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theyarebothgunshot · 3 years

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jib 7 breakdown and analysis

a little while ago i said that i am open to requests for making analysis posts when it comes to cockles panels and just cockles in general, and i got quite a few responses. the first person who asked me was my lovely tea anon, and the panel in question is jib 2016 aka jib 7.

first of all i want to give you my take on the overall vibe, and then second of all i will get into the details and link to certain timestamps in the video.

standard disclaimer: i am not gonna be linking to every single thing i talk about, but i will try my best to link to the moments that stand out to me the most. my recommendation would be to watch the panel in its entirety alongside my comments. i have read long posts about this panel before, so not everything in this post is gonna be original or said for the first time ever, simply because there is a good chance that information has stuck in my mind and has subconsciously formed my view of this panel. this is also in no way, shape or form gonna be coherent, unfortunately. i’m just gonna hope that the cockles hivemind will be able to make sense of this regardless. love and light. and lastly, this is all in good fun, so don’t come at me if you think this is too out there please and thank you.

the overall vibe that this panel gives me is that jensen and misha are a unity at this point. they are in sync with each other, and this whole panel is very relaxed and in good spirits. there is also the fact that their outfits match very well. and with jensen ross ackles involved, that cannot be a coincidence, so i love that a lot.

another thing that i cannot ignore is that it’s also a very sexual panel, with a lot of double meanings and innuendos and remarks that can be read as sexual if you are as pervy as me.

now let’s get into the specifics.

although i am sure this is not going to be news for any of you, i feel like a little background knowledge is in order. before this panel, misha had had a panel that day with j*red. the mishalecki panel was really fucking funny and filled with sexual innuendos.

between these two panels, it appears that there was a break in which they all had nothing to do (i am basing this off other people’s experiences and reports that i have read in the past, as i unfortunately wasn’t there myself).

considering how this panel goes, i think there is a good chance that jensen and misha just had sex beforehand. and based on both of their demeanors, one could draw certain conclusions about who did what (i honestly don’t like talking about who tops and who bottoms because who gives a shit and things are rarely that black and white, but all i’m gonna say is that even though jensen has joked about his asshole before, jensen and misha clearly said switch rights).

from the very first second. the VERY FIRST SECOND. jensen is sauntering on stage like he is thee man. then the crowd is cheering ‘one more time’, and jensen looks at misha, starts cheering too, and makes a movement that is bordering on obscene before waving it away. conclusion: ‘one more time’ could also mean ‘one more round of hot steaming sex’ and he still had sex on the brains, so that was what he was thinking about.

ahhh, the intricate ritual [1m34s] of greeting each other on stage as if you haven’t spoken to each other all day, even though you probably just had sex….. jensen ackles, i wanna study you. i wonder what the deal is with that. does he just like to pay misha extra attention on stage? does he revel in the fact that he knows that fans like this sort of interaction? can he just not help himself? questions that keep me up at night.

also, there is just SOMETHING about the way jensen says ‘i’m doing well how are you?’ it’s almost flustered? borderline shy? and then he goes on to say that he did an impression of misha earlier, in a manner that’s just so flirty. idk guys. it’s flirty. kindergarten flirty, but flirty nonetheless.

misha, of course, immediately turns his entire body towards him. almost as if they both already forgot there is an audience in front of them. then he just gets closer and closer to jensen, for no reason whatsoever except for the pure magnetic pull they have on each other. pray4misha.

i think it is a testament to how in sync they are that misha immediately realises that jensen mentioned bicycle touring during his ‘impression of misha’, and i love the moment where jensen puts on an accent (something that misha normally does) and goes ‘is like sport’ and misha laughs and goes ‘is very similar to sport’ and they both lose it. idk, i feel like that might be a sort of inside joke to them as well.

this might be slightly reaching, but hear me out: right away, jensen goes: ‘oh by the way, sore?’ why would he say ‘by the way’? what is he thinking about when he says that? is it about ‘is very similar to sport’? because i could totally see them having sex and refering to it as ‘well that’s kind of like a sport’, as an inside joke. it works. i’m just saying!!!

look. i know this back and forth has been discussed to death. we all know that the implication is that jensen fucked misha and misha is kind of stunned that jensen actually goes there. so stunned that he repeats it: ‘sore? am i sore?’ almost as if to stall a bit in his response. yikes.

i think that it’s fair to say that this is something jensen enjoys doing: riling misha up on stage. because a lot of the time, misha has the upper hand on stage (probably also in the bedroom but that’s another conversation), but sometimes. sometimes jensen just can’t help but throw a lil oil onto the fire. (see also: underbear panel, throwing himself on stage to get straddled, etc).

misha goes on to say that ‘after the panel with j*red’ he is quite sore. you can take that at face value, and think ‘oh so he is joking around that the panel with j*red made him sore haha’ or you can see a little bit of the truth shine through: literally after that panel, something happened that made him sore. it’s always easier to lie when you are bending the truth.

i actually can’t believe i never connected the dots before, but when misha deflects and says ‘oh you’re talking about the bike riding’ jensen is quick to say: ‘oh no i was talking about what just happened’ but instead of pointing at the stage (which is where the previous panel took place) he is gesturing to backstage. i mean…. way to feed into my ‘they just had sex backstage’ theory, jackles. thanks for that.

i cannot get over the way jensen is looking at misha throughout this whole ordeal, but especially when he goes ‘you heard it here first, folks’ and misha walks up to him. THAT FACE. fuck him. he’s so gone.

sidenote: i have never wished to be able to read lips as much as i have since i have stumbled upon these two morons, because i WISH i could see what misha is mouthing to jensen. i know there is some spec that he might have said ‘i am a little bit’ (aka he is a little bit sore) and i could see that, but i just want to know for sure. and even though i have seen people state that jensen would have already known about the panel with j*red, i think it’s possible misha hadn’t filled jensen in yet, seeing as they probably were doing something other than talking.

let me take this moment to tell y’all about one of my jenmish theories, and that is: i think that jensen sometimes is overprotective of misha and that can come across as jealousy when it’s actually just worry. and i think this panel is a good example of that.

misha says [4m25s] that in italy they call come influence and jensen just. straight up looks at misha like ‘what the fuck did you do, what mess did you get yourself into this time?’ this is another reason why i believe he actually didn’t know about what happened during that panel yet: the reaction looks very authentic. you see his eyes shift from one side to the other and back again, as he is trying to process it. and honestly when you look at misha, his face goes through this journey of ‘this is funny’ to ‘shit is this maybe going a bit too far?’ and ending on ‘okay wrap it up wrap it up’. this is further solidified by the fact that jensen starts to mime digging a grave (aka ‘digging your own grave’).

misha tries to ‘change the subject’ by saying cas is the bottom in the implied relationship with sam and jensen immediately brings it back to sports. see what i meant when i said that they are tying sex and sports together? here jackles goes again, doing exactly that. for no reason whatsoever. (except to once again proof my point).

WHY [5m50s] do they both burst out laughing at ‘tight end’ why why why i don’t wanna know but why why also quick reminder of ‘are you sore at all’ help i am just. EVERY DAY they are making me perceive things and connect dots and i do not like it. anyways i’m not saying that this is all very graphic stuff about their sex lives but i’m also not not saying it, you feel? jensen’s face says it all tbh. on a more wholesome note: i love the fact that they basically wanted to say ‘we should take questions’ at the same time. again: in sync.

when the first person to ask a question said ‘this is a serious question’ misha goes to explain to jensen that that was a joke during his panel with j*red, another reason to believe that he hadn’t told jensen about the panel yet. jensen’s face there…. heart eyes motherfucker.

i really don’t see enough people talk about the ‘safe word’ [6m38s] bit. jensen is the one to bring it up ‘so we should probably establish a safe word at this point. mine is keep going.’ misha laughs, and then realises what jensen has said, and (here comes my dom/sub truthing) teases jensen by saying ‘what is your safe word?’ to which jensen replies ‘keep going’ but LOOK at jensen’s face after he says that. he shakes his head with a little smirk and looks at misha with such a knowing look in his eyes that says ‘you fucker you know damn well what my safe word is’ and he actually does a double take and immediately rolls his eyes at himself after that. it’s all very quick but it’s far from subtle and i am here for it.

i fucking love this next part because when the person says ‘a real story about the real jensen and the real misha’ they both are just like ‘yes okay’ but as soon as they say ‘that you have never told anyone before’ jensen just looks down and moves his head as if to say ‘what the hell am i supposed to come up with then’ lmao it’s really funny, and they end it with: ‘to know you a little bit better’ and guys (gn) i beg of you to look at the way they look at each other here. [7m24s] jensen is just like ‘help wtf should we say to this’ and misha just smiles down at him fondly like ‘sigh our fans really want us to talk about our relationship and as much as we would love to share stuff we just can’t’.

when misha says ‘we have to dust off some of those stories that we usually try not to tell other people’, something comes to mind: the ‘3 least ordered items on the menu’ story, that jensen shared a year after this at honcon. i honestly think that maybe they started to talk about what else they could share with the public, after this panel, because they get similar questions like this one all the time. either that or jensen just thought about what he felt comfortable sharing, without talking to misha about it, and decided to tell that story.

i also absolutely love when they say ‘this is a serious question’ at the same time. AGAIN: IN SYNC!!!

‘i actually have a voice for you’ jensen can you please tell me why this sounds flirty and charming while you are actually about to make fun of your husband? i hate you (no i don’t) the fact that misha immediately knows what will happen, says a lot.

then jensen says: ‘dust off an old story for uhh..’ and burst out laughing. i swear to god i’d give my left pinkie to know what came to mind and what he whispered into misha’s ear. and i’m left handed. but i think we can all agree that whatever jensen said, it was something sexual, seeing as misha goes ‘nope’. those fuckers (affectionate).

something that i have mentioned in the past is that jensen always sort of ‘jokey’ goes ‘oh shit’ whenever misha says he’ll share something personal/private about them. i mean. jensen, it would be less sus if you didn’t respond. just giving you some pointers here, bro. because misha almost never shares something strange, it’s actually your reaction that makes me go ‘hmmmm.’ this time he even gets kind of elaborate breathing?? [10m27s]

oh to be a fly in clif’s car… honestly, the things clif must have heard and witnessed lmao. he clearly knows what is up between them (has made enough remarks about thinking that misha would be the bottom and that misha on his knees was nothing new for me to see that he absolutely knows.)

this isn’t really important when it comes to cockles but they talk a bit about j*red’s internet dispute with at&t and jensen goes ‘oh they know’ gesturing to the audience. so clearly, jensen is well aware of the fact that fandom gets involved whenever something happens online with any one of them. just. thought that is an interesting fact. just in general. also love how i can tell that they both think j*reds crusades are bullshit (as they should).

there is something really cute [14m13s] about the way misha goes ‘do you want your apple juice?’ and jensen goes ‘yeah!’ it sounds so domestic and mundane and i just. god i love them so much.

i know we talk about jensen’s heart eyes a lot. but y’all. look [14m52s] at misha right here. he’s SO in love.

the thing that strikes me about jensen putting on ‘that voice’ for misha is that misha is honestly not bothered by it at all, but i think if the shoe was on the other foot, jensen would definitely be bothered. i don’t know what conclusion to draw from that but i just thought that is interesting. i always laugh at that bit, though, they seem to have so much fun.

i REALLY wanna know how jensen got from ‘will you dance for us?’ to ‘no but i’ll tell you what, misha and i will write a song for you real quickly.’ it’s such a fast transition that i am tempted to think that this was something he had been thinking about for a while now. he just wanted his mish to sing a song. and that warms my heart.

if you think i will ever get over how soft jensen is here… ‘you’re smart, you think on your feet, you make brilliant videos, put them on facebook, write amazing texts (*coughs* poems) and tweets and stuff, go ahead. spit out some lyrics, big guy.’ there is not one single thing about this that i do not adore. an ode to misha!!!! so casually!!! fuck. it might be true that if you want jensen to do something, you get misha to ask him, but it’s certainly also true the other way around.

the way jensen just. stares [19m02s] at misha, trying to get inspired by him, trying to feel out what cords to play. yeah. the way misha stands up but instinctively turns to jensen when he starts to sing. yeah. and then during the remainder of the song, he keeps on turning to jensen even though he faces the audience. and jensen loved it all. it’s so sweet. idk why but it just is. jensen just wanted his babe to thrive and get the love he deserves.

aaaand in comes the dom shake [20m37s]. we love to see it. jensen just keeps on looking at mish. almost gets lost in it. touches his inner thigh (one of his habits, which he does a lot around misha or when talking about misha).

i think it’s very interesting that jensen’s reaction [22m11s] to the question if he thinks dean will ever find a way to have a romantic relationship and to find himself in between normal and supernatural, is to immediately looks at misha. like? what was the reason? did he expect misha to answer a question that wasn’t about cas but about dean? did he think he should maybe answer it in a destiel-like manner? was he worried that the fan was hoping for a destiel-like answer and was he looking at misha to gauge what he thought was a smart way to respond? so many questions.

i think it’s pretty interesting that jensen was very aware of the fact that people did not wanna see dean end up with a huntress lmao. he absolutely was aware of so many fandom things.

when jensen said that misha just crossed the line [23m40s], it’s another example of how jensen is ultra aware of what misha says and how it could get him into trouble and by the sounds of it, misha knows that as well but he just can’t always stop himself in time. from what we can see, he often realises just after he has already said something (when it is already too late).

listen. the fact that misha says ‘when harry met sally’ BEFORE the question was even finished, and jensen LAUGHS, like??? that panel was 5 years ago at that point. it clearly made a lot of impact on the both of them (jeez i wonder why, could it be because misha faked an orgasm and jensen got excited? hmm. who knows.)

i think the dance portion is so fucking hilarious i’m wheeeezing. literally. they are just moving randomly AND YET THEY STILL SORT OF ARE IN SYNC? amazing.

you wanna know what i find really cute? the fact that jensen has such a soft spot for the resume off. part of me thinks it’s because they had a resume off in both 2012 and 2013.

and jib 2012 took place during the famously rumored break up period. i wouldn’t be surprised if jib 2013 was that much more special to him because they finally got to make it right again. don’t look at me i’m getting emotional (on that note…… i might wanna write something about the break up period at some point. but idk. i mean. it’s a lot to delve into especially since i wasn’t in the fandom back then but. it compels me. we’ll see i guess.)

okay i know i keep saying this but they are SO in sync, as soon as they talk about photo ops and jensen goes ‘and to dab a little salt in the wound’ misha knows what he is gonna say, and they stand up together to demonstrate what happened. AND they both go ‘that’s not the punchline’ they are husbands.

misha and jensen have both “twirled away laughing” in the EXACT same manner during this panel: misha when jensen starts to read the script, and jensen right here when misha says ‘what’s it like to be in a successful long running show’. they are mirrors. listen. listen. i know my mind is in the gutter a LOT of the time but like. uhm. there is this moment where they recall a woman saying in the photo op to ‘eat it’ (the string candy she gave to them) and misha says ‘and so we did’ and jensen looks at misha and it is SUCH an incriminating look i mean i don’t wanna be that person but 5 bucks he was thinking about eating misha out i am JUST SAYING. LITERALLY LOOK AT HIS FACE. [28m55s]

misha teases [7m02s] jensen by saying ‘what did you do? did you actually do it on purpose orrrr’ and i think it was to make jensen elaborate on it. which i think is a fucking good way to pull that off when it comes to jensen. cause jensen doesn’t like to brag, which misha knows, so by making that joke he is essentially trying to get jackles to tell the audience more about what he did, without him feeling like he is boasting about himself. and misha looks so pleased when jensen starts talking.

fuck i literally had to pause just now because. jensen says: ‘one of the characteristics of dean that i love to play is that he can bottle those fears up, stash them away, and just go. and uhm… sometimes i wish i could do that.’

this is actually making me a bit emotional because. he took his time saying this. it was a very deliberate move. he wasn’t sorry he said anything or regretted it. he wanted to get that out there. and i just. it makes so much sense if what we all think is actually true. he wishes he could just ignore all his fears and go for it. and it’s not hard to imagine what ‘it’ could be: coming out. whether that be just about his relationship with misha or being attracted to more than women in general, just in any way shape or form. it’s poignant. and misha turns away, but you can see him sigh a little bit.

the whole bit about “apple juice” is just very cute and i enjoy it a lot. one thing i will say though is that i can kind of spot two tells of jensen: the way his face scrunches up when he is telling a lie that he thinks is clever, and the way he always leaves his chair to pour a drink when a question becomes difficult/hard/too funny to face head on. he has done both of those things time and time again, during panels with misha. just an observation.

there is this little moment [10m13s] where misha tells the story about how he used to make apple cider with worms and dirt in it and in the end he goes ‘anyways. new england apple cider everyone. highly recommend.’ and jensen echoes that, ‘highly recommend. yeah.’ and of course that could just be a way to joke around and play along with misha but i’d like to think that he has visited misha and they had some apple cider together. just because i like the thought and i can, so.

how CUTE is it that jensen remembers ‘i’ll just wait here then’, a line cas spoke 7 years prior to that panel, in a scene jensen wasn’t even in. i love it.

jensen slowly shaking his head when misha says ‘fuck’ and apologizing for it has SUCH major ‘excuse my husband’ energy. i love it.

‘i’ve got an idea’ [14m13s] ‘what? let’s do it’ misha imMEDIATELY regretted that lmaooo they are always so aware of double meanings and yet they cannot seem to help themselves. we love to see it.

can you BELIEVE jensen ‘dance monkey dance’ ackles OFFERED to shamelessly promote a movie they have nothing to do with??? jensen, who hates the fact that they have to play some sort of show on stage, actually wanted to do that with misha??? i’m just- something something if you want jensen to do anything ask misha, but apparently also: if you want jensen to do something get misha involved and he’ll love it.

and then he has the audacity to say ‘over to the wheel of love.’ i mean. i can’t.

(i don’t necessarily understand what is happening btw but that’s okay, because it leads to champagne. which is fun.)

okay so again apologies for my mind being in the gutter but jensen’s face [16m33s] when he says he is going to explain what [the champagne] tastes like……. hm. help.

honestly i just love the whole champagne bit because i love it whenever they get so playful on stage, and them “presenting” the bottle and going all ‘we know what we’re talking about’ ‘we’re kind of connaisseurs’ and the whole english accent bit. say it with me…. in sync.

jensen popping a champagne bottle is something that can be so personal…. (i’m touch starved and going crazy, leave me alone)

i absolutely love the fact that jensen notices that misha is miming taking off his pants and misha immediately runs to him to explain and jensen just goes full on protective husband mode (YET AGAIN) ‘i turn my back for 2 minutes’ lmao it’s just such old married couple behavior. an old married couple that is horny and deranged, but still.

i’ve seen the gifset of this moment [24m52s] many a times but i still think it’s so intimate. the way misha looks at jensen and walks backwards with him, for no fucking reason at all. sigh. misha’s hand clenches a little, and honestly i think he would have wanted to reach out to jensen in that moment. pat his arm or his back. and something happens a little while later that only proves my point even more…

that caress [60m5s] is probably one of the most intimate gestures i’ve seen between them. it’s so familiar. so natural. it says a lot.

and that’s the end of the panel. all in all i have to say that i enjoyed rewatching this panel with the analysis goggles on, because it’s really a very different experience and i picked up on a lot more than i did when i watched it just for fun. i think this is one of my favorite panels of theirs (at least until my next analysis lmao) because of the fact that they are so in sync with each other, which goes to show that their relationship was in such a good place (mind you i am only using past tense because i am describing a past panel, not because i think they’re not in a good place right now). this was a lot of fun folks, if you actually read all of this, god bles, you’re the best. see you next time!

#cockles #jib 7 #this is very very long but in my defense this panel is an hour long #comments and thoughts are always appreciated!!

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cursed-or-not · 3 years

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Merry Christmas @dreamnovak from your Secret Santa!! You’re truly, truly The Best and I’ve had sm fun writing for you <33 happy holidays to everyone!!

It’s a slow day at the Roadhouse, and the cold has crept in through the rickety doors and floorboards. Dean shivers behind the counter.

He thinks one day he’ll have to get around to fixing the insulation.

The air feels like snow.

Across the counter, Cas watches him intently.

“You look cold,” he says finally.

Dean shrugs. “Not too bad. Feels like it’s gonna snow, though.”

Cas’ head tilts in confusion. “How do you predict snow with just a feeling?”

Dean stares back at him, affronted. He couldn’t explain how, but he’s spent enough time driving around the Midwest to recognize the heaviness of the air and smell of an oncoming storm.

“It’s in the air, Cas! Don’t look at me like that. I know what it feels like before a storm.”

Cas seems to decide to back down.

“Well, I hope it’s a good thing,” he mumbles.

This time, it’s Dean’s turn to look puzzled.

“The snow?”

Cas nods.

“Jack decided to keep all four seasons. I believe he said something about maintaining authenticity.”

“It’s a good thing,” Dean assures him simply.

Cas barely nods in acknowledgement, eyes scanning the empty tables. Dean picks up on his gaze.

“If you really wanna fix something, it wouldn’t hurt for Jack to give me a few more customers,” Dean quips, knocking his knuckles on the counter where Cas sits alone.

“We can’t force people to support your business,” Cas grumbles. “I thought you believe in free will.”

“Woah, I was just saying it’d be nice,” Dean defends. He wonders if Cas can tell from his face that the comment elicited the exact response he’d been looking for. Dean has found over the last few months that there’s no one he’d rather banter with than Cas.

“Well, you might do better to attempt to attract customers on your own.” Cas says it so sincerely that Dean knows he’s just doing it to tease him.

“Hey!” Dean responds, making his voice as wounded as he can manage.

When Cas just smiles, Dean leans towards him, resting his elbows on the counter, and continues.

“I mean, at least I know there’s one customer I can always count on to show up,” Dean says with a smile.

“If you’re referring to me, I don’t come because of your incredible business practices,” Cas responds, and Dean can’t tell if it’s an insult to his work ethic or a compliment to his personality.

Dean decides to take whatever it means and push his luck.

“Yeah? What keeps bringing you back then?”

At that, Cas looks up, and any teasing is gone from his expression.

“You know the answer to that,” he says simply, and Dean can feel his face burning.

He’s been dancing around this every possible chance.

“Cas…” Dean says softly, eyes fixed firmly on the counter.

“Dean,” Cas echoes, and Dean can practically hear the sad smile behind that tone.

Dean risks a glance up, and Cas’ eyes are searching his face. Dean looks back down.

“It’s okay, you know” Cas says simply. Sincerely.

Dean lets out a breath.

Cas continues, “I know you need more time. I think it’s a testament to how much you’ve grown that you were even willing to tell me that much, and I appreciate your honesty.”

Dean shakes his head barely perceptibly.

“Hey,” Cas says gently, and his hand moves like he might reach out before it falls back. “It’s okay,” he repeats.

God. Sometimes Dean wishes Cas wouldn’t make everything seem so easy and so difficult at the same time. He wishes it didn’t always have to be so complicated with them.

He wishes Cas wouldn’t tell him that it’s okay when Dean is still struggling to work up the courage to be happy.

Dean looks up.

“It’s not,” Dean says, and Cas looks ready to object, so Dean just pushes forward.

“I mean, some of it is. I’m not saying I’m not worthy or I did something wrong, but I’m saying I didn’t do it like I should’ve and I--” Dean pauses, searching for whatever it is he wants to say. “I’m not sure it was fair to you,” he says carefully.

Cas’ expression softens.

“Dean,” he says, and he always manages to say Dean’s name like it’s more than it is. He always manages to put so much meaning into it. “I’ve waited my entire life-- a millenia-- for you. A few weeks is nothing.”

Dean feels like he’s had all the air knocked out of him. Before, he couldn’t look Cas in the eye, but now he can’t stop searching his face.

Dean takes a breath to steal himself, and he feels his resolve crumble. He reaches across the counter to catch Cas’ hand in both of his.

“I’m never gonna deserve you,” Dean tells him, and his throat feels almost too tight to get the words out.

“No,” Cas objects. “No. Dean, I meant every word I told you that night. Not just the ‘I love you,’” Cas says, and his voice is so fierce that Dean can’t help but look away. Cas’ other hand comes up to rest on Dean’s, too.

“You’re a hero, Dean,” Cas says simply. “And the best brother, father, and friend in this universe or any other. And,” Cas adds with a smile, “you’re an above-average bartender.”

“Above average, huh?” Dean asks, eyes still prickling with tears but chest less tight than before.

“The best of the mediocre,” Cas confirms, and Dean lets out a snort at the deadpan humor.

He lets the moment hang in the air for a moment before speaking up.

“Maybe I just need a good business partner,” Dean says slowly, watching Cas’ face carefully.

Cas waits for Dean to say more, and Dean supposes that’s fair; it’s his turn.

“I don’t… I don’t want to do this alone anymore,” Dean says, forcing his voice to sound more matter-of-fact than he feels. “None of it.”

Cas’ face softens again, looking impossibly fond.

“You always have me,” he says with such conviction that Dean chokes out what could pass as a laugh.

