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iwantthedean · 5 years

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A New Fall

Graphic courtesy of @atc74.

Part Three: Granny Smith. Tart and crisp.

Summary: Jensen spends more time around town. Y/N makes an effort to keep the farm in the family name. Pairing: None … yet. Word Count: 2198 Warnings: Set post-Season 15, which I know makes a lot of people sad to think about. Square Filled: This entire series will fill my proposal square for BTZ Bingo.

A/N: Thank you for the continued support! I am loving writing this series :)

Masterlist

You spent the weekend more or less not speaking to anyone, just baking away your frustration. Jensen’s deceit hung heavy in your mind and sent you through a maze of emotions: sadness, disappointment, anger. Sad because someone was actually going to make an offer on the farm -- one you probably wouldn’t be able to match, let alone beat. Disappointment because, at your age, you thought you were past being played by guys. Finally, anger because the man had swooped in, handsome and charming, but turned out to be a complete fake.

By Monday morning, the anger part of all of that had more or less taken over. You slammed a coffee cup down from the cupboard in the teacher’s lounge. You poured your coffee, then slammed the pot back down onto the burner. Everything was getting slammed around, and you were mumbling under your breath about the jerk who had come to your farm only to steal it away from you.

“Jerk? More like an ass,” you grumbled, turning to leave as you sipped your coffee; you gasped when you saw your friend Taylor standing there, arms crossed over her chest and brow raised.

“Rough weekend, Y/N?” she asked.

You sighed and cleared your throat. “Yeah, a little. You getting coffee?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ve got to go set up for my morning lesson. Meet me in my classroom?”

“Deal.”

You made way for your classroom, and Taylor was only a few minutes behind. She took a seat at the horseshoe-shaped table you used to work with student groups, and you took a seat in your chair across from her while you stapled activity packets.

“I have to sell the farm, for starters.”

“What? You’re kidding!” Taylor exclaimed.

You nodded. “Yeah. The money’s just -- it’s not a good situation. Anyway, after our half-day, I was going to do some work around the place, and this handsome stranger pulls up. Tall, sandy brown hair, green eyes. A little older than me, probably. Anyway, he tells me he’s just visiting and wanted to check out the farm. So we went apple picking and went to the pumpkin patch. We had all these flirty moments and cute looks --” You paused to groan at your own stupidity. “-- and then I went inside to get him a bag for the apples he picked, and Mr. Kemp pulls up in the driveway because this ass was there to see the farm to potentially buy it!”

“And he didn’t tell you? What is that about?” Taylor frowned. “We could figure out where he’s staying, get into his room, and … I don’t know. Do something … horrible.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, T, I bet if I give you enough time, you could maybe finish that plan.”

“Shut up,” she said, laughing along with you. “Look, don’t let him get to you, okay? The more important thing, it seems to me, is how you’re going to keep the farm. Let’s focus on that. Have you talked to the bank?”

“Yes. Mr. Kemp helped me get all the paperwork I need, and I take it all to the bank tomorrow after school. I won’t get a decision right away, which means I’ll be anxious as all get out until they give me an answer.”

Taylor nodded. “What did your dad say?”

You licked your lips and sighed, stacking the finished packets in front of you. “I haven’t called him yet. I will when I have more concrete information.”

“Maybe he could help …” She trailed off when you shook your head before the sentence was even done. Noting the first bell was going to ring soon, she put a hand on your arm. “Just keep your chin up, okay? Everything’s going to work out. I know it.”

You gave her the ghost of a grateful smile. “Thanks, Taylor. Go ahead, get to class. I’ll talk to you at lunch.”

“I’ll try to have a plan to get back at Mr. Handsome by then,” she teased, winking at you as she left the classroom.

* * * * *

For the third day in a row, Jensen was visiting The Farmer’s Stand. Just as planned, he had stopped there after leaving the orchard and purchased a jar of applesauce. He went back the next day for apple butter and a package of cookies that hadn’t been on the shelf the day before, as well as a loaf of homemade bread. Today, he was here for another jar of applesauce.

There was only one on the shelf, so he snatched it up before anyone else could. He perused through the market, also selecting a loaf of pumpkin bread marked from Y/N’s farm. At the register, Ms. Kitty rung up his items with a kind smile.

“Are we going to be seeing you every day, Jensen?” she asked. He appreciated that she remembered his name, though he would venture a guess that she remembered just about everybody who came through the market.

He chuckled. “Keep selling all this yummy stuff and I probably will. You know, food at the hotel is pretty good, but is there anywhere else you’d recommend in town?”

She nodded earnestly. “Midge’s Cafe, over on Ninth. Today’s beef stew day, actually -- comes with mashed potatoes and a freshly-baked roll. Their pie is great too, but I think you’ve got plenty of sweets here.”

“That I do,” Jensen agreed. “How much do I owe you?”

Ms. Kitty gave him a total. “Have you visited the apple orchard yet?”

Why did that question feel like a trick? “I have, yes. Met Y/N while I was there.”

The older woman sighed. “Such a shame she’s got to sell the place. This town was two-bit until their family came in and planted the orchard. They were plenty well off, but they started the pumpkin patch so the kids could have somewhere in town to go on field trips -- not because they had any need.”

Jensen took the bag of things he had purchased from her. “She said she’s the fourth generation to own the place.”

“She wasn’t lying. I’m sure you would have guessed, but I went to school with her grandfather, and my kids went to school with her father. Let me tell you -- that whole family is as sweet as Y/N. Every single one of them. Honest, hard-working, kind. When my son took over this place after my husband passed away, he wanted to stop doing business with them, for whatever reason.” She waved her hand, not worried at all about the particulars of that situation, it seemed. “Anyway, I wouldn’t allow it. You just don’t do that to good people, and Stephen doesn’t understand that. Whoever takes over the place, we’ll see if they want to continue to do business with us, I suppose.”

