.

“Don’t get into any trouble,” Marty said. “You have my phone number. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Same goes for you, Marty,” Sam replied. “And if anyone wants to get the wards, but has questions about them, they can call me. I can explain.”

Marty smiled warmly and messed up Sam’s long hair. “You’re a good kid. Stay safe.”

They drove westward, hitting old libraries and archives, universities and churches. Sam kept learning, kept going. He couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. He felt a little bit like he was losing his mind.

(Except this was reality.)

Kevin wasn’t any better.

He barely slept. Most of the time, he was staring at the demon tablet, taking notes and trying to make sense of everything written there.

After a month of traveling, Kevin admitted defeat.

“I can’t do this if we keep moving,” he admitted quietly. “I need peace and calm to actually understand what I’m doing here.”

“Okay,” Sam said. He had expected it. “I’ll find a place.”

Some Hunters never traveled far away from their home, others were so lost they drifted until some monster killed them. As much as Sam had detested it, he had been raised on the road. He had studied for his finals lying on the backseat of the Impala. He had gotten a full-ride to Stanford with sticky-notes pinned to the windows.

(Sam wondered what he could have been if he had been able to recover in peace.)

Sam left Kevin at an old abandoned church. They set up traps for demons, bought enough non-perishable food to ensure Kevin wouldn’t have to leave the church for a while (until Sam found a better solution) and said their quiet goodbyes.

(“Looks like you’re well and truly on your own.”)

Everybody left.

Sam should be used to it by now.

It didn’t stop him from watching Kevin in the rearview-mirror until the distance ate him up.

Dean was gone two months now. Kevin called sometimes, but Sam couldn’t always keep up with his rambles. The Impala was stocked full with books kept in a neat organization system that hadn’t ever made sense to anyone but Dean.

Sam hunted a vampire in Colorado.

Then a witch in Utah.

A werewolf in Arizona.

Ghouls, shifters, ghosts, wendigos, rugaru-

And then, blood splattered over his clothes, Sam killed a demon.

Two hunters with twin shocked expressions pointed at Sam, then at the dead body and threw up their arms in defeat, shouting, “You can do that!?”

Sam had been avoiding demons to the best of his abilities. He knew they were hunting him and Kevin down, and while at some point he had entertained the thought of using himself as bait to lure them as far away from Kevin as possible, he had settled on trying to stay as far away from them as he could.

Until he couldn’t.

The demon was working on his own and he hadn’t been really all that well-informed or strong. It was easy enough to trap him and get him to break.

Sam hated torture, but not as much as Dean did.

(Because Dean wasn’t just good at it, he was great.)

But he could get a demon to start speaking if he wanted it to. The demon had boasted so proudly about how much he had made the owner of his meatsuit suffer until the soul had died, not knowing that his actions had only made it easier for Sam.

And then, when he had stabbed the knife through the demon’s heart, two college kids broke into the warehouse.

They must be siblings, twins maybe even, Sam thought. Both of them had curly dark hair, equally dark skin, and their expressions were too similar for them to not be family.

“You just killed a demon,” the smaller one said. “How do you- what. Just. What?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“Dude, who are you? You just offed a demon!”

They couldn’t be older than twenty-five at most, at best if Sam allowed himself to hope. They knew about demons, so they had to be Hunters. Probably not in the business for long if they didn’t know demons could be killed. That was common knowledge amongst the community, or what was left of it. At least Sam thought it was. He and Dean had never really been close to a lot of Hunters because of their reputation.

“I’m Sam Winchester,” he introduced himself.

The eyes of the pair widened.

Not good.

Sam slowly shifted his body into a more versatile position and counted the exits. He would defend himself, no questions asked, but he didn’t want to hurt anyone. If he could get away from the two without the situation escalating into a fight, everything would be alright.

“Sam Winchester,” the taller twin spoke up. “You’re really Sam Winchester?”

And then something curious happened.

The twins dropped their shoulders in pure relief, hope lighting them up like they still had something to believe in that hadn’t been broken by blood and deals.

Well, that was a first.

“Dude,” the smaller one said. “Thank you so much.”

What.

Sam hadn’t said a word, but his confusion must have shown (damn it, he used to be better at acting, at pretending, at reassuring everyone that he was fine) because the kid immediately began to babble.

“You saved us. Just. Thank you. Just, thank you for everything.”

“You are welcome?”

Sam still didn’t know what they were talking about, but he sincerely hoped that he was right in assuming the two of them meant no harm. They put away their guns, practically vibrating with energy.

“I’m sorry, but have we met before?” Sam asked.

“No,” the taller replied. “I’m Gregory Rosswell and this one here next to me is my brother Frederick. Our parents got snatched by Leviathans a couple months back. We’ve been going after them ever since and everything else that came our way.”

Gregory glanced at the dead demon behind Sam. “Mostly ghosts though. Caught one demon, but he almost blew our brains out. Couldn’t chug enough salt and holy water at him fast enough.”

“Yeah,” Fred agreed. “How did you catch one so easily?”

“Devil’s trap,” Sam said.

“Oh.”

The twins shared a look. “Can you teach us how to draw one?”

Gregory and Frederick Rosswell were twenty-years-old (too young, children still, they shouldn’t be here) and had both been home from university when their parents had been replaced by Leviathans. When they had tried to do the same to Frederick, Gregory had cut off their heads with a cutlass from their father’s ancient weapons collection.

Sam refrained from asking whether the cutlass hidden beneath the backseat of the twins’ car was the one Gregory had used. They had a fairly impressive collection of knives and swords, but only two small handguns.

“We don’t need those much since we mostly go after Leviathans,” Gregory explained. “Didn’t even know there was more crazy out there until we ran into our first ghost.”

Gregory said it so casually that Sam didn’t know whether to be impressed or shocked. Leviathans weren’t easy to kill, even depowered as they now were, and Hunters, whose introduction to life was so violent, tended to die sooner than later.

When Sam tried to explain that, the Rosswells only looked at him in disbelief.

“Yeah, man. Back up a second. Vampires are real too?”

The twins turned to each other, conveying thoughts in half-smiles, a groan and a tap on the shoulder. Then they decided to invite Sam back into their conversation.

“What else is there?” Gregory asked. “And how do we kill it?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Sam said.

They were twenty, they shouldn’t be hunting when they had their whole lives still ahead of them.

(Sam was twenty-nine, was two-hundred-twenty, centuries, ages, older than his brother would ever be.)

“We know,” Frederick replied. “But we don’t want to stop. We can’t stop.”

Sam had never met a Hunter who could. (Himself included.)

Sam had never actually taught someone how to be a Hunter. Frederick and Gregory got the basics done already and research wasn’t unfamiliar to them. Their father had been a policeman, so they knew how law enforcement worked and could pretend to be a part of it well enough. Sam didn’t feel like he was actually teaching them a lot by giving them a list of America’s Top Twenty Monsters and a How To Kill Them All manual.

If he was honest, he thought the twins did most of the work. For the weeks they stuck with him, they asked countless questions, treating him like a tired college professor.

“How much Holy Water can you bless at once?”

A lot, but no, you can’t just bless the ocean. That’s not how it works.

“Wooden stake for tricksters? Where does that even come from?”

Yes, wooden stake. Works if they’re not angels in disguise.

“Angels are real!?”

Yes, and they all suck. Never let one of them possess you. They may need your consent, but it doesn’t need to be an informed or gentle one. You’ll be out of control and feel like you’ve been strapped to a comet. (Like you’re trapped in the softest dream, surrounded by memories of your siblings when they still loved you and the world was whole and untainted.)

“I know Latin and I’d been learning Greek for my bachelor, but how many languages do you need to know?”

A lot.

“Why do you carry so many books around in your car? Wouldn’t it be easier to get a place to store them in?”

“And organize them properly?” Frederick teased.

Sam looked at the backseat of the car and yes, true enough, he had accumulated a small library.

“Oh, shut up, you two,” Sam muttered, and pointedly ignored that one of the stacks of books had fallen over, making the twins grin like idiots.

When they went their separate ways again, Sam was a little more convinced that he wasn’t sending the two of them off to their deaths. And if they ever met anything they didn’t know, they could call him. It was the least he could do.

What Sam hadn’t expected when he handed the Rosswells his number, was how often they would call. Sometimes they asked for help regarding hunts, but more often than not, they just asked about him or talked about whatever kind of crazy had happened to them lately. When Sam had started attending Stanford, he’d had to train himself in the delicate art of small talk. While attending school, he’d never connected much with his peers, too aware that he’d soon move away again, and with Dean around, he hadn’t needed to say a single word more than necessary. Even with all their differences, the choices that had made them grow apart, they got each other.

(Except when they didn’t and the world had to pay for it.)

At Stanford, though, Sam learned that small talk wasn’t just something you took part in to stay busy but to build longer-lasting relationships. The years on the road had made his skill rusty, but the Rosswells were doing their best to bring it back.

Sam didn’t know why telling them what he had for dinner was a good topic choice (but it did make him more conscious of the meals he kept skipping) or why he could listen to Gregory talking for a good fifteen minutes about how difficult it was to eat healthy on the road.

He always accepted their calls, never hit decline, even when they called in the middle of the night (Sam wasn’t sleeping anyway).

Marty called a few times too, his latest call informing Sam of his new partner Caitlyn, a young florist, who had set up her shop just a few meters away from him and put all her bouquets in holy water.

“She’s new to all of this. Vamps got her husband last year – that’s why she moved town.”

Kevin checked in less regularly and to even more random times than the twins. After one more erratic call that almost chased Sam halfway across the country, he asked the twins to go check in on Kevin.

At 3 a.m., his phone rang, and Sam got to stare at a picture of three young men, squatting in a confessional box and watching a movie on a laptop. Kevin was smiling tiredly and Frederick’s new scar was healed enough to be exposed.

They were healthy.

(They were alive.)

Sam could keep going.

Month four without Dean started by Sam staring at his phone and the many messages he had received in the few hours he had been asleep. Apparently, his friends had decided to team up and create a group chat.

The last dozen messages were everyone trying to make out what the hell Kevin’s sleep-deprived 4 a.m. message had meant while the prophet in question was probably (hopefully) fast asleep for once.

That’s Enochian, Sam typed mindlessly. It means Protection, but specifically referring to a situation in which demons are trying to possess someone who used to be an angel vessel.

Gregory: What?

Frederick: Hi Sam!!!

Marty: how is that ever a likely situation?

Sam grinned. It can also mean Protecting someone who is Loved by God. Angel vessels are precious to them. Ruining them is a severe offense.

Marty: yeah no goodbye I’m out.

Sam met the Hilllains on a ghost hunt. They had three kids, fifteen, twelve and six years old, who all knew how to handle knives and shoot guns and what to do when your mom fell over because she had a vision. The Hillains usually didn’t leave their state since “Raising kids on the road is just irresponsible”.

Susan Hillain-Waterbury was the descendant of a long line of gifted people and Terrence Hillain was a priest turned Hunter after a run-in with a demon. Most of the time, they hunted on the weekends and brought home fast food as a treat on Sunday afternoons.

Sam stayed with them until Monday evening because Susan insisted on making her world-famous lasagna for him as a thank you.

Four months and two weeks into his search and Sam had stopped asking for a room with two beds. When he realized that, he abandoned most of his weapons except the knife and headed for the nearest bar. People made space for him when he walked past them, and he didn’t think it was just because of his height.

The bartender took one look at him and filled a crystal clear glass with something that smelled so strong it burned in Sam’s nose.

“First one’s on the house,” she said.

“Thank you,” Sam muttered and downed the drink in one go.

(“Free booze! Awesome. C’mon, Sammy. Smile at her! See if you can get a second!”)

“Just keep them going, please.”

Alcohol couldn’t properly knock Sam out anymore. He hadn’t tried drugs (strong ones, anyway), but those shouldn’t have much of an effect on him either. He remembered the peaceful embrace of another, the oblivion that came with being lulled into memories of happy times when Father still loved them all.

Sam was tired.

His research was going fucking nowhere and he couldn’t keep everything organized and he was failing Dean yet again. He hadn’t been able to get his brother out of hell and he wouldn’t be able to get him out of purgatory.

What a fucking waste of space he was.

When he stumbled out of the bar, he stabbed a man with blonde hair and green eyes right between his ribs, watched as the demon within perished. Wordlessly, he dropped the body in a side-alley where it would be found by morning and a mourning family would have a place to grief at.

What did Sam have left?

(Nothing.)

He put the few belongings he had bothered out pack back in the car and drove off.

The next day he hit a dog.

Sam wasn’t thinking when he wrapped the dog into his towel and drove to the nearest animal clinic.

“I need help,” Sam exclaimed when he entered the clinic. Admitting more than he wanted to. “The dog needs help.”

“He just came out of nowhere, right in front of my car. We need a doctor. Are you a doctor?”

The animal couldn’t die. Not now, not right in front of Sam because he had made another mistake. It shouldn’t have to pay for Sam’s flaws.

It couldn’t die.

It couldn’t-

Sam’s shirt was still drenched in (Dean's) the dog’s blood. The smell didn’t bother him, it was too familiar to him to register on his mind.

When the doctor entered the room, everything was still a blur. Sam tried to keep his breathing under control, stop his hands from shaking and not fall into a panic.

Somehow, it ended with him owning a dog.

The motel he was staying at didn’t mind that he was keeping Dog, who still didn’t have a proper name. Sam had always been terrible about naming anything at all. When he was younger and had wanted a pet, Dean had collected the spiders of their motel rooms and named each and every one of them.

The various hero names Dean had slapped on them hadn’t been very creative either, but better than anything Sam had come up with.

The doctor who had done Dog’s surgery assured him that he was recovering well. Amelia Richardson, that was her name, was much kinder to him now that he apparently didn’t classify as a total asshole who hit animals while driving irresponsibly.

She still thought he was creepy and that there was something wrong with him (he was torn to bits and pieces, no amount of tape could fix him), but she stopped with the random accusations. The cash he earned at the motel, fixing a little bit of everything here and there, was enough to help him pay for Dog’s medication.

Sam felt like he was holding his breath and he didn’t know what he was waiting for.