“Thanks, man.” He clears his throat. “Thank you. But, uh, I was thinking maybe we try to do things differently. Only if you want,” Dean says, heart pounding. He hopes Cas doesn’t feel his hands shaking.

“Differently?”

Dean shrugs, doing his best to look indifferent.

“As I said, I’m with you no matter what, but if you wanted to specify…” Cas trails off expectantly.

Dean clears his throat again, looking down to where his hands previously held Cas’.

“Differently, like, maybe we see each other more. Not just here, but-- dinner and stuff,” Dean finishes lamely.

Cas narrows his eyes.

“We already do eat dinner together sometimes.”

“You’re killing me, man,” Dean huffs a laugh before taking a deep breath and trying again. “Okay, so, maybe we also… live together?” Dean says nervously, risking only a quick glance to see Cas’ face.

“I’ve already lived with you, in the bun--”

“Cas, I’m trying to tell you I’m in love with you,” Dean snaps.

Cas’ eyes don’t leave Dean’s face as he responds with a simple, “Oh.”

“‘Oh?’ What the hell does ‘oh’ mean?!”

Cas almost looks amused.

“You already know I love you, too,” he points out, and Dean hates how rational a thing to say it is.

“Things could’ve changed,” Dean points out in a half-hearted attempt to defend himself.

‘They haven’t,” Cas says, and Dean can’t help but stare at him in wonder. “They won’t.”

“Yeah. Okay,” Dean says hoarsely. He wishes he could only blame the cold for the goosebumps on his arms.

“Thank you for talking to me,” Cas murmurs, and Dean feels himself melt at the softness of it.

Dean thinks he couldn’t have put this off any longer if he tried.

“Thank you for being… you,” Dean responds, and something in his chest aches at the fondness in the look Cas responds with.

Dean’s hand finds its way back to Cas’.

“You were right, you know,” Cas says suddenly, and Dean waits for him to specify. “It started snowing a couple minutes ago,” he mutters, and Dean laughs at the reluctant confession.

He looks out throught the fogged-up window, and the snowflakes swirl lazily downward. Circling and then falling.

“Guess that means you’re stuck with me for a little while,” Dean says with a smile.

Neither of them point out the fact that Cas has his wings back, nor does Dean acknowledge that the few flakes outside aren’t nearly enough to prevent anyone from driving.

“I guess I am,” Cas responds. He glances outside. “Through tomorrow too, I expect. Just in case the storm continues.”

Dean nods in mock solemnity. “Probably safest for you to stick with me for a month or so, actually. Maybe the next year or two. You never know with storms like this.”

They watch the snow keep coming. Cas squeezes Dean’s hand.

“Thank you, Dean,” he says, and Dean’s not quite sure what the gratitude is for, but he accepts it. He leans farther across the counter, squeezing Cas’ hand.

“You, too-- for everything. Thanks, Cas.”

“You still look cold,” Cas says suddenly, and Dean huffs a laugh.

“Well, guess you’ll have to keep me warm,” he responds smoothly.

“Until the storm’s over,” Cas agrees.

“Oh,” Dean says, pretending to check his watch as he leans in closer, “I think longer than that.”

Cas breathes into the small space between them, and then Dean bridges it.

Around them, the snow keeps falling.

Settling.

#I wanted to do smth w claire for you but i Could Not make it work so I'm really hoping this is okay!! and I'm sorry it's not much!!#but you're truly one of my favorite writers and ppl on here mae just so you know #I was both elated and terrified to find out I was your secret santa lol #spnfamsecretsanta #destiel #spn fanfic #supernatural #mine

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puckinghell · 3 years

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Not A Typical Christmas Story | Elias Pettersson

Summary: You’ve never loved Christmas, and there’s nothing that can change that; especially not your best friend’s grumpy Swedish friend who you don’t even like. However, when you’ve gotta be forced into the Christmas spirit to write a Christmas story for class, there’s only one person who is willing to try and help you. Words: 14k (I’m SO sorry) Note: Here it is, a Christmas story in November. Honestly I’m nervous to post this, I’ve never put so much of myself into a story, but here we go. I loved loved loved writing this and I hope you guys like reading it. Also, the cliche scenarios were stolen from a random blog post.

“You’re such a fucking Grinch.” Brock takes a sip from his hot chocolate. There’s murmur in the bar around you, and he’s muttering, but you still hear him clear enough.

“Hey,” you protest, lightly hitting him on the arm. “I’m not a Grinch. Just because you put up your Christmas decorations in October and have been singing All I Want For Christmas Is You since July, doesn’t make me the Grinch for not doing that.”

Brock raises an eyebrow. “You literally just said you hate Christmas.”

“I did not.” You stubbornly cross your arms. “I said I hate Christmas stories.”

“That’s basically all there is to Christmas,” Brock brings in, and that’s probably fair enough.

Apart from the food, presents, family time, decorations…

Fine. Maybe you don’t like any of those either. But not liking Christmas is not the same as being a Grinch: you’re completely fine with letting everyone enjoy their festive December, as long as they leave you out of it.

Which is exactly why you’ve been complaining to Brock. And as your best friend, it’s literally his duty to listen to you; unfortunately it also means he’s gonna make fun of you. Just a little bit.

“I just don’t get why I have to write a Christmas story,” you mope, a little pathetically. “There’s so many Christmas stories in the world already, Boes. And they’re all the same! The foreign sports car breaks down in a blizzard and the city slicker gets stuck in a bar with a bucktoothed chicken strangler with an IQ of 7 whom he decides, through love or delirium, he cannot live without. Or the sadistic Christmas-hating miser of the pathetic backwoods town, who makes his money grinding the faces of the poor, is inspired to a change of heart by a teary-eyed child who bears a striking resemblance to his dead daughter, and donates all his money so that the ghost town can continue its wretched, grimy, poverty wracked existence.”

At that, there’s a muffled snicker from the side of the table. You’d almost forgotten that Elias was there, to be honest.

You raise your eyebrow at him. “What? You’ve got a better Christmas story?”

Elias raises an eyebrow back, but doesn’t answer. He usually doesn’t. Brock says he’s talkative enough when you’re not around, although you for the life of you do not know what you’ve done to earn his judgment.

“Don’t bite Petey’s head off,” Brock chides. He’s always trying to keep the peace between you two, and sometimes you feel bad that he has to police his two best friends.

Today is not one of those days.

“He’s laughing at me!”

“Because you’re being ridiculous.” Brock sighs. “It’s just a Christmas story, Y/N. You’ll write it, you get a grade for it, it’s done. How hard can it be?”

It’s clear that Brock has no idea how hard it can be to write a decent story. Sometimes, you wonder if he can even really write or read: maybe he’s just memorized a bunch of words and called it a day.

You let out a grumble and drop your head on the dingy, sticky table in the rundown bar that Brock and Elias are so keen to go to, probably because they never get recognized there. Not surprising, considering the fact that the age of the average customer is above 85.

Normally, you like your creative writing course. People told you to get electives you thought were actually fun, as your normal college courses are taxing enough, and you’ve always been a writer.

Or, well, been a writer… You write. You wouldn’t call yourself a writer: you’ve never published anything and you can’t be a writer before you make money from it. But you like writing. There’s at least a hundred half finished Word documents sitting on your laptop at any given moment.

But this project isn’t fun at all. All the students in your course were excited to get to write a Christmas story. It is December, after all, and most people have gotten properly into the Christmas spirit by now. However, you’ve never liked Christmas – for reasons that you will not think about with Elias’ judgy eyes on you – and you usually write scary stories, so this is not up your alley.

“Hey,” Brock’s voice sounds, and it’s gentle now. He’s probably noticed you’re actually having a mental breakdown over this. “It’s just one stupid story, and it doesn’t even have to be good. Just write about like, animals that can talk.”

Elias snorts again, and this time you can’t even blame him.

You lift your head only to shoot Brock a glare. Brock raises his hands in helpless manner, rolling his eyes as he goes.

“I’m trying to help.”

“I’m going to get beers,” Elias says suddenly. It’s the first thing he’s said all hour, you think, and the sound of his voice almost startles you. “I think you’re more helpful when you’ve got a beer, Boes.”

He’s not wrong, but you won’t tell him that. Instead, you stare at his retreating back, disappearing towards the bar.

“Why do you hate him?” Brock says, and he sounds a little accusing.

“I don’t hate Elias, just as much as I don’t hate Christmas,” you tell him, before you realize that that technically doesn’t speak of your innocence, so you try a different tactic. “He doesn’t like me either! He never talks when I’m around.”

“Cause you make him nervous!” Brock exclaims. He pushes his now empty mug towards the side. “You’re always making snappy remarks at him.” He stares at you with big blue puppy eyes, his bottom lip pouting out. “I wish you would just get along. I love you both and it’s very annoying to have to always be in the middle of you.”

In reality, it’s not like Brock really has to be in the middle of anything. If it was up to you, you would simply not ever see Elias, and you’re pretty sure that’s the only thing you and Elias would ever agree on. But Brock somehow always brings you together: like how today he’d forgotten to mention his teammate’s presence when he asked you to come out for a drink.

But you don’t blame Brock, not really. You think there’s another universe in which Elias and you could be friends. You’re very similar, in a way: you’re both not from Vancouver, both don’t have your family around, and you share a similar sharp sarcastic humor and a love for teasing Brock.

The first time you met Elias, you were hopeful. Brock was, at that point, your only friend in Vancouver, and the two of you had become best friends like you’d grown up in each other’s pockets. If Brock liked this guy so much, you figured you’d like him too.

But Elias hadn’t seemed to feel the same way. You met at one of Jake’s parties and Brock had introduced you with the statement that you were going to be beerpong buddies, because he’d already promised Troy.

Elias’ eyes had been a little too intense, as they traveled across your face. You could feel them burn into your skin like lasers, and when his eyes finally met yours it had felt like being hit by the entire universe at once.

“Oh,” he’d said, and it had been filled with… not even disdain. You could’ve handled disdain, because you could’ve called him out on that. But this had been indifference, that you’d heard in his voice, and that was something you didn’t know what to do with.

He’d not said anything else all evening.

Ever since then, you’d put stone after stone into the wall you build between you and the quiet Swede, every single time he so much looked in your general direction. Nothing big ever happened between you: you hadn’t had any huge fights or massive blow outs.

It was just indifference, that ate at you until it became reluctance and then annoyance, and it’s that same thing you can read on Elias’ face now when he quietly sits in a corner, listening in on your conversations with Brock.

Yes, it would be easier for Brock if you and Elias could become friends, or at least friendly enough.

“Sorry, Boes,” you tell him with a sigh. “I just don’t think it’s ever gonna happen.”

“Is there a reason you’re not wearing a shirt?”

You raise your eyebrow at Jake, who opened the door wearing black jeans, a Santa hat, and literally nothing else.

"I lost a bet,” he says solemnly, opening his front door further. You stomp the snow off your boots on his porch, then move past him into the house.

It’s freezing cold outside and Jake’s house is lovely and warm, which makes you happy to be there if only to enjoy the heating. It’s not like you don’t have heating at your flat, but the electricity bill is high enough every month without you turning the thermostat up as high as it goes, so usually you try to keep warm with sweaters and blankets.

Brock told you to dress pretty though, so you wore a dress to Jake’s party. Which means it’s a good thing he’s got the heating going.

“You look lovely,” Jake smiles, taking your coat from your hands. Having him act like such a perfect gentleman in the outfit he’s wearing makes you laugh, and he shoos you inside when he notices.

You like Jake. In fact, you like all of Brock’s friends – except the one, of course – and that’s the only reason you said yes to coming to this party. It’s not like you’re against parties, but it’s a Christmas party: and despite the fact that it’s the first week of December, you’ve already heard enough Christmas music to last a life time.

“There she is!” Brock hoots, when he spots you. He opens his arms and you give him a quick hug, saying hi to Bo and Holly, who he’s standing with. “I have a brilliant idea,” Brock says however, before you can even ask the Horvats how they’re doing. “And you can’t say no right away.”

That definitely means you’re gonna wanna say no right away.

“I’m not promising that,” you hum. Just at that moment, Jake appears with a glass of prosecco that he hands you, and you send him a grateful smile. He disappears just as quickly, which is probably the better option considering what Brock’s about to say.

“I think you should make an actual, real effort to get into the Christmas spirit this year.”

“I don’t think so,” you immediately answer, but Brock waves away your protests with a wave of his hand.

“That’s not the part you’re gonna wanna say no to.”

“Oh dear,” Holly laughs, and you glare at Brock.

“What, then?”

“I think you and Petey should get in the Christmas spirit together.”

The sentence is bizar enough that you burst out laughing. Surely he’s kidding.

“Are you drunk?” you ask, then, turning to Bo: “Is he drunk?”

Bo shrugs. “Not yet, I don’t think. Tipsy at most.”

“Think about it,” Brock says. There’s a glint of excitement in his eyes, which promises nothing good for you. “You’re staying in Vancouver this Christmas, right?”

You don’t say anything: the answer is yes, and Brock knows that, because he’s been trying to convince you to come back to Minnesota with him for a month. However, as you’ve told him every time, there’s no way his girlfriend would appreciate that, and you don’t like being a third wheel. Or - but you haven’t told him that - a charity case.

“And so is Petey!” Brock proclaims. He motions somewhere to the left, where the Swede is probably hiding between all his teammates, trying to stay as far away from you as possible. “So both of you have to stay here in Vancouver, alone, during Christmas. And he loves Christmas, and you don’t, but you have to write that Christmas story and it would be so much easier to do that if you actually celebrated Christmas, so he can teach you how.”

Your best friend isn’t making a lot of sense, and there’s too much information to process so quickly. First of all, you didn’t know Elias would be alone for Christmas, although you suppose it makes sense that he can’t go back to Sweden just for 2 days of Christmas. Secondly, you don’t need someone to teach you how to celebrate Christmas: it’s not like you don’t know, and much more that you choose not to.

And third: fuck. You’d basically forgotten about that Christmas story.

“It’s a brilliant idea,” Brock says proudly and a little smug. “And I haven’t told Petey yet but I know he’ll be down.”

This time, you respond: you start laughing hard enough that Brock’s smile slips off his face.

“I really don’t think he will,” you giggle. You reach out, patting Brock’s arm with a smile. “Boes, you’re a sweetheart, but stop worrying about me. My life isn’t bad because I don’t like Christmas.”

It’s bad for some other reasons, like financial debt and family misfortunes, but not because of a lack of reindeer ornaments and bad mulled wine.

Brock pouts. “But…”

“No,” you cut him off. “I can write that Christmas story just fine on my own, thank you. And if you’re worried about Elias, you can ask him to Minnesota.” You take a step back, glancing at your empty prosecco glass. “I’m gonna get another one of these.”

As you’re making your way to the kitchen, you can still hear Brock’s sputtering.

Although Jake’s house is filled with people, the kitchen still seems quiet. It’s not until you’ve let the door fall closed behind you though, that you notice movement in the corner.

“Oh,” you say, a little annoyed to be caught off guard. “It’s you.”

Elias barely glances in your direction. “Just getting some water.”

Elias’ style is always a little funky, and if you didn’t dislike him so much you would’ve appreciated how daring it is. This time, though, you literally can not help but laugh at him.

“Nice sweater,” you say, and it doesn’t even come out as sarcastic.

Elias looks down at his sweater like he didn’t even notice he was wearing it. It has a reindeer stitched on, except the reindeer looks… Well. Baked.

“Quinn got it for me,” Elias says, and he sounds a little sheepish, which is not a tone you hear from him often. “He’s got the same one.”

“A little co-dependent,” you tease, and it comes out too light and easy for it to be directed at Elias. He looks a little surprised, too, at how jovial it sounds.

“You look nice,” he says, then. He’s looking at you now, and you can feel the weight of his eyes press against your skin.

There’s something about Elias’ gaze that makes it feel like your lungs are constricting, and you don’t know what it is. You could blame it on the fact that his eyes are the kind of piercing blue that authors would compare to the ocean or maybe the summer sky, but Brock has blue eyes too, and you never feel like that when he looks at you.

“Uhm, thanks,” you bring out. The awkwardness settles over the kitchen like a heavy cloud of fog, but for some reason your first instinct isn’t to just run out of the kitchen, like you usually would.

This is definitely Brock’s fault, for making you feel bad about Elias being alone in his sauve but empty apartment in Vancouver on Christmas, when he apparently loves the holiday so much.

“Brock thinks you could teach me how to love Christmas,” you blurt out, and Elias looks nothing short of utterly baffled by your statement. You sigh, and explain. “We’re both in Vancouver around Christmas and apparently you love Christmas and I don’t, so he thinks you should teach me how to love it. He thinks it would help me write my story.”

Elias seems to ponder that for a second. When he speaks, his voice is tentative. “Do you think it would help?”

Your first instinct is to, once again, call out no and laugh it off, but for some reason you don’t. Elias sips his water like he’s prepared to wait for your answer, and you give yourself some time to think.

Realistically, getting into the Christmas spirit, or at least getting an idea of what other people feel when they’re in the Christmas spirit, could really help you pull off this story. You’re good at putting yourself in other people’s shoes, which is how you manage to write characters you don’t necessarily see yourself in.

When you wrote a story about a doctor, you talked to your friend who’s in med school about it for a week. Now, you wanna write a Christmas story. It wouldn’t be an awful idea to be around someone who loves Christmas.

“Maybe,” you admit. “But you don’t have to do it, I know you’re probably busy…”

Elias shakes his head before you’ve finished your sentence.

“When hockey goes on break, and all my teammates go home for the holidays, I won’t have anything to do.” He shrugs: it looks careless but in the most forced manner, like he’s trying to hide just how much it does matter. “We could do something, I guess.”

I guess. It’s not really the most enthusiastic response you’ve ever had, but then, this is not normal for you and Elias.

“You know what the ultimate Christmas plot is?” Elias says then, a little hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “A Christmas party is in fear of flopping thanks to a lack of Christmas spirit, but is rescued by some energetic soccer mom with no life.” He grins. “I could be the soccer mom.”

To your own surprise, you burst out laughing at his description. You didn’t think he was really paying attention when you were describing cliché Christmas plots in the bar with Brock, but maybe Elias pays attention to more than he admits.

“Fine,” you hear yourself say, and you honest to God have no idea where that came from but you know Brock is gonna shit himself with excitement when he hears. “When hockey goes on break, you can be the energetic soccer mom and try to bring me into the Christmas spirit.” You smile. “It won’t be an easy task, Pettersson.”

Elias raises an eyebrow but there’s nothing judgmental about it, this time.

If anything, it’s a challenge.

He sticks something out to you: it’s your glass, now filled again with prosecco, which he somehow managed to fill up without you even noticing.

“It’s on,” he says simply, and when he raises his water glass in the air, you don’t even hesitate to clink it.

“Shopping is not a Christmas outing,” you say, stubbornly crossing your arms. “And I really don’t think this is gonna get me into the Christmas spirit.”

“What do you mean?” Elias deadpans, as he yanks a shopping cart free from all the others. “Middle aged housewives fighting over discounted wreaths? There’s nothing more Christmassy than that.”

You snort. “Right. It’s just gonna be spoiled crying kids who want toys that they already have and parents pretending it’s Santa who spoils them so they don’t have to take responsibility for their kids being rude drama queens.”

Elias laughs. He pushes the cart into the department store, and you reluctantly follow him.

“That’s another storyline,” he says.

“The unexplained dilemma of parents who do not believe in Santa, and yet we, the wise audience who knows better, are left to wonder where they think these toys came from? ‘Psst, honey, Santa’s not real, so from whence came these marvels?’”

“I don’t know half of what you’re saying.” Elias holds up a string of Christmas lights. “But we’re getting these, honey.”

It comes out sweet like caramel and too serious to be anything but sarcastic, so you push the cart into his heels. Elias simply laughs and continues on his way.

The department store is busy, which is exactly why you usually try to avoid going there in December. You’d think Elias, being Elias Pettersson, would also try to avoid crowds, but it’s like people don’t see anything but Rudolph; nobody recognizes him as he skillfully pushes his way through the crowds, putting stuff into the cart that you barely know what to do with.

You’re thankful for it. It would be awkward if people did recognize him, and it’s strange to notice that that would be the thing to do it; there’s no awkwardness now, with him making snarky remarks at the quality of the ornaments or the fact that Canadians apparently love what he calls the ‘tacky’ side of Christmas.

In fact, you almost find that you’re enjoying yourself. It might as well be a Christmas miracle after all.

“When was the last time you had a tree?” Elias asks.

Your brain short circuits for a full five seconds, and then when you answer Elias stares at you as if you’ve grown a second head.

“Uh, probably when I still lived with my parents and they got it?”

“We’re changing that right now.” He spins on his heels and speed walks in the direction of the trees, too fast for you to protest.

You think of the last time you got a Christmas tree and an involuntary shiver makes its way down your spine. There’s a good reason you don’t like Christmas, and the tree plays a crucial part in it.

But Elias doesn’t know that. So you can’t even blame him for looking excited when he somehow manages to find you the perfect size tree for your apartment – even without ever having been in your apartment.

“This one,” he says smugly, but when he notices your expression, his face falls. “What’s wrong?”

You swallow. You could tell him, now, tell him about the last time your dad went to get a tree and never came back.

But that’s a long time ago and there’s no reason for Elias to know that. He’s not your friend, and he’d probably not even care. If anything, he’d feel sorry for you, and that would be even worse.

“That one is fine,” you tell him, and you promise yourself you just won’t put it up.

The tree gets your mood down but Elias doesn’t seem to notice. He collects some more stuff, like a throw blanket with Christmas pattern that you actually don’t mind, because you’re always cold and a person can never have too many throw blankets.

He also puts in an ornament with the Canucks logo, which you want to use to slap the smirk off his face, and a Rudolph pluche toy with a red light up nose.

“Like you, when it’s cold,” he teases, flicking your nose, and you wonder if you could use the Christmas lights to strangle him.

Finally, when you approach the end of your trip, you realize a teeny tiny problem.

“Uhm, Elias?” you ask, “I think we may have gotten too much.”

Elias rolls his eyes. “Brock said you don’t have any decorations, so this is the perfect amount.”

And it would be – if you wanted Christmas decorations – except…

“I can’t afford this,” you snap, and you can feel your cheeks heat up, and maybe the tips of your ears as well. God, this is embarrassing.

Elias’ face softens, and that kinda just makes it worse.

“You’re not paying for it,” he says, not unkindly. “This wasn’t your idea.”

“It wasn’t yours either,” you remind him. Granted, a bill like this would hardly break the bank for Elias, but you’re not about to let him pay for you just because he feels bad. You let Brock buy you dinner sometimes but that’s it, and only because he actually likes your company and because he always wants to eat at stupid fancy restaurants.

This is Elias. He doesn’t value your company, and he’s not your friend, and you won’t let him pay for you.

Elias doesn’t say anything, eyes searching your face for something. You’re not quite sure what he finds, but finally, he speaks.

“Consider it my Christmas gift to you,” he says. “You can pay me back by making me lunch, cause I’m hungry.”

And strangely enough, the thought of spending another two hours with Elias doesn’t make you wanna hurl, or throw yourself in front of oncoming traffic. In fact, you’re surprised to note that you actually had fun on this trip, and it was mostly thanks to Elias’ dry commentary on the other shoppers, of which not one sentence failed to make you laugh.

You don’t believe in Christmas stories, like the one where some weird technical glitch in the matrix gets fixed just in time for the Christmas tree in the center of town to light up, just as the guy and girl figure out their complicated emotional differences.

But maybe you can allow yourself to not actively dislike Elias’ company, at least while you’re stuck with it.

There’s exhaustion settled deep inside your bones, like your feet are made of concrete as you somehow manage to drag yourself up the stairs. You don’t usually mind living in a bit of a shit hole building, considering the fact that it’s very cheap – but on nights like these you wish there was an elevator you could take.

Working out in the morning before taking a double shift at the coffee shop you work at was a bad idea.

It takes you a few seconds to find your keys in your bag. It’s late enough at night that you can’t really see much; there’s lights in the hallways but most of them don’t really work, the flickering glow of them barely enough to illuminate the ceilings.

When you open the door, you instantly notice there’s something wrong.

Or, wrong… That might not be the right word. The word that comes to mind, actually, is fuck.

You’d forgotten all about Elias.

After buying all the Christmas decorations, he kept bothering you about putting them up. You hadn’t really been planning to, and unfortunately Elias knew you well enough to somehow know that.

Nobody reads you as well as he does, like his blue eyes pierce right through your skin and stare straight into your heart. It’s one of the things you find most unsettling about him. Keeping things close to your heart has always been your way to cope, but it felt impossible to do that with Elias around.

He’d kept asking you if you were gonna put up the decorations and you kept waving him away, until he finally decided he had enough.

“I’m coming over tomorrow,” he’d said – or, threatened. “Brock gave me your spare key, so you don’t have a say in this. I’m putting up the tree.”

“Don’t you dare,” you’d answered, making a mental note to deal with Brock’s traitorous ass later. “I can put up my own tree.”

You could, you just weren’t planning to do it.

“You could, but you won’t,” Elias had said, unimpressed. “So be there or don’t be there, I’m doing it.”