“They’d be crazy not to,” Jensen offered. “Thanks for everything, Ms. Kitty. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She smiled and waved goodbye. Jensen enjoyed visiting with her, but today, he was happy to get out of there. Hearing about Y/N’s family and how much they meant to the town only made him feel worse about potentially buying the place. Nevermind that he couldn’t get the glare Y/N had given him out of his mind -- a look he well-deserved.

As he drove over to the diner, he passed the elementary school. He smiled a little as he watched the kids play while he waited at the red light. This town was idyllic, a simple respite from the hustle and bustle of the last fifteen years of his life. His smile faded some when he spotted Y/N supervising the playground. She was zipping up the jacket of a little boy who was grinning wide while she talked to him. Once his jacket was zipped, the little boy hugged her leg before running off to join his friends again.

The driver behind him honked his horn; Jensen snapped his attention back to traffic. The light was green, so he proceeded through the intersection toward the cafe.

* * * * *

You honestly weren’t expecting an answer from the bank until the following week, so when you saw a missed call from them after school ended on Thursday, you heart immediately began to race. The message from the bank manager was asking you to come in and see her, so you went straight there once the parking lot cleared out.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” she smiled, motioning to the chair across from her. Please, have a seat.”

Sitting. That was good, right? That meant you’d be there for a while, potentially. Going over loan documents and signing papers, maybe? Oh for Heaven’s sake, Y/N. Just sit down.

“I’ve gone over all of the documents you brought over, and I spoke with Bartholomew Kemp -- he spoke very highly on your behalf.”

“He’s a very good friend to our family.”

She set her elbows on the desk. “Unfortunately, Y/N, you simply don’t have the financial background we like to see in our loan candidates. I even tried for a smaller amount, the minimum of what you would need to keep the farm for a while longer, buy you some time -- but it was a no-go.”

You forced yourself not to cry in the bank office. “But … I don’t understand. We’ve been banking with you all for years. My first auto loan was through this bank. My father kept my college fund here. My grandfather --”

The bank manager held up a hand. “Let me stop you there. Your family has history in this town, I’m well aware. And, if this was fifty or sixty years ago, maybe that would hold. It just doesn’t work like that anymore.”

“I understand,” you replied quietly. “Thank you, for the update. I’ll -- okay. Thank you.”

You took a deep breath, put your jacket back on, and shouldered your bag. In the car, you told yourself it was okay to cry, but you couldn’t even force the tears. You were just … numb. If you couldn’t get a bank loan, you didn’t know what else you would do, or could do.

“Guess it’s time to call Dad,” you sighed. As soon as you got home, you dialed the number and settled on the front porch swing to break the news to him.

* * * * *

Jensen sighed and hung up the phone. Bartholomew Kemp had just called to let him know that the owner of the farm was taking offers, and if he would like to place one, he just needed to email it over to Bartholomew. He wasn’t the only one making an offer, so if he was going to throw his hat in the ring, he needed to do it soon.

His lawyer sent over the written offer; Jensen printed it in the hotel’s business center, and walked it into Bartholomew’s office himself.

“I know you said to email it, but I wasn’t doing much anyway,” Jensen explained, letting go of a nervous chuckle. “So, is -- is Y/N pretty upset?”

Bartholomew looked up, brow raised. “Uh, yes, I suppose she is. Rightfully so.”

Jensen nodded and thanked the other man for his time. He left the office and sat in the car for several minutes, contemplating his next move.

The front office staff at the elementary school was kind enough to tell him how to find Y/N’s classroom, and informed him she was on her lunch break. No doubt the modest bouquet of Autumn flowers piqued the secretary’s interest, but he just made his way out of the office and down the hallway.

She was sitting at a table in the room with another teacher, and her eyes grew wide when she spotted him just inside the doorway of her classroom.

“Um, hi. What are you doing here?” The greeting and phrase fell out of her mouth in a panic as she stood. “Oh, um, this is Taylor. She teaches here, too. And she’s my friend. Taylor, this is Jensen Ackles. He -- yeah. This is Jensen.”

“Nice to meet you,” Taylor greeted, giving him the kind of tight smile that told him Taylor knew about his omission of the truth when he first met Y/N.

He cleared this throat. “This all seemed like a better idea in my head, honestly, but since I’m here … um, I am trying to learn from my mistakes and I thought I would come here, offer you the flowers to apologize for not telling you the entire truth when we first met and also to … let you know that I made an offer to Mr. Kemp today.”

Her surprised expression transformed to the anger he had expected. She took the flowers from him and set them on the table. “Well, thanks for the head’s up, I guess.”

“Yeah, I thought you should probably know, in case I’m around the farm again, so it doesn’t take you by surprise.”

“Great.”

Y/N sat back down and resumed her lunch. Taylor kept her back to Jensen. The silence was uncomfortable. He stumbled around his words for a few more tries, then exited the room. He sarcastically and silently congratulated himself for such a smooth interaction.

* * * * * * * * * *

The Whole Shebang: @illisea @ashleymalfoy @busybee612 @mrswhozeewhatsis @sherlock44 @ravenesque @feelmyroarrrr @atc74 @theplaidshirtmadness @blacktithe7 @moonlessnight14 @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian @smoothdogsgirl @melbrandes @xtina2191 @spnbaby-67 @emoryhemsworth @goldenolaf25 @gabriels-trix @applesugar88 @rainflowermoon @deansgirl215 @thisismysecrethappyplace @calaofnoldor @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @sleepylunarwolf @chances-and-miracles

Jack Attack: @tiffanycaruso @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk

Two for the Money: @jayankles @akshi8278 @jensensjaredsandmishaslover @supernatural-jackles @adoptdontshoppets

A New Fall: @marilynnlew @backseat-of-deans-67chevy @traceyaudette @ellen-reincarnated1967 @maddiepants @littlewhiterose @tftumblin @monkeymcpoopoo @pinknerdpanda @thatgirl1456 @deangirl7695 @foxyjwls007 @woodworthti666

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cards-onthetable · 5 years

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the strangest autumn

Note: This fluffy little Joble oneshot is meant to be read in the context of @ontherockswithsalt‘s penthouse universe. the names Cavatappi (Cav) and Tripoline (Trip) are hypothetical pasta placeholders in this hypothetical future scenario in which everything is hypothetical and nothing is real okay? Okay.