Five months after Dean’s disappearance began with another random call. He didn’t recognize the number displayed on the phone screen, nor the voice speaking.

“Is this Sam Winchester?”

Sam evaluated the pros and cons of lying but settled on stating the truth. If it turned out this person meant to harm, Sam knew how to disappear quickly.

“Yes, who’s calling?”

The woman on the line sighed.

“My name’s Penny. I’m a… Hunter?” She trailed off, sounding unsure. Sam thought he heard a second voice ring in the background, saying something like, “That’s what Mackey called us!”

“Okay, jeez. I didn’t ask for your opinion Himari and Chasers sounds way better, it’s like Harry Potter,” Penny muttered. That was probably not meant for Sam’s ears. “Anyway. We already called Mackey – he’s another Hunter – but he couldn’t help us, and the Rosswells said you always help them with their cases so they gave us your number, and people are dying and we don’t know what to do.”

While Sam had gotten accustomed to his new network over time, he hadn’t expected the others to hand out his number. There was a certain risk attached to it but- Never mind. He could help out another Hunter, especially if she

“Okay,” Sam said. “Yes, sure. Of course, I can help you. What are you hunting?”

“No idea.”

Sam grimaced and put the phone on speaker, another habit stemming from being around Dean 24/7. Whenever Bobby called them to give them a little help, they put the phone on speaker so the other could listen in. Sam didn’t need to do it anymore. He did it anyway.

“What and how does it kill then?”

“It burns the victims,” Penny said. Her voice sounded a little off, she probably hadn’t come across many burned corpses then already. The smell and the sight were always a little nauseating. “But there are also multiple bite marks and poison and the only reason we think it’s only one monster is that all victims have at least two of those signs.”

Sam couldn’t think of a single monster that killed in such a way, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist. If the whole catastrophe with Eve had shown one thing, then that America’s monsters didn’t care about staying traditional. Much like humans, they had immigrated over the centuries and spread and there was no way to keep track of every country’s varied monster population.

“I’ll go do some research, Penny. Just send me what you have so far per SMS,” Sam replied, already packing his messenger bag. “I’ll call you back as soon as I got something. If a new victim pops up, give me another call.”

Sam hesitated. Penny couldn’t be doing this for long if she was unfamiliar with the term Hunter, right?

“Otherwise, stick to silver, iron, salt, and holy water. Those works on most things.”

Seasoned Hunters would think of such advice as patronizing, as much as they appreciated help on a challenging hunt, they were all fairly arrogant, considering themselves experts.

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”

Sam snorted. “Just call me Sam, everyone does.”

He ended the call and halted, just for a moment. Everyone?

(He sure had surrounded himself with more people than he thought he would, than he ever should.)

Sam didn’t expect to run into any trouble while researching for Penny until he stood in front of the library, Dog’s leash still in his hand. He couldn’t take a dog into a library, could he? A bit helplessly and lost he stood in front of the library until a young girl took pity on him and told him he could leave Dog on the west side of the library, where they had a small sheltered space for dogs. Sam thanked her and quickly got to work.

He started looking for any incidents happening in the town Penny was in, but couldn’t find any. Then he moved on to ghosts, covering the basics before returning to researching all kinds of monsters. When the American usuals didn’t bring any results, Sam turned to European folklore and myths, where he soon discovered something fitting.

Sam dialed Penny’s number. “Hey, Penny? I think I know what it might be.”

“Really? But- what. That took you barely 3 hours!”

Sam glanced at the time displayed in the corner of his laptop. It really hadn’t taken that long.

“Well, want to hear what I found?”

“Yes, please.”

Sam smiled and scrolled to the top of his word document. “Okay, so, it looks like you’re dealing with a chimera from Greek mythology. It’s a fire-breathing female monster resembling a lion in the forepart, a goat in the middle, and a dragon or snake behind. In the myth, Bellerophon kills it by lodging a block of lead inside the Chimera's throat.”

“How are we supposed to stuff lead inside such a monster?” Penny replied, her voice bordering on hysterics.

“Look,” Sam said. “Myths like to make things more complicated, heroes more heroic and cunning. Most likely, you’ll be fine by using weapons made out of lead.”

“You sure?”

“As sure as you can be with those things.”

Penny took a deep breath, probably to calm herself. Sam waited until she was done to speak up again. “Do you need back up?”

“No,” Penny said. “Himari called Mackey again to tell him I called you – he says hi by the way? You called him after Bobby’s death apparently…?”

Oh, that Mackey. He was one of Bobby’s contacts. Sam had rung them all up to tell them about Bobby’s death. Not all of them were glad to hear of him, but a surprisingly high amount was.

“Yeah, I know Mackey. He’s a good guy.”

“Yeah, Himari worked with him before. Anyway, he’s driving our way to help out. I guess I’ll call when it was a success?”

“You do that. Much success and don’t forget to aim for the head.”

Penny laughed, still a little nervous but at least not as much as before. “Thanks for the help again, Sam.”

A week later, Sam got a call from Mackey, asking if he had any use for chimera blood.

“Always split the spoils with Bobby,” Mackey said. “I swear, Bobby had everything stored down there in his basement.”

“He did,” Sam agreed. He remembered spending two months at Bobby's by himself while John was out like always and Dean was gone. Sam had done a lot of research during that time, not all of it necessarily child-friendly despite Bobby’s attempts to keep him away from it. He’d spend at least one weekend labeling all the weird monster parts Bobby had been keeping on old shelves.

“Thanks for the call, Mackey, but I don’t have the space for that.”

Sam’s eyes drifted to the books and weapons already taking up most of the space in the Impala and some more.

“Too bad, I don’t have any either. You know any Hunter shops?”

“I…” Sam’s thoughts drifted back to Marty or rather Caitlyn. She didn’t hunt as much as the rest of them, only really when Marty asked her to be his back up. But she did start to collect more unusual ingredients, even if most of them were plant related.

“Actually, yes. How far are you from Nebraska? I know a good place there.”

Sam began to run into Amelia everywhere or so it felt. She was funny and kind, and she understood what it was like to lose something so dear to you, you forgot how to breathe.

“So, Sam, I was thinking: Do you want to go out on Friday? A proper restaurant, I mean. Not another motel room talk.”

“I like our-“

Sam’s phone rang. Frederick was calling him. Last Sam had heard, the twins were a couple hours away from him. “Hold up. Hey Fred, everything alright?”

“Sam!”

Frederick’s panic immediately put Sam on edge. “Fred, what’s going on?”

“Can you come drive up? Gregory and I stumbled upon a werewolf pack and they’re hunting kids for sport and I think they’re onto us and I know there are four at least and we have no idea what to do. Just. Please. I know you’re busy searching for Dean, but we’re at our wit's end.”

Sam looked at Amelia. She was smiling softly still, much happier than the first time he’d met her. Riot, the finally renamed Dog, was lying next to her and wagging his tail.

“Sam?”

People were relying on Sam.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible, give me your coordinates.”

Dean’s cursing about dog fur on the Impala’s leather chased Sam over the highways. He broke the speed limit on most roads, haunted by images of two death he could prevent if he was just in time. Riot looked out of the window, peaceful and healthy. All of Sam’s belongings were crammed into the trunk and on the backseat. A whole life and five months.

Sam made it just in time. The werewolves had indeed caught up to the twins and jumped their motel room. When Sam emptied a whole load of silver bullets into the werewolves, Frederick was only wearing sweat pants and using a towel to cover up his chest, holding onto his unconscious brother whose head was bleeding.

The werewolves dropped to the ground, dead. Frederick, blood splattered over his face, didn’t let go of his silver knife or Gregory.

Sam didn’t bother checking whether the werewolves were really dead, they had taken a bullet to their heads and wouldn’t return from that (unless heaven or hell took mercy on them and neither were kind to anyone but themselves).

“Frederick,” Sam said. “You need to get up.”

Frederick didn’t move. The motel was pretty empty, but someone was bound to have heard the attack, the fight or the murder, and they would come looking. They couldn’t afford to lose time now.

“Fred, get up,” Sam ordered. He held out his hand and when Frederick, shaken up, lifted his, Sam quickly took the knife out of it and threw it in the small suitcase on the bed. “Get dressed, I’ll take care of Greg.”

Frederick seemed to be moving in slow motion, but he was finally returning to the action. Sam pulled the pillowcase off one of the pillows lying on the bed and used it to stop Gregory’s bleeding. He probably only had a concussion.

Then Sam picked Gregory up as carefully as he could and carried the man to the Impala. Riot looked up in interest when Sam laid Gregory on the backseat.

“Keep watch,” Sam told him and returned to the Rosswells’ room to help Frederick finish.

When he arrived, Frederick was as good as dressed and gathering everything of importance. Sam picked up two bags and threw one last look at the corpses on the ground. They had no time to get rid of the bodies, they would have to stay.

Frederick sits down next to Gregory and pulls his brother’s head in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” Frederick murmured. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, …”

The mantra followed them down the road until they were three cities further and utterly safe from being accused of any of the crimes they had committed.

“Do you have a safe place to stay somewhere?” Sam asked.

They were near Kansas now and could easily swing up to Nebraska. Neither Caitlyn nor Marty had enough space for the two hunters, but it would do long enough for Gregory to heal until the twins could hit the road again.

If they still wanted to after this encounter.

Sam had been injured so often in the past years, he hardly even blinked at a concussion anymore, he and Dean just kept on driving.

“We’ve got a house,” Frederick replied. “I don’t know what shape it’s in, but we were meaning to go check it out anyway.”

“Alright. Directions?”

Frederick led Sam to an abandoned house that was a good twenty-minute drive into the woods in the north of Kansas. It looked fairly old and was surprisingly big and in a good shape.

The entire fa��ade of the building had been painted in a soft green. The color was starting to peel off in some places, but it was mostly intact.

“What is this place?” Sam asked after they had carried Gregory inside and let him continue resting on a sofa in the living room.

There was something off about this place that Sam couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it put him on edge. He felt like somebody was watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake. He began mustering the painted walls. Elaborate landscape paintings of a forest covered the living room. The longer he looked at it, the more did he think he was seeing familiar symbols.

“It’s our great-grandmother Agatha’s house,” Frederick said. “Never met her. According to our grandmother, she was a wicked witch who should have never been allowed to have a child. As soon as Grandmother was sixteen, she left and married a nice man and had a completely normal daughter who then had us. Agatha died back in 2009 shortly before you stopped the apocalypse that almost happened and she left everything to our mother. Mom wanted to sell the house, but no deal could be made. People had unfortunate accidents as soon as they stepped into the house.”

Sam stepped closer to the entrance door, tracing over carvings in the wood. “What?”

Frederick grimaced. “That’s why we were heading here. We wanted to check it out. We thought a ghost might be haunting the building.”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure about that,” Sam muttered.

“No?”

“These symbols spread all over the room, they’re runes. I’m pretty sure they’re wards. Any chance your great grandmother worshipped pagan gods?”

“I don’t know. But she got super old and she was from Norway.”

Sam sighed. “Alright. Let’s track down which god is protecting this house and get them a proper offering before they kill us.”

In the end, it was quite easy to figure out which god Agatha had worshipped. Sam found her altar in the eastern kitchen window, the first to see the sun in the morning. Old, half-burned candles with a sugary sweet smell stood around a handmade clay flower pot filled with small pink flowers that appeared to be blooming although nobody was taking care of them. And right next to the flower pot stood a bowl filled with sweets.

The irony of this situation wasn’t lost on Sam.

“It’s Loki,” Sam said when he returned to the living room. “Your great grandmother was a follower of Loki.”

“That was the trickster angel, right?” Frederick asked. “The one who died? Shouldn’t this house be clean of his influence then?”

Sam shook his heads. “You can never really kill a pagan god. More than any other beings, they cling to faith. As long as someone believes in them, they exist. Gabriel might be dead, but the idea of Loki is still around.”

(He wondered what that meant for angels. They did die, expect when God or whatever interfered. Castiel had died and come back. So why did God let one of his oldest angels die?)

“Anyway, I’ll get a package of chewing gum from the car. Not his favorite, but it’s sweet and an offering.”

“You’re not going to destroy the altar?”

Frederick’s expression was neutral. He wasn’t judging Sam or implying anything. He only wanted to know why Sam wasn’t getting rid of the threat.

And honestly? Sam didn’t know why. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him.

“This place has pretty strong wards,” Sam said. It was true, they must have been powered by Loki. If Agatha’s life force had also been included in that, it was no wonder she had died when Gabriel did. If the twins took up residency here, offering their blood and redrawing some of the ownership-tied wards, they had a pretty protected place to stay at. It shouldn’t cost them more than a couple sweets every now and then and some new candles. “There’s a bigger advantage to keeping it.”

The twins got settled and Sam spent a couple hours exploring the house. The wards Agatha had set up were truly impressive, even more so after they had made the offering. The house itself was a pretty nice place too. Sure, it needed some fixing and a new paint job, but the amount of knowledge stored in the crammed library in what must have been Agatha’s study was astonishing. Sam would definitely take a closer look once he had the time. Since they had no food or drink, Sam went back to the car to head to the nearest grocery store and buy some supplies.

After about two days, Gregory was already up and running again - or walking. Every time Frederick even just suggested Gregory take it slow or, God forbid, brought him food to his bed, Gregory looked slightly more murderous. His injuries weren’t as bad as they had seemed, but it had scared Fred regardless. It reminded Sam a little of his childhood when he’d been deemed old enough to give first-aid but too young to hunt still and Dean or Dad had come back already half out of it and Sam had to stitch them back together. They’d always looked as if they’d come straight out of a horror movie, but nothing vital had been hurt (well, except maybe once or twice.)

Sam and Fred had cleaned up what appeared to have been a guest bedroom and settled Gregory there. To avoid going stir-crazy, they’d cleaned up the other rooms afterward. The house had electricity and warm running water and Sam was sure those had only shown up after Sam had added a lot of treats to Loki’s altar.

He might have gone a little overboard, but Sam owed the guy. He’d died for them, the whole world, when he could have certainly taken up a golden throne right next to Lucifer. As twisted as Lucifer was, killing Gabriel had hurt him and that showed how much he would have loved to have his favorite sibling by his side.