You had totally meant to be there. You weren’t as much of an asshole that you would let him do all the work after he also paid for it, and he was technically doing you a favor. But then your colleague asked you to cover her shift, and, well…

You forgot. And clearly, Elias hadn’t.

In the corner of your tiny little living room is a pine tree. There’s no ornaments in it except for the Canucks one that Elias bought you, but there’s what seems to be about a thousand lights in it, and it must’ve taken him hours to put those in.

It’s not even just that. The Rudolph toy is sitting on your bookcase, there’s candles on your dining table and on the couch is the Christmas throw blanket.

Under the blanket is Elias.

His head is resting on the arm of the couch, blond hair a little messy. His eyes are closed, eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbones, and he looks strangely peaceful.

You feel something settle in your stomach.

You imagine him sitting on your couch, waiting for you to come home because he wanted to see your reaction. You can imagine his little smug grin as he took in his work, way too proud with a simple string of lights in a Christmas tree. And maybe, maybe, he even thought about you celebrating Christmas here with the place looking exactly like this, and maybe that made him smile.

And then you didn’t show up.

You wonder if you should wake him, to kick him out of your apartment, tease him for waiting for you, or even to say thank you. But his chest is rising slowly with every steady breath, and you’ve never seen Elias look so tranquil, so at peace.

For some reason, waking him feels like a crime.

So you step closer and tug the blanket a little more over his shoulders. You tell yourself it’s because the place gets so stupidly cold at night, and you can’t have him get sick and have a miserable Christmas because Brock would kill you, but you know it’s not about that at all.

It’s about the fact that coming home to a cozy, decorated apartment after the exhausting day you’ve had was actually pretty nice. And it’s about the fact that for some reason, Elias’ sleeping figure on your couch makes the place feel more like home than it has ever before.

And maybe it’s because the night is dark, and Elias can’t hear or see you, but when you whisper: “Goodnight” into the quiet living room, it sounds a lot like thank you.

When you wake up, there’s the smell of pancakes in the air. It’s a smell you would recognize anywhere, and it startles you awake too quickly for it being so early in the morning. You nearly jump out of bed and follow your nose towards the kitchen.

If anyone would’ve asked, you would’ve bet money on it that Elias would’ve woken up on your couch annoyed as hell, and booked it out of there as soon as his legs could carry him. But somehow, like a mirage, he’s standing at your stove, making pancakes.

Are you dreaming?

“Am I dreaming?” you ask out loud, and Elias swirls around on his heels.

“Don’t scare me,” he snaps, annoyed, but the annoyance flows away within seconds. “I was hungry.”

“So you made pancakes?”

Elias laughs softly. “I can’t make much else with what’s in your kitchen. You need to go grocery shopping.”

You really do, but you can’t think about that right now. Not when Elias is standing in your kitchen like he owns the place, like it’s normal for him to be there.

It very much is not. So why doesn’t it feel wrong?

“Uhm.” If he’s here, you figure you should at least be polite. “Do you want coffee?”

He waves towards your coffee machine. “I already put it on.”

You stay quiet as you make the coffee, a little too aware of the way Elias moves pancake after pancake from the pan to the stack, movements relaxed and almost lazy. It’s Sunday morning and it’s not that late, but it feels like it could be one of those mornings that stretches out endlessly, dark grey clouds outside your apartment as Vancouver slowly wakes up.

Neither of you speak until you’ve sat down at the table, pancakes and coffee in front of you. It’s awfully domestic and you don’t know what to do with it: it’s become easy to snap or snark at Elias when Brock’s there as a middle man and Elias looks like he’d rather cut off both his legs than spend another minute in your presence, but it’s not like that now.

Now, Elias seems quietly content to sit in your kitchen eating pancakes that he made on your stove while you were asleep. Now, Elias seems completely comfortable scrolling through his phone while you stare at him. And this Elias, you have no idea what to do with.

“We’re gonna do something Christmassy today,” Elias says, between two bites of pancake. “I’m just trying to figure out what.”

You raise an eyebrow. It’s been only a week since Brock had the awful idea to make Elias teach you how to be in the Christmas spirit before booking it to Minnesota, and so far Elias has seemingly put way too much time and effort into it, while you haven’t even put one word in your empty word document, that you ironically titled ‘Not a typical Christmas story’.

Then you remember the night at Jake’s party, and how Elias said he wouldn’t have much to do once all the guys went home to their families.

Suddenly, you feel for him. You know what it’s like to be lonely.

“The Christmas market isn’t on today,” Elias continues, oblivious to your mental dialogue. “But we’re going there soon. And we need to watch a bunch of Christmas movies.”

You hesitate. Are you really going to do this?

“I might have an idea for today.”

Apparently you are.

Elias’ eyes finally focus on you, expression curious. He doesn’t say anything but he’s clearly waiting for you to continue, so you take a deep breath and go for it.

“I’ve never gone skating.”

An hour later you’re at the local outdoor ice rink, and it’s not until you see the crowd that you realize this might’ve not been your smartest idea. It’s Sunday, it’s December, it’s not awfully cold: you think at least 1/3rd of Vancouver is at this rink.

“Uhm, I might not have thought this through,” you state a little bashfully. You can already see a few Canucks jerseys on the ice, and although you can’t see the back that well you wouldn’t be surprised if a bunch of them carried the number 40.

Elias shrugs. He seems unbothered, but then he mostly does. You can never really read him, and it’s one of the things you find most unnerving about him.

“It’ll be fine,” he says. “I’m wearing my glasses.”

He is wearing his glasses, which he rarely does. You’re not even sure he needs them or if they’re just a fashion statement. He’s also wearing a hat, so maybe he’s thought this through more than you.

But surely just glasses and a snapback won’t stop Vancouver from recognizing the Canucks biggest star?

Apparently, it does.

Elias goes to rent the skates, because he couldn’t be bothered to go back to his apartment to get his own. He’s put them on within 20 seconds, while you’re still struggling to wiggle your foot into the first one.

He laughs and you shoot him a deathly glare.

“Don’t laugh at me! We can’t all be professional hockey players.”

“I don’t think you need to be a professional anything to lace up a skate,” Elias answers dryly. He turns to face you, then pats his leg. “Give me your foot.”

It’s embarrassing to make Elias tie your skates, but it would be more embarrassing to ignore him and then spend 20 minutes struggling with them. So you swing your foot into his lap.

Long fingers work swiftly around your laces, and suddenly your skate is tied, fitted closely around your ankle. Elias pats your shin, then holds out his hand for the other foot.

You swing your second leg into his lap.

“I don’t know how you do this so fast,” you mutter. You can feel the flush on your cheeks and you hope Elias assumes it’s because of the cold.

“I’ve got many talents,” Elias deadpans, and you can’t stop yourself from laughing.

“Juggling, unicycle riding, and lacing skates?”

Elias nods. There’s a smile tugging at his lips. “All very important skills.”

Finally, you put your skates back on the floor and waggle towards the door to. the rink. Elias has jumped onto the ice before you can even think about moving.

You stop. Is this really a good idea? You could break both your legs here.

“Don’t be scared,” Elias says, correcting guessing the root of your hesitation. He’s gliding on his skates with ease, shuffling back and forth the way hockey players always do during the anthems.

Because he’s waiting. For you. Because you’re going skating together.

This is the weirdest fucking thing that’s ever happened to you, kinda like a fever dream; and that’s enough motivation to step onto the ice.

You stumble a bit, and Elias reaches out to grab your elbow to steady you.

“Careful, it’s slippery.”

“Unsurprisingly,” you mumble beneath your breath, and Elias’ grin goes a little wicked before he promptly lets go off your elbow and slides back.

Bastard. But the ice is slippery and you’re not steady on your skates, so you scramble forward only just enough to reach Elias again, wrapping your hands tightly around his arm.

“Do not let go,” you hiss.

“Do not be a smartass,” he shoots back, but thankfully he doesn’t move away again. Instead, he carefully takes both your hands away from his arm and takes them into his own, turning so he’s skating backwards and pulling you along.

If you don’t have to move your own feet, moving is a lot more fun, and you feel yourself loosening up. Every now and then you stumble, but Elias’ grip on you is firm and he never wavers, even when you yank on his hands to pull yourself upright again.

You’ve always noticed how graceful Elias is on the ice. There’s something about him when he skates that has always caught your attention, even if you would never admit that to him. But without the hockey gear, it’s even more clear how elegant he moves.

You, not so much.

“You better not be laughing at me,” you grumble, a little annoyed that you have to cling onto Elias as a lifeline in order not to break your neck.

Elias raises an eyebrow. “I never do that.”

It should sound sarcastic but it really doesn’t, and you wonder if he’s momentarily forgotten every single interaction you’ve had with him over the past year.

Your expression must speak volumes because he rolls his eyes. He swiftly moves, so he’s skating next to you instead of in front.

He’s still holding your hand.

“I never laugh at you,” he clarifies. “I laugh because you’re funny. It’s different.”

And, oh. That does something to your stomach, something that you probably shouldn’t be thinking about right now.

Elias doesn’t seem to want to dwell on it either, because suddenly he pulls his hand away, skating a bit to the front to where you can’t reach him.

“You can do it on your own,” he calls over his shoulder, a cheeky smile playing around his lips.

And it turns out you can: you don’t fall, you keep moving – albeit a lot slower than Elias – and it’s actually kinda fun.

You can do it on your own, but. It was more fun with Elias next to you, anyway.

When Elias texts you to tell you you’re going to the Christmas market that night, you haven’t seen him in three days.

But you’ve been texting. He’s been sending you stupid Christmas songs that you mostly don’t listen to, and Christmas movies you’d prefer to never see. You send him ideas for cliché Christmas stories that you can almost hear his disapproving snort for.

Santa becomes a prima donna and holds Christmas hostage until his ego is stroked in the form of songs written in his honor by reindeer who are willing to give their very lives for the cause.

Elias’ answer comes swift.

No. That has definitely been done before and also, someone could call animal services.

When Brock asks you how you’re liking your time with Elias, when you FaceTime him during dinner, you fall into silence.

What are you gonna tell him? That you smile every time you see his name pop up on your phone? That you have no idea anymore why you didn’t like him all that time? That you now understand what he meant when he used to say “Petey just needs a little time”?

“It’s going,” you hum noncommittally, chopping another carrot.

Brock laughs. “You’re so full of bullshit. I can literally see you trying to hide a smile. You realized I’m right, didn’t you?”

“You need to shut up,” you tell him without any heat. “We’re civil. He’s bored, I’m in the middle of writer’s block crisis. We’re not getting married, Boes, it’s just better than doing nothing the whole week you’ve deserted me.”

“Sure,” Brock drawls, and it doesn’t sound like he believes you at all.

“How’s the pups?” you ask, and Brock laughs because that wasn’t even slightly subtle for a topic change. He clearly decides to let you, however, starts talking about Milo’s new habit of burying people’s gloves in the yard.

The thing is, you don’t really wanna talk about Elias with Brock when you don’t even know yourself what you think of him yet. Fine, you don’t hate him, that’s clear. You’ve realized his air of indifference is just a shield, a wall that crumples as soon as he laughs. His teasing remarks are familiar now, feel friendly the way they feel when they come from Brock, and you’ve realized he’s one of the funniest, smartest, and kindest people you know.

But Brock would just push it into something it’s not. When he comes back, you’ll probably go back to being ‘Brock’s friend’ instead Elias’, and you wouldn’t be surprised if everything goes back to the way things were. Maybe with less animosity, but when Elias has a bunch of different people to choose from, why would he choose to hang out with you?

But for now, he doesn’t have any other people to hang out with and he does choose to hang out with you, and you’re hit once again with how weird that is when you step into his car the next evening.

“Dude, it’s way too cold to be going outside,” you grumble, shutting the door of his car behind you. Inside the car it’s warm and cozy, and Elias has an amused expression on his face when he turns to you.

“Good evening,” he deadpans, “I’m good, thank you, how are you?”

“Right.” You can feel your cheeks flush and hope he thinks it’s because of the heat in the car. “Sorry.”

Elias laughs. “It’s not that cold,” he chides, pulling the car into the road. “You just didn’t dress properly.”

You look down at yourself. You thought you’d dressed quite warm, but there’s an icy chill in the air that promises a chance of snow, so maybe it’s not warm enough. You didn’t even take gloves, you realize now, or a hat.

Well.

Elias is grinning while he stares ahead at the road, and you kinda wanna smack him except for how it also makes you smile. He’s dressed a lot warmer than you, and with the scarf almost up to his chin and a beanie on his head there’s not much risk of him being recognized anywhere.

“I brought extra gloves,” Elias says, then. “You’re not gonna be able to enjoy it if your hands are cold.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Elias, not to be a downer, but we’re going to a busy market that revolves entirely around Christmas, and I don’t like Christmas or crowds. I don’t think I’m gonna enjoy myself either way.”

“We’ll see,” Elias says simply, and it sounds like a promise.

It’s easy to keep up the conversation on the way there, light teasing from you and genuine interest from him. It’s comfortable, both the warmth in the car and Elias’ laugh next to you, and when he parks the car you almost don’t wanna get out.

At least he does have gloves for you, and he gives you a scarf, so you’re not that cold when you step out into the night air.

The Christmas market is busy, hoards of happy people looking for some Christmas cheer. You stick close to Elias’ side: if you lose him in this crowd, you’ll never find him back.

At least it’s pretty. The sky is already dark but the Christmas market has been lit up with seemingly millions of lights in every color imaginable.

“I don’t think purple is very Christmassy,” you say, flicking a purple light hanging off the stall that Elias is browsing.

“I prefer the white ones,” he answers, eyes kept firmly on the handmade ornaments in the stall. “They look like stars.” He turns, holding out an ornament. It’s a glass star, and it reflects the lights like a kaleidoscope.

It’s, objectively, beautiful. You don’t have to like Christmas to love it, but when you reach out for it, Elias laughs and pulls it out of your reach.

“I thought we decided you’re not to be trusted with glass.”

He’s referencing a time long ago, when you were hanging out with Brock and he happened to be there, and you dropped a glass and Brock had made a whole spectacle of it.

To be fair, you hadn’t really put Elias in the memory you keep of that day, because he was simply there: as Brock’s friend, as someone who happens to linger in the background. He’s lingering in the background of many memories, you realize now, but you’re starting to realize you prefer the ones where he’s front and center.

You walk past more stalls, filled with either tacky Christmas stuff – you buy Brock some socks with Santa on them because you can’t not – or handmade things, which you actually like looking at. Elias buys some things for his parents – “I’ll send them to Sweden,” he says, and he looks a little too sad so you start chatting about how Rouss kinda resembles a reindeer, somehow.

You’re walking past the food stalls when Elias asks: “How’s the writing going?”

You freeze. That’s not a question you were ready for, and it leads to the inevitable urge to blurt out the truth. “I haven’t started. I just don’t think I can.”

Elias’ eyes on you are thoughtful, like he’s searching for something in your soul. If he tries hard enough, you think he’ll look right through you: nobody has ever made you feel so open, so visible, as he does.

“Brock didn’t tell you why I don’t like Christmas, did he?”

“No,” Elias admits, “but I figured it was a better reason than red is not your color.”

“Hey!” you protest, stepping to the side so you can bump your shoulder against his. “Red is totally my color!”

It’s not, but Elias doesn’t push it. Instead, he smiles warmly, and suddenly you want to tell him.

“When I was young, my parents used to fight a lot. One day, two weeks before Christmas, they got into a massive fight. I listened to them from my bedroom and then my dad came upstairs and told me he was going to find me the perfect Christmas tree. He got in his car and went to get the tree, or so I thought. I never saw him again.”

You sigh. “It’s not, like… I’m over it, mostly. I just can’t help but feel that same feeling every year around Christmas. It’s like hoping for something you know will never happen. Like you’re reading a book and the happy ending never comes. ”

“That’s why it’s hard to write the story,” Elias hazards a guess. He looks curious, but he doesn’t look like he feels bad for you, which is what you would’ve disliked the most.

He points to one of the stalls, then. “They make the best hot chocolate in town. Want one?”

You nod, following him towards the stall as you continue talking. “It is. But I do also find Christmas stories boring to write. It’s always the same concept, just in a million different ways.”

Elias smiles. “That’s the fun of it, no? You know the happy ending always comes. It makes you feel good.”

“It’s boring,” you repeat, stubbornly. “The girl from the big city with a job paying upwards of 8 figures goes back to her hometown for Christmas and somehow falls for some high school fling who still lives in a basement, but makes a mean cup of hot chocolate and says thing like ‘What can I say? I was stupid.’” You cross your arms. “You can’t tell me if we took the Christmas element away you would voluntarily read that story.”

Elias laughs. “Some people would. Isn’t that basically the story from The Notebook?”

“Have you ever watched The Notebook, Elias?” you frown, and he shrugs.

“No, but Brock said it made him cry.”

Which isn’t surprising, because a lot of movies have made Brock cry. You wonder what Elias would do if you put on The Notebook on your upcoming Christmas movie night.

Elias turns around, then, two steaming cups of hot chocolate in his hands. He smirks when he hands it to you.

“What can I say? I was stupid,” he quotes, and you can’t help but giggle as you take the cup from him.

“You didn’t make this, you just paid for it. It doesn’t count that way.”

“After this we should probably go,” he says then, glancing at his watch.

The words sink into your stomach like a heavy stone of dread; you don’t really want to go home, and the realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You’re happy, right now, and if ‘feeling Christmassy’ basically translates to feeling happy, well…

It’s not Christmas, though, that’s got you feeling this way. You could care less about the pine trees and the tacky music and the reindeer and the big man with the white beard and red hat.

You care more about the blonde man beside you, staring into the distance with the brightest blue eyes, and the way he somehow always makes you laugh.

Damn it. How much you hate it when Brock is right.

With Brock telling you how much Elias likes Christmas movies, and Elias having pushed you for this Christmas movie marathon for days on end, you were expecting a bit more excitement from him when it finally happens.

You can tell something is wrong from the moment you open the door. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, and when he smiles at you it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he says softly, moving past you into your apartment.

“I hope you’re ready to rewatch the same exact movie with only minor differences all night,” you joke, but Elias doesn’t even look up as he methodically pulls off his coat, kicks off his shoes and pitter patters into your living room.

He scoffs when he sees your tree, still empty except for the Canucks ornament that he got you.

“Really?” he asks, and for the first time in a while you can’t tell if he’s joking or actually upset with you.

This is the Elias that you knew before, the one that you didn’t like because you could never reach him, guarding his heart like a fort. But this time, you know what it’s like to have the other Elias, and you already miss having that Elias in your life.

“Sorry to disappoint,” you bring out, and it comes out a bit shaky. Elias turns around and his face softens slightly.

“I didn’t mean that.” He sighs. “I nearly canceled this.”

Your heart sinks.

“I get grumpy when I’m not feeling good and I don’t want to take it out on you.” He sinks down onto your couch, kicks his feet up on the coffee table like he’s been there a million times before. “But I didn’t wanna cancel, so. I didn’t.” He sounds almost helpless, like he’s not sure if he should be saying what he’s saying.

But your traitorous heart lifts immediately. If he didn’t want to cancel, it means he wants to be here, and that’s really all you need to know.

“Well, I’m gonna make popcorn, then,” you say, keeping your voice light. “You pick the movie. I don’t care. They’re all the same anyway.”

Elias rolls his eyes, but it’s good natured. “They’re not the same!” he calls after you as you disappear into the kitchen.

“Every Christmas movie ever was written by someone who didn’t know what to write,” you tell him, knowing he can still hear you from the kitchen – the benefits of living in a tiny apartment. “Writer’s block? No problem. The solution: a little bit of Christmas magic. ‘We can’t pay the rent’, ‘I’m sick’, ‘My boss is making me work on Christmas’. Poof, with a jingle of bells, problems solved in the form of a generous benefactor, aspirin, or a hit man.”

“If that’s the case, why can’t you write a Christmas story?” Elias calls back teasing, and you give him the finger through the wall.

He might not see it, but you’re certain he can feel it.

You take the popcorn and walk back to the couch, letting yourself drop onto it next to Elias. You misjudge the distance a bit, causing you to sit a little too close to Elias for it to be strictly friendly; but Elias doesn’t budge, so you don’t move either.

You’re pressed against Elias shoulder to thigh, and you can feel his body shake when he laughs.

“I like this cliché,” he says, nodding towards the television. “Let’s see if you can guess it.”

You watch the movie in relative silence, eating popcorn and enjoying the warmth of Elias body against yours. You have to admit you lose focus every now and then: the movie isn’t that bad, but it’s hard to focus on anything with Elias so close. Every now and then, when something funny happens, he exhales a sharp breath of laughter, and sometimes he hums as if he’s agreeing with what’s happening on screen.

He smells nice, too, and finally you get tired enough that you get a little brave: you let your head drop against his shoulder, tugging your feet under yourself.

“Figured it out, yet?” Elias asks softly.

“Yep,” you answer. The movie is nearing the end but you figured it out within the first ten minutes. “Basic physics, not to mention common sense, are thrown to the wind as Christmas repeats every day, disappears from the calendar, or is hurled into the past or future.”

Elias doesn’t respond, and suddenly you wanna know.

“Are you okay?” It’s probably a weird question, and very out of the blue, so you hurry trying to explain. “Cause you came in very sad, and like, if you don’t wanna talk about it with me that’s fine but I think it’s good to talk about things sometimes so if you wanna…”

“I’m fine,” Elias says, cutting you off, but it doesn’t sound dismissive. It sounds a little amused, and when you turn to look at him, you find him smiling. “Worried about me?”

And it’s the strangest thing, but you are. “A little.”

Elias’ face softens. “I promise I’m okay,” he says. He reaches out, then, places his hand on yours and squeezes. “I just talked to my parents before I came here, on Skype, and they were talking about Christmas and it sucks that I can’t see them for the holidays. But it is what it is.” He shrugs. “I sulk for a bit and then I move on.”

You never really go home for the holidays, but you understand how awful it must be to be stuck alone in Canada with your whole family in Sweden.

You blame the quiet, late night energy for what comes out of your mouth next.

“I think I could be convinced to make you a Christmas dinner if you ask nicely.”

Elias laughs, and his hand is warm when you turn your palm up and he laces his fingers through yours.

“If I ask nicely, will you watch another movie with me right now?”

You pull the Christmas themed throw blanket over your legs before letting your head drop against Elias’ shoulder once again.

“You don’t even have to ask.”

“I have an idea,” Elias says through the phone, and you don’t quite recognize the tone in his voice at first. “Well, it was Brock’s idea, but I think it’s a good one.”

Anything that was Brock’s idea immediately fills you with doubt, and you frown. “What?”

That’s when you realize: Elias sounds excited.

“Brock knows someone with a cottage, about two hours from here. It’s in the forest and it’s supposedly very Christmassy. We should go for a night.”

He sounds quietly pleased, and you don’t have the heart to tell him no.

“Okay.”

Objectively, though, it’s an awful idea. A Christmassy cottage in the forest also sounds like it would be very romantic, and you’ve finally come to terms with the fact that what you feel for Elias is definitely not just friendly comradery at this point. Feeding this feeling would not be smart, considering the fact that it’s almost Christmas and after that you’ll most likely never spend time with Elias like this again.

Sure, he might be at parties with the other Canucks or Brock might invite him for drinks with you, but it won’t be like this. You’re not stupid enough to think this will last: that would be a real Christmas miracle, and Christmas miracles don’t exist.

“Sometimes I wish I could read your mind.” Elias’ voice startles you despite the fact that his words come out softly. It’s been quiet in the car, apart from the low murmur of the radio in the background, for a good fifteen minutes.

You’re on your way to the cottage and your thoughts are going a million miles per hour.

You look over at Elias. He’s staring ahead at the road, one hand on the wheel and the other in his lap. He looks relaxed. Comfortable.

“It’s usually nothing interesting,” you say, and you thank the universe that he can’t know what’s going on in your mind.

“Are you thinking about your story?” he asks, and you weren’t, but it’s as good an excuse as any.

“I’ve gotta email it to my professor in four days,” you admit. “And I haven’t put a single word on paper yet.”

You’ve tried, that’s for sure. You’ve spent hours on your laptop, staring at a Word document. You’ve typed sentences and deleted them, tried to outline the story or just wing it while typing. Nothing works, nothing feels right when it stares back at you from the screen.

Elias hums noncommittally. “I think you think about it too much,” he says. “Just don’t worry about it. And write what you know.”

You scoff. “I don’t think anyone wants to read a Christmas story about a father who bails on his family, Elias. Nobody likes sad Christmas stories.”

He smiles. “Any sad Christmas cliches on your list?”

“Each and every event, whether holiday related or not, is tainted through the loss of a dead relative. Example: “Can I have a glass of water?” “Your, uh, *swallow*, your grandmother used to drink water.””

Elias laughs before reaching for the radio and turning up the music. You never listen to Christmas music, as a rule, but somehow you don’t hate it now that it’s blasting through his stupid sports car, the world flying past you through the window.

The drive is filled with Elias humming along to Christmas music and you laughing whenever he pulls a face at one of the lyrics. You spend at least 30 minutes debating if ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’ should still be allowed on the radio – no – and whether or not Michael Buble is the king of Christmas – in Europe, apparently yes.