***

“Ughhh, when are we gonna be there?”

In the passenger seat, Noble suppresses a laugh at our five-year-old’s dramatic groan, leaving me to glance at Cav’s eyes in the rear view mirror and answer him. “We were in the car a lot longer yesterday and you didn’t complain once.”

“You said this was gonna be short!” He counters.

“It is! We’re like… ten minutes away.”

“Ten minutes is looooong!”

“Look out the window and tell us when you see the pumpkin signs,” Noble suggests. “That means we’re really close.”

“This thing better be worth the hype,” I mutter, low so the boys can't hear.

“It’ll be great once we actually—“

A loud wail from our three-year-old’s car seat cuts him off. “Hey, leave your brother alone,” I warn.

“Every trip we take, you’re all negative about it until we get there and you have a great time,” Noble tells me. “Just relax and have fun, okay?”

“Not every trip we take--”

“Yeah, pretty much. You’re always too worried about having everything be perfect. But it doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be us.” His arm nudges mine on the center console. “The boys will have fun, we’ll have fun, we’ll be exhausted by the time we get home, it’s all part of the experience.”

“Well the experience of everything changing at the last minute is not my favorite.”

“Oh so you’d rather hang out with Ben and Scott than be alone with your own husband—“ he teases.

The mention of our friends catches Cav’s attention and he excitedly pipes up, “Is Cleo gonna be there?”

“Nice work,” I tell Noble as he explains again, “No buddy, remember? Cleo is sick so she had to stay home.”

I think that’s what has me on edge this weekend. Scott’s the one who did the heavy lifting as far as planning this little weekend getaway. He and Ben brought their daughter Cleo to this fall festival last year, back when Noble and I were just starting the process to become foster parents, and I’m pretty sure this damn trip was like, their number one priority the second Cav and Trip moved in with Noble and me. Seriously, Scott booked the Airbnb back in March.

So I couldn’t help but feel a little anxious about having to suddenly do all my own research when Scott and Ben bowed out because of Cleo’s strep throat. I was all ready to postpone until next weekend, or maybe cancel altogether. But they, and Noble, insisted we stick to our plans. They’re even still covering their half of the cabin. So I didn’t have much choice.

“I see the pumpkin sign!” Cav shouts a few minutes later, and sure enough a giant, bright orange wooden pumpkin alerts us that the Parker Farm Fall Festival is one mile ahead.

“Are you excited?” I ask, an appropriate amount of conjured enthusiasm in my voice.

Both boys shout proof back at me.

“Trip, are you gonna pick out a pumpkin?” Cav says. “Your very own pumpkin?”

“I want a pumpkin!” Trip replies.

“Well guess what, Papa said we both get to pick out a pumpkin!”

Cav’s habit of speaking to his little brother like that—like Trip is still a little baby who doesn’t understand anything that’s going on, like it’s Cav’s job to explain it—usually gets on my nerves but I manage to ignore it as I roll past bored teenage attendants who direct me to the next open spot in the field full of parked cars.

“We’re here!” Noble announces. “Be careful boys, we’re in a parking lot…”

Stepping out into the crisp morning air, a deep cleansing breath helps to ease that lingering tension in my gut. In my frantic, last minute research of this fall festival, I read about all the events and activities to make a mental list of everything I thought we’d all enjoy. But I know Noble’s right, I need to relax and let the day unfold organically.

It’s not about checking boxes and rushing from place to place to cover every activity that caught my eye. Hell, Cav and Trip would probably be thrilled to spend the entire damn day on the moonbounces. It’ll be a fun, memorable weekend even if we don’t make it to every single attraction.

“Is there snacks here? Can we get popcorn?” Cav chatters across the parking lot. “Can we get a pumpkin that weighs a million pounds? Are we gonna see the inside? The slimy stuff…?”

“Snacks, yes. Popcorn, we’ll see. Million pound pumpkin, only if Papa carries it to the car,” I reply.

“Nuh-uh,” Noble tells him. “I’m the brains of this operation. Daddy’s the brawn.”

“What’s brawn?”

“Brawn means big, strong muscles.”

“I have big strong muscles!” Cav brings his fists up in a flex, nearly whacking the woman in front of us in line. “I’m the brawn.”

“Hey, son, watch out for other people,” Noble warns.

“Are you going to carry a million pound pumpkin to the car?” I ask Cav.

“I carry the pumpkin!” Trip insists.

“You’ll both get to carry a pumpkin.”

“Next in line?”

Noble and I usher the boys to the painted plywood booth. “Two adults and two kids,” Noble says.

“He’s three, is he free?” I wonder, swinging Trip up onto my hip.

“Sorry, just two and under. Do you want one-day admission or weekend passes? That includes the hot air balloon launch tomorrow.”

“We’ll do the whole weekend.”

While Noble pays, I manage to get green paper wristbands onto both boys and myself. Then we emerge from the gateway into the wide, dead grass expanse of the pumpkin patch.

“Whoa it’s a—!”

Cav is already barreling forward as I turn to Noble, his face a reflection of my own caught somewhere between amusement and shock. “Did he just—?”

“What did you say, Cav?” I call.

“It’s a bitch! Dad! Take a picture!”

“It’s a witch,” I insist. “A witch is… a magical woman. Bitch is not a nice word. We don’t ever say that, okay?”

I’m sure he’s not listening to me as he poses next to the wooden board painted with a cartoon witch, cat, and frog with open ovals where their faces should be. “No buddy, you have to go behind it and put your face in the hole…” I try to explain.

“Cav, Cav. Come here.” Noble tugs him by the arm and they disappear around the back of the photo prop with Trip. A second later their heads appear in the face holes and I snap a couple of quick pictures.

“I wanna see!” Trip shouts, while behind him Cav takes off in some other direction. Noble catches my eye with a happy, goofball smirk before chasing after him and I can’t help the little laugh that escapes me.