And Gabriel has said “no”.

Frederick had only glanced questioning at the mountain of candy, porn magazines, crossword puzzles, honey, and candles, but Gregory was the one to actually ask about them.

“I thought altars were all blood, dark magic and-“ Gregory moved his hands through the air in the bad imitation of a TV witch. “You know?”

“Blood is for worshippers and, in this case, the owner of the house. The stuff I brought is just a guest gift.”

Maybe not just merely a guest gift, but also a little bribery to protect the three of them as they resided here.

“So whoever offers blood owns the house?” Gregory inquired.

Sam shrugged. “Basically.”

“And non-basically?”

Right, Sam had forgotten he was talking to an ex-history student. Without further prompting, he latched into a lecture on Pagan gods, worship, and ownership rules, only halting once to give Frederick a chance to get settled comfortably when he joined them.

Caitlyn: Fred & George are okay?

Gregory: It’s Greg

Frederick: Don’t ruin my fun, bro

Gregory: Of all the names you could have picked, why did it have to be Frederick again?

Sam: @Caitlyn They are getting better

Caitlyn: Sweet. We got a couple Hunters here asking how to get phoenix feathers. Anybody got some ideas? And can I give them your number? @Sam

Sam: Sure, tell them to give me a ring and I’ll see what I can do

Frederick and Gregory were up to something. Sam didn’t just guess so, he saw the incriminating looks they shared. Sam had been in and out of their house for a month now. He’d spent two weeks there going through the books their great-grandmother had possessed, but unfortunately, those didn’t provide much information on purgatory either.

Another dead end.

After that, Sam threw himself into helping other hunters. His number of acquaintances had grown exponentially the more the word spread that one Winchester was still alive and kicking and willing to just hand over everything he knew (while the other was gone, never dead. All of them thought it, Sam knew, but they didn’t dare say it around him.).

Hunters were guarded people, they wouldn't survive otherwise. Even information was just shared sparingly, so of course, they all jumped on the opportunity. It was strange to be confronted with Hunters who worked very specialized or were just at the beginning of their careers, as far as you could call killing monsters a job.

Of course, the older ones didn’t exactly trust Sam (he did have a history filled with a lot of dangerous bullshit such as letting Lucifer out of the Cage), but he was America’s expert on everything angelic and demonic.

Even if he didn’t really feel like it. There was so much to know about heaven and hell, Sam’s active knowledge barely scratched the surface and he didn’t dare try to reach for the memories he had buried.

(The Cage hadn’t been all bad, but trauma didn’t let you pick how you’d react to any memory at all.)

But compared to everyone else, that was still more so he taught how to exorcise demons and kill angels and hoped it was enough.

“So,” Gregory said one morning. “I’m all healed up and Himari called, asking for backup, so we think it’s time to leave again.”

Sam nodded and closed his book. “Time to move on then.”

“Yeah, about that…” Gregory trailed off and turned to his brother.

Frederick pushed himself away from the wall and began walking up and down.

“Look, Sam. We don’t really have use for this place. And you’ve got Riot.”

“A car’s not a home,” Gregory added. He bent down to pet the dog, who definitely enjoyed his stay at the house more than the endless hours on the road.

Frederick pointed at his brother. “Right? And a dog needs a home and you need a space for the library in your car.”

Sam frowned, realization only dawning slowly upon him. “You can’t-“

Gregory held up has hands. “We can. Look, we still got our parents’ house and all these wards and stuff? That’s your niche. We like hunting stuff that doesn’t require enchantments and we can’t even read half of the words painted on the ceiling.”

“You can learn,” Sam insisted. “This house belonged to your great-grandmother.”

Legacy was important to Hunters. All the lives saved, the knowledge passed on – many Hunters didn’t have any blood relatives left, so their hunting partners were the ones who carried their memories.

But Frederick and Gregory didn’t know that and Sam struggled to find the right words.

Frederick shrugged. “We never even met her, Sam. This house might as well belong to a stranger. We’ll, of course, come visit and crash here whenever, but otherwise? You need a place to search for your brother. Take it.”

It took another week for them to wear Sam down, and even then they wouldn’t leave until Sam had gone to the nearest supermarket and returned with new offerings for their pagan god and finally bled over the altar.

Frederick had looked smug the whole time while Gregory sent Sam’s new address to their mutual friends and acquaintances.

It didn’t even take a week for the first person to show up at his doorstep.

Sam had always liked doing things with his hands, repairing broken items, stitching up shirts. A lot of handiwork had come out of necessity, but there was also something soothing attached to it all. Over the course of the next weeks, Sam drove to the construction market about every day until the cashiers there greeted him by name.

He bought paint and tools and wood and started to repair the house where it was damaged and touch it up where it just didn’t look all right.

He added his books to the library/study and organized the artifacts Agatha had left lying around pretty much everywhere. The room that once must have belonged to the twins’ grandmother was turned into a guest room with two beds, as was another storage room, a corner of the basement, and the attic.

When Sam was finally satisfied, too much time had passed already, but Kevin Tran, while tired and exhausted, was not bitter and welcomed the change of scenery.

Fact was, a lot of Hunters distrusted Sam Winchester. He had a reputation that made them uneasy and the stories haunting him made him out to be much less human than he ought to be. Those Hunters relied on Garth to collect info for them, give them back up and so on. They pointed the new Hunters they found in his direction and Garth-

Well, Garth gave them Sam’s number.

Old school Hunters relied on old and proven methods, they would not suddenly think of recording exorcisms on their phones or starting a Supernatural Wikipedia. These New Age Hunters, as they liked to scoff, didn’t know how much the world had changed.

And they were right in that assessment.

When your first hunt involved leviathans and demons, angels stealing people who returned as mere shells, then you didn’t miss the times when the world was straightforward and didn’t include more than ten types of monsters.

“Hello, Agent Mercury? One of your field agents is claiming our body here is part of an FBI investigation-“

“The heads, Sam! It only leaves the heads!”

“-and the Park Rangers really-“

“So like, they steal from blood banks, but otherwise they’re vegan?”

“The military must be really desperate if they try to recruit people off the police.”

“Hypothetically, if a werewolf and a vampire had a kid together-“

“Winchester! Holy Christ, you won’t believe-“

“It’s Kevin,” the prophet interrupted Penny. “Sam’s making dinner.”

Silence. Kevin had to stop himself from laughing out loud.

“Oh. Hi, Kevin! How’s it going?”

“Good, but it’s been busy. How can Agatha’s help you today? Need some spells to get rid of a wicked witch or brain for your local zombie population?”

“Zombies…?” Penny trailed off, sounding unsure. Kevin imagined her shaking her head. “You know what? I don’t want to know. Do you guys know anything about a spell or a monster going after the blood of two drained lambs, the liver of a lion, and the eyes of a monkey? We got a bizarre case here in a zoo.”

Kevin glanced at the clock. He wasn’t going to work on the tablet anymore today and if he could help it, Sam wouldn’t shut himself away in his study/purgatory lore cave.

“Yeah, we can do some research. We’ll ring as soon as we got something.”

Soon after word had gotten out that Sam had settled somewhere, Mackey showed up at his doorstep, only Himari in tow. Penny, her better half in Himari’s own words, was apparently visiting family up north.

Sam didn’t buy the lie, but he saw no point in questioning her.

“Oh, man, Sam. I love what you’ve done with the place. It’s like Roadhouse and Bobby’s in one,” Mackey said.

Sam smiled and looked around. It really was starting to look like a proper place for hunters to crash at. “Not enough books and dirt for Bobby’s yet.”

Marty laughed and knocked his beer against Sam’s. “True enough. I swear the cleanest I ever saw Bobby’s was when your Daddy had dropped you off at his place again.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but still managed to smile softly. “That’s only ‘cause Bobby made me and- made us clean to keep us busy and away from the books depicting torture.”

“Oh, yeah. That sounds like Bobby!”

Himari, who up until then had only been nursing her tea silently, spoke up for the first time since she had stepped into Sam’s house. “What is the Roadhouse and Bobby’s?”

Mackey's cheerful expression fell and Sam too, who had been making all kinds of calls over the past weeks and should be used to it by now damn it, couldn’t stop his throat from closing up.

“That was before your time, kid,” Mackey replied. “The Roadhouse was the Hunter equivalent to a community center – a place to recover after or before a hunt. I swear, nobody ever managed to talk me out of a hunt before without even saying a word but Ellen. And Bobby was the meanest son of a bitch you could ever meet. You vaguely describe him your latest crazy, and he’d call you back within a day to tell you what the hell you’re facing and how to kill it. Also our go-to man if the authorities came calling. Without the two of them, the community’s shot to hell. Garth’s been picking up some slack, but he ain’t got time to teach anyone… That reminds me.”

Mackey picked his backpack up from the ground and rummaged through it until he found what he was looking for – a dirty sheet of paper apparently – and held it up victoriously.

“Here,” he said and gave it to Sam. “I got into contact with a couple Old Timers. Not sure if they’re on your contact list already, but they offered to help out with the huge influx of newbies so you’re not stuck handling all their questions.”

Sam scanned the list. A few names stuck out to him, but others he was only vaguely aware of or didn’t know at all.

“Thanks, Marty. I’ll give them a ring.”

When the Hillains asked for Sam’s help, he expected a little more “Could you be our back-up?” and less “Can we leave the kids with you for the week?” but Sam agreed anyway.

It was certainly an experience to have three kids running around for a week, but not one he minded. He had babysat couple times as a teenager to earn some extra cash, and the experience was familiar enough.

Besides, all three of them loved Riot and the dog was more than just happy about the extra attention.

Irv Franklin liked to think he was as good a man as a Hunter could be. Of course, he didn’t have utter faith in Sam Winchester, everybody knew the Winchesters messed around with Heaven and Hell and a whole lot of other things that shouldn’t be touched, but the kid was also Bobby’s kid.

And, really, everybody who actually cared about Bobby knew those two Winchester brats had been his whole world.

Tracy hadn’t wanted to come to Winchester’s place – called Agatha’s for some unfathomable reason – and Irv couldn’t blame her. He had told her she could stay in the motel, but she had decided to meet the man the demons had killed her family for.

From the outside, the house looked comfortable, not as militant as Irv had expected. Sam was kneeling on the porch, painting something on the windowsill. As soon as he spotted Irv and Tracy, he stood up.

“Irv! Good to see you.”

“Right back at you, Winchester,” Irv said and followed Sam inside.

The kid led Irv and Tracy into the kitchen and took a couple beers out of the fridge. “We only got beer and water right now,” he said apologetically.

Irv wondered who exactly we were, but didn’t ask. He had heard rumors about prophets, and everybody who went after demons knew that hell had been in an uproar lately. Sometimes it was better if you didn’t know anything.

“I did look into the killings you described,” Sam continued. “Couldn’t find anything directly, but the books in the living room contain everything I’ve got on ritualistic murders. Feel free to look through them, just don’t run off with them. One of the upstairs’ rooms is already occupied, but you can sleep downstairs in the basement if you want.”

Irv reached for one of the beers on the kitchen table. “Thanks, kid.”

They left two days later.

“He’s not really what I expected,” Tracy admitted carefully.

Maybe she could start to heal properly now.

Irv grimaced. “Winchesters rarely are.”

Sam’s study was a bit of a mess. Papers covered half the floor and whole books the other. Kevin kind of wanted to sigh in frustration, but that wouldn’t help anyone. Instead, he sat down on the ground next to Sam.

“Is everything alright?” Kevin asked, already knowing the answer.

Sam laughed bitterly, his ink-stained hands still brushing through Riot’s fur. “No, nothing’s alright. Just look at me, Kev, what am I doing? It’s been almost a year, and I still haven’t found a way to save him.”

Sam didn’t need to say out loud who he was talking about, it was as clear as day.

“I have only been wasting my time trying to- to-“

“Keep over two dozen hunters alive, researching about fifteen different things at the same time with more dedication than I ever put into my term papers despite my mom?” Kevin said drily. “Give yourself a break, Sam. You’re already doing more than humanly possible.”

“But it’s not enough!”

Sam’s outburst was not unexpected but that didn’t make it any more pleasant.

Kevin was used to it, though.

They kept themselves together well enough around others, but some things needed more than the duct tape they stuck onto their wounds.

“I want to visit my mom,” Kevin said into their silence. “I haven’t left the house in months and I think it’ll be safe enough. Just a quick trip. One last time.”

“Alright,” Sam agreed quietly.

Maybe this was healing. (Maybe it was giving up.)

Sam would never know.

Lazarus rose once more.

(Rinse. Rise. Repeat.)

#spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #kevin tran #supernatural #fanfic #I AM STILL SALTY AND I HAVE CONSUMED 3 SEASONS MORE SINCE

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technoplaguearchive · 5 years

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Cruel To be Kind (3/4)

Holy crap guys I just realized I never posted the rest of this fic here >.< My bad!!!

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Mornings are their own special hell, complete with friends as the tormenting demons.

Pairing: MidoriyaxBakugou / BakuDeku Rating: Teen & Up Category: M/M Fandom: My Hero Academia | Boku No Hero Academia Originally Published: Some time in April 2019 & I can’t remember when on AO3 Chapter: 3 of 4

Previous || Next

The morning signified the start of a new day, a new chance at life. Mornings were a chance to renew oneself and start on the right foot.

Mornings brought with them a sense of peace.

Most people greeted mornings with a smile and a positive outlook, while some others greeted it with a scowl and a middle finger. But no matter how people felt about them, they kept coming and kept signaling a new day.

Mornings brought the chirping of birds in areas that were lucky enough to be graced with them. Mornings brought sunlight gently filtered through windows, blinds, and curtains. Mornings could also bring gentle city noises to life where one could hear greetings being tossed between pedestrians as they started their days.

This morning, however, brought some additional things to the table; a pounding ass headache, nausea, and the sinking feeling that karma was getting Bakugou back for something... No, wait, that sinking feeling was probably still nausea. So scratch the karma bit.