By the time you reach the cottage, you feel a lot more positive.

Until you see it.

“Uhm,” you bring out, staring at the place in front of you. Elias barks out a laugh, but it sounds mostly disbelieving.

“When Brock said ‘cottage in the forest’, I pictured something different,” he says sheepishly.

“I guess this shows the power of speech?” you offer. “Like, ‘cottage in the forest’ and you think of this beautiful rustic romantic getaway. But this is more ‘cabin in the woods’: I think we’re about to get murdered.”

Elias raises an eyebrow. “Romantic?” he repeats, an amused tilt to his voice, and you nearly get back in the car.

Way to put your foot in your mouth.

Luckily for you Elias doesn’t dwell on it. Instead he wanders inside, where at the very least it looks a little better.

It’s cold, and there’s no working electricity, but there’s a fireplace and a billion candles, and it’s decorated quite cosy. Maybe even Christmassy, if you really squint: although you’re happy to notice there’s no tree.

It’s easier than you thought it would be, to spend an evening in some dodgy cabin with Elias. It’s easy to chat about everything and nothing, to cook dinner with him. How domestic it feels to tease him about how slowly he chops the mushrooms, while he somehow makes sure your wine glass is always full.

Silence doesn’t fall until long after dinner. The fireplace is on, fickle candle light giving the room an orange glow. You’ve somehow ended up with your feet in Elias’ lap, although you can’t remember how they got there: you’re painfully aware of the heavy grip of his hand around your ankle.

The wine has given your brain a nice fuzzy feeling, has softened up the edges around your thoughts. And all you can think, now, is how nice this is: to have Elias right there next to you, blue eyes fixed on the ember flames burning in front of you.

“I’m glad that Brock kept forcing us to hang out,” you say, without thinking. Elias glances over at you.

“Forcing us?” he repeats, as if he’s not sure what you mean.

You shrug. “Come on, Elias, we didn’t like each other before this. You probably didn’t want to hang out with me as much as I didn’t want to hang out with you.”

The words hang heavy in the air for a second. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear you saw Elias flinch.

“Actually,” he says tightly, and your heart does a traitorous swoop. “Brock never forced me to come. I always asked. If I knew he was gonna see you, I asked to come along.”

The words hit you like a freight train. You can feel your heart beating in your chest. But surely there’s no way you’ve been wrong all this time?

Brock did say Elias didn’t hate you.

“But… I thought you didn’t like me.” Your voice sounds small in the quiet room. It feels different here, so far away from the city: when the night is so silent all your thoughts sound so loud.

Elias shrugs. He doesn’t look upset, per se, but his face is carefully closed off and you know now that’s not a good sign.

“I know you thought that,” he says, voice flat. “I know that first night I came off as rude.” His smile is wry. “I was nervous, I didn’t really speak English, and you’re very pretty. I guess it was a recipe for disaster, on my end, so it doesn’t surprise me you didn’t like me.”

You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks, your heart pounding in your throat. You’re hearing his words but they sound almost foreign, and you can’t quite believe he’s really saying them.

“I’ve always liked you, though,” Elias adds, almost as an afterthought, carelessly like it doesn’t matter. Like he doesn’t know what that does to you, your mind going into overdrive.

You’re not an easy person to like. That’s not you being hard on yourself, you just know you judge too harshly, react too quickly. You go into downwards spirals of negative thoughts, you put opinions into people’s mouths, and most of all, you don’t believe in happily ever after.

People, in your experience, don’t stick around for people who won’t promise them happily ever after.

But Elias is here, having brought you to this cabin, having pushed and pushed to be around you: and you didn’t even notice. You thought he was just doing Brock a favor, you thought he was just bored. He’s not been very outgoing about his affections, but you can tell that they’re there; from the way he’s put up your Christmas tree to how he always listens to every word that falls from your lips. No, he’s not been very outgoing about with his affections but he’s been plentiful with them, and you just didn’t notice.

“Elias,” you start, but the sentence dies on your lips when he turns to face you, suddenly a lot closer than he was before.

“What about now?” he asks. You must look as confused as you feel, because he clarifies right away. “What do you think about me now?”

There’s nothing unsure about the question, and you think the answer is been pretty clear. You wouldn’t be here if the answer wasn’t clear. But despite that, despite that he seems to already know what you’re gonna say, you wanna say it anyway. You think you have to say it anyway.

“Now I like you,” you tell him, sitting up straighter. “I really like you, Elias.”

The last thing you register is the pleased smile tugging at the edges of Elias’ mouth, and then his lips are against yours.

The kiss is soft but not hesitant. Maybe he’s giving you time to think about it, this way, if this is what you want: but in that moment there’s nothing you want more, nothing but a fierce desire to trace your hands down his body.

As soon as your fingers touch his arm, Elias deepens the kiss. He kisses exactly how you would expect him to; giving you everything, no trace of doubt or hesitation.

There’s nothing frantic about it, nothing scary. With every second that ticks by you fall a little further into it, your mind a lovely shade of blank – with the exception of the boy in front of you, like all your nerves screaming his name.

“Hey.” Elias’ voice is soft as he pulls away. He doesn’t take his hands away from where they’re laying against the bare skin of your back. “We don’t have to go further.”

He’s giving you an out, you realize, a second to gather your thoughts. You could pull away now, you could put some space between the two of you.

You scoot forward, moving even more into his lap, and carefully curl your hand around his jaw. He leans into it slightly, and your heart screams with how much you want him.

You don’t answer. Even as a writer, you realize that words are sometimes overrated. Instead, you press your lips against his, placing your heart in his hands as you kiss him once more.

It takes about two hours after you get back to your apartment for the reality of it all to comes crashing down at you.

The night at the cabin was wonderful; magical, even. If you would write the perfect Christmas story, it would be a lot like that.

Except you’re not writing a Christmas story – you should, of course, but you haven’t started and that’s because Christmas stories are unrealistic.

You and Elias, your story - no matter how wonderful – is unrealistic. What were you thinking? That Elias, being who he is, would simply… What? Become your boyfriend?

He’s Vancouver’s biggest star, everyone’s favorite person. You’re just another lonely writer who lives mostly in their own brain. You’re just someone else who is hard to love; like your parents, like your sister, like all the friends you’ve seen get their hearts broken.

You call Brock.

“Wow, calm down,” are the first words that come out of his mouth when he finally speaks. You’ve told him most of the story by then, sentences coming out in shallow breaths and tears already burning in the back of your throat. “What the hell do you mean ‘hard to love’? That’s bullshit.”

“It’s not.” You swallow. “Brock, it’s not real. What I’m feeling. People fall in love all the time and they all believe that’s it, their perfect story, but how often does that story end up a tragedy?”

“Y/N…” He sounds mostly sad. “You can’t live like that.”

But your mind was made up long ago, so long ago when you were just a child. When you saw the tragedy that was your parents love story, and then later it was only settled deeper, when you saw your friends get hurt, when your sister got cheated on.

“I can’t make myself the protagonist of my own tragedy.”

“Petey isn’t going to break your heart.” Brock’s voice is sharp, and you realize this is not a fair position to put him into: how can he be honest to you when that means breaking Elias’ trust?

“He won’t mean to,” you whisper. “But it’ll happen. It might not even be his fault. I’ll probably break my own heart somewhere along the line. But happiness doesn’t just come along this suddenly, Boes.”

“What is it does?” Brock asks, and you don’t have an answer.

What if it does is less scary what if it doesn’t, and the next few days when Elias calls, you don’t pick up the phone.

You shouldn’t have opened the door.

“You’re avoiding me.” Elias sounds... hurt. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound like that. You’ve learned that when he’s upset, he mostly sounds indifferent; locks his emotions behind a wall for nobody to see.

And maybe it’s a testament to how well you know him, now, that you can pick up on the change in his voice. Or maybe it means he’s decided to let you in.

God, you hope it’s not that last one. Hope he didn’t make that mistake.

You sigh. “I’m sorry, but…”

“Don’t.” Elias cuts you off by pushing past you into the apartment. He stands glaring at you in the middle of the living room, arm crossed. “You’re not doing this.”

You have to.

“It’s just not gonna work,” you try. There goes the crack in your heart, bursting open like someone squeezes it with an iron fist.

You’re doing this to yourself. But that’s better than the alternative: better than having Elias do it way further into the story, when there’s something to destroy.

There’s nothing to destroy, now. There’s only the prologue to the story, and now the epilogue. A story with no middle won’t be remembered.

“That’s not true.” Elias isn’t backing down. “You can’t tell me nothing this past month has meant anything to you.” He frowns. “Does this have anything to do with your Christmas thing? Would it be different if this had happened in January?”

You laugh, but there’s no humor there. If only it was that simple.

“This has nothing to do with Christmas, Elias. This just isn’t real. There’s no happy ending to my storyline, and I’m not dragging you down with me.”

You let your eyes fix on him, on the way he stands there stubbornly, still fighting for something. For you. If only it made a difference.

Elias doesn’t say anything, for a while. Finally, voice timid, he says: “You’re gonna throw this away because you’re scared.”

You are scared. But that’s not why you’re doing this.

“Damn it, Y/N.” Frustration rings clear in Elias’ voice, now. “I know you feel what I feel! You can’t just ruin that because you’re not brave enough to say what you want!”

“It doesn’t make a difference, Elias!” You’re hurting too, and you can hear your own voice getting too loud.

“I wanna live in a world where people don’t get hurt, and everyone’s got enough money and nobody ever has to skip a meal!” You swallow, hot tears pricking behind your eyes. “I wanna live in a world where people don’t get in the car to get a Christmas tree and never come back, and I wanna live in a world where Santa’s real, Elias, but that’s just not reality. That’s not how life works.”

Elias’ eyes are dark, his jaw tense. You know you’re not gonna like what he’s got to say before he’s even opened his mouth.

“Maybe not,” he says tightly, “but you live in a world where people can choose to love each other. It doesn’t have anything to do with Santa, or magic. None of those things are real, but love is real, and you can choose to believe in that.”

He grabs his jacket, is walking towards the door before you can even comprehend what he’s saying. At the door, he turns around. His eyes shine with sadness.

“I want to love you, but you have to choose to believe that, too. And if you can’t, then I guess it won’t ever be real.”

When the door closes, the last piece of your heart breaks in two.

“Merry Christmas!”

Brock’s voice is bright and cheery. He’s clearly only just woken up, his blond hair a mess and Milo passed out in his lap.

“It’s not even Christmas yet,” you tease. You curl your legs closer to yourself, your coffee in one hand and your phone in the other. It’s nice to see Brock, even if it’s just over FaceTime.

Getting your heart broken is even worse when you can’t really talk about it to your best friend, because you also broke your best friend’s other best friend’s heart.

It’s a complicated issue, is the thing.

“It’s Christmas Eve tonight,” Brock says, rolling his eyes. “That’s basically Christmas. Are you still moping?”

“Hey,” you protest. “I’m not moping. I’m sad. It’s different.”

You have been moping, a bit. The first two days after your final talk with Elias, you didn’t even really come out of bed. You just sat there and you wrote.

That’s the only good thing to come out of this, you think. You somehow not only wrote your story, it’s maybe the best story you’ve ever written.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Brock’s voice is gentle. “You can talk to me, you know? I won’t use anything you say against you or tell Petey or whatever. He’s been talking to me too.”

Your heart does a somersault. If Elias has been talking to Brock, Brock probably already knows everything; in a way, you can’t believe he’s still talking to you if that’s the case.

More than that, though, it brings an opportunity. To find out what you’ve been wondering since Elias stepped out of your apartment.

“Is he alright?”

“Are you?” Brock counters, like that matters.

You stare at the coffee in your cup. It’s too hot to drink still, little puffs of steam climbing through the air.

You’re not doing so well, admittedly, but that’s probably fair. You were the one to broke off the story, in the end. And you hate to admit it to yourself – and you definitely won’t admit it to Brock – but you’ve been wondering if you made the right choice.

“I wrote my Christmas story,” you say, instead of answering his question. “Handed it in yesterday.”

Brock lets you change the subject. “Cool. What did it ended up being about?”

You sigh. “It was about me.”

Brock raises his eyebrows, interest clear in his eyes. He doesn’t push you, and you’re glad for it. You need a moment to find the words.

“I wrote about a girl who hates Christmas because it reminds her of things that she’s lost. And I wrote about how scared she is of gaining something because that means she can lose it again.”

Brock’s voice is soft when he speaks. “But someone teaches her? In the story?”

He knows you too well. You laugh quietly. “Yes, someone takes her through all these Christmas cliches to make her realize why they’re cliches. It’s not because of the act itself. It’s because you spend time doing it with someone you love.”

“She loves this person, the one that teaches her,” Brock hazards a guess.

There’s no longer any doubt that he knows exactly how you feel about Elias.

“She loves him but that scares her even more. Because if she loves him, she could lose him. And Christmas has always been the time to remind her of loss and heartbreak. So she assumes it’ll just end in hurt this time too.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Brock says.

And you know. Somehow, writing the story, you realized that. Because as you wrote about this girl, that was exactly like you, you found yourself not wanting to give the story a realistic ending. You wanted to make it right, wanted her to end up with the person who taught her how to love Christmas and how to love him.

So you did. You gave your story a happy ending. And in doing that, it’s like you gave yourself permission to want a happy ending for yourself, too.

But there’s just no way. Life isn’t a fairytale, and the Christmas cliché where the girl who throws it all away gets back her perfect boy by stealing Santa’s microphone in the mall and making a grand speech about how pushing him away was the biggest mistake of her life, simply isn’t real life material.

“It’s not too late, you know.” Brock’s sitting up straighter, almost as if he wants to come through the camera and tell you in person. “If you wanted to change the ending. You could. He’d let you.”

Your heart starts beating faster and it has nothing to do with the caffeine you’re drinking.

All this time, you’ve been wondering. Wondering if it’s too late.

“How would I do that?” you ask. “Hypothetically.”

Brock’s grin is so bright you nearly have to close your eyes. “Send him the story,” he says, without thinking about it; the jerk probably has been thinking about this since you started telling him what it’s about. “You should send him the story. Kinda like a message in a bottle.”

When you say goodbye to Brock, his eyes are fond when you tell him “Thank you” and mean it. Without him, you don’t think you would’ve had the courage, but now it feels like the only possible ending comes with you taking your Word document and putting it in an email.

To: [email protected]

Attachment: Not a typical Christmas story.pdf

Message:

Elias,

I’ve tried to write this letter a million times, to tell you what I should’ve said that night. I can’t say I’m not scared what you’ll think, but who am I to know what the future holds? If my heart was paper I’d fold it, throw it to the wind and hope it’d end up in your arms. So here it is, my paper heart, in the form of the most cliché Christmas story of them all. The one where everyone ends up with their perfect happily ever after.

Signed with love from me to you,

Y/N.

There’s three rapid knocks on the door, and then silence.

Your heartbeat speeds up like you heard gunshots instead. Within seconds you’re on your feet, almost running to the door.

There’s only one person that could be at your door on Christmas morning at 9am, right?

When you open it, something heavy dissolves in your stomach, a sense of comfort falling over you like crawling into bed after an exhausting day.

“Elias,” you breathe.

For a second, you just stare at him: he looks like he’s barely slept at all, dark circles surrounding his eyes, which somehow seem more blue than they ever have before.

“Merry Christmas,” Elias says then, thrusting something forward. You grab it in reflex.

It’s the glass star, the ornament from the Christmas market. The one that you had told Elias you found beautiful, the one that reflected all the lights like a million little stars. The one that reminded you, even, of Elias’ eyes.

It’s still beautiful. And suddenly there’s tears running down your cheeks, warm against your skin.

Elias frowns. He looks a little worried, unsure; as if he shouldn’t be here. But God, he is here, on your doorstep, and he brought you this ornament, and you know that it has to mean what you think it does.

“I’m sorry,” you bring out. “For everything, I…”

You can’t finish your sentence, because Elias steps forward, his arms outstretched, and you launch yourself at him like a missile. He catches you easily, presses you against his chest and buries his face in your shoulder.

“I read the story,” he mumbles. You can barely make out the words, but they hit you like a ton of bricks anyway. “You believe in Christmas miracles now?”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he asks, because he already knows the answer.

“I don’t know,” you admit. You pull away a little, but keep your arms firmly locked around Elias’ waist, and his hands remain on your back. “But you’re here, so. I think I might have to start.”

Elias laughs, moving closer again to press a kiss against your head. You can feel his lips move against your hair when he speaks. “What about us? You believe in us, now?”

You don’t answer him, but you think he can tell from the way you kiss him, anyway.

You tug the blanket tighter around your shoulders, smiling down at the opposite end of the couch. Elias is talking in Swedish and you don’t understand a word he’s saying, but you can tell that he’s happy, smile bright and eyes fixed on the laptop screen in front of him.

He’s been talking to his family for the past hour, and watching him has been a great source of entertainment for you. He blushed when his brother mentioned your name, and finally he did introduce you to them.

“This is Y/N, I’m forcing her to watch Christmas movies with me all day and then bake cookies,” he’d laughed, and you didn’t tell him that there’s nothing you’d rather do.

“Jag älskar dig, hejdå,” Elias says, and then he finally closes the laptop. “Hey,” he hums, poking your thigh with his toe, “my mom said she can’t wait to meet you, so. Be warned.”

You laugh. “I would love to go to Sweden. I read something about cakes.”

It feels natural, to crawl over to the other side of the couch and lay down between Elias’ legs, head resting on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat under your ear and it’s enough for your eyes to close on their own accord.

It’s not like you’ve had much sleep the past few nights. But now, you think you could finally sleep peacefully, knowing that Elias is here and he’s not leaving.

His hand moves down your side, sneaking under your sweater, fingertips soft against your skin.

“It’s snowing,” he says, suddenly, and you open your eyes to look out the window.

Indeed, there’s little flurries of white powder fluttering through the grey Vancouver sky.

“That’s too much,” you roll your eyes. “The great grandmother of Christmas cliches.” Elias raises a questioning eyebrow, so you explain. “As the final crisis is resolved, everyone runs out in the street on Christmas Eve to discover that it’s snowing! In Nigeria! During a drought!”

“We’re in Vancouver,” Elias deadpans, and it’s only because you know him so well that you see the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “And it’s not Christmas Eve, it’s Christmas Day.”

“Minor details,” you shrug, placing your head back on his chest and closing your eyes again.

“We’ve gotta decorate this sad excuse of a tree.” You can hear the smile in Elias’ voice as he talks. “Two ornaments does not make a Christmas tree.”

“Later,” you hum, curling your fingers into his sweater. “We’ve got all day.”

Elias laughs. “The tree is supposed to be decorated before Christmas, typically.”

You can’t help but smile at that. “We’re not a typical Christmas story, though.”

“Maybe not typical, but still pretty good.” His arms tighten around you and you can feel him press a kiss into your hair.

“Pretty fucking good,” you agree. “If you get me off this couch today it’ll be a Christmas miracle though.”

You shouldn’t have said that: no sooner than the final word leaves your lips you’re being lifted into the air, legs dangling helplessly as Elias throws you over this shoulder. Your giggles come out a little hysterically.

“I told you miracles are real,” he grins, unceremoniously carrying you towards the bedroom.

You’ve just come from there, but you’re really not against the idea of going back.

“What about the tree?” you squeal, lightly slapping his shoulder.

“Tree can wait,” Elias decides, as he dumps you onto the bed and lets himself fall over you, leaning on his forearms so he doesn’t crush you.

“Tree can wait,” you echo in agreement, and you let your body relax into the mattress as Elias kisses you. When he tries to deepen it, you turn away just slightly, keeping your nose pressed against his cheekbone. “Hey, Lias?”

“What?” Elias mutters, sounding a little annoyed to be denied another kiss.

You smile. “Merry Christmas.”

His laughter sounds bright.

“Merry Christmas, babe.”

#eeek im nervous about this one #elias pettersson #elias pettersson fic #elias pettersson one shot #nhl fic

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pallasperilous · 4 years

Text

Boneless Wings

{AO3 version}

So, blah blah blah, it’s their standard-issue disaster: pack of dumbass witches (always with the dumbass witches. Where do they find the time for this shit? Somebody get these women signed up for a Peloton subscription or a macramé class or a vibrator of the month club, seriously, whatever it takes—), ancient curse, Castiel being the actual angel of stepping in it, nobody cares.

The point is, two hundred and forty-one hours of binge-worthy drama later, Dean and Cas are living in a semi-detached just a short thirty-minute commute to somewhere equally lame, Castiel has two literal-ass wings, and yes, Susan, they kiss now.

The neighbors are weirdly cool with it.

For those of you perving along at home, Dean could absolutely provide a list of the hundred or so ways that having a boyfriend* with giant fucking actual wings is super hot and/or awesome.

This is not that list.

(*you can just shut right the fuck up , Sam, because it’s either this or Dean will start saying lover. And nobody needs that. Nobody wants that.)

1. Bird mites. Holy shit.

2. Sharing a bathroom. The shower curtain rod, and consequently the security deposit, are early casualties. The medicine cabinet follows swiftly behind. Shower hijinks are not even an option.

3. Dean comes home one day from a gig and there is a giant plastic green turtle in the backyard. A closer inspection reveals that the turtle is actually a mule for about half a truck bed of industrial dust ‘n grit. It is, in fact, a kiddie sandbox. Dean points out that they do not, in fact, have a small child (FINGERS CROSSED), so...?

Cas then earnestly shows him an entire playlist of exotic birdy dust bath videos on Youtube.

Dean then earnestly shows him the garden hose.

4. The down just gets, like...everywhere. EVERYWHERE. How many times have Sam and Dean practically sold their kidneys for a single angel feather for some dumb spell to solve some pointless Occult McProblem? And now Dean is picking them out of his damn teeth every morning. (No, gross, not because of... Jesus, no, that is not a thing.)

On the upside of this one, Dean finally has an excuse to buy a Dyson, which he’s secretly always thought looked awesome. It is.

5. When Dean is scraping out the umpteenth canister of fluff he jokingly suggests they use some of it to supplement the tragically flaccid down comforter currently shaming their bed, and Castiel pitches an existential fucking sulk. Dean wants to experience happiness again, so he does not point out that it get ass-bitingly cold here this time of year, and decent bedding is not exactly inexpensive, and the Dyson kind of maxed them out on household purchases.

But whatever.

6. Castiel is indulging in what Dean thinks of as a sky pout when he flies right into a head-on with li’l Timmy NextDoor’s new Christmas surveillance drone. It dings the shit out of one of Cas’s left primary feathers (the scientific term is “those big motherfuckers”), which apparently hurts like a bitch. Cas is grounded for a few weeks after that and is cutely pathetic about it and at first Dean is absolutely down to kiss it better. By the end, Dean is almost ready to strangle Cas with his own necktie, but he has learned a lot of surprisingly interesting stuff about ancient Mesopotamia, like that it was super horny.

7. After the snow melts, Dean starts finding shit on the front step with the morning paper. It’s not even a good newspaper; Cas signed them up for the local fish-wrapper (or maybe it was Sam, before he fled for the hills— he occasionally breaks out in a “support local journalism” rash). The crossword puzzle is insulting, but the paper does at least syndicate Carolyn Hax, whom Dean secretly suspects of being an absolute wildcat in the sack, so he grudgingly expends the calories to bring it in every morning.

Anyway, at first the stuff he discovers crapping up the welcome mat is just shiny bits of trash — couple granola wrappers, some MGD pull-tabs, a few field-stripped twisty-ties. Probably just windblown, and he tosses it in the garbage can.

Then a couple weeks in, things start getting...grisly? It escalates real slowly, from a variety platter of mouse bits to squirrel à la power line and then half of a dry-aged raccoon and an opossum that has recently graduated from playing dead to professional dead-being. The neighborhood crows obviously love that their front step is now a roadkill café; Dean has to bat increasing numbers of them away with the kitchen broom in order to relocate their horrible snack to the edge of the nearest storm drain.

Then one morning there are like twenty crows and they’re in just the cutest little football huddle-up around what turns out to be a human fucking finger with a retro-fun mood ring still on the knuckle (it’s feeling: Sad) and Dean fully loses his shit.

Cas hears him freaking out and comes whomping out of the garage ready to, whatever, flap somebody to death maybe, but as soon as he establishes that Dean doesn’t need anything more than a fresh pair of boxers, he de-poofs a bit and assesses the whole human finger/crows situation in his usual infuriatingly unrushed way. The crows had mostly bounced up to the cable line over the house, safely out of brooming range, but one by one they start to drop down and hippity-hop back towards the world’s tiniest crime scene.

If Dean were five percent less freaked he’d be tempted to go inside and find out how much of a dent he can make in a six-pack before Castiel finally dings and spits out his results, but he isn’t, so he just stands there in silence clutching the broom like it’s a shotgun.

Eventually Cas says “hm,” and then he looks at the crows and makes some noises that sound like a spoon caught in a garbage disposal, and the crows make some scrawps and chuks back, and then one of them delicately noodges the tip of dead finger with its beak and then hippity hops back a foot or two, bows, and then they all fly away over the shitty little beige duplex across the street like they’re running ten minutes late to an important bird appointment.