The kids’ enthusiasm is contagious and Noble and I just follow their lead. Within the first hour we hit up a moonbounce, climb on a display tractor and a huge pile of hay bales, take a detour to the line of port-o-potties, and convince the boys to ride down the giant homemade hill slides on our laps. And they don’t let us pass any of those painted photo-op boards without stopping for more pictures.

It’s been hard, parenting Cav and Trip, in ways we didn’t quite expect. Adding two preschoolers to our family certainly took some adjustment but we were pretty well prepared for those challenges, at least as much as first-time parents can be. The part that nobody warned us about was the inevitable drama of foster care — the constant scrutiny, the arbitrary demands, the frustration of sharing kids who feel like ours with another parent whose questionable decisions drag them, and us, down all kinds of unpredictable roads.

But here, away from the relentless bustle of the city, all that feels far away — almost like a whole different life. Here it’s just us, a normal family having normal fun, nobody looking over our shoulders. Standing next to my husband, who looks all casual and innocent in jeans and a thick, dark orange cardigan like he doesn’t know what he does to me. Watching our kids squeal in delight, free and uncontained and totally fascinated by the open space and the fresh air and the pit filled with dried corn kernels that will surely find their way back to our house like a thousand unwanted souvenirs.

No obligations, no real agenda — a strange feeling, entirely unfamiliar. Just this warm, overwhelming affection blooming in my chest against the chilly air as our younger son clambers back to us from across the corn kernel sandbox.

“Daddy! I wanna ride the train!” Trip announces, pointing at the tractor dragging a chain of little orange cars behind it.

I agree easily. “Alright, let’s go ride the train. Cav!”

“No, not the train!” Cav whines. “I want to do the big one with the big tractor where there’s ghosts!”

“We’ll do that too, the big hayride. After this, though, come on.”

Noble turns to me a moment later, a knowing grin on his face as the boys rumble away on the train. “Having fun yet?”

“I suppose,” I offer my easy answer as I try for another picture of the train.

His teasing elbow digs into my side. “Give me a break, you love this shit.”

“This? Having fun with them? Sure. But the port-o-potty situation here...”

He cracks up, throwing his head back with that whole-body laugh of his that never fails to charm me. “Okay, god, I’ll handle the next bathroom break. But come on. This is amazing.”

“It is,” I acquiesce with a chuckle. “Oh, but look. We’ve got to make them keep their heads up in those picture boards. Every single one, they’re looking down at themselves.”

Flipping through my phone, he sees what I’m talking about — all these pictures of the tops of the boys’ heads sticking through face holes as they look down at their painted corn cob or scarecrow or superhero bodies.

“It’s a difficult concept, clearly,” Noble laughs. “And hey, if my choices are looking up at you or looking down at my off-brand Superman six-pack, I’d probably choose the six-pack too.”

“I don’t need anyone to paint me fake abs. I’ve got the real thing.” I smack my hand against my stomach for emphasis, a quiet thump over my zipped hoodie. “Which you could too if you cut down on the pancakes and bacon—”

“Hey, okay, some ass-flavored green smoothie might be good enough for you in the morning but I’m not sending my kids to school without a real breakfast.”

“Yes, right, you’re father of the year,” I tease. “With the dad-bod to go with it.”

“Hey!” He drops his shoulder and checks me sideways, knocking me off balance a couple of steps until I grab his arm to steady myself. “Not even close. And like, I didn’t hear you complaining yesterday morning…”

“This is a family place, dude,” I warn.

“Where’d you even learn the term dad-bod?” He scoffs. “Like you’re all young and hip or something. Old man.”

I straighten my shoulders set my narrowed gaze on him. “Old man? That’s not what you were saying yesterday morning—”

“Look who’s back!” Noble interrupts loudly as the train rolls to a stop in front of us. “Did you have fun, guys?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Cav shrugs like he’s too cool for this toddler train business. But the smile he’s failing to hide gives him away.

“Papa, I want popcorn!” Trip shouts.

“Yeah, popcorn!”

“Okay, let’s go find popcorn,” Noble agrees. As soon as he sets Trip down he’s running off with his brother, leaving the two of us to scramble quickly behind.

Our pace doesn’t seem to slow down for the rest of the day as Noble and I chase the boys around the property — moonbounces again, the petting zoo, a near-meltdown from Trip at the face painting booth, the big hayride that Cav insists on even though the sound effects that come from the bedsheet ghosts in the trees along the route freak him out. But the boys are still going strong and it’s my and Noble’s own exhaustion that finally makes us herd them to the expansive pile of choose-your-own pumpkins so we can accomplish that task and head back to the cabin for the night.

“There’s a million pumpkins!” Cav exclaims, his brown eyes wide in the waning fall sunlight. “I’m gonna get the biggest one.”

“Better get to work then, dude,” Noble tells him. “Climb on up there, go ahead.”

While Cav navigates his way to the middle of the pumpkin pile, Trip doesn’t make it past the first pumpkins he sees. “I want this one!” He shouts every time he tries to pick up a nice average-sized squash before it proves too heavy for him and he moves on to another one. I trail behind him, paying no attention to Noble and Cav climbing away in search of the biggest pumpkin they can find — which turns out to be a mistake.

“Daddy! Dad, me and Papa found the best pumpkin! It’s huuuuge!”

It takes me a second to follow Cav’s voice and then I scoop up Trip around his middle, tearing him away from his latest pumpkin of choice to reach his brother in the middle of the pile.

Noble stands on one foot with the other propped on their prize like he’s conquered it. “Look, Daddy, Cav found the one.”

“Oh he did, huh?” I pass Trip to Noble and circle to evaluate the pumpkin from all angles. “That’s a really big pumpkin, bud. I don’t know if we can even get it out of this pile to buy it.”

“Yes we can!” Cav insists. “I’ll help—” he squats, braced against nearby pumpkins, and tries to grip but his little arms barely reach halfway around this beast. He grunts and carries on with genuine effort but after an amusing moment he gives up with a sigh. “I think you gotta get it, Dad.”