Sitting up in bed was pretty much a no-go, not unless he wanted to spill his guts all over his clean sheets and the floor. So, for now, he was bed bound and on his back staring at the ceiling, he could accept that. Everything was within reach and he could lay here for a few hours. The light filtering through the small gap in his curtains is enough to make him wince, but sadly not easily remedied unless he wanted to roll across the floor to fix it. Which, if he thought too hard about it, even the mere aspect of rolling anywhere was enough to convince his stomach contents to make a break for it. So fuck it, he’d just face the other way and deal with the shitty sunlight.

The birds he couldn't do anything about except turn some music on to cover their stupid happy chirping. So that was the course of action; locate his phone and put some mindless playlist on low until he could crawl his ass to the shower. Was this the dreaded hangover that his friends always complained about? Fuck, why did they keep drinking if this was how they felt? This was fucking god-awful.

Last he could recall he had put his phone on his nightstand but was he remembering last night or remembering another night? That was the real question. He could barely remember what had happened last night and the few snippets he could piece together weren't helpful. Deku had shown up and Bakugou had decided to get piss drunk instead of leaving. Why? And how the fuck had he got home? And who the fuck had let him drink so much?

First things first; find the phone and get some music going so those fucking bird chirps would stop grating his ears.

A heavy hand slaps around the nightstand as far as he can reach, which is just his rough fingertips groping the edge. After several seconds of half-assed searching, he comes up empty and groans loudly into the emptiness of his apartment. Fucking hell he was going to have to sit up or roll over now to find that plastic piece of shit that controlled his life.

Okay, we can do this, he thinks to himself, quickly followed by Fuck. I’m giving myself a pep talk, this is stupid.

The mental pep talk is enough to distract him while he slides his hands in and levels himself into a sitting position. He slams his eyes closed as the world tilts violently to the right in a blast of white and smudged colors, only to open them again when he finds closing them so quickly had only sent the signal to his brain that he was going to pass out, fall over, vomit, or some combination of the three. With this in mind, he cracks heavy lids open and blinks into the filtered sunlight. On any other morning it might have been beautiful but this morning it was aggravating and anger-inducing. At least his drunk ass hadn't turned every light in his place on, that probably would have been absolute hell on his head.

BZZZZZTTTTT

Bakugou twitches at the sudden noise then winces as a new round of pain shoots through his head.

”What the ever loving fuck…”

BZZZZZTTTTT

”Okay, seriously what the fuck is that noise?”

BZZZZZTTTTT

…..

BZZZZZTTTTT BZZZZZTTTTT BZZZZZTTTTT BZZZZZTTTTT

The noise dies off and Bakugou lets loose his second groan of the morning. Thankfully whatever it was seemed to have stopped. Probably something outside.

BZZZZZTTTTT BZZZZZTTTTT BZZZZZTTTTT

”GOD FUCKING DAMMIT WHAT IS THAT?”

His own roar of anger sends him sprawling backward onto the bed like a turtle on its back while his hands clutch his face and tears pool in his eyes.

As if to mock his predicament the noise sounds several more times before it clicks what it is; his phone. Which means that noisy fuck has to be on his nightstand to be making that hellacious racket.

Well, that solved that mystery but now he isn't sure he even wants music with the way his head is pounding. Between the movement, the noise, and his own stress level he's had enough of everything already.

Now that he knows the general whereabouts he gingerly rolls onto his side and slaps a hand out for his nightstand again. This time his hand slides across smooth plastic and he tugs it over with his fingertips, sliding the device into his palm and pulling it to his prone body. Moving absolutely sucked but staying stationary wasn't an option right now. He needed to figure out why it was going off so much.

”Please don't let it be an emergency,” he mutters desperately as he holds the screen before his face and turns the brightness down.

23 messages received.

Twenty. Fucking. Three. Messages.

Who the actual fuck was trying to get ahold of him this badly?

The good news is the messages, as far as he can tell, aren’t in the least bit important. They’re all from the group chat with Ashido, Kirishima, Kaminari, and Sero. Did those idiots not have hangovers? Kirishima was drinking an awful lot last night, too.

A brief glance through the previews tells him they’re discussing last night. He should probably read over those and see what happened, maybe someone got hurt or lost something… or maybe Ashido got laid and wanted to talk about it. All valid options, really.

First, the music.

Opening his music app he chooses his last playlist and hits shuffle then turns the volume way down. The Bluetooth picks the signal up and soon he can hear it floating gently through the speakers stashed about the bedroom.

With that task out of the way, and the birds now effectively silenced (Fucking finally, chirpy motherfuckers), he sets about figuring out what the idiots are talking about. The messenger app they use for their chat shows several messages privately to him but the majority are in the group. Okay, get the group nonsense out of the way and worry about the private stuff when he was a functional human being again.

He swipes back to the first missed message and sees it’s from Kaminari.

Zappy-Boy: Where did you guys go? I just saw Bakugou storm past back to the bar…? AlienQueen: We’re down here with him. He and Midoriya got in a fight AlienQueen: no surprise, of course

No more messages rolled in after until this morning, before he had even woken up.

AlienQueen: Has anyone heard from Bakugou? Do we know if he made it home? Zappy-Boy: ask Kirishima. Last I saw they were all over each other -_- AlienQueen: fucking hell...again? RIOT: not like that! He got a little trashed last night and I helped him get home. I left him at his door cause he didn’t want me inside AlienQueen: proof of life? RIOT: [image.jpg] AlienQueen: you’re right, he was trashed Zappy-Boy: did anyone check on Midoriya? He looked pretty upset when he showed up again last night AlienQueen: he said he was fine, just tired. Yelling at Bakugou wears a person out, so I get it Zappy-Boy: soooo, I’m gonna be who asks it since you’re all cowards; anyone got the tea? RIOT: I don’t even know what that means Zappy-Boy: the deets! The details! What were they arguing about? AlienQueen: that’s between them, and I wasn’t going to ask RIOT: yeah Bakubro came back in and started downing shots, so probably a fight like they did back in school. AlienQueen: who wants to place bets on the hangover he’s gonna have? RIOT: count me out, I wanna live Zappy-Boy: I’m with Kirishima. I like my head on my shoulders

Gossipy fucking idiots. But at least that filled in the blank of how he got home. He’s tempted to write back and tell them to fuck off but then he’d probably be bombarded, and he didn’t really want to chat much right now.

Next step; flop over and stare at the ceiling while contemplating the hangover and simultaneously trying not to think about the hangover. With an admittedly exaggerated groan, Bakugou rolls off his side and onto his back to stare into the vast emptiness of his bland white ceiling. At least it wasn’t a popcorn ceiling like Kirishima’s place. He didn’t know how that idiot could stand it... then again how often did someone look at their own ceiling?

He suddenly snorts out a laugh as a dark thought strikes him; if someone bottomed enough they probably were intimately familiar with the configuration of their ceiling. The immediate next thought is; Kirishima probably knows his ceiling is popcorn.

Unable to resist the temptation he snaps a picture of his ceiling and thumbs open the private message from his shark-toothed friend.

RIOT: let me know when you wake up. I need to know you’re not dead

Bakugou rolls his eyes at the redhead’s dramatics and sends the picture of his ceiling as a response along with a message.

Blasty: I didn’t know my ceiling was this smooth. Do you know what your ceiling looks like?

The little dots signaling an incoming response come up almost immediately and he has to repress a groan. As it is, he mutters ”Over-eager fuck” with a small smile.

RIOT: oh thank god you’re alive! RIOT: it’s popcorn, why? Blasty: that’s what I thought. Stare up at it a lot? RIOT: you’re being perverted, aren’t you? Blasty: always

He lays the phone down beside him and stares once more into the ceiling. Last night was a blur. He could recall bits and pieces, and a bit more now that he knew what some of those sensations and colors were, but for the most part after Midoriya showing up he didn’t remember much. From what he gathered from the group conversation he didn’t get blackout until after he and Midoriya fought? Which he certainly didn’t remember fighting. Was it a fist fight? A quick check of his knuckles and prodding his mouth with his fuzzy, disgustingly dry tongue answers that question; not a fist fight. So back to verbal sparring between them? That seemed more plausible.

The throb in his head makes itself known with an especially violent pang and he winces. Fuck, what the hell did he do last night? How much did he drink and why had the idiot-brigade let him?! The more frustrated he gets with the situation the more his headaches. The ache just adds fuel to his frustration and he finds himself gritting his teeth and internally cussing out the squad already.

"Good for nothing fucking assholes. They should have stopped me. They know how bad hangover is.” In a quick flash of unchecked anger, he chucks his phone across the bedroom and instantly regrets it. He's sitting up quickly to trace its path and make sure it’s intact but curses his decision when the urge to vomit nearly overwhelms him and sends him sprawling back onto the mattress to stare once more at the ceiling.

He lets out a rare for him, pained sob and throws an arm over his eyes to block out more light. “Whatever I did last night, I feel like karma’s kind of going overboard with revenge.” The empty apartment doesn’t answer and he sighs. “Bitch.”

BZZZZZTTTTT BZZZZZTTTTT BZZZZZTTTTT

“Motherfucker. Stop. I’m coming.”

Slowly he rolls over until he can claw himself off the bed and onto shaky feet. The room immediately tilts and he plunks down on his butt hard enough to snap his teeth together. "Fucking dammit. What the hell did I drink last night?"

It takes several minutes before the room settles enough for him to attempt standing again. Two steps are all he gets before he falls to his knees and ends up crawling the rest of the way to his phone. The screen looks intact and when he taps the screen it all seems to be working. Internally he thanks karma for not going as far as to break his phone.

The phone goes off once more in his hand and he almost drops it at seeing the name pop up on the screen;

DEKU.

Why the fuck was Deku messaging him?

With shaky fingers, he opens the message and this time does drop his phone. The words staring back don't change and sent a jolt of panic up his spine.

Deku wants to meet him. Deku wants to talk. Deku was apologizing.

If Deku was apologizing then Bakugou probably said something really fucked up. Fuck, if only he could remember what the hell had happened that would make Deku apologize.

With a resigned sigh, he flops stomach down on the floor and stares down his nose at his phone screen. The words weren't changing, they were still mocking him and giving him anxiety-butterflies. Why did Deku need to talk to him? Surely he knew Bakugou had a hangover.

”Uggghhh. Why does this morning suck balls?”

Only one way to find out what the fuck happened and that was to read his other messages and maybe ask someone. Probably Ashido, that gossipy bitch knew everything.

He snatches the phone back up and rolls over once more, managing to get himself into a cross-legged sitting position that wouldn’t topple his unsteady ass backward. There’s one missed message from Ashido as well when he checks.

AlienQueen: did you hurt that precious broccoli?! I’ll end you! Oh- and I hope you’re not dead, you were trashed

The message has one side of his mouth quirking up into a small smile. Good to see the ‘broccoli’ nickname had stuck and the group was using it. He probably should reply soon though or Ashido would insist Kirishima take her to him for proof of life.

Blasty: not dead, much to the general populace’s displeasure I’m sure

He chooses to ignore the part about hurting Midoriya because fuck if he knows what the hell happened. There was no way to answer that without lying. For all he knew the nerd was in a hospital. He winces a little at that thought and shakes it off. No, Shitty Hair would have told him if he’d done something that bad.

The response from Ashido jolts him from his dead-eyed stare and he jerks, fingers clenching around the plastic in his hand. Fuck, he was spacing out now.

AlienQueen: we’re glad you’re not dead, idiot. otherwise I would have had to summon your back from the grave to hand you an ass-whoopin Blasty: first off, you don’t have that kind of power. second, why the fuck? AlienQueen: first off, fuck you and I bet Tokoyami could so I’d ask him. second, did you get blackout drunk? Blasty: judging by the size of my enormous ass hangover, I’m gonna say yes? AlienQueen: why was that a question? Blasty: shutup Pinky and answer the question AlienQueen: I will, but first I wanna tell the others that you actually admitted to being hungover Blasty: fuck off, hair for brains already knows AlienQueen: well, that’s no fun AlienQueen: but fine AlienQueen: I’m sure you gathered you and Izuku got in a fight...again Blasty: yepppp AlienQueen: you came back in pissed off and went straight to drinking Blasty: I gathered that from the other messages AlienQueen: yeah well what you probably didn’t gather is you started rambling to Kirishima about shitty love confessions Blasty: stop right there I’m fucking calling you

Bakugou hauls himself off the floor and towards his bed once more, head barely landing on the pillows when he lays back down. He’s already calling Ashido by the time he rolls into his back again and gets comfortable enough where he doesn’t feel like vomiting. At this angle the sun is barely in his face and he’ll take it.

She picks up after the third ring with an overly chipper and probably purposely loud, “Hey Blasty Boy!”

He winces and yanks the phone from his ear but her shriek is still piercing. He cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear and examines his ceiling as he talks. A couple corners are looking dustier than he’d like, probably needed to get to them and clean soon.

“Pick up where you left off. And turn your volume down you shrieking siren.”

Ashido only giggles at his gruff tone and he growls a warning. “I was only teasing. You sound like shit, you really must be hungover.” From her end of the line, Bakugou hears cabinets closing and metal jangling around. She must be making food. He suppresses a groan as the thought of cooking food sends a new wave of nausea through him. “Anyways-,” another cabinet closes and he hears her softly curse, “-anyways, yeah. You were bitching to Kirishima about shitty love confessions and how it wasn’t right. Kirishima looked really upset about it but you kissed him on the cheek and he peeked back up. He really has it bad for you still, and I don’t see how.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. She always got distracted with off-topic details. “Whose shitty love confession was I supposedly bitching about to Shark-face?”

“Apparently Midoriya’s?” Bakugou feels his heart stop and he wants to puke again for entirely non-hangover related reasons, and the feeling gets worse at Ashido’s next words. “Yeah, I guess you and Midoriya got in a verbal sparring match about him wanting to take you home and he finally came out and said he was in love with you. And like a fucking psychopath you rejected him and told him to leave you alone.” She heaves the most out-upon sigh he’s ever heard from the girl. “You’ve got a real fucking drinking problem, Katsuki. Once in awhile for fun isn’t bad but Eijirou says you’ve been doing it at home alone and you schedule around it. That sounds awful,” her voice goes soft towards the end and he feels his stomach twist again.