Castiel stands up (Dean reflexively backs up into the doorway, as this involves Cas bomfing out his wings a bit for ballast and Dean has caught a blow to the nuts on more than one occasion), dusts off his goddamn slacks, pulls a plastic evidence baggie out of thin goddamn air or maybe his socks, and casually bags the finger like they’re doing a standard FBI wheeze. “So what,” Dean says, as Cas diligently zips the baggie, “the fuck?”

“Oh,” Cas says, blinking in surprise that Dean is still there and interested, “they think I’m their god.”

Dean kind of stares back at him, the six feet of dude and like sixteen feet of bird, and thinks sure, okay, but his face must still be stuck on “Tippi Hedren attic scene” because Cas puts a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder and adds “Don’t worry. I’ve told them I don’t require further offerings, and I reassured them that you’re my consort and were simply jealous of other potential mates.”

It takes Dean two weeks to come up with a response to that, but by then it’s become evident that no bird is ever going to shit on the Impala again, so he decides to just chalk it up in the win column and move on.

You know. The family business.

8. No matter how tightly he folds them, Cas can’t fit his wings through the definitely-not-up-to-code doorway of the wood-paneled family rec room in the basement, so Dean claims it as his man cave and dubs it the “No Fly Zone.”

Castiel doesn’t find this funny, but Dean really only uses it to fold laundry.

9. Transpo is an obvious issue. Cas can almost stuff himself into the Impala if he sort of reverse-cowgirls the back seat, but then the wingtips smoosh up against the windshield and Dean’s visibility is approximately zip. And, sure, Cas could fly himself anywhere they really needed to go, he’s basically a Chevy Of The Air, but sometimes it’s raining, and the seraph Castiel — Shield of God, Heavenly Soldier of the Lord, multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, will smell like a wet fucking chicken for days afterward. Febreze does not help.

Dean spends a few nauseating weeks contemplating the purchase of — and here he learns that the human gag reflex can be conditioned, but never truly eradicated — a convertible. Once Cas brings up the possibility of a minivan or perhaps a station wagon (he’s taken to studying family motor vehicles with all the intensity of a birder with a life list) and Dean makes him sleep on the couch.

Dean gets his own living room rotation after he shows Cas a Craigslist posting for a very reasonably priced horse trailer. Castiel points out that it’s used and Dean notes that neither of them is exactly mint in original packaging either. Castiel points out that he’s not a horse, and after a few necessary but admittedly unoriginal jokes, Dean pulls up a website with an exhaustive photographic tutorial on how to convert a horse trailer “for the safe and sanitary transport of ostriches, emus, and/or cassowaries.” Cas points out that he’s not an ostrich, emu, and/or cassowary, and Dean counters that he clearly isn’t, because an emu would probably show a little more gratitude, and that’s how Dean learns that the couch has a broken spring under the left cushion. The transpo issue remains unresolved.

10. Dean keeps a pair of shop-grade safety goggles by his side of the bed. It’s not the sexiest look, but it turns out feathers are stabby as hell when encountered at a particular angle. Cas can do the healy thing, of course, but they learn the hard way that cornea perforation is not really a mood enhancer. On the bright side, Castiel accidentally corrects Dean’s incipient presbyopia, which means Dean doesn’t have to hold the newspaper at arm’s length anymore when he’s idly speculating what Carolyn Hax looks like below the neck. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

11. You’d think that, when you’re coming down from a time-limited but incurable curse that makes you feel like every cell of your body has its own cute little individual headcold — because you missed a hex bag due to the fact that you were preparing your legal response to Sam turning up to the hunt wearing a goddamn hair scrunchy, as if he were fresh off the set of a very special episode of Clarissa Explains It All — anyway, you’d think that being wrapped in the warm embrace of an angel’s wings would be nice.

But you would be wrong, because apparently your boyfriend has been out communing with the bees again, and those feathers pick up ragweed pollen like it’s their goddamn job, and guess what else angels can’t cure? Dean will take Motherfucking Seasonal Allergies for 600, Alex.

12a. One of the neighbors has that homesteading hippie brain disease that drives an otherwise normal-seeming person to brew their own beer and raise a bunch of chickens despite living within five hundred yards of a fully functioning Hy-Vee. There’s a week where one of the wee little velociraptors seems to be processing some kind of trauma because it starts yelling at dawn and keeps going until well past the hour that swearing is allowed on network TV.

When Dean finally hammers on the front door the next afternoon the neighbor apologizes with some extremely nasty home-brew (HIPPIES) and some absolutely devastating weed (HIPPIES!) and explains that “Ginger is going through a rough molt” and then he kind of nods his head towards Dean’s side of the fence where Cas is futzing around in the squash plants and stage whispers (this is a direct quote) “You know how they get.”

Dean is about to rip the dude a new one for comparing his immortal space-kaiju lover to a fucking Australorp yard pullet when Castiel pops his head up over the white pickets and breezily contributes “Bad molt, yes, those are terrible, Dean can tell you all about how insufferable I am those weeks,” and sometimes Dean just doesn’t know why he even tries.

12b. The less said about angel molt, the better.

Seriously, the freakin’ eyes-on-his-hands naked mole rat dude from, whatsit, Pan’s Labyrinth of Subtitles, would run screaming from this shit.

13. There’s a 4th of July BBQ Potluck Block Party and Dean’s inability to stand idly by while good meat is abused ( shut up Sam ) means he winds up manning the grill and dismissing the pretenders to set some strictly inedible things on fire. Cas hangs out next to him and uses his flappers to kinda whupf the smoke away from Dean’s eyes now and then, which rules. It’s actually a pretty chill event until Sharon and Don From Number 4267, The Green House With The White Trim, turn up with a giant Pyrex full of naked, still-marinating teriyaki wings.

Sharon And Don look down at their wings and then up at Castiel and then down at the wings and then up at Castiel and they are clearly teetering on the edge of a Midwestern politeness failure-based nervous breakdown. But then Cas, smooth as a margarine commercial, gently takes the dish from Sharon’s frozen hands, examines the contents for a silent moment, and says “it’s alright. They weren’t personal friends.”

He gets an extra burger for that one.

14. Cas keeps absent-mindedly trying to groom Dean — who, in case it still needs to be said at this point, possesses zero-point-zero feathers of his own — so he goes after Dean’s hair, instead. Dean has to stop him after his second hour of trying to straighten out a cowlick. “I don’t understand how you can steer properly with this deformity,” Cas says, as if it’s a genuine miracle that Dean isn’t constantly careening over ottomans like Dick Van Dyke. He’s even more horrified by Dean’s (frankly minimal) use of hair gel. “Jesus, Cas, it’s not like I’m drinking it,” he says, but then one time they have an epic make-out session shortly after Dean performs his masculine beauty rituals and there’s some smearage of various types of Product (tm) on the flappy areas.

And, sonuvabitch, for the next six hours Cas is spirographing around the house like he has a heavenly inner ear infection, and he only stops veering into the doorframes after Dean wipes down every. Single. Feather. With mineral oil and about eighteen clean shop cloths. Dean switches to something called hair wax, which costs thirty zillion times more per ounce and makes him smell vaguely like church, but is a lot less gloppy. The things we do for love.

15. Seating inside the house is a bit of a conundrum, too. Cas can kind of flop his wings out to the sides if he sits in the middle of the couch, but then Dean’s stuck on the recliner, which is basically in the next county. Bar stools are disastrously tippy, Dean’s lower back and hips have not endured mumble-mumble years of hunting just to be subjected to a damn beanbag chair, and, after a brief flurry of optimistic excitement, Dean determines that they’d have to take the front door off to get a massage chair in. He finds a swing online that if, he can get the hardware properly installed in the crossbeam, is rated for up to 500 pounds, so he texts Cas the URL so he can check out the specs. After half an hour he writes back —

CASTIEL: Dean

CASTIEL: I believe this swing is intended for sexual congress.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: I can infer from the ellipsis that you have spent several minutes attempting to draft a response.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: Dean

DEAN: it’s multipurpose

16 . On the plus side, though, big-ass wings make for a pretty good drying rack. He can get every sock in the house laid out on those suckers in a single round and, one episode of Dr. Sexy later, they’re perfectly dry and toasty warm, without any of the pair-busting casualties Dean has learned to expect from the apparently socknivorous dryer in the basement.

Dean assumes it’s just the product of good air circulation and body heat until he realizes that he hasn’t had to toss a pair for being too worn out in...maybe six months? So he asks Cas “Are your wings... healing the socks” and after an entire Abbott and Costello routine centering around heal versus heel, Dean determines that the answer is: yes, his boyfriend’s wings are channeling the almighty power of Heaven to magically repair the socks Dean buys at Target in twelve-pack bags. On sale.

This is actually kind of sexy, if Dean is being perfectly honest, so, you know what? It doesn’t belong on this list.

16. So nobody really freaks out or bursts into tears or calls the news or the FBI or anything when Cas goes out in public with him, which Dean is secretly a little disappointed about, because come on. (Maybe giant wings just reads as a gay thing? Was there an episode of Will and Grace about this that Dean missed back when he was ass deep in wendigos or something?)

But no. Dudes tend to just glance at them across the Home Depot parking lot, throw them the Mutual Dude Acknowledgement Nod, and say some shit like “Comic-con,” or “nice anime” in a knowing tone. Then they go back to rolling their carts full of gaskets or hammers or whatever back to their mom’s station wagon.

Little girls tend to go googly-eyed — Castiel seems to fall into the same category as a Disney princess, despite the stubble and the drabcore wardrobe, and Dean can’t count the number of times some mom has approached Dean at the grocery store (like he’s Castiel’s manager?? Which, okay...yeah, actually) and asked if they do birthday parties. The money would actually be pretty tempting if Dean weren’t five thousand percent sure that Cas would get them both arrested by launching into an anatomy lesson about duck sex or how God is a loser who favors relaxed fit jeans and Wild Turkey.

The worst is white ladies of a Certain Age, and it always seems to happen in the pudding aisle, for some reason. They either go cross-eyed with horniness and become indiscriminately handsy (Dean can’t blame them for the impulse, but also back off, Karen), or ask Cas for prayers for their cat’s chronic asshole problems (which Castiel WILL take seriously).

Worst of all is when some hippie spinster clocks them. This woman inevitably reaches right for the feathers and asks in a willowy voice if they’d ever consider turning some of them into dreamcatchers to sell at her studio, which is literally always named The Faerie’s Glen. Then Cas gets confused about why, exactly, a sixty year-old WASP in a peasant skirt would need to call on the infant-protection powers of an Ojibwe spider goddess, while Dean just wants to bite the lady’s fingers off.

Either way, it’s always a bad scene, and many fully loaded grocery carts have been lost to the fallout.

17. For some metaphysical reason Dean is too dumb to suss out but also too smart to question, lugging a pair of Cessna-sized flappers around this mortal dimension actually seems to tucker Cas out. He doesn’t need to zonk out every night, but he semi-regularly throws in the towel and actually crawls in with Dean for the duration.

This would be swell in theory, but the guy absolutely cannot settle the fuck down in less than three (3) human hours, which is the exact amount of sleep Dean requires to maintain his famously sunny demeanor. It’s not just ye olde tossing and turning — Dean can handle that, sharing a bed with Sam is like sleeping next to a kangaroo with restless leg syndrome — no, it’s a nonstop parade of little flippy-flappies and shiffle-shuffles and spontaneous outbursts of preening.

So Dean makes him a Baby Sleep Sack.

This is something Dean knows about due solely to one super dumb hunt involving a banishing sigil that had to be drawn in — he still feels like this had to be a misprint — human breastmilk, and that was obviously not happening. But the monster of the week wasn’t going to banish itself, so they wound up at the nearest Walmart, at 4am, picking up what turned about to be an unnecessarily generous supply of baby formula, along with a fresh box of shotgun shells because God bless America*. It doesn’t work, although “lots of stabbing” turns out to be a solid fallback plan, but the point is that while Sam was debating between Digestion Support or Neurological Development, Dean acquired an unprecedented familiarity with some of the products currently available to the sleep-deprived parent. So Dean finds some DIY Baby Sleep Sack knockoff patterns online and determines he can replicate and scale up the concept with some beach towels and duct tape, and the next morning he presents the lumpy but totally functional prototype to Castiel.

Initially Cas thinks it’s a sex thing (reasonable, it probably is), but once they clear up that misunderstanding, he’s obviously a little peeved by the concept of being swaddled as if he were a gassy baby instead of a deathless sky monster in a sexy dude-shaped can. But Dean must be giving off some serious man on the edge vibes because Cas grudgingly agrees to let Dean tape him up the next time he’s feeling dozy.

It’s real awkward and takes forever to get Cas bundled up right, and then he’s just kind of lying there on top of the sheets, like an enormous, grumpy baked potato.

“I could easily break out of these restraints,” he says in a pissy tone after Dean has crawled in and turned off the light, and Dean rolls over to tell him “no shit”, but then he has to stop himself because the guy is already asleep.

Eventually they upgrade to a version made out of some of those trendy weighted blanket things, a few yards of parachute silk, and a whole lot of velcro. The dude looks so damn peaceful that Dean is honestly a little jealous.

*he doesn’t, actually.

18. There’s a sunny afternoon that isn’t the usual Kansas is trying to murder you level of humid so Dean rolls the Impala out into the street for a wash. Cas helps him out a bit initially, although tragically not in a way that involves removing any unnecessary articles of clothing, but Deans sends him to grab a new tub of wax from the shed and he never comes back. After half an hour Dean needs a beer break and goes looking for him, expecting to find Cas lost in thought over whether Turtle Wax is made of actual turtles, or is made to put on actual turtles. Instead he finds Cas crouched on the shimmering pavement at the back of the driveway, sun beating down on him like it has a personal vendetta, and he’s got both wings stretched out real low above the ground. Dean kind of flips out because it’s the type of pose that just screams “stabbed in gut by angel blade” or “migraine from Hell, literally.”

Then Cas looks up, which pulls his wings up a smidge too, which in turn reveals that fully half a dozen neighborhood cats are lounging in the shady patch beneath his wings, spread out on the concrete like blobs of furry peanut butter. No, it’s actually eight cats. There are eight cats.

“Ling-Ling was feeling a little overheated,” Cas says, as if this explains everything.

And, you know what, at this point, it does.

19. Dean has faith that eventually Sam or Cas or the third demon from the left in the second row will turn up a solution for the whole business. Castiel will get to tuck those bad boys back into the secret wing-closet dimension and he won’t have to worry about getting stuck in stairwells anymore, or being reported to the FAA (again). Then they can finally pack up the house, plaster over the more egregious spots of drywall damage, and go back to killing things outside of the tri-county area. The whole thing has been a pretty embarrassing interlude for a couple of dudes who’ve kicked Satan’s ass multiple times — Sam is probably telling other hunters that they’ve been deep undercover to take out a nest of suburban vampires, or a pack of ghouls with mortgages, instead of vacuuming angel down out of the AC unit and considering a Costco membership.

And sure, there have been some...serious pluses to the situation (see: the other list), but, in his weaker moments, Dean has to admit that he’s kind of going to miss some of the goofy, irritating shit, too — like finding a six-inch feather in the veggie crisper (how? why?), or watching Cas fwap his wings out just in time to accidentally clothesline a jogger, or even the strangely compelling, sorta cheesy smell that starts to float around the house if Cas goes a little too long between hosedowns.

He has actually grown fond of this shit. Which is 100% the least sexy thing on earth, it’s some genuinely, seriously pathetic goo goo crap, and that’s why nobody will ever hear a fucking word about it. People will ask “so what’s it like, with the wings” and Dean will waggle his eyebrows suggestively and review the highlight reel over an inadvisable amount of rail whiskey. His secret’s safe with, well. Him.

20. Seriously though, the bird mites.

Gross.

#deancas #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #wingfic #or maybe...#wingsquick #spn fanfic #spn fanart #spn crack #sorry everybody #now with pictures!#pallasperilous art #pallasperilous fic #pallasperilous crack

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antigonewinchester · 3 years

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returning back to season 6 - what a good season!! i’d heard a lot of dismissive things but i found it one of the strongest so far. all the eps have at least something to do with the overarching plots and the writing balanced character beats with plot quite well. i actually don’t have much to say about the middle run of eps because they’re just generally fun. the hilarity of the titanic ep & how delightfully it used what the audience knows vs. what the characters know. dean excited to travel back in time wearing his costumes and then aghast at what history was actually like (not like in the movies lmao) while sam’s pragmatically on point & no bullshit with samuel colt. dean using himself as bait to kill eve.

the last 3 eps are such a gut punch, too. what a manipulative little guy cas is in “the man who would be king,” love it. cas as an opposing force is a much more interesting narrative role for him than being a total ally of sam & dean, imo. cas is sympathetic in this ep, certainly, but the ‘poor innocent cas’ reading really diminishes his complexities and agency. cas may think: “freedom is a length of rope. god wants you to hang yourself with it.” but of course your actions have consequences, sometimes ones you may not like! to think otherwise is to be a child, stuck in a world where your actions have no repercussions but also no benefits, instead of being an adult where yes, you are responsible for your actions, and you can impact the world for better or worse depending how you choose. (also, i realize there are 9 season after this, but it really feels a shame that so much dean/cas content is fluffy and romantic. there’s a complexity to cas & dean’s relationship in s4 - s6 that i don’t often see presented. even if you read cas as in love with dean in s6, he also treats him quite badly, and that’s more interesting to me than straight up lovey dovey stories.)

“let it bleed” oh my god this whole ep is just devastating :((( horrible for lisa and ben, horrible for dean, horrible for everybody!! i’m even more annoyed at how fandom downplays lisa and her importance to dean... and god, dean asking cas to wipe lisa & ben’s memories, what a horrible thing to ask/do and yet so understandable why dean would think its the best thing to do in the situation. painful ://

finally, my one personal pet peeve: crowley changing hell to be one long line is so. damn. stupid. of anything on the show, hell should be the thing to stay scary. it’s Hell! it’s supposed to be horrifying!! the writing obvs wants to make crowley seem less evil since he’s entertaining & sticking around, but removing the horror from hell strips so much from the story.

#back to my more normal commentary here :)#spn rewatch #dean #cas #dean & cas #lisa #dean & lisa #season 6

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magicrowiswritingstuff · 4 years

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“Not so good News” - Gabriel x pregnant!reader (3/3)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (you’re here)

Summary: Part 3 of “Not so good News”! Read the first part HERE. After you had received the news of your pregnancy you feel rather conflicted. On one hand you want this child to live but on the other hand this also means you will die giving birth. Your only option is to enjoy the time you have left with the people you love, forcing your dark thoughts to the back of your head. (F/N) means friend’s name.

Warning: dark thoughts/themes, suggestive themes, heavy angst, swear words, death, child birth (not a warning but maybe someone is squeamish)

Category: angst and fluff, even more angst

Words: about 9.000

Note 1: So, the mini-series is finished. I hope you will enjoy/enjoyed the last part. This series was a pain in the ass to write... so much research and asking relatives if it’s accurate. Though, it probably isn’t because it is fanfiction after all. Note 2: I have another Gabriel story linked in my masterlist, that one is more fluffy (And another short series in the works but pst). And I will definitely write more about/with him because I love him, all right?! I love hand hate him at the same time.

_________________________________

"Not so good News" - Gabriel x pregnant!reader

Pregnancy week 20: The pregnancy was now at its halfway point which also meant that you probably had only twenty more weeks to live. What it also meant was twenty more weeks of pregnancy symptoms and to be honest you were sick of it. Sometimes even literally. You had been so dizzy lately you even blacked out during research. Sam and Dean weren't happy, thinking that you had over worked yourself and Gabriel immediately teleported you to your room after you had woken up again. So now you were on bed rest, or rather jail time. You laid on your back with your arms crossed before you and a pouty look on your face. "This sucks." You wanted to do more than laying around all day however there wasn't really much to do in the bunker especially on your own. You stood up from your bed and walked towards a shelve on the right side. Somewhere underneath all the stuff you had there had to be the thing you were looking for. "Aha!" you grabbed it and left the room, searching for the boys. You found them still sitting in the library, looking for their next hunt but the moment you stepped in all eyes were on you. "(Y/N), what are you doing up?" Gabriel asked with one eyebrow raised in question. You let the box you were holding fall onto the table. "No longer wasting my time" you declared and sat down, opening the box and arranging its content. "I want to spend time with you all and by that I'm not thinking about researching with you." You looked up at the four guys who slowly turned to you and the game you were setting up.

"So, we are playing monopoly now!"