“Cav, buddy, I don’t think…”

“Please?” He whines. “I want this one!”

“He wants this one!” Noble echoes.

“Then you pick it up,” I mutter at him under my breath.

Noble bounces Trip in the air and catches him. “My hands are full. It’s all you, boss.”

My dumbass husband — of course he’s over here acting like we can totally bring this thing home, he can’t say no to these kids. And I’m left to bring everyone back down to earth.

“It’s just too big—”

“Just use your muscles, Dad!” Cav insists, and dammit, I find myself humoring him too.

“Oh, geez. Alright, I’ll try. Watch out.”

Crouching, I act like I’m finding a good grip. But this thing must weigh sixty or seventy pounds, and with other pumpkins piled around it there’s no easy way for me to heave it out of here.

“I’m sorry, Cav,” I announce. “You’re going to have to choose another one. Something normal sized.”

“No, this one!”

“We can’t—”

“Please? Papa said!”

“Papa said we’d ask Daddy, and Daddy says no,” Noble interjects.

God, except for Trip losing it a little at the feeling of a paintbrush on his face — a disaster that was easily averted — we’ve had such a good day. But now Cav is nearing tantrum territory and I’m not sure anything short of this impossible pumpkin will make him happy.

I reach over and take Trip from Noble. “This is your mess,” I tell him over Cav’s indignant whining. “Come on Trip, we’ll go find you a little pumpkin.”

By now Cav has plopped his butt on a nearby pumpkin, arms crossed, facing away from us so we can’t see his classic grumpy pout. I let Trip loose with a bunch of other toddlers at an outer pile of smaller pumpkins, keeping one eye on him and one on Noble as he crouches next to Cav. Before long they get up and start perusing again. Cav still doesn’t look thrilled, but at least he seems to be moving on.

Trip is still jumping happily from small pumpkin to small pumpkin when Cav and Noble find us, a nice, reasonable, medium-sized pumpkin in Noble’s arms. “We’ve reached an agreement,” he announces. “Instead of one giant pumpkin — one medium pumpkin and one small pumpkin.”

“Yeah because medium plus small is like a big one,” Cav explains.

“Oh-kay,” I agree. “Sounds like a plan. Go ahead and pick a little one so we can go back to the cabin and watch a movie before bed.”

“Trip, you gotta go get your medium pumpkin so you have a medium one and a small one,” I hear Cav say.

“I think Trip is happy with his little one,” Noble calls before I can ask him exactly how many pumpkins we’ll be buying today.

“Couldn’t stick to the plan, could you?” I muse.

Balancing Cav’s pumpkin on one hip, he finds my hand with his free one and squeezes. “Hey, okay, the kid’s hardly seen a real pumpkin before, much less carved one—”

“I know, I know. I’m glad they have you around to make sure they get those experiences. We just need to, you know, be a little realistic.”

“And I’m glad we’ve got you to be realistic for us,” he murmurs. “Because fuck, I was not excited about carrying that beast home up three flights of stairs—”

“Shut up, you would’ve made me do it anyway,” I scoff.

“I would’ve… helped…”

“Liar.”

“I would have!” He insists.

“You’re a dirty liar,” I shoot back.

“I don’t know about liar, but that dirty part—”

“Oh god,” I cackle, leaning into him before I take the pumpkin he’s been holding. “Keep it in your pants, huh? And go help your son. That pumpkin’s about to knock him over.”

***

“Are they down?”

“Didn’t wake up at all,” Noble assures me. “Perfect transfers. I’m magical. Like a witch.”

“Oh good. Here you go.” I push a drink towards him across the counter and he takes it as he returns to the couch to turn off the Disney movie that the boys just fell asleep watching.

“This is okay,” he muses.

“Just okay? Is it not strong enough?” I take another inquisitorial sip of my own margarita.

“No, no, it’s pretty good. It’s just not, like, Ben’s Paloma good.”

I let out an incredulous laugh as I realize he’s just teasing. “Oh yeah? So you wish Ben and Scott hadn’t bailed, hmm?”

“It’d be fun if they were here,” he says. “We could play poker and I’d have some actual competition—”

“Oh!” I call out, a hand coming up to my chest like he’s wounded me. “They make better drinks, they play better cards…”

“They’d’ve let us bring home that huge pumpkin,” Noble adds.

“You’re as bad as the kids,” I tell him.

“It was an awesome pumpkin!”

“Well you know what—” I finish straightening up the small kitchen and grab my drink to join him. “I’m glad they’re not here.”

“That so?”

“Mhmm. Because if they were here, and we were playing poker and trying to carve some huge-ass pumpkin, then we’d be pretty busy.”

“Busy?” He stretches back against the couch cushions, propping one arm across the top as his gaze wanders openly down my grey t-shirt.

“Busy,” I repeat. “Too busy for this—”

Leaving my drink on the rustic end table, I smoothly drop to his lap, my knees settling on either side. With my hands free I’m quickly all over him, fingers turning his head up to meet my lips while my opposite palm slides down between us.

“Mmm, god, I’m never too busy for this.”

I shut him up with a hard, insistent kiss. He wastes no time reaching under my t-shirt, his hands a cold contrast against my skin after holding his icy glass, pushing the fabric up my torso until I duck out of it. As soon as I do, he steals the leverage I have over him and swoops me sideways, following quickly on top of me where I land on my back. My fists are in his hair, squeezing hard so I don’t make too much noise as he works biting kisses down to my shoulder.

Just as his touch trails lower, a suspicious noise from down the hallway stops us both short.

“I thought you said they were asl—”

“They were,” he insists. “Shh.”

Listening again, we’re met with only silence.

“Must've been the wind,” I conclude.

He pushes his weight off of me, sitting up on his knees. “Still. Does the bedroom door lock…?”

“I didn’t notice.”

“Let’s hope.”

I reach a hand up and he grabs my wrist, heaving me up off the couch. “What if it doesn’t?” I wonder.