Was he really that bad that Kirishima was trying to enlist help from the rest of their friends? He swallows his pride and manages to breathe out his question, “Who else has he talked to about this?”

“Everyone. Hell, I think he even talked to All Might.” Bakugou’s curse cuts her off and she sighs again. “All Might said it was your problem to work through but he’d help if needed. Eijirou’s worries about you. We all are.”

“Well stop, I didn’t ask you to be worried.” Damn his pride.

“That’s not how friendship works, Bakugou. You know that.”

Her words jog something in his mind and he shakes it off. “If I promise to cut back will you guys quit worrying like nannies?”

“Only if you promise to also talk to Midoriya. He was pretty worried this morning when I talked to him. He said he was going to contact you.”

That explained the message. “Yeah, the fucking nerd sent me a message” he admits.

“So talk to him, and we’ll help you get the drinking under control. You know we can come over and hang out if work is stressing you out.” She sounds so sincere that he feels guilty.

He laughs quietly into the phone and he can hear Ashido’s answering giggle. “Having you guys here would stress me more.”

He can almost hear the smile in her words. “Just think about it, ‘kay Blasty? You know we love you.”

“Yeah yeah, now fuck off so I can go puke and shower and-“ he grimaces and pushes his bangs off his face- “call the nerd back so we can talk.”

“Tell him how you feel this time?”

“I said fuck off, PinkyPie.”

Her answering laugh is loud and she blows him a kiss through the phone before she hangs up.

Well fuck, now he’d have to follow through or she’d show up at his place with Kirishima and he didn’t want that.

The phone gets deposited back on the nightstand and the music starts back up.

“Volume up,” he growls to the room as he rolls out of bed and heads towards the attached bathroom. The shower was calling his name, and maybe he could take that time to think shit through. Like what the fuck was he going to tell Deku? And why the fuck did Deku want to talk to him? And also why the hell was the nerd apologizing if Bakugou was the one who was a dick last night?

“AHHHHHHHH!”

He yells into the emptiness of his bathroom and slams the shower door open to blast the water to nearly full heat. Knowing it would take a little bit to get as hot as he wanted he stomps back to the phone and snatches it up. He needed to text Deku now before he chickened out or conveniently forgot that he needed to message him.

The messages from the other man are still in his inbox where he left them, mocking him and making his insides squirm. Okay, fuck, he could do this.

Blasty: I need to take a shower and maybe vomit first, in no particular order Blasty: no clue why you want to apologize though, so maybe forget that part and we can talk Blasty: or not, whatever, because I have no clue what you want with me

There’s a few minutes of silence where all Bakugou hears is his music and the pounding of the water hitting the shower floor. Cathartic, he thinks with a small laugh.

Finally his phone vibrates again.

DEKU: oh! I’m sorry that I interrupted your shower DEKU: you can let me know when you’re done and I’ll come over? Blasty: you can just head over now, I’ll be quick DEKU: I don’t want to rush you, it’s fine DEKU: I’ll grab us coffee on the way DEKU: same as usual right? Blasty: yeah Blasty: just head over now, I don’t have to vomit anymore Blasty: I’ll be quick Blasty: & then we can get whatever you need to talk about over with DEKU: ...okay then. See you soon

Bakugou puts the phone back down and strips off his clothes on his way to the bathroom. Shirt, shorts, and boxers fall into a heap and finally he’s under the warm spray. It’s like a mini massage on his back and he can’t help the small moan that escapes his lips.

“Fuucckkkkk.”

He slides his palms against the cool tile wall and hangs his head. He can still feel a throbbing behind his eyes but it’s less now, the urge to vomit at every movement is gone at least. Standing slowly he leans back to dunk his head into the warm spray and groans again. Leaning backwards; not a good idea.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck.” He repeats the mantra over and over as he backs against the wall he’d been leaning on and slides down to sit and put his head between his knees.

So maybe he wasn’t as good as he thought he was. He probably needed to take it easy for a little longer.

Three songs pass before he stands back up on shaky legs and finishes his shower as quick and efficiently as he can; not the best wash job on his hair or body but at least he didn’t smell like alcohol anymore. The thought of brushing his teeth is mildly sickening but he bears through it, towel draped around his waist as he hugs his sink in case he needs to get sick and ruin his clean teeth. Fuck mouthwash, he’ll deal without that for one day.

“Fuck, never again,” he swears as he stumbles back into the bedroom and starts digging through drawers for clothes.

One pair of boxers and pants later he hears a knock on the door. Deku. Little fuck probably ran over here with his quirk, probably forgot the coffee too.

Bakugou steps into his clothes and grabs a random shirt on his way to the door, another knock aggravating his slowly decaying headache. ��I’m fucking coming, quit with the damn noise nerd!”

A squeak on the other side of the door makes him smirk and he tosses his shirt over his shoulder as he opens the door. The smirk turns positively feral when he catches Deku’s eyes lingering a little too long on his exposed torso. “See something you like, Izuku?”

The nerd’s cheeks go bright red and he shoves past Bakugou in a rush to get into the apartment and away from the blonde male at the door. “Put some clothes on, Kacchan! I have your coffee and I got you that cream cheese pastry you like,” he squeaks as he rushes to the kitchen.

Bakugou chuckles and closes the door before turning towards the kitchen and tugging his shirt on. “Yer good for something, s’good to know.” The pastry is heavenly in his mouth and the coffee warms his fingertips.

Nourishment taken care of he plops down onto his couch and nods to the spot next to him. “Sit, jackass. Let’s get this over with.”

Deku nods sheepishly and grabs up his own coffee shop items then sits on the couch beside Bakugou. The space between them has never felt so tense and both men can feel it.

Bakugou breaks the silence first. “What did you need to apologize for?”

Deku’s face goes so red Bakugou’s sure he could use him as a stoplight. It’s a sight to behold. The freckles dotting his face are like little dark constellations. “W-well, I figured we should talk about last night and-“

“Spit it out, nerd. I’m still hungover and don’t wanna deal with your mumbling.”

He can see Deku’s brain short-circuit and knows he’s in for a treat now; Deku tended to get dumb when he was called out. “IWANTTOAPOLOGIZEFORSAYINGILOVEYOU.”

Hearing it from Ashido earlier did not even begin to prepare Bakugou for this. Hell he’d even kind of forgot about it already. His own brain short circuits in a never ending cycle of vicious karma this morning and his mouth pops open.

“Oh.” Then, “No.”

#bakudeku #midoriya x bakugou #bakugou x midoriya #my hero academia #mha fanfic #bnha fanfiction #fanfiction

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pivitor · 4 years

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Emotional Roller-Coaster This Week

So, the last eight days have been an absolute whirlwind. Some really great things happened. Some really bad things happened. I’m kinda still reeling. I had some big firsts, and spent some time with great friends, had some real catharsis. I also fell further into depression than I have in a long, long time, and, oh yeah, got diagnosed with a chronic illness.

I need to get this all off my chest, cause I’m drowning. Join me?

Before we start, there’s two things you need to know about me. Both are things I’ve mentioned in bits and pieces on here, but here’s the full story:

1. Three months ago I had shoulder surgery to repair a torn labrum (I technically tore it when I dislocated my arm in high school, and it’s been popping out on me once every other year or so ever since, but my most recent [and now final] dislocation was very bad and sent me right to the doctor). I spent about two weeks out of work, just sitting at home on the couch in a sling. The pain wasn’t great, but it was worse mentally: I put on a couple pounds and immediately started to feel terrible about myself, and being stuck at home when I wanted to be out there, doing stuff with friends or with guys or to reach a point where I can move out, felt terrible. I wasn’t in a great headspace for a long time. As of now I have about 95% of my arm function back, and am fully healed, just trying to get back the last of my range of motion and gradually increase back to my old strength threshold.

2. This one is a bit more complicated. I’ve talked a lot here about how I grew up in a cult, but I never went into further detail. Well, here we go: I was a J*hovah’s W*tness. (I’m censoring this because I don’t want this showing up in searches) It wasn’t something I would have ever chose for myself, but when you’re born into it, you’re pretty heavily indoctrinated -- I thought it was the gospel truth despite having many reasons not to. They’re a very homophobic organization, so growing up in it wrecked my self esteem. My entire childhood and time as a teenager I thought I was worthless and doomed, destined for eternal destruction. I was often suicidal. When I was about 18 or 19 the cult printed an article “clarifying” their view on homosexuality, and said they recognized that some people are just naturally attracted to the same gender and as long as they don’t act on it they’re still “acceptable” to God. It’s dangerous bullshit that makes me so angry now, but as a brainwashed, suicidal teenager, it felt like the only chance I had to live a worthwhile life, so I got baptized into the religion, which is the biggest mistake I have ever made in my life, because once you’re a baptized member of the cult, if you leave you’ll be shunned by everyone you’ve ever known. Your own parents will treat you as if you’re dead. I was very zealous for a year or two before realizing that I just couldn’t do it anymore, but it’s taken me nearly ten years to fully wake up from the indoctrination, read information from outside religions, scientists, and former members who have left. Currently I still live with my family and have to pretend to still believe (because the moment I don’t they’ll kick me out on the street), and am on the cusp of two promotions at work. As soon as those go through, I should be able to save money to move out, which I wanna do before the summer, and then I’ll be completely free.

Okay, the rollercoaster week itself:

Pre-Monday: For about a week, a week and a half before this all started, I’d been experiencing some pain in my side that was making it hard to sit up for long periods of time. This normally would’ve been a major red flag, but thanks to the shoulder surgery, I’d been having random back pains off and on recently anyway. I assumed it was related to me overcompensating for the shoulder and left it alone. Big mistake.

Monday: So one of my promotions at work involves a coaching center we’re launching. We were supposed to do our first presentation last Monday, and when my boss showed up for it, everything fell apart. It wasn’t totally my fault -- the general condition of the office itself wasn’t up to par, and the boss recognized that there wasn’t much I could do about that -- but a lot was, and I spent all week trying to fix things and get them running, and running into one major roadblock and frustration after another. We’re finally doing the presentation today, but it technically still isn’t 100% fixed. Work has been a major, major source of stress all week. I don’t think I’ll mention it again because there’s not much more to it than what I’ve listed here, but remember that it’s hanging over my head all week.

Monday night I was invited to a birthday party for a friend from my gym. Since the cult doesn’t celebrate holidays, I’d never actually been a birthday party before, complete with cake and singing happy birthday and everything. It was really nice -- even though it was truly just a bunch of guys hanging around a bar watching the Eagles, it still felt like something really special. I also spent about a half an hour in my car before I walked into the bar trying not to hyperventilate. I don’t feel guilty at all as I may have once, but I was still really worried about being seen by someone and my family finding out.

Wednesday: Tuesday was my only truly normal day of the week, and even then, we had my cousin staying with us up until Wednesday, so even then it wasn’t truly normal. We normally have church on Thursday nights (I have to attend so as not to blow my cover, but I tend to stand in the lobby and play on my phone the entire time; it’s a nice chance to catch up on my reading usually), but I had a concert on Thursday I was not going to miss, so I told my parents I was going to a different congregation on Wednesday night, but instead I went to Starbucks and caught up on Crisis on Infinite Earths. It’s...depressing that this is what I’m reduced to, but I was happy that it finally occurred to me to just...lie about it.

When I got home and took off my shirt to change into my pajamas, I noticed a patchy, red rash on my stomach, side, and back, right around the same area I’d been having pain for the last week or two. I’d absolutely never had anything like this happen before, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it. I crossed my fingers that it was an allergic reaction, put some cortisone cream on it, and decided to wait a couple days to see if anything changed.

Thursday: On Thursday I drove up to Philly after work, and ate a few slices at my favorite pizza place, reading comics, until it was time for the concert. It was a free show from Pkew Pkew Pkew, a band I truly, truly love, and it was one of my favorite shows of the year. Just pure joy. They played for about an hour, but were the opening act, and I don’t care for the headliner (Beach Slang), so I had originally had a few ideas about what I could do afterwards, considering that their set was over by 10 or so. I could go home (coward’s option), I could go to the Barcade. What I really wanted to do was go to a gay bar or club. I’d gone right before my surgery and had a great time, but I’d been avoiding going back (or joining a dating app or anything else) until my arm fully healed because it would very much have gotten in the way of doing anything physical. I was finally in the place where I could use my arm, but now I had that strange mysterious rash, and didn’t think it was right to do anything like that until I’d figured it out/gotten it cleared up. I don’t wanna pass anything on to anybody.

By sheer coincidence, Philly’s Emo Night ended up being this very same night (this one is held once a month), so I ended up heading over there and dancing until 2AM. I got very drunk and had a fantastic time. But there were a lot of couples. There was this girl that kept hitting on me, and then getting pissy when I didn’t reciprocate. There was this extremely hot dude in a Misfits hoodie, and early in the night we were the only two who were dancing, and he gave me a high five that he pulled into a bro hug after the song, which got me all riled up, but I couldn’t work it into anything else haha. And then this group of about four guys or so showed up, dancing all night, very affectionate, cupping each other’s faces when they talked to each other and all that. I’d seen them before and both times thought they might be gay, so I stuck close and was kinda part of their group for the night, which was really really fun. At the end of the night, one of them mentioned their girlfriend, and I reeled way more than I had any right to. I had a fantastic night. I went home feeling very alone.

Friday: Friday was my gym’s Christmas Party, which, much like Monday, was my first ever Christmas Party. I had a really fun time chatting with everyone, eating, watching one friend get drunk, try to jump up on the rings, and get dragged home by his wife. We had rowing contests and the losers had to take shots. But there was one guy there I’ve always had a crush on, a very straight, very married guy, and he was looking extremely hot and was acting extremely funny all night, and it was rough. I went home and dreamed about him all night. I woke up feeling even more alone and frustrated.