"Only if I get to be the car" Dean said and immediately snatched it for himself. Sam rolled his eyes at him and took the dog. "How do you play?" Castiel asked confused, grabbing the shoe because it was closest to him. You threw him a small smile. "I'll show you." You then turned to Gabriel, offering him to choose his playing piece but he shook his head. "I always play with my own token" he said and snapped his fingers. In front of him appeared a small figurine of himself. You glanced at him with your lips pressed into a thin line to hold back a giggle. "Really?" you questioned as a short breath of laughter escaped your mouth. The archangel shrugged his shoulders. "Want one, too?" he asked, his fingers ready. You shook your head. "No, it's alright. I'll just take the cat." After you had set everything up and explained the rules to Castiel the game began. However, unsurprisingly Cas was still the first person to go bankrupt. Sam soon followed, selling his last green street to Dean. He mumbled something under his breath before throwing the dog back into the box. So now it was only you, Dean and Gabe. "You owe me 600, Dean" you said, pointing on the last light blue street where Dean had his car parked in front of the hotel you had recently built there. "What? How?! You only have shit streets" he complained and gave you the money reluctantly. You chuckled. "Yes, but I got a lot of shit streets." Dean only huffed which made you laugh. You had to throw dice next and landed on the police man. With a theatrical sigh you put your cat in jail, throwing the dice to Gabe. He grinned at you before rolling them. He landed on the middle orange street. Now you were the one grinning at him: "That makes 550." "You have one good street, only one hotel and maybe two to three houses on a street. How are you making so much money?" Gabriel asked after giving you the game money. You shrugged your shoulders. "I have three complete streets: brown and light blue at the beginning on which always someone ends up on. And in the beginning it doesn't feel like much money but it stacks up. And the orange one is often overlooked because the red one has higher prices but people always end up somewhere in that corner, too. Dean rolled his eyes, taking the dice. "Also, you two only have one complete street which lowers the change of getting much money because I bought one dark blue and one yellow one to stop you" you added and leaned back against your chair. "How about a little trade then" Gabriel suggested. "I want the dark blue street you stole from me and I can give you 350 and a get out of jail free-card." "Why would I want that?" you questioned with one raised eyebrow. "I still get money in jail but I don't lose anything for three turns. It's a win-win for me, I'm staying here." The archangel huffed. "Alright, 400 bucks and a train station. Last offer." You shook your head, staying stoic. Turning towards Dean you nodded at him, signaling that you were finished and that he could roll the dice. He got a nine, landing on the same orange street like Gabe did before him. You grinned evilly at him. "550, Dean." "I don't have enough money in cash I need to sell houses first" he explained, giving you six of his green houses from his pink street (you were playing as the bank too). You exchanged them for 300 which you kept and waited for the remaining 250. "Dean, I noticed you are short with money" you said after you had rolled the dice, still stuck in jail. "How about a little trait?" Gabriel shock his head at Dean, whispering "She's too powerful already, don't" which only made you grin. "I want the yellow street you have" you pointed at the card before offering your hand to Dean. "And in exchange I will give you your 550 bucks back." Gabriel continued to shake his head but Dean grabbed your hand, agreeing to the deal. You then turned to the archangel. "Gabe, you want your blue street, right? And I want the last yellow one you have" you said, your eyes sparkling mischievously. "I will give you the blue one if I get the yellow one and 350 bucks." He reluctantly agreed. And so the game went on. Cas and Sam stayed, watching it all go down quietly as Dean lost his last street to you after having to sell his pink one to Gabe completely as well as his train stations. It was a pretty equal distribution of streets, however after about a half hour later you ended up winning. Grinning you put the cards back into their box. "Your strategy really just is to buy all the shit streets at the very beginning and slowly watching as we lose all our money to them?" Dean questioned. You nodded. "Yep, and a few other moves helped me win, too but I won't tell you more than that." All things considered you had a lot of fun and the others did too. "Now you will finally get rid of me again" you said while standing up, smiling at them playfully. "I'll go back to bed. I'm exhausted and my legs are killing me." With that you turned around and walked back to your room in silence. Or at least you had planned to do that, however you heard footsteps following you. Looking over your shoulder you saw Gabriel running after you. You stopped with a grin, waiting for him. When he caught up he didn't say anything so you continued your way back with him by your side. "Thanks for letting me win" you said and shoved his side. "I did not do such a thing" he declared swollen, grinning down at you which made you laugh. "I know but you could have tricked us all anyway for you to win but you didn't do it." "I retired from my trickster days, sugar" the archangel reminded you. "Yes, but we both know that you would never stop messing with us" you said. Throwing him a side glance you smiled at him. "I'm amazed that you didn't play a prank at Dean for a while now." Gabriel chuckled and wrapped one arm around you. "Don't let yourself be fooled, (Y/N)." You grinned and then wrapped your arm around him too, pressing your head against his shoulder. "Thank you" you whispered so faintly you worried he wouldn't catch it. "For what?" he asked with a chuckle. You only shrugged. "I don’t know. I guess for everything." ____________________ Pregnancy week 22: In the last two weeks nothing much changed or happened. Your belly continued to grow and pregnancy symptoms were still haunting you. Your legs cramped so much now you didn't really want to move out of bed. So, you didn't. You stayed in bed all day. "At first you desperately wanted to do something you even overworked yourself into blacking out and now you are lying in bed all day" Gabriel chuckled beside you, nuzzling his nose against your neck. You huffed and turned your head so you could look at him. "Firstly, you're not pregnant so shut up" you sassed back at him but stayed silent after that, turning on your side again so your back faced the archangel. You felt Gabriel squirm behind you. "Secondly?" "Nothing, that is all there was" you said which earned you a hearty laugh from him. "You're adorable" he said and wrapped his arms around you. Now you were the one to squirm, trying to get out of his grip. "Am not!" you proclaimed. "I'm an angry pregnant lady, fear me." You succeeded in freeing yourself and were now sitting on your knees before Gabriel. "I'm trembling underneath your gaze, spear me" he managed to get out between his laughter. With a pouty look you threw a pillow in his face. "You're making fun of me!" you pointed out accusingly. "I would never" he declared with one hand pressed against his chest in shock as he sat up as well. "I don't believe you" you said and crossed your arms before your chest while desperately trying to suppressed your grin. "Oh, furious pregnant lady, how can I prove myself?" Gabriel asked and slowly crawled closer to you. You had to let yourself fall back against the cushions with the archangel now leaning over you. "Hmm" you hummed and pretended to think about it while Gabriel's face slowly got closer to your neck. You shuddered, feeling his breath dance over the sensitive skin. "Helping me with my crampy legs would be a start" you whispered. Without hesitation the archangel set up and shifted his focus to your cramped legs and feet. He slowly massaged from your feet upwards. By now your eyes were already closed and soft hums left your lips now and then. You just enjoyed the feeling of the pain slowly washing away. Or at least you did until Gabe's hands wandered up to the inner side of your thighs. One of your eyes snapped open, glaring at the archangel. "What are you doing?" you questioned with a low voice. "Shh" he breathed and crawled back over you. Instinctively you wrapped your arms around his neck but continued to eye him suspiciously. "Let me spoil you." "You don't need to" you said while Gabriel had already started to pepper your face with kisses. "Oh, but I want to" he kissed the top of your nose which made you giggle. He continued to place kisses on your face before slowly wandering down towards your neck. Occasionally a hum or sigh left your lips as you let yourself relax under his caresses. "What do you want to do?" he suddenly asked. You opened your eyes that had been closed until now and saw him hovering over you again. "What?" you questioned. "What's on your bucket list?" Now you understood. You let your arms fall from his shoulders as you thought about it, letting your eyes wander around the ceiling. "I-" you looked at the archangel. "I don't know." "Really? There is nothing you can think of" Gabriel asked with one raised eyebrow. You shook your head. "I just never thought about it before... And I guess you had finished yours long before you even met me" you said, suddenly feeling very embarrassed. But to your surprise the archangel shook his head. "I achieved my last one only a few years ago." "And what would that have been?" you asked. Gabe's gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips before moving back up. A small smile adorned his face as he spoke up again: "Falling in love." Immediately you felt your face heat up. "You're just saying that to make me feel better" you said, trying to cover your face with your hands but Gabriel pushed them down and shrugged his shoulders. "What about when you were a kid?" he continued to ask. "What did you wish for then?" "Expect a real pink unicorn and ice-cream for every meal?" you laughed before losing yourself in your thoughts again. "I guess ... getting married someday." You felt Gabriel stiffen up above you, making you tense up, too. Shaking your hands in front of your chest as far as possible you backtracked immediately. "Not that we have to. It's just a silly kids thing, you know. Back then we had plenty of games about our future or talked about family and marriage. It was just normal, expected. Ahh! Not that I expect it from you. I don't want you to propose or anything. I-" you noticed that you were rambling so you forced yourself to stop and took a deep breath." I shouldn't have said that." Now you really did cover your face with your hands, wishing to disappear. Though you never talked with Gabe about marriage or anything like that you always knew it would be a tricky subject. With him being practically immortal and marriage always or often associated with religion. You just guessed he didn't want to since he had always tried to distance himself from God and heaven and all that. And since he was an angel, an archangel ... you could promise him to spend your remaining life with him. He couldn't. And now was definitely not the time to marry since you would die in less than twenty weeks anyway. "I'm sorry" you said without really knowing why. Maybe you just wanted to break the silence that seemed to lay heavily in the air. "Don't be" the archangel said, caressing your check with one hand. "But I knew it would be a tricky subject to you." "How so?" "Well" you dragged on and slowly uncovered your face. "I just guessed and by your reaction..." You didn't continue speaking as Gabriel sat up on his knees. Lifting yourself up on your elbows you eyed him confused. Was the subject so repulsing to him? "You mean because I stiffened up?" You nodded. Gabriel let out one breathy laugh. "I was just surprised and shocked because I-" he snapped his fingers and opened his hand revealing a ring. "-actually wanted to give you this." You straightened up completely shocked. Your eyes darting from his face to his outstretched palm. "Wha-" "They aren't wedding rings. More like a promise ring, really" he explained as you slowly reached out to take the ring from him. He was right, it didn't look like the typical engagement or wedding ring. It was a silver ring, shaped into a feather that would curl around your finger. "For what?" you asked and looked up, the ring still uselessly lying in your palm. Gabriel raised his right hand, revealing a silver ring on his finger that hadn’t been there before. This one had the typical form of a ring, however the feather was engraved into it. "To promise that I will always love you." You felt tears in your eyes as you jumped forward, tackling the archangel in a hug. "You always make me cry" you complained but honestly it probably was because of the hormones. You stifled your sobs in his shirt as you pressed yourself flat against him, so you even felt his laughter vibrate through his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, too. "Can I?" he asked after a while and pushed you from him. He took the ring back from you and offered his other hand for yours to put inside. You didn't hesitate to do so but felt your face heat up again as he looked at you with love filled eyes. He slipped the ring onto your finger, gave you one last, long look before letting go of your hand. You looked at the delicate feather wrapped around your ring finger. "Thank you" you said with tears still clinging to your face but a big smile on your lips. You wrapped your arms around him again, burying your face into his chest ____________________ Pregnancy week 23: You had thought hard about what to put on your bucket list ever since Gabriel brought it up. However, it was pretty hard to find things you were able to do because of your condition (pregnant) and your situation (kind of trapped in the bunker). One thing you couldn't get out of your mind though was to see the northern lights far away from any other light source, no cities or other people. You couldn't shake it off even if it meant leaving the bunker. Your second idea was maybe rather cliché and not so impossible: having a family dinner without anything to worry about and no arguments to destroy the mood. "Hey, Gabe?" you asked while entering the library. The archangel immediately looked up from whatever he was doing, beaming at you. "What's the matter?" You sat down on the chair opposite to him. "I was thinking about what you said" you started. "What exactly? I talk a lot" he questioned, resting his head on one palm. You snorted in agreement. "About what I wanted to do, about my bucket list" you reminded him. "And I came up with two things." "Only two? If I knew you were so easy to please I-" you cut him off by throwing a crumpled up piece of paper at his face. "I wanted to ask if you had any ideas or further inspirations for things to achieve in the bunker" you paused. "Okay, I have only one thing for my list because for the first one I would have to leave." "What would that be?" Gabriel asked, putting his head in his other palm while closing the book he was looking at. "I always wanted to see the northern lights far away from civilization" you confessed and looked to the side, pushing one stray strand of hair back. "And my second point was having a family dinner." "With your parents?" Gabriel asked which made you flinch. Maybe you should have expected that since you had never talked with him about your life before becoming a hunter. Still, hearing the word stung a lot. "I never told you why I became a hunter, right?" Gabriel nodded confused and you took a deep breath. "My parents died when I was maybe 14" you explained, not meeting his eyes. "They were killed by a werewolf and I only survived because a hunter rushed in. He shot the werewolf and took me in. He taught me everything he knew but I was still traumatized, refused to leave the house after sunset. Still ... he was like a father to me. And then when I just turned 19 he was possessed by a demon after his tattoo was burned from his skin. The demon inside him stabbed him in the heart before I was able to exorcize him" you finished and wiped away the tears that had found their way over your cheeks. Suddenly you felt a hand on your shoulder, making you flinch again. Looking up you saw Gabriel standing beside you. You hadn't noticed that he had stood up. "I'm fine" you said, not believing even yourself. The archangel didn't say anything, just let his hand rest on your shoulder, sending you comfort through his touch. "Anyway, why did I tell you that again?" you shook your head, trying to rid yourself from the sad memories. "Ah, right. So, when I say family who I mean by that are Dean, Sam, Cas and you, Gabe." You looked up at him with the tiniest smiles on your lips as the archangel wiped away the last tear from your check. "The only problem with a family dinner is that I think it will escalate like always. Especially since I know that Dean is still looking for another way, a way to safe me in secret. Even though I forbid it" you only mumbled the last part. Gabriel grinned and bopped your nose. "Don't you worry your pretty little head, sugar" Gabriel said. "It's late, you should go to bed." You stood up, nodding and wrapping your arms around the archangel still craving his touch. He returned the hug. "I will be with you shortly I need to finish this first." You nodded once more, hugged him for a few moments more before letting go. "Good night" you said and stretched yourself on your tiptoes to give him a quick kiss on the lips before vanishing into your room. You had fallen asleep immediately. "(Y/N)!" you squirmed under your blanket, not ready to wake up just yet. You felt something, or someone next to you and a hand on your shoulder slowly shaking you awake but still you didn't really budge. "Let me sleep" you complained and covered your head with the warm blanket. "Next time, sugar. Now you need to wake up." You opened your eyes, pulling the blanket down and let them wander from Gabe's in shadow casted form to your clock standing on your bedside table. "It's not even three in the morning, what the hell" you grumbled. "A pregnant lady needs her sleep." Suddenly you were pulled out of the comfort of your bed and instead stood on wobbly legs in your room. "What are you doing?" you questioned, holding onto Gabriel's hands. "You wanted to see something, sugar." Confused you freed one of your hands and rubbed your eyes. "My brain's too tired to function, Gabe. Can't it wait till, I don't know, when the sun is shining?" you begged and suppressed a yawn. You could vaguely see the archangel shake his head in the darkness of your room. "Believe me, it will be worth it" he promised. You closed your eyes and rubbed the bridge of your nose. "I really hope you're right." And suddenly when you opened your eyes again you weren't in your room anymore. Confused you looked around. You were standing in the middle of a snowy landscape. Immediately you thought you would be cold but when you looked down at you, you saw that you were wearing a big coat, dark ski pants and a fluffy hat instead of your pajama. "What the hell" you whispered and turned around to look at Gabriel who -even though he didn't really needed it- matched his outfit to yours. He stood behind you with a huge grin. "Look up, sugar" he said and so you did. You hold your breath as you looked at the clear night sky with thousands of twinkling stars. But they weren't catching your attention, no. What had captured your imagination were the northern lights shining above your head. Magnificent colors danced above you, fading from green to blue to purplish pink. And even though your neck already started to hurt from constantly looking up you didn't care, too fascinated by the alluring dance. It looked like you had dipped your head into another world, another universe full of beautiful, vivid colors that were swaying and changing, illuminating the world around you. "It's amazing" you breathed when you felt the archangel take a step closer to you and turned around to meet Gabe's gaze again. "Thank you." Out of instinct you twirled the ring he had gave you before you looked up at the sky again, losing yourself in the endless colors swirling through the carpet of stars on this cold September night in who knows which country you were right now. "Dean and Sam will kill you if they figure out you let me leave the bunker" you stated with your eyes still glued to the aurora lights. "Not if you don't tell them" Gabriel noted. You turned around, wanted to say something but when you opened your mouth to speak only a shallow breath escaped out of it as you wrapped your arms around your stomach. Twisting your face into a frown you leaned forward. "(Y/N)?!" Gabriel asked panicked and walked in front of you. He put his hands on your shoulders to straighten you up again. "Are you alright? Are you in pain? What's going on?" For a few more seconds you didn't answer, stared at the ground with your arms still tightly wrapped around yourself. You felt it again and it was then you realized what this was. You let out a pained laugh. "Yes, everything's fine" you reassured the worried archangel with a small smile. Grabbing one of his hands which were still resting on your shoulder you directed it to your still growing bump. You had to wait a few moments with your hand on top of his before you felt it again. Gabriel flinched and you still saw worry in his eyes but when he looked up from your stomach and searched for your gaze, he slowly relaxed when he saw the softness in your eyes. "Are these...?" "Her first kicks? Yes." In the next couple of seconds you saw every emotion washing over his face. Happiness, relief, love, peace, joy but also worry, fear and panic. But it wasn't the type of panic that shook to your core, making your tense up and freeze. No, it was that type of panic a soon to be Dad had when realizing he would have to care for a small helpless baby soon. It was the first time you saw this fatherly panic on his face ever since the beginning, ever since the big news of you being pregnant. "She's quite strong. Knocked the air right out of me" you huffed while intervening your free hand with his other hand. "Archangel genes" Gabriel laughed. "Yes" you breathed, leaning into his touch with a smile. You two stayed like that for many moments more, enjoying each other's presence underneath the fantastical sky. You twirled the ring on your finger again. You felt the happiest ever since all this had started. This was probably the happiest day you had in a long time. ____________________ Pregnancy week 30: You felt like you had eaten a bowling ball or something like that. Your belly was extremely round and weighted a total of proud 25 pounds more of which the baby accounted for about 3 pounds. It was late October so you had about 2 and a half more months to life. You calculated with the help of your friend (F/N) that the baby would be due around the second week of January. Having these thoughts were scary. Normally the dated day of birth was something the parents craved, finally being able to hold their baby in their hands. But you, you were resenting it, you feared it. You thought you had left these thoughts behind but they haunted you even more now that the day got closer and closer. The last few months were hard, being pregnant in summer were hard but luckily the bunker could be regulated so you never really felt to hot. But now you were freezing even though the heater operates at full stretch so you just wrapped yourself into blankets all the time just like now. You were sitting on the sofa in the library again, the cup of tea you had been drinking was already empty. You sighed, feeling lonely. The guys had left a few days ago for a hunt which had required all of them so you were left behind for possible research again. You wanted nothing more than to cuddle with your favorite archangel right now and it seemed like he had heard your silent wish. You heard the unmistakably flutter of wings behind you and turned your head to look at him. "Gabe? What are you doing here? Is the hunt already finished?" you asked, looking around in search for the others but nobody was there. "No, it's just me" he declared. "And what are you doing here then?" "I just wanted to spend some time with my two beautiful girls" Gabriel said and sat down beside you. You snorted because of his cheesy comment but put your head on his shoulder anyway, nuzzling into his side still wrapped in your blanket as he laid one hand on your stomach waiting for a kick. Your little, heavy light bulb grew very active ever since you saw the northern lights but she seemed to like to kick around at night and sleep during the day. "I don't want to ruin the mood" you said after a long time of silence in which your thoughts continued to suffocated you. "...but I'm afraid, Gabe." You didn't move or look up just pressed yourself flat against him. "I just... wish I could hold her before I.." you didn't finish but you knew Gabriel understood what you meant. "I'm sorry, sugar" he said nuzzling his face in your hair and kissing the very top of your head. "You don't have to be, Gabriel, it's not your fault. And I wanted to have the baby so I just have to come to terms with the consequences of that decision" you explained. "Give me some of the credit, too, sweetcheeks" he cupped your face with one hand, directing your gaze at him as his face hovered inches above yours. "I worked very hard on that baby." You tried to bite back the laugh bubbling in your throat as you pushed his face away from you. "Gabe!" you screeched embarrassed even though he was the only one in the bunker. Giggling you shook your head. "Nice to see you didn't change since the pregnancy started." "I'll never change, you know that, sugar." You shook your head in disapproval. "That's not true, you did change" you noted. "You stopped your playboy days and stayed by my side." "Ah, well. You're just so interesting. How could I not stay a little longer to figure all the ways out to make you come undone" he said and wiggled his eyebrows as you slapped his shoulder with a gloomy look in your eyes. "I take that back, still one hundred percent the same archangel that I met years ago." Crossing your arms before your chest you held your head high as you ignored his laughter. "Oh, come on, honeybun" Gabriel laughed. "Don't ignore me." You huffed, giving him the cold shoulder while desperately trying to suppress your own laughter. "Stop ignoring me, (Y/N) or I will have to take drastic measures" he playfully growled and if you had turned around to look at him you probably would have seen the desire bubbling in his eyes. "You now I can't resist when you play hard to get." Finally, you turned around to meet his fiery gaze. "Oh, really?" you asked innocently. "I never noticed." Your faces were now only inches away from each other, his breath hot on your lips as he tried to hold back. It was nice seeing you still had this effect on him. You loved to watch him try to suppress it, to not give in and still losing to it every time: his desire for you. "You know, we are alone right now" you said with a grin as your eyes darted between Gabe's and his lips. "Oh, I know" Gabriel growled as his gaze fixated on your mouth. "And I intend to relish every second of it." ____________________ Pregnancy week 34: Only about six more weeks to live. It felt like a countdown. You tried to enjoy and appreciate every day and every second you had left, spent a lot of time with Gabriel, Dean, Sam or Cas. However, you couldn't prevent or deny that you were getting more distant. You didn't do it intentionally, or at least you thought so. Okay, maybe you tried to make everything easier for you and the guys. You would leave them, there was no going around that even though you knew Dean hadn't abandoned the plan of finding another solution, a way of saving you. It was just written in his genes apparently. But he hadn't brought anything up and you knew it was hopeless. The only thing you could think of was making a deal with a demon. Your life for someone else's but you wouldn't allow anyone to sacrifice themselves for you. And you weren't even sure if a demon could grant this wish, if they had more power than a half angel child. The last few weeks you had mayor back pains because your stomach had grown so much. Every sleeping position was uncomfortable, sitting was unbearable. Your bump was so big now you couldn't even put on shoes on your own. You felt more useless and moody, too but you weren't sure if it was because of the hormones or because you knew it would happen soon, it would end soon. You put one hand on your stomach, feeling the little light bulb (it became an agreed nickname for the baby between you and Gabe) move around. You noticed that she liked to lie on the right side more than on the left, leaving a little elevation there. Smiling you caressed your unborn baby. You just wished you had more time. ____________________ Pregnancy week 38: It was the fore last week but on a brighter spirit it was also Christmas. You haven't really celebrated Christmas ever since you were a child, ever since your parents were still alive. Of course, when you teamed up with Sam and Dean you exchanged gifts you had bought the day before but it was never a huge deal. You never really cared about the presents anyway. So, you expected that wouldn't change even if it was your last ever Christmas. You had stayed in bed all day, trying to find some rest after your baby girl had kept you awake almost all night. Was that why every mom awaited the birth so desperately? To finally sleep again and be free from all those pregnancy symptoms? A heavy sigh left your lips as you opened your eyes to look at the clock. It was about four pm and if you didn't stand up soon you wouldn't find sleep this night, too. With a groan you rolled out of bed and rubbed your eyes. Maybe hanging out with the guys would lift your spirit. Thinking about them ... you haven't seen them all day. Furrowing your eyebrows, you wondered what they were possibly doing. Had they found another hunt? Were they researching something? Stretching your back you slowly began your way to the library in search for anyone. "Guys?" you asked as you turned around the corner, still rubbing your sleepy eyes. "What were you doing all da-" you froze as you laid eyes on the library. The room was fully decorated with Christmas lights and even a small Christmas tree was standing in one corner, decked out with balls and lights. "What the hell" you mumbled and stepped into the room, your eyes glued to Sam and Dean who were putting the last decorations on the tables. "Oh, fuck" Dean said after noticing you. "Ehm, surprise?" You chuckled. "Well, yeah. I am surprised. Why are you decorating the library." "We thought we should celebrate Christmas this time" Sam explained, leaving out the obvious reason why. You nodded. "I appreciate it but I hope you didn't get me any presents because I was unable to buy anything for you." The two brothers shook their heads. "Nope, no gifts. Only decorations and something festive to eat" Dean declared. "It's gonna be burgers, right?" you questioned and crossed your arms before your chest. The slight blush on Dean's cheeks told you enough. "Good, because I'm starving and would kill for a burger right now." "Did I hear someone say burger?" You looked at the big entrance, seeing Gabe with bags in his hands. "Because I just so happen to have some." Laughing you sat down on one of the chairs, awaiting the festive meal. The three guys sat down too and Cas joined you soon after even though he didn't eat anything. At first you just looked around the room, eyes filled with childish wonder. You had missed the warm lights, the smell of Christmas that came just because of the atmosphere around you. You quickly lost yourself in conversation. Chatting about anything and everything. After a long time, you didn't worry, didn't fear the next day, the next week. You lived and just enjoyed the moment. The warmth that surrounded you, the smiles on their faces and the sound of laughter. This is what you always wanted. And you realized that your bucket list was finished, your last wish: having a peaceful family dinner. ____________________ Pregnancy week 39: Only about one week left. However, you weren't thinking about that just yet because today was New Year's Eve. Sam and Dean had bought some fireworks they wanted to set of which was why you were sitting outside of the bunker, wrapped in a blanket in Gabriel's arms. The Winchesters had oh so nicely agreed to let you come outside too. "How much time do we have left?" Dean asked, already hurrying with setting up all the fireworks in bottles on the street. You freed one arm from Gabriel's hug and looked at your phone. "Two minutes." "Shit, gotta hurry" Dean cursed. You laughed at him as he tried to work faster, ordering Cas to help him. "One thirty... One fifteen... One minute" you continued to count down. "Shut up." Giggling you put your phone away again after seeing Sam grabbing his to start the thirty second countdown in a few. Nuzzling back into Gabriel's side you glanced up at him only to see that his gaze had already been on you. "Hey" you mumbled with a smile. "Hey to you, too" he quietly laughed as he pushed back a strand of hair from your face. Immediately you lost yourself in his warm eyes, the cold night air long forgotten. His face was already so close to yours that you felt his breath on your lips. "Thirty" you heard Sam said. You had to wait thirty seconds until you could finally kiss him? You huffed a breath in annoyance as your hands found their place on Gabe's chest. "Impatient?" Gabriel grinned. You glared at him. "As if you weren't." "Twenty." "Oh, I can live without a kiss" the archangel stated with a smirk. You raised one eyebrow at him before grinning evilly. "Oh, is that so?" You put your hands away from his chest and turned your head forward again, looking at Dean who was armed with one windproof lighter in each hand. You couldn't suppress your laughter when you saw his silly stance. He seemed ready to tackle the fireworks to the ground. You hadn't seen him act this childish in a long time. You felt Gabriel squirm beside you which only made you grin even more. "Ten." "(Y/N)" the archangel growled lowly. "Nine." You glanced at him from the corner of your eyes. "Eight." "I thought you said-" you turned around to meet his eyes completely. "Seven." "-you could live without a kiss from me?" you challenged him. "Six." He huffed. "Five." Stretching up you were the one to tease him with your hot breath on his mouth. "Four." "Well" Gabriel started and placed his arms to either of your sides, caging you in. "Three." You felt his body heat springing over to you as his eyes darted to your lips still stretched into a smile. "Two." "Not now" he finally said. "One!" He grabbed your face in his hands and closed the gap between you two just as Sam shouted "Zero!". Melting into the kiss you pressed your hands against his chest again and closed your eyes. However, the grin on your lips stayed as you responded the kiss. Silently moaning as Gabriel's hand wandered down your sides, leaving a tingling sensation behind, you stretched upward, pressing into him. This kiss was the sweetest you had ever shared with the archangel. Soft, gentle, slow. There was no intention behind it, no raw desire but love. So, you let yourself relax in his arms as the fireworks took of behind you, buzzing through the night sky. "Who was impatient now?" you asked after breaking the kiss, your lips still only barely apart. "Not my fault, I just can't resist you." "You're so cheesy when you want" you laughed and closed the gap between you again in another soft kiss that quickly grew more passionate and daring. You wrapped your arms around his neck, stroking through his hair and slightly tugging at their ends. He groaned against your lips and let his hands wander too. They quickly found their place only barely above your bum as he pressed you against him as far as possible with your baby bump. You felt warm and safe, like being encased in fluffy clouds and soft blankets, like if he had wrapped his wings around that you were unable to see. You parted with a gasp, sucking in breaths of air with a laugh as you looked up the archangel. "I love when you laugh and your eyes crinkle up" Gabriel whispered which only made laugh again and then smiling like a fool. "Are you growing soft on me" you teased. "I am always soft for you" he said without missing a beat. You felt your face heat up but forced yourself to not break the eye contact. "I love you" you mumbled with half lidded eyes. Gabriel chuckled, hugging you close. "I love you, too, sugar." You stayed outside for a while longer, talking with each other while looking up at the stars. But at about 1 am it was too cold to stay outside any longer so everyone slowly packed their drinks and the empty bottles for the fireworks and began their way back into the bunker. You let out a sigh as you heaved yourself up with Gabriel's help, smiling appreciatingly up at him and tried to find your balance. Just as you were standing safely on your legs and took one step forward you felt it. Bending forward you pressed one hand against your stomach and blindly searched for Gabriel to steady yourself with the other one. "(Y/N), is everything alright?" he asked, grabbing your outstretched arm. You growled in response, biting your lip, almost drawing blood. "Ju-just a contraction. Probably just Braxton Hicks contractions" you muttered under your breath and straightened up again after you were sure it was done. "Are you sure?" You nodded, letting go of Gabriel and taking one step forward only for your knees to give in. You yelped in shock but luckily Gabriel caught you before you could hit the ground. Another groan of pain left your lips as you let yourself be kept upright by the archangel just as another wave of pain hit you. Your lips parted, sharply sucking in the cold winter air, as you tried to get the words out. "Or ma-maybe they're real contractions" you stammered. You slumped back down, only kept up by Gabriel's arms while your vision got fuzzy and pain shot through you up from your stomach. You heard him yell for Sam, Dean and Cas who had already gone inside but you didn't really register it. It was absurd. Everything seemed so unreal to you and in the same time frighteningly real, too. Was this ... it? "Gabe" you said not even really knowing why as a nauseous feeling washed over you. Clinging onto him you blinked a few times, trying to make out his face. "I-I need your help." He heaved you into his arms without another word, hurrying inside as fast as possible. "What's the matter?" Sam asked, looking up from his seat in the library. You only cried out in pain, curling into Gabe's chest. "She's having contractions" Gabriel said and walked past the three men in the direction of your room. They hastily stood up and ran after him, frantically shouting all the time. "Real ones? The real deal?" Dean asked worried. "Yes!" you yelled with tears in your eyes as a wave of heat crashed over your body. Gabriel kicked your door open and then laid you down on your bed. Panicking you looked up at the ceiling. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, it was too early and your friend wasn't even in town yet. They had promised to come by to help with the birth giving process. You had no clue what to do and the guys had non either. They were panicking too, asking and shouting about what was supposed to happen. "Gabe... Gabriel" you forced over your lips, looking to your side, searching for his eyes. He immediately had his attention on you with his eyebrows furrowed and teary eyes. "Call (F/N)." He nodded, not hesitating and grabbed your phone. "(Y/N)? What's up?" their voice rang through the speaker only seconds later but you were unable to answer as another painful contraction hit you. This was happening way to fast. Was this the angel side of your baby? Wasn’t there supposed to be a pause between the contractions? How were you supposed to breath through all this pain? "Here's Gabriel" the archangel managed to get out. "(Y/N) just got into labor." "What?! (Y/N)!" your friend yelled as a wave of shock also washed over them. "Hey" Gabriel said to get their attention. "We... she needs your help now. You have to tell us what to do." If you hadn't been in labor you would have been amazed by Gabe's calm voice. But one look at his face told you that it was only a facade, that he was more panicked than any of the other guys inside the room. "Okay, okay. At first ... tell me how far apart the contractions are" your friend requested after a few deep breaths to calm themselves down. Gabriel looked back at you and when your eyes met you felt the next one hit you. "There is no time between them or at least … there’s always pain. They are coming very fast. I-" you were able to groan when the pain washed away for a few seconds. "I think it's because of the angel genes. They're very strong and painful." "Alright, no time to lose then" your friend mumbled probably more to themselves. "You have to lay on your back, put a pillow behind your neck so it's more comfortable for you and you have to get rid of the pants." You looked at Gabe again, signaling him that you needed help with that. He nodded, putting the phone on your bedside table and helped you out of your pants. It was weird being exposed like that but to be fair you didn't really have much time to think about that as another wave of pain crushed over you, pressing your lungs down. "Someone has to check on the status of the baby" (F/N) said and maybe not very surprisingly Cas volunteered to do so. He seemed to have calmed down a bit while Sam and Dean were still pacing around. "Hoist your legs up so you can build up more strength and when the next contraction hits you have to press. And don’t forget to breathe!" You followed their instructions without question. "(Y/N)?" they asked after a few seconds. You answered with a half yelp that somewhat resembled a "Yes?". "I wish I was here to help you, I'm sorry." "No, don't be. I wanted you to enjoy New Year's Eve, too. Life is just unpredictable" you managed to say but after that everything became fuzzy again. This wasn't normal right? No, it wasn't. You were dying. This was the end. The realization hit you suddenly and almost knocked the air out of your lungs. You would die today. You whimpered, unable to form any words as you once again blindly reached out for Gabriel. A hand found yours and you immediately felt that it was his palm squeezing yours reassuringly. Your vision cleared only slightly and when you made out the archangel's face you saw the tears he had forced back all those weeks, the tears he had never let himself cry. "Can you see something already?" Was that Dean speaking? You couldn’t really tell but you knew that the one to answer should be Cas. "Yes, I can see some of the head." "Is she still breathing." "Yes! Now stop worrying her even more!" That had to be Gabe as his hand began to squeeze you harder. "You're doing great" the words echoed in your mind again and again and again. Was that Gabriel? You felt the tears wet your cheeks. You loved him so much. You didn't want this. You wanted more time. Why weren't you given more time? Why did this happen to you? Were you doomed from the very beginning? You couldn’t breath, the pain was too much, your whole body just stiffened up. "(Y/N)." Was this some sort of punishment? The contractions seemed to get even more frequent and even though you were supposed to press you felt your strength leave your body quickly. But this baby had to live, you wanted your baby girl to live. Squeezing the hand in yours tightly you focused every last drip of strength into pushing your baby out. "Out." "She's out." Your baby was out. You were still breathing. Was that screaming? "Gabe" you gasped as the room began to spin. You were so exhausted. All your energy seemed to have been sucked out of you. And that was when you noticed your vision getting out of focus once more but this time it seemed different ... final. A wave of panic crashed over you. No, no, no, no! You didn't want to go. You wanted to reach out to Gabe, opened your mouth. Say something! Another wave of pain tore through you, left you breathless. What was happening? Tears were streaming out of your eyes but you were able to detect one face looking down at you. Worried, honey colored eyes. Gabe! No, you- just say something! Say you love him! Your thoughts screamed at you to say anything... but you were unable to. You had no energy left. Everything turned to darkness.