“Well then.” He slides a hand into the waistband of my gym shorts, where he snaps the elastic against my skin. “I guess you’ll just have to stay quiet, won’t you?”

#Jamie x noble #joble #joble fluff #theyre such cute dads and i’m Into it #this whole thing is pretty disgusting though but I do not apologize

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jxpper · 6 years

Text

Head to Head (If You Can Hear Me)

Joyce comes head to head with her worst fears

This is part of the Skin to Skin series! (click below to catch up)

Read Series on AO3 Here

Posted Chapters ↓

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

wc:1932

rating: t

angst & romance

"And if you can hear me, I love you."

It was a fight. One of their rare but silly little arguments that left them both hot-headed and frustrated. Joyce couldn't remember what the fight was even about, all she knew was that Hopper stormed off to do what he usually did when he was pissed - drive around. Since he had quit drinking when Molly was born, he had been working on ways to channel his anger safely and driving seemed to be the winner. He'd cruise around for 15 minutes and come back with a whole new attitude.

Joyce had promised herself that when she and Hopper got together that she wouldn't allow them to fight around the kids like her and Lonnie. Hopper respected and agreed, so the back steps were usually where opinions aired.

It wasn't a serious fight, just a small argument but it always stung the same way. At least she knew Hopper would come back, Lonnie would take days to return and he usually smelled like a brewery and Astroglide when he finally did. So each time Hopper stormed off, Joyce just kept going about her day and expected him back for dinner. And he always was.

That was the only thing that was different this time. Even when the rare fights occurred, he always came back fifteen minutes later. Not a second earlier nor a second later. Joyce could feel guilt starting to swell in the bottom of her stomach when she set the dinner plates down at the table. Where was he? The kids were starting to get suspicious and she couldn't stall the questions much longer.

It had been thirty minutes now. Fifteen more than usual when he was expected to return. Joyce already had her apology and compromise mapped out in her head but Hopper was nowhere to be seen. Who knows, maybe he caught someone speeding while he was out and had to take care of it. At least that's what Joyce was telling herself to avoid the thoughts of 'Maybe he isn't coming back this time.' He always comes back.

Joyce fastened Molly into her high chair and just as she and the kids sat down at the table, a knock at the front door startled her. Finally, a sense of relief flooded into her stomach, carrying away the fear with it. "For the last time Hopper, this is your house. You don't have to kno-" she stopped dead in her tracks as she opened the door to see a totally different face.

"Excuse me, ma'am is this the house of Chief Jim Hopper?" a tall man with piercing dark eyes stood in her doorway, clad in an Indiana State Trooper uniform. Joyce's heart must've quit right then and there because she could no longer breathe.

"Y-yes," she stumbled on her words. "I'm his wife. Is everything okay? Did he do something wrong?" a million scenarios rushed through Joyce's head while she convinced herself to breathe again. State trooper knocking on the Chief's door? That was never good news.

"Mom, who is it?" Joyce could hear Jane yell from the kitchen. "Just a minute sweetheart," she called back before turning to face the trooper again. "I'm sorry, what happened to Hopper?"

"Ma'am, there's been an accident. You'll need to come with us." His words went right over Joyce's head after 'accident'. 'Hopper was in an accident? That's why he wasn't home? Oh God, did I cause this? Is he alright? Is he alive?' A million thoughts ran through her head at a million miles per hour. She couldn't form the right words to say, she could only stand there with her mouth agape and speechless.

"Ma'am we really need to go." the Trooper tried to motion for her to move but she stood there, her feet stuck to the ground like she was sinking in quicksand. Why was this happening? What had happened? Was he hit by a drunk driver? Did he swing off the quarry? Was he distracted from the fight? Just as Joyce was about to follow the Trooper, Jonathan and Will peaked their heads around the corner from the kitchen to see who was at the door.

"Jonathan, watch your siblings. I'll be back in a little while." Joyce called out, fighting back the tears in her eyes as she shut the door behind her.

"What just happened?" Will asked, looking up at his brother. "I don't know but it looks like she was trying to catch the last chopper out of Saigon."

___

Joyce bit her nails anxiously the entire way to the hospital. The Troopers said they couldn't tell her what happened just yet, which only made her nerves chill colder. All she wanted to know was if he was alive but apparently they couldn't tell her that either. Rain poured down the tinted windows of the police vehicle, each droplet illuminating as they passed the street lights.

She remembered this feeling from before; pure dread as the ambulance had taken Will to the lab the night they burned the vines. She remembered the adrenaline coursing through her veins and the uncertainty in her mind. It was déjà vu at its finest.

It felt like an eternity before they finally arrived at the hospital, and by then a million Troopers couldn't have stopped her from running into the building. It felt like a drama movie. A woman running into a hospital in slow motion, a dreary blue filter on the film, and depressing piano music in the background.

Running through the ER, she saw a group of Troopers crowded by the nurse's station. Powell and Callahan stood up from the waiting room chairs when they saw Joyce arrive. The looks in their eyes made her heart sink lower and lower. There was suddenly no air left in the room and the walls were closing in on her.

"Joyce," Powell started before she interrupted him. "Where is he?"

"Joyce, let's sit down for a mi-"

"Where is he!"

Powell took a deep breath and looked at Callahan. "He's upstairs in the ICU, but Joyce-"

"Take me to see him. Right now," she demanded, tears finally breaking their painful hold and streaming down her face. She couldn't do this, not right now. Now was not the time for everybody to play 'let's get Joyce to calm down' because it wasn't happening.

He was alive. Sort of. It didn't look like it but the nurses reassured Joyce a hundred times that he was in fact alive. He had brain activity, which apparently is a good sign. She could barely comprehend how she got here, let alone what all the medical jargon was about. He was still unconscious but his heart was beating so that was about as good as it was going to get.

It was hard for her to hold his hand, he looked so bruised and battered and she didn't want to hurt him any more than he already was. The police said that he hit a puddle and the tie rod snapped. She didn't know what that meant either but he hit a puddle and wrapped the blazer around a tree.