Saturday: I was pretty depressed and listless by this point. Feeling really sorry for myself despite all the fun I’d had all week. I had plans to drive up to Asbury Park for an Aaron West and the Roaring Twenties show and I just...really didn’t feel like going. But I drug myself out of bed and made myself go, because you don’t miss the gig. Before the show I wandered around Asbury, basically torturing myself. I wanted to visit a restaurant but had eaten lunch too late and wasn’t hungry. I found a gay club but still had that rash, so I didn’t wanna go in. I ended up standing on the beach, in the dark, finally having a genuine smile as I dodged the waves, but also just thinking about how sometimes Kangaroos just walk into the ocean and...never come back. I was not in a good headspace. I made myself get off the beach.

The show though...damn, that show. Dan played the second Aaron West album, Routine Maintenance, from front to back, and it’s an album about Aaron making the people in his life proud of him, about his friends giving him direction, about finding redemption through being there for his family in their darkest hour. That kind of shit is my kryptonite to begin with, but all I could think about was how all I had ever wanted in my life was to make my family proud, and how I’d never be able to do it, how someday soon they’re just...never gonna talk to me again. I cried twice during the set. And afterwards I got to hug Dan and tell him how much the album fucks me up. It was really cathartic. I felt the cloud start to lift.

Sunday: So Sunday I finally go to the doctor about this fucking rash, which hadn’t gotten any worse but had not gotten any better either. The diagnosis?

I have fucking shingles.

For those who don’t know, shingles is the chicken pox virus. After you’ve had chicken pox it never really leaves your body -- it stores itself away in your nerves. As an adult, it can reemerge as shingles, which begins as an intense pain, then advances into painful rashes on one side of your torso. Without intervention, they can continue to spread and become almost immobilizing. I’m currently on a pill I have to take three times a day for seven days, which will stop the progression of the shingles, and then it will heal up on its own, but it could take a few weeks.

Thankfully, I’m not contagious -- I can only spread the disease if someone has prolonged, direct contact with the rashes. I can be around people, but like I feared, it does rule out sex for a while. The worst part is that shingles as a disease can’t really be healed. The symptoms will go away, but I’ll be susceptible to outbreaks the rest of my life. Fortunately, the doctor made it sound pretty manageable -- the pain in my side, in that exact same spot, will always be my first symptom, so as soon as I feel that I need to get to a doctor and get back on the seven day medication to end the flare-up. It doesn’t sound like shingles flare-ups are super common either -- reading up on it, it looks like most people have, at the most, three outbreaks in their life. But, it’s still a chronic illness, and it’s one that’s very rare to emerge at this young of an age -- this is something you normally get in your fifties or sixties, not your early thirties!

Honestly, I could only laugh. Just my luck, right? I’m so frustrated. My arm’s finally reached the point where I can get back to trying to pursue guys, but nope! the shingles has to postpone it a few more weeks :/

But despite it all, the depression of the rest of the week had mostly lifted. I had processed it. I was feeling better. For a while.

Back in the spring I had joined a subreddit for former members of the cult, which is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, as it let me share my story with people who had been there and understood, and really helped clear out the last remnants of the programming from my brain. Every once in a while different gay Ex cult member will contact me on there, and I’ve struck up a few nice casual friendships. Last week a guy reached out to me on there looking for friends in the same situation as him, and I replied, and on Friday he finally replied back, and we texted each off and on Saturday and Sunday morning. Sunday night, though, we got into a deeper conversation. He’s in his early twenties, and some of the stuff he was asking for advice about made it sound like he was just starting to wake up from the programming and just starting to think about leaving and being gay and everything. Eventually, as we talk more, I find out that that’s not fully the case. He’s jealous of some of the stuff I’ve done that he hasn’t -- going to Pride, going to gay bars -- but unlike me, he’s had a fair amount of sex. Like any closeted Witness, he had to drive into unfamiliar cities to do so, and it’s a strategy I’ve thought of trying but never pulled off.

I dunno, I’m so depressed. I feel like such a failure. I know having sex doesn’t make you a better person, and not having sex doesn’t intrinsically make you a failure. But I feel like this because I want it so badly, because I always have, and I could have been doing it for years, and I’ve been really forced to confront the fact that it’s my own fear that’s been getting in my way all this time. If I’d really tried I could’ve done it by now. If I really tried I probably could’ve moved out and started my new life by now -- I’d probably be dirt broke in an apartment with like eight roommates, but I could’ve done it. I don’t feel like anybody else, including this guy I was chatting with, have been judging me for this, but I’m pretty disgusted with myself, irrational as it may be. I know it’s not true, but I feel like my whole life has been a waste of time. And I’m so fucking sick of it.

So. This is everything I’ve been processing this week. I don’t really know what to do with it. I’ve gotta be patient a little while longer. Keep working on my real estate licensing test so I can make some more money. Wait for the shingles to heal up. Get on Grindr and just, fucking, fuck some dude the moment I’m cleared up.

But fuck, I’m so fucking sick of waiting.

#pivitor

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the-darkness-does-not-bargain · 5 years

Text

Big God, part 3

And here’s the last piece of this angsty mess. Please enjoy Catradora superhero suffering!

Part 1 Part 2

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17638580/chapters/42028049

Part 3: Sunflower (I think your love would be too much)

She met Adora in middle school, 6th grade to be exact. She had been paired with Catra for a math worksheet on their fourth day of school. Catra had been a bit of an obnoxious punk at the time, she can admit that now. But Adora had been unfazed by her hawkishness, smiling brightly at Catra’s scowls and ignoring her bad attitude. She treated her in a way no one really had before, with friendliness and a genuine desire for closeness. They bonded over Catra’s mother and Adora’s shitty foster parents, trading stories and secrets with an honesty that both were unfamiliar with. Catra hadn’t a clue what to make of Adora at the time, but when the openness and kindness didn’t stop as it had so often in the past, she finally started to get it.

Adora is a good person, a genuine, caring girl who’s always eager to help others if she’s able to. She never turns away from suffering or injustice, instead always searching for some way to fix things. Even when she messes up, she just tries to be better. She tries and tries and tries and never considers quitting even when it’s the obviously smart move.

Catra isn’t like that. She’s never been a good person, no matter what Adora might say, and she doesn’t claim to be. Catra is her mother’s daughter, and she hates that more than anything. She grew up knowing that the world was just a gaping maw filled with saw-blade teeth waiting for you to fall into it. She was determined to never fall. Was determined.

She was 23 when she took the role of Boss from her mother, who had decided to retire on the sunny private islands of Salineas with little more than a note to her daughter. Catra had stepped up to the plate, and with a little help, managed not only to keep the Horde functioning but took them to new heights her mother had been too cautious to reach for. Adora was finishing her certifications to be a personal trainer at the time. Catra signed the papers to purchase Half-Moon on the same day as their two-year anniversary, in fact shortly before she left to meet Adora for their dinner reservation. She-Ra was sighted stopping a mugging five days later, her first public appearance.

Their first confrontation wasn’t until a full year after that, with Catra lumbering around in a roughshod prototype of her Tigress armor, the first design Entrapta had made for her. It ended with Catra in the hospital lying to the doctors that her broken wrist and shoulder-to-ankle bruising were from a bad fall. Adora had been so worried, keeping her virtually on house arrest until she was healed. 10 short months after that was their most destructive battle to date, which saw the two of them demolishing a condemned parking garage. Literally. They tackled each other through the concrete support beams and barely escaped before the structure collapsed on top of them. But Adora took a flight to Plumeria early the next morning, and they didn’t see each other until a full week after their injuries were healed.

She tries to think of how many times they came close to discovering the truth. How many times did the façade nearly fall away? How long have they been dancing a jig on this tightrope of mutual anonymity?

“Boss?”

It’s enough to make your head explode, thinking about it. Was Adora lying every time she said she got hurt “in sparring”? Just like Catra lied about “breaking up bar fights” at Half-Moon?

“Boss.”

And what about all the nights when Adora was the one getting home at weird hours instead of Catra? She’s never had reason to question those before. Was Adora just wandering the city as She-Ra looking for crimes to thwart? Was she jumping across rooftops and punching burglars in the face every time she failed to answer Catra’s calls?

“Catra!”

She jumps, she’ll admit it. She’ll also admit that she probably looks a little deranged when she meets Scorpia’s concerned expression. “What is it?” Her voice is cutting, harsh. It shouldn’t be, this isn’t Scorpia’s fault. But Catra’s on edge, hanging from the edge more like, and her self-control is wavering.

“We’ve put the prisoner where you asked. She’s secure,” Scorpia says, her own tone carefully neutral. Scorpia is well-experienced in handling her sharp edges and sandpaper moods. Catra would feel shame about that, if she could even contain any more negative emotions right now.

That being said, she softens her next words. “Thank you for doing that.”

Scorpia smiles at her, like she understands. “It’s no problem, boss.” She reaches out to rest a hand on Catra’s shoulder, squeezing it. “I’ll be right down the hall,” she says, and the words are weighted with meaning that Catra can’t process right now, so she doesn’t. Scorpia walks away, and she is left alone to deal with herself, a hideous and frightful predicament.

She runs a careless hand through her hair. It catches in tangles from the battle she hasn’t had time to brush out. Her hairbrush is still back at the apartment. Shit, what the hell is she going to do about the apartment? There’s still blood and puke and broken glass and overturned furniture. The place is a damn wreck; are they going to lose their deposit? What if someone calls the cops to the building because they heard the window break? Should she send soldiers to watch the place, rough up anyone who starts making noise? A memory of Adora, smiling in amusement, flashes through her mind. We’ve only just moved in, babe, don’t scare the neighbors.

“Fuck…” She digs her nails into her arm, hard. “Snap out of it! You’ve got shit to do.” She stares down the long, sterile white hallway to the dark wooden door at the very end. She winces, and looks away again. Call Entrapta first. That’s what matters now.

She gets out her phone, walking further and further away from that door until she’s found a quiet enough place to think. She dials.

“Hi boss!” That’s Entrapta for you, cheerful as always. “I heard you captured She-Ra, good job! Don’t take this the wrong way, but I was reeeeally hoping you wouldn’t actually kill her. Would you let me take---?”

Catra cuts her off before she can, doubtless, ask to collect samples from Adora. “Entrapta,” she says firmly. “I need some information about that virus you made.” Her voice is steadier than she is. It’s acceptable. She’ll take fake composure over nothing any day.

“Oh? Sure, what would you like to know?”

“Is it temporary? That is, will its effects wear off eventually?”

“Hmm, yes,” Entrapta says, sounding a little sheepish. “Sadly, it only delays her healing factor like I said before. She-Ra’s immune system will eventually eradicate the infection. If I knew more about her powers I could probably improve it but…”

“No.” It’s half a shout, and she smacks a hand against her forehead, the way her mother might have done when Catra was a kid. “I mean, don’t worry about that now. How long until the effects wear off?”

She hears the bustle of a rolling desk chair and some soft button clicking as though from something small, a calculator perhaps. “Well… given the time of initial infection, the virus’s specialized antigens, and She-Ra’s especially effective immune response, oh the things I’d give to be able to study her unique immunoglobulins and amazing T cytotoxic cells…”

“The point,” Catra says, resisting the urge to snap again.

“Oh, sorry! Her body should already be neutralizing the infection. I’d say she’ll be back to her full strength in just under three hours. Though her injuries won’t fully heal for approximately five hours. We… might want to do something about her before then,” she adds.

“Thanks, Entrapta.” She hangs up without another word. She can’t help but bask in the feeling of a thousand-ton weight being lifted off her chest. The virus is temporary. Adora will live. Adora will heal. There’s still hop---

But she cuts that thought off. This situation is still much too hellish and catastrophic to consider such things now.

She stands, as steadily as she can, tucking her phone in her pocket. She ignores, ignores, ignores that little box, even though it feels like it’s going to burn through her leg. There is no time for any of that, none of it. She’s let herself be far too much a coward tonight, but no more. It’s time.

Well, she says it’s time, but it still takes upwards of fifteen minutes to psyche herself up. She’s back in that hallway again, and she’s forcing herself to take deep breaths, think calm thoughts and all that. It’s… well, it’s not doing shit, quite frankly, but she keeps trying.

Adora is chained up in Catra’s secondary office. She couldn’t bear to order her placed in the cells beneath the base. So, she’s in the office, behind that dark door, bound to a metal chair that they hastily bolted to the floor upon arrival. Her broken arm, still immobile, is free. Catra trusts Entrapta’s words about the virus’s effects fading, but she could never live with herself if she knowingly put the love of her life in such a painful position for no reason.

Her hand shakes as it goes to grip the door knob. She’s already on the verge of losing it again, breathing exercises be damned, and this is the best she can do to contain the frantic energy radiating outward from her pounding heart. The mask is on because… because she doesn’t know why, it just is. Wearing it has never felt so suffocating, so claustrophobic.

If she lets her vision go unfocused, she can see the glowing red eyes of the Tigress glaring back at her. They make demands of her, give orders. They tell her to destroy the enemy. She blinks, swallows. She opens the door and steps inside.

Adora is awake, groggy but conscious. Those big gray-blue eyes latch onto her immediately and glare, doing their level best to kill Catra where she stands. She almost walks out again.

“Tigress,” Adora snaps, in a pretty good impression of a real tiger, Catra notes absently. “What have you done this time? Where is Catra?” Hearing her own name has never filled her with such dread, not even from the lips of her wretched mother. Catra trembles with it, as the knot in her throat threatens to asphyxiate her. “I swear to Eternia, Tigress, if you’ve hurt her…”

She can’t do it. Five seconds is all it takes for her resolve to break. There’s no calming thoughts or fake composure left to muster. She can’t do this. Her fingers are clumsy as they disengage her helmet. It takes two tries, but she removes it and holds it in her hands for a long moment. She stares at the beast’s face because it’s honestly the easiest place to look. Then, she lets it drop to the floor with a heavy clunk. And there is silence.

She isn’t sure, exactly, how many seconds pass before she can summon what’s left of her threadbare courage and finally meet her lover’s stare. But she does meet it, only to immediately wish she hadn’t.

Because the shock on Adora’s face nearly drives Catra to claw her own eyes out, just to distract from the burning, twisting, tearing sensation in her chest.

“Catra?”

She shudders. Hearing the confusion and almost childlike astonishment in Adora’s voice isn’t dissimilar from being drowned in ice water. Catra knows.