____________________

"(Y/N)!" you squirmed under your blanket, not ready to wake up just yet. You felt something, or someone next to you and a hand on your shoulder slowly shaking you away but still you didn't really budge.

"Let me sleep" you complained and covered your head with the warm blanket. "Next time, sugar. Now you need to wake up."

You opened your eyes, pulling the blanket down and let them wander to Gabe's in shadow casted Form. Frowning you slowly sat up. This felt strangely familiar, like you were just experiencing a déjà-vu.

You sighed and followed Gabriel's instructions as he hoisted you up.

"Believe me, it will be worth it" he promised. You closed your eyes and rubbed the bridge of your nose. "I really hope you're right."

The next time you opened your eyes you stood in a snow covered landscape. "What-"

"Look up, sugar" he said and so you did. The sight left you breathless. Vivid colors were moving above you in a strange, hypnotic dance. Greens and blues and bright pinks. You were speechless. These were the northern lights.

"It's amazing" you whispered and pushed done strand of hair back. "Thank you."

This was all so familiar. Did you live through this before? You frowned, about to ask Gabriel when you felt a dull pain rush through your stomach. Gasping you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around yourself. This was strange.

"(Y/N)?!" Gabriel asked panicked and walked in front of you. He put his hands on your shoulders to straighten you up again. "Are you alright? Are you in pain? What's going on?" Yes, indeed. What was going on? What was this pain? The thoughts of a possible déjà-vu vanished in an instance as your mind just accepted everything.

For a few more seconds you didn't answer him and instead stared at the ground with your arms still tightly wrapped around yourself. You felt it again and it was then you realized what this was. You let out a pained laugh.

"Yes, everything's fine" you reassured the worried archangel with a small smile. Grabbing one of his hands which were still resting on your shoulder you directed it to your still growing bump. You had to wait a few moments with your hand on top of his before you felt it again. Gabriel flinched and you still saw worry in his eyes but when he looked up from your stomach and searched for your gaze, he slowly relaxed when he saw the softness in your eyes.

"Are these...?"

"Her first kicks? Yes."

In the next couple of seconds you saw every emotion washing over his face. Happiness, relief, love, peace, joy but also worry, fear and panic. But it wasn't the type of panic that shook to your core, making your tense up and freeze. No, it was that type of panic a soon to be Dad had when realizing he would have to care for a small helpless baby soon. It was the first time you saw this fatherly panic on his face every since the beginning, ever since the big news of you being pregnant.

"She's quite strong. Knocked the air right out of me" you huffed while intervening your free hand with his other hand.

"Archangel genes" Gabriel laughed.

"Yes" you breathed, leaning into his touch with a smile. You two stayed like that for many moments more, enjoying each other's presence underneath the fantastical sky.

It indeed was your happiest day.

The End. ____________________

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ambersky0319 · 4 years

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I've been reading the very limited amount of Blind Deceit and I thought of something cute 💛 He used to read stories to Virgil and Remus when Thomas was young, with the two never knowing that it was braille. Years later, Remus finds their old story books and decides to ask Dee about them in front of everyone. It leads to them all finding out that he's blind, Patton finding out that he's a great Dad and Virgil (whom he hasn't made up with yet) asking him to read after a Nightmare that night 💜

I had a lot of fun with this one! I really love Blind Deceit, and really hope you enjoy this!!!

Pairings: None/All platonic

Warnings: None really? Just lmk if I need to add anything!

Masterpost

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Deceit was relaxing on the couch in the mind palace, one earbud in as he listened to a podcast. He and Remus had been… Mostly accepted. Things were still sometimes really tense, and he knew it would take a while for everything to settle. But Deceit took advantage of the calm day they were having. Roman and Patton were baking, if their laughter and the strong scent of chocolate was anything to go by. Virgil was still napping, or maybe just quietly scrolling on his phone. Deceit hadn’t heard a peep from him in a while. And Logan was reading nearby on the couch, the only indication he was there to Deceit being the frequent sound of pages turning.

And Remus was nowhere to be found.

Deceit guessed he was in the Imagination, preparing a prank for Roman. Or perhaps in his room, conducting an experiment.

And so Deceit closed his eyes, seeing the darkness that he saw all the time anyway, and lost himself in the voices of those on the podcast. He might as well enjoy this rare day of peace.

He didn’t realize he had fallen asleep until Remus was shaking him awake.

Deceit blinked, rubbing his eyes and looking in Remus’s direction. Deceit instantly knew it was him and no one else by the scent of fresh blood lingering in the air around the side.

“Yes, Remus?”

“Good! You’re up!” Deceit felt some stuff being pushed into his hands as he sat up. “I was digging around some old stuff, from when Virgie and I were really really young, right? And I found these!”

“Why would you even want find those old books, Remus?” Virgil asked tiredly, and Deceit could feel his gaze on the pair. In fact, Deceit could practically feel everyone looking at them. “They aren’t worth much.”

Remus stuck his tongue out at Virgil, glaring half-heartedly. “I thought you of all sides would be excited, considering they were always your favorite whenever Dee read them to us!”

Virgil’s surprise was evident in his voice. “You don’t mean-”

“They’re the old Disney classics.” Deceit finished, running his fingers over the covers lightly and feeling the familiar bumps of the title.

“Yeah! And I thought it’d be fun to read them myself, but I literally couldn’t understand anything. Dee, why’re they all in braille?”

“Because I’m blind?” Deceit stated simply, opening one of the books and tracing his fingers over the words. His eyes widened slightly. “Wait- didn’t I ever tell you?”

Remus was gaping at him. In fact, everyone was. There was a beat of silence, before Remus tackled him into a hug.

Deceit yelped as he suddenly had a duke clinging to him, laughing almost hysterically. Deceit blinked in confusion, but still held Remus close, because why would Deceit not? Remus was his family, as good as Deceit’s own child.

He tilted his head in Patton’s direction as the moral side began to speak. “You mean… You read to them when they were younger?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Patton.” Deceit stated, running a hand through Remus’s hair as the side slowly calmed down. “They were young, and afraid. They had nightmares constantly. What was I supposed to do, just tell them to suck it up and just go back to bed?”

Remus squeezed him tighter.

“I can’t believe you know braille and never taught us!” That was definitely Logan.

“I can’t believe I never noticed, I just thought you had good eyesight!” Virgil, and Deceit could imagine the look of shock on his face. He sounded closer though. Deceit nearly reached out, to beckon him into his arms as well, just as they used to. But he thought better of it. They still hadn’t made amends, and he doubted Virgil would want Deceit to hug him.

“I did not realize it wasn’t obvious, it wasn’t something I was trying to hide from either of you. The rest of you, yes, but not you or Remus.”

He heard Roman’s signature princey gasp. “Hide it from us!”

Deceit just shrugged, feeling Remus move to sit next to him instead of on top, which Deceit was definitely a bit grateful for. The suffocating smell of death was a bit more bearable when Remus wasn’t directly on him.

“Wait- how are you even blind? Thomas isn’t blind!” Roman added, glancing to the others.

“Logan and Patton need glasses, do they not?” Deceit pointed out. “Yet Thomas doesn’t need glasses all the time.”

“He should wear them more often though,” Logan mumbled.

“Well, I guess Deceit never saw this conversation coming, huh?”

The others groaned as Patton laughed, and Deceit felt the small bit of tension in his shoulders disappear, smiling gently.

“Oh! Roman and I made brownies for dinner if everyone’s hungry?” Patton asked, glancing around. Deceit could tell Logan was about to lecture them that it wasn’t healthy, and he was right. Deceit still got to his feet to join them all for brownies though.

Deceit was just about to fall asleep. He had stayed up listening to some show most of the night to unwind, and he could tell it was getting late. The others had all been asleep for a few hours now, if the silence of the house was anything to go by.

Just as he had pulled the blanket over himself, Deceit heard his door creek open and close softly. Deceit frowned, sitting up.

“Deceit?”

Virgil?

Deceit tilted his head. “Can I help you?”

Virgil hesitated, before taking a deep breath.

“I know… That we haven’t exactly made up, and we should probably talk things out soon and come to some sort of agreement, but I… I can’t sleep.”

Deceit raised a brow, confused. “Why are you coming to me then, and not Patton, or even Logan?”

“Because…” He could hear Virgil fidgeting. “I just, Remus bringing up those books reminded me of how nice things we’re. I had a nightmare and couldn’t sleep. And, and I don’t think Patton or Logan could stomach reading one of the classics. Certainly not Roman. And Remus is too loud. And you always had such a soothing voice, but I get if you would rather not and I can go and we could forget this ever happened-”

“Virgil, do you want me to read to you?”

Virgil swallowed, and his voice came out meek. “Yes…?”

Deceit bit his lip gently, before shifting on the bed. Virgil’s eyes brightened slightly as he climbed into bed beside Deceit, feeling some of Deceit’s arms wrap around him. He handed Deceit the book he wanted read to him- The Little Mermaid.

They both got a bit more comfortable, Virgil curled into Deceit’s side as Deceit began to read. His fingers traced the pages slowly as Virgil lost himself in Deceit’s voice, and soon Virgil drifted off back to sleep.

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destieltropecollection · 4 years

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Destiel Trope Collection 2020 Day 11: Established Relationship

A Christmas Miracle | @gii-heylittleangel

Rating: General Word Count: 1019 Main Tags/Warnings: fluff; holiday fic Summary: A day to be marked: when Dean Winchester finally says "I love you".

Is there a reason you're naked in my bed? | @casseythebee

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1085 Main Tags/Warnings: kissing, nakedness, mentions of violence, blood, language Summary: the boys arrive back to the bunker after a hunt. With a bit of adrenaline still coursing through them they have a little fun, that gets a bit interrupted

Sick Day | @mrshays28-blog

Rating: General Word Count: 1093 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Relationship, Husbands, Castiel Has A Cold, Dean Takes Care of Castiel, Dean Gets A Cold, Domestic Fluff Summary: Dean and Castiel spend a quiet evening together just as Castiel’s starting to recover from a cold. Dedicated to anyone who’s gotten sick because their S.O. is also sick.

Ash | @deansrightfulangerissue

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1106 Main Tags/Warnings: Housefire, Canon Universe, Post-Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: Dean's shoulders tremble as they watch the flames devour everything he and Cas have built together.

Proposal Gone... Right? | @fangirlingtodeath513

Rating: General Word Count: 1194 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester,Dean Winchester,Castiel (Supernatural),Marriage Proposal,Fluff,Domestic Fluff,Romance Summary: Dean's been planning this proposal for a long time, but on the day he's actually supposed to propose, nothing seems to go his way. Will he actually manage to propose without everything falling apart?

Faithfully | @cr-noble-writes

Rating: General Word Count: 1311 Main Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Mild Angst, Happy Ending, deaf cas, Rockstar Dean Summary: Castiel is very unhappy with the fact that Dean is working on Valentine’s Day. But maybe he can be forgiven.

You look so sexy when you’re ignoring me. | @casseythebee

Rating: General Word Count: 1415 Main Tags/Warnings: language Summary: After Castiel catches Dean flirting with a, quite frankly gorgeous, girl at a bar he tries to give him the silent treatment, for the first time.

Just The Way You Are | @gii-heylittleangel

Rating: General Word Count: 1555 Main Tags/Warnings: self esteem issues, body image issues, emotional hurt/comfort Summary: Coming back home to only silence is never good in Dean's vision; finding Cas crying, all alone, makes it even worse.

Spit-Polish and Shine | @jemariel

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1564 Main Tags/Warnings: PWP, voyeurism/exhibitionism, top!Cas, bottom!Dean, sex on the Impala Summary: You know how Dean Winchester doesn't wear shorts? Well. Sometimes he does. Unredeemed filthy porn on a car.

and let me correct it | @curioussubjects

Rating: Mature Word Count: 1584 Main Tags/Warnings: Coda, Episode: s15e09 The Trap, Fluff and Smut, Established Relationship, Getting Back Together, Feelings, Non-Penetrative Sex, Post-Episode: s15e09 The Trap Summary: They’re in the hallway about to part for the night when Dean makes a decision. He steps closer to Cas, slowly – careful since it’s been a while since they were last like this. Cas doesn’t back away, doesn’t add any distance between them, though he looks at Dean with curiosity, a trace of hope and a challenge in his eyes.

Not According To Plan | @peanutbutterjelly-pie

Rating: General Word Count: 1724 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Established Relationship Summary: A fire truck, a smoky kitchen and an unexpected surprise are awaiting Dean after coming back home from work.

Meeting Emma | @deansrightfulangerissue

Rating: General Word Count: 1952 Main Tags/Warnings: Mention of a Car Accident, Minor Injury to a Child, Hospital Setting, Alternate Universe, Dad!Dean Summary: Dean’s pacing the hospital corridor like some nervous expecting father. After all, that’s who he is right now. And the daughter he didn’t know he had will be here any moment.

An Angel Cake for an Ex-Angel | @cloverhighfive

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2411 Main Tags/Warnings: domestic fluff, romantic fluff Summary: Cas is depressed and Dean is looking to make him feel better by baking him an angel food cake (he fails a few times).

Kiss and Make Up | @fangirlingtodeath513

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2546 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester,Dean Winchester,Castiel,Smut,Fluff and Smut,Arguing,Jealousy,Angry Sex,make-up sex,Blow Jobs,Face-Fucking,Topping from the Bottom,Power Bottom,Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester,Power Bottom Castiel (Supernatural),Bottom Castiel (Supernatural),Top Dean Winchester,Barebacking,Naked Cuddling,Post-Coital Cuddling Summary: It's the same argument they've had a million times before; Dean's too jealous, especially when Castiel is already engaged to him. This time, though, Cas isn't going to let their argument get in the way of some hot make-up sex.

Home Alone | @kitmistry

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2740 Main Tags/Warnings: Underage, Highschool AU, Fluff and Humor Summary: ""Dean, shut up,"" Castiel cut him off, flush faced and gorgeous, and looking every bit done with Dean's complaints and every layer of clothes between them. He yanked Dean's shirt off, before lowering his head to suck and bite at the curve where neck met shoulder, and Dean's brain fizzled out. He couldn't think of much else but fingers undoing his belt, and the tan skin he uncovered when he managed to wrestle Cas out of his shirt, and then there was a hand making its way inside his underwear, Cas kissing him to breathlessness. A car door slammed closed outside the house. Or the one where Dean is stuck in a bathroom.

The Secret Boyfriend | @fangirlingtodeath513

Rating: General Word Count: 2759 Main Tags/Warnings: Marriage, Weddings, Engagement, Engaged Castiel/Dean Winchester, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Wedding Jitters, Established Relationship, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester Summary: It all starts when Sam sends Dean and Cas separate invitations for his wedding. Then there's the fact that Mary asks if they'll mind sharing a bed. Dean's family can't still be in the dark about the fact that he and Cas are together... can they?

I've Never Wished for Anything more than You | @gii-heylittleangel

Rating: General Word Count: 3054 Main Tags/Warnings: canon temporary character death; canon divergent 12x23 Summary: Dean has lost many people before—it’s practically a normal thing in his line of work—but none of them hurt as much as Castiel’s death. Especially because Dean is sure there’s no possible way for the angel to come back again. Or so he thought.

It was just a prank | @notfunnydean

Rating: General Word Count: 3795 Main Tags/Warnings: Prank Wars, April Fools' Day, Sam writes a love letter in Cas' name, hurt!Dean, playing with someone's feelings Summary: When Sam wakes up to discover that his mattress is soaking wet and his brother laughing loudly, he decides to take vengeance. Somehow, along the way, the prank war turns a bit too serious and Dean ends up really hurt.

Deep Blue Ocean | @suckerfordeansfreckles

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4046 Main Tags/Warnings: creature AU, cecaelia Cas, tentacles, first time, bottom Dean, established relationship Summary: Dean’s been in contact with supernatural creatures and people for all his life, as far as he can remember. He’s been working as a social worker for years now, specifying on cases that involve supernatural families. But he’s never really… been with a supernatural creature. He’s never been with anyone, ever, for more than a night, really — not the relationship type, that‘s what he used to excuse it on. But then he met Cas, on a case he worked with his brother, one in a cecaelia community in California. He met Cas, a cecaelia himself, and was kind of lost right away, because Cas was friendly, helpful, articulate and kind of brilliant. He’s also… gorgeous. When Dean first saw him, he kind of lost all breath and brainpower. They’ve been together for a few months now, but in all this time, they haven’t been intimate, haven’t really dared to go beyond their heavy make-out sessions. It’s especially hard again for Dean today, to not just devour Cas. To not just beg him for more.

On Display | @saltnhalo

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4053 Main Tags/Warnings: Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, Bottom Dean Winchester, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Praise Kink, Team Dean Winchester's Red Ass, Toys, Exhibitionism, Camboy Dean Winchester, Panties Summary: “I’ve invited a special guest for today,” Dean tells his viewers, glancing away from the camera as the bed dips beside him. Cas is all easy confidence as he settles onto the mattress next to Dean, and they share a quick smile before Dean turns his attention back to the viewers. “This is my boyfriend. For all of you who’ve wanted to see me get fucked by something other than my varied collection of toys…” He winks teasingly and pitches his voice a little deeper—teasing, sultry. “Today’s your lucky day.”

Texas Sun | @banshee1013

Rating: Mature Word Count: 4185 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Relationship, Sam Winchester Is Not Amused, Fluff, Canon Related, Honeymoon Summary: Ever since Cas and Dean tied the knot, they have been driving Sam *insane* with their inappropriately located and utterly spontaneous make-out suggestions. So when he finds them looking at filming locations for the movie ""Tombstone"" in Arizona, he suggests they take some time (and give him a break!) and road-trip it. Dean plans the route and takes the long way 'round through Texas - all the more time to spend with his angel, and show him some sights along the way.

Till Dawn | @kitmistry

Rating: Mature Word Count: 4431 Main Tags/Warnings: Major Character Death, Implied Suicide, Zombie Apocalypse AU, Fluff and Agst Summary: Before the world went to hell and the dead took over, Castiel and Dean couldn't have led more different lives. While Castiel was wasting away at an insurance company, Dean was busy chasing tornadoes around the country with his brother. They would have never met - they wouldn't have even known the other existed - if humanity hadn't crumbled like a card tower. Or the one where Dean helps Castiel escape.