The guilt was overwhelming to her. Maybe he wouldn't have been in this situation if she had just agreed about whatever they were arguing about. He would've never went for a drive and he would've never ended up here. They tried to tell her it wasn't her fault but she couldn't bring herself to believe it.

"If you can hear me right now, I'm sorry," she whispered softly under the sound of a beeping monitor. "I'm sorry for being so stubborn, and I'm sorry for being difficult. I've seen the movies and they always say the same things but now I don't know what to say. I'm sorry for the things I've said, today and times before. I'm sorry that this happened to you and I'm sorry for not being the best wife I could be."

"If you can hear me, you need to get through this. You can't leave us behind, Hop. Jonathan, Will, Jane, and Molly love you too much for you to go right now. You've got too many proms and soccer games and field trips left with them. You've got too many game nights and homework assignments left to do with them. You've got too many Christmases and birthdays left to spend with them. You've got too many heartbreaks to avenge and tears left to dry. If you can't pull through this for me, do it for them."

"If you can hear me, I wish I had said things before that I didn't. I wish I had said 'I love you' to you in fourth grade when you kissed me on the monkey bars. I wish I had said yes to go to Snow Ball with you. I wish I had said 'drive carefully' to you on the mornings you left for work. I wish I had a chance to say goodbye when you left for Vietnam. I wish I had said yes to the camping trip you wanted to take last July. I wish I had said yes to every experience I could've spent with you."

"If you can hear me, I need you to know I still cherish every moment I've spent with you. I still laugh when I think about the time you threw me in the pool when I told you not to. I still smile when I think about the fairy lights we wrapped around the trees for our wedding; and how we sat under them at midnight. I still feel my heart pound when I remember the first kiss that we had shared after 20 years apart. I still chuckle when I think about the time we visited the pumpkin patch when we were fifteen and you stepped in a rotten pumpkin. I still cry when I think about the smile on your face when Molly was born. I still feel my heart melt when I remember how you would climb in Molly's crib when she couldn't sleep. I still love every waking moment I've spent by your side."

"If you can hear me, those are just a handful of the reasons why I need you to stay with me; with our kids. I still need you to hold me every night. I still need you to kiss me every morning with your awful morning breath. I still need you to miss the hamper when you throw your clothes on the floor. I still need to accidentally step on your shoes everytime I come in the door. I still need you to smile at me through the window when I'm at work. I still need you to sing Molly to sleep when she misses you at night. I still need you to talk to Will about his D&D campaigns like you understand any of it. I still need you to tell Jonathan how he will be top of his class at NYU. I still need you to pretend-threaten Mike everytime he puts his arm around Jane. I still need you, Hopper. We still need you."

"And if you can hear me, I love you."

Joyce leaned out of her chair and laid her head down on his knee. She wasn't sure how long she had laid there, crying against his body, but she didn't care. She needed him and nothing would ever change that.

Just as Joyce felt her eyes about to close with drowsiness, the body that was lying still under her twitched.

"Joyce?"

#jopper #jopper fic #stranger things #strangerthings #stranger things 2 #strangerthings2 #joyce x hopper #hopper x joyce #joyce byers #joyce and hopper #hopper and joyce #jim hopper #joyce x jim #joyce and jim #jim and joyce #jim x joyce #stranger things fic

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jvc-yearofservice · 5 years

Text

Ending the year early

10/13/19- 10/19/19

Monday was rough because a homeless woman having a mental breakdown threw oatmeal on me, and it got in my hair. On Tuesday, we took a field trip to the pumpkin patch where I was in charge of looking after two students who were awesome and behaved phenomenally. We rode the carousel, had a free lunch, and watched a pig race. That night, my housemates and I were walking to our seats at the Jonas Brothers concert, and a random man approached us and asked if it was just the three of us. We said 'yes', and he proceeded to give us tickets for the floor of the stadium, which were obviously much better than our nose-bleed seats. We took them and got escorted down to the floor where there were three seats together. It was literally so close to the stage and therefore closer to them as well. The concert was so amazing, and they played all my favorite songs, including "Burnin' Up", "Cake by the Ocean", "SOS", "Sucker", and "Lovebug". I nearly got trampled several times when they would walk from one stage to another (that's how close we were). My feet were killing me from jumping up and down for nearly two or more hours, but it was definitely worth it.

On Wednesday, I was fired from my job. I'll tell you how it happened: I came to work early in the morning, and my supervisor met me at the door, saying that we would have a meeting at 8am, which was unusual because our one on ones were on Friday's. At 8am, she told me to follow her and then started walking away. I followed her to another building, and we walked in absolute silence the entire way. Eventually, in the other building, we went into a random office, and there was an uglier-looking Angelica Houston type woman standing there. She told me to sit down, so me and my supervisor both sat down while she stayed standing the entire time. The woman who was standing was named Ms. Julie, I think, and she was the head of HR at Loaves and Fishes. She informed me that a JVC representative was on speakerphone (Laura Strubeck) as well as our in-city coordinator, Windi. I was super perplexed about it since there was absolutely no preparation nor had I expected anything amiss. My supervisor started explaining that since my work "fell so short below the expectations I agreed to at the beginning of the year, my position has been terminated". I was so blown away that I couldn't really speak. I looked at my supervisor who had super fake sad puppy dog eyes, and then I looked at the HR woman. The HR woman seemed really angry with me and told me, "Your one job was to protect the kids and you failed." Then my supervisor very helpfully jumped in and added, "We do not trust you to keep the children safe." I was really shocked and confused because my supervisor and I had just had a meeting with the in-city coordinator where we discussed issues and (seemingly) resolved everything (but I guess not). The main issue was supervising the children, which I asked for more clarification on but had only received vague answers from my supervisor every time. They asked if I had any questions, and I could only think to ask about what happens next. The JVC representative, Laura Strubeck, said that because I had been terminated from my job instead of just a mutual agreement to part ways, I was out of the program. I asked if I could be put into another placement (since several of my house-mates' agencies wanted me), but she said I couldn't and that I also had to be out of the house by Saturday. I very numbly nodded, and the in-city coordinator's only contribution to the conversation was, "I'm here for you, Mary Kate!" For those of you at home, the job of the in-city coordinator is to advocate and support the volunteers. Guess who did not support me? Our in-city coordinator. The JVC representative also said that if I could, I should share my "exit strategy"/travel plans with the JVC just for their records. They asked if I had anymore questions, and I didn't so I was walked back to the school where my supervisor insisted on watching me while I packed up my things at my desk and then escorted me out of the school, not before asking me for the work keys back.