“Yeah… yeah, that’s me,” she says, and every word is a battle. She desperately needs to do something with her hands, lest their trembling set her entire body vibrating. She shoves them in her pockets.

“What is…? Why are you here?” She watches Adora’s mouth to avoid looking in her eyes again. That pretty jaw moves up and down as her love flounders. She wonders if the truth is putting her world in an incinerator the way it did for Catra.

“Because I brought you here,” Catra says. The words sound absurd. Brought? Kidnapped, more like, the dictionary definition of abduction. Gods, she’s such a bastard. The feelings well up in her chest; stupidity, guilt, fear. She doesn’t want this. “I own this place. I’m the leader here.”

“I don’t understand.”

Unexpectedly, Catra laughs. It isn’t the slightest bit funny, except in the cosmic sense of course, but this situation is so royally fucked that she can hardly respond any other way. “Y-you don’t understand? It seems pretty obvious to me!” She feels crazy. Fresh tears burn her eyes and she roughly rubs them away. “It’s crystal fucking clear.” She knows the break coming, she’s right at the edge of it.

Adora swallows. “Catra,” she says carefully. “What is this?”

Catra snorts, a bitter noise. “What, this?” She indicates the room. “Or this?” She points at herself, Adora, and the ocean’s worth of shit that now stands between them. “This,” she says to the room at large, manic, “is a base in my sprawling criminal enterprise. And this,” her voice breaks as she turns back. “Is my life falling apart right in front of me. Do you get it now?”

“Catra…”

“I mean, Eternia’s sake, we must be living in a tv show, right? It’s all working out so dramatically. This is the moment when I get my poetic comeuppance for my misdeeds. My fucking karma!” She kicks the helmet at her feet and sends it flying into the opposite wall with a bang! “Isn’t it?” She whispers, the mania and rage gone as quickly as they arrived, leaving her cold.

“Catra.” Is she angry? It’s hard to tell. Adora’s always had this teacher’s expression, stern and unyielding but enigmatic. Catra thinks it must work wonders on her students, and she does not like that it’s being directed at her now. “Explain this to me.”

Catra releases a shaky exhale. “There really isn’t that much to explain, Adora.”

“I will be the judge of that.”

“Fine, fine. I’m… Tigress. It’s me. It’s been me from the start.”

“You?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

Catra blinks. Um… “What do you mean how?”

Adora frowns deeply. Oh, now she’s angry. “I mean, how is it that you, Catra, my girlfriend, are the…” she huffs incredulously. “Leader of a bloodthirsty crime syndicate that’s been terrorizing Bright Moon for years? How is that possible?”

She bristles at that, she really does. Bloodthirsty? It’s not that she ignores or is oblivious to the dark nature of her work, far from it, but it also isn’t as though she’s sending people to shoot up pre-schools. Adora is making it sound like she regularly orders her soldiers to drown puppies or something.

“How do you think, Adora? It was forced on me. You know my heartless bitch of a mother, what do you think she did for a living?”

“I knew she was a monster but I didn’t think you’d ever follow in her footsteps!”

Catra recoils. “Follow in her… How dare you!” How could she say something like that? She bares her teeth like some kind of animal. Like a Tigress. “I didn’t choose this, Adora, I was born into it! And things are a damn sight better now than they ever were under her!”

“Better? Catra, you’ve got the whole city terrified!”

“And why shouldn’t they be?” Catra retorts. “If they’re scared, then they won’t get in the way and get hurt.”

“That’s what you’re taking from that?” She rolls her eyes so hard she might injure her neck. “Not only that, but you’re taking kids off the streets and turning them into weapons!”

“You make it sound like I’m conscripting them! I offered them food, shelter, and security in exchange for work, and all of them had the choice to say no. They said yes. I gave them a job.”

“It is not the same thing, Catra, and you know it!” She looks over at the mask where it sits on the far side of the room. “And that,” she practically spits. “Did you have someone build that suit just so you could fight me?”

“I didn’t know it was you!”

“Regardless, you went to the trouble of building that monstrosity just to protect yourself from the consequences of your crimes. And then you kidnap me from our home and drag me to wherever the hell this is, and I don’t even know how you managed that, I mean, what was it? Did you hit me? No, it couldn’t have been that…” A moment of furious thought. “Was it the apple juice? Gods, did you drug me?”

“Yes! Alright, yes, I did all of that! Is that what you want to hear?” Catra throws her hands up into the air. “What the fuck else was I supposed to do?”

“Well, you could have told me the truth, for one thing!” Adora snaps.

“Oh really? Oh really? And how would you have reacted any differently if I told you then what I’ve told you now?”

“I would have forgiven you!”

The words are so unexpected they leave her dumbstruck. “W-what?”

Adora’s sigh is sharp with frustration, of all things. Some of the anger fades from her face, replaced by grief. The raw emotion contorts her face, and now there are new tears in her lovely eyes. “I would have forgiven you. Of course I would. I love you, I would have helped you, we could have…” she casts her gaze wildly around the room. “No, I still can.” She looks at Catra imploringly. “Catra, please, let me go. We can still fix this.”

“Fix this?” Eternia, she sounds so stupid right now. “How?”

“Let me go,” Adora pleads softly, her voice shaking. “And we can both get out of here. Please, love. I forgive you, just let me out of these chains so we can go home.”

“You forgive me…” Her hands move almost of their own accord, reaching, reaching out to cup Adora’s face so gently, like they’ve never done it before. Like maybe they never will again. Adora, for her part, leans into Catra’s touch, watching her all the while.

There’s too much blood in the kiss; blood and salt. They coat her tongue, but she just pushes closer. She needs this like an addict, and she knows Adora is just the same by how fervently she reciprocates. It doesn’t last long enough, not nearly long enough, but Adora compensates by pressing her lips to Catra’s chin, letting them linger there warmly, the sweetest balm.

Being close to Adora like this, Catra can see it all behind her eyelids. She can see the idyllic future promised by Adora’s words and lips and eyes and warmth. She sees them cleaning up their apartment, putting all of this bullshit behind them. She sees herself going legit and buying them a house out in the Whispering Woods with clean money. One kid, two dogs, a cat… school tuition and soccer games… rocking chairs and a picket fence, birthdays, milestones, anniversaries, and growing old. She can see all of it. She wants it so badly that the need might just kill her.

But then her vision darkens until she can’t see any of those things. Instead, it’s the betrayal on the faces of her soldiers, their hurt and anger and fear as she abandons them. All those people, her people, who rely on her leadership and who have served her faithfully all this time. Catra’s never cared much for duty or honor and other such nebulous concepts, but she does care about her people. She can’t leave… she can’t do something like that to them.

Adora is whispering such tender things against her skin, reassurances and affirmations she can only partially comprehend. It’s enticement, temptation. It makes her hope, and that’s honestly the worst thing.

“You know what they say about hope.” Her mother’s words, words that were never directed at Catra but that sting her with the same ferocity.

“Maybe… maybe.” She pulls back just a bit because she won’t be able to think with Adora kissing her. Her eyes linger, because of course they do, on her lover’s achingly familiar mouth, seeing where the blood has smeared. She wonders if her lips and chin are red. “Maybe,” she repeats, reaching for the last possibility there is for them, as far as she sees it. Catra is sure she sounds like she’s begging; hell, she is begging. “You stay. Here with me, you stay,” she says. She touches Adora’s face, traces her bone structure with tentative fingers. “You can help me, help us. We-we can be better, I know it. They aren’t bad people, Adora, really. If you stayed, you could make them better, like you made me better. Please.” It can happen. She knows they can do it. She can do anything with Adora at her side.

Her plea hangs in the air. They are so close, just inches apart. She wills that the words will reach from her heart to Adora’s. Such a small space to cross, surely they will. Surely…

“Catra.” Adora says her name like it’s ripping her up inside. “Catra… you know I can’t do that.”

Oh.

“It breeds eternal misery.”

Adora doesn’t pull away from her touch, but what need is there of that when her words have put the bloody continent between them.

Slowly, Catra straightens. Her hands fall away. “Ah,” she whispers. Her voice sounds dead, even to her own ears. “I see.” Well… in that case…

“Catra? What are you doing?” She walks across the room to pick up the mask. “Catra, unlock these chains.” There’s desperation now, no more authoritative façade. “Catra!”

“No.”

“What?”

Her fingers tighten around the helmet until they ache. Louder, she repeats, “I said no.”

“Catra, you can’t just keep me here, let me go!”

“No!” It’s a roar, a shout that’s almost inhuman. She’s quivering with anger, with fury and desolation that light her blood on fire. She turns back to Adora with thunder in her chest. “I am not letting you go! I am not helping you abandon me!”

“Catra!” Adora cries. “That’s not what this is! Please, stop! You’re not thinking---”

“Get comfortable, Adora,” she snarls as she turns away. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

“Catra!” She ignores the call, and storms out of the room.

The dark wooden door slams shut behind her, and she wastes no time stalking back down the hallway, as fast as she dares without running. There’s a scream in her throat begging to be released; it vibrates her frame with its intensity. Her head is spinning. Right down into hell, she thinks.

Her footsteps are embarrassingly loud, but there’s little she can do about it. She has to get away, doesn’t matter where, just as long as it’s far away from that room and that infuriating, traitorous, heart-stabbing woman. She keeps walking without paying much attention to her exact surroundings, which is, well, dumb, as she soon discovers when she slams face first into someone’s broad back.

Cursing and clutching her throbbing nose, she steps back, squinting up at the person she just smashed into.

“Oh, hi boss!” Scorpia. Of course. Who else?

She sighs. “Scorpia.”

Her lieutenant is looking at her closely. It gives Catra a bad feeling. “What?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing.” Liar! “You know, boss, if you aren’t busy right now, why don’t you come with me to visit Entrapta?”

It’s framed as a question, a suggestion, but Catra knows it’s as firm an order as any she’s ever given. It puts her back up. “Why?” She asks, a little petulantly.

“She mentioned she’s been working on some new tech. I figured we could go see it. Plus!” Scorpia makes no secret of observing Catra’s red-stained, tear-streaked face. “It could be relaxing. It can get so busy and stressful up here, ya know?” It’s a ruse, it’s so obvious, but…

“Fine.” Scorpia beams at her agreement, taking Catra by the hand and pulling her the rest of the way to the elevator. Catra tolerates it. Entrapta’s lab is good enough to be far away from Adora.

The aforementioned scientist is buried in blueprints when they enter the lab. Scorpia stands back after Catra walks past her, and she locks the door behind them. Entrapta looks up at the noise.

“Oh. Hi Catra! Hi Scorpia! Did you need something?” Her inquisitive red eyes take in the two of them, and they linger on Catra’s mess of a face.

“Hey, ‘Trapta. Boss here needs to get away from the bustle upstairs. Do you mind if we talk in here?” Scorpia’s really good at the “phrasing things that aren’t requests as requests” thing. If Catra could summon any of her higher faculties right now, she’d make a mental note to remember that.

She isn’t sure Entrapta gets the subtext, but it makes no difference. “Sure!” She says happily. “You can talk as long as you want.” She takes out a small remote from her work apron and hits a button on it. The room suddenly gets quieter. Catra hadn’t noticed the soft whirring sound of running computers until it was gone. “In total privacy!” Entrapta adds with a proud smile.

“Thanks, Entrapta. You don’t have to go,” Scorpia says, as she leans against one of the various work tables covered in robot parts. Then she turns to address Catra, who has been dreading this moment. “Ok, Catra, what’s going on? Something’s very wrong here, and you better fess up.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Catra spits, but the venom she tries to inject is weak.

“Well, let’s look at the clues,” Scorpia says, brushing off her pathetically transparent harshness. She holds up a hand and starts to count off her fingers. “You call me, out of the blue, saying you’ve captured She-Ra. Not killed, as you said you would do at the start of today, but captured.” One finger down. “You tell me to meet you with one of the vans at your address in the New East.” Another finger down. “When I get there, you’re sitting in a dirty alleyway with She-Ra, injured and unconscious but alive, lying on top of a blanket next to you. You say nothing about it, just have me drag her into the back of the van and restrain her.” Third finger down. “You tell me, and I quote, ‘watch her arm, it’s broken’. You specifically order me to leave the busted arm free.” Ring finger down. “You say nothing on the ride to base except to insist on sitting in the back of the van with the prisoner, and all you do the entire time is stare at her like a sad kitten.”

“Are you getting to the point anytime soon?” Catra growls softly, letting herself fall into one of Entrapta’s many assorted desk chairs. Scorpia ignores her.

“You put her in your office, instead of the perfectly secure cells just a few floors below. You make Rogelio and Kyle bolt down a chair from the cadets’ lounge, ruining the hardwood you insisted on having when this place was built.” She has to switch to her other hand. “You set no guards at the door. You do nothing, in fact, except tell everyone that you’ll personally execute them if they even peek in that room.” Catra can’t stand the ticking fingers, but she finds herself captive to Scorpia’s words, like she’s watching a plane crash. Sounds about right, she thinks miserably. “You go into the room wearing your mask, only to storm out not wearing it after several minutes of shouting. Your face is a mess, you’ve been crying, and you were so caught up in whatever had just happened that you, you, Catra the Tigress, didn’t notice me standing right there in the hallway.” Scorpia pauses, recounting her fingers dramatically as if trying to make sure she hasn’t missed anything. Bitch… “Oh, I almost forgot the last one. You can’t lie to us.” She finally drops her hands, crossing them over her chest. “So come clean now before I have to shake the truth out of you.” She pulls out an honest-to-Grayskull handkerchief from her pants and hands it to Catra. “And wipe your face.”

Catra winces, partially because she knows the threat is not an idle one, and also because she knows Scorpia is right. She takes the handkerchief and roughly rubs at her cheeks, sighing. She really needs to sleep.

What should she say? What can she say? Scorpia and Entrapta, of all her soldiers, deserve the truth the most. But… Adora’s face, smiling through blood and tears, keeps flashing in her head. Even though Adora refused her, even though she’s trying to leave Catra, the thought of putting her at risk is nauseating. Fuck.