Red | @gii-heylittleangel

Rating: Mature Word Count: 5509 Main Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, gore and blood, minor characters deaths, major character injury Summary: Dean didn't even think; he ran to Cas as fast as he could, screaming his name in pure terror, grabbing a handful of Cas's uniform to pull him into his lap. Cas's eyes were wide as he stared at Dean, hands grasping uselessly at the wound by his side. His uniform was soon more red than green and Dean could feel it seeping through his combat pants. The smell soon reached Dean's nose and he couldn't do anything more than just cradle Cas's head between his hands, sobs coming out of his mouth along with something he thought was please no, not him, not him. He never actually believed in prayer until that very moment but he had to start, because all he could do was pray to any and every gods that could be out there to not take Cas away from him, because Dean wouldn't be able to survive without him; Dean couldn’t even think of living without Cas. The amount of blood and the paleness that Cas's face was turning told Dean that none of the gods were actually hearing him, but he kept on praying because there was nothing more he could do; please, God, no, not Cas, please, don't take him away from me, I love him.

Interrupted | @a-mandala-rose

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5818 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Dean/Cas, Kid Fic Summary: “Cas, babe, I’m ready,” Dean pants, “please..” but the rest of his plea is cut off by a sudden wail from the baby monitor. Jack. “Goddammit!” Dean lets out a noise that is definitely not a whimper as Cas stills his hand. “It would be wrong to dose them all with Benadryl, right?” “Dean.” “Just checking.” Dean loves his and Cas' three children with his whole heart, but he desperately needs some alone time with his husband. OR The world's most relatable fanfic ever. (If you've ever had small children, that is.)

Long Exposure | @saltnhalo

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 7581 Main Tags/Warnings: Model Dean Winchester, Photographer Charlie, Dom/sub Undertones, Dom Castiel, Sub Dean, Model Castiel, Top Castiel, Bottom Dean, Photography, Photographer Castiel, Nude Modeling, Exhibitionism Summary: Nude model wanted for erotic photoshoot. All photographs will only be submitted for assessment at approval of model. Males and females welcome – must be willing to take directions. All photography will be undertaken in a safe studio, and at the pace and comfort of the model. Payment of $100 for two hours of work. Tear off a number if interested.

Ignorance Is Bliss (Usually) | @pray4jensen

Rating: Mature Word Count: 8185 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Relationship, Fluff, Humour, Domestic Summary: Dean and Cas have a very public deathbed confession and officially become an item. And this would totally be thrilling—except Sam gets knocked out during the fight and misses the whole damn thing. Or the one where everybody except Sam knows and Sam thinks Dean’s sudden newfound celibacy is a witch’s curse.

Try A Little Stardust | @cuddlemonsterdean

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 8594 Main Tags/Warnings: Fluff and Angst, Hurt!Dean, Disabled!Dean, Happy Ending Summary: They soak for long enough that Dean actually falls into a light doze. It’s nice to just enjoy the water and the quiet for a while. It’s only been a handful of days, but Castiel has missed holding Dean like this and being close to him. His warmth and the beat of his heart are grounding, anchoring, and to Castiel it will always be special to know him this intimately.

A Different Kind of Filling | @gracefuldean

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 9239 Main Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Established Relationship, Vampire Hunt, Diners, Porn with Plot, Porn with Feelings, Dom/Sub Undertones, Possessive Castiel, Food Play Summary: After taking care of a vampire nest near Bicknell, Utah, Dean and Castiel stop for a quick bite at one of the town’s diners, known for its (in)famous pickle pie. The unusual dessert is just the beginning of an afternoon Dean won’t ever forget, in which weird fillings and not so new feelings will make him realize that he truly has got it all.

After you and me, there is us | @castielscarma

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 13091 Main Tags/Warnings: Divorced Cas/Dean, past relationship, grief/mourning, child loss, getting back together Summary: Dean is forced to deal with his feelings and emotions about everything after meeting his ex-husband while having lunch.

Circles of Gold | @pomegranatedaffodil

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 17312 Main Tags/Warnings: Fantasy AU, Royalty AU, Established Relationship, Secret Relationship, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers Summary: Seven years ago, Dean and Castiel chose each other over their families, their kingdoms, and their crowns. They have since come to terms with that decision, but the arrival of a messenger from Dean’s kingdom disturbs the peaceful life they’ve built together and forces them to make another choice, one that could have equally lasting consequences.

Fight or Flight | @ellis-park

Rating: Mature Word Count: 23186 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon universe, canon-typical violence, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort Summary: Just when Dean's started to feel good about his life — the end is not nigh, and his brother and his angel are safe in the bunker — Sam and Cas start keeping secrets from him. It's not a big deal, at least not at first. Everyone needs to play some things close to the chest. But when Dean finds out what they've been hiding, the bubble of carefree happiness he's carefully placed around his family finally bursts.

A Treason of Truths | @cr-noble-writes

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 28035 Main Tags/Warnings: fantasy au, faerie!cas, demon!dean, moc!dean, minor character deaths, major character injury, angst with a happy-ish ending, smut, bondage, orgasm denial, dom/sub dynamics, top!cas, bottom!dean Summary: When the time comes for The Seelie Court to confront the Dark Realm about their attempted conquests of surrounding kingdoms, Castiel asks that Dean accompany him on a diplomatic trip to The Royal City in the center of the Dark Realm. Dean is unable to refuse his lover, especially because he knows the danger the King will be in. But Dean has a dangerous secret that could cost him both his love and his life. Will their relationship survive the discovery of a sinister plot for the Fomóraigh to take over the Otherworld?

#destiel trope collection 2020 #destiel trope collection #Destiel #established relationship #day 11

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thebibliomancer · 3 years

Text

Essential Avengers: Avengers #238: Unlimited Vision

December, 1983

He is Oz, the great and terrible. And he can see ALL.

So what’s going on here? Has Vision been in a tube-coma so long that they just decided to replace him with a giant hologram?

Dunno, but he sure is filling the room with too much pink energy and kirby crackle.

So, there’s been a bit leading up to this.

In Avengers #233, Vision and Scarlet Witch were called in as reservists to help the team with an invisible dome Annihilus was using to destroy the universe, as ya don’t do. When Vision intangibled into the dome, he immediately fell onto his face inert. After the crisis, Reed Richards/Mr. Fantastic examined the synthezoid and said that nothing was actually seriously wrong and that Vision would be able to repair himself.

Despite that, he’s been inert in a tube since #234, moved into the Avengers Mansion so they could keep an eye on him. Maybe Reed doesn’t know shit because it’s been several issues!

The Avengers have been taking shifts watching Vision and the least suited to sitting still and watching an inert synthezoid is on duty as this issue opens.

“But being an Avenger, he’s discovered, doesn’t mean saving the universe every waking moment. Sometimes, it requires a lot of sitting... and watching... and waiting!”

Hahahahahah!

I might sympathize more if it weren’t for his full page rant.

Like this goes beyond bored and into ‘UGH I have to do something not immediately entertaining??’

Wait, I’m like that sometimes...

Starfox: “I just don’t understand! My father’s computer assured me that the Earth would be teeming with excitement and adventure -- and from previous experience, I knew that the Avengers invariably became involved in such adventures. But I haven’t seen a bit of action since we saved Project Pegasus from total destruction. That was more than a day ago! Now with Thor off on a mission in space... Captain America away on a personal mission... and the lovely ladies of the Avengers taking the afternoon off, naturally it’s the ‘trainee’ who gets stuck with keeping watch over the Vision!”

“By Chronos, is there no justice?! Where are the thrills, the challenges?!? Am I never to know satisfaction? I didn’t come all the way to Earth just to stand watch over some infernal android in a life-support-tube!”

“Ah, forgive me, friend Vision. I should not make you the object of my resentment. You were, after all, injured to end the threat of Annihilus. It’s just that sitting around and playing nursemaid to a comatose synthetic man is hardly my idea of fun!”

Vision: “I sympathize... but it has not been enjoyable for me either.”

HAH!

Imagine complaining so hard about having to go a day without an adventure that you wake a robot from a robot coma.

Over in a scene shift, there’s Monica “Captain Marvel” Rambeau trying out a boat in the Gulf of Mexico. The salesman is trying to close the deal but Monica finds herself distracted by the events of the previous issue.

Even though she saved the day from lava men and then stopped a nuclear meltdown, she still feels crappy that Moonstone and Blackout escaped AND that Blackout was able to capture her.

When the salesman finally gets her attention again she says she needs a bigger boat!

I’m still wondering what her new career is going to be! She’s taken out a small business loan and looking into buying a boat.

Possibly shark hunting?

Good on her for building a life away from avenging. You never know when you have to retire from superheroing and take up a civilian career.

Back at the Vision tube, Starfox sets up a voice amplifier on Vision’s tube so Vision can talk more easily.

It transpires that he didn’t just wake up in time to deliver the ultimate dunk on Starfox, he’s been conscious for several days. He’s been able to hear and see what’s been going on around him but he hasn’t been able to move or talk.

Starfox apologizes for his rant but Vision doesn’t actually mind.

Vision: “No offense taken. I found it entertaining in a way... I hadn’t heard such vitriol since the time the Beast found himself on monitor duty during the opening night of a Roger Corman film festival. As a matter of fact, I’ve enjoyed all of the one-way conversations that have gone on about me. Captain America’s war stories were most informative -- and the She-Hulk’s stories were quite amusing... If a bit tawdry!”

Amazing.

I actually like that the Avengers have been talking to Vision like a person in a meat coma and not ignoring him like a dysfunctioning fridge of a Jocasta.

He’s their buddy and they kept talking to him in hopes that somewhere he heard them. And he did!

Even all the dirty jokes!

Vision tells Starfox that he’s mostly confused about all the paralysis and that his repair systems haven’t restored his movement. He wishes that he could more fully analyze his condition.

Which gives Starfox a wonderful idea! A wonderful, terrible idea!

He calls up Jarvis on the video-intercom and asks what the range of the Avengers communication system is. Like. In terms of... interplanetary?

Jarvis: “All equipment is state-of-the-art, sir. I dare say we could make contact with any corner of the Solar System!”

I know that the Avengers deal with a lot of space nonsense so it makes sense that they’d need that range. Starcore-One and all.

Anyway, Starfox uses a tight beam signal to communicate allll the way to the master computer ISAAC on Titan.

Meanwhile, the three whole women on the Avengers (She-Hulk, Wasp, and Scarlet Witch) are on a mission together. A friend mission. A friend mission of find She-Hulk an apartment mission because that’s been a subplot for a while and She-Hulk deserves nice things.

Huh! If you ever wondered what the relative heights of some Avengers were here we are.

She-Hulk is most tall. Scarlet Witch is pretty tall. And Wasp is a short.

Comics being comics and not big on consistency, I’m sure this is contradicted a dozen different places. But its fun.

Of course, in the innocent 80s (??) people just weren’t used to seeing tall green woman a-walking down the street and gawk.

But it doesn’t bother She-Hulk like it used to.

She-Hulk: “I must be getting used to this town, Waspie! The gawkers don’t faze me in the least anymore. In fact, I’m starting to have fun, staring back!”

Wasp: “Uh-huh! I’ve noticed you practicing on our dreamy new trainee! Starfox is really something, isn’t he, She-Hulk?”

She-Hulk: “You know it!”

Scarlet Witch: Starfox does have a certain something in the way he carries himself...

She-Hulk: “I’ll bet that Starfox even does something for an old married lady like the witch!”

Scarlet Witch: “Wh-what?! Why, that’s ridiculous! I mean... that is... the Vision is the only man in my life!”

She-Hulk: “Aw, come on, Wanda! You’re married, not dead! ‘Fess up, don’t you like the way Starfox just sort of... stands around?”

Scarlet Witch: “Well, if you put it that way -- !”

Just some gals being friends and talking about how hot their new co-worker is.

Just objectifying a foxy guy... from space.

I like She-Hulk someone immediately sensing Wanda thinking about how hot Starfox is. She has a sixth sense for it.

And I fear because Janet “Aesthetic Appreciation for Every Man” Van Dyne now has a comrade in arms in Jennifer “What are inhibitions?” Walters.

The three arrive at the apartment building Jan found for Jen (not confusing at all). The rental agent isn’t around but Jan basically does whatever she wants and the door is open so they go in to look around.

And its a good apartment! Its got a terrace, high ceilings, deep carpeting! Its perfect for She-Hulk! The long subplot is finally at a resolution!

Alas.

The rental agent comes in and when he learns that its Jen who wants to rent the place. Really wants to rent the place. “You can draw up a lease -- I don’t care how much the rent is!” wants to rent the place. He has one (1) concern.

Rental agent: “My lord! You... you’re green!”

She-Hulk: “Yeah, and you’re a pasty shade of pink! So what?”

Rental agent: “I... I can’t rent to you! What would the other tenants say?”

Oo buddy that’s illegal under the Fair Housing Act. Especially if you just come out and say it. Granted, I don’t think it foresaw this exact scenario so let me rephrase. Oo buddy she is not shy about hurting people who annoy her.

She-Hulk: “Outta my way, Jan! I want to turn Mr. Pink black-and-blue!”

Wasp: “Forget it, Jennie! We’ll find a better place!”

But since Wanda doesn’t have any patience with bigotry, she uses her magic-science mutant magic to set off the fire sprinklers above Rental Agent.

I guess he’s allll washed up.

Back over in New Orleans, Monica returns to her apartment still hung up on Blackout and Moonstone getting away.

I guess it is her first failure as a superhero? It’s a very minor one but if you were on a winning streak before, it could knock you for a loop. Monica seems like the sort of person who holds herself to very high standards.

She considers calling the Avengers on her bracelet radio to see if there’s any leads on the two loose ends but then realizes that she can travel at the speed of light. She may as well just pop into the mansion!

Monica has cool powers.

But when she arrives inside the mansion, she sees a bunch of electronic components just floating through the mansion.

Soooo she follows them. Gotta see what’s going on.

She finds Starfox in the medical room constructing some apparatus around Vision’s tube.

Starfox explains that stuff be floating because ISAAC is using an attractor beam to assemble an apparatus. ISAAC being the Titan computer Integral Synaptic Anti-Anionic Computer.

It sure is cool that some Eternals that went to live on Titan before modern English existed still managed to name their computer ISAAC.

And its cool that ISAAC can apparently influence things like this halfway across the solar system.

Anyway, ISAAC is linked up with the main computers of Avengers’ Mansion to build a more specialized medical computer to get a better idea of what’s going on with Vision.

Vision: “It sounds complicated, Captain, but the principles involved are actually quite simple.”

Captain Marvel: “Vision? You spoke!”

Vision: “That seems to surprise everyone... pleasantly, I hope.”

He explains that if everything goes well with this apparatus, he hopes to be ambulatory again before tomorrow. And also, because he’s a class act, thanks Monica for the stories of New Orleans she shared when she was on Vision duty.

In a funny continuity nod, Vision notes that he and Wanda went to New Orleans once (in issue #152) but didn’t have time to sight-see. Because there was a lot of voodoo nonsense going on.

The Avengers tend to go all over the world but they also tend to be involved in nonsense and can’t enjoy it.

Monica isn’t sure whether they should go ahead with this without consulting the other Avengers but Starfox shrugs that it’s Vision’s decision.

Vision: “In that case, I choose to begin analysis immediately!”

In fairness, I’m sure he’s fed up with lying in a tube staring at the ceiling. Bring on the untested science! My god, just anything novel!

Starfox activates the devices, showing Vision’s body with unearthly energies whiiich makes him twitch and spasm and then a tiny Vision head pops out of his forehead gem.

Mazel tov?

I don’t think that was the intended outcome.

Outside, She-Hulk, Scarlet Wanda, and Wasp are returning from Apartment Quest.

Wanda mentions that she didn’t mean to be away from Vision this long.

Wasp: “Don’t worry, Wanda. I’m sure nothing’s gone wrong!”

Giant disembodied Vision head: “WRONG? ON THE CONTRARY, EVERYTHING’S GONE JUST FINE!”

Oh my god, he got Oz’d.

Imagine coming home to that! You go on an errand with a friend to take your mind off your coma robot husband and you come back and he’s a giant holographic head!

The three Avengers rush inside and find a more reasonably sized Vision hologram and Starfox protesting that this wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

Yeah, I suspected.

But Vision is thrilled with this turn of events!

Vision: “Evidently, the internal dysfunction in my body caused a data feedback-loop which overloaded my brain with ISAAC’s energy-information matrix. Simply put -- I have become as one with ISAAC and our own computer systems! The ability to project this holographic construct is a fortuitous side-effect!”

Huuuuuuuuuh!

Vision merged with some computers. This is fine. Is this fine? Is Vision fine? Starfox wants to know and so do I.

Vision: “ALL RIGHT?!? I’ve never been able to think more clearly. Even with my body temporarily out of order, I can be of great help to the Avengers! I can out-think, out-deduce any computer system in the world! All the information in our files is mine -- instantly! For instance -- I see there’s some unfinished business pending! Two opponents escaped us recently! Those two must be found!”

Well, Monica will be happy with that at least.

Geez, Vision is kind of... manic? Maybe its just the contrast to how dour he tend to be. But he definitely seems keyed up. Like he’s running high on having all these computers running through his brain.

Is this robot drugs?

Wait, no, vibranium is robot drugs. Is this other robot drugs? Connect to a super-computer and scream I’M THINKING SO FAST! ?

MEANWHILE, those very two miscreants!

In a hideout in the Bronx, Blackout is ranting paranoid about how they’re out to get him and are going to merge him with the light spectrum and destroy his humanity. Which is fairly unique paranoid ranting.

Of course, while he’s focused on glaring out the window, he’s not paying attention to Moonstone who prepares a drugged cup of coffee for him.

Blackout: “You’re the only one, Moonstone... the only one who hasn’t betrayed me!”

Moonstone: “That’s right! You can trust me! Now, drink it all down!”

Womp womp.

The drug makes Blackout trance out and Moonstone uses this to start interrogating him about his origin. And... maybe trying to help him? She did start off as a therapist. And even as a villain, she sometimes does therapy.

For some damn reason, Hank “Good Ideas” Pym got her to look over Avengers Academy kids down the line and offer her thoughts on them.

Anyway. Moonstone asks how he got this way:

Blackout: “Well... I ‘spose it all started when Dr. Croit set me up so I’d have to be his guinea pig. He... charged up my body with the power of a black star! That’s why I... *yawn* ... had to punish him!”

Moonstone: “Shh! I want you to listen closely... there are no black-star energies... There’s no conspiracy against you! Let your mind drift back! I want you to tell me what really happened!”

So what really happened is here’s how a Mark Daniels became a man with a lightning bolt mask. He was a lab assistant to Dr. Croit.

Blackout: “He always wanted to be everyone’s big daddy!”

Um. Okayyy?

Anyway, Mark Daniels was helping Croit build an experimental device for tapping energy from other dimensions. And, at least according to Blackout, Dr. Croit liked Mark Daniels because he was a dummy who didn’t understand the experiment at all.

Then one day, while he longingly caressed it, the device blew up in Mark Daniels’ face, somehow making his body a control surface for tapping into another universe’s “dark force.”

Dr. Croit wanted to cure Mark Daniels who took exception to the idea of having his newfound power taken away. So he killed Dr. Croit and the other assistants.

But the power was running out of control (shouldn’t have killed the doctor, ya dingus) and before Blackout could use the stabilizer to save himself, he got stuck... somewhere. Its a bit fuzzy to him until he popped out in Project Pegasus.

Moonstone believes that his mind couldn’t cope with what happened to him so he made up the black star nonsense to be An Explanation.

Moonstone: Imagine... all of that power at the command of a raving paranoid! Yes, but he’s a paranoid who trusts me! Now that I have a handle on his power, I should be able to manipulate him into doing just about anything I wish! Why, with the dimensional-warping potential of a power like his, we could be unstoppable!

“Blackout, we have a very bright future ahead of us!”

And then Vision pops in from nowhere and gives Moonstone a startle.

She fires some of her hand pew pew at him but he’s a hologram and just sasses back.

Moonstone runs to wake up Blackout while Vision can’t help but show off how smart he is now that his computer brain is overclocked.

Vision: “It was, of course, clever of you to seek refuge in a hideaway of your former ally, Egghead! Unfortunately, with all the cross-referenced data instantly at my disposal, tracing you here was child’s play!”

Blackout wakes up and Moonstone basically points at Vision and tells him ‘get ‘im!’ and Blackout gets ‘im.

He uses the same imprisoning black sphere move on Vision as he did on Captain Marvel.

And it probably would have worked. If Vision was really here. He’s just a hologram. And, sure, the light of the hologram would probably be trapped in the sphere too. It trapped Captain Marvel when she was light. But Vision is being projected from elsewhere so he can just turn the projection off and then turn it on slightly to the left.

Vision: “I’m sorry, but that won’t work either! You see -- I’m not really here at all! But my friends are!”

Oh, Vision, you sassmaster.

Moonstone’s ‘knows when to fold them’ kind of lapsed when she was attacking Vision instead of remembering ‘hey doesn’t that guy hang with the Avengers?’ but a whole bunch of Avengers busting in reminds her.

She blasts the floor beneath her and Blackout to try to escape and has Blackout seal the hole behind them to buy time.

But Scarlet Witch is still a great counter to... maybe anyone? But especially Blackout.

She waves her hands at the black barrier and it turns into goo and drips all over Blackout and Moonstone, ensnaring them before they can even try to run.

The Avengers storm after the two villains.

Trapped, Moonstone tells Blackout its up to him to stop the Avengers!

Moonstone: “Concentrate on your power! It’s greater than you realize! If you try, you can control it completely... make it do anything! Concentrate... make this 'dark force’ release us! Yes... that’s it! You’re doing it! But you can do more than just reform the darkness into a protective sheath! You can turn it back on the Avengers... you can make them merge with the darkness! And then we can get out of here!”

Vision warns the Avengers that the dark-force is a manifestation of another universe but She-Hulk is skeptical so goes to grab Blackout out of the black goo but her arm goes right through him.

And not in the gory way that you’d see these days.

Blackout and Moonstone are pretty perplexed too.

Apparently, he done goofed and merged him and Moonstone with the darkness and the two get sucked into a singularity and disappear.

Vision: “This may be a first... Our enemies have actually imprisoned themselves!”

Geez, Vision, these assholes might be dead.

-google- Huh. Nope. They’ll be back to menace.... Dazzler? Huh. It be like that sometimes.

Sidenote: I do like that Captain Monica Marvel, as the newest to this superhero life, is the one that most visibly shows shock and consternation at two villains being sucked into an unknown fate.

It’s a nice touch.

Even though the villains maybe got away? Or got sent to the next dimension? She-Hulk congratulates Vision on finding them. And then notes, seconded by Wanda, that Vision is becoming more of a vision.

Scarlet Witch: “Darling? Your holographic projection is starting to fade!”

Vision: “So it is! I seem to be having some difficulty maintaining the transmission over the distance! Perhaps I’ve overextended myself a bit.”

He decides to switch off the projection to run a systems check.

Later, back at the mansion, the Giant Floating Head of Vision reassures everyone.

Vision: “I was just explaining to Captain Marvel that there’s nothing to worry about! As I’d already guessed, the strain of the long-distance transmission was a bit taxing. A few days of rest, and I’ll be able to transmit myself almost anywhere. Of course, by then, I hope to be physically mobile, as well.”

Scarlet Witch: “Vision, you must be more careful! It’s not safe for you to consider using this power again... not until you’re fully healed!”

Vision: “You mean ‘repaired,’ Wanda. But, yes, a certain amount of caution is required. I must adjust to this extra power in stages. Once I’ve mastered it, I’ll never be so helpless again. I’ll be able to do anything... anything!”

Well.

That’s a massive red flag.

Being locked in a tube has not done wonders for Vision’s emotional state that he always pretends he doesn’t have.

(Side note again: I like that Wasp’s costume has an open back, for her wings. It’s another nice touch.)

Starfox asks if Vision has ever had ego problems but Wasp says he’s never had a swelled head like this.

Nah, not exactly. But can you imagine!

But yeah, no, she says he’s never showed ego like this before.

Its actually such a massive red flag that everyone present seems to pick up on it.

But there’s no time to address that because they get an emergency call from Tigra.

Ah, Tigra! You were fun the short amount of time you were here. What wacky hijinxes do you have going on now?

Tigra: “I’m at St. Anthony’s Hospital in San Francisco, Jan. No, I’m fine -- but a friend of mine is literally at death’s door. She may not make it if we don’t get some help fast... and I mean big help! It’s hard to explain over the phone, but... do you believe in ghosts?”

!!!!

Why, Tigra! I didn’t know you and Spider-Woman were friends!

So next time.... uh. We won’t be addressing this right away. The next Avengers’ issue is an infamous offering from Assistant Editor’s Month and before we can even get to that, we need to look into what Hawkeye has been up to because it’s kinda relevant. Or will be relevant soon. When Marvel decides to give this liveblog a headache by splitting the party.

Oh yes, West Coast Avengers looms in the near future. As does Secret Wars. As does David Letterman!

Good grief!

Follow @essential-avengers because I’m going to try to cover all these things. That’s a good reason to follow, probably. Also, like and reblog if you like to reblog.

#avengers #Moonstone #Blackout #the Vision #Scarlet Witch #She Hulk #Starfox #the Wasp #Captain Marvel #Monica Rambeau #Essential Avengers #essential marvel liveblogging #Starfox has a big influence for a guy who is so Starfox #Vision the Great and Powerful #the continuing mishaps of Apartment Quest '83 #Moonstone commits an error

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