Here is my take on why I was really terminated: from day one, I sensed that my supervisor didn't really like me. I figured that it would take some time to warm up to each other, but our relationship never got better. In all honesty, she had expectations that no person could ever meet, even me who was doing her best and putting way too much effort into a job that didn't fulfill me (the girl in my position last year complained that this supervisor was so overbearing and never satisfied with her work and someone in my position three years ago left after the first day at work). At our meetings, my supervisor asked inappropriate questions about my personal life and tried to involve herself in any drama that was happening back at the house. I stood by my morals and who I am, and I refused to compromise any of my beliefs, and I was punished for that. It was hinted to me that I should tell my supervisor about anyone making any mistakes in their jobs (not to help them learn but so that they would be punished), and I would not because I didn't believe that was right. When my supervisor realized she could not intimidate or control me, she felt I was a liability and therefore had to go. While we were still meeting and giving me the appearance of trying to help me learn and grow as a staff member and individual, my supervisor was actively gathering little mistakes I had made and then presented them to the higher-up people in order to make it look like I was incapable of doing my job. The JVC sided with them likely because of financial reasons. The JVC gets paid by agencies to have volunteers at those agencies, and Loaves and Fishes is such a large and powerful organization that the JVC would not have wanted to get on their bad side. If it were any other site, I believe the JVC would have supported and advocated for me. The only words I have for my supervisor are this: I can see that you are suffering very deeply. I can see that you think your suffering will be alleviated by hurting others. I am very sorry that you are suffering so badly. I do not wish that kind of suffering on anybody. I hope one day you can alleviate that suffering without inflicting pain on others.

All that day, I had decided to tell all my house mates later on so as to not ruin their day. I basically packed up my room, got a plane ticket home, and took down all my decorations. Eventually, I told them all together, and they were outraged and devastated as well. Lots of tears and grieving. Everyone is still quite confused on exactly why I was fired and then unceremoniously kicked out of the program, and whenever we tried to reach out to anybody in a position of power in the JVC, but we were given vague answers every time or blatantly ignored. It especially helped that some support people, Lauren and OJ, came over to grieve with us that night. My housemates reached out to everyone they could in an effort to get the JVC to let me stay and work somewhere else, but I eventually told them to stop their efforts because I was too tired and too disheartened to try to fight anymore. Why should I fight to stay in a program that would treat me so horribly and obviously does not appreciate or see my worth?

The days went quickly after that. On Thursday, I packed and shipped things back home. Thursday night, we all tried to celebrate together by watching a movie and hanging out on the porch like we did at the beginning of the year, but there was definitely a sense of disbelief and dread among us. On Friday, I finished shipping all my things and decided to sight-see as much as I could. I went to Old Sacramento and saw a replica of the original schoolhouse, bought little mementos for everybody (using up the rest of my stipend money, heyo), and visited Fort Sutter and the Indian History Museum. That night, we all went and got a hilarious old-timey portrait done of us in all vintage, cow-boy-looking outfits. For dinner, we went to In-N-Out since I had not had it yet and it was on my to-do list. MOST IMPORTANTLY, at Fort Sutter, I saw the DONNER DOLL, aka the doll of a little girl who survived the Donner Party disaster (look it up-it's horrible).

On Saturday, it was time to go. I woke up to the amazing smell of my house-mates making breakfast for me. A couple of us went to get donuts, and I nearly got into a fight with an "overly-sensitive and emotionally unstable" woman who said I was standing too close to her (okay, so I wasn't standing too close on purpose at first but after she said that, I stood right behind her until she screamed at us all again and then left, haha). For the last time, we all held hands around the table, and I said grace which went a little like this: "Dear Lord in Heaven...what you did was hella messed up...and I hope I can forgive you one day for allowing this to happen to such good people...but still...we ball, and I'm thankful for what I have. Amen." The car was super packed with people as we all drove to the airport, and there were many tears as I was dropped off. It was super funny because a really sad song about missing friends and having good memories came on as soon as we all got in the car. I'm writing this now as I'm waiting for my plane to depart to St. Louis, where I will be moving back in with my parents until I save up enough to get my own apartment and hopefully one day my own dog.

A couple last things before I go: I don't regret joining the JVC, flying all the way out to Philadelphia, flying all the way out to California, and living intentionally and simply for exactly 80 days. I don't regret it because I met some of the most incredible people in the entire world (Caroline, Fran, Meg, Joseph, Laura, Morgan, Lauren & OJ, Mr. Martin, Sara F., Kelsey & Katie, Liana, Lucia, Miss Emily, Mr. Troy, Miss Erica, Miss Stacey, Fr. Tom, Mercy Meg, the Mercy volunteers, the ACE volunteers, Grace, and many more). I'd also like to sincerely thank all the unknown former Jesuit volunteers who reached out to the JVC on my behalf in an effort to try to get them to change their mind and let me stay. I'm conscientiously choosing to release the anger and bitter feelings I have towards my supervisor and all those in power positions in the JVC who advocated for my termination because holding onto those feelings is so unfair to me. I would rather use my energy to continue to help and choose joyfulness and love than to seek out revenge for what was done to me. Yes, it was unfair and horrible, as well as traumatic and embarrassing. There has also been more crying and suffering in these past few days than probably my entire life before. However, I take comfort in the fact that those who really know me absolutely understand that I did nothing to deserve this and are outraged on my behalf as well. That's enough for me- to have the faith of the ones who really matter, so I will let the issue rest.

And maybe this was all for a greater reason. We'll see.

Godspeed,

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