Scorpia’s stare is unyielding. Entrapta has abandoned her blueprints to watch the two of them with wide, curious eyes.

“Shit, fine, but…” She looks at Entrapta. She has to be sure. “You turned off all the cameras?”

The scientist nods fervently. “And all the listening devices! The walls are soundproofed too, so no outside sound tech can listen in.”

“Alright.” Catra swallows, clears her throat. “What I’m about to say cannot leave this room, not a single word, not a syllable. This conversation didn’t happen. Do you both understand?”

Scorpia’s expression softens. “Of course we do, Catra.”

“Okay.” She exhales shakily, gripping her knees tightly to stop her hands from trembling. “So…” Gods, but it’s hard. Vocalizing the truth is very different from thinking it, a much more daunting battle, and she’s fought damn well enough of those tonight. “You know that I… have a girl, outside the business.”

“Huh? Oh yeah, what’s her name? Adora, right?” Catra nods. “So is this something about her?” Catra gives Scorpia a loaded look. She glances up at the ceiling, gripping her leg so hard that her knuckles crack unexpectedly. Scorpia follows her gaze, confused, but then… “Oh. Oh!”

“Yeah,” Catra says softly.

“By Eternia…” Scorpia places a hand on her own cheek, eyes wide with the realization. Then she looks back at Catra, sympathetic to the point of pity. “Jeez, boss, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well…”

“What? Well what?!” Catra, shamefully, had forgotten about Entrapta’s presence. The little genius looks worried and confused, her eyes darting between Catra and Scorpia. “Oh, you know I don’t get it when you guys do that silent talking thing. What’s wrong with Adora?”

“’Trapta,” Scorpia says, putting a soothing hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Sorry, we forgot. The truth is… that Adora is She-Ra.”

Hearing the words aloud makes Catra flinch, but that’s nothing compared to Entrapta’s reaction.

“She’s… Adora is She-Ra?” She steps away from Scorpia, and several emotions---none of them good---pass over her face. Shock, confusion, fear, and biggest of all, guilt. “But that’s… I-I didn’t know that, I. But if she’s She-Ra, then the virus! Oh, oh no!” Her hands clap over her own ears, her nails digging into her skin, and she starts to breathe heavily.

Catra stands in alarm, but Scorpia beats her to the punch. She’s always known how best to handle Entrapta when she gets upset like this. She gently but firmly pulls the scientist’s hands away from her ears, talking in a calm, soothing manner. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay, ‘Trapta. Just take a deep breath with me, okay? Deep breaths. In… and out… You can do it. Adora is going to be fine. You said it yourself. She’s going to heal. It’s all fine. In… and out…” Catra looks around the room for anything that it might. She spots the old-fashioned tape recorder Entrapta likes to keep on her and grabs it.

“Hey, ‘Trapta, Scorpia is right,” she says, mirroring the woman’s calm tone. “Here, take this.” She gently presses the device into Entrapta’s hand, which closes tightly around it. Tearful red eyes turn to look at her.

“Sh-she’s going to be okay?”

“Yeah, ‘Trapta, she’s going to be perfectly fine. Take another deep breath with us. In… and out.” Catra and Scorpia fall in sync, breathing in an exaggerated fashion for Entrapta’s benefit.

It takes a minute, but she does begin to calm down, clutching the familiar device and following their steady breathing.

Catra can’t say she’s surprised by what’s just happened. Really, she should have known better than to drop the truth on Entrapta without more warning, but she hadn’t been thinking. Entrapta likes Adora, had liked her since high school. Adora has always been kind to her, something that couldn’t be said of many of their classmates. Entrapta might not understand the finer points of social interaction but she’s always known who her real friends are and how to care for them. The thought of hurting any of them would surely be agonizing.

“You’re sure?” She asks Catra again. “Even after what…?”

Catra gulps, hearing the words Entrapta can’t speak. “She’s going to heal,” she says simply. She can’t promise anything else, so she won’t.

It’s quiet between the three of them for a moment. But out of the corner of her eye, Catra sees several of Entrapta’s computer screens light up red. Just a second later, a loud, beeping alarm sounds throughout the entire lab. Entrapta spins around, already back in action, running over to one of the many monitors.

“Uh oh!” She says, furiously typing.

“What is it?” Scorpia asks, leaning over her shoulder to look.

“My security systems just registered a big problem. Or more specifically, 54 medium-to-large problems with guns who are currently attacking the building!”

“What!” Catra jumps over the table blocking her path and braces herself on the back of Entrapta’s chair to get a good look at the screen. Sure enough, right outside their front door is half a platoon of gun-toting thugs, firing on their door guards who are struggling to hold their ground. Damn, what else could possibly make this night worse? She meets Scorpia’s gaze over Entrapta’s head. “We need to get up there now.”

“Wait!” Entrapta says, jumping to her feet. “You can’t go up there now, you both need weapons! Come with me.”

“Entrapta, we don’t have time---”

“You two don’t have any protection! You don’t even have guns! But I’ve been working on several new designs and I’ve assembled a prototype that should dramatically unbalance the playing field. I’ve also added some upgrades to your suit, Catra, since you brought it back earlier.” She heads straight to a set of double doors towards the back of the lab, throwing open to reveal…

“’Trapta, have I ever told you you’re the best girl I know?” Scorpia asks as she stares, open-mouthed.

Entrapta turns to regard them with an ear-to-ear grin. “No, but you could start now!”

“Entrapta really is the best!” Scorpia says jubilantly as she backhands some loser with a giant metal pincer. Said loser goes flying, bouncing off the wall and crumpling in a heap. Catra almost smiles at that as she slashes her claws across her respective opponent’s throat, ripping through the gray and green insignia tattooed there. Hordak’s thugs, she growls to herself. When it rains, it fucking floods. Hordak was an old enemy, older than Catra herself. He and her mother had fought for years over territory in Bright Moon and its surrounding counties, neither claiming much victory despite many deaths. Her mother had been too wary to push forward and Hordak never had the right resources to mount a proper takeover. So mostly they had harassed each other, and Catra, to her annoyance, inherited that harassment.

Ordering a direct assault on a Horde compound is out of character for him, but she can’t puzzle out his motivations right now. She and Scorpia drop their enemies one by one until there’s none left in outside the stairwell. They advance with haste, charging out into the hallway by Catra’s office. Her heart skips a beat when she sees that the door has been shot open, and there’s half a dozen goons now aiming at them. “Scorpia, take the right!” She commands as she pounces with a bestial scream at the one standing right in front of the door.

“What the f---! Agh-glk!” Is all he manages to say before he doesn’t have vocal cords left to speak with. Catra throws him aside like a ragdoll and rushes through the open doorway.

There’s two in here, and both have guns aimed at Adora, who is struggling fiercely with her restraints, righteous anger and fear evident on her face. At Catra’s entrance, the two get distracted, and she doesn’t give them a second chance. She taps the new button built into the palm of her gauntlet, and power surges through her whole arm. She gets the first one with a hammer fist directly to the back of the neck. There’s a loud pop! and he crumples to the floor dead. The second can’t even shift his gun before she knocks it from his hand and grabs him by throat. She takes his head and slams it into the wall, feeling it give way with a splattering of blood.

She can hear Scorpia taking down the rest. Breathing heavily from the exertion, she turns to face Adora again. She thinks she must really look the part of the evil villain now, the blood-soaked Tigress with freshly butchered prey at her feet.

But Adora isn’t looking at her the way she should. There’s no revulsion or horror. She is surprised, nervous, but most of all she is… relieved?

“Catra,” she breathes. “You came back.”

Of course I came back. What does she think… Catra shakes her head roughly, looking away to get her thoughts together.

She’s stuck again, for the nth fucking time. She can’t let Adora go, but Adora will be in too much danger if she stays here. Catra doesn’t know how the battle is faring in the other sections of the base, and she needs to be there, fighting alongside her soldiers. But if any of those bastards circle back to here…

“Damn it,” she growls, slamming a fist against the wall.

“Catra?”

“Shut up, Adora.” She bangs her fist again. Damn it, damn it, damn it. I can’t let her go. I won’t let her leave me like this. Another voice, that’s hers but not hers, retorts, You must.

She can’t leave. What am I going to do without her? She will die if she stays. Do you want that?

She gasps, remembering how it felt in that one horrible second back in their home, when she thought Adora was dead by her hand. She shudders.

“Catra?”

“Is your arm healing?” She asks, and she’s once again glad for the voice distortion in her helmet.

“What? Uh, it’s better? I can move it now, a bit.”

“Okay, okay,” she whispers, mostly to herself. “F… fine.”

“Catra? Catra,wait!” The sound of metal cutting metal sings in the air. In the moment of ensuing silence, the chains, shredded to bits in an instant, slowly fall to the floor. Adora is frozen still, glancing from herself to Catra, who doesn’t say anything. She stands, slowly and a little wobbly, but she steps away from the chair and towards Catra. With her good arm, she reaches out. “Catra…”

But her hand is knocked aside. “Don’t. Just… get out of here, before they come back.”

“Come with me,” she pleads once more, stepping closer despite Catra’s command.

“I can’t,” she snaps. Softer, “But if you’re so eager to leave, then go while you have the chance. I have a gang fight to win.”

She’s grateful for the mask now as she turns away. It hides her pitiful expression.

Scorpia is already advancing on the next area, the cadets’ lounge, when Catra walks back into the hallway. She doesn’t look back to see if Adora follows her. Even if she wants to.

Several of her soldiers are fighting bravely when she joins the fray. She sees Kyle covering Lonnie as she runs like a linebacker to tackle a woman twice her size. Scorpia might as well be bowling with the way she’s effortlessly throwing boxes and chairs to take out whole groups of Hordak’s men. Rogelio has ducked behind an overturned steel table, taking quick, individual shots that nonetheless mow down the gunners outside of anyone else’s reach. Catra wastes no time vaulting the table he’s using and charging straight for a more heavily armed thug who’s keeping the rest of her men pinned down with machine gun fire. He turns the gun on her, but she barely feels the bullets’ impact through her armor.

“Fucking bitch!” He snarls at her as she closes in. He turns his grip on his weapon to slam the butt of it into the side of her face. His eyes go wide when she doesn’t even bend.

“Dumbass,” she says, in a much more impressive tone before snapping his neck without another word.

Through the cacophony of gunfire surrounding her, she hears shouting from above. When she’d had this place built, she’d installed a walkway overlooking the cadets’ lounge and sealed off by glass, where her captains could watch their trainees. She turns her gaze upward now, and sees more of Hordak’s henchmen there. There’s a flash of brilliant blue light, and one of them goes flying with half the skin on his chest burned off. He hits the floor screaming just as She-Ra, in her shining glory, steps into view.

Even while still seriously injured, Adora is more than a match for hapless mooks. Catra watches from the corner of her eye, and she can count the bodies falling like heavy sacks. The Sword is out and swinging, and she wields it gracefully with one hand like she never needed another. Catra’s a little bit grateful that she doesn’t summon it often.

Her own fight hardly requires her full attention. With the machine gunner down, she turns to the ones blocking the exit. She activates her jet propulsion and shoots up into the air only to come down hard on the first one, crushing him underneath her feet. She pivots like a master and drives her armored shin into the second one’s gut, sending the woman flying backward to smash through the glass doors. Scorpia sends one of her own flying through the door right after. Together with their soldiers at their side, it takes a negligible amount of effort to clear the rest of the room.

She wonders at that. Hordak is sending his B team, hell, his C team by the look of it, and there must be a reason.

She loses sight of Adora as they advance. Gulping to push down the burning knot in her throat, she moves on to the next area of the base.

Her suit is strong and her people are competent, but numbers still count, and Hordak definitely had the numbers. It takes nearly ten minutes---a long time in a fight---to push back their advance and start to funnel them back out of the building. She passes the bodies of her fallen troops and tries not to look at them. She has to focus on vengeance now. Mourning and grief---for so many things---will have to wait until she’s won.

The fighting spills out onto the roof as the Horde forces their enemies into retreat. Scorpia and her cadets are securing the lower floors, and now she fights alone. Her opponents may be the last of Hordak’s goons but it seems they’re also the toughest. Seven of them, all skilled in pack tactics and dogpiling; her suit softens the worst of their blows but they keep coming. This isn’t good. Even the Tigress has trouble with too many enemies at once.

She doesn’t let them know that though, punching, kicking, and clawing with the same precision and ferocity as always. Time and again she drives them back but they keep closing in. Punch, dodge, duck, headbutt, knee, block, kick, dodge. It’s a frenetic dance, and not one she appreciates. She’s too used to dancing with Adora on equal footing.

At one point she gets distracted, and it allows this hulking monster of a man to get his arms around her waist, pick her up, and body slam her onto the concrete. The force knocks the wind out of her and she’s left gasping while he straddles her chest and tries to pull her helmet off. She hits another button on her suit and pumps him full of electricity, but somehow, he holds on. What?!

All she can do is pull at his hands as he tries to choke her with one and yank the mask off with the other. She can’t get any air and he’s fumbling with the locks when suddenly there’s another bright blue flash followed bellowing cries from her foes. The hand around her throat slackens and she wastes no time bucking her hips and unseating the man, grabbing him by his burning shirt and kneeing him in the groin as she tosses him behind her.

She rolls quickly to her feet, fists raised for more, but all she’s met with is a semi-circle of limp bodies covered in hideous burns. She turns with wild eyes, searching…

Adora is on the roof across the street, standing tall, and glowing brightly enough to light up the area around her. She’s staring at Catra, and she’s crying. Catra wonders how either of them have any tears left, cursing how her own eyes water.

She knows what Adora is asking. She’s still pleading for everything Catra can’t give her. She remains silent, watching the woman who holds her heart in a vice grip, and doesn’t move. She can’t leave, even for her.

Adora gets the message. Her mouth twists and her eyes shut tight. She wipes away her tears on the back of her hand. And then she runs away, out of sight.

The battle is still raging below. Catra turns away, trying not feel as if she’s teetering off a precipice, a pale white cliff she wishes would just fall into the sea.

#she ra #spop #she ra and the princesses of power #she-ra #my writing #adora #catra #catradora #she ra 2018 #big god

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